"Hello, Captain Calhoun," Laheera said, in that musical voice of hers.
"Greetings," Calhoun replied evenly. "From what my first officer tells me, you've made quite an impression on our passengers. And, if I might note, on Captain Hufmin as well."
"Yes, so it would appear," she commented. "And now we have matters to discuss, Captain."
"I'm told there isn't much to discuss, actually," Calhoun said with a subtle glance at Shelby. "We'll be beaming down our passengers' belongings, and be on our way. It is my hope that they'll be happy in their new home."
"I'm certain they will be, Captain Calhoun . . . once you cooperate."
Although her voice never lost its pleasant inflection, there was an undertone to the words that was not lost on anyone on the bridge. It was, however, lost on Hufmin, who was leaning against Laheera and grinning in a lopsided fashion.
"Cooperate?" Calhoun said slowly.
"Yes. You see, Captain, you have very advanced technology. Computer systems, weapons systems, warp drive capabilities that far exceed—"
"Not to be rude, Laheera, but. . . you might as well stop right there. Don't think that we're not grateful that you've opened your home and hearts to the refugees. But I simply cannot turn over technology to you." He rose from his chair and walked slowly to the monitor, sounding as reasonable as he could. "There are rules we live by, laws we follow, just as I'm sure you have your own laws. Your society is at a certain level, and it wouldn't be right or proper for us to aid you in jumping to the next. You have to reach that point yourselves."
"We have selflessly extended aid," Laheera said with a slight pout that made her look, frankly, just adorable. "Can't you do the same for us? It makes you seem a bit selfish."
"It sure does!" Hufmin agreed. Then again, in his condition and with the nearness of Laheera adding to his intoxication, he would have agreed that the sun was actually made of steamed cabbage.
"It does make us seem that way," Calhoun acknowledged. "But believe me, Laheera, it's for the best."
"I'm afraid I can't agree with that," said Laheera.
"That's right, Captain," Hufmin echoed, "she can't agree with th—"
It happened so quickly that Lefler, who happened to be blinking at that exact moment, didn't see it. But the others on the bridge did.
The knife was in Laheera's hand, and she grabbed the grinning Hufmin by the hair with her other hand, snapping his head backward. The most eerie thing was that her smile never wavered as she expertly yanked the knife across Hufmin's throat. Blood poured out and down, his blue robes turning deep crimson. Some of it spattered on Laheera's face, red speckling the gold. She didn't appear to notice or care. Hufmin did not even realize he'd been murdered. He reached up in a vague manner for the gash and he was grinning insipidly, probably feeling the warmth as it gushed all over him, and then he sank down and out of sight.
Shelby, horrified, looked to Calhoun.
His face looked dead. There was no expression at all—not anger, not revulsion—nothing. But then she saw it, saw it in his purple eyes: a deep, burning, savage fury that was barely contained.
In an almost absentminded fashion, Laheera reached down to wipe the blood off the blade. It was obvious, even though they couldn't see it, that she had cleaned it on the fallen Hufmin. "Now," Laheera said conversationally, "I did that in order to show you that we will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to get what we want. We will kill the refugees. All of them. Men, women, children . . . makes no difference. We shall begin killing them shortly and continue to do so until you supply us with the technology we need. We will give you one hour to think about it and get back in touch with you at the end of that ti—"
"No."
The word sounded like a death knell. Calhoun had said it with no hesitation, no remorse, and no sense of pity whatsoever.
Laheera tilted her head slightly, like a dog trying to hear a high-pitched noise. "You mean you've already decided to cooperate with us?"
"No," said Calhoun. "I mean no, there will be no deals. No, there will not be a discussion. And no, you needn't wait. Kill them."
Lefler gasped upon hearing this. Soleta kept her composure, but McHenry paled, and even Shelby appeared shaken. Calhoun looked at her and she mouthed the word, Negotiate.
Laheera didn't quite seem to believe she'd heard or understood Calhoun correctly. "Captain . . . perhaps you don't appreciate the severity of the situation . . ."
"My first officer," Calhoun cut in, "appears to be of the opinion that I should negotiate."
"She is wise."
Calhoun walked up to the main screen, his back straight, his eyes now cold. "Laheera . . . the refugees made their own decision. I gave them advice. They ignored it. Whatever situation they're in now is of their own making. I have no sympathy for them that you can play upon. No guilt. No compunction about letting them die. They made their free choice, and they die as free beings. Nor do I wish to negotiate with terrorists. There is no point to it."
"My understanding, Captain, from what the late Captain Hufmin told me, is that you were something of a terrorist yourself once," Laheera said. It was frightening how the singsong tone of voice never wavered. "Who are you, then, to judge me?"
There was dead silence on the bridge for a long moment.
And when Calhoun spoke, there was something terrifying in his voice. No one on the bridge had ever heard anything like it. It was as if an approaching natural disaster, like a tornado or an ion storm, had been given voice to declare the dreadful damage it was about to inflict.
"You desire negotiation, Laheera? That I will not do. I don't negotiate. That is an immutable law of my universe. Another immutable law, however, is one of physics: that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Kill the refugees, Laheera. Kill them all. I don't care. I've seen too much death to let it be used as a club against me. But when you're done killing them, be aware that you've killed yourselves. Because I will order this ship to open fire on your capital city and blow you all to hell. Who am I to judge you, Laheera? I am someone who knows what it's like to deal with someone like me. Calhoun out."
END GAME
Captain's Log, Stardate 50927.2: A slight wrinkle has presented itself in our dealings with the Nelkarites. I am attempting to deal with the situation in a Starfleetprescribed manner of diligence and patience.
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 50927.2: We are faced with a somewhat disastrous situation. We have brought four dozen refugees to the planet Nelkar, at the invitation of the Nelkarites, who agreed to give them shelter. However, the Nelkarites are now using the innocent refugees in a bizarre power play. This is a classic section C-5 hostage scenario which calls for careful handling, but Captain Calhoun has displayed nothing but intransigence. If Mackenzie Calhoun thinks he can simply write off the lives of Peter four dozen hostages . . . and follow it up by bombarding a planet. . . I am simply going to have tostraight on that. And if I fail then God help me, I may have to try and assume leadership of on the basis that Mac is simply not fit for command.