Star Trek V: The Final Frontier by J. M. Dillard Read Free Book Online

at it as if he meant to destroy the terminal. He was pitifully stooped and scrawny, physically even less imposing than Talbot, and yet there was a fire-bright fanaticism in his eyes that made him appear dangerous. Caithlin did not doubt that if either she or Talbot disobeyed, the homesteader would use his pathetic weapon to kill them both. She hesitated, then slowly backed from the screen.
    Talbot did likewise and half raised his hands in the human gesture of surrender. “There’s no point in shooting it,” he remarked casually, with a nod at the terminal. “It’s been dead quite some time.”
    As abruptly as it had begun, the alarm stopped wailing, leaving behind an eerie silence. Soldiers continued to enter the saloon. Before a full minute had elapsed, they filled the bar and herded Caithlin, Talbot, and Korrd, who reeked of ethanol, into the room’s center.
    A man entered, wearing a white cloak with the hood drawn up. He was the one who had ridden on horseback, the one Caithlin had recognized instantly, from his bearing and the reactions of the others, as the leader. Of all of them, he alone carried no weapon. His followers parted to let him through to the place where the three diplomats waited. He strode up and stood before them, tall and regal, and threw back the hood.
    He was a Vulcan. Caithlin nearly gasped aloud at the revelation, but contained herself; renegade Vulcans were extremely rare, but they did exist. More than one of them had abandoned the Federation for the Romulan Empire. This one, neither young nor yet middle-aged, seemed scarcely better off than his followers. His cloak was worn and frayed, of questionable cleanliness. Its wearer was bearded, unkempt, unwashed, the same as any homesteader, but something in his demeanor—his authority, his confidence, the frightening intelligence in his eyes—set him apart from them.
    He stopped before his captives and turned to addresshis followers. “Well done, my friends. You have taken Paradise without a shot.”
    Sounds of satisfaction rippled through the crowd. The Vulcan turned to face the three diplomats, taking time to scrutinize them slowly, one by one. Against her will, Caithlin found herself flushing under his intense gaze.
    “Romulan. Human. Klingon,” the Vulcan said to each of them in turn. “Consider yourselves my prisoners.”
    Talbot snickered softly. “Prisoners? That’s rich. We’re
already
prisoners on this worthless ball of rock. Of what possible value could we be to you?”
    The Vulcan smiled faintly. “Nimbus Three may be a worthless ball of rock, but it does have one unique treasure.”
    Caithlin almost shuddered; somehow, she knew the Vulcan’s exact words before he said them.
    “It’s the only place in the entire galaxy that has the three of you.”
    Korrd let loose a roar and reached for the pistol at his hip. But the instant before his thick bronze fingers touched it, four of the Vulcan’s soldiers cocked their guns and pointed the barrels squarely at the center of the Klingon’s massive chest. For a tense moment, the old warrior seemed to consider trying to take some of the soldiers with him—but he was clearly outgunned. With a gurgle of impotent rage, Korrd let his own weapon clatter to the floor.
    Caithlin addressed the Vulcan with a boldness she did not feel. “Who are you?”
    “A friend.”
    She frowned, frustrated by the cryptic response. The Vulcan merely smiled, apparently amused at her irritation. He was toying with her, and if there was one thing Caithlin despised, it was an individual who refused to take her seriously.
    “You’re the leader of these homesteaders. What is your purpose?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
    “To find the purpose of existence,” he replied. At first she thought he was being sarcastic, and she started to respond angrily, but as he continued, she saw he was quite sincere. “To understand creation. And we want”—he hesitated and caught her eye—“you.”
    Her skin