Thank you for downloading this Pocket Star Books eBook.

Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

or visit us online to sign up at

eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

Xenex

IT WAS AN extremely odd sensation for Elizabeth Shelby when the transporter effect wore off, depositing her on the surface of Xenex. She was hardly a stranger to the world; she had been there several times before. But it had always been in conjunction with her husband. His absence from her side was palpable, but she did not dare to dwell on it. She had bigger things to worry about.

She ran her fingers through her dusty brown–blond hair and squinted against the steady warm breeze that was blowing into her face. It was quite a different sensation from the transporter room that she had just been in, and from the overall environment of the transport vessel that had brought her here. The ship’s captain had offered to accompany her. She insisted on beaming down alone, because she knew that she had to conduct this business on her own.

It was the first time she had been here since the disaster three months ago: the series of events that had resulted in the utter genocide of the Xenexian people. When the admiral had learned of it in her office on Bravo Station, she had been stunned beyond her ability to comprehend. An entire race of beings—men, women, even the children—just annihilated. Their lives snuffed out through the machinations of an insidious race known as the D’myurj. She couldn’t even begin to conceive of the sort of mind that would plan such a thing.

Yes, you can, she thought grimly. The human race might have made significant progress as a people over the centuries, but she was fully aware that there had been individuals in her world’s history who had aspired to race cleansing. It had happened in situations ranging from the extermination of native peoples to world wars. It was difficult for her to acknowledge that whatever repulsive behavior was perpetrated by alien races, humans had done it and perhaps even better. The unfortunate fact was that when she pondered what sort of being would consider it acceptable or even laudable behavior to wipe out a species, she didn’t have to look any further than the nearest mirror to receive an answer.

It obviously did nothing to make her feel better for the Xenexians’ fate. The truth was that she wasn’t concerned about them. A harsh reality, but there it was. The simple fact was that she could do nothing for them. She couldn’t wave a magic wand and return them to life. She couldn’t reach through the sands of time to save them. The one thing she could do was try to operate in the best interests of one of the very few Xenexians who was still alive: M’k’n’zy of Calhoun, better known as Mackenzie Calhoun, her husband.

Shelby knew that he was somewhere nearby.

“Nearby” at this particular moment in time was a low-hanging mountain range. The ground was baked to the point of cracking; nothing could ever be grown here. Curiously enough, that did not deter small animals—that apparently had no need for food or water—from scrambling out every now and then as if they were in the midst of some elaborate ritual. They were odd little creatures. They resembled rabbits but had scales instead of fur. Shelby didn’t know quite what to make of them. She hoped that the creatures weren’t carnivorous. That was the last thing she needed, to be attacked by Xenexian wildlife. Thus far, they seemed perfectly content to glance at her occasionally with a complete lack of interest and then go back to whatever they were doing.

There appeared to be caves in the nearby rock face. To the admiral that certainly seemed an appropriate place to hang out, especially thanks to the moisture-draining heat of the sun. The heat was so intense, in fact, that the sky itself was tinted orange. She shielded her eyes as best she could and then decided to get to business.

“Mac!” she called.

Her voice echoed and reverberated around her. She shouted it a second time and then a third and no response was forthcoming. She paused a moment and then, still hollering, she called out, “I know you’re here somewhere! Hiding isn’t going to make me unable to find you!” She waited for him to reply and continued when he didn’t. “Do you seriously think a ship’s sensors wouldn’t be able to find the life signs of the one living being on this world? Aside from these stupid little rabbit things, I mean.”

Still nothing.

“Okay, fine!” she bellowed. “I figure you’re in one of the caves, so if I have to search every damned one for you, that’s what I’ll do. I’ve got all the time in the world. So you can hide as long as you—”

“Oh for gods’ sake.”

Shelby stopped. The words hadn’t been shouted the way she had been yelling at the top of her lungs. They were said more in faint exasperation than anything else, and yet somehow they managed to carry the distance from the speaker to her. She couldn’t determine at first from exactly where the voice had originated, but after long seconds of looking around, she saw a figure standing at the lip of one of the caves. Even from this distance, she knew exactly who it was.

“Mac.” She made no effort to keep the relief from her voice. That was contrary to what she was originally going to do. She had been intending to sound stern, even scolding over his disappearance and his complete reneging of his responsibilities to Starfleet. But she was unable to do that. Mentally, Shelby kicked herself for slipping up and then wrote it off to the literal heat of the moment. She squared her shoulders, smoothed down the line of her uniform tunic, and repeated, in a more formal tone, “Mac.”

“Admiral,” he called back. He was too far away from her to make out any details and then, before she could say or do anything, Calhoun turned away from her and strode into the cave.

That was rude. She’d come all this way motivated by love and concern for his well-being, and this was his response? He couldn’t even come down from the damned cave?

For a moment she was tempted to contact the ship and tell it to bring her back up. She would return to Bravo Station and Calhoun could continue to avoid returning to Starfleet for as long as he wanted. To hell with him. He can stay here until he rots.

All of that went through her head and then, with a heavy sigh, she started walking in the direction of the cave.

It took her twenty minutes to cover the distance. As she trudged along her way, she supposed that she could be grateful for the fact that he had emerged at all. He could have simply stayed hidden. She’d have had to spend a hell of a long time going through every cave. So at least he had made her job easier.

But only a little.

She made it to the base of the cliff side and started climbing. It wasn’t too steep, and yet she almost lost her grip several times as she clambered up. The dry dirt wedged itself into her fingernails, which was not the most pleasant of experiences. She licked her lips and realized that she should have brought water with her. She could always have the ship beam some down, but she felt so stupid to have forgotten it that she couldn’t bring herself to ask. False pride. You’re an idiot.

Her combadge beeped. She tapped it and in doing so skidded downward a meter. She muttered a curse.

“Admiral? Have you found him?” came the voice of the transport vessel’s captain.

“Yes, I have.”

“Should we just beam him up?”

She considered that for a moment. “If you try to beam up Mackenzie Calhoun, I assure you that within half an hour he’ll have beamed himself back down and guaranteed your ship will be dead in space. Leave him to me.”

“I think we could handle him, Admiral.”

“Trust me. You can’t.”

“Very well, Admiral.” He sounded a bit torqued at her dismissal. Shelby supposed she couldn’t blame him for being irritated, but she couldn’t let herself get too worked up about it. The captain’s pride notwithstanding, she knew she was right. Actually, if anything, she had understated. Half an hour? Calhoun would be back on Xenex inside of ten minutes while the transport ship hovered in orbit with no power.

She smiled briefly at the notion despite herself. She hated to admit it, but she liked the idea that she was married to so formidable a man.

Then she started to skid down the mountainside and let out a loud curse as she dug her fingers in to prevent herself from sliding. It took her a few moments to compose herself, and then she started climbing once more.

Long minutes later Shelby had made it to the cave that she knew Mac was hiding in. At least she assumed that he was still there. She supposed it was possible that there was a network of caves and pathways and he could have taken refuge somewhere else, leaving her to wander around in an empty cave.

But no, there he was. She had no idea what to expect when she found him, and she was actually a bit startled to see that Mac appeared to have his act together. His cave barely had anything in it: just a small fire that was burning, over which some sort of small dead creature was roasting on a stick. Calhoun was crouched nearby, turning it over and over, apparently in order to make sure it was cooked evenly. The carcass was sufficiently charred that Shelby couldn’t determine what the thing had looked like when it was alive. She couldn’t even be sure if it was one of the rabbit things.

“Do you want some?” He sounded normal.

“No thanks. I already had a nameless creature on the ship before I came down.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Shelby walked slowly across the rocky floor toward her husband. She felt as if making a sudden movement might cause him to vanish into the air like some sprite. It was a ridiculous notion, she knew, but still she couldn’t eliminate the idea from her imagination.

She hunkered down opposite him and studied him for a time. Having finished cooking the whatever-it-was, Calhoun proceeded to take bites out of it. At least he wasn’t gulping it down. He ate as precisely as any Starfleet officer might have done.

When he spoke it was so abruptly that Shelby was momentarily startled.

“Do you have something to say?” he asked.

She had a million things she wanted to say. What she began with actually surprised her a bit. “I love you, Mac.”

“I love you, too.” He said it offhandedly and matter-of-factly, as if it was something he knew he was supposed to say but wasn’t capable of feeling it.

Don’t think like that. Of course he can feel it. Of course he loves you.

“Mac,” she said, and reached out for his hand. He allowed her to take it, but he didn’t squeeze it particularly. “How much longer is this going to go on?”

“Until I find some other Xenexians,” he said with simple determination.

“There are none to find.”

“I haven’t finished looking.” Calhoun held up a small note-taking device and started to thumb through it. “I’m going to the Slaker Heights next. It’s an entire farming community that’s partly underground. Dozens of people could survive there indefinitely . . .”

“Mac . . .”

“It’s only a hundred and forty kilometers from here. I should be able to reach it in—”

“Mac!” she said more forcefully this time, and it caught his attention. He scratched his beard briefly and stared at her, waiting for her to continue speaking. “Mac”—she dropped her voice to a more gentle tone—“there isn’t anyone there.”

“There might be—”

“There’s not. We’ve done sensor scans of the entire world. You are the only living entity on it, aside from the creatures that you’re cooking up to eat.”

“We don’t know that definitively—”

“Yes, we do. The sensors can’t be fooled.”

“You can’t underestimate the people of Xenex. It’s possible that—”

Shelby reached over and gripped him tightly by the shoulders. “No, it’s not possible. Scanners have covered every inch of this world. It’s empty, Mac. There’s no one left. There’s just you, wasting day after day crawling over this rock, looking for something or someone that only exists in your imagination!”

He looked as if he wanted to respond to her. His mouth opened but then closed without a word. Instead he just stared at her.

Shelby had seen sharks in her life. Never out in the wild, but she had seen some on display back on Earth. The thing that had always struck her about them was the lack of soul in their eyes. They were just these empty black orbs that hung in their faces, staring out at the world with no hint of life.

That was what she was seeing in Mac’s eyes now. They were purple rather than black, of course, but they were as soulless as a shark’s. She wasn’t concerned that he was going to attack and devour her, but it was still disconcerting to see that absence of spark in her husband’s eyes.

Determined to try and connect with him on a human basis, she pulled him toward her. He didn’t offer any resistance, and she held him tightly against herself. “Mac,” she said softly, “I know what you want to do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You’d like to wave a magic wand. You’d like to travel through time and find a way to stop the D’myurj from doing what they did. But you can’t. You just can’t.”

“Why not?”

The question confused her. She drew back from him slightly and stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean, why not?”

“Why not?” he repeated. There seemed to be genuine interest sparking in his eyes for the first time. “We’ve traveled in time before.”

“Yes, I know, once,” she said impatiently. “But it was a million to one happenstance. And we were lucky to get out of it without causing the entire space-time continuum to collapse. Besides, what would you do? Return to the Excalibur after all this time and order them to transport you back in time? Does that sound like something they would do?”

Even as she said it, the thought of they might passed through her head. There was the loyalty that the Excalibur crew felt to their captain. Inwardly, she had to admit that there was every possibility the crew might indeed agree to do whatever it took to make their captain happy. Travel back in time, sir? No problem. We’ll fire up the engines and be on our way.

But to her surprise and even relief, he dropped his gaze and looked away. “No,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “No, of course not.”

Shelby continued to hold him. “Mac, it’s time to leave this place. You’ve been living in a planetary cemetery for three months. You look like hell. You must have lost thirty pounds. It’s time to come home. It’s time to return to the Excalibur.”

“The Excalibur,” he snorted derisively, “that’s insane. They must have a new captain by now.”

“No. They don’t. Burgoyne has been holding it together as best s/he can.”

“Burgoyne?” For the first time, Mac was visibly surprised. “Burgoyne was never interested in command.”

“You made hir your second-in-command, so you didn’t really give hir a choice,” she said. “S/he’s been leading the Excalibur through various missions and, from the reports, has done reasonably well. S/he’s grown into command.”

“Maybe that’s where I should leave hir.”

She drew back from him so that he could see her irritated face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Burgy would step down for you in a heartbeat. S/he’s commanding because s/he believes it’s what you want while you’re doing whatever the hell it is that you’re doing. But just because s/he’s coping with it doesn’t mean that it’s something s/he wants to pursue. S/he’s waiting for you to come back. They all are. Not to mention your son, Moke. Have you thought about him at all?”

“Moke isn’t my son,” he said tersely.

“Maybe not, but you’re the closest thing to a father he’s got. Yes, there are plenty of people on the Excalibur watching over him, but you’ve abandoned him. Have you given any thought to how difficult your absence has been on him?”

“He never seemed to be too wild about me when I was there.”

“That’s how kids can be,” she said with a shrug. “I’m sorry you don’t seem to understand that.”

“How would I?” He made no effort to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I wasn’t there for my actual son. And Xyon hates me even more than Moke does. He blames me for the loss of the Xenexians. He and I are the only ones left. Why shouldn’t he blame me? I do.”

She took his right hand in both of hers. “It wasn’t your fault, Mac. It was the work of madmen. Just because you weren’t able to stop them from committing genocide doesn’t make it your fault. Mac . . . you need to leave this place. You can’t stay here anymore. It’s time to—”

He leaned forward abruptly and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss like any that she’d gotten from him before. It was full of desperation and hunger and a need for release.

She returned it with an urgency that she had almost forgotten she had. When he put his hand on her breast she gasped into his mouth. His tongue darted forward and dashed lightly around hers.

Her combadge beeped.

She hit it impatiently. “What?”

“Are you all right, Admiral? Your life signs are spiking.”

“I’m fine. I’m jogging. Go away.” She hit the combadge to shut it off.

“Let me help you with that,” said Calhoun, and he pulled at the top of her uniform.

It took only seconds to strip it off, and then she was upon him.

The minutes sped by as they made love on the floor of the cave. She wasn’t aware of their surroundings or various smells or anything save for the presence of her husband, of the press of his flesh against hers, and his incredible physicality. He might well have been steeped in mourning for his people, but that mourning did nothing to deter his performance. She kissed him ferociously and writhed upon him and when the heat exploded within her it threatened to consume her.

And when it was over, she slumped in exhaustion onto the floor. It was hard, unyielding rock, but she didn’t care about that. Instead her head was tucked onto Mac’s shoulder. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest, only just starting to slow a bit. “Damn,” she sighed, and stroked his chest. “It’s been . . . a while.”

“You haven’t found anyone else to fill the void in my absence?”

“I’m a married woman, Calhoun. That means something to me.” She yawned and rubbed his chest, which was remarkably smooth. “I missed this.”

“Me too.”

She felt a great fatigue sweeping through her. Her eyes started to close, and for a moment she tried to keep them open, but then she just gave up. She realized that she hadn’t been sleeping all that much lately, and now the exhaustion took control of her mind and, despite her best effort to the contrary, she wound up drifting off into slumber.

What are you doing? Are you out of your mind?! This is what he wants! Wake up! Wake the hell up!

Shelby’s head immediately snapped forward as her eyes opened. She thought that she had only drifted for a few seconds, but then she saw that darkness had descended upon them. The blistering sun had set and coolness was drifting across the vast desert of Xenex.

Mackenzie Calhoun was gone.

“Mac!” she called, sitting up and looking around. Her heart sank as she saw that the cave was now empty. The few possessions that he had brought with him were gone. He had smoothly extricated himself from her slumbering form, had dressed, gathered his belongings, and departed without rousing her.

“Son of a bitch,” she snarled as she grabbed her clothes. She dressed as quickly as she could, muttering to herself as she did so. “How could I have been so stupid? He knows I always fall asleep after sex. He knew that I’d be out of it and he’d be able to make his escape without waking me up. Son of a bitch.” As she pulled on her tunic, she hit the combadge.

“Yes, Admiral,” came the captain’s brisk voice.

“Scan the area. Find Calhoun.”

The captain sounded confused. “I thought he was with you.”

“He got away.”

“How did he get aw—”

“Would you just scan the damned area, please?”

“Hold on, please. Scanning.”

The seconds seemed to tick by interminably. Finally he came back on. “He’s not there.”

“Widen the search.”

“No, you don’t understand, Admiral. He’s not on the planet. He’s left Xenex.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How the hell did he leave Xenex without you seeing him?”

“If he departed in a stealth vessel from the other side of the planet . . .”

“How could he have gotten to the other side of the . . .” Then her voice trailed off as she answered her own question. “He must have a ship with a single-person transporter on it. He beamed himself onto the ship and then left the world.”

“But where would he have gone?”

“Knowing him? Back in time.”

There was a pause as the captain obviously tried to understand what she was talking about. “Did you say—?”

“Yes, and I hope I’m wrong. Because considering all the damage that Mackenzie Calhoun can accomplish, I’d hate to think what he might wind up doing if he was set loose in time. Fortunately, I doubt he really will be able to convince the Excalibur to slingshot through time, so there’s little chance that he’ll . . .”

“Admiral? Admiral, what’s wr—?”

“I know where he’s going,” she said. “Beam me up, now. We need to get word to them before it’s too late . . . which it may already be.”

Somewhere

i.

LIEUTENANT ARRAS NUEVO took his job seriously. Very seriously. Because he knew that the safety of time and space depended upon him and his squad.

Nuevo was a twenty-year man, having served every one of those years proudly in the corps of the Starfleet Marines. He and his fellows had spent much of their lives being dropped into the spots that were far too hot for the vaunted starships to be sent into. He snorted in derision whenever he had reason to give even the slightest thought to individuals such as Starfleet security guards. As far as he was concerned, starship security was someone who had washed out of combat training and had simply taken a post that would enable him to do something with his life . . . assuming that he lived long enough to accomplish anything.

The marines were a very different type of individual from security. Their marksmanship was unparalleled: when they fired at something, they always hit it. They had extensive hand-to-hand combat training. And most importantly, they were thoroughly schooled in all of the known offensive techniques that any enemy could possibly throw at them. They were, quite simply, combat elite.

Which was why Nuevo had initially been extremely put out when he had been assigned to the security detail of the Guardian of Forever.

Granted, he knew that he had been injured. A stray disruptor bolt during a major firefight on Hangis III had destroyed his right leg. It had been replaced using cloning techniques to grow a new leg, but he was positive it wasn’t as good as the old one. The doctors claimed that it was all in his mind, that the leg was identical to the one that he had lost. Perhaps. Nevertheless, the replacement constantly felt stiff to him and it felt “off.” Ultimately he was removed from combat field assignments. Starfleet had initially wanted to rotate him to a desk job, but Nuevo had balked at the idea. He was a fighter, not a desk jockey. He would sooner have washed out of the force than let himself be stuck behind a desk.

When he had been placed in charge of security for the Guardian of Forever, he had at first thought of it as an utterly pointless assignment. He was aware of the Guardian’s history, but it didn’t mean much of anything. It was just some massive time portal that squads of scientists were always poking around in and inspecting, using it to observe different time periods of various worlds. What was he, with his advanced combat training, doing there?

But he had very quickly had his thinking straightened out in a meeting with Admiral Caldwell of Starfleet and a Doctor Periskoff from the Daystrom Institute. Caldwell had been there to emphasize that Starfleet wanted Nuevo for the post, but it had been Periskoff who had driven home the importance of it.

“You have no idea,” Periskoff had said, in a smooth Russian accent that accompanied the smoothness of his pate, “how dangerous the Guardian can be. If the wrong person climbs into it and travels into the past, such an endeavor can literally unravel the entire space-time continuum.”

“Unravel how?” Nuevo had asked.

“There are hundreds of ways that it could happen,” Periskoff had told him. “Ways that we cannot even begin to imagine. The undoing of one event ripples throughout history, to some manner of the Butterfly Effect.”

Nuevo had heard of that. The notion that killing a random butterfly in some prehistoric era wound up rewriting the entirety of human history. He had never ascribed much worth to the notion, but from the seriousness of Periskoff’s attitude he was starting to think there was something to it.

“We want you to assemble a top team,” Caldwell said. “The best of whoever you’ve worked with in your career. They will aid you in securing the Guardian. Anyone desiring to inspect it will have to clear all their particulars through you. No one will have the opportunity to inspect it unless you sign off on it.”

“You are being trusted,” Periskoff said, “to maintain the stability of the universe. There is no more vital job that exists.”

That was enough to impress upon Nuevo the importance of his job, and he had taken it seriously from that point on. He had contacted other marines that he had worked with, and they had likewise been initially dubious. But Nuevo had managed to convince them, and the Guardian of Forever now had a dozen on permanent assignment to protect the portal from anyone trying to take it over.

Every day, every night, they switched off, monitoring the grounds meticulously. The twist that Nuevo had developed was that they were not seen. They had no single guard posts that were set up which people might be able to pinpoint and target. Instead they patrolled the area in carefully crafted random patterns that no one could possibly interpret. Thus far the strategy had worked perfectly. Over the past years, since Nuevo had been installed as head of security, they had managed to stop intruders on three separate occasions. None of them had gotten within a meter of the Guardian, and Nuevo had patted himself on the back every time they had managed to corral some new nutcase.

This evening seemed identical to other evenings as far as Nuevo was concerned. He knew that it was after normal research hours and there would be no scientists hovering around the Guardian, so that simplified his duty.

As it happened, Nuevo was taking the route that brought the patrols closest to the Guardian. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he liked this tour. There was something about the Guardian that he had begun to appreciate after prolonged exposure to it. He knew that its origins were shrouded in mystery and sometimes he would simply stare at it and try to grasp the nature of the creatures that had constructed it.

Or had it been constructed? Was it some entity whose origins were steeped deeply into the very creation of the universe, and a city had risen up around it, determined to both investigate and protect it?

Nuevo had no idea. Such questions were above his grade. Still, it pleased him to dwell on the Guardian from time to time and just wonder about both it and the type of events that had led to its beginnings.

Maybe God built it . . .

He shook his head, rejecting the premise. He didn’t believe the teachings; that some unseen deity had crafted the universe and then took the time to add such things as the Guardian of Forever, that was simply too much for him to wrap his brain around.

The Guardian had been asked many times about its origins, but the responses had always been maddeningly unhelpful. It had spoken of how it had been there at the beginning and would be there when the entire universe decided to wrap matters up and fade into darkness, which was certainly poetic but didn’t provide any guidance.

He strode slowly toward the Guardian, not even bothering to speak to it. He was neither a scientist nor philosopher, and so he didn’t think he could comprehend the answers that the Guardian would provide him. Instead Nuevo drew to within five meters and just stood and stared at it.

The night was amazingly still.

Too still.

The thought crept through his mind in a sort of offhand way, but then a greater concern began to build. Although his fellows were as stealthy as he was when it came to their patrols, he was always aware of their presence. He just knew they were out there, sensing on some fundamental level that they were making their way around the perimeter, checking every millimeter of the area, staying on top of their duty.

Now, for some reason, he wasn’t sensing them.

Nuevo tried to tell himself that he was exaggerating his abilities. He couldn’t really sense when his detail was around; it was just something that he had crafted in his head.

But the more he thought about it—and he only thought about it for a matter of five seconds before acting, it should be noted—the more he was convinced that he knew exactly and precisely what he was talking about.

“Unit Six, report.” Unit Six was Santiago, who was the farthest out of the marines and was also Nuevo’s second in command. “Santiago, I said report.”

No response.

“O’Hara, come in,” Nuevo said. “Cullens. All units report in immediately.”

Still no response.

For half a heartbeat he thought that perhaps there was some system-wide failure on the communications network, but even as that idea occurred to him, he tossed it aside. He knew perfectly well something far more dire was going on.

Nuevo’s first instinct was to back up to protect the Guardian. But then he realized that was the worst possible maneuver he could undertake. If he did that, he would be out in the open, a perfect target for whoever or whatever it was that had taken out his men.

He wished that there were trees, bushes, something in the area that he could secure himself behind. But there was nothing except desert, interspersed with ruins of a city that might once have been extremely grand, but now was nothing save standing rubble. In the distance were the shelters created for the benefit of anyone who came down for an extended period of time. “Useless.”

The only refuge he could spot was the columns; several towering columns that dotted the landscape and would provide him the cover he needed. He could stake out the Guardian and wait for whoever had taken out his men.

He scrambled quickly toward the nearest column. As he ran, Nuevo continued to look everywhere, taking in the entire area. He reached the column and hid behind it. It stretched about three meters high; a number of times in the past, he had speculated about the type of building that it had been attached to. However, that was not the case this time. Now he only saw it as a strategic cover that he could hide behind and wait for the intruder to make himself known.

He tapped his combadge one more time. “This is Nuevo. Anyone who can hear this, report in.”

And then a voice crackled softly across his badge. “Will I do?”

Nuevo froze. He didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t one of his people. That meant only one thing: the intruder had managed to get his hands on one of their badges.

“Who is this?” said Nuevo slowly. As he spoke, he swept the area with his phaser, trying to find a target to shoot at. A gentle breeze blew in from the desert. He usually liked the feel of it. Now it was a distraction.

“I need you to stand down. I need to make use of the Guardian.”

“You are unauthorized personnel,” Nuevo said. “And you have somehow incapacitated my squad. I am going to ask you to stand down and surrender yourself immediately. If you do that, I can promise that you will not be punished for your actions.”

“Really. For all you know, I killed your men. You’re offering amnesty for a man who may have committed eleven murders?”

That sentence was extremely disconcerting. It confirmed for Nuevo that the attacker had disposed of all of them, simply because he knew how many there were.

How the hell was it possible? Nuevo’s opinion of his men was not diminished by the fact that this intruder had managed to dispatch them. Instead, it elevated his opinion of this man, whoever he was.

“I’m offering you the chance to surrender,” Nuevo said slowly.

“Regrettably, that isn’t possible. I need the Guardian.”

“Yes, so you’ve said. But why?”

“I need to save a race.”

“A race? What race?”

“My race. They’re dead, because of me. And I have to find a way to stop it from happening.”

Of all the responses Nuevo might have expected, this was not one of them. He had no idea how to feel about it. “I don’t understand how you could be responsible for the death of an entire race.”

“I underestimated an enemy. Didn’t allow for the steps they’d take. I need to go back in time and stop them. Get an armament ready in anticipation of their attack. Make sure that they fail.”

Let him. The thought went through Nuevo’s mind unbidden. Maybe he should just step aside and let this guy use the Guardian. If what he was saying was true, then maybe he could use the Guardian. Prevent genocide. Why the hell not?

Because he could be a madman. Because he could be fabricating this story out of some demented illusion. And even if he’s not . . . if everything he’s saying is true . . . you can’t take the chance. He might wind up doing something that seems totally innocent to him, something that he doesn’t even think about, and then he winds up doing far worse damage than he’s trying to undo. You don’t get to judge him. You don’t get to decide. This man is an attacker and he needs to be stopped, and that is simply all that matters.

“Listen, pal,” Nuevo said, “believe it or not, I sympathize. I do. Some bad guys come in and obliterate your people . . . friends, family, whatever . . . and you’re willing to turn back time to stop it. I get all that. But you can’t use the Guardian. I’m under orders to protect it. In Starfleet, orders are everything. I don’t expect you to understand that—”

“Of course I understand that. I’m Starfleet as well.”

“Then you have to know that what you’re doing is completely illegal.”

“I’m aware of that. But considering I’m trying to save my race, how concerned about legalities do you think I am right now?”

“If you’re really Starfleet,” said Nuevo, “then you will surrender yourself to me right now.”

“That’s not going to happen, and your repeated requests aren’t going to make it so. I say we turn it around: I’ll offer you a chance to surrender. Right now. Put down your phaser, and put your hands over your head.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’ve already dispatched your associates. This is your chance to avoid being knocked unconscious. Help me or go down. It’s your choice.”

Nuevo’s gaze once more swept the area. There was no sign of the man he was talking to. That meant that he wasn’t close enough to launch an attack. Trick him. Outthink him. Draw him out.

“Okay,” Nuevo said, keeping his phaser leveled. “You win. I’ve put down my phaser.”

“You’re lying. That was a mistake.”

Suddenly Nuevo saw movement off to his right. Someone was behind another of the pillars. He swung the phaser up and fired off a quick blast. It hit his target straight on, and Nuevo cheered to himself right before he saw Cullens slump forward into the light and hit the ground, unconscious.

“Wow. He woke up early.”

Nuevo swung his phaser around in an arc. “Where the hell are you?!”

The answer occurred to him a split second too late. He looked up just in time to see a form descending upon him. His attacker had been there the whole time, perched on the upper section of the column about three meters above him.

He swung the phaser up, but the man was on him. The two of them went down, Nuevo under him, absorbing the majority of the impact. Nuevo gasped, and the phaser squirted out of his fist, clattering away on a thin layer of rubble nearby.

His right leg was curled up against the gut of his attacker, and he shoved as hard as he could. His attacker fell backward but then rolled to his feet in one continuous somersault.

They faced each other for a moment. He saw that his attacker was unarmed, or at least wasn’t holding a phaser in his hand.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“No one of consequence,” replied his attacker. “Now I need you to step aside.”

“That’s not going to happen,” said Nuevo.

“Then it seems we have a problem.”

“You have the problem,” Nuevo told him. “You’re not going to be able to accomplish your task. Furthermore, I’ve summoned help. Reinforcements are on the way.”

“No, they’re not,” said the man. “We both know that. Where would you summon them from? The nearest starbase is two days away, and I don’t plan on standing here for two days. Move.”

“No.”

“Please move.”

“No.”

“All right, then.”

He never even saw his attacker come at him. Later he would run the battle through his mind and try to figure out when his assailant had actually approached him. He would be unable to determine when it was. All he knew was that one moment the attacker was a meter away, and then the man was right there, as if jumping through time and space and simply blinking himself next to Nuevo. His attacker’s right fist cracked out and slammed Nuevo in the side of the head.

Nuevo went down, the world spinning around him. He rolled backward and sprang to his feet again only to see the man’s boot coming straight at his head. The attacker slammed him in the face, and down went Nuevo again.

He rolled away and staggered to his feet.

His assailant let out a low whistle. “Impressive. Either you’re quite sturdy or I’m losing my punch.”

Nuevo said nothing. He wasn’t in the mood to engage in verbal byplay with his assailant. Instead he brought his fists up, ready to defend himself, as the assailant circled him.

“Marine, I assume?” said the attacker.

He felt blood trickling from his nose and wiped his forearm across it. He wasn’t sure whether the result was anything other than smeared blood on his face, but he was hardly in a position to worry about it.

“You’ve done your duty,” the attacker said. He even sounded sympathetic. “There’s no need for me to knock you unconscious. For the last time, step aside.”

Nuevo finally spoke. “Surrender.”

“You can surrender if you wish. That’s acceptable, too.”

The man was within arm’s reach, and Nuevo sprang at him. The lieutenant had an entire series of moves planned; he knew that he was sufficiently close and his attacker would never be able to sidestep him.

His attacker sidestepped him.

Impossible! That was the thought that screamed through his mind. How the hell is this guy so fast?

Nevertheless the man had done so, and Nuevo—rather than slamming his attacker to the ground—sailed right past. As he did so, the attacker spun and swung a fist around, striking Nuevo in the head once again.

There was an explosion in Nuevo’s head from the force of the blow, and he hit the ground once more. He tried to stand and a foot struck him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He rolled onto his back and then his eyes widened.

His phaser was a foot away from him.

New energy ripped through him as Nuevo lunged for the phaser. His hand wrapped around the grip, and he swung around and fired blindly.

The attacker wasn’t there.

“What the hell?” Suddenly a hand came down from above him and twisted the phaser out of his grasp. He let out a howl of frustration and looked up to see the attacker aiming the phaser at him.

“Sorry.”

The phaser blast struck Nuevo, and the last thought that he had before he lapsed into unconsciousness was that he hoped the universe would still be here when he came around.

ii.

CALHOUN STARED DOWN at the lieutenant and then, having no idea why he did so, tossed off a salute. It was an ancient gesture that wasn’t part of Starfleet traditions, and yet he felt compelled to acknowledge his worthy foe.

“You did your duty,” said Calhoun, “and you tried your best. That’s all that anyone can ever ask of you.”

He picked up his own phaser and then dropped the man’s onto the ground. It was bad enough that he had defeated the man in single combat; he certainly didn’t have to take his weapon from him as well.

He hated to admit it, but he’d actually been glad to encounter resistance when he’d arrived on the Guardian’s world. He had spent months accomplishing exactly nothing, and so now was pleased to have the challenge of making his way to the Guardian through the armed guards. It had helped him brush up on his combat skills, and it was entirely likely that he was going to need them.

Slowly he strode toward the Guardian. It was sitting there, inactive. No lights were flickering along its craggy outer rim. No voice was booming from it. It just seemed like a large, dead machine.

This was it? This was the famed Guardian of Forever that stood as a gateway to time and space?

He knew that decades ago, the notorious Captain James T. Kirk had stood right where he was standing, confronting the relic for the first time without having the slightest idea of the thing’s capabilities. What had gone through Kirk’s mind at the time? Did he have any idea what he was facing? How could he have? The Guardian was unique in all creation.

“Hello?” he said cautiously.

Nothing.

“Hello!” He shouted it this time.

The Guardian replied, and its words caught Calhoun completely off guard.

“So. You have come.”

Calhoun blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry . . . I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I know all creatures. All time. All places. I am the Guardian of Forever, and such is among my abilities.”

“That’s . . . very impressive,” said Calhoun slowly. Then he gathered himself. “So if you know who I am . . . then you know what I want to do.”

“You wish to restore your people, the Xenexians, to life.”

“That is correct.”

“And what of the rest of your people?”

“I don’t understand. My people are all dead.”

“Your wife. Your crew. Your life. Are you uncaring of what happens to them?”

This was not remotely the way Calhoun had anticipated this conversation would go. He’d been positive of what he had to do; yet now the Guardian was talking to him about matters that he didn’t understand. “This isn’t about them. Nothing will happen to them.”

“You do not know that.”

“Yes, I do. My entire plan is to stop the D’myurj from killing my people. That’s all. It’s not going to impact anyone else.”

“You do not know that.”

Calhoun was starting to get impatient. “You’re right. I guess you’re right. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. So the only question I have is, are you going to help me? Yes or no?”

“I can help you if you wish. That is my nature, Mackenzie Calhoun. It is what I was created for. I can send you to whatever point you desire, and then it will be up to you to accomplish whatever you think you can.”

For a long moment, Calhoun said nothing. “You don’t think I should,” he said finally.

“It is not for me to think about such things. The decision must be yours, not mine.”

“Yes, it is,” said Calhoun. “And you can sit there and be the Guardian and know everything that was and maybe have insight into what’s going to be. But all I know is that I can’t stand the thought of being the last Xenexian.”

“You have a son.”

“Who hates me.” He waved it off. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re not really alive. You’re a machine. You can’t know what I’m going through. You can’t understand what I’m feeling. I was responsible for the death of my people. My shortsightedness, my inability to realize what the D’myurj would do, caused every single Xenexian to be murdered. I have to do something about it. Something. Anything. And you know what? I don’t care if I’m risking reality as I know it. I don’t care if the entirety of space and time is teetering on the edge. I need you to run my history back, and I need to jump in and make sure that my people are saved. That’s what I need you to do. Can you?”

The Guardian didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Until that moment, only lights along the outer edge of the Guardian had been flickering. They had begun the moment it started speaking. Now, though, the entire device flared to life. The Guardian’s core flared to life as well, and images were cascading across it. Calhoun stared at it and didn’t understand what he was seeing. “What is this?”

“It is the history of Xenex. That is the planet you wish to help, so that is the timeline I am showing you.”

Calhoun’s eyes widened in amazement. He realized he was standing there staring at moments in Xenex’s history that had become, in the retellings, the stuff of legends. The more he watched, the guiltier he felt. Because of his actions, all his proud race had accomplished ended. He needed to find a point in time that he could jump through to and . . .

Although . . .

Perhaps he was thinking too small. Within moments, he would see the point in his life where his father had died, thanks to his world’s conquerors. What if . . .

What if he saved his father?

He could do that. He could jump back to that point in time, save his father. He wouldn’t say who he was, but that wouldn’t matter. He had stood by helplessly as the Danteri had beaten his father to death in the public square. Now he could rescue him. Then he could organize a revolt and defeat the Danteri years before he had done so as a child.

With his father’s aid, he could build up the Xenexians’ military might to the point where no one—not even the D’myurj—would be capable of destroying them.

Granted, it would seem odd when young M’k’n’zy grew up into a spitting image of him, but he could certainly find a way around that.

And he could change his own future. Never join Starfleet. Remain with his people. And then . . .

Everyone would die.

His ingenuity had saved the Excalibur any number of times. Without him in command, would the crew be able to survive the numerous occasions when their lives were on the line?

Elizabeth, dead. Burgoyne, dead. All of them, dead.

But maybe they’d survive.

But maybe they wouldn’t.

Calhoun was frozen, uncertain of what to do. Perhaps he shouldn’t save his father. Perhaps he should wait until closer to the D’myurj unleashing their horrors upon the Xenexians. He could summon the Excalibur sooner . . .

Except he was already on the ship. How would he explain where he was, who he was? Could he cross his own timeline?

His mouth drew into a tight snarl. Grozit, what was wrong with him? Why was he second-guessing everything he wanted to do? This was nothing less than insane. He had to . . .

He needed to . . .

Time was spinning past. He stood there helplessly as he watched his father beaten to death. He watched his younger self’s agony; it was like having a spear shoved into his heart. Time sped forward. It seemed to be moving faster and faster, and his legs trembled as he prepared to throw himself into the Xenexian time stream, no longer caring where precisely he landed, but simply determined to drop into it somewhere so that he could intervene, make a difference, save their lives . . .

A hand clamped onto his shoulder.

He spun, certain that it was the lieutenant who had somehow come to long before he was supposed to. He cocked his fist, ready to let fly.

His fist remained cocked as he stared in utter astonishment.

“Hello, Mac,” said Mark McHenry.

Calhoun’s mouth dropped, his jaw slack, as he stared at the former conn officer of the Excalibur. McHenry had gone missing . . . what . . . two years earlier? Yet here he was now, looking no older than when he had disappeared, supposedly to wander the universe watching out for interdimensional threats. His face was as youthful as ever, and his shock of brown hair was hanging partly in his face. He brushed it out of his eyes offhandedly.

“Mark?” Calhoun’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yup. So . . . you planning to jump into the Guardian, huh?”

Calhoun nodded.

“Yeah. You don’t want to do that.”

Calhoun glanced from McHenry to the timeline that was still speeding past. “I don’t?”

“No. Because if you do that, everything dies. The ship. Bravo Station. You have no idea, Mac, what kind of space-time continuum hell your intervention would unleash.”

“And you do?” said Calhoun in a tone bordering on sarcastic.

“Yes,” McHenry said immediately. “Yes, I do.”

“Because your ancestor was a Greek god.”

“Because of a number of reasons,” said McHenry, “although admittedly that’s a good part of it, yeah.”

Suddenly Calhoun shoved McHenry’s hand away from him, and he sprinted straight toward the Guardian. Xenex’s history was speeding past, and it had almost arrived at the point where they were going to be obliterated.

He expected that McHenry would intervene. Simply reappear in front of him or perhaps transport him to somewhere else on the planet’s surface. But no, nothing. McHenry was remaining right where he was, and there was nothing to stop Calhoun from hurling himself into Xenex’s past and . . .

Killing everybody.

He ran right to the brink of the Guardian. One more step, that was all it was going to take.

He froze.

Standing on the edge of forever, Mackenzie Calhoun couldn’t force himself to take the final step. Instead he stood there, unmoving, watching as the D’myurj confronted the Xenexians.

He stood there frozen, unable to budge, as he watched the D’myurj vessels rain fire and death down upon his people. He wanted to react, but he had no emotions left. They had been burned from his body during the time he had spent on Xenex searching in futility for the survivors that he had been sure existed.

Slowly Calhoun sank to his knees, watching wide-eyed as images swept before his eyes. No. There were no survivors. The D’myurj were far too thorough. His fantasies that somehow some of the Xenexians had found somewhere to hide from detection, including Starfleet sensors, were blown to hell. The D’myurj systematically destroyed everyone. There was nowhere to hide from them.

He watched the end of the Xenexians, and the last image that he saw was himself on his homeworld, discovering the destruction that the D’myurj had rained down upon it.

The images ceased. The Guardian was silent for a time.

“Shall I begin again?” it finally asked.

Calhoun hung his head. He had nothing to say. He wanted to cry, but his tears had been long used up.

He heard footsteps nearby and glanced over to see McHenry standing there. Part of Calhoun had initially thought that perhaps he was imagining Mark’s presence the whole time. But no, he seemed quite real enough. “You made the right decision,” said McHenry.

“What the hell are you doing here, McHenry?” said Calhoun, feeling mentally exhausted. “Why aren’t you walking the universe, looking for trouble?”

“You were preparing to change that universe. I decided you needed my attention.”

“But you didn’t stop me.”

“You had to stop yourself. You’re the hero. What kind of hero would you be if you needed me to physically prevent you from doing something stupid?”

“I’m the hero?” It was all Calhoun could do not to laugh. Instead he chucked a thumb in the direction of the fallen marine. “Why don’t you ask that gentleman if I’m a hero? See what he says.”

“He’ll say you’re a man in pain who nevertheless didn’t lose any of your humanity. Obviously. Because he and all his men are alive. Believe me, there are plenty of men in your position who would not have hesitated to turn this into a kill-or-be-killed endeavor.”

Calhoun grunted at that. “So where does this leave me?” he asked. “We have no leads on the D’myurj at all. They seem to have gone silent in the intervening time, but I’m sure they’re still planning to do whatever the hell it is they’re going to do. The D’myurj who was impersonating Nechayev was destroyed. We have no idea where the real Nechayev is. Soleta was in mind-meld with the fake at the point when it died, and it put her into a coma. She’s currently lying on Bravo Station, still unconscious and, as near as we can tell, with no hope of waking up. So what would you suggest, Mark? I mean . . . you’re the godlike being here. You tell me. If I’m not going to save my people, if I’m going to deal with the situation at hand, then what the hell should I do?”

McHenry stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully. “Well, I’m really in no position to tell you what the D’myurj are up to. And I can’t bring you to Nechayev. Soleta, however . . . that I can do something about.”

Calhoun hadn’t been expecting any sort of useful answer from McHenry and was stunned by his offer. He looked up. “Wait, what? You can help with Soleta? Mark, it’s not as if we’ve been inactive in attempting to reach her. We’ve had expert, top Vulcan mind-melders come in and attempt to reach her. They’ve all come up empty.”

“Any of them have gods for ancestors?”

“No.”

“Okay, then.” He put out a hand and helped Calhoun to his feet. “So . . . Bravo Station, then?”

Calhoun looked skeptically at McHenry’s hand. “Are you planning to transport us there?”

“That was the plan, yes.”

“Forget it. A godlike creature is not shunting me around. I have the ship I came in about a kilometer from here. Why don’t we just take that?”

McHenry thought about it. “Can I shunt you over to the ship and we fly from there?”

“Why?”

“I like shunting. It’s convenient and saves on boot leather.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Calhoun actually chuckled. “Fine.” Then he glanced at the unconscious officer. “Let me just leave a note.”

iii.

NUEVO’S HEAD WAS hurting as he slowly opened his eyes. The recent events that he had endured spun through his head and automatically he reached out for his phaser. He was surprised to see that it was lying right next to him, and he grabbed it up, climbing to his feet so quickly that he almost toppled over. He swung the phaser around, looking for a target.

None presented itself.

Instead, to his surprise, words had been carved into the dirt next to him, obviously courtesy of a thin phaser beam.

It said, “YOU TALKED ME OUT OF GOING. WELL DONE.”

He stared at the message, unsure at first of what it meant. Then everything that he had endured flooded through him, and he remembered the man he had fought and had tried to stop from using the Guardian.

He had apparently succeeded.

His combadge went off. “Sir, this is Santiago! I just came to! And we have an incoming message about a Mackenzie Calhoun! They suspect he was coming here, and I’m pretty damn sure that’s who knocked me out.”

Moments later his other men were also reporting in, demanding to know if he was okay and what had just happened.

“This is Nuevo,” he said briskly. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

Bravo Station

i.

SHELBY’S OPTIMISM NEVER wavered.

As she did every day, the admiral strode into the room where Soleta was laid out. For several weeks she had remained in the sickbay, but eventually the doctors there had informed Shelby that there was nothing more to be done for her. She remembered standing there hopefully as a succession of the Federation’s best minds attempted to extract Soleta from what Shelby had come to think of as her hibernation. Every single one had been unsuccessful.

Soleta had simply lain there, unresponsive to every attempt to bring her out of her coma.

Shelby had not been present in San Francisco when the accident had originally happened, although “accident” was too general a word. In a confrontation against one of the D’myurj—who had been disguised as Admiral Nechayev—Soleta had been Calhoun’s secret weapon. In a rare instance of using the Vulcan mind-meld as a weapon, Soleta had shoved her mind squarely into Nechayev’s in an attempt to shut her down. Her success had been more absolute than anyone could have predicted, and Nechayev had effectively melted down in the middle of the square outside Starfleet Headquarters. But the meld had had an impact on Soleta, causing her to fall into a coma, her skin turning so yellow that, had she been human, she would have been diagnosed with kidney failure.

At first she had been brought to the Excalibur for care, but the ship wasn’t designed for long-term patient care. The sickbay was to aid the injured, not for a patient who seemed disinclined to come around, though her skin had eventually returned to its normal color. But no one wanted to transfer Soleta to a Federation hospital. It was a faraway and remote option, plus she would be surrounded by strangers.

It had been Shelby who had recommended that Soleta be transferred to Bravo Station. Soleta had remained in sickbay for a month before the doctors had suggested she be provided private quarters with nursing care. The admiral had been glad to do so.

Aside from a couple of planetscapes hanging on the wall, and a small table and chair next to the bed, there were no furnishings in the room. It wasn’t as if Soleta required anything, and yet Shelby felt as if something was lacking. As she stood for a while in the room, the admiral reminded herself—not for the first time—to look into acquiring something, anything else. Maybe lending it some normalcy might somehow help Soleta recover . . . or not.

She walked over to Soleta and sat down next to her. She reached over and took Soleta’s hand, interlacing her fingers. “So . . . been an exciting few days for me,” she said conversationally. For a time she had wondered whether Soleta was capable of hearing her, but Shelby had stopped caring. She spoke as much for herself as she did for her Romulan-Vulcan friend. “I went to Xenex. Found Mac. Tried to talk him into leaving. Then we had sex and that was incredible. I’ll tell you this, Soleta, whatever disagreements I may have had with him over the years, the sex was never among them. And then I fell asleep, which is what I always do when I’ve had sex after being chaste for a long time. And when I woke up, poof. He was gone.

“You ever have a man in your life who would do that to you, Soleta? Some man you were totally nuts about and when you were your most vulnerable, he would just up and leave you? Because I’m telling you, I really hated him when he did that. I really did. You just put yourself out there for someone, and he makes love to you and then takes off. What sort of man does that? What do you call a man like that?” She paused and then sighed heavily. “My husband. That’s what I call a man like that.”

She squeezed Soleta’s hand. No response. That figured.

“I want you to know,” she continued, as if Soleta had responded to her, “that you have a home here for however long you need it. You’ll probably outlive me, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve already spoken with Starfleet, and whoever comes here after me will attend to you. Which is not to say that you’ll never come back to normal. I’m positive you will. But in case you don’t . . .”

Her voice trailed off, and she sighed heavily. “I am totally screwing this up. You’d think, after all this time, I’d be able to speak with you without saying stupid things. Perhaps you should have stayed on the Excalibur. I felt we had superior medical facilities here, and we could be of more help to you, but we’ve come up empty. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so many things.”

Her combadge beeped. “This’ll just take a moment,” she said, and tapped it. “Shelby.”

“Admiral, Cambria in receiving. We’ve had a ship land that I think you’re going to want to meet.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s your husband.”

The response was so unexpected that it took her mind a few moments to process it. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s Captain Calhoun.”

“Are you sure?” She mentally kicked herself for her incredulity. “I mean, has it landed yet?”

“Just settled into docking bay two, Admiral.”

“All right, hold them down there. I’m coming.”

“Or we could come up.”

Shelby jumped back and shrieked, which she belatedly realized was not remotely how a Starfleet admiral should react to an unexpected situation. Yet that was how she had responded to Mark McHenry, who had appeared literally out of nowhere with a somewhat-startled Mackenzie Calhoun standing next to him. Calhoun swayed slightly on his feet before recovering. “You really need to stop doing that,” he said to McHenry before turning to face Shelby. “Eppy. Looking good.”

She was unable to restrain herself. She strode forward and slapped him as hard as she could across the cheek.

Truthfully, she was surprised she’d struck him. She’d assumed that Calhoun would be able to snap his head out of the way before contact was made. Instead he simply stood there as her hand struck his cheek, and the resulting slap was so loud that it was almost as if a brief discharge of thunder had gone off.

He simply stood there, absorbing the impact. Then he said calmly, “Feel better?”

She didn’t. Impossible as it was to believe, she’d actually managed to hurt her hand. How that could be, she couldn’t even begin to wrap her mind around. Her urge was to shake out her hand in order to rid herself of the pain, but she didn’t want to show that she’d injured herself. “Yes,” she said, and then in addition punched him in the shoulder. That was even worse; it was like punching a rock. “You ran out on me.”

“I had somewhere to go.”

“And you had to go there without me?”

“I was going to the Guardian of Forever in order to change time.”

Her face paled. “I knew it! I warned them you’d be coming! I knew that’s what you were going to do! You can’t do that!”

“Beginning to understand why I left you behind? Calm down,” he continued before she could say anything. “I didn’t do it.”

Shelby let out a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good to hear, that you came to your senses.” Then she understood and turned to McHenry. “He didn’t come to his senses. You stopped him.”

“It was kind of a mixture,” said McHenry.

She stared at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I understand you have someone in a coma. I’m thinking I can help you with that.”

For the first time in weeks Shelby felt hope. “Are you serious? Is he serious?” she asked Calhoun.

“He certainly seems to be. With your permission, of course.”

She was about to tell McHenry to get immediately to it, but then she stopped and stared at him. “Why now?”

“Why now what?”

“Why did you show up now? She’s been lying here for months. You could have come at any time.”

McHenry shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “Because, honestly, Admiral, I live on a much bigger scale than you do. I didn’t get pulled into this because of Soleta. I got pulled into it because of him.” He nodded toward Calhoun. “I had to stop him from crashing the entirety of, you know, reality. And he needs something to keep him busy. So I figured that bringing Soleta back to the real world would be a way of keeping his mind off the prospect of doing something monumentally stupid. Understand now?”

“I guess,” she said, although she still sounded suspicious. Then she shook it off. “Okay, fine. So go to it. Bring her back to us.”

“Fine.” McHenry walked toward Soleta and sat on the edge of her bed. “Man,” he sighed, “she’s been through so much since I first met her. We went to Starfleet Academy together. I didn’t know she was part Romulan back then. Nobody did. All I knew was that she was going to be a great science officer. No one could have guessed the direction her career would take.”

“I’ve seen Starfleet make some monumentally stupid decisions,” said Calhoun, “but their forcing her out because she lied on her application has to be one of the most idiotic. They were convinced she was a spy.”

“They forced her out, and she became a spy as a result. That was good thinking,” said McHenry. He put two fingers to her temple. “Okay,” he said softly. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“Have you ever done anything like this?” asked Shelby.

“Never had to.”

“Do you know you can?”

“No.” He smiled raggedly. “Exciting, isn’t it.”

ii.

NECHAYEV PUSHES BACK with her mind, and Soleta meets the challenge, and their consciousnesses collide. Soleta is on the verge of destruction, just that quickly, just that easily, and she focuses all her will, all her essence, her ego, her id, everything, into one great vicious destructive spear and she drives it forward with as much force as she can. As she commits this incredible act of determination, she wonders why she has done this, why she has, time and again, risked herself to serve, whenever possible, an organization that tossed her away, that treated her so very, very badly, and it is at that moment that she is struck with the thoroughly astounding realization that she is totally, madly, and completely in love with Mackenzie Calhoun. She has just enough time to think, Well, of course you are, how could it be anything else? You should have realized that ages ago, and that is when everything goes black . . .

Nechayev pushes back with her mind, and Soleta meets the challenge, and their consciousnesses collide, and—

“Soleta.”

. . . how could it be anything else but that, you should have realized that ages ago, and that is when everything goes . . .

“Soleta.”

. . . meets the challenge, and their—

“Soleta!”

. . . when everything goes . . .

“Soleta! It’s over!”

And Soleta stops and looks around, she’s standing in San Francisco with the towering edifice of Starfleet Headquarters gazing down at her. Nechayev is standing there facing her, her hands in combat position . . .

“She’s gone. Nechayev is gone. It was all over months ago.”

She knows that voice. It is so familiar to her, where does she know that voice from . . . ?

“McHenry?” She is astounded. It cannot be McHenry. Mark is gone.

No.

He is there. He is standing in the fountain, near the outer edge, and water is cascading around him but he is not getting wet because, wait, is there a fountain near Starfleet Headquarters, she does not think so, but what is it doing there—

“Soleta, can you hear me? It’s me. Right here.” He waves to her, and it seems such a casual, ordinary thing that McHenry is standing there and waving, but that is impossible, what is he doing here, he was never there before, how could it be that—

“I know it doesn’t seem possible,” he says as if reading her mind, and he is walking toward her, hands outstretched, this must be an illusion, or a trick of Nechayev’s. That’s it, it’s a trick. “No, it’s not a trick.” He is in her mind. “Yes, I’m in your mind and so are you, you’re no longer in San Francisco, you’re in a room in Bravo Station, and Captain Calhoun and Admiral Shelby are with me and hoping that I’m going to be able to pull you back.”

What is he saying? This is impossible, he can’t be here, he’s off roaming the galaxy. “I came back, Soleta, I came back to help you, well actually, to be truthful, I came back to help Mac, and bringing you back into the world is the way that I’m going to help you. I need you to take my hand now.”

Others have tried to approach you and told you similar nonsense, they are all tricks of Nechayev’s mind, they are all trying to convince you to break off your fight with her—

“There’s no more fight. You don’t have to break off anything. You won. This is what happened to her. Look.”

She is afraid to turn around.

“Oh for god’s sake, Soleta, would you turn around and just look?” McHenry has stopped walking and is just standing there with that somewhat-distracted expression and that vaguely annoyed tone of voice typical of McHenry. Soleta gulps deeply, turns, and looks, and she cannot believe it. Nechayev is melting away, there is nothing but a puddle of flesh and liquid bones, she is astounded. “Of course you are. You didn’t see this. You were unconscious, and you have been since that day. You’ve been reliving it over and over again, you’re stuck in a loop, but it’s time to come out of it now, okay?”

She stares at him uncomprehendingly and very tentatively asks, “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Of course I’m sure. You won, Soleta.” He extends a hand to her once more. “Come on out and take your bow.”

For one final moment Soleta is sure that this must be some kind of trick, but the more she stares at McHenry, the more she becomes convinced that this is him, her old friend, that he is there to rescue her. It would explain this odd feeling of déjà vu she’s been having. She considers the notion that Calhoun and Shelby are waiting for her to come out of this whatever-she’s-in, and for an instant she thinks about her realization of her feelings toward Calhoun, and she is deathly embarrassed, because she doesn’t want Calhoun to know, and she sure as hell does not want Shelby to know. Fortunately no one knows except her and oh my . . .

“They’ll never hear it from me,” says McHenry, “I swear.”

His hand is right in front of her, and she reaches out for it . . .

iii.

SOLETA CRIED OUT so abruptly that Shelby jumped back and collided with Calhoun.

Soleta pulled instinctively away from McHenry and rolled off the far side of the bed. It was obviously her intention to strike some manner of defensive pose, but that was gone the moment her feet hit the deck; her legs, which hadn’t been used in months, promptly gave way. Having exactly zero muscle control, Soleta had one choice and that was for her legs to collapse beneath her as she fell straight down and hit the deck quite loudly.

“Grozit! Help her up!” Calhoun said immediately, even as he ran to obey his own command. It was uncertain whom he was ordering at that moment: Shelby outranked him, and McHenry was no longer Starfleet. That didn’t deter any of them from bolting around the bed and hauling Soleta back up onto the mattress.

Soleta was looking around in total confusion. “Where’s Nechayev?” she gasped out.

“The one you fought is dead,” Calhoun told her.

“Yes. Right. Of course. McHenry told me that.”

Calhoun stared at McHenry in confusion. He was a bit unclear on what the hell had just happened. McHenry had only pressed his fingers against her forehead five, ten seconds ago. Calhoun had been sure that a meld with someone whom so many others had tried to revive would take quite a while. In no time at all, Mark had brought Soleta back to the land of the living. It seemed unlikely, and yet that was what had happened.

McHenry offered no explanation. “She was responsive. I’m sure Soleta was ready to come out on her own.”

“Well, that’s good,” Calhoun said uncertainly.

“Why can’t I stand?” Soleta demanded. She tried to slide off the bed once more, but this time the moment her legs started to give way, she allowed Shelby and Calhoun to place her back on the bed. “What’s wrong with my legs?”

“You’ve been off them for several months,” Shelby told her.

“Months?” It was her nature to endeavor to emulate her Vulcan upbringing and sound as dispassionate as possible, but she was unable to hide her incredulity. “How many?”

“Close to three,” said Calhoun.

She shifted her gaze to McHenry, who was standing several feet away now. “You brought me back. I’m starting to remember now. You entered my mind.”

“I did,” he said, sounding almost convivial.

“I was unaware you had that sort of power.”

“So was I. I guess we were both surprised.”

Soleta stared at him dubiously, obviously uncertain of whether to take his words at face value. However, she decided not to press the matter. She turned her gaze to Calhoun and blinked in confusion. “Captain,” she said uncertainly, “you look ghastly.”

“I haven’t showered in a while.”

“Or shaved,” she added, looking at the copious beard.

“Yes, well . . . I’m hoping to take advantage of the facilities at Bravo Station to attend to that. Soleta, I need to bring you up to date.”

Somehow she had a sense of what he was going to say. “What did the D’myurj do?”

“They sent in the Brethren,” Calhoun said, referring to the armored warriors who worked closely with the D’myurj. “They sent them to Xenex. They obliterated everyone. Everyone.”

Soleta managed to keep a deadpan expression. “Everyone?”

“The Xenexians are gone,” said Shelby. “All of them except Mac and Xyon.”

“Not exactly a breeding pair,” said Soleta matter-of-factly. “Have you considered going to the Guardian of Forever and traveling back in time to stop them?”

The three of them exchanged looks, and then Calhoun cleared his throat. “That option was considered and dismissed,” he said in a tone of voice that convinced Soleta there was far more to the story than he was ready to admit just then.

“Probably better that way,” she said judiciously, and then licked her lips. “I am desperately thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water,” said Shelby.

“Ale,” Soleta said. “Romulan ale.”

Shelby and Calhoun glanced at each other. “You know that’s illegal?” said Shelby.

“I just came out of a three-month coma. I am not impaired. Someone on this station has Romulan ale. I need some to set my head straight.”

Shelby looked as if she was still ready to argue the point, but Calhoun put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s find her some ale,” he said.

The admiral shrugged. “Fine. We’ll be right back. McHenry, please keep an eye on her.”

“Yes, Admiral,” McHenry said readily.

“Admiral,” Soleta said. Shelby turned and stared at her expectantly. “I was just curious: In my time here, did anyone come to visit me?”

“Yes, you had visitors from time to time. Burgoyne came by.”

“Anyone else?”

“Xyon.”

“Xyon?” Both Soleta and Calhoun echoed the name, and it was Mac who continued, “My son, Xyon?”

“Yes. He came by and stayed for a couple of hours, talking with you. He told you about Xenex. I think it made him feel better.”

“How odd,” said Soleta. “I would not have expected . . .” Her voice trailed off, and then she shrugged. “Thank you.”

Calhoun and Shelby walked out, leaving the two of them alone.

“You don’t really want ale,” McHenry said.

“I could not care less. I simply wanted a few moments alone with you.” She composed herself, eliminating any trace of emotion that might have been visible on her face. “First, I wish to thank you. And second, I would prefer if you ignored any stray thoughts you may have stumbled over about—”

“That you’re in love with the captain?”

Her face actually flushed greener than it had been before. “Yes. That. Those were obviously the delusionary thoughts of a troubled brain. They should not be attended to.” She cleared her throat, her voice sounding raspy. “I was . . . obviously not in my right mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am sure. I am not—geared, I believe you would say—to be in love with anyone, much less Captain Calhoun. Love is not an emotion that I would readily embrace.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

It was such an odd thing for McHenry to say that she stared at him in mild confusion. “Why is it a shame?”

“Because I love you,” McHenry said gently.

Her mouth opened and closed without any words emerging. “What?” she finally managed to say.

“I’ve been in love with you since the Academy,” McHenry told her. “I may have been in love with you since I first saw you. At the time I thought you were a Vulcan and figured that I’d have no chance with you. But things have changed since then—you’re half Romulan, I’m half god—so I figure you never know what’s going to happen. You know, if you ever change your mind and decide you’re available, and you can get past your hopeless crush on Mac, well . . . get in touch. By, you know, thinking really hard. Maybe we could get together or something.”

Soleta had absolutely no idea how to respond to him, and at that moment Calhoun and Shelby walked back in with a bottle of Romulan ale. “Do not ever ask where we got this,” said Shelby, handing her the bottle and a glass.

Soleta put the glass on the table, the bottle to her lips, and immediately drank down a third of the bottle in a matter of seconds. Calhoun let out a low whistle while Shelby gasped. McHenry just stood there and smiled. Soleta wiped her arm across her lips and then settled back in bed, letting out a contented sigh. “That helped,” she said in a low voice.

“May I point out that you could not pick a worse time to drink yourself into a coma?” said Shelby.

“I’ll be fine,” said Soleta, who then burped quite loudly. She did not bother to apologize for the impolite sound; she obviously had other things on her mind.

“Soleta . . . this may be too soon . . . you may need to concentrate and sort through what happened . . . but I need to ask you—”

She cut him off with a succinct, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I remember everything,” said Soleta, “up to and including where the D’myurj are hiding.”

iv.

SOME TIME HAD passed.

Shelby had insisted on getting some solid food into Soleta before she settled in to discuss what she remembered. She also attempted to walk a few more times and did nothing to hide her frustration over the fact that her legs still seemed useless.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shelby said. “Help is on the way.”

Soleta was having a light dinner when Doctor Ortensio knocked and entered her quarters. The older man greeted the three people in the room cordially, although he stared in confusion at McHenry, uncertain of where he had come from and what he had to do with anything. Ortensio had thinning red hair and was so slender that he looked as if he’d been starved in a camp somewhere. But he seemed healthy enough, which is of course all anyone really wants to see in a doctor.

The doctor was carrying an array of interconnected metal circles under his arms. Soleta recognized them immediately. “Exo-legs,” she said.

“That is correct,” said Ortensio. “These will enable you to walk, and they will simultaneously stimulate the muscles as they do so. You’ll be able to remove them within a week or two, although truthfully I’ve never worked on Romulan muscles before, so I couldn’t say for sure.”

Soleta immediately tossed back the sheet on her bed, exposing her bare legs. “Strap them on,” she said.

He approached her and proceeded to do as she had requested. As he did so, Calhoun said, “I don’t want to be pushy . . .”

“Pushy? You have been exceedingly patient,” Soleta said. It seemed as if she was no longer looking at him, or indeed at any of them. Instead she was gazing inward, and when she next spoke her voice was so soft that they had to strain to hear her. “When I penetrated Nechayev’s mind, it caught her so off guard that she was unable to prevent me from perceiving major aspects of her existence. Understand, by the way, that I am using terms such as ‘Nechayev’ and ‘her’ simply for your reference. She does not have a gender that we would understand. None of the D’myurj do.”

“All the ones we’ve encountered so far have seemed male to me,” said Calhoun.

“They are not. They are a unigender. Neither male nor female. I would not even attempt to speculate how exactly they would reproduce. If I had explored the aspect in more detail at the time, I would doubtless be able to answer the question, but . . .” She shrugged.

“We don’t need to know that,” said Calhoun. “We have to know where they are and how to stop them.”

“What are the coordinates of their homeworld?” asked Shelby.

“They do not have a homeworld.”

“You mean they’re a vagabond race? Wanderers? That would seem to make sense,” said Calhoun.

Soleta was shaking her head. “No. I was unclear. They do not have a homeworld in this dimension. The D’myurj’s point of origin is in what we would refer to as a pocket universe.”

Ortensio had just finished strapping on the exoskeleton to her right leg, but he stopped before starting on the left. “Excuse me? A what?”

Soleta paused, trying to come up with the best way to explain it. “The universe is not a universe. It never has been. It is a multiverse. A series of universes aligned with each other, but separated from each other because of internal vibrations, each one unique to each universe. All the universes are different from one another, some in small ways, others in major ones. We have even encountered alternate universe versions of our own.”

“Indeed we have,” said Calhoun.

“Let us ignore the definitions first conceived by Alan Guth. A pocket universe,” Soleta continued, “is a sort of world within a world. It is not an entire dimension, but rather it exists between dimensions. As if the universe were a pair of trousers, and the universe is fitted within a pocket of that dimension.”

“How are they getting between the pocket universe and ours?” said Soleta.

“A wormhole. Typically a wormhole serves as a bridge between two places in a universe, but in this case the wormhole is a passage between their universe and ours.”

“Wormholes aren’t generally stable,” said McHenry.

“This one is. I am unclear on whether it is naturally occurring or if the D’myurj constructed it. In either event, that is how they pass between their world and ours. I also believe that time passes differently between the two. Their disappearance, for several months, might be substantially less on their world. It is on that world that they are holding the real Nechayev, plus anyone else they may have kidnapped.”

“So that’s perfect, then,” said Calhoun. “The Excalibur goes through the wormhole and retrieves whoever the D’myurj have kidnapped. And, with any luck, renders them helpless to continue to attack us.”

“There is a problem,” said Soleta.

“Of course there is.” Shelby said, with a sigh, “What would that be?”

“The wormhole is in the heart of Sector 221-G.”

“Perfect,” said Shelby.

Ortensio was completing the attachment of the other exoskeleton but once again stopped. “What is the problem with Sector 221-G?”

“It’s more colloquially known as Thallonian space,” said Calhoun. “The Excalibur has had its share of dust-ups with Thallonian personnel. Not to mention the fact that the son of their murdered ruler is an infant on board the Excalibur. They would like nothing more than to get their hands on him and make him a prisoner on their world. So that they can raise him to rule them in the same way that those currently running things do.”

“A puppet ruler, in other words,” said Ortensio as he activated the exoskeleton.

“Not other words,” said Shelby. “Those are exactly the words.”

“Sounds like you have a bit of a problem.” He stepped back. “All right. Stand up.”

Cautiously, having no desire to take another spill, Soleta slid off the bed and slowly stood up. She wavered at first, almost losing her balance, but then managed to recover. She took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then walked forward one step at a time. She did so without effort. “It appears to work. My thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” said Ortensio. Then he glanced at the others in the room. “You know, I’m aware that I’m an outsider in all this, but it seems to me that you have a bit of a challenge ahead of you.”

“I believe that you’re right,” said Shelby.

v.

THAT NIGHT, CALHOUN looked into the mirror of Shelby’s quarters and ran his hand across his now-smooth chin. Then he checked the length of his hair, which had been restored to Starfleet standard. “Your barber did a good job,” he said.

Shelby emerged from the head, having just finished brushing her teeth. She was wearing a bathrobe and pajamas. “So I guess you assume you’re sleeping here,” she said.

“I did, yes. But I can go elsewhere if you wish.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Making love to me on Xenex and then taking off and leaving me there. How could you?”

“I felt I had something to do.”

“Right. Leap into the Guardian and risk changing the entirety of the universe. Tell me, Mac, did you give any thought to us? To what your interference with history could do to us? Did you consider the possibility that you could wipe us out of existence?”

“Yes. That’s why I didn’t go through with it. Do you understand now, Elizabeth? I put you above my entire race.”

Shelby stood there, staring at him. She had no idea how to react. “Really?” she said very softly.

“Yes. Granted, McHenry showed up. He made me think long and hard about what I was doing. But when it came down to it, Eppy, all I saw in my head was you. I could have tried to save Xenex, or I could make sure that nothing would happen to you. You meant more to me than Xenex. All right?”

Slowly she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay. Was the message sent off to the Excalibur?”

“Uhm . . . yes. Yes. They should receive it in about twenty-seven hours and then, with any luck, they’ll be on their way here.”

“Good.” He looked left and right and then said, “You know . . . you’re probably right. What I did to you on Xenex was not how a husband behaves with his wife, and I should really be sleeping elsewhere while I’m here on Bravo Station. If you could just point me to some other quarters.”

“Absolutely. There are actually guest quarters right next door.”

“Okay. Well . . . good night. He turned his back to her and headed for the door. His steps were slow and heavy; he felt as if he weighed four hundred pounds. He stopped at the door and turned toward Shelby. “I just want you to know . . .”

She was standing there naked, with her pajamas and bathrobe on the floor.

“Yes?” she said.

They stopped talking.

Excalibur

i.

BURGOYNE COULD NOT remember an occasion when s/he was happier to be awakened than s/he was right now. And this was despite the fact that s/he hadn’t been sleeping particularly well or deeply for several months.

“He’s on Bravo. They’re sure,” s/he said into hir combadge. S/he was rubbing the sleep from hir eyes and had already turned on the light in hir quarters. They were the same quarters s/he had always used. Technically s/he could have relocated hirself to Calhoun’s quarters, since s/he had taken command of the Excalibur in his absence, but s/he preferred to stay in hir own quarters.

Zak Kebron’s voice came back over the speaker. “Well, it’s from his wife, so I’d think she would know. He’s going to be waiting for us on Bravo.”

Burgy let out a sigh of deepest relief. “I’ll be right there,” s/he said.

The truth was that s/he should have been there already. Hir shift had begun twenty minutes ago. But thanks to yet another lousy night of sleep, s/he had wound up oversleeping right through hir alarm.

S/he showered and dressed as quickly as s/he could. Then s/he extracted a newly brewed cup of coffee from the replicator over in the far corner of hir quarters. S/he didn’t bother with anything else for breakfast; Hermats had very little need for morning sustenance.

S/he strode out into the corridor and tossed off quick hellos to other crew members s/he passed. Normally s/he was friendlier, even convivial. Not this morning; this morning hir focus was entirely on the transmission they had received.

What in the world was Calhoun doing on Bravo Station? To the best of Burgoyne’s knowledge, he’d been on Xenex, having embarked on a hopeless search of his homeworld for any Xenexians who might have survived. Burgy had known going in it was simply the excuse that Calhoun had felt the need to provide. S/he knew all too well that Calhoun blamed himself for the terrible fate that had befallen his people, and needed some time alone to come to terms with it.

As weeks had turned into months, Burgoyne had become seriously worried that Calhoun’s departure might be permanent. If that was the case, then what was Burgy supposed to do? Take command of the vessel? That decision would ultimately be up to Starfleet. S/he had the rank, enough experience. But s/he hadn’t been able to decide if becoming the captain of a starship was something s/he wanted. Truthfully, there were days when Burgoyne 172 would fondly remember hir days as the chief of engineering as being preferable. Part of hir now wished that s/he had never taken up Calhoun on his offer of becoming his first officer. If s/he had known that Calhoun would then vanish, feeling the need to spend months in a futile search, s/he very likely would not have accepted the promotion.

Is that normal? I thought everyone in Starfleet is always looking for ways of climbing up the ladder of command. Here I’m doing exactly that and all I can think of is, “Why am I on the ladder at all?”

S/he stepped onto the turbolift and was surprised to see that Robin Lefler was in it. “Bridge.” Lefler was rubbing her eyes and smiled graciously at Burgoyne. “Rough night?” asked Burgoyne as the doors slid closed and the turbolift began to rise.

“Cwansi kept waking up. I hope he’s not coming down with something.”

“Was he sneezing? Coughing? Feverish?” When she shook her head, Burgoyne continued, “Then I’m sure he’s fine. He’s in daycare?”

“Yes.”

“They’ll summon you if any symptoms pop up.”

“I’m sure they will, Captain.”

Burgy’s face darkened. “Damn it, Robin . . .”

“Sorry. Commander. Sorry,” Robin said quickly.

Burgy rolled hir eyes. “I wish people would stop calling me that.” Then s/he looked at Lefler. “What?”

“Permission to speak freely.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, of course you can speak freely. I’m still me. I’m still Burgoyne.”

“That’s the problem, you’re not,” Lefler told hir. “You’re the captain of this vessel, whether you are willing to accept that or not. So you shouldn’t—and I say this with all possible respect—you shouldn’t take people’s heads off if they slip up and call you that.”

“Our captain is on Bravo Station and is ready to resume his duties.”

Lefler’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Definitely. We’re going to head off and get him right now.”

“Well, that’s . . . that’s wonderful news. You must be relieved.”

“You cannot imagine.”

The turbolift slid to a halt, and the doors opened. Burgoyne strode out, and Zak Kebron called from his station, “Captain on the bridge.”

There was a startled gasp from everyone else on the bridge as Burgy’s head snapped around and s/he stared furiously at Kebron. But the oversized Brikar simply said, “I figured this was my last opportunity to say it.”

For an instant Burgoyne considered the option of laying into Kebron for addressing hir by the one title that s/he despised. But then, in a response that was surprising even to Burgy hirself, s/he laughed. As s/he did so, the rest of the crew immediately relaxed. “I suppose it is,” s/he said. Then she turned to the science officer. “Xy?”

“Commander,” Xy said immediately, standing up behind the science station.

“I hope you’ve finished your survey of Aurelius IV.” S/he nodded toward the planet that was on the viewscreen, rotating beneath them.

“I have. There are some additional geologic follow-ups that I could do, but they are of no immediate importance. They can certainly wait.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Lieutenant Tobias . . .”

Tania Tobias, at the flight control station, turned to hir. “Yes, Commander?”

“Plot us a course for Bravo Station. Let’s go retrieve the captain.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tobias, happy to implement the order. “Course plotted and laid in.”

Burgoyne started to settle into the command chair, but then caught hirself. Instead s/he stepped aside and took hir place in the first officer’s chair. Everyone on the bridge noticed and, as one, they smiled. All of them were well aware of how difficult the past months had been for Burgy, and were aware that s/he had sat in the command chair only because it was expected. With the prospect of Calhoun returning, however, s/he was clearly happy to reassume hir role of first officer. In fact, clearly s/he couldn’t wait for it.

“Prepare to take us out. Warp factor five.”

“Aye, Commander. Warp factor fi—”

“Commander,” Lefler interrupted, and there was concern in her voice. “We’re being approached by a vessel. Coming in very quickly.”

Naturally this was enough to concern Burgoyne. “Weapons hot?” s/he asked. “Is it in attack mode?”

“No, Commander. But it definitely wants our attention.”

“Well, it’s got it.”

And then Kebron spoke up. “I know this ship. It’s Xyon.”

“Xyon? Captain Calhoun’s son?”

“Unless someone has stolen his ship, yes.” He glanced at his instruments. “And now I’m getting an incoming hail.”

“Put it on-screen,” said Burgoyne.

The viewscreen flickered for a moment, and then Xyon’s face appeared. Burgoyne hadn’t had any idea of what to expect. It was impossible to predict Xyon. He had acted heroically on many an occasion, but he had also nearly started a war when he kidnapped Kalinda—the sister of the late Si Cwan—on her wedding day. And from what Burgy understood, his last departure from his father had been under less than auspicious conditions. He had blamed Calhoun for the death of the Xenexians and had sworn revenge.

Then again . . . hadn’t Calhoun blamed himself as well? Like father, like son.

Yet Xyon did not seem especially threatening at the moment. His hair was still blond and even longer than it had been before. Did he never get it cut? “Hello, Burgy,” he said conversationally, as if they had randomly run into each other at a restaurant. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has,” Burgy said cautiously. “How did you know we were here?”

“Your orders from Starfleet sent you here. If one knows where to look in the Starfleet computer system, it isn’t that difficult to find.”

“I’m sure Starfleet will be thrilled to know you have access to their database. If you’re looking for your father, he’s not here.”

“Actually, I’m not. I’m looking for Kalinda. I wanted to come aboard and speak to her.”

“You can speak to her from there,” said Tobias, and then immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she muttered between her fingers.

“Why do you need to come aboard?” asked Burgoyne.

“Because it’s better to talk to someone in person than over a communications device. I swear, Burgy, I have no ulterior motive. Five minutes of her time, that’s all I want.”

“We’ll discuss it,” said Burgoyne.

“Good,” said Xyon, and his image vanished from the viewscreen.

Tania Tobias turned and stared with incredulity at Burgy. “We’ll discuss it? Why are we going to do that?”

“Because it’s not my decision to make. It’s Kalinda’s.”

“No, it’s yours.”

Burgy ignored her and instead tapped hir combadge. “Kalinda, this is Burgoyne. We have a bit of a situation.”

“Yes, Commander?” Her voice, ethereal as always, floated over the badge.

“Xyon is here, and he wants to speak with you in person for five minutes. What are your feelings on that?”

There was the briefest of pauses, and then she said, “I would like that very much.”

Tobias made an irritated noise that Burgy chose to ignore. “Are you in your quarters?”

“Yes.”

“Wait there. We’ll bring him down. And a guard will remain outside your door.” S/he clicked off the communications device and said, “Beam Xyon into the main transporter room, and have a security squad escort him down. The moment he’s aboard, I want all shields up so that he can’t beam out without our say-so. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Commander,” said Kebron.

“Kebron, five minutes. I want the timer started the second that he’s alone with Kalinda. Also make sure to scan him to be certain that he doesn’t have any explosive devices with him.”

“Do you seriously believe he might try to kill Kalinda?”

“Seriously? I believe anything,” said Burgoyne. “I like to think that’s why I’m still alive.”

ii.

KALINDA SAT ON the edge of the bed in her quarters . . . well, their quarters, technically. Tania’s and hers. Tania had invited her to move in and Kalinda had happily accepted her generosity.

She had not seen, or even sensed, her brother, Si Cwan, in quite some time. In fact, she had not sensed any dead spirits in a while. Kalinda wasn’t entirely sure if she should feel relieved or not. She wanted to take it as a sign that her soul had somehow evolved so that she was more readily prepared to live her life in the real world. On the other hand, knowing that Cwan was there, watching out for her, watching over her . . . she had drawn genuine peace from that. It was comforting to have proof positive that there was more to this existence than that which readily presented itself. Certainly, she had faced the prospect of death a number of times in her relatively short life. Kalinda found it reassuring to know that, if she did indeed die, there was something else waiting for her, and her beloved brother would certainly be the first one to greet her.

This was not a mindset that wore especially well with Tania. She disliked the prospect of death to the point where, if someone even brought it up casually, Tania would do everything she could to change the subject and shut down the discussion, including simply getting up and walking away. Kalinda had quickly learned to keep her opinions about death to herself.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

The door slid open. She had a clear view of two security officers standing on either side of Xyon. He didn’t seem bothered by their presence at all. He nodded to them as if bidding good-bye to old friends and then stepped in. The doors hissed shut behind him.

He strolled around the perimeter of the room, taking care to come no closer to Kalinda than he already was. “Hello, Kally.”

“Hello, Xyon.”

“It’s good to see you. You’re looking well. Actually, you’re looking fantastic. I love the dress.”

She was wearing a simple white shift that she had brought with her from New Thallon. Still, the material was quite different, iridescent in the cabin’s light. “Thank you. You also look well, although I think your hair is a bit too long.”

“Yes, well . . .” He laughed offhandedly. “I probably could use a trim.”

“So”—she clapped her hands on her thighs—“what can I do for you?”

He stopped by her dresser and leaned against it. “You heard what happened to Xenex, I assume?”

“Yes.” Lowering her voice, Kalinda said, “I was so very sorry to hear about it. It must have been terrible for you.”

“It was. Look, I’ll be honest with you, Kally: I never gave Xenex much thought once I left it. I saw myself more as a citizen of the galaxy than a Xenexian. But now I’m effectively the last Xenexian of breeding age. If any aspect of my race is to survive, even as half-breeds, then it’s up to me to at least keep Xenexian chromosomes in the great, I don’t know . . . galactic mix.”

“Well,” said Kalinda uncertainly, “I wish you the best of luck with that.”

“I wasn’t looking for your best wishes, Kally. I was looking for you. Listen,” he continued quickly, “I know our relationship has been up and down, to say the least. But the simple fact is that I’ve never felt about any girl the way I do about you. And”—to Kalinda’s amazement, he dropped to one knee—“I was hoping that circumstances have changed matters so that you would be willing to marry me.”

Kalinda stared at him, her eyes wide. “You are serious.”

“Very much so.”

“So that I can help to repopulate your race.”

“So that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life alone.”

She closed her eyes then and turned from him. “Xyon . . . I am truly flattered by your proposal. But things have changed. I have changed.”

“It’s that Tobias woman, isn’t it,” said Xyon. There was no anger in his voice; his words were flat and even.

“She is certainly part of it, yes. I’m just . . . I’m not the same girl I was when you . . .”

She started to rise from her bed, but Xyon put a hand out. “No,” he said sharply. “Just . . . stay there, all right?” Gripping the underside of her table to give him support, he rose to his feet. He composed himself once standing. “Thank you for seeing me. I wish you all the best in your life.”

“Xyon, I wish you didn’t have to—”

She fell silent as he put up a hand. “It’s okay, Kally. Believe it or not, I knew this was a long shot. You’ve moved on, that’s fine. I suppose it’s time that I finally moved on, too. I’ll always think fondly of you.”

“Thank you, Xyon. That’s very kind of you.”

“You made me a better person, Kally. That’s something that will stick with me.”

The doors slid open, and one of the security guards stepped in. “That’s five minutes,” he said. There was something in his voice that seemed to suggest he’d welcome the opportunity for a fight if Xyon refused to leave.

“Good timing,” said Xyon. “We just finished.” He walked toward the security officer, then turned to face Kalinda and actually bowed deeply. “Farewell, princess.”

“Good-bye, Xyon.”

He turned and left without another word.

iii.

TOBIAS LET OUT a sigh of relief as Xyon’s ship angled away. Kalinda was standing next to her, a hand resting lightly on Tania’s shoulder.

“So he wanted you to marry him and fly off with him?” said Burgoyne, still trying to process it.

“That is what he said,” said Kalinda. “He seemed quite sincere about it. I turned him down and he departed. That was the entire encounter.”

“Good thing,” rumbled Kebron. “As commanding officer, Burgoyne, it would have fallen to you to perform the ceremony.”

“Great. Something else for me to worry about,” said Burgoyne with a definite lack of enthusiasm.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about, because I said no,” Kalinda reminded hir.

“And he didn’t seem bothered by that?” said Kebron.

Burgoyne turned to the Brikar. “Something wrong, Zak?”

“Xyon never struck me as someone who simply took something not going his way in stride, that’s all,” said Kebron. “It just makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Whether he in fact expected her to turn him down. Whether this was all some ploy simply so that he could see her.”

“And then what? Kidnap her? She’s standing right here. We ran a scan on his vessel before he departed and his was only life-form on it.”

“I know.” Kebron shook his head, which, since he had no neck, effectively meant that he had to turn the entire upper half of his body from side to side. “I’m probably being paranoid.”

“Well, as it turns out, paranoia is in your job description.” Burgoyne watched as Xyon’s vessel dwindled into the depths of space. “At this point, I think we have no choice other than to accept Xyon’s visit for what he says it was: a last-ditch attempt to perpetuate his race. Let’s wish him luck.”

“Yes, Commander.”

She brought back up the coordinates and entered them. “Warp five engaged, Commander.”

“Take us out.”

The Excalibur hurtled into warp space . . .

. . . and the tracking device that Xyon had slipped on the underside of Kalinda’s dressing table tapped out its locator sequence, undetected.

Bravo Station

i.

“IF YOU’RE PLANNING to slap me, please give me a warning so I can brace myself,” said Calhoun.

Burgoyne stepped down off the transporter pad, took several quick steps forward, and threw hir arms around Calhoun, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Shelby was smiling nearby as she commented, “Not exactly regulation procedure, Commander.”

“Yes, right, sorry,” said Burgoyne, taking the words at their literal meaning. S/he quickly stepped back and nodded, assuming the at-rest position with hir hands tucked behind hir back. “Returning command of the Excalibur to you, Captain.”

“I’m sure you kept her intact for me,” said Calhoun. “Come with me to the conference room, and we’ll get you current with the situation.”

Minutes later they were grouped around a large, round table. Burgoyne looked at it with vague envy. “We could command the forces of Camelot from this,” s/he observed.

“Indeed we could.”

The doors slid open and Burgy’s eyes widened when s/he saw Soleta enter. She was back in her Romulan clothing and moving with such normalcy there was no way for Burgy to know that her legs were still healing. “Soleta!” s/he said and moved quickly toward her.

Soleta halted hir in hir path by raising a hand. “I am not much for hugging,” she said coolly.

“Yes. Of course. Sorry. Normally I’m not either. Not quite sure what’s wrong with me.”

“You can hug me if you like.”

Slowly Burgoyne turned and stared in shock at Mark McHenry standing just behind Soleta. “After all, we did date for a while,” he reminded hir.

“My God,” said Burgoyne, and this time s/he hugged hir target, who hugged hir back. “I don’t believe it! Where did you come from? How is this possible?”

“It’s not really that big a deal, Burgy,” said McHenry. “I simply came back, stopped the captain from making a huge mistake that would possibly have ended life as you know it in the galaxy, and then brought Soleta back to consciousness when nobody else could do it. I’m kind of like a half–deus ex machina. But I didn’t think anyone would complain.”

“No, of course no one would . . .” Hir voice trailed off, and s/he turned to Calhoun in confusion. “Ended life as we know it?”

“It’s no big deal,” said Calhoun, waving it off dismissively. “Right now we have other things to worry about. Soleta”—he nodded to her—“why don’t you bring Burgoyne up to speed on what we’re dealing with.”

Calhoun, Shelby, McHenry, and Burgy took seats around the table while Soleta stood. She then proceeded to lay out for Burgy, as efficiently as she could, her mental memories from her final battle with the fake Nechayev. Burgoyne took it all in and, unlike the doctor, did not require explanations of such concepts as pocket universes. Instead s/he nodded.

“And now,” Calhoun said once Soleta had completed her story, “that leaves us with a bit of a quandary. Specifically: Do we head into Thallonian space in pursuit of this wormhole?”

“By ourselves?” said Burgoyne. S/he paused. “I have to admit, Captain, I’m a bit surprised that you would ask. The Mackenzie Calhoun that I’ve always known would simply inform the crew that that’s what we’re going to be doing and send us hurtling off into battle.”

Calhoun nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m very aware of that, Burgy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth noting that Mackenzie Calhoun lost his entire race underestimating the reactions of his opponents. I have no interest in bringing down the hammer on another race simply because I didn’t think through the ramifications of my actions.”

“You can’t hold yourself responsible for what our enemies might do, sir.”

“You know what, Burgy? I can do exactly that,” replied Calhoun. “What I’m looking for now is genuine advice from the people I can trust the most.”

“Unfortunately,” said Burgy, scratching hir chin thoughtfully, “if we’re going to pull this off, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak with the people you actually trust the least.”

Calhoun looked puzzled for a moment but then he understood. “You mean Starfleet.”

“I do,” said Burgy. “Let’s face it, Captain, you’re talking about going to war with another race. This isn’t a job for a single starship. You’re talking about something that would require a fleet of vessels. We need to go up against the D’myurj with a force of at least three to one, and even then our triumph isn’t guaranteed.”

“S/he’s right,” said Shelby. “And you know that because I told you that two days ago. You can’t go into this one alone, Mac. It’s too big and the stakes are too high.”

Calhoun’s gaze shifted to McHenry. “What about you, Mark? Are you in for the long haul on this? Can we count on your powers?”

“My powers?” McHenry chuckled at that. “Captain, my powers are for the most part passive. Yes, I can impact time and space, but I can’t throw lightning bolts and such around. I tend to lean toward talking. Yes, granted, I can’t get lost, but I hardly think never having to stop and ask directions is going to be of much help in a battle.”

There was silence for a time. Despite the fact that Shelby outranked Calhoun and should have been running the meeting, she remained silent, watching, assessing, waiting.

“All right,” Calhoun said finally. “We make this a full Starfleet operation then.”

“Good,” Shelby immediately said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Which will be . . . ?”

“We need to get in touch with someone in Starfleet who’s going to take our side. Who’d be willing to serve as the ramrod for this endeavor? There’s only one person I can think of who fills the bill.”

“Jellico,” said Calhoun.

McHenry looked momentarily confused. “Are you being sarcastic? I thought the admiral hated your guts.”

“You have been gone for a while,” Calhoun said with a small smile. “Things have softened between the two of us. And he was right there beside me when the fake Nechayev blew up.”

“If anyone can organize a fleet to back us up, it’s going to be Edward Jellico,” Shelby said. “I’ll contact Starfleet immediately and set up a meeting. Bring him up to speed. Give me a few hours to get everything ready.”

“Good,” said Calhoun, rising. “That leaves me some time to talk to somebody.”

ii.

“DRAW!”

Moke yanked the gun from his holster, leveled it, and opened fire. Black Bart staggered as the bullets slammed into his chest, his own shot going wide. Blood poured from the gaping wounds and Moke found that he liked the blood. A lot.

Bart fell backward and lay on the ground, twitching several times as his body spasmed. Then he made a low groan and his head flopped to one side. He was dead.

The crowd in the town set up a roar, cheering Moke’s name. They surged forward and surrounded him, lifting him up onto their shoulders and bellowing over and over again, “Thor! Thor! Thor!”

“Thor?”

The voice, even though it was spoken casually, rather than shouted, floated over the crowd. He twisted around in the crowd’s grasp and saw Mackenzie Calhoun standing off to the side. Wearing his Starfleet uniform, he was a stark contrast to everyone else who was dressed in the clothing of the Ancient West. He seemed amused at the adulation that Moke was receiving.

“Freeze program!” Moke shouted.

Immediately everyone became bolt still. It wasn’t the best timing that Moke had ever displayed, because, since he had called a halt to the holodeck program while they had him elevated, it meant that climbing down from that height was going to be a bit tricky. But he was too proud to tell the program to put him down and so it took him a few moments to clamber down on his own. Calhoun made no effort to help him, perhaps sensing that this was something Moke had to do on his own.

They stood there facing each other, a few feet apart. Moke was genuinely uncertain of how to react.

“Should we each be holding guns?” asked Calhoun. “I mean, you’re armed. Should I get myself a six-shooter?”

“No, that’s . . . I don’t . . . no.”

Calhoun glanced around at the town. It was a random assortment of Ancient West clichés and tropes. Here was the sheriff’s office, there was the bar, and down the street was the blacksmith. A tumbleweed was poised midroll in the street. “Not a bad program,” said Calhoun.

“Reminds me a little of home.” He looked about. “A lot of home, actually.”

“Would you want to go back there if you could?”

“Why? My mom’s dead. I had no friends. There’s nothing there for me. The thing is, I’m wondering if there’s anything out here for me as well.”

Calhoun frowned and nodded. “I can see how you’d feel that way . . . Thor? I mean, you know that’s not your name, right?”

“It is here.” He stuck a finger on his vest, causing the badge that was stuck to it to protrude. “Sheriff Thor.”

“Hunh. I knew a god once who said that should be your name instead of Moke.”

“Whatever,” Moke said dismissively. He cocked his head sideways and stared at Calhoun. “So are you back now? For good this time?”

“I would say so, yes.”

“And am I supposed to trust you?”

“I would like to think you would,” Calhoun said slowly, “but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. I admit we weren’t on the best of terms when we parted.”

“Yeah, I know, but . . .”

“But what?”

Moke studied him, almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Your people got wiped out. That must’ve been . . . that was hard. I’d think. For you. For them, too, I guess. Not guess, I know it must’ve been. Dying and everything. And I just . . .”

“Moke,” said Calhoun as he walked slowly toward the boy. There was genuine amusement on his face. “Are you feeling sorry for me?”

“A little, I guess. Yeah. Is that bad?”

“I’m just not accustomed to it, that’s all.”

“I can try to stop, if you want.”

“I think I’d appreciate it if you did, yes.” He rested his hands on Moke’s shoulders. “Moke . . . I’ve made mistakes, you’ve made mistakes. I think it’d be good for the both of us if we tried to start over. If you would give me the chance to genuinely try to be a father to you.”

“I’d like that a lot.” Moke’s lower lip was trembling, and he did everything he could to rein himself in. “Oh!” he said. “I’ve been working on something back on the ship for you. I think I can transfer it here to Bravo. Hold on. Computer, access Excalibur holodeck log.”

“Accessing,” the computer replied.

“Implement Program MC1.”

“What in the world is MC1?”

“Your initials.”

“I know that,” said Calhoun. “I was just wondering what—”

The western town shimmered out of existence and something else appeared to replace it. The sun in the sky overhead was even hotter than the western town had been, and the buildings short and squat, looking as if they had somehow sprung up from the desert itself. And the people were—

“Oh my God,” whispered Calhoun.

It was Xenex. More specifically, it was the village of Calhoun, where Mac had grown up.

Xenexians were going about their business, shopping, talking, and interacting with each other. Every so often one of them would glance toward Mac and nod in recognition.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Is it all right?” asked Moke uncertainly. “I mean, I can make it go away if this is upsetting you. If it’s too soon for you to . . .”

And then Moke’s jaw dropped.

Calhoun was crying.

Moke couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t even thought Calhoun was capable of displaying such emotions. “Mac . . . ?”

“I thought I didn’t have any tears left,” said Calhoun, wiping them from his face. “Moke, this is . . . this is wonderful. That you would take the time and the effort to do this for me.”

“I figure we both lost our worlds. If we can’t be together in that, then what’s the point?”

Calhoun reached for Moke then, drew him close, and hugged him so tightly that it was getting hard for Moke to breathe before Calhoun finally released him. Calhoun then stared at him for a time and said, “Tell me: Would you prefer I call you Thor from now on?”

“Well, it is kind of an exciting name. He was the god of thunder.”

“Yes, I’m very well aware of that. C’mon, Thor . . . let me show you around my old home.”

With his arm draped around the boy’s shoulders, Calhoun and Thor started walking.

iii.

“IT’S IMPOSSIBLE,” SAID Admiral Edward Jellico.

He was staring out at Calhoun, Burgoyne, and Shelby via the viewscreen in Shelby’s private office. He looked saddened by what he was saying, but also determined to make sure that he was being understood.

“What do you mean ‘impossible,’ Admiral?” said Shelby.

“I mean it can’t be done.”

“We know the definition of the word,” Shelby amended. “I mean why are you saying it’s impossible.”

“Ed, you know what’s at stake here,” said Calhoun. “You were there when Soleta destroyed the fake Nechayev. The real one is still a prisoner of the D’myurj and the Brethren. We need to go in and rescue her.”

“Then we need to find another way,” said Jellico. “We can’t go through a wormhole in Thallonian space. The Thallonians have completely shut down all diplomatic relationships with the Federation.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Calhoun angrily, “considering that a member of the Thallonian counsel was working with the D’myurj. For all we know, all of them are.”

“The rest of the Thallonians swore that Tusari Gyn was working entirely on his own and was not representing their interests.”

“Of course that’s what they’re going to say,” Burgoyne commented. “They’re hardly likely to admit complicity.”

“You may well be correct,” said Jellico, “but unfortunately that’s not the point. If we send a fleet of starships into Thallonian space, there is going to be resistance. The Thallonians may have allies that they can pull into the mix. As you well know, there is no shortage of races who harbor hostility for the Federation. The consensus here is that it is unwise to send a fleet into such an untenable situation.”

“What if Spock had told you to do it?” said Calhoun.

Jellico blinked in confusion. “You mean Ambassador Spock? I’m not sure I—”

“Soleta is the source of our information. Soleta does not have a large number of fans in Starfleet. Tell me honestly, Ed, how many are saying we should stay out of this because our sole source of information is known as a Romulan operative?”

Jellico dropped his gaze, which was all the answer that Calhoun needed. Then he raised it again and said, “Look . . . Mac . . . I was there when she fought the fake Nechayev. I saw what she did to get the information. To me, her devotion and bravery are without question. But if you’re going to push on this, then yes, there is some resistance from within over the prospect of sending vessels into an indisputable combat situation purely on her say-so. It may not be fair or right, but unfortunately, that’s just the way it is at this point in time.”

“And what about you, Ed. Where do you personally stand on this?”

“Me personally? Mac, if I had the ability to do so, I’d take command of the nearest starship and fight by your side. But I don’t have that option. Despite my rank and seniority, I have people I answer to as well.”

“Then I want to talk to them.”

“They don’t want to talk to you.”

“Ed—”

“Mac, why would they want to?” said Jellico, making no attempt to hide his exasperation. “You’re a Starfleet officer who deserted his command for months. You effectively went AWOL. You still have your ship because you have two admirals covering your ass—one of whom you’re married to and the other whom you’re talking to. Do you seriously think that anyone in any position of authority is willing to talk to you? You’re damned lucky I’m talking to you.”

“Fine,” said Calhoun, working on keeping his temper from flaring. “Then I am informing you that the Excalibur is going solo on this endeavor.”

“No, you are not. And if I have to pull command from you right now and put Burgoyne in charge, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And that’s for your sake as well as anyone else’s. Mac”—Jellico forced his voice to a calmer tone—“you may not be willing to accept this, but I am on your side. However, the Excalibur cannot be seen in Thallonian space. They’ve cut ties with the Federation; that section of space is outlawed to Starfleet traffic. If you show up there, you could set off a war between the Thallonians and the Federation. No one wants that.”

“Why? Are you worried the Thallonians can defeat you?”

“No, but we’re worried they can cause a great deal of instability. Are you listening to me, Mac? Are you hearing me? The Excalibur cannot be seen in Thallonian space. If you disobey this directive, there is every chance that you will be arrested should you be able to return. Do we understand each other?”

“He understands perfectly, Admiral,” Shelby said.

“If it’s all the same to you, Admiral, I would prefer to hear that from him.”

At first Calhoun was deathly silent. Then, finally, he said in a flat voice, “I understand.”

“Good,” said Jellico, although his tone didn’t sound as if he completely believed it. “That’s good to hear.”

“Thank you for your time,” said Calhoun. He turned away from the screen before Jellico signed off, which was a breach of protocol, but obviously it wasn’t anything that Jellico was going to bust on him about. Moments later Jellico blinked out. All was silent in the conference room.

“I’m sorry, Mac,” Shelby said softly.

To her surprise, Calhoun turned toward her and he was smiling. “Nothing to be sorry about. All Jellico said was that we couldn’t be seen going into Thallonian space.”

“So?” said Burgoyne.

“So we won’t be,” said Calhoun.

iv.

SOLETA WAS JOGGING on a treadmill in the gym, moving at a brisk and steady trot, as the exoskeletons enabled her to run. She wondered if she should perhaps disengage them from her legs and attempt to walk without them. After all, she felt back to normal. But she was reluctant to do so because she was concerned that the exoskeletons were only fooling her into thinking she was fully functional. Still, Soleta watched her progress on the treadmill and was pleased with what she was seeing.

She was the only one in the gym, and she was happy about that. She was aware that she might be imagining it, but Soleta felt as if others on Bravo Station weren’t sure about her. That they knew her to be “that Romulan woman who had lied her way into Starfleet,” but now, for some reason, was a friend of Admiral Shelby’s and might even be a hero. It was her impression that, as a result, people tended to steer clear of her whenever they saw her coming. Then again, she could just have been making it all up.

She disliked not knowing what was going on in her head.

The doors hissed open behind her, but Soleta kept her focus forward. She didn’t need to stare at whoever it was who had walked in. They had their own exercise interests and she had hers.

“Soleta.”

She turned in mild surprise in response to Burgoyne’s voice, and the treadmill kept right on going. She lost her grip on the handlebars and fell flat on the treadmill, which threw her off its back end.

“You have completed your exercise,” the treadmill informed her, and promptly shut off.

Burgoyne hurried to her side and helped her upright. She saw that Shelby, McHenry, and Calhoun had come in behind hir. “Well, that was an elegant way in which to say hello to all of you.”

She was wearing short pants, exposing the exoskeletons that were bracing her legs. “Because you haven’t been walking for a while?” asked Burgoyne.

“Correct.”

“Well, you’re doing an excellent job.”

“When I am not falling down, yes.” She glanced at them. “You did not simply come here to visit. Is something on your mind?”

“Definitely.” Calhoun quickly laid out for her what Jellico had told them. She listened, nodded, and, when he had concluded, said, “I assume it is the ‘not be seen’ part that has prompted you to come see me.”

“Your ship, the Spectre, has been sitting in our docking bay for the entirety of your stay,” said Shelby.

“The Spectre has the best cloaking device that anyone has ever encountered,” Calhoun added. “Up to and including the fact that you can use your weaponry while you’re cloaked.”

“Indeed it does,” said Soleta. She knew what they were going to ask, but was disinclined to go easy on them. They were going to have to spell it out.

“If we were able to take your cloaking device—” began Calhoun.

“I believe ‘borrow’ is the word that you were thinking of.”

“—borrow your cloaking device and attach it to the Excalibur, we would be able to gain entrance into Thallonian space with no one the wiser. We would be adhering to Admiral Jellico’s orders.”

“No, you would not,” she said. “What you would be doing is adhering to the letter of the order while ignoring its spirit. He clearly does not want you to go into Thallonian space, and you are simply seeking a means around it.”

“I believe that that is exactly what Jellico wants us to do,” said Calhoun. “He phrased it a very specific way, and I think there is a reason for that.”

“Or perhaps you are simply telling yourself that. It is my suspicion that if you contacted him again and proposed your idea to him, you would get a firm ‘no’ as a response. If, however, you believe me wrong, I invite you to go ahead and do exactly that.”

The others exchanged faintly annoyed looks, and Soleta assumed that was because they knew she was absolutely correct.

“So you’re denying us use of your cloaking device, then,” said Burgoyne.

“Not at all. If you believe it is necessary to borrow the cloaking device, and assuming you are convinced it can be safely integrated with your vessel, then I would gladly donate it so that your plan can go forward. I have no particular loyalty to what Starfleet Command may desire, and I am quite content to frustrate their plans and limitations for you.”

Clear relief flooded across their faces. “Okay,” said Burgoyne, “we’ll bring your ship over into the Excalibur and—”

“Not quite yet,” said Soleta. “We have not yet discussed the price for my cooperation.”

The others seemed confused. “What manner of price?” said Shelby. “Are you talking about credits or gold-pressed latinum or—”

“That is not what I desire,” said Soleta. “I want something more essential.”

“That being?” said Shelby.

But Calhoun knew. “You want to come back and serve on the Excalibur.”

She nodded. “I am tired of being on my own,” she said. “No crew. No friends. No backup. A fugitive from the Romulan Empire. I want my old life back. Starfleet wanted to bust me in rank, put me behind a desk, likely knowing that that was not an existence that I could tolerate. I want to be back on the Excalibur, serving in any way that I can. And if Starfleet finds that intolerable, then that is simply too bad for Starfleet. I need to know that I have your support on this, Captain.”

“Soleta,” he said slowly, “I can’t guarantee that I’ll have a place on the Excalibur when this is over.”

“Of course you will. You are Mackenzie Calhoun. Against all odds you will penetrate Thallonian space, enter the wormhole, save Admiral Nechayev and the other Starfleet officers we don’t even know are missing, and earn the gratitude of Starfleet. That is simply inevitable. I have served with you for far too long to believe that this will end any other way. Indeed, if you think that any other outcome is possible, then I believe you are selling yourself short.”

Calhoun actually chuckled at that. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“It is not confidence. It is experience.”

“The problem is that I’m not sure where we’d put you,” said Burgoyne. “We have a science officer.”

“Yes, I know. Your son. That is of no relevance to me. The science department is more than one person. I will happily serve under Xy if he will have me.”

“I will ask him, but I’m sure it will not be a problem.”

“Good,” said Soleta. “Then let us get straight to it.”

Excalibur

i.

“I’M NOT SURE about this,” said Xy.

He was standing in the ready room as Burgoyne was finishing clearing out the last of the personal objects s/he had used to decorate it. Burgoyne looked up at him in mild confusion. “Not sure about what? About Soleta?”

“You didn’t really give me any choice.”

“No, I didn’t. I doubted there would be a problem.” S/he frowned. “Is there?”

“Not a problem, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Do I have to spell it out, Dad?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to.” Burgoyne placed one of hir trophies in a container. “Because you really haven’t managed to accomplish it so far.”

“She was the science officer. And now she’s volunteered to serve under me? Doesn’t that seem like a recipe for trouble?”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Burgy. “And you know why? Because Soleta told me so, that’s why. And I trust her.”

“You trust the Romulan operative?”

And to Xy’s astonishment, Burgoyne was suddenly across the room and had grabbed him by the front of his uniform. Before Xy could say anything, Burgy had shoved him back and slammed him against the wall. Burgy’s claws snapped out, and when s/he drew back hir lips, hir fangs were visible. “Don’t you ever,” s/he snarled, “speak of her like that again! Not ever!”

“Dad! My God—!”

It was as if Burgoyne was returning from some sort of fugue state. S/he stared at hir extended claws as if it was the first time s/he was seeing them. Slowly hir mind started to put together what s/he was in the midst of doing. S/he withdrew hir claws and stepped back from hir son, seemingly confused. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Xy. I don’t know what . . . that was . . . uncalled for.”

I should say so! He didn’t say it aloud, though. Instead he smoothed down the front of his uniform tunic. There was a hole torn in it from one of Burgy’s claws, and he made a mental note to get a fresh one. “Are you feeling all right?”

Burgoyne managed a nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should . . .”

“Xy, you know I love you, but if you suggest another sit-down with Zak Kebron, I swear I’ll shoot you out a photon torpedo tube.”

“Understood.”

Except that had been exactly what he had planned to suggest. He knew that something wasn’t right with Burgoyne. Ever since the death of hir beloved Selar, Burgoyne had simply not been hirself. The sudden rage, the popping of hir claws and near assault on hir son, was completely out of character for hir. Burgy had been having any number of these momentary lapses of behavior. It was impossible to predict and would be gone as quickly as it arrived. Burgoyne would always shrug it off as if it were a random belch or similar minor occurrence. But Xy had been watching hir and knew that there was something else going on. As long as Burgoyne wasn’t willing to discuss it, though, there was simply nothing to be done for it.

“Look,” said Burgy, “if you really think there’s going to be a problem . . .”

“No, no,” Xy said quickly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine. Right now, from my understanding, Soleta is down in engineering assisting Mitchell in the installation of the cloaking device. And after it’s installed, I’ll bring Soleta down to a science lab and get her set up. I’m sure she’ll be extremely useful.”

“That’s good,” said Burgy, heaving a distinct sigh of relief. “That’s very good to hear. Thank you, Xy.”

“No thanks necessary.”

The door slid open and Captain Calhoun was standing there. “Hello, Xy. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you as well, Captain. Your absence was felt.”

“I’m quite sure that your father was more than up to the challenge of replacing me.”

Actually, I think it may have served to make hir a little insane.

“Yes, absolutely,” said Xy readily. “S/he couldn’t have done a better job.”

“And you’re all right with Soleta being assigned to your department?”

“Completely. She will be an asset.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Calhoun.

Burgoyne lifted two containers that were filled with hir personal objects. “Let me just move these back down to my quarters.”

“Need help?”

“No, sir. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be returning to my station, Captain. Again, glad to have you back.” Xy hurried out of the ready room, pleased to be back on the bridge.

ii.

“BURGY.”

Burgoyne hesitated as s/he headed for the door. “Yes, Captain.”

Calhoun appeared to have changed in the intervening seconds between when Xy had exited the room and now. His emotions seemed much more detached; it was like he was speaking to Burgoyne from several miles away. “You captained this ship, Burgy. You did it during a time when I was incapable of thinking about anything other than the loss of my people. This crew trusts you. And you owe it to them not to betray them.”

“Betray? I don’t—”

Calhoun sat down behind his desk. “I want to know if you’re really on board with this, Burgy. Not just when Shelby and Soleta and McHenry, and whoever else, is standing there. When it’s just you and me, man-to-man.”

“Technically I’m not a man.”

“Sorry. Man-to-Hermat. Tell me: Are you okay with this mission?”

“And if I’m not?”

Calhoun didn’t hesitate. “Then we don’t go.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. You’re my second-in-command. I need to know if you’re on board. If you’re not, I’m not going to put you in that position.”

“Then what would you do?”

Calhoun shrugged. “Forcibly go up the chain of command, get someone to listen to me. Do it by the numbers.”

Burgoyne stared at him and then said, “Are you out of your mind?”

Calhoun clearly wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “I don’t think so.”

“Captain, you are the leader of this vessel. I go where you lead. So does everyone else. You could command us into Thallonian space, across the Neutral Zone, or to the gates of Hell, and all you’re ever going to hear from anyone on that bridge is ‘Yes, sir.’ Our loyalty is yours and you must never question it. Is there anything else, sir?”

Calhoun smiled at that and shook his head. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“Good.”

Burgoyne walked out of the ready room. Slowly Calhoun looked around, and then he got up and went to a long wooden box that was on top of a nearby cabinet. He opened it.

His sword was inside.

He lifted the sword out of the box and hung it on the hooks that were positioned on the wall.

“That’s better,” he said.

New Thallon

i.

SHINTAR HAN WAS the newly elected prime minister of the New Thallonian Protectorate. “Newly elected” meant that he had managed to assassinate everyone else who was up for the job, so that when the election had occurred, he was the only one on the ballot who was still alive.

Han was a genuine member of Thallonian royalty, rather than being a member of one of the other races that had joined the Protectorate, such as the Nelkarites, the Boragi, the Mandylorians, or the Resplerians. It wasn’t as if his status was especially elevated. He was, at most, a distant cousin of the Cwan family, and there were even those who claimed that his claims of relation were just that: claims, without any actual adherence to reality. Shintar Han routinely brushed off such accusations; sufficiently certain and confident of his history, he knew anyone attempting to dispute it was simply jealous of him.

At least that was what he kept saying.

The spate of congratulatory parties had finally ended, and now Shintar Han was free to proceed with the rebuilding and restoration of New Thallon. The problem was the same that his predecessors had encountered:

They were not Si Cwan.

Si Cwan, the dead bastard, had a huge advantage over everyone else who could possibly rise to power because he was a martyr. The more difficulties that New Thallon faced, the more the people became nostalgic for the days of Si Cwan and his damned family. Any issues that they might have had with Si Cwan, and the politics that had resulted in his execution, had become dim and forgotten. All the idiots remembered were that they were happier when Si Cwan and company were running things. And they all knew that the new leaders of the Protectorate had killed him.

The fact that his wife, Robin Lefler, had slain the man who killed Si Cwan had not helped matters. Indeed, if anything, it had actually endeared her to many of the people—who had initially resisted the concept of an outsider marrying Cwan. Now they saw her as a vengeful widow who had inflicted deserved punishment on her husband’s slayer. And worse, they saw her half-breed child as the legitimate heir to the throne.

(In point of fact, Robin had not actually slain him. Kat Mueller had done so; that was not, however, a fact that was generally known.)

And that left Shintar Han exactly nowhere.

He had recently relocated himself to the office that had been held by his predecessor. It was reasonably elaborate, and that immediately set off mental warnings to Han. The people of New Thallon were struggling to survive. Farmers were doing their best to grow crops, but their success had been hit or miss. Unemployment was at an insanely high eighteen percent. Cutting ties with the Federation had exacerbated the situation, since it meant an end to trade.

The economy was in difficulty, the people were struggling, and many were near starvation. The prime minister should not have an office filled with oversized sculptures, large lush draperies, and mammoth wall hangings depicting great moments in the history of the original Thallon.

He tapped the comm unit on his desk. “Come in here, please.”

Moments later, his aide entered. Indi Anel was an exceptionally polite Boragi female who had, amazingly, survived the previous three individuals who had held Han’s job. Leaders came and went, but the support staff remained astoundingly consistent. Han wasn’t quite sure what to make of that and was partly tempted to have Indi Anel executed just on principle. Fortunately for her—and, to some degree, him as well—Han had restrained himself from taking such a precipitous action.

“Indi,” said Han, “I need to have things cleared out of here.”

“Very well, Prime Minister. What things in particular?”

“The decorations for the most part. The statues, the tapestries . . . anything that could be viewed as excessive.”

“All right. Do you want them stored somewhere?”

“I want them out of the building.”

“Do you want them stored somewhere outside of the building?”

“I honestly do not care what happens to them. You can keep them all in your home, for all that I care.”

“Perhaps,” she said judiciously, “you might want to donate them to the poor.”

Han realized that that was, in fact, the perfect idea. Return the property to the people. They had no intrinsic value, therefore no one would benefit from it, but at least the optics would be favorable. “Very good. An excellent notion,” he said. “Can you arrange for that?”

“Yes, sir. Also, you have a visitor.”

“I do?” That surprised him. Han had no appointments scheduled for today; he had seen everyone who was anyone over the past two days and the likelihood was that they were sleeping off the sizable amounts of alcohol they had consumed. “When was this scheduled?”

“It was not scheduled. He simply showed up. Planetary security apprehended him when his small vessel touched down at the port. He offered no resistance and said he wanted to see you.”

That immediately told Han that whoever it was, he was not one of the races that were part of the Protectorate. No member of the Protectorate would be met at the port. “What race is he?”

“Xenexian.”

Han’s eyes widened. He had been sitting behind his desk, but now he was on his feet. He was actually holding on to the edge of the desk so that his legs would not give way. “Is it Mackenzie Calhoun?”

“No,” said Indi. “If it were Mackenzie Calhoun, I would have said, ‘Mackenzie Calhoun is sitting outside.’ ”

“Yes, of course, of course you would.”

“Mackenzie Calhoun’s son is sitting outside.”

Han sank back into his chair, astounded. “Xyon? That little bastard? After all the trouble he caused for us when he kidnapped Kalinda?”

“I believe that would be him, yes.”

“Why in the name of all that’s holy is he not under arrest?”

“Because he said he wanted to see you on a matter of some importance. The reasoning is that he can always be arrested.”

“This is a trick,” Han said suspiciously. “My enemies must know that he is here. They want me to meet with him because they are trying to paint me as an ally of Calhoun’s.”

“He was actually questioned before he was brought here. I understand he is not exactly a fan of his father. Apparently the entirety of the Xenexian race was wiped out, and Xyon blames his father for that.”

That brought Han up short. He had heard about the annihilation of the Xenexians. Everyone had. It wasn’t possible to obliterate the entirety of a race and not have the news find its way to the farthest reaches of space. But he had not heard of anyone blaming Calhoun for it. “This merits investigation,” he said slowly.

“That was what his questioners felt. That’s why he was brought here.”

“Indi,” Han said, “if he was brought here and you knew he was here, why did you not simply bring him in? Why did you wait until I summoned you in here to inform me?”

“I was enjoying speaking to him. He’s quite charming.”

Han had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, and so chose not to. “Just bring him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

She strode out and moments later Xyon walked in. He had the most annoying smile on his face. He walked to the opposite side of the desk and bowed slightly, as was Thallonian custom. “You are Shintar Han.”

“And you,” said Han, “are the son of someone who is quite unpopular in these circles. Am I correct?”

“Very much so.”

Han reached into the drawer of his desk and extracted a disruptor. He placed it on his desk, keeping his finger curled around the trigger. “Do you have any reason why I should not simply kill you?”

“With that?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t kill me with that.” He actually seemed amused.

At that moment, Han saw nothing in front of him except a smirking irritation. Suddenly he didn’t give a damn why Xyon had shown up or what possible thing he would have to offer. All he cared about was the prospect of bringing grief to Mackenzie Calhoun, and even if the lad said that he despised the man, so what? Calhoun was his father and likely still felt love for the boy. And if that meant that the boy’s death would bring even a moment’s mourning to Calhoun, so much the better.

He pointed his disruptor and fired.

Xyon wasn’t there.

Instead he leaped forward, his hands extended, and he landed on the surface of the desk, momentarily standing on his hands. The blast ripped through the air to his right, missing him clean. Xyon kept moving and his legs descended onto either side of Han’s throat. He clamped his thighs together, cutting off Han’s ability to breathe. The prime minister tried to bring the disruptor around to aim it, but Xyon had already pulled the weapon from his hand and was now aiming it squarely at Han’s face.

The door opened and Indi ran in. She gasped when she saw the insane scene in front of her.

Yet Xyon did not sound the least bit perturbed or even strained. “Hello, Indi. How’s it going?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he continued, “Your supervisor attempted to kill me just now. I could return the favor. However . . .”

He flopped back onto the desk and unwrapped his legs from around Han’s throat. Han coughed several times as the air rushed back into his lungs. Xyon slid off the desk and eased himself into the chair that was opposite Han. He kept the disrupter cradled in his hand. It was aimed at Han. “That was more excitement than I needed or was seeking,” said Xyon. “Now, how about if we chat instead of trying to kill each other.”

“Should I summon the guards?” asked Indi.

“No,” said Han, rubbing at his throat a moment. “No, that . . . should not be necessary. You may go.”

She did so, although she watched Xyon over her shoulder the entire time as she exited.

“I would appreciate your keeping your hands atop the desk,” Xyon said casually. “One can never be too careful.”

“That is true.” He sat back down in his chair and carefully folded his hands. “It seems you have the floor, son of Calhoun.”

“Kindly don’t call me that,” said Xyon. “My relation to him is hardly one of my favorite topics.”

“He is not popular with you, I take it?”

“You take it correctly,” said Xyon. He was keeping his expression neutral.

“Well, for what it is worth, he is not exceptionally popular here, either. Is that why you came here? So that we could discuss his lack of popularity?”

“No. I came here to discuss what you want.”

“And how,” said Han, “would you know what I want?”

“Because I pay attention.”

“To what?”

“To everything. To Federation politics. Thallonian politics. To everything that’s going on everywhere. I’m quite a source of information and, if at some later point you wish to share in that, we can discuss it.”

“Fine,” said Han with a heavy sigh. “Tell me what I want.”

“You want Cwansi, the son of Si Cwan, who is currently residing on the Starship Excalibur.”

Han had had no clue what Xyon was going to say. Once he spoke, though, Han did not immediately respond. Instead he stared at the young Xenexian, maintaining his deadpan expression, trying to give no hint of what was going through his mind. Finally, he said, “Why would I be interested in the son of Si Cwan?”

“Because we both know that Si Cwan’s popularity has only increased since his death. And that child means a lot to the people of this world. Nothing would bring them together like seeing his son growing up here into their eventual ruler. Wouldn’t it be a good position for you to be the one who was overseeing that? Being seen not only as the man who is helping to shape his mind, but genuinely being the man who is doing the shaping?”

“Yes, it would,” admitted Han. “But I feel the need to remind you of what you just said, that the baby is in residence on the Excalibur. I have no access to him, unless you’re about to produce him out of thin air for me.”

“Something like that. You see, he’s going to be coming right through Thallonian space.”

Han stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Excuse me?”

“I said he’s going to be passing through Thallonian space.”

“Impossible. No Starfleet vessels are moving through our space.”

“The Excalibur is going to be doing exactly that.”

Han was shaking his head. “How in the world could you possibly know that?”

“Because it was part of a conversation that they had at Bravo Station.”

“And you were present for that conversation?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Xyon. “I planted a small subcutaneous listening device on one of the individuals who was part of it. It wasn’t all that difficult; she was unconscious when I did so.”

Han was having trouble following what Xyon was telling him. “Why in the world would you do that?”

“Because I was curious about whatever she might have learned about a particular race called the D’myurj. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They were responsible for the death of my race, so anything she might have to say about them would be of great interest to me.”

“Remarkable,” said Han. His genuine admiration for the way Xyon thought was growing. “And what did she say that was of such interest to you?”

“That there is a wormhole that will lead anyone who goes through it straight to the D’myurj homeworld. And my father is going to do exactly that.”

“And how is he going to accomplish that? How does he plan to enter Thallonian space undetected?”

Xyon leaned forward and smiled. “I anticipated that, actually. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to think the way my father does. The woman whom I attached the listening device to has a cloaking device that they are going to connect to the Excalibur. I planted a tracking device on the Excalibur. Don’t worry, it’s quite well hidden; they will never find it. I can provide you the frequency of that tracking device, and the moment they enter your space, you will be fully aware of it. Cloak or no, you will easily be able to find them. And once you do that . . .”

“We can destroy them!” said Han with great enthusiasm.

Xyon rolled his eyes, not attempting to hide his annoyance. “You’re not much for remembering the plan, are you? No, you don’t destroy the Excalibur. Not immediately. First you convince them to turn the infant over to you. You surround them and inform them that only if they release the baby to you will you let them go.”

“Will that work?” asked Han, genuinely interested in what Xyon had to say.

“Of course it will work. Robin Lefler will not permit the ship and its crew to be destroyed if she can do something to prevent it.”

“And once we have her?”

“Why, then, you can do whatever you wish. Blow Calhoun and the ship out of space if you’re of a mind to. There would be nothing that Robin Lefler could do to prevent it.”

Han tapped the top of his desk thoughtfully. Finally he said, “I must pray on it.”

That was clearly not the response that Xyon was expecting. He tilted his head in curiosity. “I’m sorry? Pray?”

“Thallonians do have gods, son of Calhoun. At times of potential turning points, imminent crises and such, we do turn to them and seek guidance.” He rose from his chair. “Will you remain here?”

“I suspect there are guards outside who would be instructed to have me remain here, so I don’t imagine I have a choice.”

“You are correct,” Han assured him.

ii.

THE CHAPEL FOR the Awesome was only a five-minute walk. Han had always assumed that was not coincidental, that a place of divine worship was an easy walk from the main administrative building. It helped keep matters in perspective in terms of how the government worked and, even more importantly, how life worked.

Han strode into the chapel and nodded to the priest, who was busy lighting candles. The chapel was medium sized, capable of holding up to a thousand people, although at the moment Han and the priest were the only occupants.

The Awesome’s statue was toward the front of the church. Naturally, no one had the slightest idea of what the Awesome looked like. The last time He had appeared to the people was thousands of years ago, and even then the descriptions had conflicted. It was natural for such an event to have its details shrouded in the mysteries of time. Plus, the destruction of Thallon had left many people confused; had the Awesome turned away from His people, allowing their world to be annihilated?

The Awesome did not even have a name, or at least one that everyone could agree upon. “The Awesome” had been the nickname given Him by the ancestors who had met Him, or had claimed to have met Him, and were said to have witnessed His miracles firsthand. Even the nature of the miracles He had performed was subject to discussion and disagreement.

Han didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was guidance.

The prime minister knelt in front of the statue and prayed. Praying was something that he was exceptionally skilled at. He might well have had his doubts about his politicking, and he was certainly not proud of the way that he had quietly arranged for the deaths of everyone who had been running against him. But prayer? He was rock solid on that.

He reached into his heart and poured out his thoughts and worries to the Awesome. The statue itself did not pretend to represent the Awesome’s much-disputed physicality. Instead, it was a carved amorphous mass with no actual shape. It stood about two meters high. It was said that one could measure the quality of one’s soul by what you saw in the shape when staring at it.

Han never saw anything. He had once stared at it for a solid hour and had not come away from it seeing it as anything other than nothing. When asked about it afterward, Han said he had seen clouds when he stared at it, and everyone had nodded and said that was a good interpretation. He had considered it nonsense.

For long minutes he prayed, searching for guidance. He heard no voice responding back to him, but that was perfectly fine. One did not need to hear the voice to imagine its presence.

“Thank you, most Awesome,” he whispered, and then got to his feet and headed out of the chapel.

When he returned to his office, Xyon was still there. Han nodded and then said, “Tell me how this would work.”

Xyon smiled.

Excalibur

i.

SOLETA STEPPED BACK from the shield generators, taking one more measured look at the connectors that had linked her cloaking device to the ship’s main deflector array. Burgoyne and Chief Engineer Craig Mitchell stood on either side of her, silently studying the work. “I’m reasonably sure we’ve got it,” said Mitchell.

Burgoyne turned and looked at him. “Reasonably?”

“Yes, reasonably,” Mitchell affirmed, sounding mildly irritated that Burgoyne had questioned it. “We’re talking about some major adaptations here, Burgy. The cloaking device was created to envelop the Spectre, a fine vessel, but considerably smaller than a starship. We need to make sure we’ve got the energy requirements synched up, because if we don’t, we could blow out the cloaking device and that’ll be that.”

“He’s right,” said Soleta. “I would estimate that the likelihood of successfully making the transfer to be at approximately seventy-three percent.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Burgoyne, who was clearly not thrilled with what s/he was hearing. “Well, there’s no time like the present to test it out.”

“How are we going to be able to be sure that it’s working?” asked Soleta. “There’s no ship’s instrumentation to confirm its efficacy.”

“The simplest and oldest-fashioned way.” Mitchell tapped his badge. “Beth? You in position?”

“I am, sir.”

“Is that Ensign Beth?” asked a slightly surprised Soleta. “Where is she?”

“She’s outside the ship in a shuttlecraft. This test is going to be very simple. If it works, she’ll see the ship vanish. If it doesn’t work, she won’t.”

“That actually makes a good deal of sense,” said Soleta.

“All right,” said Burgoyne, clapping hir hands together briskly. “Let’s get started.”

Mitchell stepped forward to the jury-rigged control panel. “Let’s make some magic,” he said, closed his eyes, and tapped a switch.

There was a brief humming of energy as the cloaking device flared to life. The circuitry around it appeared to be conducting energy from it to the shields, but it was impossible to tell whether it was having the desired effect.

“Holy—!” came a startled exclamation from Mitchell’s combadge.

“Beth, what do you see?” asked Mitchell.

“Nothing. It worked. One moment you were there, and the next you disappeared. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it. Or hadn’t not seen it, I suppose.”

“Run full sensor scans.”

“Already doing it. Not only have I lost visual contact with you, but I have no sensor track of you either. I’m receiving the same readings as if you were not there at all.”

“Stay on station and continue recording. Let’s let it run for a minute or two.”

They allowed it to run for five, just to make sure. They monitored every station in engineering and they were unable to find any sort of blowback or power surge anywhere in the ship. There was no trace of anything, and finally Burgoyne said, “Okay, I’m satisfied. Shut off the cloaking device.”

Soleta did so and a moment later Ensign Beth confirmed that the ship had reappeared. She sounded extremely impressed.

“Burgoyne to Captain Calhoun,” said Burgy, touching hir badge.

“Calhoun here. Go ahead, Burgy.”

“The cloaking shield is a success. We’re waiting for Ensign Beth to dock and then we’re prepared to head toward the wormhole.”

“All right then. Soleta, I want you up here to work out our destination with Tobias and then we’ll head out immediately.”

“Aye, Captain.”

ii.

CALHOUN SAT BACK in his command chair and looked at Bravo Station, which the ship was orbiting. He found himself wondering what had been going through his mind that he had willingly walked away from the Excalibur. Even as he did, though, he knew the reason why. He hoped he never reached a point in his life where he would feel the need to do so again.

“I think you’d best be heading back to Bravo, Admiral,” he said.

Shelby was standing a few feet away, likewise staring at Bravo. “You know,” she said softly, “sometimes I forget what it was like to be standing on this bridge. To be serving with all these good people.” She smiled affectionately at the crew. “I’m here for a few minutes and all the old feelings come back.”

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. “Are you thinking about giving up Bravo and perhaps coming back to the Excalibur . . . ?”

“Admiral Shelby serving under Captain Calhoun? Not the best use of my rank, don’t you think?”

“Ranks don’t really mean anything.”

“They do to me,” she said. “And I have duties on Bravo that I can’t really ignore. And”—she lowered her voice—“I don’t think you would respect me overmuch if I did.”

She did not bother to point out that Calhoun had done exactly that. She didn’t have to. They were both fully aware of it.

He kissed her on the cheek. “Best get back to Bravo. We’ll be leaving within minutes.”

“Good hunting. Be sure to tell me what happens.”

“You will be the first to know.”

“There’s a thousand people on this ship who will know before I do.”

Without missing a beat he said, “You will be the thousand-and-first to know.”

She nodded and walked into the turbolift. Calhoun smiled as she went.

Minutes later, the Excalibur was heading into Thallonian space.

Bravo Station

SHELBY, IN HER office, looked up as the viewscreen flared to life. Admiral Edward Jellico’s face stared out at her.

“He’s on his way to Sector 221-G, isn’t he,” Jellico said without preamble.

“Yes, sir. He is.”

He nodded and smiled. “Well done, Admiral.”

But Shelby was not in the mood to be complimented. “I don’t like what we did, Ed. I don’t like that I was dishonest with my husband.”

“This is the same husband that abandoned you on Xenex after—”

“I know what he did. I was there. As I recall, I volunteered that information. I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just been honest with him. Told him what you wanted him to do.”

“What I wanted him to do flies in the face of Starfleet policy, Elizabeth. You know that as well as I do. That part of the story was absolutely true.”

“So you get what you want,” she said in annoyance. “And you do it without having to put yourself at risk. If Mac accomplishes the mission, then you slap him on the wrist. If, on the other hand, the entire mission falls apart, then you get to say that you specifically ordered him not to do it and he ignored you. Either way, you’re covered.”

“That’s not why we did it this way and you know it.”

“Oh really,” she said, her voice faintly sarcastic.

“Yes, really. We both know that Mac is at his best when he is acting in the interests of something that runs counter to standard operating procedure. He needs to rise to the occasion, and he has frequently been at his best when he’s operating in a manner that he believes runs opposite to my interests. Let’s face it, Elizabeth: he may have lost some of his edge since he and I patched up our differences.”

“He lost his edge because his people were obliterated, Ed. I wouldn’t be so quick to claim that much influence in his life.”

“Whatever you say,” said Jellico, but he didn’t sound as if he agreed. “So they installed the cloaking device?”

“Yes, and tested it. It seems fully functional.”

“Now we just wait,” said Jellico.

“Yes, we do.” She paused and then said, “And when he comes back—when he’s accomplished his mission—I’m going to tell him that you and I were working together. That we set this whole thing up. That you really wanted him to go but chose some byzantine reverse psychology to get him to do just that. A move, by the way, that he figured out, for the most part. He suspected that you told him not to do it specifically because you wanted him to. For all I know, he figured out my part in it but was simply too polite to mention it. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“In that case,” said Jellico cheerfully, “you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Ed, I’m married to Mackenzie Calhoun. Believe me, I always have something to worry about.”

Excalibur

i.

SOLETA WAS SITTING in the Ten Forward, wearing a Starfleet uniform for the first time in ages. She had forgotten the softness of the cloth against her skin, having become accustomed to the leathery feel of Romulan clothing. She wasn’t sure if she felt comfortable in it, but Calhoun had insisted that if she was going to be returning to the crew of the ship, she needed to be all in. She had readily complied, but it was still going to take her a while to become accustomed to being a crew member once more.

Especially since no one in the crew seemed quite certain how to react to her.

When Xy had brought her to a science lab, they had greeted her warmly enough. She had, after all, once been the science officer. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel that they were not quite sure how to react to her. Part of it, she imagined, came from the knowledge that she was half Romulan, and had served as an agent to the Romulan emperor. By any reckoning, that would make her an enemy of the Federation. But no one questioned her being there, because her installation was a directive of Calhoun, and they trusted him implicitly.

Nevertheless, it was not the easiest time, for any of them, adjusting to her presence.

Whenever she walked the ship’s corridors, people nodded to her or muttered a soft, “Hello.” But she was sensing distance from everyone. Soleta supposed she couldn’t blame them, yet it was difficult for her to accept. She had once been a member of the crew and now was unquestionably being viewed as an outsider.

Or you could just be imagining it, she thought grimly. This might all be in your head. Or maybe you’re just expecting too much of them.

She was nursing a glass of Romulan ale, from the bottle that Shelby had given her. The half-empty bottle was sitting in front of her. Shelby seemed relieved to have Soleta take the ale with her. Soleta felt that was one of Ten Forward’s failings, to not have Romulan ale.

She still remembered the first time she tasted it. The emperor himself had poured the drink for her, and he had insisted that she try it. She had done so with great reluctance and had been astounded to discover that she genuinely liked it. From that point on, she had become—not addicted, exactly—but definitely appreciative of it.

“Are you drinking alone?”

She looked up. Xy was standing there.

She glanced around, but she was not imagining it. Several other crew members were glancing at them curiously, likely wondering why Xy was talking to her.

“I am at the moment. You are welcome to join me.”

“Thanks.” He slid into the chair opposite her at the small table. “What are you drinking?”

“Romulan ale.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It is.”

He stared at the bottle. “Can I try some?”

She slid her half-emptied glass over to him. He lifted it, sniffed it experimentally, and then sipped it. His eyes widened and he gulped it before coughing loudly. “Damn,” he managed to get out.

“Do you like it?”

His voice sounded thick. “I’m not sure. I think it burned off my taste buds.”

“That’s a common feeling. It will wear off.”

“I hope so. I like my taste buds.” Xy cleared his throat and then said, “Settled in?”

“As much as possible.”

He stared at her and then said, “I feel I have to be honest with you about something.”

“You didn’t want me in your science department.”

Xy blinked several times and then leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t say ‘didn’t want.’ But I was—I have to admit—hesitant at first.”

“Because I am part Romulan?” She shook her head and looked wistful. “You know, centuries ago, racism was a major difficulty for humanity. There were riots and many, many deaths. I thought it was laudable that humanity had grown beyond racism. I find it ironic to discover racism here.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Xy said. “Racism is steeped in ignorance, fear, and hatred of the other. If people fear the Romulans, it’s not without cause. You functioned as their operative, quite possibly taking actions against the Federation. Do you deny that?”

“I did what I had to in order to survive. No one died at my hand. I never took a Federation life. Are the Excalibur’s hands clean?”

“Well, the Excalibur is a starship, so I don’t think it exactly has hands.”

“That is not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“I served by their side for years. I served as part of this crew.” She took back her glass and poured more Romulan ale into it. “I don’t like being regarded as if I were a stranger.”

She sipped the ale.

“I’m not sure that’s happening, but let’s say it is,” said Xy. “It’s only temporary. People just have to get used to seeing you back in uniform and being a part of the crew. They’ll get over it.”

“Have you?”

Xy slid off his chair and walked over to the bar. Soleta assumed that he was going to get a drink, probably the tasteless synthehol that was so popular because the inebriating effects could be shaken off immediately. He walked back and, to her mild confusion, placed an empty glass in front of her. “Another,” he said, tapping the bottle of ale.

“I thought it burned off your taste buds.”

“Right, so I figure it can’t do any more damage.”

Despite the seriousness of their discussion, Soleta actually allowed herself a very small smile at that. Since smiling was not exactly in her nature, that was a major concession from her.

“I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me,” she said. “I know you did not have to.”

“I think I did, actually. Because, to be honest, I was hesitant at first, as you know. But I’ve taken the time to sit down and study your time aboard the Excalibur. You were quite close with my mother.”

She nodded. “Selar was quite a woman.”

“She was. She sacrificed her life so that I could live.”

“I know. That was very typical of the sort of thing she would do. To elevate your welfare over her own? Very typical indeed.”

She had poured him another glass of ale, although it was a considerably smaller portion than previously. Xy raised his glass and said, “To Selar.”

“To Selar,” said Soleta, and they clinked glasses.

ii.

“HE PROPOSED TO you.” In their quarters, Tania Tobias was staring at Kalinda. “I still can’t believe that Xyon actually proposed to you.”

“He did.” Kalinda was lying back in the bed, reading a novel on a padd. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Of course it’s a problem!”

Kalinda glanced over the top of the book. “I am unclear on why exactly. It isn’t as if I accepted it.”

“He would have known you weren’t going to accept,” said Tania. She was pacing the quarters, trying to reason through the sequence of events. “So he must have had some other reason for coming here.”

“You do not believe that he simply could have been exercising one last attempt to show his love for me?”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” said Tania. “Not for one single, solitary moment.”

“I was unaware that you knew him. Have you even met him?”

“I don’t have to meet him,” said Tania firmly. “I know his type. I know how his mind works. I swear, he must have had some other motive.” She sat down and considered it. “Where else did he go on the ship other than the transporter room and here?”

“Nowhere. He was escorted from here and back again.”

“What would he want in this room, then?”

“Me,” said Kalinda. She sounded amused about it, which irritated Tania even more.

“This isn’t funny,” Tania informed her.

“I don’t think it is. But I think you’re rather amusing.”

“I’m not trying to amuse you, Kally,” said Tania. “I’m trying to figure out Xyon’s true motivation for coming here.”

“So you keep saying. I think you need to calm down about this, Tania.”

“But you’re not considering—”

“No, I’m not,” Kalinda said firmly. “Tania, you do not know Xyon the way I do. Yes, he can be impetuous. Reckless. Self-centered, even. But he has a fundamentally good heart, and he would not come aboard with the intent to harm me. I swear to you, I know him that well, at least.” She had put the padd aside, and she thumped the bed next to her. With an irritated sigh, Tania crossed the room and sat down next to her. Kalinda took her hand and rubbed it gently. “Trust me,” she said with soft insistence. “He simply came here to state his case. He stated it. And then he went on his way. I mean, if it will make you feel better, we can have the cabin searched thoroughly to make sure he didn’t leave anything here that could cause problems. If we do that, will that make you feel better?”

Tania rolled her eyes. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I guess you’re right. I’m just being paranoid, I guess. The simple fact, Kally, is that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. So when it comes to you, I don’t exactly see straight. You know?”

“I know,” said Kalinda, and she kissed her lightly and then more strongly.

And the tracking device continued to send its steady signal . . .

iii.

ROBIN LEFLER WAS very proud of her rocking chair.

It was hardly standard Starfleet issue. But that didn’t matter to Robin. She had specifically requested one—while Calhoun was gone—and Burgoyne had one built for her. Cwansi had not been an infant who had gone to sleep readily during the first few months of his life. He tended to remain awake, but he didn’t do it in a fussy manner. He just wouldn’t close his eyes. He seemed so fascinated by the world around him that he didn’t ever want to go to sleep because he might miss something. At least that was the explanation that Robin had come up with in her mind.

The rocking chair had helped. Once settled into the rocking chair with Cwansi, she’d begin rocking, and he would generally fall asleep within two minutes. It was fascinating to watch.

She had made over her quarters into something warm and earthy, using green and brown tones to give it an Earth-like quality. She was quite proud of having managed to acquire a collection of non-Starfleet furniture in order to accomplish it.

The bell chimed at her door. “Come,” she called.

Burgoyne walked in. S/he did not look at Lefler. It was as if s/he was unaware that Robin was even in the room. That was typically how s/he was at times such as this.

The first time that Burgoyne had come to her quarters, Robin had been somewhat confused. She certainly knew and liked Burgy, but hir unexpectedly dropping by was not something that she had anticipated.

Having been through it several times, Lefler knew exactly what was going to happen.

For nearly a minute, Burgy simply stood there, staring into space.

And then the tears began to roll down hir face.

S/he never made the slightest sound during these encounters. There were the tears, yes, and hir chest would go in and out rapidly as if s/he could not draw in enough breath. But there was no audible sobbing, no gasping, and no whining of any sort. It was as if Burgy was internalizing all of it.

Burgy staggered forward several steps, hir knees wavering, and then s/he sank to the floor next to her. Lefler had been rocking Cwansi, but he had fallen asleep and stopping was not enough to awake him. Burgy placed hir head against Lefler’s leg and continued with hir silent crying.

The first time this had happened, Robin had been paralyzed with confusion and doubt. But when she had encountered Burgoyne later in the day, s/he was acting perfectly normal. Robin had looked deeply into hir eyes and had seen no sign that Burgy had any recollection of what s/he had done. So when Burgy had returned two weeks later and underwent the exact same routine, Lefler had not reacted in the slightest. She had simply sat there as Burgy sobbed hir heart out before getting up and walking out without a word.

Now, as she had before, she reached out and stroked Burgoyne’s hair and whispered to hir. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly. “It’ll be fine.”

As always, Burgy gave no indication that s/he heard.

By this point, Lefler had more or less figured out what had happened. She knew all too well what Vulcans were capable of. Knowing that she was going to die, Burgoyne’s wife, Selar, had doubtless done some manner of Vulcan mind-meld with hir. Selar had doubtless tried to soothe whatever grief Burgoyne would feel upon her death. But the meld had obviously gone wrong somehow; perhaps Hermat minds were unique and resistant to psychic tampering. Whatever it was, Burgoyne’s mind was trying to break free of it and was partly succeeding. It was manifesting in a way that would not interfere with Burgoyne’s running the ship, and s/he didn’t even know it was happening.

For long minutes Burgoyne’s outpouring of muted emotion continued. And then, just like that and with no warning, it ended. When s/he rose to hir feet, hir face was dry, as if the tears had been absorbed into hir skin. Which, for all Lefler knew, was exactly what had happened.

S/he stood there briefly and then turned on hir heel and walked out.

Lefler never had any idea why in the world Burgoyne had chosen her for this periodic outbreak of emotion. After wondering about it for an inordinate amount of time, she had simply decided to take it as flattery. On some level, Burgoyne understood that Lefler was trustworthy. She would never report the odd behavior to anyone in Starfleet or anyone else on the ship. Burgoyne had found someone to whom s/he could vent and could do so with utter impunity.

Cwansi started to stir. Lefler resumed rocking, and moments later her son drifted back to sleep.

iv.

“COME,” CALLED MAC from behind the desk in his ready room.

The doors slid open, and the massive form of the Brikar, Zak Kebron, was standing there.

Even after all this time, Calhoun was uncertain of what to think of the Brikar. The Zak Kebron that he had initially known had been, for the most part, quiet and surly. As the head of security, that had seemed the ideal personality. Then, almost overnight, Kebron had changed. It was then that Calhoun had learned that the Kebron he’d known, despite his chronological age, was only a Brikar teenager. He had been transformed into someone who was thoughtful, caring, and so in touch with his emotions that he had been assigned the secondary task of ship’s counselor. And since there were currently no security issues in play on the Excalibur, Calhoun suspected that Kebron had come in his capacity as counselor.

“Do you have a moment, Captain?” asked Kebron.

“Of course, Zak. What’s up?”

“I thought we should follow up on the time you spent away from the ship.”

Yup. Called that. “In what respect, Mister Kebron?”

“Ah. See, now you’re addressing me as ‘Mister Kebron’ instead of Zak. That says to me that you desire to keep me at an emotional distance.”

Calhoun sighed. “I wouldn’t take it personally. I tend to want to keep everyone at an emotional distance.”

Kebron didn’t sit. The chairs in the ready room were a bit too small for his girth and tended to make him uncomfortable. “I just wanted to point out that your reaction to the Xenexians being slaughtered was a little dramatic, and I also wanted to make sure that you had come to terms with it.”

“Zak . . . do you know where we’re going?”

“Into Sector 221-G. Against Starfleet wishes.”

“What does that tell you?”

“What does that tell you?”

This was exactly the conversation that Calhoun did not want to have. “It’s not against Starfleet wishes. This is exactly what Jellico wants.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Zak,” said Calhoun with a sigh of mild frustration, “I know Jellico. I understand both what he says and what he doesn’t say. He wants me to find Nechayev as much as any man in Starfleet, and since the higher-ups are preventing him from getting it done, he sees me as the way to accomplish it. That’s why he phrased his orders the way he did.”

“And Shelby? She’s your superior as well. Didn’t she reinforce what he said?”

“Of course she did. She’s in on it with him.”

Zak seemed confused. “In on it with him?”

“Of course. They worked together in order to try and ‘convince’ me not to go to 221-G, when that is exactly what they wanted.”

“You truly believe your wife would deceive you in that way?”

“Yes,” said Calhoun without hesitation. “That is exactly what I believe.”

“It must be very difficult to love someone you cannot trust.”

“For me? Not at all. I love the notion that Eppy can betray me at any time because she believes she’s operating for the greater good. How can you not love someone who has their priorities in such fine order?”

“Captain . . . I have absolutely no idea if you are joking or not.”

“I never joke about my wife, Zak.”

At that moment Calhoun’s combadge beeped at him. He tapped it. “Calhoun here.”

“Sir, we are approaching Thallonian space,” Tobias reported.

Oh thank God. “Prepare the cloaking device,” he said. He turned to Kebron. “I believe you’re needed at your post, Mister Kebron.”

“Aye, Captain,” said Zak. With a potential combat situation in front of them, Zak’s entire counselor persona was quickly put aside. He was now in head-of-security mode. It was, honestly, the Kebron that Calhoun far preferred to deal with.

Calhoun strode out onto the bridge and all eyes turned to him. He returned their gazes for a moment and then said, “You’re all aware that Starfleet doesn’t want us here. We are operating contrary to their sentiments. None of you needs to be concerned about your own career, because no one in Starfleet history has ever been brought up on charges for obeying their captain. If any of you wish to recuse yourselves from this endeavor, I will understand.”

The bridge crew exchanged looks with each other and then Burgoyne said, “Captain . . . it is our honor to follow you wherever you wish to lead us.”

He nodded and then said, “Where’s McHenry?”

“He disappeared shortly after boarding, Captain,” said Burgoyne. “I’ve no idea where he’s gotten to.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised. In the old days, he could disappear even when he was sitting at his station.” Then Calhoun’s glance went to the science station. There was no one there. “Where’s Xy?”

v.

WHEN XY’S COMBADGE went off, he sat up so abruptly that he slid off the bed and fell to the deck, landing with a thud. He sat up, looking around in confusion. “What . . . what happened . . . ? Where . . . ?”

Slowly his gaze crept across the room, and he saw Soleta sitting in the corner, pulling her boot on. She smiled at him. Not a wide smile, granted, but it was visible. “Where is this?” he managed to say. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

“It’s my quarters. Not much in here, but I do not own much.”

“Did we . . . I . . . ?” He stopped talking for a moment to gather his thoughts. He stared down at himself and saw that a sheet, fortunately enough, covered his nudity. “When the hell did—?”

“Romulan ale can be very invigorating. They should start stocking it on the ship. Some people can be very strongly influenced by it.” His combadge was beeping, and she nodded toward it. “You may want to answer that.”

He saw that his combadge was lying on the floor, still attached to his uniform. He hit it quickly. “Xy here.”

“I think Xy should actually be here,” came Calhoun’s voice. “We’re about to enter Thallonian space.”

“Yes, Captain. Sorry. I was in conference. I’ll be right up.”

Calhoun simply shut off the link rather than continue the conversation. That left Xy staring at Soleta. “Did . . . did we . . . ?”

“You were very enthusiastic,” Soleta told him.

He closed his eyes and moaned softly. “How did . . . I mean, I can see me becoming so drunk, but you . . . ?”

“I wasn’t drunk. I was just trying to keep up.”

She stood up and smoothed the front of her uniform. “I’ll head up first. I suspect I’ll be needed on the bridge for the time being. You come up a few minutes afterward so no one will put it together.”

“Yes, okay. Absolutely.”

She headed for the door and then stopped when Xy called her name. She turned to face him.

“We didn’t have sex, did we,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She hesitated a moment and then said, “No. You were interested and I wasn’t averse because, well . . . I’ve been in a coma for several months. And I wanted to test out my legs. So I brought you here, and you threw off your clothes and then you passed out. I am sorry.”

He sighed, his head slumping against the bed. “That’s a relief.”

She stared at him. “Is the prospect of intercourse with me so abhorrent to you?”

“No, of course not.”

“All right. Well . . . perhaps it is something we can consider for some time in the future when you are sober.”

With that, she turned and walked out of her quarters.

vi.

THE EXCALIBUR STREAKED through Thallonian space, the cloaking device’s shimmering effect around it. The farther they got into Sector 221-G, the quieter the bridge became.

“Readings,” said Calhoun.

“Nothing so far,” said Kebron. “Sensors are at full . . . uh-oh.”

Calhoun didn’t like the sound of that. “Full uh-oh?”

“Thallonian ship is approaching.”

“I have them, Captain,” Tobias spoke up. “It’s a warship, just on the outer reaches of sensor range.”

“Is it heading for us, or is it on routine patrol?”

“Impossible to determine.”

Calhoun thought about it for a moment. “Full stop,” he ordered.

“Full stop, aye.”

The Excalibur dropped out of warp space and glided to a halt. Then it waited for the approaching warship.

“Should we go to red alert, Captain?” asked Kebron.

Calhoun considered it and then shook his head. “We don’t know the full capabilities of the cloaking device. For all we know, they’d be able to detect red alert signals and our weapons powering up. Put me on ship wide.”

“You’re on, Captain.”

He spoke quickly. “All hands. No unnecessary talking or noise. We’re going to be playing dead until further notice.” He clicked off and then sat back in the command chair, interlacing his fingers and staring at the screen.

The bridge crew took him at his word. There was total silence, a complete lack of chatter back and forth. They all stared quietly at the main viewscreen.

Moments later, the battle cruiser was heading straight toward them. For a moment Calhoun was worried that, against all odds, it might actually collide with them. Then he quickly realized that, no, it was going to pass by them by a considerable distance. That was assuming that the ship was indeed intending to go past them as opposed to opening fire on them.

Soleta was standing next to Xy at the science station. As if she were reading Calhoun’s mind, she said very softly, “It is going to go past us. It will not see us.”

Calhoun heard her. “I appreciate your confidence. I hope you’re right.”

There was no more talking. Everyone stood and watched in silence, waiting to see if the warship would react to their presence.

Closer it drew, and closer still. Silently Calhoun turned to Kebron, his face a question. Kebron was seemingly able to read his mind as well: Had the battle cruiser’s weapons come on line? The answer was a silent shaking of his head (or upper torso). It seemed the warship was running blind.

Five hundred thousand kilometers, one hundred thousand, fifty thousand, and then the warship was so close that for a moment it really did seem to be a collision threat after all. But no, it kept going, hurtling past the starship and continuing on its path. It never so much as slowed down. Nevertheless, everyone remained silent until Calhoun slowly nodded. He let out his breath, realizing only belatedly that he’d been holding it.

“Soleta,” he said finally, “it appears that your cloaking device managed to keep us hidden.”

“Of course it did,” she said without hesitation. “It has never failed me.”

A hand patted her shoulder. She looked in mild surprise and saw that it was Xy who had done so. “Thank you,” she said very softly. He nodded in response.

“All right then. Keep her steady on course,” said Calhoun.

The Excalibur continued on her path.

vii.

THE WARSHIP MIGHT have been the first of the Thallonian vessels that the Excalibur encountered, but it was most definitely not the last.

The farther the ship penetrated into Sector 221-G, the more ships it encountered. A variety of races cruised past them, going on about their business. It was surprising to Calhoun, to see the amount of traffic that was in Thallonian space. But none of them seemed to be remotely aware of the ship’s presence. That was a situation that Soleta considered to be very pleasing. Not that she was effusive about it; that would not have been consistent with her personality. Nevertheless, she took pride in the performance of her ship’s cloaking device. It was a silent but effective testimony to the quality of Romulan technology.

Yet even as she was reveling in the cloak’s acievement, Soleta remained uncertain. She had spent the majority of her life relishing her Vulcan heritage. To her, the Romulans were the well-established opponents of the Federation. The notion of taking any pride in Romulan technology was alien to her. Yet, she could not help herself.

No wonder so many of them don’t trust me, she thought grimly. Even I have divided loyalties. Never for a moment did she believe that she would betray Starfleet if push came to shove. Still, being proud of her Romulan background . . .

It does not matter. None of it matters. You are serving aboard the Excalibur and that is the only thing of importance.

“Captain,” said Tobias, “we are approaching the coordinates of the wormhole that Soleta told us about.”

Soleta nodded confidently. Her memory of her encounter with Nechayev was quite vivid, and she was positive that she had gotten it right. Xy, in response, said, “Sensors on full, Captain. If it’s out there, we’ll find it.”

“ ‘If’? ” commented Soleta.

“I’m sweeping the area as well, Captain,” said Lefler, “and thus far I’m not finding anything. Long-range sensors on maximum.”

“It’s there,” Soleta assured her.

“Coming up empty on mine as well,” said Xy.

Soleta turned and looked at him in confusion. “No. It has to be there.”

“Take us out of warp,” ordered Calhoun.

The Excalibur dropped out of warp space into normal space, approaching the area that Soleta had demarcated as the wormhole location. Moments later the ship had glided to a halt. Xy and Lefler scrutinized the readings.

“Sir,” Xy said slowly, “there’s nothing here. Just space.”

“Impossible,” said Soleta. She strode over to the science station and nudged Xy aside. He moved out of the way so that she could take over the science station. She studied the readings and, although there was no change in her expression, her eyes flickered with desperation. “Impossible,” she said again. “It has to be here.”

“Are you sure?” said Calhoun.

She looked up at Calhoun. “Captain, I was in a coma for months with that information in my head. There is simply no way I could have gotten it wrong. It should be right out there.”

“Except it isn’t,” said Lefler.

“Captain, it has to be here. It’s eluding our sensors somehow.”

“Is it possible for a wormhole to elude our sensors?”

Soleta was about to respond, but for some reason she turned to Xy and waited for him to reply. He glanced at her momentarily and then, still looking at her, he replied, “Wormholes can be unstable, Captain. They’re there, and then they aren’t.”

“Soleta, you said this one wasn’t unstable.”

“It is not,” she said firmly. “I am sure of it.”

“Just as you were sure it was here in the first place?” said Calhoun. He didn’t sound accusatory to her. He was simply asking for clarification. Nevertheless, there was a slight tinge of frustration to his voice. He, as much as anyone, wanted to go after the D’myurj, partly to rescue Nechayev, but mostly to exercise some manner of revenge on the beings that had destroyed his people.

“It is here,” said Soleta. “Somehow our sensors aren’t picking it up. Perhaps the sensors are malfunctioning . . .”

“I don’t think so,” said Kebron, “considering that they are picking up incoming vessels fairly easily.”

“Incoming—?” said Calhoun.

“Yes, sir. Three warships . . . no, four. Make that five.”

Calhoun was now on his feet, and there was worry on his face. “We’re in trouble,” he said grimly.

“Are you sure, Captain?” said Burgoyne.

“When it comes to trouble, I’m always sure. Is the cloak still on?”

“Fully functional,” Lefler confirmed.

“Captain,” Kebron said, “ships are coming in fully armed. Shields up, weapons hot.”

“Maybe they’re on their way to a fight,” Tobias said hopefully.

“They are,” said Calhoun. “But I think it’s a fight with us. Take us to red alert.”

This time when the red alert siren sounded, Calhoun did nothing to silence it. Instead he strode forward, eyes on the viewscreen. The ships were definitely converging, and if Soleta had not known better, she would have sworn they were converging on the Excalibur. But it couldn’t be. The cloaking device was fully functional. There was simply no way that it could . . .

“Captain, they’ve opened fire!” called Kebron.

Blasts ripped through the darkness of space, hammering into the saucer section of the ship. The Excalibur trembled in response as blasts from three different directions slammed into it.

“Impossible!” Soleta cried out.

Tobias fired her an annoyed look. “You must love being right so many times today.”

“Shields remaining stable, Captain,” said Kebron. “Those weren’t full-strength blasts. They were warning shots.”

“How the hell did they know where we were?” demanded Calhoun. It was a general comment, but Soleta felt as if it were directed to her.

“I don’t know, Captain,” she admitted. It was frustrating for her to do so. “The cloaking device was working earlier. Readings indicate that it’s working now. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“We’re outnumbered five to one,” said Kebron. “Any thoughts, Captain?”

“Sir!” Lefler suddenly spoke up. “We’re getting an incoming hail. It’s addressed to us by name. They know it’s us!”

Just like that, the entire endeavor had slid off the rails. Soleta simply could not comprehend how it had gone so wrong so quickly.

Everyone on the bridge turned to Calhoun, waiting for him to make a decision. If he spoke to them, he would be flat out giving away that Excalibur was there. On the other hand, they seemed to know that already, so it wouldn’t be as if he was revealing anything.

“They’re opening fire again!” shouted Lefler.

This time the two other vessels were firing. One blast struck home on the saucer, and the second slammed into the aft nacelle. The ship shook violently; it was obviously a stronger blast than before.

“Some shield damage,” reported Lefler. “Aft shield down five percent. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“At the moment,” said Kebron. “Obviously they’re still in warning mode. Sooner or later—probably sooner—they’re going to get tired of warning us and start blasting away with everything they have.”

Calhoun nodded and said the only thing he could. “Accept the hail, Robin.”

Her fingers flew over the board in front of her, and moments later the red-skinned face of a Thallonian appeared on the screen before them. He had an elaborate series of tattoos etched on his bald head, and Lefler immediately muttered to Calhoun, “Top-rank warrior caste. Only they can wear those markings.”

“Captain Calhoun,” said the Thallonian. “I am Castor Dule of the Thallonian fleet. I could say that I am pleased to see you here because your combat skill is legendary in my ranks. However, I must disapprove. Your vessel is not welcome here.”

“We are on a mission, Castor Dule,” said Calhoun. “One that, frankly, we could use your help with.”

“What manner of mission?”

“We are looking for a wormhole to pass through to a pocket universe in order to confront a race that has caused serious hardship for the Federation.”

“Really?” Dule made a show of looking right and left. “I do not see a wormhole in this vicinity.”

“Nor do we. If you could provide us readings of your records of this area . . .”

Dule actually chuckled at that. “Do you truly believe we are going to give you access to our records? Do you truly believe that we are going to help you? What do we care of trouble that some race inflicts on your Federation? There is no advantage to us in providing relief for your kind.”

“So you say now,” said Calhoun. “They may decide to target you next.”

“I am reasonably prepared to take our chances, Captain. In any event, our future is not something you need concern yourself over. Instead, you need to worry about your own future. As you can see, we have you targeted despite your enchanting cloaking device.”

“I would be interested to know how you accomplished that,” said Calhoun.

“I am sure you would, so that you could immediately endeavor to nullify the advantage we have. That is not going to happen. No, I will tell you instead exactly what will happen. We are going to make a demand of you. You are going to give us what we demand, and we will then allow you to proceed.”

Soleta noticed the rest of the bridge crew exchanging puzzled looks. What in the world did they have that the Thallonians could be interested in?

“You will allow us to proceed?” said Calhoun slowly.

“That is correct, Captain. One Starfleet vessel, alone in Thallonian space. We do not see you as capable of doing a great deal of harm. Try to find your wormhole, save your Federation. I have been authorized to tell you that your presence will be tolerated for forty-eight of your hours. That should be more than enough time, I should think, to accomplish whatever it is that you have set out to do.”

“In exchange for what?” said Calhoun.

“We want Robin Lefler and her son.”

To Soleta’s surprise, Lefler did not seem the least bit caught off guard. “Of course that’s what they want,” she said softly.

“Why do you want her?” said Calhoun.

“Her son is the heir apparent to the Thallonian throne. His place is on New Thallon. Truthfully, we do not really require his mother to accompany him, but we are assuming that she would insist upon it.”

“I’m sorry, Castor Dule,” said Calhoun, “but I’m not in the habit of trading in human life.”

“You do it all the time,” said Dule. “You brought all the humans on your vessel here on a suicidal situation. Those lives factored into your equations. All we are asking you to do is trade two lives for the thousand or so that you have on your ship. Because rest assured, if you refuse to turn Lefler and son over to us, you will immediately be engaged in a battle that you cannot possibly win. We will blow your vessel to pieces and everyone on your ship will be dead. If you try to flee in escape pods, I assure you we will track those down and blow them up as well. Two lives for a thousand, Captain. It is a fair trade.”

“So that you can execute them?”

“Captain!” Dule sounded shocked. “Why in the world would we do that? That child is the future of New Thallon. He is to be protected.”

“I seem to recall some hostile feelings for him in the past.”

“The past remains the past. I can guarantee his safe conduct and a secure life of luxury for him and his mother.”

“I appreciate that,” said Calhoun, “but I’m afraid my answer has to be—”

And Lefler said, “I’ll do it.”

Calhoun’s head snapped over to her and there was obvious astonishment on his face. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’ll do it,” said Lefler. “I’ll go get Cwansi from child care, and they can beam me over.”

“That is very wise,” said Dule.

“No, it’s not very wise,” said Calhoun firmly. “Robin, you are not going to turn yourself over to them.”

“Yes, I am, Captain. I have no choice,” said Lefler. “You said it yourself. We’re outnumbered five to one.”

“Actually, I said that,” said Kebron.

“Whatever. Outnumbered is outnumbered. We can’t battle these odds, Captain. They’ve punched through the cloaking device somehow . . .”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” said Soleta.

“Please stop saying that,” Lefler told her curtly. “You told us the wormhole was here; you said the cloaking device would protect us. We’re here because of you, Soleta, and your consistent wrongness has—”

“That’s enough,” said Calhoun. “Robin, this isn’t your call. It’s mine. And I am not going to turn anyone on this ship over to the Thallonians. That’s the end of the discussion.”

“Captain, you don’t—”

“End of the discussion.”

Dule sounded sad. “Captain, I strongly advise that you listen to Robin Lefler. This is avoidable if you—”

“Close off communications,” Calhoun said to Lefler.

She didn’t do so. Instead she sat there, looking in forlorn desperation at her commanding officer.

Calhoun didn’t hesitate. “Kebron, shut it down.” Kebron immediately did so, and Calhoun’s attention returned to Lefler. “Are we going to have a problem, Robin?”

“Captain, you have to send me over there.”

“No.”

“Listen to me—”

“Lieutenant,” said Calhoun in a formal tone, “are you capable of carrying out your duties?”

“That’s not the point, Captain. I—”

Calhoun didn’t bother to listen to her. Instead, without hesitation, he turned to Soleta and said, “Soleta, take over ops. Robin, you are relieved.”

Soleta was stunned. She had never taken over ops in her life. Nor did she have the slightest idea of what she should do, because Robin Lefler was still sitting there. She was loath to walk over and just stand there waiting for Robin to get up.

Lefler looked about to protest, but apparently thought better of it. Instead she simply stood and said, “Yes, sir.” Then she strode off the bridge. The turbolift door hissed shut behind her.

Soleta was still standing at the science station, and Calhoun turned and stared at her. Needing no further urging, she went to the ops station and slid into the chair. Tobias was scowling at her, but that was the least of Soleta’s problems.

“Sir,” she said quickly, “we’re being targeted.”

“Hard a-port,” said Calhoun. “Stand by to return fire.”

This time there was no holding back. All five ships opened fire on the Excalibur. The ship shivered violently under the pounding. The sharp turn managed to avoid some of the hammering, but much of it still struck the vessel.

“Shields down twenty percent,” said Soleta.

“Target and fire!” Calhoun called.

Kebron’s huge hands flew daintily over the board. The Excalibur cut loose, blasting at the nearest of the warships. The phasers caused the ship to tremble but the damage inflicted wasn’t enough to disable it. It did, however, peel off; another ship was right behind it.

“Get us out of here. Full retreat,” said Calhoun.

“Impossible, Captain,” Soleta immediately said. “Two more ships have come in behind us.”

“Are they bigger than us?”

“No, sir. Smaller.”

“Go through them.”

Soleta didn’t hesitate. Charting the course, she sent the ship into a direct collision course with the two that had dropped in to try and block their path.

The ships did not back off. Instead they hurtled toward the Excalibur, their own weapons blasting away. Kebron was shouting out the steadily diminishing power of the shields. “Seventy percent down, Captain! Sixty percent! Shields at half!” It was like listening to a countdown to destruction.

“Keep going!” called Calhoun.

“Shields at forty! Captain, at this rate we will not be able to withstand a head-on collision.”

Calhoun slammed his fist into the armrest of the chair. “Veer off! Circle around!”

The Excalibur swung around and headed back toward the armada of ships that were attacking.

For a heartbeat, Soleta considered dropping the shields, taking command of the transporter, locking on to Robin and Cwansi, and beaming them to the nearest ship. You can’t do that. You’d have to drop shields, and they would destroy us as soon as you did that.

Plus she’s a crew member. You shouldn’t do that because it’s wrong.

It bothered her that the moral aspect was an afterthought.

viii.

LEFLER SPRINTED DOWN the corridor, clutching Cwansi with her right arm and bracing herself against the wall with her left. It was difficult because every time the ship was struck, she stumbled and almost fell.

Cwansi was tremendously upset. He didn’t like the explosions around them, and his mother’s franticness certainly did nothing to calm him. Every blow that the ship sustained caused an increase in his alarmed shrieking. Lefler desperately wanted to stroke him, assure him that everything was going to be all right. But she was in no position to do so, since her primary concern was managing to stay on her feet.

Just ahead of her was the transporter room. She managed to keep herself upright and staggered through the doors that opened to receive her.

Halliwell was at the transporter controls. She was holding on as best she could as the room rocked left and right. Since the shields were up, preventing the use of the transporter, she was genuinely surprised when Lefler stumbled in. Lefler almost fell yet again, but Halliwell came around from the transporter controls and caught her. “What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Halliwell.

Lefler spoke as quickly as she could. “We’re going to lose shields. That’s inevitable. I need you to lock onto one of the ships and beam me over there when that happens.”

“That won’t work! Their shields will still be up! Our transporters won’t be able to penetrate. And by the way, I couldn’t do that anyway without the captain’s orders!”

“The captain isn’t thinking straight. He’s ready to let the ship be blown up rather than surrender me to the Thallonians.”

Halliwell didn’t hesitate. “That’s his call to make. It’s not mine to disobey his orders.”

Once more the ship was hit. Cwansi cried out in even greater terror. Lefler’s mind raced and then she said, “Can you beam me into a shuttlecraft? I can take one of those out and alert the ships that I’m surrendering . . .”

“Robin, no!”

She grabbed Halliwell by the arm. “I am not going to be responsible for killing everyone on this ship!”

“Last I checked, you’re not the one firing at us! Robin, I’m not going to disobey the captain’s orders! I’m just not!”

“Fine,” said Lefler. She started to turn away, and then suddenly she turned back, swung her fist, and struck Halliwell on the chin. Halliwell fell backward, slamming to the deck.

Quickly Lefler stepped in front of the transporter controls, trying to figure out the coordinates that she could use to beam them into a shuttle. But before she could accomplish anything, Halliwell was back on her feet, rage in her face. She grabbed Cwansi out of the startled Lefler’s hands and then brought her foot up and slammed it into Lefler’s rib cage. Lefler stumbled backward and fell to the deck as Cwansi let out a terrified shriek.

“You idiot,” snapped Halliwell. “You’re lucky I saved your child from falling down with you! You both could have died! Now take your child and get out of here, or so help me I’ll call security and have you locked in the brig!”

“There’s not going to be a brig!” Lefler shouted back. She felt liquid dribbling from her mouth; she was bleeding. She wiped it away and tried not to think about it. “There’s not going to be any ship! If you don’t—!”

“Excuse me.”

The mild voice startled both of them. Mark McHenry was standing there, having apparently appeared out of nowhere at all. He had his typical cockeyed smile on his face, and when the ship rocked again, he glanced off into the distance and said, “Well, that doesn’t sound good.” Then he shifted his attention back to Robin. “Do you still want to surrender yourself and save the ship?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“All righty, then,” said Mark McHenry, and he snapped his fingers.

And he was gone.

And so were Robin Lefler and Cwansi.

“Damn it,” said Halliwell.

Thallonian Battleship

THE BRIDGE OF the Thallonian battleship was nowhere near as spacious as that of the Excalibur. It had been designed for maximum efficiency and barely had room for the officers populating it. The lights that shone from above bathed the crew in red.

“Bring us around,” said Castor Dule.

His navigator swung the vessel around to continue the attack.

Dule did not like this battle. He knew that he had a five-to-one advantage. He knew that by any reasonable measure, he should be able to triumph in this combat with little to no difficulty.

But the truth was that he was extremely daunted by the prospect of going up against Mackenzie Calhoun. The captain had thought his way out of far too many scenarios, tricked his way out of certain death time and again. Dule was worried that the longer the battle went on, the more chance there was that Calhoun would find some way to triumph in the end.

Dule wasn’t entirely certain he would want to survive that. It would be bad enough to be killed by Calhoun, yes. But the prospect of outnumbering him five to one, being defeated, and then having to live with that disgrace for the rest of his life, was not a pleasant alternative.

Granted, he knew that the people who had sent him there wanted him to destroy the Excalibur, but he was disinclined to do that. And Dule knew he had the authority to turn everyone around and leave the Excalibur be if that were his inclination.

And suddenly, just like that, a baby was crying on his bridge.

Dule was standing and turned so quickly that he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Standing just a few feet away from him was a man he did not recognize: a human with sandy hair and what appeared to be a permanent smile pasted on his face.

Standing next to him, to Dule’s complete astonishment, was Robin Lefler. She was cradling the sobbing baby, and Dule immediately knew from the coloring of the child’s skin that he was the target of this endeavor: Cwansi.

“Where in the name of the gods did you come from?” demanded Dule.

“The Excalibur,” said the sandy-haired human. “You wanted Robin Lefler and Cwansi? She is surrendering herself to you. Of her own free will.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m her escort,” said the man. “My name is McHenry. Hi, how you doing?”

He stretched out a hand. Dule stared at it, uncomprehending of what was expected, and decided to ignore it. However, feeling the need to say something, he clicked his heels together formally. “Robin Lefler, welcome aboard. You, your child and . . . escort”—he nodded toward McHenry—“will be given accommodations on my vessel.”

“And what about the Excalibur?” she demanded. “Your other ships are still firing on it.”

Without hesitation Dule turned to his communications officer. “Inform the other vessels. Everyone is to break off engagements. We have what we came for.”

His communications officer hesitated. “Sir . . . aren’t we expected to . . . ?”

“I don’t give a damn. Disengage.” He bowed to Robin. “This way.” He gestured toward the exit.

Lefler was bouncing Cwansi, who was just starting to calm down. McHenry followed her but paused for a moment as he turned to Dule. “Just so you understand,” McHenry said in what almost sounded a convivial manner, “if you do anything to try and hurt her, I will kill everyone on this vessel. We clear on that?”

Dule had no idea how to respond and settled for “Absolutely.”

“Good!” said McHenry cheerfully. “So . . . what do you have to eat around here?”

Excalibur

i.

CALHOUN’S MIND WAS racing as he tried to come up with some new counterattack, but nothing was coming to him. The odds were simply too great.

Stop that. You never give up. Ever. You will find a way around this. You’re going to save everyone on this ship. Stay calm and analyze the situation. Find a way as you’ve always have.

“Captain,” said Kebron, and there was genuine surprise in his voice. “They’re leaving!”

“What?” Calhoun couldn’t quite believe that he had heard correctly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they’ve broken off. They’re departing the area.”

Calhoun stared at the viewscreen, scarcely able to believe it. He had no idea what the hell was going on. One minute the five vessels had been pounding away at the Excalibur. And the next minute, they had ceased fire and were angling themselves away from the ship. It made no sense at all.

“Have they contacted us? Explained why they’re leaving?” said Calhoun. He knew it was a ridiculous question, but it was the only thing he could think of to ask.

“No, sir. Nothing. They’ve simply turned away and are departing.”

“But it doesn’t track. Why would they . . . ?”

Then the answer occurred to him, stark and simple.

They had gotten what they came for.

He tapped his combadge. “Bridge to Lefler.”

No response.

He turned to Soleta. “Find Lefler. Right now.”

Her hands flew across the panel in front of her. When she turned to face him, her face looked slightly paler. “Captain, Robin Lefler is not on the ship.”

“Check with child care.”

“Already have,” said Soleta. “Robin picked up Cwansi minutes ago.”

“Captain, I’m getting a call from the transporter room,” said Soleta.

“Put it on audio.”

Moments later Halliwell’s voice was crackling over the comm. “Sir, Robin Lefler was down here. She wanted me to beam her over to the attacking vessels.”

Calhoun’s voice dropped dangerously. “And did you?”

“Of course not, Captain. But it didn’t matter. Mark McHenry just showed up out of nowhere and he just . . . he took her. He just . . . how did he do that, Captain?”

He realized that not everyone on the ship was aware of the changes that McHenry had undergone. “I’ll explain it later,” he said. “Calhoun out.” He heard Halliwell start to ask another question but the link shut down before she could get it out.

For a long moment, there was silence on the bridge.

Then Calhoun slammed his armrest and shouted, “Grozit!” Then, more softly, he repeated the Xenexian profanity.

The silence stretched out after that, and then Burgoyne said, “Orders, sir?”

Calhoun had absolutely no idea what to do. There was no sign of the wormhole, which was their entire reason for coming to Sector 221-G in the first place. And now, against his specific orders, Robin Lefler had departed the ship and had obviously surrendered to the Thallonians. She was being carted off to New Thallon and he had no clue what they were going to do to her.

“Senior officers to the observation lounge,” he said briskly.

This prompted confused looks between the bridge crew. “Sir?” said Burgoyne. “The conference room?”

“Yes. It’s where we go to discuss our next move.”

Burgy didn’t have to say what every single one of them was thinking: Mackenzie Calhoun did not typically discuss his next move. He simply took it. But no one was about to say that to him.

They headed to the observation lounge.

ii.

CALHOUN STARED AT the officers who were seated around the table: Burgoyne, Tobias, Xy, and Kebron. He waited for someone to say something and realized that they were waiting for him to speak. For the first time in his career, he was unsure of what to say to them. He felt as if he was letting them down.

Except that wasn’t true. He knew exactly what to say.

“We need to get Lefler back,” he said.

“Sir,” said Burgoyne, “that would mean heading to New Thallon. They know we’d be coming; they’d be ready.”

“And considering that they’re somehow able to penetrate our cloaking device,” pointed out Tobias, “we’d be battling the entirety of their fleet.”

“Yes, how the hell did they do that?” demanded Calhoun. “I thought that the cloaking device was supposed to be impenetrable.”

“It should be,” said Xy. “We tested it thoroughly. There is no reason for it to have failed while in the field.”

“For every device that’s created,” said Kebron, “there’s another to overcome it. We have to assume that somehow, in some way, the Thallonians have managed to crack the cloaking device. We could guess how, but that’s all they would be: guesses.”

“They could be doing anything to her,” said Calhoun. “We have no idea . . .”

“We do have an idea,” said Burgoyne. “And that idea is that McHenry is with her. I think we can safely surmise that if they did try anything hostile, that he would prevent any harm from coming to her.”

“Do we know that for sure?”

“It’s McHenry,” said Burgoyne. “I’m honestly uncertain we know anything for sure when it comes to him, but that’s how I felt about him while he was serving here. Now that he’s off on his own and become whatever the hell he is, that uncertainty is even more so. But, the man I once knew would never leave a fellow crew member in harm’s way. I have to believe that’s still true.”

“What choices are we left with?” said Calhoun. “There’s no wormhole. We’re in the middle of Sector 221-G, we are unable to accomplish the mission. There is simply no way that—”

Suddenly Calhoun’s combadge beeped at him. He tapped it. “Calhoun, go ahead.”

“Sir,” came Soleta’s voice. She had remained on the bridge, at her own request. She had been reluctant to join the other officers, and she wanted to continue searching for the wormhole. “I found it.”

“The wormhole?” Calhoun couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yes, sir. It just flared into existence, exactly where it was supposed to be.”

“Why did it disappear? You said it was stable.”

“I have no idea, sir. But for whatever reason, it’s back. The current readings indicate that it is going to remain in place for slightly over ten minutes, and then it may well vanish again, for I don’t know how long.”

“We’ll be right there. Calhoun out.” He hit his combadge again to close the connection and turned to the others. “So now what? We leave Lefler and her son behind, in order to go into a wormhole that we have no idea if it will reopen so we can return?”

The others nodded in unison.

“Great,” said Calhoun, “just so we are in agreement.”

“We don’t need to be in agreement, Captain,” said Burgoyne. “You lead, we follow. That’s how it’s always been.”

“And always will be,” said Kebron.

Slowly Calhoun nodded, and then he stood up. “Stations,” he said.

The officers returned to the bridge. The wormhole had returned. It hung in space, the interior of it rippling with energy. Calhoun paused a moment to look at Soleta, who was still at ops. Perhaps she felt his gaze upon her, because she turned and stared back at him and, to Calhoun’s surprise, smiled.

“Tobias,” said Calhoun, “take us in.”

The Excalibur hurtled forward and dove into the wormhole.

New Thallon

i.

SHINTER HAN COULD not believe it.

“It all worked out exactly as you said it would,” he said to Xyon.

Xyon was in Han’s office, and he was looking exceptionally pleased with himself. “Of course it did,” he replied. “Lefler was naturally going to give herself up. And my father would have no other choice except to let her do so.”

“Oh. No, that part did not turn out as you predicted, as it so happened.”

Xyon stared at him, bewildered. “What do you mean? My father didn’t turn Robin Lefler over to your men?”

“No, he did not. But she was able to turn herself over.”

“How in the world did she do that?”

“In the company of some stranger who apparently was able to transport her to our vessel through . . . I’m unclear on exactly how he accomplished it.”

Upon hearing this, Xyon was immediately suspicious. “Who was the stranger?”

“His name is . . .” Han consulted the report that had been delivered to him. “McHenry.”

“Mark McHenry?” said Xyon.

“We did not get another name.” Han frowned. “Why? What is wrong?”

Xyon had gotten up from his chair and was now standing a meter away, near the office door. “You do not know McHenry. He is . . . powerful.”

“Powerful in what way?”

“Well, he was able to transport Lefler to the ship over my father’s objections, to start out.”

“So he is a teleporter,” said Han dismissively. “That hardly makes him dangerous.”

“Believe me, there is more to him than that. I am uncertain of how much more; that is the problem. McHenry has . . . unpredictable abilities. You may have taken on more than you anticipated with him.”

“One man against the combined might of New Thallon? I am not concerned.”

“That’s exactly the point. You should be.”

“I would not worry,” Han said confidently. “We can handle him the same way we handled the Excalibur.”

“Yes, well . . . you did that, at least. So it’s destroyed.”

“Actually, no. Our fleet captain left it intact. I will be having words with him over that, I can assure you.”

Xyon closed his eyes in obvious frustration. “They left it intact. Wonderful. So between this and McHenry, the entire mission accomplished nothing.”

“It didn’t accomplish ‘nothing.’ We got Lefler and Cwansi. It’s what we wanted.”

“You’re not understanding,” Xyon said with increasing anxiety. “I wasn’t allowing for the idea that my father wouldn’t want to turn her over. I wasn’t allowing for the presence of some manner of . . . whatever McHenry is.”

“What are you suggesting?” said Han suspiciously.

“I am suggesting,” said Xyon, endeavoring to hold on to his patience, “that you may want to rethink this plan. That you may want to have your battleship turn around and return Robin Lefler to the Excalibur. Because you don’t know what McHenry is capable of, and the reason you don’t know that is because I don’t know that.”

Han chuckled. “Well, I appreciate your concern . . .”

“I don’t think you do, no. But you know what? This is no longer my problem.” He made a sweeping bow to Han. “If it is all right with you, I think I’ll take my leave of your wonderful world.”

“Not so fast,” said Han. “It is possible that we may have further need of you.”

“I am unsure why,” said Xyon. “If you’re ready to disregard my advice regarding McHenry, I don’t think you’re going to require it for anything else.”

“Nevertheless, it is my wish that you stay.”

“It isn’t mine.”

Han’s voice dropped in tone. “If you are remotely interested in being paid for your time and involvement, I would strongly advise that you rethink your decision.”

Xyon stared at him incredulously. “Money? You think I did this in the interest of gold-pressed latinum or some other method of payment? You could not be more wrong. I did this out of a desire to undermine my father. To exacerbate his uncertainties. To undercut his confidence. To destroy him, except your fleet commander messed that up. Being paid for my time would be appreciated, of course, but it is hardly mandatory. So if it is all the same to you, I will be departing now, and if you are disinclined to pay me, well . . . that’s your decision.”

“I’m afraid that you are wrong, Xyon,” said Han. He tapped a button on his desk and said, “Send the guards in, please.”

Immediately the doors burst open and three security guards strode in, weapons drawn. Xyon glanced at them but seemed more amused than anything else.

“Xyon,” said Han, “these gentlemen will escort you to your quarters, where you will be kept until such time that I have need for you once again.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you think will happen. However, I believe that you’re going to very quickly discover that not everything is going to turn out the way you think it will. Lyla, bring me home.”

“Lyla?” said a confused Han. “Who would that b—?”

He didn’t have the opportunity to finish the question because suddenly the sounds of transporter beams filled the office. As the guards watched helplessly, Xyon slowly dissolved into free-floating molecules. Seconds later, he had disappeared.

“Son of a—!” howled Han. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, sir!” said the leader of the guards, providing no useful information whatsoever.

“He must have transported to his ship,” said Han. “Alert planetary defense systems. Don’t let him leave. Bring his ship down if necessary.”

Han’s efforts to prevent Xyon’s departure, however, were doomed. Xyon’s ship was small enough that it was easily able to elude New Thallon’s best efforts to find it and bring it down. There was no one to blame for it, really. Planetary defense had been constructed to prevent New Thallon from being attacked by vessels that were large and dangerous. Xyon’s ship was the exact opposite of that and thus was able to avoid being detected.

The guards were genuinely concerned over bringing the news to Han, and their worry was justified. Han threw an absolute fit. Rather than remember the responsibilities that were incumbent upon being prime minister, he allowed himself to sink into an infuriated rage that lasted some minutes. The guards were concerned that he would extract his favorite disruptor from his desk and open fire on them.

Fortunately enough, after several minutes of ranting, Han was able to regain control of himself. He breathed deeply several times and then finally said, “Inform me when Castor Dule has arrived. I will attend to Robin Lefler and Cwansi myself.”

ii.

ROBIN LEFLER WAS becoming concerned that she had made an error.

She had been absolutely positive that volunteering to go with Castor Dule had been the right move. By taking that step, she had single-handedly saved the crew of the Excalibur. She had also spared Mackenzie Calhoun from having to make a terrible decision by making it for him.

Still, the more she had time to think about it, the more worried she became. What if I’ve made a mistake? We have no way of knowing what sort of reception we’re going to receive. What if they try to hurt Cwansi? What if they regard him as a future threat? What if I’ve just delivered my son into the hands of enemies who want to destroy him?

However, McHenry was dismissive of her concerns. “You’re overthinking this, Robin,” he said confidently. “Everything is going to work out fine.”

That had been his attitude on the warship that had transported them to New Thallon, and it was still his attitude as they were brought to the office of the prime minister.

Robin tried to remain calm and optimistic, although she was having trouble doing so. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised about that. She had a genuine knack for second-guessing herself.

They had been brought to a small house that she had been told was used to host important visitors and offworlders. She was unfamiliar with it and that alone was enough to concern her. But she decided that that was something that could wait. Cwansi was fussing, and he was clearly hungry.

She sat on a comfortable chair in the middle of the room. McHenry was standing nearby. She removed her shirt, and McHenry stared at her in confusion. “What are you—?”

Lefler raised her undergarment, exposing her breast. “Is there a problem, Mark?” she asked.

“What? No. No problem,” he said quickly, and turned his back to her. Cwansi’s mouth immediately sought out her breast and began to drink hungrily.

“Are you sure?” For the first time in a while, she actually felt amused. “You’ve seen a mother nurse before, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Absolutely. No, not really.” He shifted uncomfortably in his place. “Maybe I should wait somewhere else.”

“You honestly don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s just a breast.”

“I know.”

She hesitated. “You’ve seen breasts before, haven’t you?”

He cleared his throat loudly. “I would much prefer if we didn’t have this discussion.”

“Mark! Are you telling me that—?”

He put his hands over his ears.

“Mark?”

He began humming loudly so as to block out her questions.

Robin laughed and decided that it would be best not to pursue it. Instead she fed Cwansi for a time and then switched him to the other breast. Cwansi continued to feed hungrily until finally he had had enough. She then laid him across her lap and dressed herself quickly.

“He had enough to eat?” asked McHenry.

“Yes, he’s full. It’s fine.”

There was a knock at the door. McHenry and Lefler exchanged looks and then she called, “Yes?”

A voice from the other side of the door said, “Prime Minister Han wishes to see you, Ms. Lefler.”

“Yes, of course. Give me a moment.” She turned to McHenry. “Here we go. Time to say hello to our new host.”

“It’s going to be fine,” said McHenry. “Trust me.”

“I do trust you, Mark. It’s the rest of these bastards that I have a problem with.”

She lifted Cwansi into her arms and rocked with him for a few moments. As he typically did shortly after eating a big meal, Cwansi drifted to sleep. Lefler nodded approvingly. She realized she wasn’t going to be able to do this for much longer; Cwansi would be too big within a month or so to continue breast-feeding. She’d have to be switching him to grown-up food.

Grown up.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what Si Cwan would have been like being his father. She suspected that he would have been all about raising the child in line with great Thallonian traditions.

Perhaps . . . perhaps this was the best place after all. It was not one that she would have chosen, but Lefler couldn’t help but feel that she needed to embrace Si Cwan’s traditions. It was not something that she would have either undertaken or sought out on her own, but now that she had been thrust into it, she found herself warming to it.

Granted, there was a great deal about the Thallonian way of doing things that she intensely disliked. That they had shown up and threatened to destroy the Excalibur if she declined to go with them had certainly not endeared them to her. But there was no going back; she had to think that now that she had gotten past that ugliness, maybe it was time to do her best with what had been put in front of her.

Once Cwansi was asleep, she shifted him onto her shoulder. He was breathing gently into her ear, and she smiled. He would never be able to know his father, but if he was raised on New Thallon with an education that would enable him to take over once he grew, that could be a goal that Si Cwan would approved of.

“Let’s go,” she said to McHenry.

They walked out of the house. Lefler had wondered if she would see a lot of Thallonians en route, but the narrow streets were fairly deserted. She wondered why that was. The paranoid part of her wondered if guards were stationed somewhere, making sure that the path between this squat building and the prime minister’s office was being kept unobstructed by any pedestrians. You really need to calm down, she thought. Why would they do that? Then she answered her own question. To make sure that no one sees you. So that no one will question it when you’re assassinated.

Robin, lighten up.

They walked into the building where the prime minister’s office was situated and then through the halls. She saw office workers glancing at her, their faces dispassionate. She wished she could somehow just lay their minds open and see what was going through them, but that was wishful thinking.

Some sort of aide or secretary was standing just outside a door. She gestured toward it and said, “Here.”

Lefler nodded toward her and started toward the door. As she passed the woman, she was startled when the Thallonian said to her in a very low voice, “Be careful.” Robin’s head snapped around, but the woman had already turned away, allowing for Lefler and McHenry to enter.

A Thallonian man was sitting behind a large desk. He rose when they entered and nodded to them. “Robin Lefler. And Cwansi. And”—his gaze shifted—“McHenry, I am told? Is that your name?”

“It is,” said McHenry.

“Well, Mister McHenry, welcome to New Thallon.”

“Happy to be here.”

He gestured for them to sit in the two chairs that were situated opposite him. They did so, Lefler cradling her son carefully. “I am Shintar Han,” he said, “the newly elected prime minister.”

Lefler had been following New Thallonian politics, so she knew that calling it an election was debatable at best. But she wasn’t about to say something to the effect of, I understand that your opponents met with unfortunate deaths. She had to allow for the possibility that it was indeed just coincidence. “It is an honor to meet you, Shintar Han. Congratulations on your election.”

“I appreciate that. And I appreciate your coming here with my fleet.”

“Your fleet did not give me a choice,” Lefler pointed out. “They threatened to destroy the ship that I was on.”

“That is true enough. You must admit, though, that it got your attention.”

“It did indeed. And that leaves us here,” she said, gesturing around them. “Because you—or rather, your representative—informed us that we were brought here to groom Cwansi for his future.”

“Cwansi’s future, yes. That is the topic of this discussion.”

“Good. So let’s discuss it.”

“Very well.” He leaned back in his chair. “I want you to know that I have given this a great deal of thought. My original plan was that I was going to spend the next years aiding you in raising Cwansi in the Thallonian philosophies. His education would be the very best. He would be thoroughly schooled in all the greatest Thallonian traditions. He would be introduced to his people, and be educated about them, and—with any luck—grow up to be someone that they could love, admire, and support. Eventually, upon reaching the age of maturity, he would take over as the ruler of New Thallon. His rising to that position would effectively eliminate the role of prime minister as he took over the governance of New Thallon, and we would revert to a monarchy, in all likelihood. Because that is, as near as I can ascertain, what the people want.”

“That sounds to me like an acceptable plan,” said Lefler.

“Yes, but . . . here is the problem. As I noted, it would make my position irrelevant. And the longer I thought about that, as I waited for you to be brought here, the more I realized that that was simply not an option that I desired. And so I have instead come up with a second option.”

“Really?” Her hopes began to rise. Had he decided that he wanted her to return to the Excalibur and live her life? Was he going to instruct his people to return her forthwith? “And what specifically did you have in mind?”

Very calmly, as if announcing the weather, he said, “You and your son are going to have to die.” He glanced at McHenry and added, “You do not. I have no interest in you, so if you stay out of the way, you can live.”

“Now wait a damned minute,” said Lefler. “That’s not the deal that was offered to me!”

“The deal’s changed.”

The door suddenly slid open and four guards strode in. They were heavily armed, and they had their weapons drawn. Lefler was immediately on her feet, holding Cwansi defensively. McHenry remained in his chair, looking up at them as if amused.

“Understand,” continued Han, “that I do not relish the job of being a slayer of children. Personally, I have nothing against either you or your son. But you are in the unfortunate situation of being alive. You represent something to the people that I simply cannot tolerate. Therefore, I have decided that your lives must be ended. If it is of any consequence, I have instructed these men to make your deaths quick and painless. I see that your son is sleeping; he will not feel a thing. As for you, one shot to the head and done. And as I said, McHenry, you can go on with your life.”

“Aren’t you concerned I’ll tell people what I saw here today? Tell them about how you killed their future ruler and his mother?” McHenry sounded genuinely curious.

“You are an offworlder. I very much doubt anyone will believe you.”

“Good point,” said McHenry. He glanced at Lefler. “He’s got a good point.” Then he turned back to Han. “However, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass up the generous opportunity you’re giving me to just walk away. But how about if I make you a counteroffer?”

Han wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. “A counteroffer?”

“Yes, sir. You tell your men to leave, retract your threats against Robin Lefler and Cwansi . . . and go with your first plan of raising the child for a life of service and to rule to his people . . . and I will let you live.”

Han stared in confusion at him. “I understand that you are some manner of transporter. I am not certain how you think you have that sort of power.”

“I understand that,” said McHenry. He actually sounded sympathetic. “Most people don’t know what I can do. Not all that long ago, even Captain Calhoun made it clear that he didn’t know. I even told him that I didn’t have any real sort of offensive capabilities. That I had many uses, but was not especially of any worth in a fight.”

“All right,” said Han.

“The thing is”—McHenry smiled lopsidedly—“I was lying about that. I didn’t want him to know what I could do because I was afraid he might try to take advantage of it. Or perhaps he might feel threatened by me. It’s really hard to say. Either way, I felt lying was the better way to go. But it was in fact a lie. I have devastating offensive powers. You can’t kill me, no matter how hard you might try. And if you try anything against Robin Lefler or her son, I will destroy you. Do we understand each other?”

Han stared at him with growing annoyance. It was obvious that McHenry was getting on his nerves. So he turned to his men and said, “Kill them.”

They raised their weapons and pointed.

McHenry turned and stretched out his hands, and lightning bolts exploded from his fingertips. The first array of electricity struck their weapons, and the guards shrieked as the shock ripped through the rifles, tearing through their arms. One of them keeled over immediately, his heart momentarily stopping in response to the shock. The others started reaching for the hand weapons that were hanging on their hips.

They never made it. McHenry casually swung his arm and more lightning blasted from his hands. This time it struck the guards directly, sending them flying off their feet. They smashed up against the door and the walls and sank to the ground. Smoke was rising from their flesh and their uniforms, and they lay there gasping in shock.

Han was on his feet. He had pulled his weapon from his desk drawer, and he now fired it point blank at McHenry’s back, which was turned to him. The energy blast crackled against McHenry’s back and then dissipated without injuring him in the slightest.

McHenry turned and stared at Han. “Did you think I was kidding?” he asked. He glanced at the disruptor. “Lower that or eat it. Your choice.”

Han lowered it.

“Now,” said McHenry, and that same damned smile was plastered across his face, “I believe that we have an understanding here. Robin Lefler is going to abide by her agreement with you and stay here to raise Cwansi. Because, in my humble opinion, he could really take advantage of what this world has to offer. And I’m reasonably sure that Robin wants to stay here out of dedication to the memory of her husband. Am I right, Robin?”

Lefler managed a nod.

“Okay, then,” said McHenry in a chipper fashion. “So Robin and I are going to return to our quarters now. If you have anyone outside waiting to ambush us when we leave, I suggest you call them off because, if you don’t, I’ll destroy them. We will allow Cwansi to get a few years older, and then you’ll hire tutors to begin working with him. Everything is going to be fine. And if you try to hurt her or her son, I will prevent you from accomplishing it and destroy anyone you send. Do we understand each other?”

Han’s mouth moved but he was unable to speak.

And suddenly McHenry seemed to grow. The interior of the office darkened and it appeared as if clouds were rolling in, McHenry was filling the entirety of the place. Han cried out and he tried to run, but couldn’t, because McHenry was everywhere.

“I said, do we understand each other?” McHenry’s voice rumbled like thunder.

“Yes! Yes!” shrieked Han, throwing his hands in front of his face as if trying to ward off something that had been thrown directly at him.

And just like that, McHenry was back to normal. It had all happened so quickly that Han was clearly uncertain if it had happened at all.

“Good,” said McHenry cheerfully. He was standing now, and he turned to Lefler. “I think we can go now.” He stepped over one of the fallen guards and took Robin’s hand. She stood, making sure that Cwansi was safe in her arms. “This has been a truly beneficial first meeting, Prime Minister. I hope you got as much out of it as we did.”

Han managed a nod.

McHenry draped an arm around Robin’s shoulders. “We should do breakfast sometime,” he said to Han as they walked out of the room.

Excalibur

i.

WE SHOULD HAVE been there immediately. It should have taken seconds.

Calhoun was becoming increasingly worried. He had never passed through a wormhole before, but all the reading he had done on them led him to believe that passage should be instantaneous.

But that wasn’t happening. The trip through the wormhole was stretching from seconds into minutes, and it was starting to have an impact on the Excalibur. The ship was shaking violently. Everyone was seated because they would not have been able to maintain their footing if they’d been walking around.

Space was exploding around them, hurtling past them at unimaginable speed. At first the light show they were witnessing had entranced Calhoun, but now he was starting to get tired of it. “Soleta,” he said, “are we moving forward? Are we getting to the end of this thing?”

“We are definitely moving, Captain. But I am uncertain of how much longer the trip will take.”

He leaned forward and his voice was rising in concern. “Is there any proof that this isn’t a trap? For all we know, this will never end. We could be trapped in this forever, like a black hole.”

“If this were a black hole, we would be dead by now,” she replied.

“Xy? Do you concur?” said Calhoun.

Xy did not hesitate. “Yes, Captain. Whatever this phenomenon is, we are definitely moving through it. By my readings, we should be through it within the next sixty seconds.”

“Really.”

“Yes, sir.”

The ship was beginning to shake more violently. Damage reports were starting to pour in from various parts of the vessel. Nothing structural so far, but it was becomingly increasingly evident that the ship was not going to be able to endure the pounding it was receiving for much longer. If anything, it seemed as if the twists in space and time that the ship was hurtling through were becoming even more violent.

“Captain,” said Kebron, “if this continues much longer, we’re going to start taking on structural damage.”

“We will make it,” muttered Soleta.

“Maintain course and speed,” said Calhoun. “Soleta . . .” he added warningly.

“We’ll make it,” she repeated.

The shaking was starting to become deafening. On the bridge, they had to shout so they could hear each other. Calhoun squeezed the armrests, ticking down the seconds in a mental countdown. Twenty seconds to Xy’s predicted minute terminating. Eighteen, seventeen . . .

And suddenly they were out.

The wormhole around them dissolved and normal space returned.

“All stop!” shouted Calhoun.

The ship continued forward motion until Tobias was able to regain control of the ship’s navigation. Seconds later, the ship had come to a halt. The crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Calhoun sagged back in his chair and, realizing that he was sweating profusely, wiped his forehead clean.

Then he turned to Xy. “You made up the part about one more minute, didn’t you.”

Xy shrugged. “I figured it was worth a shot.”

“Okay, well . . . good job. Kebron, ship’s status.”

“Well, we’re not leaking air,” Kebron said drily. “Ship’s structure remains intact. Some internal damage, but nothing the repair crews can’t handle. Engines remain sound. Our shields took some hits; however, they’re in the process of recycling, and we should be back at full strength within ten minutes.”

“Excellent. Soleta . . .” He turned toward her.

She waited. Then: “Yes, sir?”

“Well done. We trusted you and you didn’t let us down.”

“I never will, sir.”

Calhoun had no interest in dwelling excessively on praising his team. He had other things to concern himself about. “So explain to me,” he said, “just how large a pocket universe is?”

“It is impossible to know for certain, Captain,” said Soleta. “It is all relative to us. It could conceivably be as big as our own universe is to us.”

“That’s not terribly useful in terms of tracking the D’myurj.”

“I know.”

“Kebron, full sensor scans,” Calhoun said. “Let’s see what we have around us. If we’re lucky, we’ll find it immediately.”

“Yes, because that happens all the time,” Tobias muttered. Calhoun heard the comment but didn’t bother to remonstrate her for it.

It was fortunate that he didn’t, because she turned out to be correct.

The preliminary sensor scans turned up absolutely nothing. They were able to track down a variety of worlds. Not only did none of them have the D’myurj or the Brethren populating them, but they all appeared devoid of life altogether.

Minutes stretched into hours as the Excalibur slowly moved through space. In terms of space itself, it really didn’t look much different than where they had come from. Calhoun had been wondering whether there would be different colorations of things, or planets that were cubes instead of globes, or something that was different from what they were accustomed to. But no, not a damned thing. Aside from the fact that there were arrays of stars grouped in no constellation that they had ever seen, this pocket universe was pretty much identical to the one they’d left behind.

Calhoun was not pleased with what he was seeing—or, more correctly, what he wasn’t seeing.

ii.

KALINDA SAT IN the quarters she shared with Tobias and stared off into space.

She was perfectly aware of the encounter that they had had with Thallonian vessels earlier. The ship may have been large, but in many respects it was quite small, and word spread very quickly. No one, aside from Tobias, had extended conversations with Kally; she tended to keep to herself. But she was exceptionally good at listening to passing conversations and therefore was aware of everything that was going on.

She knew about the cloaking shield and that everyone expected it to provide protection against attacking vessels. And she knew that everyone was frustrated, and shaken over the fact that they had failed to do so. And everyone was trying to figure out exactly why.

Most of the crew seemed, on some level, to be blaming Soleta. It was her cloaking device, after all. And she was a Romulan. Yes, the captain trusted her, but who really knew where her alliances lay? Some believed that she had somehow rigged the cloaking device to fail at the worst possible moment. This notion was rejected by others who were either loyal to Soleta or loyal to the fact that the captain believed in her, so they did too. Kalinda had a way of listening in on the spirited debates that were being held even as crew members went about their duty without noticing Kalinda’s eavesdropping.

Kalinda kept thinking about other things.

Like Xyon.

Xyon, who had sought out the ship to come aboard and propose to her, even though he must have known that she would turn him down.

Xyon, who had wanted to discuss matters that had already been discussed.

Xyon, who really had no reason for being on the ship at all.

Xyon, who did nothing without a reason.

So why was he on the ship?

“Why was he on the ship?” she said aloud.

There had to be a reason. It wasn’t just to talk to her. Yes, he had talked to her, but that wasn’t the reason; just an excuse. She was seeing that more clearly now. So why else would he be on the ship? Not to talk to his father; Calhoun hadn’t been aboard. Perhaps . . .

Perhaps he had been aware that Calhoun was not aboard. Perhaps he had chosen that moment specifically because Calhoun would have been suspicious of his arrival and questioned him thoroughly, perhaps even search him and find . . .

Find what?

Slowly Kalinda started to look around the room and see it differently. Very slowly, she put together in her mind a mental image of everywhere that Xyon had been when he had been in the room. He had spent most of it sitting in the chair that she was sitting on right now.

She rose from the chair and picked it up and studied it carefully. She turned it over and looked at the bottom as well. She didn’t see anything on it anywhere. Slowly she put the chair back on the deck and continued to puzzle over it. He had sat there, yes. But his hands . . . had they remained on the chair? She thought they had, yes. But Kalinda’s memory was astoundingly detailed, and so she ran through everything that Xyon had done while he sat there.

And then she saw it.

She had thought nothing of it at the time. It had been the most casual of gestures, something that she had caught out of the corner of her eye. Now the movement took on great importance.

Kalinda walked over to the makeup table. She ran her fingers over the top and then along the bottom.

Her fingertips ran over a small object underneath the table.

It took her a few moments to pry it off because it was held on with some manner of adhesive. But then it came loose, and she took it out and stared at it. It was smaller than the nail on her little finger, and it didn’t appear to be doing anything. Yet she could sense a steady pulse beeping out from its innards.

It was a tracking device of some kind.

Xyon hadn’t come there to propose to her. He had come there to mark the ship so that it could be detected by outside vessels that were told what frequency it was transmitting on. That was how they had managed to find the Excalibur.

“Very clever, Xyon,” she said softly. “Very, very clever.”

She was surprised to realize that she felt sorry for him. At his core, Xyon was a good man. She was certain of it. Booby-trapping the Excalibur so that other vessels could catch it . . . that was not the action of a good man.

Xyon had erred. He had committed a wrong because he was driven by anger toward his father and wanted to screw things up for him. He had wanted Robin Lefler and Cwansi to be taken by the Thallonians, who were going to do who-knew-what to them. Perhaps Xyon saw the loss of Lefler and her son as a defeat for Calhoun that would further undermine his father’s confidence. Or perhaps he was simply acting like a right bastard, determined to stir up trouble on the ship just for the hell of it.

“He won’t. This is just a remission in his personality,” said Kalinda thoughtfully. “If he is given the opportunity, he will think better of this and find some way to make up for it. Yes. Yes, I am sure of that. Because at heart he is a good and decent man and, if we provide the chance, he will rise to the occasion. So we just need to provide that chance.”

Whereupon Kalinda calmly restored the tracking device to where Xyon had attached it. She then left the room and headed for the Ten Forward to have a relaxing beverage.

iii.

CALHOUN WAS BECOMING increasingly frustrated. Everyone on the bridge knew it, but no one knew what to do to.

The only one who didn’t seem the least bit concerned was Soleta. She was seated at the science station. Xy had chosen to get out of her way. She hadn’t had to ask him to; he had simply stepped aside and found things to do on other stations of the bridge. On one level, Calhoun admired her dedication. On another, his rising frustration was beginning to bubble over.

Finally, just as he started to speak her name with irritation over the inability to discover a planet, Soleta spoke first. “Got it.”

Calhoun blinked, scarcely able to believe it. He stared at the viewscreen, looking for some sign of a world that they had been searching for. Only the emptiness of space stared back at them. “Got what?” he asked.

“We’ve been spending all this time looking for a planet,” said Soleta. “That was our mistake. We need to be looking for their vessels.” She wasn’t looking at Calhoun. Instead she was pulling up specs on the science station viewscreen.

“What vessels? Nothing’s come by,” said Calhoun.

“They have. They do have space vessels, Captain. We’ve seen them. We’ve encountered them. And, as with all faster-than-light vessels, they leave traces. In this particular case, the traces are distinctive positron fields. By searching out the positron fields of a D’myurj vessel, it will lead us directly to them.”

Xy was staring at Soleta in admiration. “My God, that’s brilliant.”

“Yes, it is,” said Soleta with no hint of modesty. “We have the readings of their positron fields in our database. All I have to do is pull them up and then scan the area and seek out a match.”

“How long will that take?” asked Calhoun.

“From this point? Approximately three seconds.”

“You mean . . . ?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve got one.”

There were crows of approval from the rest of the bridge crew. Xy came up behind her and patted her approvingly on the back. She turned and stared at him in confusion, and he quickly pulled his hand away. Then she turned back to Calhoun. “Admittedly, I got lucky. There was no definitive reason to assume that I’d find their trail. On occasion, fortune favors us.”

“Not all that often, but I’ll take what I can get,” said Calhoun.

It took Soleta a full minute before she was confident that she had the tracking algorithms nailed down, and then she sent the course through to Tobias. “Ready to go, sir,” Tobias informed Calhoun.

“Set course, warp three,” said Calhoun.

The ship headed out, tracking the positron trail.

New Thallon

i.

GILTER TIGARIN WAS not pleased with his latest assignment.

The assignment was simple: kill Cwansi and his mother while they slept.

On one level, he had to admit that the assignment appealed to him. He had never liked Robin Lefler, ever. He had thought it disgraceful that Si Cwan had chosen an offworlder to mate with and, even worse, produce an offspring. It was Si Cwan’s responsibility to remain true to the spirit of the Thallonian race and breed pure, not bring in some random human woman and get her pregnant. Every time he had seen Si Cwan with her, it had made his blood boil.

Still . . .

Personally, he was not pleased over Si Cwan’s fate. He had deserved better than that as far as Tigarin was concerned, and he had disliked it intensely when Cwan was beheaded. He had even taken pleasure when he had seen Robin Lefler kill her husband’s slayer. So, he did have some limited measure of regard for her.

And then there was the matter of slaughtering a child.

Tigarin was not concerned with killing people, but he always anticipated that there would be, or at least could be, a battle involved. He had seen what Lefler was capable of and knew enough to approach her carefully. Even so, a babe in arms would hardly present a threat. He was not accustomed to killing someone or something that was incapable of harming him back.

The bottom line was that he disliked the idea of killing a child. And he had said that to Prime Minister Han when he had been given the assignment.

Han had stared at him. “Why would you care, Tigarin? It is a target, no different from any other.”

“If you truly think that a helpless infant is no different than killing anyone else, then I invite you to do it,” Tigarin countered.

“It would not be neat for me to do it,” said Han carelessly.

“Not be neat? What does that even mean? No”—he waved off Han’s response before he could make it—“I will tell you what it means. It means that you are perfectly fine with people dying in order to benefit you, as long as you don’t have to do it. Do you think that I was enthused about dispatching your political opponents?”

“That was strategy,” said Han.

“That was not strategy. That was assassination, because you wanted to have no one alive to thwart your endeavors.”

“And you handled it extremely well,” said Han.

“I handled it because that was my job. Being an assassin is what I am. Once I was a soldier, but I have found other endeavors to undertake. And I believe you have not given any consideration to a simple fact.”

“That fact would be—?”

“That I do not have any special loyalty to you,” said Tigarin. “Has it occurred to you that, sooner or later, someone may make me an offer that will exceed what you pay me? Should that day come, you may find yourself in very deep waters.”

“I am aware of that possibility,” said Han. “And I would hope that, should that day come, you will at least give me the opportunity to make a counteroffer. That is all I ask. It does not seem excessive.”

Tigarin had to admit to himself that it wasn’t.

Still . . .

“Can we at least wait until he is older? Eighteen, perhaps? Trained in combat? So that he might have the ability to protect himself.”

“Of course we can’t,” said Han in disbelief. “If he is allowed to live to an older age, then the populace will become attached to him. He will become the people’s prince. Don’t you see? He has to die, and the people have to know that he is dead. Yes, granted, he will have the power that a martyr always has. His name may be invoked in rallies and such. Ultimately, though, he will represent the end of the Cwan line.”

“Not the end. Cwan’s sister still lives.”

“Kalinda?” He snorted dismissively. “I assure you circumstances could never change to the degree where she would be popular. Plus, let us remember that the ruler is traditionally male, and I very much doubt that the people will be willing to put that aside. Especially for a woman who is not in her right mind. And in the extremely unlikely event that she does become a factor, well, she can be attended to.”

“How?” asked Tigarin.

“Her former boyfriend. We can get word to him that we are willing to pay a good deal of money to see her disposed of. I am quite certain he will be amenable to it. That, however, is not your concern. Your assignment is the child. Can you attend to him or not?” He paused and then added, “If it will help, I can double your usual payment for this assignment.”

“That makes no difference,” said Tigarin, except, in point of fact, it did. Tigarin had his own expenses to deal with and debts that were coming due. So although he intensely disliked the idea of killing a child and its mother, the increase in money would definitely make it at least a bit more palatable. “But I accept your terms.”

“Good,” said Han, and he leaned forward. “I would advise that you strike in the dead of night. I don’t care how powerful her guardian is; even he has to sleep. Go in full armor, and kill the infant and mother in their slumber. With any luck, you will not even have to face her protector.”

Tigarin wasn’t thrilled with the way Han kept speaking about the guardian with a sense of dread. “Is there anything I should know about this protector?”

“He seems to possess some manner of energy power. It can be quite formidable. But your armor should enable you to withstand it should you find yourself in a battle with him.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Tigarin.

He had spent long hours after that conversation preparing for his assignment. He had toyed with the idea of bringing backup with him, but had dismissed it for two reasons. First, he was sure that he could move far more silently by himself. And second, he really wasn’t interested in having a conversation with equally uncertain friends of his, explaining to them the necessity of killing a helpless child.

The midnight hour ticked, and then one, and as the clock ticked toward two, that was when Tigarin made his move. He had taken up position outside the small house in which Cwansi and his mother were residing. Her presence was still not generally known to the people of New Thallon. Han had made sure of that, anticipating that it would be a rallying point if the people knew she was here. After her death, then word would be allowed to spread. People would learn of the child’s presence and his passing, they would mourn the loss of Si Cwan’s child for a while, and then they would move on with their lives. Yes, people would cry out to find the man who had performed the evil deed of murdering a child, but naturally that information would never be made public.

Tigarin’s armor was quite effective. It was very thin but its tensile strength was one hundred percent. It would deflect any blaster fired at him and leave him with only the mildest jolt. It was solid black so that the shadows were superb camouflage for him. It covered him from head to foot.

He had been watching the house for several hours and had not seen any movement within after eleven. Nevertheless he had allowed a few more hours to pass, just to play it safe. Now with his path open to him, Tigarin emerged from the shadows and sped across the pathway that lay between him and his destination.

He crossed it easily, encountering no one as he moved. This brought him to the house, and he made his way around to the back. The rear door was locked, but Han had anticipated that and provided Tigarin with a device that was guaranteed to sever the lock connection. Tigarin pulled it out and placed it against the door. The door hummed for a moment and even vibrated slightly, and then it slid open. Tigarin stepped through and glanced around to make certain there was no sign of life.

Nothing. He listened as closely as he could and was hearing nothing. No movement, no stirring. Perfect. Now all he needed to do was find his targets, dispense with them, and get out.

He made his way through the food prep area. His path took him through the living room, and there he saw the sleeping body of her protector on the couch. He stared at him in confusion. Her mighty defender, the one whom Han had clearly been nervous about, looked utterly forgettable. Tigarin had expected him to be some huge brute; instead he was average height, average weight, average all around. He started to wonder if Han truly knew who his enemies were.

He turned away from him and made his way through the rest of the downstairs just to be sure. Nothing. Obviously the baby and mother were on the second floor. This made him slightly nervous because for all he knew the stairs would creak under his weight and someone might be alerted to his presence. But he had no choice.

Tigarin made his way to the stairs and carefully placed his foot on the bottom one. Nothing. Well, that was a relief. Slowly he made his way up the stairs. He needn’t have concerned himself; the stairs didn’t creak in the least. His approach remained completely stealthy.

At the top of the stairs, he glanced around and quickly discerned the room that mother and son were sleeping in. He crept toward it, so careful. He was holding his breath so that even his breathing would do nothing to awaken them.

There, right there ahead of him, was the door to their room. It was entirely possible that the door’s opening when he stepped through would awaken them, so he knew he would have to move quickly.

He removed his pulser from his hip. The weapon had been specifically developed for him. Such weapons typically had an audible discharge when fired, but not the pulser, no. Its narrowly focused cutting beam of light was completely silent when fired. He would be able to kill them and then vanish into the darkness, leaving her protector to awaken in the morning and discover that he had failed in his job.

Move quickly. Quickly but efficiently. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, brought the pulser to bear, and then stepped forward. The door slid open, and Tigarin leveled his pulser on the sleeping body of the baby who was lying in a crib a little more than a meter away. His mother was in bed sound asleep.

The protector was standing in between them.

Tigarin’s eyes widened in confusion. What the—? This wasn’t possible. The man had been downstairs asleep. How in the gods’ name had he gotten up there ahead of Tigarin? It simply wasn’t possible.

“I don’t sleep,” said the man, and his hand was already upraised and pointed at Tigarin. A bolt of energy lanced out from his fingers.

Tigarin lost the gun. He had no choice. The gun was in his hand, and his hand was attached to his arm, and the man had just blasted Tigarin’s arm off his body. The arm fell to the ground with an ugly splotching noise. The armor had provided no defense whatsoever.

The baby, reacting in its sleep, whimpered slightly. Lefler, ever responsive, started to stir.

The man glanced at her and whispered, “Sleep.” She promptly yawned, rolled over, and drifted back into slumber.

Tigarin had sunk to his knees, grasping at the place where his arm had previously been. There was no blood pouring from it; the man had cauterized the wound even as he created it.

The man strode forward and in a surprisingly convivial voice whispered, “Name’s McHenry. Hold on; this can be a little disorienting.”

And then they vanished.

ii.

PRIME MINISTER HAN typically slept very soundly. So he didn’t quite understand why something was prompting him to awaken. He realized belatedly that a hand was shaking his shoulder in the darkness.

“Lights,” he muttered, and they flared on.

He saw the hand that was pushing at him. It was attached to an arm, but the arm had been severed from the body to which it had previously been attached. Instead it was being held by McHenry, who was half smiling as he used it to prod Han’s shoulder.

Han drew in the air to produce a terrified scream, but he wasn’t actually able to provide the noise. That was because his throat had clenched up in absolute, stark terror. Instead he sat up in bed with his eyes wide, any discomfort provided by the sudden light in his room forgotten.

Tigarin was lying on the floor next to McHenry. He was sobbing, clutching at the shoulder from where his arm had been severed. It was thoroughly unmanly, really, but at that moment Tigarin didn’t seem to care too much about manliness.

“Hello, Han. Sorry to disturb you,” said McHenry. “I thought it was important to report a crime that I’m sure you’re unaware of. This gentleman here”—he nodded toward Tigarin—“broke into our house and entered Robin’s room with what I have no doubt was the intention of hurting her and the child. If not kill them outright. Me, I have trouble believing that, because I find myself wondering what sort of monster would kill an innocent baby and its sleeping mother. Then again, I guess I don’t have to wonder anymore because there he is. At least most of him. Here’s the rest.” He dropped the arm on the bed. Han curled his legs up so that his feet were clear of it. “I assume,” McHenry continued in an offhand manner, “that you share my rage with such an unjust and cowardly action. I know there’s certainly no way that you could have been aware of this before it happened. I mean”—he laughed as if the notion were preposterous—“it’s not like he works for you or anything, right?”

Han managed to shake his head, and with effort he was able to say, “N-no. I . . . I have never seen him before.”

“Well, that’s good. That’s really good. Because I hate to sound aggressive and everything, but if I thought for a moment that you were involved in this attack or behind it in any way, I would feel the need to rip your head off. Understand, I don’t mean it like I’m talking in metaphor. I would literally have to tear your head off your shoulders. You understand, don’t you? It’s the principle of the thing.”

“I understand.”

“Good!” said McHenry in an insanely cheerful voice. “I’m glad we got that sorted out. Tell you what: I’m going to leave this guy here with you. I figure I can trust you to take care of administering justice on him, yes?”

“Of . . . of course,” Han stammered. “He . . . he will suffer under the most extreme penalties of law.”

“That’s good. And if you need someone to testify, feel free to ask. I’ll be happy to do it. Oh, I hope I didn’t scare you too much with the hand poking at you. Sometimes I just get silly. You know how it is.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

McHenry then looked down at Tigarin. “I’m sorry I had to do that. The whole ‘blasting off your arm’ thing. I suppose there were other ways to stop you that wouldn’t have involved, you know . . .”

“Maiming me?” He groaned in pain.

“Yes, that. But, you know, when you intend to kill an infant in its crib, you have to be prepared for someone to stop you who feels that what you were doing was incredibly scummy and not worthy of any sort of mercy. Frankly, I think you should consider yourself lucky that I didn’t outright kill you. But, y’know, I try to be nice to people.” He shrugged. “Have a nice evening, Prime Minister. Hopefully we won’t have to have another meeting like this one. Because I promise you, if we do: it will not end well. For anybody. Well, me,” he amended. “It’ll end fine for me. But way less so for you. ’Night.”

And then he vanished. But not immediately; instead, very slowly. He faded out, bit by bit. First his legs, then his torso, his arms, and his head. Finally the only thing that was his left was his smile.

“Ever read Lewis Carroll?” he asked.

Han shook his head wordlessly.

“You should. Wonderful Terran writer. Look up Alice in Wonderland and you will totally get this.”

The smile disappeared as well.

Han sat there, staring at the empty space, and then a low moan from Tigarin brought his attention back to the present moment. He got off the bed and knelt down next to Tigarin. “Don’t worry,” he said with an utter lack of confidence. “I am sure we can reattach the arm.”

“I could kill you,” said Tigarin between gritted teeth.

“I know you could. And you could also have informed on me to McHenry. I am relieved that you did not.”

“I don’t care about your relief! Look what he did to me! Easily! With no effort! I have no right arm! I have to avenge myself on him,” snarled Tigarin. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what manner of army we have to assemble. I will kill him. I will destroy him.”

“Let me help you off with this,” said Han. He reached down and removed the headpiece that covered Tigarin down to his throat.

Tigarin was barely paying attention. “I don’t care how powerful he is. If we bomb him, that will certainly dispose of him. We’ll bomb him from on high. That would be the best way to go. He will never even know that he is about to be assaulted. It’s one thing trying to attack her while in their house. I can see him being aware of that. But if he is bombed from overhead, then certainly we can dispose of him. That would be the way to do it.”

He was so busy concocting a plan of attack that he was not paying the least bit of attention to Han. He did not spot Han’s hand slipping under his pillow and producing a dagger, and he was oblivious to the fact that he was under attack until Han slipped in behind him and drew the knife across his throat.

Tigarin gasped and gurgled on his own blood. He clutched at his throat, and his shocked mind took long seconds to process what had just occurred. Once he did, he attempted to take Han down the path of death with him. He failed utterly. Han quickly backed up, his night robes swirling around his knees. Tigarin tried to crawl after him, but moments later all the energy went out of his arm, and he collapsed to the floor. Han stayed where he was, back against the wall, not moving until he saw the last bits of life seep out of Tigarin’s trembling body.

Then he summoned his guards.

A trio of guards ran in, about to ask what was wrong until they saw, to their shock, Tigarin’s body on the floor. They stared, uncomprehending.

“This man lost his mind and tried to kill me,” said Han. “I do not wish to alarm the people. Dispose of the body quickly and quietly.”

“How did he lose his arm?” asked one of the guards.

“He attacked me. I took measures.”

“But how did—?”

“Get the body out of here!” Han shouted. Then he closed his eyes and quickly composed himself. “Immediately.”

The guards needed no further urging. The body was quickly removed from the room, and twenty minutes later, a maintenance man had cleaned Tigarin’s blood from the floor.

Han sat there for long minutes afterward, trying to understand what had just happened. Tigarin had to die, obviously. He would have told someone about Han’s order sooner or later. Probably sooner. Dropping bombs in a residential neighborhood? It was clear that Tigarin had lost both his mind and usefulness to Han. He hated to lose one of his better operatives, but better to lose Tigarin than his life.

Unfortunately, he was now back to square one. Actually, he was further than that; he was actually several moves behind square one.

So now what?

“Perhaps the Awesome can be of help,” he muttered, and then climbed back into bed. He would go see the Awesome the next day.

Maybe it should be an extended visit.

Excalibur

SOLETA COULDN’T HELP but notice that Tobias kept glancing toward her. It didn’t bother her overmuch because Soleta’s personality was such that she typically wasn’t bothered by much of anything. But Tobias’s consistent glancing over toward her was, at the very least, slightly unnerving. Finally Soleta simply turned and stared at Tobias. When Tobias’s gaze met hers, she was aware that she had been caught out. “Is there something you wish to discuss with me?” said Soleta.

Tobias hesitated, licked her lips a moment, and then said very softly, “I think I owe you an apology.”

That definitely surprised Soleta. “An apology for what?”

“Because I had my doubts about you. When I looked at you, I saw . . .”

“A Romulan spy?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What, then?”

Tobias sighed. “All right, yes, a Romulan spy. I knew the captain trusted you, but I wasn’t sure that . . . and then the cloaking device failed, and the wormhole couldn’t be found . . .”

“The cloaking device did not fail,” Soleta said firmly. “I do not understand why it did not protect us, but the fault was not with the cloaking device itself. Something else happened to render it ineffective. I wish I knew what.”

“You’ll figure it out,” said Tobias with confidence. “Anyway, as I was saying, we couldn’t find the wormhole, and it seemed this entire endeavor was falling apart. But then you came up with a means of finding the D’myurj vessel, and now at least we’re following something. I’m positive that, sooner or later, we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

“I hope you are correct,” said Soleta. “In any event, I appreciate the apology, even though I do not require it.”

Calhoun stepped over from the command chair, leaning in toward Soleta, at ops. “What do we have?” he asked.

“Nothing so far. But I am positive that we are definitely pursuing a vessel.”

“Do we know what kind?”

She shook her head. “Such information would not be available even if I were familiar with different types of D’myurj ships. I am able to trace the energy pattern of their engines, but that simply gives me information on the type of warp drive they employ. I am not able to determine the specific ship type . . .”

“We may be about to find out,” Tobias said abruptly. “Sir, I’m picking up a ship on the long-range sensors. I am ninety-eight percent sure that it is the vessel that we have been following.”

“Only ninety-eight?”

She shrugged. “I don’t like to sound too full of myself.”

“How fast is she?” said Calhoun, returning to his command chair.

“Not very fast at all,” said Tobias. “It’s actually moving at sublight speed. We should be overtaking it in approximately two minutes.”

“Do we have the cloaking device up?”

“No, sir.”

“Bring the cloak on line.”

Tobias looked momentarily dubious, but then shrugged. “Cloak on.”

Space shimmered briefly around the ship and then returned to normal. Soleta nodded approvingly. “Activated, sir. We’re hidden.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Soleta didn’t bother to comment further on the cloaking device; it had failed them earlier, but she knew that sooner or later she would find out why.

“Take us to yellow alert,” Calhoun ordered. “Let’s be ready for anything.”

The ship immediately went to yellow alert as the weapons and shields powered up. The shields had fully recharged from their earlier battering and were ready to deal with whatever new challenge was thrown at them.

Within minutes, just as Tobias had predicted, the ship that they had been pursuing hung in space in front of them. It was not a ship that Calhoun had ever seen before. It was erratically shaped, its exterior a series of triangles that seemed randomly slapped together. Soleta couldn’t discern where the engines were situated. Obviously there were engines because the ship was moving, leaving a trail that they had been able to follow.

The Excalibur proceeded slowly, easily overtaking the vessel. They remained on alert, since everyone on the bridge—with the exception of Soleta—wasn’t entirely confident that the cloaking device would shield them from being detected. But after long minutes with the ship not reacting to them, they slowly became convinced that, for whatever reason, the cloaking device was preventing them from being perceived this time.

“Readings,” said Calhoun. “Tell me what we’re dealing with.”

Tobias was studying her sensors and was shaking her head in confusion. “This isn’t making any sense. I’m not getting anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not picking up any life-forms. As near as I can determine, there is no one on that vessel. Or if they are, they don’t have life signs that my instruments can pick up.”

“She’s right, Captain,” confirmed Kebron. “There are no life-forms operating the ship. It’s entirely on auto.”

“What do we do, sir?” asked Burgoyne.

Calhoun considered it a moment. Then he tapped his combadge. “Bridge to security. Meyer, Boyajian . . . arm up and report to the transporter room.”

“Aye, sir,” the response immediately came back.

Calhoun stood and then said, “Zak, Soleta, care to join me on an away team?”

“Sir,” said Burgoyne. “Starfleet policy is explicit about captains heading away teams.”

“I’m aware of that, Burgy, but I think the risk is minimal considering the situation.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” said Burgoyne.

Minutes later, Soleta, Kebron, and Calhoun were in the transporter room. Meyer and Boyajian had joined them and Halliwell was studying the transporter controls, trying to get a reading off the ship. “I’m not sure where anything in this ship is,” Halliwell said in mild frustration. “Completely alien from anything I’ve seen before.”

“Take your best guess.”

“I can’t say I’m interested in risking my captain’s life on a best guess,” said Halliwell.

“Neither am I,” said Calhoun, “so I strongly suggest you get it right.”

“Yes, sir,” Halliwell said gamely.

She scanned the ship a few moments more. “Okay,” she said slowly, “I think I may have managed to locate their bridge. It’s centrally located and is one of the larger chambers. Not sure what else it could be.”

“And still no life signs?”

“Not that I’m picking up. Of course, if there was a life sign that was minimal . . . a dying person, for example . . . it might slip past our instruments.”

“I doubt everyone on the ship is dying,” said Calhoun. Then he thought about it. “Although we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility, I suppose.”

They stepped up onto the transporter platform. Soleta had to jostle herself into position since she was standing next to Kebron, who typically took up more space on the platform. He tucked his hands behind his back, and they waited. Halliwell made the final checks and then said, “Here we go. Good luck.”

“That’s more or less up to you,” said Calhoun.

The transporter beams flickered, and seconds later the landing party vanished from the transporter room.

The Ship

THEY BEAMED INTO a graveyard.

Calhoun couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The truth was that he was accustomed to seeing the D’myurj in the form of holograms, not actual beings. But now they were certainly actual.

It seemed at first blush that Halliwell had been correct: they had been beamed into some sort of command center. It was larger than the bridge of the Excalibur, that much was certain. It was also much more spacious; Calhoun felt a moment of envy. But as he looked around at the command center’s deck, that envy promptly vanished.

Dead D’myurj and Brethren were everywhere. There had to be at least a dozen bodies. Many of the D’myurj had been badly burned, and that was undoubtedly because sections of the bridge had exploded. Their clothes were shredded, their skin burned away.

The Brethren were not in much better shape. Yes, they were still clad in their armor, but there had been some manner of combat. Hand-to-hand by the look of it, and it had viciously gone against the Brethren. Chunks of their armor had been cut away as if weapons with buzz saws had slashed across them. Calhoun hadn’t thought it was possible to penetrate the armor, but clearly he had been mistaken.

“Damn,” whispered Kebron. Meyer and Boyajian looked sickened, but were able to keep themselves together.

Soleta, dispassionate as ever, was running a tricorder over the bodies. “They’re all dead. Every single one of them.”

“Do we have any idea how?”

“There was a fight. They lost.”

That much, at least, was obvious.

She took a step forward and suddenly let out an alarmed cry. Something had grabbed her ankle. She dropped to the floor next to the body of the D’myurj who had reached out for her. He was flat on his stomach and quickly she turned him over.

Calhoun came forward and felt ill. Much of the man’s skin had been burned away; his features were unrecognizable. He should, by all rights, be dead, and Calhoun had no idea how he could still be alive. That tracked with what Halliwell had said: his life signs were so minimal that they had slipped past the Excalibur’s instruments.

He tapped his combadge. “Calhoun to transporter room. We have a survivor here. Beam him straight into sickbay.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll alert them to the incoming.”

The D’myurj managed to turn his head toward Calhoun. One eye seemed blind; the other had some small amount of vision left to it, and it was focused on Calhoun.

“Don’t worry,” said Calhoun. “You’re going to be fine.”

The D’myurj’s mouth started to move, and with a huge amount of effort, he managed to form one word as the transporter beam whisked him away.

“Run.”

Moments later, Calhoun and company found out why.

About the Author

PETER DAVID IS a prolific author whose career, and continued popularity, spans more than two decades. He has worked in every conceivable medium—television, film, books (fiction, nonfiction, and audio), short stories, and comic books—and acquired followings in all of them.

In the literary field, Peter has had more than a hundred novels published, with numerous appearances on the New York Times bestseller list. His novels include Fearless (with his daughter Caroline), Tigerheart, The Hidden Earth Chronicles, the Sir Apropos of Nothing trilogy, the Knight Life trilogy, Howling Mad, and the Psi-Man adventure series. He is the co-creator and author of the bestselling Star Trek: New Frontier series for Pocket Books, and has also written such Trek novels as Q-Squared, The Siege, Q-in-Law, Vendetta, I, Q (with John deLancie), A Rock and a Hard Place, and Imzadi. He produced the three Babylon 5 Centauri Prime novels and has also had his short fiction published in such collections as Shock Rock, Shock Rock II, and Otherwere, as well as Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine and the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. He is also the author of the recent Halo novel Hunters in the Dark, and is one of the participants in Crazy 8 Press (www.crazy8press.com), a self-publishing venture producing ebooks and trade paperbacks available through Barnes & Noble and Amazon.

Peter’s comic book résumé includes an award-winning twelve-year run on The Incredible Hulk, and he has also worked on such varied and popular titles as Supergirl, Young Justice, Soulsearchers and Company, Aquaman, Spider-Man, Spider-Man 2099, X-Factor, Star Trek, Wolverine, The Phantom, Sachs & Violens, The Dark Tower, Halo: Helljumper, and many others. He has written comic book–related novels, such as The Incredible Hulk: What Savage Beast, and co-edited The Ultimate Hulk short story collection. Furthermore, his opinion column, “But I Digress . . . ,” ran in the industry trade newspaper the Comics Buyer’s Guide for nearly a decade, and in that time was consistently the paper’s most popular feature and was also collected into a trade paperback.

Peter is the writer for two popular video games, Shadow Complex and Spider-Man: Edge of Time. He has also authored the graphic novel edition of Disney’s Epic Mickey and a series of tie-in digital comics titled Tales of Wasteland.

Peter is the co-creator, with popular science-fiction icon Bill Mumy (of Lost in Space and Babylon 5 fame), of the CableACE Award–nominated science-fiction series Space Cases, which ran for two seasons on Nickelodeon. He has written several scripts for the Hugo Award–winning TV series Babylon 5 and the sequel series Crusade. He has also written several films for Full Moon Entertainment and co-produced two of them, including two installments in the popular Trancers series, as well as the science-fiction western spoof Oblivion, which won the Gold Award at the 1994 Houston International Film Festival for best Theatrical Feature Film, Fantasy/Horror category. He is currently working with his wife on a new series titled Headcases.

Peter’s awards and citations include: the Grandmaster Award from the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers, 2011; the GLAAD Award, 2011; the Julie Award, 2009; the Haxtur Award (Spain), Best Comic script, 1996; the OZCon award (Australia), Favorite International Writer, 1995; the Comics Buyer’s Guide Fan Awards, Favorite Writer, 1995; the Wizard Fan Award, 1993; the Golden Duck Award for Young Adult Series (Starfleet Academy), 1994; the UK Comic Art Award, 1993; and the Will Eisner Comic Industry Award, 1993. He lives in New York with his wife, Kathleen, and his four children, Shana, Gwen, Ariel, and Caroline.

FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Peter-David

MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

SimonandSchuster.com

We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Star Books eBook.

Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

or visit us online to sign up at

eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

Pocket Star Books

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

™, ®, and © 2015 by CBS Studios Inc. STAR TREK and related marks and logos are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

This book is published by Pocket Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from CBS Studios Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Pocket Star Books ebook edition July 2015

POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

Cover design by Alan Dingman

Cover art by Doug Drexler

ISBN 978-1-4767-9092-3

Contents

Chapter 1: Xenex

Chapter 2: Somewhere

Chapter 3: Bravo Station

Chapter 4: Excalibur

Chapter 5: Bravo Station

Chapter 6: Excalibur

Chapter 7: New Thallon

Chapter 8: Excalibur

Chapter 9: Bravo Station

Chapter 10: Excalibur

Chapter 11: Thallonian Battleship

Chapter 12: Excalibur

Chapter 13: New Thallon

Chapter 14: Excalibur

Chapter 15: New Thallon

Chapter 16: Excalibur

Chapter 17: The Ship

About the Author