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 August 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 Getty Images

ISBN 978-1-4767-9093-0

Previously

EVERY SINGLE SOLITARY life on Xenex has been wiped from existence by the D’myurj. Mackenzie Calhoun resolves to use the Guardian of Forever to go back in time and set things right, no matter the consequences. Mark McHenry arrives and convinces Calhoun to reconsider, to find another way to avenge his people.

Using his abilities, McHenry takes them to Bravo Station and frees Soleta from a mind-meld that she was trapped in. Soleta informs Calhoun that the D’myurj come from a pocket universe where they are holding missing Starfleet officers. Hoping to travel through Thallonian space undetected, Soleta installs her cloaking device on the Excalibur. However, the Thallonians find the Excalibur because Xyon, Calhoun’s son, hid a tracking device on the vessel. The Thallonians offer the ship passage in exchange for Robin Lefler and her son, Cwansi. Calhoun refuses. However, McHenry offers to take Lefler to the Thallonians and accompanies her to their planet.

The Excalibur passes through the wormhole to the pocket universe, where they discover a D’myurj vessel dead in space. The entire crew is dead, save for one who warns them to run.

Thallon

SHANTER KHEN HAS been praying nonstop.

The others in his order have become concerned over his obsession, for there is no better word to describe it than that. Obsession.

They know full well that it stems from negative places in his personality. They know that he despises the current ruler of Thallon, the individual known as Elia Canto. They know that he seeks intervention from the Awesome, the god of all Thallon, the unknowable, inaccessible being who looks down from on high and watches the Thallonians go about their miserable little lives.

What, the brothers wonder, does Shanter Khen think that the Awesome will do? Strike down Elia Canto? Perhaps the Awesome will declare that Fa Cwan, Khen’s longtime friend and ally, should rightly take the throne? Everyone knows that Cwan has long desired it and has tried to assemble a group of backers to pursue his claim. There is no doubt that Cwan would be willing to challenge Canto directly. He is a warrior of the old school and is not the slightest bit worried about dueling Canto to the death. Unfortunately Canto is not the least interested in responding along those lines. He has gotten to where he is through cleverness and guile. Canto also has a small army of men who serve as both his allies and personal guards who would be happy to come between Cwan and any attempt he might make on Canto’s life. So physical assault would not seem to be the way to go.

Khen had a lengthy meeting with Cwan over a month ago. Perhaps “meeting” would not be the correct term. “Drunken binge” might be more appropriate. The old friends got together to discuss options that they could pursue, and the alcohol flew fast and loose. Cwan’s hangover lasted a day and a half.

Khen was not hungover at all, a feat that Cwan would never understand. Instead when Khen woke up, he was focused as he had never been before. He knew beyond any question that he had to appeal to the Awesome.

On the surface this seems to be a ludicrous notion. The Awesome, as much as he has been worshipped over the years, has never actually been known to put in an appearance. There have been any number of occasions in the history of Thallon where matters transpired in a certain way after individuals prayed aggressively to the Awesome. The Awesome was then promptly credited with the achievement. Some Thallonian philosophers said that was a damned poor argument to prove that the Awesome even existed, but they were executed and therefore did not factor in the discussion.

But Khen is convinced that the Awesome continues to look down upon the activities of the inhabitants of Thallon. He believes that if he is focused and devoted enough in his entreaties, the Awesome will step in and fulfill his desires.

He decides all that is required is unfettered dedication. He will have to show the Awesome that nothing in the whole of Thallon can compare to Khen’s dedication. He must go to the temple of the Awesome and worship, pray, and offer supplications to the Awesome until he actually appears in all his divinity and arranges for Cwan to take the Thallonian reins.

It is to that end that Khen retires to the temple of the Awesome, and it effectively becomes his second home. The brothers in his order express concern over Khen’s decision, but only to each other. They do not breathe a word to Khen, for they believe that it is their obligation to be completely supportive of any endeavor having to do with prayer. Over the following weeks, they take turns visiting Khen in his isolation as he prostrates himself before the great statue of the Awesome. He remains like this during most of his waking hours, taking breaks only to eat or to sleep. Nothing else, save that, occupies his time.

For the first week, they accept his new venture, burying their worries over his new obsession.

And the second.

By the third week, all attempts to bury their concerns have been abandoned. They are not worried that Khen’s activities are going to reflect poorly on them. The fact is that no one is paying attention to what Khen has been doing. The activities of the religious order rarely gain anyone’s interest. Nevertheless, they worry about his obsession. It seems that he has parted interest with anything approaching reality and is instead focused entirely on incessant prayers to the Awesome. But since he is the leader of their order, none of them feels that it is their place to question his devotions.

As the fourth week rolls around, the brothers confer and finally decide that something must be done. Khen quite simply appears to have lost his mind, and it is up to his brothers to reason with him. After some discussion, it is decided that Praetor Baan should be the one to speak with him. Baan is the second-oldest member of the order, and he has known Khen the longest.

Baan approaches the Awesome’s temple. He does not understand why Khen has descended into this state of mind. Naturally, Baan believes in the Awesome as much as anyone in their order, but he is unable to fathom the reason for Khen’s incessant praying to their god. It simply does not seem right.

The temple is quite spare. There are plain benches lining the walls for worshippers, but there is no one here at the moment. There is only Khen, and he has disdained the benches. Instead he is on his knees before the statue of the Awesome. Baan had expected to hear a steady stream of prayers, as he has always heard the previous times when he has come to check on his friend and brother. But for the first time in weeks, Khen is not praying. He still remains affixed in front of the statue, but he is not uttering a word. Baan considers this to be a very positive sign. If Khen has ceased his previously endless impetrations to the Awesome, then perhaps it is possible to connect with him somehow and convince him to take a break from his devotions.

Baan kneels down, speaking softly and gently to Khen. “How fare you?” he asks.

“I fare very well,” Khen replies. “Very well indeed.”

“Would you like to return to the order? There is food there for you. Good food, not the scraps upon which you have been subsisting.” He does not bother to mention that there is also a bath there. It is something that Khen should very much avail himself of, for he smells quite foul. Furthermore, his red face is covered with facial hair. Thallonians are religious when it comes to keeping themselves clean shaven, and so staring at Khen’s face is truly shocking. “You can eat decently, get yourself cleaned up. You can—”

“None of that is necessary,” Khen says, “because I have other things to attend to. I must obey the instructions of the Awesome.”

Baan stares at him, uncomprehending. “What do you mean? What instructions?”

Khen turns and looks at Baan for the first time. When he speaks, his foul breath washes over Baan, and it is all Baan can do not to recoil from it. Khen grabs Baan by the shoulders, and he is wearing a smile that is not touching his eyes. Baan finds that a bit disconcerting but is willing to chalk it up to his friend’s lack of proper rest in the past weeks.

“My friend, the Awesome spoke to me. He answered my prayers.”

“He . . . He did?” Baan is not quite sure how to react. He considers it an interesting test of his faith. Could the Awesome truly have spoken to Khen? Every man, of course, communes with the gods in his own manner. It is not appropriate for one man to say that another is lying or deluded if he believes that a god has spoken directly to him. Certainly their sacred books are filled with tales of men claiming that they are acting on behalf of godly instructions, and these men are typically regarded as the best and the brightest of their religious order. Therefore, it is not for Baan to question Khen’s assertion. Nevertheless, he feels the need to probe more deeply. “How did He communicate with you? Did He speak to you in your mind?”

“My mind? No, no. Not at all. He appeared right here, right in front of me, scarcely an hour ago. He actually appeared, Baan. He stood in front of me, as real as you are now.” His voice is trembling, excited. “I have to admit, I was surprised. Some part of me had given up on the concept that He would ever actually come to me. When one has been praying for as long as I have, His actual presence seems increasingly unlikely. And yet finally, finally . . .” Khen pauses, seemingly having run out of words. His red face is shining in the pale light of the setting sun. “He actually came.”

Baan has to ask. “And what did He say? Did He say He would aid you in setting up Cwan as our new leader?”

Khen’s head bobs. “He did. He said exactly that. But . . .” His voice trails off.

“But what?”

“He says I must show Him that nothing is more important to me than seeing Cwan put in place as our ruler.”

“And how are you supposed to show Him that?”

“I must make a sacrifice.”

Baan does not understand. “What manner of sacrifice? We are sworn to religious fealty. You have nothing that you could sacrifice.”

“That is not quite true,” Khen points out. “There is one thing that I have. Something that is very important to me. Something that we all have.”

“What would that be?”

“Each other,” says Khen.

Baan still does not understand what Khen is talking about. And he continues not to understand until Khen’s hands suddenly clamp upon his throat. Baan’s eyes widen in shock, and he sees the focus and determination in Khen’s expression. There is no hint of the man whom he has known for years in that face. There is no presence of the quiet, dedicated man who has worshipped by his side for so long and with whom he has engaged in any number of scholarly debates.

“I am so sorry,” Khen whispers. There is no true sorrow in his expression, no regret in his eyes. He is focused on one thing and one thing only: choking the life out of Baan.

Baan desperately tries to shove Khen off him. He is finding it impossible to breathe as Khen’s hands clamp all the more tightly. Baan falls backward, but Khen goes down with him. They collapse to the floor and Baan is battling for his life, pounding away furiously at Khen’s arms and head. Khen’s strength grows as Baan’s fades. Baan tries to speak, tries to beg for his life, but he is unable to produce any sound other than a few pathetic gasps. His pounding on Khen’s upper body becomes weaker. Blackness descends and the last thing that he thinks, before his life slips away from him, is that the Awesome is a much more vengeful and mean-spirited being than he would ever have thought possible.

Khen continues to strangle his friend for several minutes after Baan has died because he cannot be absolutely certain that he has accomplished the deed. Understandable, considering that Khen has never killed anyone before. He’s never had to and, until this moment, he was certain that he would never be able to do so. It is interesting what one is capable of doing when a god has instructed you to accomplish it as proof of your determination.

Finally, convinced that Baan is truly dead, Khen releases his grip and slumps back onto his rump. He sits there and stares at Baan’s unmoving body. The immensity of what he has just done slowly begins to dawn upon him. He has robbed Baan of his future. It might not have been much of one, considering that each of Baan’s days was identical to the day before and the day before that, and there was a great likelihood that he would never accomplish anything important in the entirety of his existence.

That did not detract from the reality that Baan was a good and decent man and in no way deserved to be murdered by someone he had considered a brother.

Shame begins to well up within Khen. He is not proud of what he has done, and he is surprised to notice that tears are beginning to roll down his face. His chest begins to tremble and shake, and it is suddenly becoming hard for him to breathe. What have I done, what have I done, goes repeatedly through his mind.

“Well, well. I am surprised.”

His head snaps around, and he immediately throws himself upon the floor.

The Awesome is standing before him. He is looking at him thoughtfully as if He is truly seeing him for the first time. “You talked a good game,” the Awesome continues, “but I did not truly think that you would take me up on my challenge. You’ve never killed before, I assume.” It does not seem to be a question, but Khen still shakes his head quickly. “Yes, I wouldn’t think so. You don’t strike me as the killer type.”

“I have done as you asked.” Khen is surprised to discover that he is speaking in a whisper. He makes no effort to find his full voice. Somehow it seems more appropriate to whisper in the presence of a god. “I have killed one who is as a brother to me.”

“Yes, you thoroughly killed him, all right. And with your bare hands. Quite the accomplishment. And how does that make you feel?”

“I feel whatever you wish me to feel, Great One.”

“That’s not the best answer in the world,” the Awesome informs him. “I far prefer people who are capable of thinking for themselves.”

“I have given myself over to you, Great One. I am no longer capable of thinking for myself.”

The Awesome scratches under His chin thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you have, at that. All right, then.” He claps His hands together briskly. “A deal is a deal. Let’s go put your friend in charge.”

Khen is filled with joy.

The Ship

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 in their faces. 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 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 she quickly 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 possibly still be alive. That tracked with what Transporter Chief Halliwell had reported: 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 effort, he managed to form one word.

“Run.”

“Run?” said Calhoun. “I don’t understand. What should we run from? Are the creatures that did this to you coming back? Are you—?”

He was not getting any answers to his questions. The bridge was suddenly filled with the hum of a transporter beam and seconds later the D’myurj was gone, leaving the landing party behind.

“That sounds ominous,” said Soleta.

“It does indeed.” He tapped his combadge. “Calhoun to Excalibur.”

“Excalibur. Burgoyne here.”

“Burgy, are we continuing to scan the area?”

“Aye, sir,” Burgoyne’s voice came back. “No sign of any other vessels in the vicinity. We’re alone.”

“If that status should change, I want to be the first to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

Calhoun turned to the away team. “Spread out,” he said. “Cover every inch of this ship. If anyone else is alive, inform me.”

Kebron, Meyer, and Boyajian headed out to see what they could discover.

However, Soleta remained with Calhoun. He found this slightly odd. “You’re not going to look around, Soleta? See what you can find?”

“I do not see that as a necessity, Captain. I think it wiser if I remain here with you.”

“Why?”

Calhoun thought he might be imagining it, but she actually seemed slightly uncomfortable discussing this. Finally Soleta said, “You are unprotected. We are on a vessel that is filled with enemies. They are seemingly all dead, but we cannot be certain. If one of them should attack, you would need protection. I can provide that for you.”

Calhoun cocked an eyebrow. “You think I’m incapable of protecting myself?”

“You are the captain of the vessel and your safety is of paramount concern. It is my duty to provide protection for you should the situation require it.”

“Soleta, with all respect, I have trouble envisioning a scenario where I would need protection that I would be unable to pro—”

Her hand clamped onto his shoulder before he could say anything further, and the next thing he knew he was slowly coming to. He was lying on the deck of the bridge, and the back of his head was sore from where he had struck it when he’d fallen. Soleta was on the far side of the bridge, seated in front of what appeared to be the computer bank. She was clearly trying to bring it back on line, but didn’t seem to be having any success. She glanced over and saw that he was sitting up. “Good. You’re awake,” she said briskly.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“It was an attack. You were unprepared for it and succumbed rather easily. Should that happen in a combat situation and you were caught unprepared, you would be unconscious and unable to protect yourself. I would prefer not to see that happen.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” He got to his feet, feeling a bit woozy as he did so.

“In order to prove my point, I believe I did,” the Vulcan said.

He could have argued it, but decided that it wasn’t worth it. “How long was I out?”

“Four minutes, twenty-seven seconds. I could have put you out for much longer, but I felt that under five minutes was sufficient to make my concerns clear.”

“You certainly managed to accomplish that.” He rubbed his shoulder to restore circulation. “No luck with their onboard computer?”

She shook her head. “I’ve tried my best, but have been unable to access it. The ship suffered massive damage, including to the central core. Frankly it’s amazing that gravity and life support are still functioning. There may be a rudimentary computer program keeping things running, but it is certainly not capable of telling us what happened here.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Captain,” said Soleta with great patience, “we are in a pocket universe. We have no idea who or what races populate it. Were we back in our own universe, I would most certainly be able to make conjectures as to who was responsible. Here? I have no clue.”

He realized she was right. It was unfair of him to put pressure on her to come up with an explanation that she could not reasonably produce. He tapped his combadge once more. “Calhoun to Kebron.”

“Kebron here.”

“What have we got, Zak?”

“An exceptional amount of nothing, Captain. All over the ship, it’s exactly the same as we found on the bridge. Bodies everywhere. Whoever came through here annihilated the ship’s crew. Total destruction. My conjecture is that the crew didn’t even land a punch.”

“Why do you say that?”

“No enemy bodies. There had to be hand-to-hand combat here. It couldn’t have been from another ship firing on them; the vessel would have been blown to bits. So they had to come aboard and engage the crew in combat.”

“They could have taken the bodies with them.”

“They could have. But my tricorder says that the blood only belongs to the D’myurj and the Brethren. I doubt whoever took the bodies would have hung around to clean up their blood.”

Calhoun hated to admit it, but that made sense. “All right. Keep looking.”

“Honestly, Captain, we’re running out of places to look. Meyer and Boyajian haven’t turned up anything else either.”

“Report back to the bridge. We’ll return to the—”

His combadge suddenly beeped at him; someone else was trying to get in touch with him. “Return to the bridge. Hurry.” The captain knew why he wanted Kebron to make it fast. Calhoun had a fairly reliable inner sense that warned him when danger was near, and it had suddenly just gone off. The hair on the back of his neck was rising, and he really didn’t like the feel of it. He tapped his combadge a second time. “Calhoun here.”

“Captain, we have company,” came Burgoyne’s voice. “They just showed up on long-range sensors, but they’re coming here incredibly fast. They should be here in ten seconds.”

“Ten seconds?” Calhoun couldn’t believe it. What the hell had happened to the long-range sensors?

Burgoyne answered the unspoken question. “It’s not the sensors, sir. The ship is simply moving faster than anything we’ve experienced before . . . and it’s here. Damn.”

“Report.”

“It’s huge. I’ve never seen anything this big. It’s as large as ten starships. Captain, I would seriously suggest we avoid getting into a firefight with it.”

“You’re cloaked?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Calhoun ran his options through his head. Granted, the ship could fire while cloaked; it had that advantage. But it couldn’t operate the transporter while invisible. The only way they could beam the away team back was to drop the cloak. If the Excalibur did that, they might well find themselves in the firefight that Burgy had wanted to avoid.

“Stay cloaked. We’ll find places to hide here just in case they come aboard. Do nothing until you’ve heard from me. Calhoun out.” He then hit his combadge again. “Calhoun to away team. We have visitors. Secrete yourselves out of sight until we have some idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Out of sight?” Kebron’s incredulous voice came back. “Captain, have you seen me?”

“Do your best. Calhoun out.”

“Captain,” said Soleta urgently.

He turned toward her and saw, to his surprise, that she was standing next to an open door. It led into a relatively small storage area, and there were weapons within. Soleta was already yanking the weapons out and tossing them onto the corpses nearby to make it seem as if they had been used in combat. “Come on,” she said, and nodded toward the storage cabinet.

He stepped into it, grabbing what appeared to be a large rifle of some sort and tossing it aside. Soleta jumped in after him and slammed the door shut. There was barely enough room in there for the two of them, but Calhoun figured that they would have to make do.

There were several narrow slits in the top of the door, presumably to let air flow in and out. It gave him just enough room to be able to look out onto the bridge and see if anyone entered. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The ideal situation was that the new vessel was simply passing through the area and wasn’t going to give them a difficult time. However, he had the feeling that that wasn’t going to be the case, because that would require that a degree of luck befall them. Unfortunately that didn’t tend to happen a great deal of the time.

Long minutes passed, and each one gave Calhoun increased hope that they would be able to avoid a confrontation with aliens which they knew absolutely nothing about. He glanced toward Soleta and realized that she was staring at him. Not only that, their close proximity was seeming to become an issue. “You okay?” he whispered.

The Vulcan didn’t respond immediately, as if she were unaware that he had addressed her. Then she blinked in realization, as if she had thought that he was talking to someone else. “What? Oh. Yes. I am fine.”

Soleta did not seem fine to him. But he was unable to pursue any line of questioning, because they suddenly heard the whining of energy that sounded like transporter beams. They were different, though. Higher pitched.

The light from the transporter was so bright that he had to look away. Soleta, however, did not. She stared straight through the slits, the light flooding her face, and she didn’t even blink. The Vulcan sun was far brighter and thus her eyes were far tougher than Calhoun’s. “We have company,” she said very softly.

The brightness finally receded and Calhoun looked back out through the narrow slits to see who had arrived. His concern was that it might be more D’myurj, and, upon seeing the slaughter that had been visited upon their kind, that they would prioritize finding out who had committed such a horrific act. If they found Calhoun and Soleta, they would probably blame them and execute them immediately. It was not a scenario that he was especially looking forward to.

He was both surprised and relieved when he saw that it was not the D’myurj or the Brethren. But when he studied the newcomers, he realized that their situation might actually be worse.

They were, without question, the most devastating-looking warriors that Calhoun had ever seen.

The smallest of them was over two meters tall. They were wearing heavy armor made of overlapping black plates. Their blue-skinned arms and heads were exposed, however, and each of their arms were covered with twisted patterns of black tattoos. The tattoos weren’t any sort of pictures, but instead curved lines that intertwined with each other. Calhoun assumed that the tattoos had some sort of meaning, but he couldn’t imagine what that meaning was. Family crests, perhaps. Whatever it was, they obviously took great pride in their arms’ decorations.

And there were a lot of arms.

Each of them had six arms, three on each side of their body.

Their faces each had two eyes, which at least seemed reasonable to Calhoun. But their eyes were solid black, soulless like a shark’s. They had no noses, but instead nictitating slits in their faces where a nose would be. They were identical in the hair upon their heads, which consisted of long, blond strands that were tied in knots at the base of their skulls.

There were six of them, and they each had massive rifles that were attached to their backs through what appeared to be some sort of magnetic adhesive. Two of them had removed the rifles while they stood there, and they swung them around the bridge as if looking for possible enemies. Calhoun had no idea what the rifles fired, but he had to believe that it wouldn’t do him any good if he sustained fire from one of them.

It was customary for Calhoun to try and figure out how to beat anyone he met in single combat. It wasn’t as if he was automatically assuming that he would wind up in the midst of a fight with any newcomer. He just prepared himself for the possibility.

That was what Calhoun was doing as he stared at these heavily armed (in every sense) behemoths. He ran a variety of hand-to-hand combat moves through his head, envisioning every means by which he could come at them and try to take one of them down.

None of them were working.

No matter how he envisioned trying to defeat one of them in a combat situation, he was unable to conceive of one that would work. Every instance that he could come up with ended in exactly the same way: with him on his back while one of them brought one of their huge booted feet down on his face.

This is not good. This is extremely not good.

Calhoun had no idea what was going through Soleta’s mind, but he was reasonably sure it wasn’t anything pleasant. He suspected she was assessing the situation in exactly the same manner that he was and doubtless coming to the same conclusion. If it came down to a battle with these creatures, they wouldn’t last long at all. The only one who would have any sort of chance against these beings was Kebron, and he was busy hiding—or at least doing his best—somewhere else in the ship. Calhoun considered trying to reach Kebron and telling him to forget the entire concept of hiding and instead storm the bridge in a surprise attack. But he quickly dismissed the idea. It was preferable to try and remain hidden and perhaps elude detection altogether.

You’ve changed. Once upon a time, you would have thrown yourself into battle without hesitation. You wouldn’t have decided that you couldn’t take these creatures on. Instead you would have simply jumped into the fray and trust that you’d come up with something in the heat of the moment. What’s the matter with you? You’ve just lost your entire race, and you’re aware of the fact that if you die, the Xenexian species will be down to exactly one person. Right. That’s the spirit.

The tallest of the beings was in the middle of the bridge, and he appeared to be turning in a slow circle. The membranes that substituted for a nose were flaring. It seemed as if he were sniffing the air. Did he smell something that presented a problem? Was something on fire somewhere?

Then he faced the door that they were hiding behind, and he spoke.

“I smell you,” he said. In stark contrast to his massive and powerful build, his tone of voice was remarkably conversational. He reminded Calhoun of an instructor he had had when he first started Starfleet Academy. He sounded positively avuncular, as if his first order of business was to convince you to like him. Perhaps invite you out for a drink so that you can talk about everything that has come before and all that will come later. “I know that you are hiding there. Furthermore, I know from your scent that you are neither D’myurj nor Brethren. I am giving you a choice. If you force us to come over there and open the door, we will open fire on you and kill you where you stand. If, on the other hand, you step out of there and address us in a straightforward way, then we will take that to indicate that you are worthwhile individuals with whom we can parlay in a reasonable manner.”

Calhoun didn’t see that he had a lot of options. It was entirely possible that he was being lied to and that they were going to open fire the moment they revealed themselves.

He saw Soleta’s eyes glance at his phaser, which was on his hip. She didn’t have to speak to reveal her thinking; come out shooting. Try to take them down before they could do anything. That was certainly a possibility. Calhoun didn’t care how heavily armed they were. There wouldn’t be a thing they could do to resist a phaser set to full power. Simply blast them out of existence and then . . . what? Wait on the ship while the Excalibur remained cloaked? When the deceased aliens failed to report, their ship would doubtless conclude that something had happened to them and would simply blow the ship to bits. While killing them would certainly attend to the immediate problem, it would nevertheless sink them in the long term.

He shook his head slightly at Soleta and, before she could say or do anything, he slowly opened the door.

The blue-skinned beings stared at him, and there was clear surprise on their faces. It was obvious that they had never seen a Xenexian or Vulcan before. They exchanged confused glances with one another, as if silently inquiring if they had ever beheld anything like what they were seeing.

Calhoun had no idea what to expect. He was still worried that they would immediately open fire.

The tallest of them, the one who had spoken the warning pronouncement, slowly walked toward Calhoun. The captain tensed, ready for the alien to launch some sort of hand-to-hand attack. Perhaps he was of similar bent, always measuring people by the degree to which he was able to defend himself.

And then, to Calhoun’s utter astonishment, the being hugged him.

It was not a gentle embrace. The alien reached out with all six arms and enwrapped Calhoun so quickly that Mac wasn’t able to do anything to avoid it. He lifted Calhoun off his feet, and for a moment Mac was certain that the alien was going to try and break him in half. But instead the alien was content to simply embrace Calhoun as if he were reconnecting with a long-time friend or former lover.

“This is . . . very uncomfortable,” Calhoun managed to say.

The alien set Calhoun back down on his feet and then turned to Soleta. She started to explain, “No, wait—” but the Vulcan was unable to get the words out as he folded his six arms around her and gave her the same bizarre welcome that he had visited on Calhoun. Soleta managed to keep her face impassive, but she was clearly no more enamored of the overly familiar greeting than Calhoun was.

Finally the creature set Soleta on her feet and then took both of them in with his gaze. “Which of you is in charge? I assume one of you is.”

“That would be me,” said Calhoun. “I am . . .” He paused, about to identify himself as Captain Mackenzie Calhoun of the Starship Excalibur. But then he caught himself, realizing that it wouldn’t be the brightest maneuver to volunteer that much information right up front. So he simply said, “Mackenzie Calhoun. This is Soleta.” He nodded toward her. “And you would be—?”

“I am Nyos,” said the alien. “My race is called the Dayan. I assume you’ve heard of us.”

Calhoun shook his head.

Nyos made no effort to hide his surprise. “Seriously? You have never heard of us? We are quite well known.”

“I’m sorry, no,” said Calhoun. He looked to Soleta, but she simply shook her head. “We come from another sector, so it is entirely possible that word of your people has simply never reached us.”

Nyos and the others exchanged expressions of pure bewilderment. They simply could not process the notion that Calhoun and Soleta—indeed, anybody, in all likelihood—had never heard of the Dayan. There were shrugs and quizzical expressions among all of them, and then Nyos cleared his throat and returned his attention to them. “What is the name of your race, if I may ask?”

“I am Xenexian,” said Calhoun. “Soleta is a Vulcan.”

“I have never heard of either race,” said Nyos. “And I have to admit, that surprises me as well. I thought I was familiar with every race that walked the starways. So this is a most educational day for us. But it remains surprising to me that you have not heard of us. We are quite the superior race, you know.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Calhoun, taking care not to point out that declaring oneself to be superior is a sure sign that one is anything but. Truly superior individuals were typically marked by their modesty. Then he glanced around and asked the question that he was dreading the answer to. “Did your people do this? Slaughter all these beings?”

“Yes, our people did,” Nyos said. Then his eyes narrowed. “Are they allies of yours?”

“Absolutely not,” Calhoun said. “They are unquestionably our enemies. They were responsible for wiping out the entirety of my race.”

“Genocide, eh? That would certainly not be atypical for the D’myurj and their Brethren,” Nyos said grimly. “Just one of the many reasons that we are their sworn enemies.”

Calhoun certainly liked the sound of that. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. “Then I see we have something in common. What happened here?”

“It was relatively straightforward,” said Nyos. “One of our destroyer vessels came upon this ship. They offered the D’myurj the chance to surrender. The D’myurj instead opened fire. Our people had no choice but to come aboard this ship and destroy everyone on it.”

Calhoun glanced around. “Why did they feel the need to come onto the ship? Why didn’t they just assail it from their own vessel?”

“That is not our preferred method of combat. We will of course engage in ship-to-ship battle when the need demands it. But we generally prefer to battle our foes face-to-face. If nothing else, it helps us to ensure that our enemies are truly dead, rather than having found some means of escaping.”

“That makes sense,” said Calhoun slowly.

“I assume that you have some manner of vessel hereabouts,” said Nyos, glancing around as if it might be hidden somewhere in the bridge. “Is it armed?”

“Yes. We are not designed to be a battleship, but we can handle ourselves in combat.”

“That is excellent news. And your timing could not be better.”

“Really?” said Calhoun with an eyebrow raised. “How so?”

“Because we are in the midst of a final war with the D’myurj. It is our intention to wipe them out. Would you like to aid us in our endeavor?”

That sounded absolutely perfect. Calhoun would have liked nothing better than to obliterate the D’myurj and the Brethren. The bastards had destroyed his people. What could be a more fitting retaliation?

Then he caught a glimpse of Soleta staring at him. Her face was impassive as always, but he thought he caught something in her eyes. A look that was intended to warn him that such an endeavor was most definitely not something that he should be engaging in. They had come to this universe on a search-and-rescue mission, not search-and-destroy. It wasn’t up to them as Starfleet officers to try and wipe out a race, no matter how much they were personally appalled by them.

All of that went through his head, and then he came to the realization that he did not care in the slightest. His obligations as a Starfleet officer, his motivations as a man—none of that mattered. Here he was being presented with a race that, for whatever reason, despised the D’myurj as much as he did. He would be a fool to turn up his nose at them.

“I absolutely would,” said Calhoun. He ignored the brief look of disapproval that flitted across Soleta’s face. “We are definitely in.”

Another of the Dayan was operating the control console. A screen flared to life, much to Calhoun’s surprise. It showed empty space.

“Where is your vessel?” said Nyos, clearly a bit puzzled. “I see nothing.”

“It’s cloaked.”

“Cloaked?” Nyos snorted at that. “No cloak can deceive our sensor devices. If your ship was here, we would know it.”

Calhoun knew that he was going to have to take a chance. There was always the possibility that Nyos was lying to him. That they had every intention of trying to do to Calhoun’s crew what they had done to the crew of this ship. But he didn’t see he had any choice. Deciding to roll the dice, he tapped his combadge. “Excalibur, this is Calhoun. Drop your cloak.”

Burgoyne’s clearly surprised voice came back. “Are you sure, Captain?”

No. Not in the least. “Absolutely,” said Calhoun.

Seconds later the ship shimmered into existence. The response was startled gasps from the Dayan. “I will be damned,” whispered Nyos. “There it is. I cannot believe it.”

“The cloak was designed by my people,” Soleta spoke up. “It is impenetrable.”

“I daresay,” said Nyos.

Calhoun braced himself. If they were going to open fire on the Excalibur, now would be the moment for them to launch an attack. However, Nyos did not seem the least bit interested in doing so. Instead he simply studied the ship. “I have never seen the like. Far smaller than my ship, of course, but nevertheless seems rather impressive. Are you the only members of your crew aboard this vessel?”

“No. I have three more men on the ship.” He tapped his combadge. “Calhoun to Kebron, Meyer, and Boyajian. Gentlemen, it’s safe to come out of wherever you’re hiding. Report to the bridge. Should you encounter anyone on the way here, do not engage.”

He glanced at Nyos, and Nyos nodded. “They will not be stopped in their progress here.”

“Do you need to inform your people?”

“I have already informed them. We are linked.” He tapped the side of his head.

Well, that’s interesting. “Can you read all minds?”

“You mean can I read yours.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Nyos assured him. “Your thoughts remain your own. I can simply connect with my own people, not with members of another race.”

That was a relief. Calhoun was still feeling his way with this relationship. He didn’t need to find out that the Dayan could read his every thought. Should he have to plot against Nyos, that would have certainly given the towering Dayan an even greater advantage.

Minutes later the doors to the bridge hissed open and Meyer and Boyajian walked in. Kebron was behind them, and the Dayan gasped when he strode in. Calhoun was pleased to see that several of them actually stepped back, as if worried that he was going to attack them. It seemed to Calhoun that Kebron was likely the only individual on his ship who would be capable of taking on the Dayan one-on-one in a fight.

“These are security officers Meyer and Boyajian, and this”—Calhoun gestured toward him—“is Zak Kebron, my head of security.”

“I am also—” Kebron began to say.

“He is also one of the greatest warriors in our arsenal,” Calhoun interrupted, seeing absolutely no reason to inform them that Kebron was ship’s counselor. He wanted them to perceive Kebron as a formidable and deadly warrior and there was no point in cluttering it with Kebron’s other duties that were related to figuring out how people were feeling.

“Is he?” said Nyos. He looked Kebron up and down and then abruptly turned to the Dayan standing next to him. “Cabros. Take him down.”

The Dayan named Cabros came straight at Kebron.

Zak was clearly surprised, or as clear as possible for his relatively immobile face to register. Cabros plowed into him, trying to shove him back. The power in the Dayan’s six arms was impressive. Kebron skidded back a meter from the impact, and that alone was surprising enough, considering Kebron’s mass. But then he managed to pull himself together and halt the backward slide. He shoved a foot back, came into contact with the wall of the bridge, and pushed himself forward. Cabros endeavored to maintain his footing, but Kebron’s mass was more than he was prepared for. He struggled to right himself, and Kebron hammered him several times in the face. Cabros swayed on his feet, trying to recover, and the security chief didn’t give him the time. Instead, in an impressive display of strength, Kebron lifted the Dayan off his feet and slammed him to the deck of the bridge so loudly that it created an echo.

The Dayan gaped in astonishment, and for half a heartbeat Calhoun was concerned that they might open fire just on general principle. Instead, they glanced at one another and then nodded as if in approval.

“Very impressive,” said Nyos. He reached down and extended a hand to Cabros, who took it, and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “Very impressive indeed. Granted, Cabros was going easy on you in order not to embarrass you, but that was still quite the accomplishment.”

“Thanks,” said Kebron, looking to Calhoun in clear bewilderment.

The captain saw no reason to clear things up, mostly because he was still trying to figure out how the Dayan thought. They were aggressive. They had disposed of the D’myurj and Brethren on the ship without a second thought and were about to undertake an endeavor to wipe them out completely. In terms of aggressiveness, they were easily on par with the worst that the Klingons had ever been. By the same token, they also seemed remarkably pleasant. Calhoun was having trouble jibing their actions with their attitudes.

“What species are you?”

“I am a Brikar.”

“Your race is quite phenomenal.”

“Yes, we are,” said Kebron agreeably.

“I shall wish to speak more with you about your kind at some point in the future.” Nyos returned his attention to Calhoun. “May we be allowed to come aboard your vessel?”

Calhoun raced through his mind the possibilities of what affirming such an endeavor would mean. He had, after all, seen what they were capable of doing in hand-to-hand combat, considering that they had handily disposed of everyone on this vessel. “You may come. You and an associate. The rest must return to your vessel.”

Puzzlement flickered upon Nyos’s face for a moment but then cleared. “Of course. You are worried that if we bring a full complement of warriors onto your ship, then we may dispose of you in the same manner that we attended to these.” He tapped the nearest dead D’myurj with his foot. “I swear to you, Calhoun, that you need not concern yourself. We have a long history with the D’myurj that requires their extermination. We have just met you and so obviously have no quarrel with you at all.”

“That’s good to know,” said Calhoun. He wanted to believe that Nyos was being genuine in his sentiments. He certainly wasn’t looking for a reason to come into conflict with the Dayan. Focusing on trying to get rid of the D’myurj was enough on his mind as it was. He hit his combadge. “Calhoun to Excalibur.”

“Excalibur here.” Burgoyne sounded concerned. Calhoun couldn’t blame hir. S/he had no idea what was going on over on the ship.

“Burgy, I want you to beam over the away team and the two individuals who are going to be standing on either side of me.”

“Guests, Captain?”

“That is correct.” He gestured for Nyos to step in next to him, which Nyos did. He then nodded to Cabros to come with him. Calhoun wasn’t wild about the look in Cabros’s eye. He was looking at Kebron in a way that seemed to indicate he would very much like a rematch with the towering Brikar. Despite what Nyos had said, Calhoun was reasonably sure that Cabros had not held back in the slightest. He had done his best against Kebron and had been rather handily smacked down. If Calhoun was reading his personality correctly, that was not a defeat that Cabros was especially happy about.

“I am quite excited about this,” said Nyos, sounding remarkably chipper. “I very much enjoy meeting new races. And it is comforting to know that we share a mutual hatred for the D’myurj. I can assure you, Captain, that if you were at all sympathetic to them, this first meeting would have gone quite differently.”

It was only at that point that Calhoun remembered that they had a wounded member of the D’myurj in their sickbay. And he very much suspected that if the Dayan learned of that, the first thing they would want to do was kill him. Considering that Calhoun had no intention of allowing them to do so, he came to the realization that the Excalibur was absolutely the last place that the Dayan should be wandering around, at which point they dematerialized.

Excalibur

i.

THE TWO DAYAN officers stepped slowly off the transporter platform, looking around in amazement. “This is impressive. Most impressive,” said Nyos.

“It’s just the transporter room,” said Calhoun. Halliwell, who was standing behind the transporter controls, just shrugged and smiled.

“Yes, but it takes up so much room. We do not have a transporter room of any sort. We simply have equipment that beams us out of wherever we happen to be and sends us wherever we wish to go. Your transporter mechanism cannot do that?”

“It can,” said Calhoun. “But it can be a bit tricky if you don’t have someone extremely competent handling the controls. Fortunately Halliwell here is quite proficient at her job.”

Nyos turned and stared at her. He frowned slightly. “Her ears are not pointed.”

“What? Oh . . . no,” said Calhoun. “She’s a human. Soleta has pointed ears because she is a different race.”

“Ah. Yes. And you are Xenexian, you said.” He glanced at Meyer and Boyajian. “And they are Xenexian?”

“No, they’re human as well.”

“Quite the mixture you have here.”

“That has always been one of the hallmarks of the Federation,” said Calhoun. “Our ships have an abundance of races on them.”

“The Federation? What might that be?”

“It’s what we’re a part of. It’s an organization, a union, of worlds, operating together to keep our galaxy peaceful.”

The Dayan chuckled at that. It was not laughter that Calhoun was entirely comfortable with.

“I think that is extremely noble,” said Nyos. “I have never heard of such a thing. Races pulling together in order to form a more perfect union. Honestly, I would never have thought it possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Captain, everyone wants something for themselves. They may say that they are willing to work together, but ultimately, they are usually governed by self-interest. I would never have thought that fundamental selfishness could be set aside in the name of a greater good. It would seem that there is much I can learn about your Federation. Although I find it odd that I have never heard of it. You must be quite far away from your home.”

Calhoun wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that. He didn’t feel inclined to inform Nyos that he and his race were residing within a pocket universe, if for no other reason than that he wasn’t entirely sure he understood himself what the nature of the pocket universe was. All he knew was that continuing the conversation in detail would be a waste of time. “We are,” he confirmed. “We’ve come a long way in hunting down the D’myurj. And we would very much like to assist you in your endeavors against them.”

“I look forward to the opportunity,” said Nyos. “But first things first. I want to see this cloaking device of yours.”

“Of mine, actually,” Soleta spoke up. “It was developed by my people, the Romulans.”

“I thought you were called a Vulcan.”

“I am a mixture, actually.”

“Excellent. Then you can tell me all about this cloak.”

“Let’s retire to engineering, and you can inspect it for yourself,” said Calhoun.

They headed out of the transporter room and into the connecting corridor. As they headed down it, Calhoun noticed the surprised looks from some of his crewmen as they beheld the Dayan. There was not an overabundance of multilimbed beings back in their own section of the universe, and the Dayan—in both their size and physical composition—were definitely making an impression.

Nyos, for his part, continued to be perfectly convivial. He greeted the crew, introducing himself as if he were a new arrival at a party. The longer it went on, the more relaxed Calhoun became. Nyos’s attitude was completely consistent with everything that he said he was.

You just want to trust him because he wants to destroy the D’myurj.

Calhoun had to admit that that much was true. It might well have been that he was too welcoming, too ready to set aside his suspicions, because the Dayan were on the same page that he was on when it came to the D’myurj.

Why not trust them? They could have killed you and Soleta back on the ship with no problem. They have been nothing but friendly, their sparring match with Kebron notwithstanding. Perhaps you should stop being so suspicious and looking for reasons to distrust people. You may well have been handed a gift, and it would be nothing short of sinful for you to turn it away.

The more Calhoun thought about it, the more he realized that he was doing himself no favors by distrusting the Dayan. They had spoken nothing but the truth thus far and had made no attempt to attack.

They walked into the engineering room. Nyos looked around, taking in the warp engines and the design of the place. Chief Engineer Craig Mitchell strode over and looked them up and down, making no pretense of being anything except fascinated by their appearance. “Visitors, Captain?” he asked.

“Guests, Mister Mitchell. They want to see the cloaking device.”

“This way,” said Mitchell, and he started off. The Dayan, Calhoun, Soleta, and Kebron followed the engineer. Meyer and Boyajian had returned to duty since Calhoun had seen no reason to keep them with him. If a fight broke out, there was probably nothing that they could do that Kebron couldn’t. It seemed unlikely that there would be a need for additional security.

Mitchell led them over to the cloaking device and pointed. “There you go,” he said.

“Cabros, look at this,” said Nyos. By way of explanation, he added, “Cabros is my chief technician. There is no form of instrumentation and mechanical engineering with which he is not familiar.”

“Until now,” said Cabros, staring in wide-eyed wonder at the device. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Your people did this?” he said to Soleta. When she nodded, he said, “You must give me the details.”

“Frankly, I’m not entirely pleased that the individuals on this vessel are as familiar with the cloak as they are,” she replied. “However, it was deemed necessary for us to be able to travel here, and so I felt the need to contribute where I could.”

“Oh, of course,” said Nyos readily. “Because you were asked by your lover to do so.”

Calhoun blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nyos nodded toward Calhoun. “Your lover. Captain Calhoun.”

“We are not lovers,” Soleta said immediately.

“That’s absolutely correct,” Calhoun jumped in, unsure of what the hell was happening. “There is nothing of any romantic nature between Soleta and me.”

Nyos was clearly surprised. “Are you quite certain? She looks at you with unadulterated love, so I just assumed that—”

“You assumed wrong,” said Calhoun, and he looked at Soleta for verification.

He was astounded to see something pass through her eyes that he had never seen before: fear.

Not for long. Just for an instant. But for that instant, she was clearly terrified of something. Then Soleta very quickly said, “Yes, you are very much mistaken, Nyos. There is absolutely no romantic attraction between myself and the captain. He is, in fact, quite happily married. To another woman. You can be assured that whatever you believe you perceived, it is in fact erroneous.”

Nyos stared at her uncertainly and said nothing for a short time. Then he inclined his head in what appeared to be a gesture of apology. “My mistake.”

Calhoun stared at Soleta but now saw that she was not making eye contact with him. This is damned peculiar. There was no way that Nyos was correct in his assertions—of that much Calhoun was certain. But why was Soleta acting the way she was now? As if she had been caught out in something and was trying to avoid getting pulled further into it. You’re being ridiculous. This is Soleta. There is no way that she has feelings for you beyond respect.

“Captain,” said Nyos, “is there somewhere we can speak in private? I wish to discuss mutual battle plans. I am not enamored of the idea of talking about it in so open a setting.”

“Yes, of course. If it’s all right with you, I’ll ask some of my senior officers to join us.”

“Absolutely,” said Nyos. He smiled. “Ask whomever you wish.”

ii.

BURGOYNE STARED AT the Dayan without quite knowing what to make of them. They were certainly among the most massive of beings that s/he had ever seen. S/he wondered if Calhoun had endeavored, as he typically did, to try and discern a means of beating them in hand-to-hand combat and was most curious as to what the captain might have come up with.

Nyos’s conviviality was not the least bit diminished as Calhoun introduced him to Burgoyne and Xy. They nodded respectfully and, along with Kebron and Soleta, took their places around the table.

Neither Nyos nor Cabros sat. Instead Cabros leaned against the far wall while Nyos strode slowly around the table. Burgoyne considered that mildly disconcerting but was willing to chalk it up to behavior that the Dayan would consider typical.

“Your cloaking device may well be what we need to turn the tide,” said Nyos.

“What tide is that, exactly?” asked Calhoun. “I was under the impression that you were ready to wipe the D’myurj out.”

“We are. But unfortunately they are not making it easy.”

“I would be surprised,” said Burgoyne, “if anyone made it easy to be wiped out.”

“A fair point,” said Nyos.

Cabros leaned forward, saying, “It has been our goal to attack their homeworld and destroy them. We have been systematically attacking their space vessels for the purpose of driving them back to their world so that they will all be in one place.”

“To the best of our knowledge, it has been working perfectly,” said Nyos. “Unfortunately, we have run into difficulties when it comes to actually destroying their world.”

“Let me guess,” said Kebron. “Planetary defenses.”

“Exactly right,” said Nyos. “Whatever shortcomings that may exist in their ships are not shared by their planetary defenses. They are formidable beyond our ability to compensate. The range of their weaponry exceeds ours.”

“A truth we are reluctant to admit,” said Cabros.

“We must be in close proximity to inflict the sort of damage required to destroy them,” Nyos said. “But as long as their planetary defense system remains in place, we are unable to use our own weapons to maximum effectiveness.”

“What are we talking about precisely?” said Kebron.

“To begin with, an array of orbiting satellites,” Cabros said. He withdrew a small device and touched it. It promptly emitted a holographic image of what the crew assumed to be the D’myurj homeworld. An array of spherical satellites surrounded it. Dozens of them, circling the planet. “They fire extremely potent beams, the concentrated impact of which none of our vessels are able to withstand.”

“I doubt ours could either,” said Xy.

“There are also ground-based guns that are equally formidable. So in the extremely unlikely event that any of our vessels are able to get past the satellite defenses, they can then track them and blow them out of the sky.” Nyos was no longer smiling. “We have lost far too many of our fellows to their defenses.”

“As long as they see you coming, you will continue to sustain sizeable losses.”

“You understand our problem, Captain Calhoun.”

“And you believe the cloaking device is a solution to that problem,” said Soleta. She was studying the holographic display hovering in the air before them. “With the cloak in force, we would theoretically be able to bypass these satellites.”

“Not theoretically. Definitely,” said Nyos.

She didn’t bother to look at him. “Everything is theoretical until it is tested. You would want us to bypass the satellites, destroy them once we have passed through, and then annihilate the land guns.”

“That is exactly right,” Nyos said.

“Quite the endeavor you’ve assigned us,” said Burgoyne. “The satellites, the ground guns. We are effectively the first and second line of attack.”

“If you feel that is too much for you—” Cabros began.

“S/he didn’t say that at all.” Calhoun stepped in. For a moment he looked at Burgy in a manner that seemed, to the Hermat, somewhat scolding. S/he was slightly taken aback. Calhoun turned away from hir and continued, “What it’s going to come down to is both the cloaking device and our speed. Because once we start firing, that will give the satellites an ability to target us. They will aim for wherever the shooting is coming from, which means we have to hit and run. Kebron, do you think Tobias is up for it?”

“I certainly do, Captain. I think she is more than capable of giving us what we need.”

“All right, then,” said Calhoun. “That’s going to be our plan. Nyos, I assume that you can provide us the location of the D’myurj homeworld?”

Nyos nodded.

“We’ll set course for it.”

“We will follow at a discreet distance,” said Nyos, “and wait for you to signal us that the deed is done.”

“There is, however, something we need to discuss first,” said Calhoun. “I’m perfectly fine with the destruction of the D’myurj. I welcome it. But it is our belief that the D’myurj are holding one or more of our people as prisoners. Before you blow them all to hell, we need time to do a full sensor scan of the planet’s surface and find where our people are hidden. Once we’ve done that, we beam them up and you can do whatever you want.”

“Absolutely. We have no problem with that,” said Nyos assuringly.

“Good.”

Burgoyne continued to listen and tried to tell hirself that everything was going to go smoothly. That these Dayan had come along at just the right time to help them accomplish their goal.

Something is wrong.

S/he tried to toss the idea from hir head, but it kept coming back without hir having the ability to stop it. Something was definitely wrong, and s/he didn’t have the slightest idea what it was.

Everyone filed out of the observation lounge, chatting eagerly with each other. Cabros was engaged with Soleta, still trying to get her to give up the specifics of how the cloaking device functioned. Calhoun was going over some final points about the intended battle with Nyos while Kebron listened closely. No one even noticed that Burgoyne was not following them but instead remaining seated at the table.

No one except Xy, as it turned out.

Xy was still sitting after everyone had departed. Without preamble, he said, “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong?” asked Burgoyne. “There is no reason to make that assumption.”

“Dad, I know you. I can’t read your mind, but I can come rather close. Something is bothering you about the Dayan.”

“I have no reason to be bothered by them. They seem perfectly reasonable people.”

“And yet you have doubts.”

Burgoyne tapped the table thoughtfully. “I have no reason.”

“You said that. What do you have, then?”

S/he shrugged. “A feeling. That’s all. A feeling that they are being less than candid with us. And it concerns me that the captain doesn’t share that concern.”

“Then speak to him about it.”

Burgoyne shook hir head. “That would be a waste of time.”

“How can you say that? After all you’ve been through . . .”

“After all I’ve been through, I know him all too well,” said Burgoyne. “If I go to him and tell him about my worries, the first thing he will ask for is proof. I have no proof. I just have vague suspicions that are based on absolutely nothing. That is no way to conduct business. If I tell him that I’m suspicious, he’s going to ask me what provoked it, and I have no answer. They said nothing, did nothing, that could possibly be held up as an indicator of duplicity. So until, and unless, they say or do something that provides me with proof, I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”

Xy leaned forward. “I think you’re doing the captain a disservice. He relies on your opinions.”

“Appreciates, perhaps. But the truth is that Mackenzie Calhoun ultimately relies on himself and no one else. Although . . .” Hir voice trailed off.

“Although what?”

“Since he’s returned, he’s not . . . quite right. He seems hesitant, which is something he has never been. Uncertain of matters. Indeed, this all-out assault on the D’myurj is the first thing I’ve seen him eagerly embrace.”

“He embraced our mission to the pocket universe.”

“That was his contrarianism. He was told explicitly not to go and, as a consequence, went. A scheme that I am sure that Admirals Shelby and Jellico came up with as a means of getting him to come here. He believes that as well.”

“Then you owe him your best endeavors, Dad. You owe it to him to tell him what’s on your mind.”

“I owe it to him to be the best first officer I can be. A good first officer would not come forward with unsubstantiated suspicions. A good first officer would not second-guess hir commander. I’m not going to do it, Xy.” S/he paused and then added, “But I appreciate your hearing me out.”

“We all have our duties. Listening to you is one of mine.”

“Good. And let’s be sure to keep this between ourselves.”

“Naturally.”

iii.

CALHOUN STOOD THERE in sickbay, staring at the unconscious form of the D’myurj. Doctor Kathleen Lochley had been assigned to his case, and she had been meticulous about monitoring him.

He’d had to wait until the Dayan returned to their vessel because he had no desire to let them know that a D’myurj was alive on the Excaliber. The problem was that it was difficult to determine just how alive he was.

“He passed out when he was brought in,” said Lochley. She was a tall woman, taller than Calhoun, with long brown hair that had gray roots. She spoke briskly and with a clipped voice that, on the rare occasions that she relaxed, had a slight Southern drawl to it. “It took us time to steady him, get his vital signs stabilized. We’ve got that nailed down, but beyond that, there’s nothing more we can do until he comes to.”

He nodded. “All right. Do we have any idea when that might be?”

“Afraid not, Captain.”

The door hissed open and Soleta strolled in. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

He nodded and indicated the unconscious D’myurj. “Our new friend remains unconscious. Do you think it’s possible that you could mind-meld with him?”

“Mind-meld? Why?”

“Because,” said Calhoun, “we know the Dayan’s feelings on the D’myurj and their dedication to wiping them out. I have to admit, I would be interested in knowing what the D’myurj feel about the Dayan.”

“I would think it obvious. The Dayan want to wipe them out, so they would see them as an enemy.”

“That may be. But I would like to have some sense of that directly from the source. I have no idea when, or even if, he’s going to return to consciousness. So I was hoping you could step in and try to probe him.”

Soleta made no immediate move. She simply stared at him.

“Is it really necessary, Captain?” she asked.

The question surprised him. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel it so.”

She nodded. “All right.”

Very slowly, as if there were anchors lashed to her feet, Soleta approached the unconscious D’myurj. She started to reach for his forehead, and her fingers hovered above his face for long seconds.

Then, to Calhoun’s astonishment, her hands began to tremble. As unlikely as it seemed, she appeared to be on the verge of some sort of emotional outburst.

With no warning, she turned and walked away.

“Soleta!” he called, but she paid him no heed, instead walking out as quickly as she could. He went after her.

Moving quickly down the corridor, he followed her, calling her name. She ignored him and instead strode into the nearest turbolift. The doors began to slide closed, but he managed to intercept them just before they did so. “Soleta, what the hell?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Destination?” the turbolift inquired.

“Freeze lift,” he ordered, and turned back to Soleta, who was not looking at him. “Soleta, what’s going on?”

“Do not ask me to do it. Please,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because”—she turned to face him—“the last time I melded with one of those creatures, my mind was gone for months. For months, Captain. If it weren’t for Mark McHenry, I’d still be trapped in the inner recesses of my brain. He’s not here now, and if it’s all the same to you, I don’t want to risk being in a coma at a point when the crew may need me.”

“It was a different circumstance,” he pointed out. “You melded with a D’myurj who died while you were in there.”

“We have no guarantee that the same thing won’t happen. We don’t truly understand this race or how they function. For all we know, dragging a mental intruder into the abyss is some sort of default mechanism for them. Captain”—for a moment her voice broke before she managed to recover it—“please do not ask this of me. If you insist, I will attempt it, but . . .”

“No, of course not,” he said immediately. “I would never insist on you doing something that is so fundamentally personal, especially when you’re worried that it could have a negative impact. I care about you far too much for that.”

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you, sir. That is very much appreciated.”

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, and then she said, “Should we release the turbolift so it can take us where we want to go?”

“Soleta . . .”

“That’s a ‘no,’ then.”

“Soleta, those things that Nyos was saying earlier.”

“That I am secretly in love with you? Captain, you know that is nonsense.”

“Yes, I do. But I would like to hear it from you.”

“It is nonsense,” she said, but he saw that she was looking away from him when she said it. “Can we please get the turbolift to—”

“Soleta,” he said more forcefully.

She stared at him for a long moment. And then she gripped him by the upper arms, pulled him to her, and kissed him passionately.

Calhoun had no idea how to react. He remained frozen against her, her lips against his. He lost track of how long the kiss went on, and then she released him.

“Bridge,” she said before he could say anything.

The rest of the trip up to the bridge was done in complete silence. When they walked out onto the bridge, they said nothing to each other. They didn’t even so much as look at each other as Tania Tobias turned to the captain and said, “Sir, we have the coordinates of the D’myurj homeworld.”

“Take us there, Tania. Warp five.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“ETA?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

The Excalibur headed out, and moments later the Dayan ship followed.

New Thallon

“I WANT TO do something,” said Robin Lefler.

She was seated in the living room of the residence that she was sharing with Mark McHenry. She was cradling Cwansi in her arms, rocking him. He had just finished eating and had now drifted to sleep. She found it amusing that he was snoring gently.

It was a lovely day outside, or at least as lovely as any day ever got on New Thallon. McHenry was sitting cross-legged in a chair on the opposite side of the room and looked up at her in curiosity. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well, the majority of New Thallon doesn’t know that we’re here,” she said. “Shintar Han has been very determined to keep our presence under wraps. And I can’t say that I appreciate it.”

“I don’t see that we have to curb our expectations to what Shintar Han wants us to do.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Robin. Her voice was growing more excited, but she was doing everything she could to maintain the steady rocking of her body so that Cwansi would continue to sleep. “The fact is that I feel like a prisoner here. Which makes sense since we came here in order to facilitate the freedom of the Excalibur. But now that we are here, why shouldn’t we do everything we can to act as if we belong here?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea to me,” said McHenry. “What would you suggest? Go for a walk? Let people see us?”

“No, no, that’s too small,” she said impatiently. “I want to do something big. Something that lets the entirety of the world know of our presence here.”

“Does New Thallon have some sort of planetary communications setup?”

“Yes. They call it the Intervid. There’s a screen for it right over there.”

She pointed and McHenry turned to look. There was a small, glistening screen set into the wall, just thirty-eight centimeters in diagonal.

“Intervid on,” said Robin. “News channel.”

Immediately the screen flared to life. A Thallonian newscaster appeared and, of all people, was reporting on Shintar Han. “—and the prime minister’s office has cancelled all of his scheduled meetings for the remainder of the week, claiming that he has gone into seclusion. Several eyewitnesses, who prefer to remain unnamed, have claimed that Han has taken up residence in a temple dedicated to the Awesome. No reason was given for this . . .”

Lefler began to laugh. McHenry stared at her, not understanding the reason for her merriment. It took her a few moments to compose herself. “It would appear that Prime Minister Han is up on his history.”

“History?”

“According to legend,” she said, “several centuries ago—or longer or shorter, I’m not sure because they measured time differently—a Thallonian priest went to the temple of the Awesome, who is apparently a legendary Thallonian god. He didn’t like whoever it was that was running the world at the time and he wanted—interestingly enough—the Cwan clan to be put into place as rulers instead.”

“Was he successful?”

“Obviously he was. The legend says that the Awesome showed up and proceeded to insist that the Cwan family be made the new hereditary rulers of Thallon. Since that’s what they became . . .” She shrugged.

“Do you believe that?”

“Of course not. I’ve no idea how Si Cwan’s family came into power, but I’m reasonably sure it had nothing to do with some mythical Thallonian god.”

“That may well be the case, but still, you should allow for the possibility. And you think that that’s what Han is doing right now?”

“If he believes the old stories, yes. That’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s praying to the Awesome right now to come and wipe us out. That has to be it.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t sound very considerate.”

“It’s not, but I’m really all right with it,” said Robin. “If he’s off praying, it means that he’s not hanging around and trying to come up with new ways to get rid of us. Which brings us back to the Intervid. We should use it to let the rest of New Thallon know that we are here. That the son of Si Cwan is here. That he will be groomed to take care of them and rule. And,” she continued, her voice dropping in what sounded like a vague sense of dread, “that there are people out there who would like to make certain that doesn’t happen.”

“There are indeed. Like that fellow who tried to kill you the other night . . .”

“Wait, what?”

He looked at her blankly. “Oh. I forgot to tell you about that.”

“About what?” Her voice got louder, and Cwansi whimpered in his sleep. It forced her to drop her tone. “Mark, what happened?”

“An assassin showed up with the intention of killing you and Cwansi. Don’t worry, I stopped him. And then, since I assumed that Shintar Han sent him, I brought him to Han’s place and we had a chat. It was nice. I was very relaxed. You would’ve been proud of me.”

“Mark, how could you not have told me earlier?”

“It didn’t really come up in conversation.”

“Well, it should have! You should have said something!”

“I’m saying something now.”

“But . . .” Her hands were starting to tremble, shaking the sleeping infant, and it was with great personal effort that she managed to curtail it. “Okay . . . Mark . . . let me make this as clear as I can. If someone comes in here with the intention of killing us, I want you to let me know immediately.”

“All right,” said McHenry.

“Good. Now . . .”

“Although let’s say that you’ve had a rough night with Cwansi, and you’ve only just fallen asleep,” McHenry said thoughtfully. “Do I need to wake you up right then to let you know that someone tried to kill you? Because I don’t think that would be fair to you.”

She closed her eyes. “Fine. If I’ve just fallen asleep. Then you can wait a few hours.”

“How many?”

“Until I wake up!”

“Do I have to tell you right when you awaken? Or can I wait until you’ve had breakfast. Some coffee, perhaps, to make it easier for you to deal with.”

Robin’s head slumped back on the couch. “Half an hour, okay? Once I wake up, wait half an hour and then tell me. Does that work for you?”

“I think I can make that work.”

“Good,” said Robin. “Now we need to—”

“What if it happens away from the house?”

She almost choked on her words, trying to get back on topic. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Well, you said that I should tell you if someone comes in here and tries to kill you. What if someone tries to kill you while we’re out and about? Should I tell you then?”

“Yes!”

The shout erupted unbidden from her throat, and Cwansi was instantly jostled to wakefulness. The child let out a high-pitched, pathetic cry and Robin moaned loudly.

McHenry reached over to the child and touched his head. Instantly Cwansi drifted right back to sleep.

Robin’s eyes opened wide as she looked from her baby to McHenry and back to the child again. “How the hell did you do that?” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“The mind is just another place for me to navigate,” Mark said easily. “The younger the individual, the easier it is to manipulate. I doubt I could put an elderly individual to sleep quite that easily, because there’s typically so much going on in their head. But a baby? Not much of a challenge at all.”

“That’s amazing. I want you to be with me all the time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was that a marriage proposal? Because I like you a good deal, Robin, but I’m not sure that—”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry, Mark, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

“Not at all. Just wanted to be clear.” He stared at her. “You seem confused.”

“I am. I’m trying to remember what we were talking about before the entire . . . oh, right,” she said as she looked up at the screen. “Using the Intervid to get word out about us.”

“Well, I think I see an easy means of doing so.”

“What did you have in—”

She stopped talking because McHenry was gone. He had simply vanished into nothingness.

That’s weird. Where did he—?

Then she heard a startled cry on the screen. She looked up, puzzled, not knowing why the newscaster would be reacting with alarm. Then she saw an image on the screen, and she barely managed to choke out McHenry’s name.

Because that was where McHenry was. He was standing directly behind the newscaster, having blinked into existence. His voice was remarkably cheerful as he said, “Hi. I’m Mark. Who are you?”

“This is a private studio!” the newscaster said. He clearly hadn’t realized that McHenry had simply appeared. At the moment, he was treating him like a simple trespasser. “Please show yourself out.”

“Actually, I have a story that I want you to report on.” He glanced off screen. “Is that a camera operator over there? Good, we’ll need him, too. You can do a live report, right?”

“This isn’t happening,” muttered Lefler.

“Sir, for the last time—” the newsman began to say.

McHenry clamped a hand on his shoulder, and the next instant, the two of them vanished from the screen. Instead they were now standing in the living room. There was also a camera and its operator. He seemed rather young, but he had a small vid camera in his hand. The both of them were looking around in utter bewilderment.

“Mark!” Lefler said. “What the hell—?”

“You wanted to go public,” McHenry said coolly, “and this is the best way to go about it. You have here a genuine newscaster who, I assume, can function as a reporter. With him is a cameraman who can broadcast the story to the entire world. So say what you want, and get the word out.”

The news anchor was staring at Lefler, and then his eyes widened. “You’re Robin Lefler,” he said. “The widow of the great Si Cwan.”

“That would be me,” said Lefler. Inwardly she was amused by the adjective placed in front of Cwan’s name, considering that he had been executed by these bastards. It seemed that one’s reputation really did grow after death. “And this is his son, Cwansi.”

The anchorman snapped his fingers at the cameraman, who immediately brought the camera up and started recording. On the screen against the wall, the words “PLEASE STAND BY” had appeared.

“I am Puentos Po, lead anchor for Intervid 3,” said the anchorman. “May I ask why you are here?”

“I was brought here at the insistence of Shintar Han,” said Robin. “I was told that it was decided that my son’s place is here on New Thallon. That I should bring him here to raise him to be your ruler.”

“The prime minister said that?” said Po. “I’m surprised, since that would mean he is effectively putting an end date to his power.”

Yes, he obviously realized that. That was why he decided to send someone to try and kill us in our sleep.

For a long moment Lefler considered saying that. She thought about telling the people of New Thallon just what a complete villain their prime minister was. But as quickly as the idea occurred to her, she rejected it. It simply did not seem the wisest course of action. One of two things would happen. Either Han would manage to remain in power and become even more furious with her because she had revealed his duplicity and evil to the entire planet. Or Han would be forced out of power and possibly replaced by someone who was even worse.

If, on the other hand, she acted in a manner that was conciliatory, perhaps she could convince him to abandon his murderous bent and work with her for the benefit of New Thallon.

All this went through her mind in a second. Lefler’s face revealed no hint of her inner monologue. Instead she simply nodded and said, “That is true. It’s obvious that the prime minister places a greater emphasis on the needs of New Thallon than on his desire for power.”

Po appeared mildly surprised at that assessment. Obviously he knew Han relatively well. He managed to cover it, though, and then he indicated McHenry. “Who is your associate? The gentleman who kidnapped us out of the studio with absolutely no effort?”

“That is Mark McHenry. He is . . .” She hesitated, trying to think of the best way to frame it. “He is a rather unique individual with a certain set of powers that can be tremendously useful.”

“And he is here for—?”

“Protection.” She smiled thinly. “It can be a dangerous world out there, and one cannot be too careful.”

“Who would want to harm you?”

“Who indeed?” she echoed. Then Lefler cleared her throat. “I simply wanted the entirety of New Thallon to know that we are here. That we are invested in the future of this world. I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I firmly believe that Si Cwan would want his son to grow up to rule in his stead. No one loved Thallonians more that Si Cwan did. He gave everything, including his life, in the interest of saving his people. I believe that his son can do no less, and I welcome all Thallonians to join me in striving to raise Cwansi to follow the guiding principles of his father.”

“I must say, it is unusual to encounter a human who is so vested in the future of New Thallon.”

“Not really. Humanity is a very caring race. Indeed”—she allowed sadness to creep into her tone—“it is quite dishearting to us, and to the whole of the United Federation of Planets, that New Thallon has chosen to separate itself from the rest of the galaxy. There is much that the UFP has to offer, and I would hope that your council eventually comes to that realization and opens up relationships once again.”

“And tell me, Robin Lefler . . . how are you dealing with the death of your husband?”

She sighed. “It isn’t easy. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. He was such a wonderful, strong, and powerful man. If I could go back in time, I would return to the point where he decided to come back here and try to convince him not to so that he could still be with me. But knowing Cwan, even if that was possible—even if I came back from the future to warn him—he would have done the same thing because of his firm conviction that it was the right thing to do. That’s just the way he tended to operate. I’ve . . .” For a moment she stopped, working to pull herself together. “I have loved so few people in my life, and I’ve lost them all . . . save for my son. He’s all I have left. Every moment that I miss Si Cwan, I hold my son that much more tightly and thank God for his being here.”

They talked for several more minutes as Po asked her more about her background and the circumstances that had brought her back to New Thallon. She provided him with an edited version of the truth, making no mention of the fact that she had effectively been blackmailed into returning. Lefler wanted to do everything she could to make it appear that her first priority was the collective well-being of New Thallon. She knew it wouldn’t be helpful if she made it sound as if she were a prisoner. Which, in effect, she was, but she didn’t see the need to share that piece of information.

When they were finished, McHenry returned Po and the cameraman to their studio and within seconds after that, the screen flared back to life with Po proceeding to deliver what was easily the story of his life.

Lefler kept the Intervid on for the rest of the day, amused to see that it was all about her. Experts were called in, politicians were interviewed, old friends of Si Cwan were dug up to reminisce about the days when the Cwan family had ruled Thallon. It was inspiring for Robin to sit there and watch her husband being glorified on planetary vid, considering the manner in which his life had ended. You never know what you have until you don’t have it anymore, she thought.

“Satisfied?” said McHenry as he sat next to her on the couch.

“Very much so,” she said. “And now we see what comes next.”

Excalibur

i.

CALHOUN WAS SEATED behind the desk in his ready room when there was a chime at the door. “Come,” he called.

The doors hissed open and Xy walked in. “Captain, do you have a moment?”

“Absolutely, Xy.” He gestured to the chair that was situated opposite the desk and Xy sat. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not quite sure how to say this, because I’m violating my father’s confidence.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “But I believe I would be remiss in not letting you know that Burgoyne is suspicious of the Dayan.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, that’s the problem. S/he isn’t sure why. S/he just is.”

“And why didn’t s/he come and tell me this hirself?”

“Because s/he had no concrete evidence to provide you as to why s/he feels this way. The Dayan have said nothing and done nothing to warrant it. Nevertheless, it has hir concerned.”

Calhoun studied Xy for a moment while drumming his fingers on the desk. “Me too,” he said finally.

Xy let out a sigh of relief. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m in the same situation as Burgy. I don’t know why I’m suspicious; I just am. The Dayan haven’t done anything to prompt it, but I can’t help but wonder about them. Honestly, I was wondering whether it was just me being paranoid.”

“There is a very old saying, Captain. Just because you are paranoid . . .”

“. . . doesn’t mean that someone is not out to get you. I’ve heard that one as well.”

“So what do we do?”

“Do? At this point, I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. We’ve committed to this course of action, plus we still have to do something about the D’myurj. The Dayan are supposedly going to help us accomplish that. So for the time being, we proceed in the way we planned.”

“All right, then, Captain. If you’re sure.”

“No, Xy. I’m anything but sure. Sometimes, though, you have to take things on faith.”

“That much is true. Uh, Captain, if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Not telling your father that we had this conversation?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t worry, Xy. It’ll stay between us.”

Xy got to his feet. “Thank you, sir.”

He exited, leaving Calhoun concerned. It bothered the hell out of him that Burgoyne was reluctant to come and tell him what was on hir mind. Didn’t s/he trust him sufficiently to know that such reticence was unnecessary?

Well, obviously not. Calhoun resolved that he would have to try and do something about that, although he didn’t have the faintest idea what.

ii.

KALINDA WAS STARING intently at the object in her hand. When the door to the quarters hissed open, she didn’t even look up.

“What’s the matter, Kally?” said Tania Tobias. She seemed slightly out of breath. “You said you needed to talk to me.”

“I know. You ran?”

“Well, I assumed it was an emergency,” she said. “I mean, I’m on duty, and you know I’m on duty. So I assumed that whatever you needed to speak to me about, it was of some importance.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

Kalinda held up the device that she had between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about the fact that I kept this to myself, and I’ve come to the conclusion that that might not have been the wisest of courses. I thought I would share it with you.”

“What are you sharing? I don’t understand. What’s that thing you’re holding?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. I know what that is. That’s a tracking beacon.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What are you doing with a tracking beacon?”

“Xyon left it here. It was attached to the underside of the table.”

“What?” She grabbed it out of Kalinda’s hand. “How do you know?”

“He left it here when he came to visit me. I am sure this was how the ships were able to track us despite the fact that we were cloaked.”

“That little bastard.” She stared at Kalinda. “How long have you known about this?”

“For a while.”

“For a while?! How could you not have told me immediately when you found this?” Without hesitation, she dropped it on the floor and brought her heel down on it, shattering it. “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“I needed time to think about it.”

“Think about what? This is insane. I have to tell the captain.”

“You can’t.”

Tobias had already been heading out of the room, but she turned and gaped at Kalinda. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

“Because he will think ill of Xyon if he discovers what he did.”

“Are you serious? Why should we care what he thinks of Xyon? In fact, he should think poorly of him! We were almost killed thanks to him. We lost Robin thanks to him!” She was pacing back and forth with furious energy. “And you think the best way to deal with this is to not tell Calhoun? Are you out of your mind?”

“Xyon made a mistake.”

“You think?”

“We survived,” Kalinda said calmly. “And eventually, Xyon will realize that he made that mistake and will want to try and make up for it. If the captain finds out what he did, then the chances are that he will not forgive Xyon. That would be tragic because it would drive a permanent wedge between the two of them.”

“I don’t care!”

“You should. We should care about such things, Tania. We should care if a father and his son are eventually united. They are the last two members of the Xenexian race. It would be tragic if those last two members never spoke to each other again.”

“He shouldn’t be spoken to. He should be fired out of a torpedo tube.”

“You don’t believe that. You wouldn’t really want to kill him.”

“Why not? He tried to kill us!”

“As I said, he made a mistake. He may even have realized it by now.”

“Kalinda, you’re crazy,” said Tania. “And if you think I’m not going to tell Captain Calhoun, then—”

“Please.” She put a hand on Tania’s arm. “Tania, I trusted you with this information.”

“Why? Why did you feel the need to share this with me?”

“Because I love you,” said Kalinda, “and I think it’s appropriate that because I love you, I should be willing and ready to share anything with you that’s important.”

“That’s great, Kalinda, but you don’t seem to understand that . . .” Her voice trailed off. “You know, that’s the first time you ever said you love me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You picked a hell of a time and way to do it, though.”

“I suppose I did.”

Tania rolled her eyes. “Let me see if I understand this. You want me not to tell the captain that you found a tracer that Xyon left here, and leave everyone wondering why the cloaking device failed, in order to preserve the possibility that at some point the captain and his son will reconnect.”

“That is more or less accurate, yes.”

“Fine,” she said with an aggravated sigh, but then Tania raised a single warning finger. “But I want to give you a heads-up right now. If I see Xyon again, and he’s trying some other scheme to bring us down, I will personally blow his brains out. Do you understand me?”

“That certainly seems fair. And just so you know . . .”

“Just so I know what?”

“I still talk to ghosts,” said Kalinda with a small smile. “I didn’t want you to know that because I know it bothers you. But I thought you should know. And they’ll be watching you when I’m not around. So if you do tell the captain while I’m not watching you, they will know and very likely will destroy you.”

Tania had no idea how to react to that. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Oh no,” Kalinda assured her. “I take the undead very seriously. I would never joke about something like that. They will be watching, and they will take revenge if you lie and betray me. They’re funny that way. You won’t see it coming. You’ll step into a turbolift, and it won’t actually be there. Or the holodeck will malfunction. Or something else very bad will happen. Which I would hate because, as I said, I love you. By the way, do you love me, too?”

Tania’s mouth moved for a few moments without any words coming out before she managed to say, “Yes. Absolutely.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kalinda said cheerfully.

Tania managed to nod and then backed slowly out of the room. She had no idea whether the things that Kalinda had said were serious or some twisted jape. But she also knew that she had absolutely no desire to find out.

Thallon

FA CWAN WANTS to kill something.

He knows that that is not the correct attitude to have. He is someone to whom people look as a guide for how to behave. They see him as a role model, as a solid example of what every Thallonian male should be or at least aspire to be.

But that is not how Fa Cwan sees himself. For all that other people measure themselves by his successes, Fa Cwan only sees his failures. He sees not what he is, but what he could be. The problem is that what he could be far exceeds what he is.

His mate, Grata, knows that he is frustrated. She has tried all that she can to turn him around. She has been supporting. She has been loving. She has been frustrated. She has endeavored to help him in every way imaginable, and Fa Cwan knows that even she is beginning to lose patience with him. He cannot blame her. He cannot conceive of how she is able to tolerate his presence. He is nothing but frustrated, seemingly every hour of every day. He awakens angry, he goes to sleep angry, and he is angry every hour in between.

He was not always this way. Once upon a time, he was one of the most reasonable of men. He had worried only about the welfare of others and had focused both his life and his fortune on helping others.

And now where is he? Once he was the richest of men, but now his finances are severely depleted. His business ventures have also suffered as people have begun to distrust him specifically because he has spent so much of his money on philanthropic endeavors. People reason, How can we trust him when he pays so little attention to his own needs?

Perhaps they are right. Perhaps his priorities have been severely out of whack. Focusing his attentions on others to the detriment of his own needs? What sort of sane individual does that?

It seemed for the best, he thinks, but he knows that he is simply trying to rationalize a lifetime of foolish decisions.

It has not helped him that Elia Canto has done all that he can to bring him down.

He has no idea why Canto has targeted him, but it appears to definitely be the case. Canto has been waging a political war against Cwan that he is simply not set up to fight. Lately every endeavor that Cwan undertakes is stymied by Canto and Canto’s ruling-class associates. Cwan has no idea why Canto is doing this, but it has dropped him deep into a pit of despair. The only thing he has left in this life is seeking to improve the existence of others, and in that regard he finds himself unable to function thanks to Canto’s schemes.

“Why?” he says to himself for the hundredth time this day. Seated in his study, he glances around it with a look of despair that has become his perpetual expression these days. He is surrounded by paintings that track the history of his family line. Cwan after Cwan rendered in battle gear, knee-deep in the blood of their enemies as they battle for power on Thallon, each striving to reach the pinnacle of puissance so that they can accomplish great things.

Fa Cwan has let them down. That is a slow but grim realization to which he has come. He has been handed the name of his family to honor, and he has thoroughly mucked it up. He is not deserving of the title.

And he is the last of his family. His father had no brothers and thus far he has produced no heirs. It is not Grata’s fault, surely. She has done her best. The lack of an heir must certainly come down to yet another failure on his side of things.

He realizes that he is slowly being driven toward one inevitable conclusion. He has absolutely no business living. It is a hard conclusion to draw, but an inevitable one.

Canto is blocking all his efforts. His existence is doing nothing to perpetuate the line of Cwan. For what reason is he continuing to exist. Habit? There seems no point to that. Certainly Grata can do far better than him for a husband. If he ends his life now, she will inherit what is left of his estate. She can keep on residing in their mansion, or perhaps sell it and live quite well on the revenue the sale would generate. Certainly it would be better and fairer to her if he gave her that option.

He would arrive in the afterlife and be greeted by his predecessors. They might well scold him for all that he has failed to accomplish, but eventually he will be welcomed and be able to battle alongside them in the eternal war that awaits all Thallonians on the other side. He is well trained in the fighting skills, even if he has not had many opportunities to exercise them. He will be able to employ them in perpetuity and thus provide benefit to someone.

“It makes sense,” he mutters.

The traditional dagger of the Cwan family is mounted on the wall. He strides over to it and takes it down, admiring the glistening of the sunlight off the blade. He wonders how many people have been slain with it. A hundred? A thousand? He takes pride in his family’s bloody history.

Has it ever been used in a suicide before? He has no way of knowing. Perhaps his will be the first and last.

He wonders how to do it. Should he slice his wrists? He will then have to lie there and bleed out. When Grata finds his corpse, she will have to clean up all the blood. That does not sound especially pleasant, for either of them. Simply drive the dagger into his heart. Then, with any luck, the bleeding will be mostly internal and he will not have to worry about leaving behind a mess for his wife.

Will she understand why he has done this? He believes that she will.

He places the point of the dagger against his chest and closes his eyes, steeling himself for the thrust.

There is a knock at his door.

“Really? Now?” he mutters. Then, in a louder voice, he calls, “What?”

“Shanter is here to see you,” comes Grata’s voice. “And I have something else to discuss with you.”

With a sigh he replaces the knife onto the wall. “Come in,” he calls.

Shanter Khen enters, and there is someone with him, someone that Fa Cwan does not know. It is another Thallonian, but there is something about him that does not seem right. As unlikely as it would be, this new individual comes across as if he is an offworlder. As if he is only a visitor to Thallon rather than a resident.

Khen does not appear to be himself. He has not seen Khen for quite some time. He has heard rumors that Khen has secreted himself away somewhere, but has no idea if that is true. Supposedly, he had steeped himself in worship or something like that. It does not matter. His relationship with Khen stems from his capability as a drinking companion, and his religious leanings have never been of any interest. Now, though, there is a grin on Khen’s face that seems to border on the nearly insane. He wonders what in the world could have Khen so worked up.

“I’ll leave you to chat,” says Grata. She is smiling as well as she closes the door behind her.

Cwan looks impatiently at Khen and his associate. “So, Shanter. It has been quite some time. What brings you here? Who is your associate?”

“This,” says Khen, and then he stops speaking for a moment because his voice is trembling. He takes a deep breath to compose himself and then begins again. “This is a day that you thought would never come, Fa Cwan. A day when you shall finally triumph over your enemies.”

“I have no enemies,” Cwan replies. “At the most I have individuals who wish to make my life more difficult than it need be. Beyond that—”

“Do not lie to yourself, Cwan,” Khen tells him. “You have enemies. Most conspicuously, our ruler, Elia Canto. But that will be attended to this day.”

“Indeed. You have certainly set an ambitious agenda for the day.” He looks again at the Thallonian who has accompanied Khen. “And who might your friend be?”

“This . . .” Once again his voice trembles and he must fight to control himself. “This . . . is the Awesome.”

It is all Cwan can do not to laugh aloud. “I’m sorry?”

“This is the Awesome,” Khen repeats.

“Your god?”

“Yours too,” says the Awesome. He does not sound like a god. His voice is not vast and booming. There is nothing godly about His presence. He seems odd, but He does not appear to exist on any sort of deified realm.

“Pardon my skepticism,” says Cwan. “It is just that I have never encountered a god before. You do not fit into my preconceptions of what such a being would be like.”

“Really? And what did you think that might be?”

“I don’t know. Something godly, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Such as this, perhaps?”

The Awesome snaps His fingers, and Cwan is no longer in his study.

He is, instead, in space. He is in orbit around Thallon.

Cwan cries out in alarm, but there is no air to feed into his lungs or carry his outcry.

It is ironic that only minutes earlier he had been intending to kill himself. Now he is in the vacuum of space that will kill him simply for being there, and he is fighting for his life.

Suddenly he can breathe. He does not understand how this can be possible, but air is flooding into his body. He reaches out and there is a hard shell surrounding him.

“Magnificent, isn’t it,” says a voice next to him.

He turns and sees that the Awesome is floating next to him. The Awesome seems more amused by him than anything else. “Quite the view, isn’t it. Have you ever been off your planet’s surface?”

Cwan has no response. Instead he is simply staring in wide-eyed wonder at the creature that is before him. A creature that he instinctively understands now looks like a Thallonian not because He genuinely is one, but simply because He chooses to.

“I asked you a question,” the Awesome says.

“Yes,” Cwan manages to say. “Several times. I . . . I do not like it much.”

“Really? Why?”

“Space is not for us. It is airless and hostile and we . . . I . . .” He is running out of words. He feels as if his brain is shutting down. “I . . . I don’t . . . I . . .”

“Steady,” says the Awesome. “I require you to focus now. Can you do that?”

Cwan manages a nod.

“Look at the world below you. Do you see it?”

He nods again.

“It is your world,” the Awesome tells him. “I give it to you. I will provide you with whatever you require in order to do what is necessary. Do you believe you are up for it? Can you rise to this challenge?”

For the first time, Cwan begins to wrap his brain around precisely what the Awesome is capable of. For a moment he wonders if this is all some manner of illusion, but then quickly realizes that cannot be the case. This is happening. This is real. The Awesome is displaying for him just a small percentage of the abilities that He possesses and that He is—for no reason that Cwan can comprehend—offering to Cwan to utilize however he wishes.

“Yes,” Cwan whispers.

“Say it more loudly. Say it as if you mean it.”

“Yes.”

“One more time.”

“Yes!” Cwan shouts, his heart hammering away within his chest. The heart that he had only minutes earlier been prepared to stab through is now reminding him of its presence. “Yes, I mean it!!”

“That is good to hear. Look down upon the world that you will soon own, Fa Cwan. Decide whom you wish to keep alive. Decide who are your friends and your foes. I will attend to the rest.”

“Why?” Cwan knows he should not ask, but yet cannot help himself. “Why would you do this? Why would you aid me in this endeavor?”

“Because it amuses me to do so,” says the Awesome. “Because I find your race interesting. And because, honestly, I don’t have anything better to do right now.”

Space seemed to twist around him, and then Cwan was back in his study. Khen was studying him and grinning the entire time. Khen had clearly been in a state of euphoria since he’d walked in, and Cwan was starting to understand why. “Where did He take you?” says Khen.

“Space,” Cwan manages to say. “I was in space. I was hovering above our world. I . . . it was amazing. You are amazing,” he tells the Awesome. “You are amazing.”

“I know,” the Awesome assures him. “We will give you some time to process what you have seen. We will return tomorrow and begin your ascension to ruling Thallon. In the meantime, Shanter Khen here will escort me around your world and show me all that you have to offer. Enjoy the rest of your day, Fa Cwan.”

“Thank you,” Cwan says. “Thank you very—”

He is speaking to an empty room. The Awesome and Shanter Khen have vanished.

Cwan emerges from his study, looking stunned. He can scarcely process what he has just seen. Grata sees him and walks over to him. “Where did Khen and his friend go?”

“They left.”

“I did not see them leave.”

“No. You would not. It does not matter. Nothing matters save for the fact that our lives are about to take a very positive, upward turn.”

“What?”

He takes her by the shoulders. “You will understand later. You said you had something you needed to tell me?”

“Yes.” She smiles broadly. “I’m pregnant.”

He stares at her, astounded, and then grins. “This day is turning out very differently than I thought it was going to.”

Excalibur

i.

ZAK KEBRON HATED the fact that the fitness center in the Excalibur was of no use to him. The exercise equipment in there simply provided no test for him.

Instead, when he felt the need to work out, he used the holodeck. It was a fairly simple program that he had created: a large exercise room that was filled with weights that could actually present a challenge to him. He was busy undertaking the challenge now, lying on his back on the deck, lifting barbells that were hundreds of kilograms.

The equipment was the only thing in the holodeck; he saw no need to construct an artificial background. The glowing squares of the walls surrounded him and he actually took some personal pleasure in that. The low, steady light helped to relax him and enable him to focus on his task of weight lifting.

He looked up in surprise when he heard an unusual noise and then realized immediately what it was. It was the sound of the Dayan transporter beam. Seconds later, Cabros materialized in the holodeck, standing a meter away from Kebron.

“Cabros,” said Kebron, getting to his feet. “What are you doing h—?”

He didn’t have the time to complete the sentence.

Kebron gasped in surprise as Cabros slammed into him. The impact drove him several meters back, and he almost stumbled, but managed to hold his footing. He had no idea where to look first as blows came from all directions, pummeling his upper body mercilessly.

The fortunate thing was that Kebron barely felt it. His rock-hard skin made the punches being inflicted upon him of minimal pain. It was, however, extremely disorienting. He felt as if his senses were beginning to desert him, the world spinning around him.

“What’s going on?” he managed to say, but Cabros did not relent. Instead he continued to pound away on Kebron.

Zak managed to snag one of Cabros’s wrists, and he twisted as fast as he could. The move managed to fling Cabros across the deck, sending him skidding to the far side of the holodeck. Cabros shook it off as he leaped to his feet.

“Why are you attacking me?” demanded Kebron.

“You beat me,” said Cabros with a snarl. “No one beats me.”

He charged straight at Kebron.

For a moment, Kebron considered letting Cabros win. Why not? It made no difference to Kebron. If he simply pretended that Cabros had pummeled him into unconsciousness, then Cabros could feel good about himself and Kebron could continue with his workout.

As quickly as the thought flittered across Kebron’s mind, he dismissed it. On the one hand, he felt sympathetic to Cabros’s injured pride. On the other hand, he realized that he really didn’t give a damn about it. He hadn’t picked a fight with the Dayan. Cabros had been ordered to attack him by his commanding officer. Having done what he had been ordered to do, that should have been the end of it. Obviously it was not. That meant that Cabros certainly had some serious issues, none of which were especially Kebron’s problem.

Fortunately Kebron saw another solution readily at hand.

“Computer, run program 22K,” he called out.

Cabros took two steps toward Kebron and suddenly the floor of the holodeck was gone. Instead there was nothing but icy water beneath him, and an instant later he sank.

Kebron glanced around and nodded approvingly. The holodeck had transformed into a vast arctic wasteland. Kebron himself was standing on an ice floe that was drifting in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, while Cabros had wound up directly above the ocean itself and had immediately gone under.

Kebron watched and waited and a few moments later, Cabros’s head broke the icy surface. “Help!” he managed to gasp out, and then immediately went under once more.

There was more splashing and thrashing about, and then Cabros managed to fight his way to the surface again.

“You can’t swim?” called Kebron.

“What is swim?!” Cabros managed to shout before he submerged yet again.

At that moment, doors opened about fifty feet away. Meyer and Boyajian were there, and they almost fell in before managing to catch themselves. “What the hell—?” Meyer managed to say.

“We got an alert about an unauthorized transporter!” Boyajian called to Kebron.

“End program,” said Kebron.

The arctic site vanished, leaving a coughing Cabros splayed on the floor, looking around in confusion.

“Keep your phasers aimed at him,” Kebron said calmly.

A moment later, Calhoun was standing behind them, having come running up in obvious response to the internal alert. “Is that Cabros?” he asked, not quite understanding what he was looking at.

“It is indeed,” said Kebron. “Apparently he decided that he wanted a rematch. I did not endorse it.”

Cabros had managed to get to his feet, and he glowered at Calhoun as he noticed the phasers being pointed at him.

“I’m not entirely sure if a Dayan can withstand point-blank phaser blasts,” Calhoun said, “but if you give me the slightest reason to find out, I would be happy to use you as a guinea pig.”

“What is a guinea pig?” said Cabros.

“Our computer in the brig will be happy to inform you.” Calhoun nodded toward the security guards, and they escorted Cabros out. He looked to Kebron. “You okay?”

“Of course,” said Kebron. “It wasn’t as if he could have truly hurt me. For some reason, he felt the need to try.”

“I’m sure his explanation will be quite entertaining.”

ii.

CALHOUN HAD TO hurry to keep pace with the far taller Nyos as he strode down the Excalibur’s corridors. “I have no explanation for this, Captain,” he said for what Calhoun was reasonably sure was the third time since he’d beamed aboard. “This is a very uncharacteristic action for Cabros. Are you quite certain he simply transported in on his own?”

“I can show you our sensor log if you wish,” said Calhoun, “but I already have Kebron’s statement on record. He heard the sound of your transporter beams, and the moment Cabros appeared he attacked my man.”

“This is intolerable.” Nyos was shaking his head. “I will not stand for an officer of mine to engage in such behavior.”

They arrived at the brig. Cabros was standing there stiffly rather than seated on one of the benches. He was staring straight ahead; he didn’t even seem to be aware that others had arrived.

“Cabros,” said Nyos. “Is it true what I have been told? That you took it upon yourself to physically challenge Zab Kekron?”

“Zak Kebron,” Calhoun quietly corrected him.

“Yes,” said Cabros. “I could not live with the knowledge that he bested me in combat.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nyos appeared to consider that for a moment, and then said, “Captain. Could you release him to me?”

Calhoun reached over and tapped the release code into the pad. Immediately the force field dropped.

Without a word, Nyos walked into the brig. He stepped up to Cabros and put his hands around Cabros’s head.

“Wait,” Calhoun said. “What are you—?”

He didn’t have to complete the question because it became abundantly clear. With a quick twist, Nyos snapped Cabros’s neck. The sound of the breakage reverberated within the brig, and Cabros slid to the deck, landing with a thump.

“Dispose of him as you wish,” said Nyos as he turned and walked out of the brig.

Calhoun stopped him, gripping one of his arms. “What did you just do?” he demanded.

“I gave him his wish,” replied Nyos. “He said he could not tolerate living with the knowledge that Kebron had defeated him. Now he does not have to.”

“You can’t just kill one of your own crewmen!”

“I am reasonably sure you are wrong about that, as I have just demonstrated.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Are you planning to release your grip upon me anytime soon?”

Calhoun stared at him for a long moment and then let go his hold on Nyos. The Dayan shook his hand in the air a few times. “You have quite a firm grip, Captain. You are stronger than you appear.”

“How could you have done that? How could you have killed him?”

“It was not especially difficult. He offered no resistance as I snapped his—”

“I saw what you did. I’m not asking the mechanics. I’m asking how you could have done it on a moral basis.”

“Obviously, Captain, our morality is different from yours. To begin with, Cabros took an action that was in flagrant violation of my orders. How do you deal with officers who have ignored your orders?”

“I certainly wouldn’t kill them.”

“Then you are imparting a message to your crew that I do not believe you really wish to send. A captain must be the final authority on his ship. Disobedience of any sort must not be tolerated. When I return to my vessel without Cabros, every member of my crew will understand that the same fate that befell him awaits anyone who ever dares to act out of turn. The question before us is not, ‘Why would I send that message?’ The question is: ‘Why would you not?’ ”

“Because I believe in the right of my crewmembers to live.”

Nyos actually chuckled at that. “That is a perfectly nice attitude to have, Captain Calhoun. But the simple truth is that the only rights that your crew have are those rights that you allocate to them. They have a right to have a captain who is always going to be obeyed. Anyone who disagrees with that sacrifices his right to breathe. I strongly suggest you consider adopting that attitude, Calhoun. It will certainly save you some difficulties in the future.” After a pause he said, “Return me to the vessel.” Moments later he faded out as the Dayan transporter system pulled him away, leaving Calhoun alone outside the brig.

“Bridge to sickbay,” he said after a moment.

“Sickbay.”

“We have the dead body of a Dayan in the brig. Get it and dissect it.”

“Um . . . where did we get the dead body of a Dayan, sir?”

“Courtesy of their commanding officer,” said Calhoun. “Take it apart. If these individuals have any weaknesses, I want to know about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

iii.

CALHOUN SAT IN the ready room, staring at nothing in particular, rapping his fingers thoughtfully on his desk.

The door chimed and Burgoyne entered without Calhoun telling hir to come in. It was a minor breach of protocol, but Calhoun chose to ignore it.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?”

Calhoun nodded and gestured for Burgoyne to take a seat. Burgy did so and waited patiently for Calhoun to speak.

“I need to discuss something with you, Burgy, and I do not do so comfortably,” he began. “I was told something in a matter of confidence—”

“Xy came to you about my concerns over the Dayan.”

Calhoun tilted his head back and sighed in relief. “I should have known you’d figure it out.”

“I saw him come in here, and he had no other pressing reason to do so, so I put two and two together, yes.”

“You should have enough faith in me by now to know that you can tell me anything without concern,” said Calhoun.

“I will try to remember that in the future, Captain.”

Calhoun pursed his lips. “You heard about our little incident, I assume.”

“That Nyos came over here and killed one of his people? Yes, that tidbit of scuttlebutt had reached me.”

“I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure how to react. The fact of the matter is that, once upon a time, I might have done the same thing.”

Burgy made no attempt to hide hir surprise. “I find that very difficult to believe, Captain.”

“Back when I was a warlord on Xenex? Fighting to free my people from tyranny?” Calhoun chuckled softly. “Oh, yes. If I had learned that one of my people had, for instance, fallen in with the Danteri, our oppressor, that they had disobeyed my orders for the purpose of acquiring the Danteri’s trust or achieving personal gain . . . hell yes, I would have had him executed. No, grozit, I would have killed him myself. I would never have allowed a betrayer to live.”

“But we’re discussing a matter that is not tantamount to treason,” Burgyone pointed out.

“Trust me, Burgy, to some people there is no such thing as degree of disobedience. Either you’re part of the group from the get-go, or you are dead the moment you deviate from what is expected. That’s obviously the Dayan philosophy.”

“What are you suggesting, Captain? That we break our alliance with them?”

“I’m not sure that we can.” He got up from behind his desk and walked to the port that gave him a view out into space. “If their description of the D’myurj homeworld is accurate—and I have no reason to believe it isn’t—then we may well need their help.”

“Their help with what? Captain,” Burgoyne said slowly, “do you really intend to annihilate the entirety of the D’myurj?”

“Why not? They destroyed my race. Why shouldn’t I visit the same fate upon them?”

For a long moment, Burgoyne was silent. Then s/he said, “Captain, I think you know that every person on this ship would follow you to the gates of hell. If this is really your intention, to destroy an entire race, then we will back you. But . . .”

“But what?”

“But the crew believes this is a rescue mission. The D’myurj have our people prisoners, and we’re going in to take them back. No one has signed up to commit genocide.”

Calhoun felt his temper begin to flare, and it was all he could do to keep it in check. “And what about my people, Burgoyne? How many people on Xenex got up that morning thinking that it was their last day to have breakfast, speak to friends, read, and make love? How many Xenexians dreamed that their race was about to be wiped out by people they never heard of? Do you think the D’myurj discussed the ramifications of what they were doing? Do you believe that when they pounded my people into oblivion, they gave even a moment’s thought to the innocent people they were annihilating?”

“No.”

“No, they didn’t. So why should I give any more thought to them than they gave to us?” He put up a hand before Burgoyne could reply. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. Because I’m better than they are. Because I have a conscience and morality that they cannot begin to conceive of. That’s why I should spare them.”

“That’s correct,” said Burgoyne.

Calhoun had been looking out the port the entire time he was speaking, but now he turned to face Burgoyne. “You don’t know what I used to be like. You don’t know the boy that I was before I became the man I am. If I had had the opportunity to blow the Danteri’s world to kingdom come in order to free my people from their tyranny, I would have done so without hesitation. If we leave the D’myurj alive, who knows who will be next? Do you think you would be as dispassionate about this if it had been the Hermats who had been slaughtered wholesale?”

“I’d be fine with it,” Burgoyne snapped back. “My people treated me like hell when I lived there. I didn’t join Starfleet in order to be an explorer. I joined it to get as far away from other Hermats as possible. If the D’myurj obliterated my people, I’d walk across the surface of the world and be sure to dance on the grave of every single individual who strove to make me feel like an outsider on my own planet. I’m not being dispassionate, Mac. I’m worried about you. I’m worried that your priorities are out of whack and have been ever since you’ve returned. I think you ought to give some serious consideration to what you want your message to be. Because if this ship opens fire on the planet of the D’myurj with the determination to wipe them out of existence, I can’t say you’ll have a crew when this is done.”

Calhoun stared at Burgoyne and was unable to keep the surprise off his face, although it was more at the aggressive nature of Burgoyne’s words than what s/he was actually saying. “I thought you said this crew would follow me to hell.”

“To hell, yes. But I’m not as sure that they’ll be happy to march through the gates with you. Just up to it.”

Somewhat to his surprise, Calhoun actually laughed at that. “Well, I appreciate you drawing the line of demarcation for me, Burgoyne.”

“Not a problem. I just hope you’ll give serious consideration to what I’ve said.”

“I will. But, I want you to give serious consideration to this.” He paused. “If we spare the D’myurj, that may well put us head-to-head against the Dayan. How well do you think we would fare in pitched battle against them?”

“Not very,” Burgoyne had to admit.

“You may want to factor that into your considerations.”

Slowly Burgoyne nodded. “I can see how that could be a factor. But tell me this, Captain, has worrying about how some other race might react to your decisions ever mattered?”

“No, it hasn’t,” said Calhoun grimly. “Here’s the problem. I have to live with the fact that that very blindness, that refusal to consider how someone else may react to my actions, directly resulted in the death of Xenex. That attitude . . . killed my people.”

“The D’myurj killed your people, Captain. Not you.”

“And they should pay for it.”

“Some of them should. But all of them? You can’t think that the entire race voted as one to execute yours.”

“I don’t know,” Calhoun said reasonably. “I have no idea how the D’myurj function. For all I know, that’s exactly what they thought. It’s possible they have some sort of hive mind, and every man, woman, and child resolved as one that the Xenexians had to die.”

“And if you destroy them all, you’ll never know.”

Calhoun nodded and slid back behind his desk. “I’ll think about it. Okay, Burgy?”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“See, we were able to have this discussion, and it wasn’t an effort for either of us.”

“Maybe not for you, Captain. For me, it required considerable effort.”

“Well, it was appreciated.”

“By the way,” Burgoyne added, “we received a preliminary report from sickbay on the Dayan that you asked them to dissect.”

“About weaknesses?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And—?”

“They don’t have any.”

Calhoun stared at hir. “Nothing?”

“No, sir. No places on their body with nerve clusters. No organs near the surface that could be struck in combat and bring them down. No genitalia that present a reasonable target. They are walking engines of destruction, and aside from sharing our need to breathe, there are no evident vulnerabilities in their physiology.”

“Okay. Well . . . thanks for that.”

Burgoyne nodded and then got up and walked out of the ready room. Calhoun watched as Burgy strode over to Xy’s station and smacked him in the back of the head, right before Calhoun’s view was cut off by the sliding doors.

The captain leaned back in his chair and then turned around and glanced out the window again.

The Dayan ship was in view, streaking along with them.

“Grozit.”

New Thallon

THE NOISE FROM outside their home was Lefler’s first warning that they were no longer alone.

Cwansi was lying on a blanket on the floor, happily making cooing noises and waving his arms around as if he was slapping at invisible flies. It seemed to be a reasonably sunny day out, which was a pleasant change for the typically murky New Thallon day. She went to the window, frowning, uncertain why she was hearing conversation from just outside.

There was what looked to be, from its composition, a family outside. A father, a mother, two children . . . no, three. It was the third one who immediately caught Robin’s attention.

The boy appeared to be around five years old. He was seated in a hover chair, and he wasn’t moving save to blink his eyes periodically. He was sitting with his head tilted to one side, and he wasn’t staring at anything. His eyes were so unfocused that at first Robin thought he might be blind. Then she realized that, no, he wasn’t blind. Instead his gaze was focused inward. It was like he was gazing into himself.

“That’s not right,” she muttered.

“What’s not right?” McHenry was a few feet away, sitting and reading. Now his attention shifted to Robin. “What’s going on?”

“It appears we have visitors.”

He joined her at the window and looked out. “So we do. Should we invite them in?”

“I’m sure they’re not assassins, so of course. Why not?”

McHenry went to the door, and it opened wide. “Hello,” he said. “May we help you?”

The family looked excitedly at one another. “It’s him,” said the father to the oldest of the children, a girl who seemed to be a teenager. “You were right.”

“I told you I saw him.” She was looking at McHenry. “I was walking by here the other day and saw you through the window. And I thought you looked strange. But then you were on the Intervid, and I knew it was you.”

“It was. Care to come in?”

They filed in slowly. The second-oldest child, a young boy, was pushing the one who was in the chair. They looked around as if they had never entered a house before. “This is very nice,” said the mother.

“Thank you. I’m Robin Lefler.” She had picked up Cwansi off the floor and was holding him. Cwansi was staring at the people with mild interest. He was burbling cheerfully. “And this is Cwansi.”

The family seemed to intake its breath simultaneously. The mother began to drop to one knee and the others started to follow suit, but Lefler immediately stopped them. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “He’s just a baby.”

“He is our ruler,” said the husband.

“Not at the moment. At the moment he’s just an infant, and he doesn’t know anything except how to nurse. So please, just . . . sit down. It’s really not necessary to be bowing to him.”

The family seemed uncomfortable with the familiarity, but they wound up taking seats in the chairs and couch that occupied the living room. “Who are you?” Robin finally asked. “And why have you come by?”

“We are the Piro family,” the father said. “My name is Wei, and this is my wife, Shonda. These are our children, my son Tis, and my daughter, Kuna . . .” He paused and then indicated the unmoving child in the chair. “And this is Blak. He is the reason that we’ve come here.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Robin.

“When he was born, he was perfectly normal,” said Shonda. “But then, when he reached two years of age, he contracted a debilitating disease. Once upon a time, he could talk as everyone does. Now his mind is trapped inside of a body that refuses to communicate with his brain.”

“Our child is gone, and yet he is here,” said Wei. “We care for him as best we can, but every day when I look upon him, it just . . . it sickens me to see him this way. Trapped. Unable to speak to any of us. The last straw was his sight. You see how he looks at nothing. This is a fairly recent development. He gazes only inward now; we are not even sure if he is still aware that we are here.”

“It is very sad,” said Robin, “and my heart goes out to you. But I have to admit I’m a bit confused. What do you think that I could possibly do for you? Is there medical care that you wish me to find for you, or—?”

“Not you,” said Wei. His gaze shifted to McHenry. “Him.”

“Him? What do you want Mark to do?”

“Heal him,” Shonda said in such a low voice that it was barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me?” Robin looked from Shonda to McHenry. Mark wasn’t saying a word, but just sat there taking it in. “You want him to heal your son?”

“Yes, please.”

It was difficult for Lefler not to laugh. “Shonda . . . Wei . . . Mark may have many talents, but it’s not as if he’s a god or something. He can’t just lay hands on your son and heal him. Right, Mark?”

McHenry continued to say nothing.

“Mark?”

Slowly McHenry rose from his chair. He walked over to Blak and knelt down next to him. He stared into the face of a boy who did not look back at him. Then, as delicately as he could, he reached up and touched the boy’s face.

“Mark?” Lefler said again.

He shushed her without looking away from Blak. Then he closed his eyes.

Robin couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if there was a soft glow surrounding Mark’s hands. He continued not to speak but instead remained focused on the child.

Long seconds passed, and there was no reaction from the boy.

Then, to Robin’s astonishment, the boy’s gaze turned outward and concentrated on Mark’s face.

“Oh my,” she whispered.

Shonda saw it too and gasped and grabbed on to her husband’s arm. Tis and Kuna were likewise spellbound by what they were witnessing.

Slowly Blak began to raise his head. His attention was now one hundred percent upon McHenry, and Mark remained intent on the child. Lefler saw now that she wasn’t imagining it. The glow from Mark’s hands was greater, and she even thought she heard a faint hum as if power were building up within him.

McHenry’s jaw was set. It was clear that this was an effort for him. His breathing was starting to become labored, and Lefler saw perspiration dribbling down the sides of his face. She wanted to go to him and wipe the sweat away, but instead stayed right where she was. She was afraid to do anything that could interfere with whatever the hell it was that McHenry was in the midst of doing.

Blak suddenly cried out. It wasn’t a shout of pain; it was more of a startled gasp. When he made a noise, however, everyone else in his family gasped in response, as if they were engaged in a breathless conversation.

McHenry fell backwards onto the floor. He lay there, bathed in sweat, his shirt soaked with stains. Lefler immediately went to him and knelt next to him. “Are you all right?”

He managed a nod.

Blak’s head snapped around. He stared at his family.

“Mother?” he said.

Shonda shrieked and ran to him, embracing him. Wei took a few steps back and clutched his chest, which prompted Lefler to think that perhaps he was having a heart attack. Tis and Kuna looked astounded at first, and then they started to cheer.

“Can he get out of his chair?” Wei managed to say. He had to shout it because his wife was busy shrieking inarticulate cries of joy.

McHenry shook his head. “That will take some time. I managed to reconnect his brain to his body so that he’ll be able to fire up his nervous system. But he hasn’t walked in years, so he’ll need to build up his muscles.”

“Can’t you restore his—” Shonda began to say.

“Shonda!” Wei said sharply. “He has already done more than enough for us!”

“Yes, of course, of course. I . . .” She went to McHenry, who was still on the floor, dropped to the ground next to him, and embraced him with all the energy in her slender body. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“It’s all right,” Mark said. He patted her on the back. “It’s fine.”

“I felt him.” It was Blak, and there was pure astonishment in his small and weak voice. “I felt him in my head, talking to me. I could hear him. I could hear his words in my brain.”

“That’s pretty much right,” said McHenry. “I reached into him and just sort of drew him out. He did a great job. He was very brave.”

“Are you the Awesome?” asked the boy. His voice was trembling.

“I’m not the Awesome, or a god. I’m just . . . well, it’s a little hard to describe. Just take my word for it. My name is Mark, and I’m just happy that I was able to help you.”

“This is incredible,” said Wei. “I can’t wait to tell everyone what you’ve—”

“No,” McHenry said immediately. “You can tell no one.”

“What?” The family exchanged surprised looks. “But why? What you have done here, it is so amazing. Phenomenal,” Wei said. “Everyone on our world should know about it.”

“I do not want nor need that,” McHenry said firmly. “If word gets out about this, we’re going to be mobbed by every Thallonian who thinks that I can fix them.”

“Can’t you?” asked Tis.

“No,” said McHenry. “I’d love to tell you I could, but the fact is that most of my abilities are strictly tied into the mind. I can enter your brain, fix things having to do with your neural system and such. But I don’t need people with broken spines or fractured hips or whatever else coming to me and asking me to heal them. I won’t be able to do it, and all it’s going to do is upset them. So please, I’m begging you: tell no one.”

“But everyone’s gonna see that Blak is better,” Kuna pointed out. “What do we tell them?”

“Tell them,” Lefler told her, “that you managed to find a wonderful doctor and he cured him. Or simply—yes, this is better—just tell people that he came out of it himself. That one day he simply woke up and was able to communicate. Everyone will ascribe it to a miracle, and that will be that. Okay? Can you do this for Mark? I’d think you should be able to, considering what he just did for you.”

“Of course,” said Wei. “You are absolutely correct. I swear to you, we shall tell no one. Right?” he said to his family. Their heads bobbed up and down in unison.

“Are you hungry?” said Lefler. “Thirsty? We have some food.”

“That’s very kind of you, but not necessary,” said Shonda.

But she insisted, and the Piro family, as it turned out, was actually quite happy to take her up on her offer. They were not a rich family, and food wasn’t always readily available, so they were grateful for the meal that Lefler put together for them.

Lefler wasn’t actually sure where the food came from. The cabinets were simply always stocked. She wasn’t all that accustomed to making food, since customarily she just had to go up to a replicator on the ship and request it. It would be produced for her. She suspected that McHenry was behind the supplies, but chose not to ask him. She was still having trouble adjusting to the notion that McHenry, the young and somewhat discombobulated man she’d known for years, had powers that did indeed tread close to godhood.

She knew why it had happened. She knew about the discovery of McHenry’s ancestors that had led him to learn about the depths of power that were his to command. She had found that the best way to handle it was to not ask McHenry about it. That way he could do whatever he needed to do, and she didn’t have to dwell on the fact that McHenry was far surpassing his human roots.

The impromptu dinner passed very well. By the end of it, Lefler felt as if she had actually bonded with the Piro family. The most entertaining of them was actually Blak. He had several years’ worth of thoughts and commentary that he had been unable to express, and he wound up being such a chatterbox that at one point an exasperated Tis leaned over to Lefler and muttered, “Will he ever shut up?” That caused Robin to laugh for nearly a full minute before she could pull herself together.

When they finally left, they reassured Lefler and McHenry that their secret would remain safely with them. “That’s very good to know,” she said. “I’m sure we can count on you to keep it quiet.”

She went to sleep that night feeling extremely light of heart. Lefler knew that McHenry had done the right thing. Blak would now be able to live a full and complete life, and who knew what he would be able to accomplish? Hell, he might grow up and become a medical researcher who was able to figure out the origins of the very disease that had afflicted him and save anyone else from getting it.

Best of all, Cwansi actually slept the night through. Robin Lefler, for what seemed the first time in ages, finally managed to get a good night’s sleep.

She awakened to a cacophony of noise. Cwansi was still sound asleep in his cradle. Fortunately the ruckus outside hadn’t awakened him.

“What the hell—?” she muttered, and stumbled to the window. Her jaw dropped when she looked through it.

There was a mob scene outside.

There had to be over a hundred people, pushing and shoving and arguing for placement. She had never seen a more pathetic assemblage. There were people on crutches, in wheelchairs. There were people who were blind and burned, people missing arms and legs.

“Damn,” she said. She turned and ran for her bedroom door.

McHenry was standing there when it slid open.

“I think they told someone,” he said.

Excalibur

“CAPTAIN,” SAID TOBIAS, “we’re getting a hail from the Dayan ship.”

“Put them on,” said Calhoun.

The screen flickered and then Nyos appeared.

“May I transport myself to you, Captain?” said Nyos. “We do not wish to beam aboard you without your permission.”

“Why is that necessary?” said Calhoun.

“Because we will be arriving shortly, and there are final matters to discuss.”

Calhoun glanced at Burgoyne, who shrugged in response. “All right,” said Calhoun. “We’ll bring you aboard.”

“No need.”

The sounds of the Dayan transporter beam hummed through the bridge, and moments later Nyos was standing there. He had a pleased smile upon his face, which Calhoun, for some reason, found to be a bit disturbing. “Can we go and chat somewhere privately, Captain?”

“Of course. My ready room, right over there.”

Nyos walked toward it, and Calhoun followed him in. The Dayan went straight to the sword that was hanging on the wall. “That is most impressive, this weapon. It is a weapon, is it not?”

“It most definitely is. You’ve never seen a sword?”

“I have not. May I?” When Calhoun nodded, Nyos lifted the blade off the wall. He swung it gently back and forth and was clearly pleased at the hissing sound it made as it sliced through the air. “Where did you acquire it?”

“When I was a young man.”

“Have you killed many enemies with it?”

“More than my share,” said Calhoun.

Nyos nodded and replaced the blade on the wall. “I thought I would come here to convey my crew’s concern about you.”

“What concern would that be?”

“They are worried,” said Nyos, “that you do not have sufficient resolve to join us in our battle against the D’myurj.”

Calhoun raised an eyebrow. “And on what do they base that supposition?”

“Your head of security did not kill Cabros. And you seemed upset because I did what your man declined to do.”

“We do not take killing lightly,” said Calhoun, slowly circling the room. “We set store by the lives of individuals.”

“Yes, see, that is the problem,” Nyos said. “My men are worried that your resolve to destroy the D’myurj is not on par with ours.”

“They annihilated my people, as you know,” said Calhoun. “I wouldn’t be worried about that if I were you.”

“What of the rest of your crew? Do they share your resolve? Or is it possible that they will balk when the time comes to do what must be done?”

“My crew will obey my orders.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Calhoun’s combadge beeped. He tapped it. “Calhoun.”

“Captain, Doctor Lochley. I just wanted you to know that the D’myurj came around again briefly. He seemed disoriented, demanded to know where he was, and then passed out again.”

Calhoun closed his eyes in pain. “Great.”

“You wanted to be kept apprised of any change—”

“Yes, later. Calhoun out.”

He broke the connection and turned his gaze to Nyos. The Dayan was simply staring at Calhoun, his face unreadable.

“You have a D’myurj on this vessel,” he said finally.

“That is correct.”

“You will bring me to him so that I can kill him.”

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

Nyos was expressionless, but the edge in his voice was distinct. “We intend to kill them all, Captain. That includes whatever one you have here, hiding from us.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Nyos, the D’myurj have captured one or more of our people. This D’myurj may be of help to us in retrieving them. We are not going to simply turn him over to you for execution when he may still be of use to us. But if that is going to be a hardship for you, then the moment you return to your vessel, we’ll cloak our ship and proceed without your help. We don’t have to destroy their defense satellites, you know. We can just glide past them and count on our invisibility to mask our efforts while we retrieve our people.”

“And what of your call for justice? What of the voices of your people, crying out to be avenged?”

“They’re dead,” said Calhoun. “So I’m pretty sure they won’t know what I do.”

Nyos studied him as if seeing him for the first time. Then, finally, “Very well, Captain. Keep your D’myurj prisoner for the moment. Once his usefulness to you is at an end, though, you will hand him over to us. Is that understood?”

No way in hell.

“Absolutely,” said Calhoun. “As for the other matter, I obviously have no control over how your crew views me. Nor do I care. I can assure you that at this point, I continue to have no sympathy for the D’myurj as a race, and if you want to blow them to hell and gone, that is perfectly okay by me. As long as we are allowed to get our people off the planet first.”

“And if they are not alive? You do not seem to be allowing for the possibility that they are dead.”

“I am indeed allowing for it. It is a circumstance that we should be able to determine rather quickly once we’ve had a chance to run a sensor sweep of the surface.”

“Very well,” said Nyos. “I will hold you to your word, Captain. May I very strongly suggest that you do nothing to give me reason to regret that decision.”

“I will make certain not to,” said Calhoun.

Nyos touched his ear and said, “Bring me back.” Moments later he shimmered out of existence.

Calhoun returned to the bridge and said briskly, “Send a security detail to the sickbay.”

“Why?” said Kebron, and then immediately amended it with a quick, “Yes, sir. Kebron to security. Send a team to sickbay to . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked quizzically at Calhoun.

“Protect the D’myurj,” said Calhoun.

As Kebron repeated the instruction to the security team, Calhoun turned to Soleta, who was sitting at ops. “Soleta, if they try to beam anyone here or beam anything out, would you have warning of that?”

“Yes, sir,” she said immediately. “Anything their ship generates, I’ll know about it before it gets here. Two, three seconds at most, though.”

“Good. Keep their ship monitored. If they train their transporters on us, bring shields up immediately.”

That was when Soleta understood. “They found out about our guest.”

“Yes,” said Calhoun grimly. “An extraordinarily poorly timed communiqué from Doctor Lochley took care of that. So now I want to make sure that they don’t break their word and decide to help themselves to him.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust them, Captain?”

“Yes, Soleta, that is exactly what I’m saying. And it’s obvious that they don’t trust us.”

“Not exactly the soundest basis for an alliance,” she said.

“On that, Soleta, we most definitely agree.”

Thallon

ELIA CANTO IS amused to hear that Fa Cwan wishes to see him.

Canto is in his greeting room, the chamber that some refer to as his throne room. That seems a pretentious name to him since there is not actually a throne in it, but he understands the attitude. He is, after all, the ruler of Thallon, and it makes sense that people would refer to the room where he interacts with his subjects in that way. His greeting room is the place where he meets with allies, where he settles disputes that are brought before him. It is the place where, every day, he reminds the people of Thallon who is in charge.

Many of his friends, hangers-on, and well-wishers tend to congregate in his greeting room during his hours there. They wish to be seen and noticed by him, perhaps to advance their own standing in society. He is perfectly aware that that is why they are in attendance, and it does not trouble him. As long as they continue to acknowledge his leadership, that is really all that matters.

Elia Canto is a rarity among Thallonians. He is exceptionally intelligent, capable of predicting what both friends and, more importantly, enemies will do if a particular situation should arise. His brains are also linked to his brawn. He is a head taller than most Thallonians and half again as wide, and he is schooled in every method of hand-to-hand combat that is known on their world. With that devastating combination of mind and muscle, there is truly no one on Thallon who can overcome him.

There are also certain individuals with whom Elia Canto has very little patience. One of them has now chosen to come by, and he is extremely amused by that.

Truth to tell, he does not know why Fa Cwan has so aggravated him through the years. He supposes it is because of Cwan’s attitude. Cwan is so dedicated to helping others that Canto believes it reflects poorly on himself. As if Cwan is implicitly criticizing Canto by helping others because he believes that Canto is either unwilling or unable to do it. Canto knows that this is wrong, but sees no reason to clarify it to Cwan or his people.

“Fa Cwan wishes an audience,” Elia Canto calls to his followers. This prompts a round of laughter from them, for they know that Cwan holds him in disdain. So laughing at the notion of Cwan desiring to see Canto is definitely the appropriate response. Once the laughter has died down, Canto says, “By all means, show him in.”

Moments later, Fa Cwan slowly enters. Canto immediately notices two things. First, Cwan is accompanied by two individuals. He recognizes one of them immediately. It is a priest named Shanter Khen, a long-time ally of Cwan. The other he does not know. The stranger seems a perfectly average Thallonian, but there is something about the man that comes across as different. He is unable to determine what exactly it is, but it’s definitely there.

The second thing he notices is that Cwan is smiling. This strikes him as rather odd. Every time he has encountered Cwan before, the man seemed to be in a perpetual crouch, as if expecting that Canto was going to strike him. That attitude has vanished. Instead Cwan is walking with far more confidence than Elia Canto has ever seen. He wonders what could possibly have caused this change.

“Fa Cwan,” says Elia Canto, “I have not seen you for some time. To what do I owe this honor?”

“I am here to tell you,” says Cwan, “that your rule is over. I am here to lay claim to ruler of Thallon.”

There is dead silence for a moment, and then laughter roars through the room. Canto’s laugh is the loudest, but others are swift to join in.

It does not seem to register with Fa Cwan. He simply stands there and continues to smile, allowing the laughter to wash over him without having any direct impact upon him.

“Oh, Fa Cwan,” says Canto when he manages to regain control of himself, “I cannot believe that you have come here to provide us with such amusement.”

“I am quite serious, Elia Canto. Your time is done. I will be occupying the throne of Thallon from now on. And so will my son and their sons in turn.”

“Really. And on what do you base this on?”

“According to ancient law, I will defeat you in combat.”

Once again laughter takes hold. Canto’s followers are seriously enjoying this confrontation. They cannot wait to tell friends and family of this when they return home.

“Are we to go to the great arena?” asks Elia Canto once he has regained control. “Are we to take arms against each other and launch into a historic battle that many will speak of for generations to come?”

“If that is your wish,” says Fa Cwan. “It is up to the challenged to determine the nature of the battle.”

“Indeed. And I can choose weaponry as well, as I recall.”

“That is correct.”

Elia Canto wipes tears from his eyes because he has been laughing so hard. “Despite what you may think, Fa Cwan, I have come to like you. No one else in the land provides this much amusement. Therefore I have determined that the method of battle shall be fists, and that the time of battle shall be here and now.”

This prompts applause from those in attendance. They had been under the impression that they would have to wait for the confrontation to be had. But it seems that Canto is going to provide them entertainment on what had been, up until now, a slow day.

Elia Canto steps down from his chair, flexing his shoulders as he does so. “Are these gentleman,” he asks, “intended to be your seconds? I know you, Shanter Khen, but not your associate.”

“This . . .”—Fa Cwan pauses a moment for what Canto can only believe is dramatic effect—“is the Awesome.”

For the third time there is laughter in the chamber, and this is the loudest of all. The so-called Awesome either does not notice or does not care about the merriment being had at His expense. Instead, He simply gazes at Canto as if He is examining some new insect species.

“Well,” says Canto, endeavoring to bounce back from his amusement and incredulity, “I daresay this is a first for me. I have never encountered a god before.”

“You never will again,” says the Awesome.

“And what is your role in this . . . sport?”

“I am here to see that Fa Cwan wins this bout.”

“How will you do that?”

“By making him invincible,” the Awesome informs him.

“That is a very compelling statement,” Canto admits. “Just as a matter of curiosity, how are you going to accomplish that feat?”

“I’m not going to accomplish it. I already have done so.” The Awesome glances over at one of the guards. “Hand me your sword, if you will.”

The guard looks to Canto for guidance, and he nods, gesturing that the guard should do as requested. The guard strides over to the alleged Awesome, removes his blade, and hands it to the god.

“Thank you,” says the Awesome.

Then He turns, faces Fa Cwan, and drives the sword directly at his chest.

Several people cry out in alarm. They were expecting to see a battle, not an outright murder.

To their shock, that is not what they witness. The blade strikes home and bends.

There is a collective gasp from everyone who sees this. It is not something that anyone remotely expected.

The Awesome steps back and holds the sword up to a crowd that has now become eerily silent. The edge of the blade remains sharp, but it is bent nearly in half. Taking advantage of the sharp edge, however, the Awesome swings the blade and it slams against Fa Cwan’s neck. This time the blade shatters against him. There are loud cries of shock.

“My apologies,” says the Awesome, and He snaps his fingers. A new blade appears in the scabbard of the guard. “I trust this will be a suitable replacement.”

The guard has no words. He moves his mouth several times but is mute.

Silence has now fallen on the hall. Elia Canto stares at what has happened in front of him and refuses to believe it. “This is a trick,” he snarls. “A very well-crafted one, but a trick nevertheless. None of this is possible.”

“Anything is possible,” says Fa Cwan, “if you are willing to believe.”

Elia Canto no longer cares about the ancient laws. He has stated that this battle will be with fists, but that option is now tossed aside. He has an ornate dagger hanging on his hip, and he grabs it now as he charges. Cwan does not move, but simply smiles.

He knows how Cwan did the stunt with the blade. The guard is in on it with Cwan and his friends, and was carrying a sword that was doctored to bend and fall apart. That must be it. When the blade that Canto is wielding is driven into Cwan’s chest, then Cwan will see that he has not fooled Elia Canto. Perhaps Cwan had assumed that Canto, upon seeing this supposed display of superiority, would simply resign. Well, Cwan is about to see that he has woefully underestimated his determination.

Canto slams his blade into Cwan’s chest.

The blade shatters.

Elia Canto cannot believe it. His gasp is lost among the others in the room, who do not understand what they are seeing.

Cwan smiles for half a moment and then swings his fist around.

His fist slams into Elia Canto’s head, and Canto goes down like a bag of rocks. The crowd cries out in shock, but no one moves toward him to intercede. Canto lies on the ground for a moment, stunned, and then he tries to clamber to his feet. He never makes it. Cwan swings his foot casually, catching Canto in the gut. Canto actually hurtles backward, skidding across the floor and slamming into the base of a chair.

That is all the incentive that the guards require. They had been standing there, stunned at what they were witnessing. Now that they have a moment to react, they charge in unison at Fa Cwan.

Cwan does not hesitate. He strides forward, ignoring the blades that are swung at him. His fists move in a blur as he slams guards aside, sending them flying in every direction. They crash into the far walls, their bones cracking on impact since they are not heavily armored. Their job is, for the most part, ceremonial. None of them had expected to have to fight today. They were not prepared to deal with this.

Fa Cwan gazes around at the stunned individuals. “Are you hurt?” he asks solicitously. “I attempted to dispatch you all with minimum violence. I hope I was successful.” Then he turns his attention back to Elia Canto. “You are defeated. I am now the ruler of Thallon. You may depart. I do not care what you do with the rest of your life. I only ask that you do it somewhere else.”

Canto grips the chair as he pulls himself to standing. “You think . . . that this is over? You think that you come in here and display your power and that you will now rule in my stead?”

“According to ancient laws—”

“I do not give a damn about ancient laws!” Canto snarls at him. “This is not over. Whoever, whatever this creature is”—he gestures toward the Awesome—“he will not be here forever to maintain your power. And even if he does, what of your wife? Children? Parents? Are they protected as well? Because you cannot be everywhere, Fa Cwan, and I can assure you this war is only just beginning. You cannot stride in here and declare yourself in charge. I will battle you everywhere I can. I will not stop until—”

Fa Cwan is across the room before Canto can finish the sentence. He has his hand upon Canto’s throat and does not hesitate as he crushes it. Canto gargles out what are presumably his final words, but they are not understandable. His eyes widen in his final shock as for the first time he genuinely understands just how badly he has underestimated what Fa Cwan is capable of accomplishing.

“I did not want to do this,” Cwan says to him between gritted teeth. “I wanted to allow you to live your life. You pushed matters to this. You did. Not me. It is important that you understand that.”

Whether Canto does truly understand that will never be known since Canto is dead. His last breath sighed out from him while Canto was still speaking. Once Cwan realizes this, he releases his hold on Canto and allows him to tumble to the floor.

He turns to the guards. “Will one of you kindly dispose of that?” He nods toward the body of Canto. “And have his spouse and son brought in here.”

The guards no longer offer any sort of resistance. Instead they do as commanded.

Minutes later the widow and child of Elia Canto are brought in. It is obvious that they have been informed of what has transpired. She still has tears on her face, and the boy looks stunned, as if he is still processing what has occurred.

Cwan is seated upon a chair and he gazes kindly upon the people brought before him. “Your husband . . . and your father . . . chose death,” he tells them gently. “I have no wish to inflict the same upon you. I am aware that Canto has a fine home in the eastern section of Lanez. You may retire there if you wish, and I will make certain that for the rest of your lives, you will be provided with sufficient funds in order to live well. Is that acceptable to you?”

Slowly the boy levels his eyes upon Fa Cwan. Then, very softly, he says, “When I grow up, I will kill you.”

His mother immediately slaps his face, and he falls silent.

Cwan does not seem the least bothered by the announcement. “I have no doubt that you will try. And in turn, my son will kill you, and yours will attack him, and so on. I very much hope that your mother will turn you away from this destructive course. In the meantime, madam”—he turns her attention to her—“I assume my offer is acceptable to you?”

“Yes, it is,” she says, and then after a moment, adds, “Your Majesty.”

Upon hearing this, everyone else in the room murmurs those two words as well.

Fa Cwan smiles. They are not words that he had ever dreamt would be used to address him. Yet, oddly enough, now that they are, he finds that he likes them. He likes them very, very much.

Excalibur

i.

SILENCE HAD FALLEN on the bridge of the Excalibur. The ship was preparing to drop out of warp space and make its approach to the D’myurj homeworld—a planet, Calhoun realized, that they still did not know the name of. He supposed that in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn’t important. He realized that he wished he’d known it. He didn’t know why; he just did.

“Activate the cloaking device,” said Calhoun.

“Cloaking device activated,” said Soleta.

Space seemed to waver around them for a moment, and then the ship was enveloped by an invisibility field. The Dayan ship was already dropping back, determined to keep its distance from the Excalibur until Calhoun sent them the signal to make their advance.

“Captain,” said Kebron, “are you at all concerned about the possibility that the cloaking device could fail us, as it did in Thallonian space?”

“It didn’t fail us,” Soleta said with a slight edge in her voice. “I have no idea how they managed to penetrate it, but there was nothing wrong with the cloak. That much, I’m positive of.”

“She’s right,” Tobias said.

Calhoun turned toward Tobias with mild surprise on his face. “How do you know, Tania?”

“I just believe she’s right, Captain. The cloak was working fine. They just must have had some technical device that enabled them to penetrate it. Everything that one race comes up with, another race finds a way to undo it. I think that’s what happened here.”

Calhoun stared at her. She was doing her best to keep a straight face and determination in her voice. But there was something about what she was saying that didn’t sit right with him. The captain had a feeling that she knew more than she was telling.

He decided this was not the time to press her on it, though. There were other things he had to deal with.

Then Kebron suddenly looked up from his station. “We’re about to find out if the cloak is functioning, Captain. D’myurj ship approaching us and coming in fast.”

“Evasive maneuvers,” Calhoun said quickly. “Keep out of its way, and let’s see if it reacts to us.”

The Excalibur immediately glided out of the path of the oncoming ship. “Red alert, Captain?” asked Soleta.

“No. Keep it quiet. Let’s just wait and watch.”

Moments later the D’myurj battleship cruised into view. It seemed similar to the vessel that they had discovered floating in space, but this one was fully functional and armed to the teeth. Calhoun was sure that in a battle the Excalibur could handle it, but it was a fight he hoped to avoid if at all possible.

Everyone was quiet as the ship approached them. They waited for some kind of attack. Nothing. Both Kebron and Soleta were monitoring sensors to make certain there wasn’t even a hint of an assault.

The ship continued past them. Calhoun realized he was holding his breath, watching, waiting for any sign of aggression.

Nothing. The ship never so much as slowed, and moments later it was gone.

“I’ll be damned,” murmured Calhoun.

“See?” Soleta said, unable to keep a bit of smug triumph out of her voice. “I told you. The cloaking device is solid.”

“It is indeed,” said Calhoun. “Tobias, resume course. Take us to the homeworld.”

“Current ETA, seventeen minutes,” said Tobias, checking her instruments.

Calhoun nodded, satisfied. His suspicions of Tobias were forgotten. His only concern was getting to the homeworld and accomplishing what they had set out to do.

ii.

CALHOUN’S FIRST THOUGHT was that the D’myurj world was actually quite beautiful.

He hadn’t been sure what to expect. For some reason he had anticipated that it would be a brutal world, one that would have an unforgiving surface and perhaps a sky blasted black by perpetual storms. Something that would be in keeping with a race that he knew to be relentlessly hostile.

Instead it seemed pleasant. It reminded him of Earth. It appeared to be three-quarters water, and the land below them was lush and green.

It almost saddened Calhoun to think about destroying it.

Almost.

The satellites were in orbit around the world, just as they had been told. As the ship approached, Calhoun once more held his breath as he anticipated the satellites opening fire on them.

But it didn’t happen. As they drew closer, the satellites did not react to their approach. They just sat there, armed and ready, but unaware that they were about to be assaulted.

“Perfect,” murmured Calhoun. He noticed Soleta nod in approval. He didn’t blame her for taking pride in the quality of Romulan workmanship. “Keep us steady, Tania. Bring us inside the orbit of the satellites.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Excalibur glided forward and sailed past the ring of satellites. They still did not react.

Excellent.

“Mister Kebron,” Calhoun said with great calm, “destroy them.”

“Locked on. Phasers firing,” said Kebron.

The Excalibur cut loose on the satellites, blasting in all directions. As formidable as they might have been as offensive weapons, the satellites had no defensive capabilities. Obviously, it hadn’t seemed necessary. They were such formidable targeting devices that it had been assumed they would be able to destroy any enemy before it got within sufficient range to launch an assault. No one had allowed for the possibility of a close-up attack.

Several of the satellites were blown out of the sky immediately. Others swung around to try and open fire upon the unseen object that was assaulting them.

Tobias anticipated them. She kept the Excalibur constantly moving. It was a large vessel and not built for pinpoint maneuvers, but that did not stop the ship from dodging port and starboard, up and down, staying one step ahead of the blasts. They sustained a handful of hits, but they were glancing blows, inflicting no serious damage.

The ship continued to pound away upon the satellites, and within less than a minute, all of them had been blown to pieces.

“Sir,” called Tobias, “the ground guns are activated!”

“Hard to port,” said Calhoun.

The ship hurtled to the left as the guns fired upon Excalibur’s last position. The blasts were powerful but missed the ship completely. “Take the guns out,” Calhoun ordered.

Tobias did as ordered, targeting the guns and opening fire on them.

“They have a force field around them, Captain.”

“Can you penetrate it?”

“Yes, sir. Shouldn’t take too long.”

The Excalibur’s phasers hammered away, the ship continuing to shift position so that the return fire missed them clean. Seconds later, Tobias called out, “Shields down. Locked on. Guns targeted. Opening fire.”

Blasts continued to rip upward from the planet’s surface and then, a few moments after that, the firing ceased. “Planetary defense systems are down, Captain.”

“Good,” said Calhoun. “Begin scanning. See if you can find our people down there.”

“Scanning. Sir,” Tobias said abruptly, “D’myurj warship advancing. They’re looking for us.”

“Let them look. Do not fire upon them. Continue scanning, and stay out of their way.”

The D’myurj battle cruiser loomed large on their screen. Calhoun watched in grim satisfaction. He took pleasure in knowing that he could fire on the vessel with impunity and it would be powerless to return fire.

Suddenly blasts slammed the battle cruiser. The main viewscreen showed the Dayan ship diving toward the battle cruiser, weapons slamming the ship. Faced with an actual target, the cruiser tried to return fire but was helpless to do so. The Dayan ship crushed it as it hurtled forward, turning all its formidable might upon the D’myurj vessel.

The deal had been that they would wait until Calhoun signaled them. The fact that they had come in on their own did not sit well with the captain.

It was the first time that Calhoun had had the opportunity to see the Dayan in full combat mode, and it was genuinely terrifying. Their might was overwhelming. The earlier assessment that the Excalibur would be hard-pressed to combat them seemed accurate.

“Incoming transmission. It’s the Dayan,” called Tobias.

“Put them on.”

“Captain, are you clear?” came Nyos’s voice.

“Yes, we’re well out of range.”

“That’s good. Since we can’t see you, we can’t assume that you are out of the line of fire.”

“We’re clear.”

“Then stay back while we finish these bastards.”

Seconds later the D’myurj ship was on fire. Flames jetted in all directions and then quickly extinguished in the vacuum of space. The ship shook violently, and then it blew apart. Calhoun saw hundreds of bodies, both D’myurj and Brethren, floating in space, thrashing about helplessly.

That was not enough for the Dayan. As the crew of the Excalibur watched in horror, they proceeded to open fire on the floating bodies of the D’myurj and Brethren. It was as if they were skeet shooting, blowing them to bits while they were suffocating.

“Maybe they consider it merciful,” said Kebron in a low voice, but Calhoun didn’t think that any more likely than anyone else did.

“Or maybe,” Soleta said, framing all their thoughts, “they’re just sadistic.”

Before Calhoun could reply, Tobias suddenly called out, “They’re opening fire on the planet’s surface.”

The Dayan ship had turned its guns upon the cities below, and it was pounding away at them with an aggressiveness that was frightening to behold.

“Hail them! Now!” shouted Calhoun.

“They’re not responding, Captain!”

“Drop the cloak and bring us between them and the planet!”

Tobias blinked a moment in surprise upon hearing the order but did not hesitate. “Aye, sir!”

“Kebron, full shields!”

“Full shields, aye.”

The Excalibur angled around and flew directly into the path of the Dayan ship. The first few blasts that slammed into the Excalibur rattled it as the red alert siren screamed through the vessel. “Return fire!?” shouted Kebron.

“Not yet.”

The Dayan ship abruptly ceased firing, and Tobias announced that they were being hailed. Nyos appeared on the screen this time and looked extremely annoyed. “Captain, what do you think you are doing?”

“We had a deal.”

“The deal was that you destroy their defenses, and we then come in and annihilate them. We are enforcing our end of the deal.”

“No. The deal was that we have people down there. We told you that we required time to look for them. To pull them off before you start pummeling their world to bits. We didn’t come all this way to sit back so that you can kill victims of the D’myurj.”

“And if they are not there?”

“Then we will tell you as quickly as we can.”

Nyos seemed to be assessing him for a moment, and then he said, “We will give you one hour, Captain. One hour to find your people and remove them from the planet’s surface. At which point we will recommence our firing upon them. If you are in our way at that point, we will blow you to pieces. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” said Calhoun.

Nyos blinked out and Calhoun turned to Tobias. “Find them.”

“Searching.”

“Search faster.”

At that moment, his combadge beeped. “Calhoun here.”

“Captain, this is Doctor Lochley. The D’myurj has come to, and this time he’s remaining conscious. If you want to talk to him, now is the time.”

“On my way.” He rose from his chair and said, “Tania, keep on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Time’s ticking down.”

Trying to keep her irritation in check, Tobias said, “I’m well aware of it, sir.”

ii.

CALHOUN ENTERED THE sickbay and saw that the D’myurj was indeed awake. That was a relief since he had been concerned that the D’myurj would have lapsed back into unconsciousness while he was on his way down. “I need to speak to your commander!” the D’myurj was saying. “Send him to me immediately!” Then he turned and stared at Calhoun. “Can you send me your commander?”

“I’m in command here. Captain Calhoun.”

He waited to see if speaking his name brought any reaction from the D’myurj, but the D’myurj simply stared at him and then said, “Hello, Captain Calhoun. I am Quentis. I was the historian on my ship.”

“Historian?” said Calhoun. “Why in the world would the D’myurj have historians?”

“Someone must be relied upon to provide a consistent tale of our exploits,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then he cocked his head in confusion. “Your crew is human. You are all humans?”

“Most of us.”

“Why are humans in this universe? This is not your universe.”

“I’m very aware of that,” said Calhoun tightly. “I’m here because of your people. The D’myurj have kidnapped some humans, and I am here to retrieve them.”

“Yes, they did do that. But I am surprised that you have come all the way here just for a handful of people.”

“That’s part of the reason.”

“What other is there—?”

Calhoun leaned in toward the D’myurj and said, barely able to suppress his rage, “Because your people destroyed my people.”

Quentis’s eyes widened, and he whispered, “You are Xenexian.”

“Ah. You’ve heard of me.”

“Of course. Calhoun. I should have recognized the name. Your race was targeted for genocide.”

“It’s nice to know that you’re up on your history. You’re doing your job.” Calhoun was aware that his hands were trembling. He had to fight the urge to reach down, grab the D’myurj’s throat, and throttle him.

“You want to kill me, don’t you.”

It was not a question that Calhoun was expecting. But he saw no reason not to be honest. “Yes. I want to strangle you.”

“I do not blame you. Were I in your position, I would want to do the same thing. That decision was an appalling one. There are things that my race does that I find repellant. Unfortunately,” he said with a sigh, “it is not my place to interfere. Merely to keep myself apprised of what we do.”

“Is that a fact?” Calhoun imagined himself slamming his fist down into the D’myurj’s face. He imagined himself pummeling the creature’s head into oblivion while howling that what he was doing at that moment was simply a preparation for the punishment he was going to inflict on all of them.

But Calhoun had a feeling that Doctor Lochley wouldn’t take it very well if he beat one of her patients to death, so he restrained himself.

Unaware of what Calhoun was thinking, Quentis continued, “It is indeed. Unfortunately a historian does not get a vote in the way our race behaves. Anyway, that is not the problem that is before us at the moment. It is the Dayan, the race that attacked our vessel.”

“We know all about them,” said Calhoun. “The ship that destroyed yours is hovering to our starboard right now.”

“What?” Quentis was visibly startled. “Are you in combat with them?”

“No. We’re allied with them.”

“Allied? Why would you do that?”

“Because they’re determined to wipe out your race, and as far as I’m concerned, that is a perfectly valid idea.”

Quentis gasped in surprise. “Captain Calhoun, I am aware that you have deep hatred for my people. And it is understandable. But forming an alliance with the Dayan is absolutely the worst endeavor you could undertake. Clearly you have no idea who or what the Dayan are.”

“Why don’t you illuminate me?” said Calhoun.

Quentis took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Have you not wondered why my people have targeted yours? Why we have been so aggressive in trying to penetrate your worlds?”

“I was told by one of your people—he called himself the Visionary—that you are dedicated to guiding us. Something that we never asked for, by the way, and have no need of.”

Quentis tilted his head slightly. “That is correct, I suppose, up to a point. But it is not the only reason. You do not understand anything about our people.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. You need to understand us in order to understand them.” He paused, seeming to try to find a way to express it all. “My people, for the most part, cannot survive in your universe. Our bodies cannot sustain themselves for extended periods of time. A few of your months, yes. But after that, our molecular structure cannot hold itself together.”

He was starting to get it. “That’s why you were stealing the bodies of people. You were transferring your consciousness into them . . .”

“So that we could survive, yes.”

“And is that supposed to make me sympathetic to you? Am I supposed to feel badly because you need to destroy people’s lives so that you can impersonate them?”

“My race is trying to keep existing, Captain Calhoun! Are there things you would refrain from doing if you were fighting to prevent your race from . . . extinction.” His voice trailed off as he looked down, abashed. “I apologize. I was not thinking properly when I brought that up, what with your race being—”

“I know. Keep talking.”

Quentis nodded. “There are not many of my race left. Several million at the most. The reasoning was that if we wound up—as you put it—stealing the lives of several million of your race, what would that matter really when there are billions upon billions of creatures in your universe?”

“I think the several million that you would eradicate would have something to say about it. Why do you feel the need to come to our universe at all?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Because of the Dayan! We need to flee this universe because they intend to destroy us! Because that is what they do! That is all they do!”

“What do you mean, ‘All they do’? ”

“They have no homeworld,” said Quentis. “They are not interested in such things. They go from world to world, galaxy to galaxy, and they destroy all that they encounter. To use a term that you would understand: they are the racial equivalent of nihilists. They do no believe that any race has the right to exist. It is their goal to destroy not simply us, but every race out there.”

“They didn’t destroy us.”

“Of course they didn’t,” said Quentis. “They do not know your race. They will want you to lead them back to your universe so that they can then proceed to destroy your race as well.”

“That’s insane,” said Calhoun.

“It is their philosophy. It is what they live for. They are not interested in raiding the races they destroy for discovery or riches. They simply want to end life wherever they find it. I swear to you, Captain, if they ever managed to accomplish their goal . . . if they truly managed to do away with all life . . . they would destroy themselves as a conclusion to their endless, destructive quest.”

“Well, if they find their way to my universe, they’re going to be overmatched. Even if they have a fleet of ships. It can’t stand up against the power of the entirety of Starfleet.”

“You don’t know what their ships can do.”

“I doubt it—”

“It’s alive,” said Quentis.

Calhoun shook his head. “What do you mean, it’s alive? How can it be alive?”

“It’s a living organism that is also a vessel. They’re not the crew; they live within it symbiotically. It feeds on their emotions and converts it to energy. It is self-healing. Any damage that the ship sustains in combat automatically heals itself within seconds. It cannot be destroyed, Captain. None of their vessels can. It doesn’t matter how much you fire upon it; it always regenerates. Does your ship regenerate? Do the ships of your fleet regenerate?”

“No,” said Calhoun.

“You see the problem. No matter what you try to do to them, their ship will heal. In the meantime, they will keep assaulting whatever vessels attack it until it demolishes them. You cannot beat them, Captain. No one can. All you can do is attempt to escape, which is what we have been trying. The Brethren are able to survive in your universe, but we cannot. You dislike the manner in which we have attempted to continue our existence; well, I understand that. But that is no longer the point. The question before you now is, what are you going to do to survive? Because if the Dayan accompany you back to your universe, that is the beginning of the end for all you hold dear. You think you are in mourning for the death of your race? How much more will you mourn when the death of everyone you’ve ever known and loved is inflicted upon you?”

At that moment, Calhoun’s combadge went off. “Calhoun here.”

“We’ve got them, sir,” came Tobias’s voice. “Or at least we think it’s them. Sensors have detected human readings on the surface.”

“Beam them up.”

“We can’t. They’re in some kind of force field. We tried firing on it, but our phasers can’t penetrate it. If we want them, we’re going to have to go down there and get them.”

“That figures,” he muttered. Then, more loudly, he said, “Assemble a security strike team. I’m going to head it up. And do not,” he continued even as he heard her about to respond, “tell me that Starfleet regulations prohibit my taking charge of an away team in this manner. Is that understood?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

“Good. Have them meet me in the transporter room.”

“Yes, sir.”

He then turned back to Quentis. “You are my prisoner on this vessel,” he said. “I am going to keep you here, and when we return to our universe, you’re coming along for the ride. And I honestly don’t give a damn if coming back with us kills you or doesn’t kill you. Understood?”

“Fully, Captain,” said Quentis. “Who knows? Perhaps your people will find a way to allow my body to compensate for your universe. All I know is that whatever happens, it would be better than being turned over to the Dayan, for they will kill me the moment they look at me.”

The way that I wanted to, thought Calhoun grimly as he walked out of sickbay.

New Thallon

i.

THE MOMENT THAT Mark McHenry stepped out of the house, a roar of approval went up.

It was somewhat overwhelming to McHenry, who had never been the recipient of such an ovation. The cries of joy were so thunderous that he clapped his hands over his ears in order to combat the pounding in his head. “Shut up!” he cried out, but they didn’t hear him.

Then the shouts turned to words. “Heal me! Help me! Cure me! Help my husband! My wife! Help my child!” The onslaught of cries for salvation came from every direction and McHenry had no idea where to look first.

“Will you all please get a hold of yourselves!” he cried out, but still they didn’t appear to be paying attention to him. All they wanted was his power at their disposal.

McHenry supposed on some level that he couldn’t blame them. They saw standing before them some manner of savior. They didn’t understand what he was capable of; all they knew was that he had helped someone like them, and now they wanted his help as well.

Instead of trying to outshout them, which was not an option, he raised his hands over his head in an indication that they should be quiet, and then he said nothing. He just stood there like that, waiting for them to see the gesture and, ideally, respond to it.

It didn’t work. Instead their noise continued without abatement. McHenry was starting to wonder what in hell he had to do to quiet them down.

Suddenly there was a young woman standing next to him. She drew air into her lungs and bellowed in the loudest voice that Mark had ever heard.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!”

To McHenry’s astonishment, the crowd immediately fell silent.

He stared at her and whispered, “How did you do that?”

She didn’t reply. Instead she remained focused on the crowd. “We are going to need a line,” she called to them. “You.” She pointed to the person closest to her. “You are first in line. You are second. The rest of you, get in line behind them. And anyone who fights for a place in line will be sent home immediately and not be seen by McHenry. Do you understand? Fight with each other, and you are gone. Is that clear?”

There were nods from the mob.

She grabbed McHenry’s arm. “Come with me,” she said, and guided him into the house. The door slid closed behind them.

Lefler was staring at the newcomer while Cwansi lay on the floor, happily shaking a rattle around. “I know you,” Robin said after a moment. “You work for Shintar Han.”

“I worked for him,” said the woman. “My name is Indi Anel. I was Han’s assistant for several years, and I have decided I no longer desire the job.”

“Really? Why?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“I suggest you find a way to take the liberty,” said Lefler flatly. “That is, if you have any intention of not being thrown out of here.”

Indi shifted her feet uncomfortably and then said, “I’ve come to the conclusion that Shintar Han is evil.”

“Really,” said McHenry, sarcasm thick in his tone. “What tipped you off? When he tried to have us killed?”

“More or less, yes,” she said. “I can respect the idea of having enemies executed. That is hardly a new concept to Thallonians. But a baby? A helpless infant? I could not abide that notion.”

“It’s good to know we’re on the same wavelength in that regard,” said Lefler.

“In any event, Shintar Han left his office days ago and has not returned. I have heard that he has moved into a temple and is incessantly worshipping for answers. He can do so until his head falls off, as far as I care. The more I thought about how he targeted you, the more I wanted to come and help you. And I see that I’ve arrived just in time.”

“Help us how?” said McHenry.

She looked at him with open incredulity. “Isn’t it obvious? You need someone to manage you. Someone to run your affairs. To interact with the outside world. To handle the people so you do not have to.”

“I’m not sure we need that,” said Lefler.

But McHenry wasn’t as fast to dismiss her. “You weren’t out there, Robin. You didn’t hear the desperation in their voices. Every crippled person on New Thallon is standing outside, waiting for me to cure them.”

“Can you?” asked Indi.

“I don’t know. Some, maybe. Certain types of problems I can deal with. But I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t just—”

“Stop right there,” said Indi. “You just misspoke. My understanding is that you laid hands upon a child who was helpless in his chair and you brought him back to his parents. Yes?”

“Well, yes.”

“That’s a miracle. I can’t do that. I suspect she can’t do it.” She nodded toward Lefler. “Since you are able to do it, that indeed makes you a miracle worker. So the question before us isn’t whether or not you’re a miracle worker, because you clearly are. It’s a question of what sort of miracles you are able to perform. That is what we have to analyze, and that is what we have to tell people.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“Well, you already have a connection to Puentos Po,” said Indi thoughtfully. “The news anchor that you absconded with and brought here. He would be a good place to start. But my suggestion is that you bring him here in a normal way. I can reach out to him on your behalf.”

“Will he take your call?” said Robin.

Indi Anel smiled at that. “During my time with the prime minister, I got in touch with quite a few individuals on this world. There is no one of importance with whom I have not established a relationship. If I call Po’s people, they will definitely speak to me. I can do so if you would like.”

Robin and Mark exchanged looks, and then McHenry nodded. “That would be extremely helpful, yes.”

“Good. That is for the long-term solution. At the moment we need to deal with the mob that is outside your house. I believe the best way to handle it is for the people to be screened. Sit down with them, interview them, see which of them—if any—you can help. Presuming you want to help them, that is. You know you’re under no obligation to do so.”

“I’m aware of that.” He paused for a moment, considering it. “I suppose I would like to help them, if I can. I just hate to tell the ones whom I can’t help that—”

“You won’t have to,” Indi assured him. “That will be my job. You tell me, and I’ll tell them. We will then make appointments for those you can help, just as if you were a regular medical provider. They will come, you will help them, and they will pay you.”

“Wait, what? I can’t demand payment!”

“Why not?” asked Indi. “You are providing a service. I am not familiar with the race that spawned you, but in our society, one is compensated if he provides services.”

“Well, yeah, we had that,” said Mark. “But it never would have occurred to me to start charging for what I’m able to do.”

“Then you haven’t been thinking of it properly. If you can charge for it, you absolutely should do so. Why would you not?”

“I don’t know,” said McHenry. “I mean, you have to understand, the main reason I’m here is to provide protection for Robin and her son. I don’t want people to think that I came here to earn money.”

“Why should you care what people think? Look, you don’t have to charge a lot. But you should ask for some compensation. You don’t have to keep it for yourself. Give it to Robin. She could certainly use it. How did you think she was going to make a living? I mean, were you planning to spend the rest of your life here?”

“I . . . don’t know,” McHenry said thoughtfully. “I have to admit, I hadn’t really considered it one way or the other.”

“Perhaps you should. When you do leave, presuming you leave Robin and her son behind, it would be nice for them to have some money built up. That way they do not have to depend upon the state to support them.”

“She’s right,” said Lefler. “It would give us independence.”

“I . . . I guess you’re right.” McHenry wasn’t feeling entirely certain about the whole concept, but he could see the logic. “All right, I suppose. Sure. Some nominal fee. But it all goes to you, Robin.”

“Thank you.”

“You should be provided for after I leave.”

“So . . . Indi . . . let’s get started on the interviews,” said Robin. “We shouldn’t keep the people waiting.”

ii.

PUENTOS PO LEANED forward, genuine concern—or at least an excellent imitation of genuine concern—painted on his face. “And how many people have you cured so far, Mister McHenry?”

“So far, thirty-seven,” said McHenry. He was seated on a couch in the living room and had never been more grateful for a piece of furniture. He was feeling utterly exhausted. “That’s a very small percentage of the people who came to me for help. But it was the ones I could help.”

It had easily been the longest day of McHenry’s life. Curing people took something out of him, he knew that much. But he had never expected it would take as much out of him as it had.

He couldn’t imagine how he could have accomplished it without Indi’s help. On the job for less than a day, she had made herself absolutely essential. She had efficiently gone through every single person who had amassed outside the house. It had taken her four hours. When new people started arriving in the early afternoon, she gave them times to come back the following days.

Meanwhile, McHenry had dealt with the people he could help. All of them were suffering neurological difficulties. Some were similarly afflicted as the young boy that McHenry had aided, the one who had kicked off this insanity. The other issues ranged from a stammer, or the inability to sleep, to previous traumas that made it impossible to lead a normal life. For the grievously afflicted, McHenry had gone into their minds and created permanent blocks so that their consciousness would no longer be harassed.

Granted, there were plenty who went away disappointed. His power was not infinite. He couldn’t snap his fingers and help the paralyzed to walk or the blind to see. The people that he could help, though, he did so as quickly and efficiently as he could.

Now he was dealing with Puentos Po asking him what his day had been like. Po’s cameraman was nearby, recording the entire exchange.

“How did it feel helping those people? Making their lives better?” asked Po.

“It felt fine,” said McHenry, having no idea how to respond. “I wish I could have helped all of them, but my power isn’t infinite. I did what I could.”

“And you charge for it now?”

“The money is all going to Robin and Cwansi,” he said immediately. “I’m not keeping any of it.”

“So your lover is getting it all?”

“Yes . . . no!” McHenry did a double take. “Robin isn’t my lover. We’re just friends. That’s all.” He turned to Lefler. “Right?”

“Right,” Lefler told Po firmly. “Mark is here to help me and, as it turns out, help the people of New Thallon as well. We’re not . . . the two of us aren’t . . . you know.”

“Actually, I don’t know,” said Po. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“Well, now you do,” she assured him.

“Thank you for clarifying that.”

Po talked with him a while longer, and finally McHenry informed Po that he had had enough. That was fine, since Po had more than enough for his story.

Indi had been sitting there for the duration of the interview. Once Po and the cameraman took their leave, she stood up and stretched. “Am I correct in assuming that I have earned a position?”

“You absolutely have,” said Lefler. “Give Mark and me time to discuss a salary. Come back tomorrow morning, and we’ll make you an offer to stay on, if that’s what you want.”

“That is very much what I want. I will do my best to accommodate you.”

Finally she departed, leaving McHenry and Lefler alone in the living room. Cwansi was nearby, sleeping in his downstairs cradle.

“I cannot remember the last time I was tired,” said McHenry. He was now standing and bending over, stretching and touching his toes as he did so. “I don’t sleep most nights. I guess that’s because I don’t really do anything that can wear me out anymore.”

He noticed that Lefler was staring at him. She seemed to have something rather sizable on her mind. “What’s wrong, Robin?”

She seemed about to reply but then caught herself. “No, it’s okay. It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something. There’s something you want to talk about, and you’re just not sure you can bring yourself to do it.” He cocked his head in curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just . . . I was wondering, that’s all.”

“Wondering what?”

Lefler gazed at him. “Why are you here, Mark? I mean, you can wander around the entire galaxy, wherever you feel like going. And instead you’re here, now. I know, you told the captain that you travel the universe, keeping an eye out for threats and all that sort of thing. But now you’re here, with me, serving as our bodyguard and taking time to help ailing Thallonians.”

“So?”

“So why?” she asked insistently. “You showed up out of nowhere and offered to help us. I want to know why. I want to know why you decided to take off from your job—”

“A self-appointed job,” he pointed out.

“Fine, a self-appointed job. Instead of watching out for the entirety of the galaxy, you’re focusing all your attention on us. I mean, there must be more to it than you were just interested.”

“I was. There’s no question that I was.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Mark? What’s going on?”

“What do you want me to say?” For the first time, he seemed impatient, even frustrated. “I mean, what answer could I give you that would possibly satisfy you?”

“The truth, Mark. That’s all I’m asking.”

“The truth is overrated. It really is.”

He tried to turn away from her but she pulled him around so that he was facing her. “Mark,” she said, the tone of her voice indicating that she wasn’t going to relent until he provided her a truthful answer.

He stared at her for a long moment.

“Because I love you,” he said. “I always have. Happy?”

She looked astounded. “What? Seriously?”

“Well . . . yeah. I mean, what other answer would have satisfied you?”

“I don’t know. Actually, I thought that it was that you saw Cwansi’s future and that he was incredibly important, so you were here to help shape it.”

McHenry felt sheepish. “Oh. Yeah. Well, okay. That works too. Let’s go with that.”

“We can’t just go with it! You told me something else completely! You told me you loved me! That you always have!”

“And I do,” McHenry said. This time when he turned away from her, she made no effort to stop him. “I never said anything because you were obviously interested in Si Cwan. I didn’t want to interfere. I never felt it was my place. And now you’re a widow and it’s . . . I don’t know . . . it’s not right, I guess. You’re in mourning, and so your head probably isn’t in the right place for worrying about such things. I didn’t see any point in bringing it up.”

“You didn’t think I had the right to know?”

“No,” he said softly. “I didn’t. I . . . I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person to you.”

“Of course not,” she said. “How could you—damn it, turn around!”

He did so. She was looking at him with what seemed like boundless sympathy. “I could never think of you as a bad person, Mark. It’s just . . . it never occurred to me to think of you in that way. I’ve known you for so long as a friend, and a colleague. And then you became this . . . this whatever you are . . .”

“Demigod?” he suggested.

“Okay, a demigod. I guess it would just take me time to even think of you in something approximating a romantic fashion. Presuming I ever did.”

“All right, well . . . take your time,” said Mark. “I mean, I’m not going anywhere. We’re here on Thallon for who knows how long. Do whatever you need to do to get your head wherever it needs to be. And if you never come around to thinking of me as anything more than a friend, well . . . that’s fine, too. At least now you know.” He let out a sigh of genuine relief. “You know, I actually feel better about you knowing. I feel like we’re on even footing with each other now.”

“I agree. Look, um . . . I haven’t had dinner yet. You want something? For old time’s sake?”

“Sure, absolutely.”

She prepared a simple dinner for them, and the two of them ate together. Cwansi lay nearby, burbling happily. McHenry kept glancing at the child affectionately. He hadn’t had a lot of exposure to children in his life, but he came to the conclusion that if they were all as charming as this one, he could certainly become accustomed to them.

Not that he would ever be a father. That was definitely not on his to-do list.

They ate and chatted like old friends, and it was relaxing for McHenry. He had been genuinely frightened—although he’d tried not to show it—over the prospect of telling Robin how he felt. It seemed as if he needn’t have worried. She was clearly okay with it.

They talked for several hours more after dinner and then Robin picked up Cwansi, said good night, and headed to her room. McHenry took a seat on the couch and simply sat there, staring at the night sky of Thallon through the window. He always enjoyed the peace that night brought with it, especially when there weren’t assassins moving through the shadows, targeting them.

He heard soft footsteps upon the stairs, and turned and gasped.

Robin was descending them. She was naked.

“Uh . . .” he managed to say, but otherwise couldn’t come up with any words.

She walked toward him and then sat next to him on the couch.

“I’m tired,” she said softly. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m living every moment of my life on the edge. I’m tired of feeling like a stranger in a strange land. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of missing Si Cwan. I want to be selfish, just for once. Make me feel good about myself. Please.”

“You . . . you said we should take some time . . .”

“What the hell is time good for? To wait around for someone else to try and kill us? For more people to come to us because they want us to do something for them? Waiting is overrated. Time is overrated.”

She reached up to him and kissed him, and he felt as if he were melting against her. Robin whispered in his ear, “Come upstairs with me.”

“Yes, absolutely,” said McHenry.

He went upstairs with her, and she pulled his clothes off, and they made love on the rumpled covers of the bed.

And then under the rumpled covers.

And then they fell off the bed and made love on the floor before climbing back up onto the bed and doing it a fourth time.

At which point Mark McHenry, for the first time in a long, long while, fell asleep.

Excalibur

i.

BY THE TIME Calhoun had returned to the bridge, another two vessels had shown up to make an attempt against the Dayan warship. Once more the bridge crew watched as the vessels battled desperately against the Dayan.

Once more the assault was utterly futile.

Calhoun watched with even greater attention as the Dayan ship engaged in battle, and he quickly saw everything that Quentis had warned him about. The D’myurj vessels managed to land some considerable hits against the Dayan, but it made no difference. Pieces of the ship were blown away but they quickly reappeared. The ship was generating new parts of itself as fast as they were destroyed, and Calhoun came to the bleak realization that Quentis had been telling the truth. It didn’t matter what level of attack was leveled against the Dayan ship. It recovered within seconds and then refocused its assault on its enemies. No one could withstand it. Calhoun imagined the Excalibur engaged in a firefight with it and didn’t like where his conclusions were leading him.

Moments later the last of the D’myurj vessels were destroyed. This time the blasts were so comprehensive that the crewmembers of the ships were literally blown to bits, so there were no floating bodies for the Dayan to use as target practice.

“Hail them,” Calhoun said, fighting to keep his voice level.

Moments later Nyos was looking at them. “What is it, Captain?”

“We’ve located our people on the planet’s surface.”

Nyos seemed a bit surprised. “Excellent. Transport them up.”

“We can’t. There’s a force field down there that prevents us. We’ll have to go down and get them. We need an extension on the time you’re providing us.”

“And we would grant this why? Out of the goodness of our hearts?”

Calhoun intensely disliked the sarcasm, but he wasn’t in the mood to start arguing over how Nyos was expressing himself. “If that is how you wish to put it, then yes.”

Nyos considered it. “We will restart the clock. You have an hour from this moment. Use it wisely.” His image then blinked out since he obviously considered the conversation to be over.

“Captain,” said Kebron, “we have a security team waiting for us in the transporter room.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting. Burgoyne, you have the conn. Now listen carefully: if you do not hear from us within the hour, I want you to turn around and get the hell out of here.”

“Captain, I do not find that order acceptable,” said Burgoyne.

“It’s not for you to accept, Burgy. It’s for you to obey. Turn around, get out of here, and return to our dimension. No further communication with the Dayan. Understood?”

“Captain—”

“Understood?”

Burgoyne let out a frustrated sigh, but simply said, “Yes, Captain. Understood.”

Calhoun headed to the turbolift with Kebron right behind. He wondered briefly if he would ever see the bridge again, but then tossed that consideration aside. Second-guessing the situation wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to assume that he would be back, and soon.

Because he didn’t trust Burgoyne to obey his order.

ii.

THE TEAM MATERIALIZED on the surface of what appeared to be, by all evidence, hell.

The pounding that the Dayan had inflicted upon the planet’s surface was clearly in evidence. The bodies of D’myurj and Brethren were scattered around. Some of the bodies had been so thoroughly hammered by the blasts that they were scarcely recognizable as having been alive.

There had been buildings, but it was impossible to determine anything about what they had looked like. They had been reduced to little more than rubble. There was smoke rising from the remains of the structures, but no sounds of any survivors. No one moaning in pain, no one moving.

Kebron held a tricorder and was checking the area. “Nothing,” he said in a low voice. “The Dayan were quite thorough.”

The sky hung red in the distance. In some respects, it reminded Calhoun of Xenex, ironically. This sky was red because things were burning in the distance. The Dayan had rained death and destruction down upon the world, and they were just getting started.

Some distance away, there was a structure that had not been damaged by the blasts. It resembled a classic Earth castle, old-style. Medieval, actually. It was huge, thousands of square feet, positioned upon a hill two kilometers away. Because of the force field, this was the closest the Excalibur was able to beam them.

Calhoun was wearing body armor. He didn’t like it; it didn’t feel fair. But Kebron had insisted that if the Captain was about to go into a dangerous situation, then he needed to be sufficiently protected. He was wearing plating front and back and a helmet. There were half a dozen security guards including Meyer and Boyajian, as well as Kebron. Everyone save for Kebron was also armored; Kebron needed nothing because his own skin was sturdier than any armor that Starfleet had to offer.

Kebron indicated the castle. “That’s where the sensors say there are human readings,” he said, glancing once more at the tricorder for confirmation.

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“All right,” said Calhoun. “Let’s go get them.”

They started making their way down the road.

Before the shooting had begun, the road might well have been perfectly paved. That was no longer the case. It had been blown to bits, and it was relatively slow going for the group as they made their way. That was particularly frustrating for Calhoun because he had a fairly accurate time sense, and he was all too aware that time was ticking down rapidly.

They advanced as fast as they could, and suddenly they saw some rubble shifting to their right. They paused and leveled their weapons on it.

It was shoved aside, and a Brethren rose from it.

He took one look at them and swung his fist up to open fire.

Calhoun immediately stepped forward. “You don’t want to do that,” he called.

Somewhat to his surprise, the Brethren seemed to hesitate.

Sensing an opening, Calhoun continued, “We are not the ones who did this to you. We are simply here to rescue our people from there.” He pointed at the castle. “If you join with us, help us, we will rescue you from this world. Come with us, and you can live.”

For a long moment, the Brethren stared at them.

Then he brought his gauntlet up and fired. Energy sizzled from it and struck Calhoun square in the chest. Calhoun was blasted off his feet and sent tumbling to the ground.

Immediately the rest of the security team opened fire on the Brethren. He staggered from the collective pounding that was being delivered to him, but he still managed to shake it off and charge forward. Kebron stepped directly into his path and intercepted him. The Brethren crashed into Kebron, who was driven back several feet but managed to stay upright.

The two powerful beings struggled hand-to-hand for several moments, and then Kebron actually managed to lift the armored being off his feet. He slammed the Brethren down with such force that the ground vibrated around them.

Calhoun was on the ground just a meter away. He had taken careful aim upon the small air vent that was situated on the side of the Brethren’s armor. Before the Brethren could get back to his feet, Calhoun fired off a blast and it struck the air vent dead on.

The Brethren shook violently from the impact and pitched backward, trembling within his armor. Calhoun watched silently as the Brethren continued to shake for a short time, and then he stopped doing so. A thick black ooze seeped out of the hole that Calhoun had used as a target.

“That’s where you have to hit them,” Calhoun reminded them. “Those air vents. It’s the only place where they’re vulnerable.”

“It’s obvious the Dayan already figured that out,” said Kebron, “judging by the number of dead Brethren we found on the ship.”

“Okay, then.” Calhoun was crouched nearby the Brethren, checking him over.

“What are you looking for, Captain?”

“We’re near enough to that castle that I’m wondering if this particular Brethren was somehow connected to it. Perhaps he worked there as a guard.”

“What if he did, sir?” asked Meyer.

“In that case, he would probably have something in his armor that serves as a key. A means of getting into and out of . . . ah.” The captain found a device on the back of the being’s right gauntlet that was not familiar to him. Calhoun had battled enough of the Brethren that he was quite familiar with everything that they had on their armor, and this was new. “Kebron.” He held it up so that Zak could see it. “What do you make of this?”

Kebron ran a quick check of the device with his tricorder. It was almost five centimeters long, and had a shining rectangle with a glowing light on one end. “I think you’ve got it, Captain. It appears to be some manner of deactivation wand.”

“All right, then,” said Calhoun. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

They continued their way down the shattered road. There were sirens whining in the distance. What few rescue facilities the D’myurj might still have were trying to help people. There certainly wasn’t anyone in the immediate area, though. Everyone around the Excalibur crew was dead. All that was needed here were large shovels to bury everyone.

Something within Calhoun recoiled. That was annoying as hell to him; he had fully embraced the idea of the D’myurj’s wholesale slaughter. Now that he was witnessing it, though . . .

“Over here,” called Boyajian. “I just heard something. It sounds like a baby crying.”

Leave it. Leave it. This isn’t our concern. It doesn’t matter if they blew up an entire nursery; we need to focus on the mission.

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead he simply nodded, and Boyajian and Meyer ran over in the direction of what Boyajian had just heard. Kebron quickly followed.

Just as they got to the pile of fallen rubble, the soft wailing ceased. Kebron reached down and hoisted up a large slab to reveal what was beneath. It was the crushed body of what Calhoun could only assume was a D’myurj female. He had never seen one before, and so it was more a guess than anything else.

He was thunderstruck by her beauty.

The ones who had lain dead in the ship had been badly injured in battle, their faces largely crushed or shot off. When the D’myurj were alive, the inner blue glow that they emanated made it difficult to make out any facial features. This one, though, this female, was dead, and thus Calhoun could clearly see a D’myurj’s face for the first time.

Her features were incredibly delicate. She had two eyes like a human, but they were large, taking up over half her face. He could see that even though they were closed. She had no nose but instead a simple slit in the middle of her face. Her head was triangular in shape, her chin coming down to a point. She had no hair.

And she was cradling an infant.

The infant’s face was covered with what Calhoun assumed was blood. It wasn’t red, but a dark blue. It had flowed from a sizable gash in the child’s forehead. The child looked similar in size and development to a three-month-old human. Its eyes, in contrast to the female that Calhoun assumed to be its mother, were wide open. It had no pupils but instead a solid sheen of blue. The baby was staring at nothing because it had just died in the arms of its mother. Kebron passed the tricorder over it just to make sure, and then he simply shook his head to indicate that the infant was gone.

Calhoun stood there and stared at them for a time. His emotions roiled within him.

“Let’s get going,” he said tersely.

The away team continued heading toward the castle.

Calhoun couldn’t figure out why such a technologically advanced race as the D’myurj had such an ancient-looking building still standing, much less actually using it for a purpose such as keeping people prisoner. But that didn’t matter to him at the moment. All he was worried about was getting through the force field that surrounded it.

The closer they got, the brighter the force field was. It covered the top of the castle, which appeared to be at least three stories high. It was impossible to tell from where the field originated. But it was definitely solid and more than capable of preventing them from entering.

The road that they were walking on angled up the side of the hill. It was one of several roads that approached the castle, and all of them had been equally battered by the big guns of the Dayan. But it was clear that the field had provided protection against the bombardment, because the roads within the field were smooth.

There were no guards visible, which Calhoun considered to be a good sign. That would serve to make the attack a little easier at the start.

Slowly, he approached the end of the road, stepping over the craters that the overhead attack had driven into the road. He found himself feeling grateful for the force field. Yes, it provided an obstacle, but on the other hand, if the force field hadn’t been there, the castle would likely have been destroyed. So that was a plus.

Calhoun reached the edge of the force field and paused. He was tightly gripping the device that he had removed from the body of the Brethren. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then walked forward. He waited to bump into the field and be pushed back.

Instead he walked right through it.

“I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath.

Then he heard a pained yelp from behind him. He turned and saw Meyer lying on the ground, clearly having been shocked by something. The force field. Of course. I have the device, but they don’t.

Calhoun strode back to the force field and passed his hand through. Boyajian took it and tried to walk forward, but he failed utterly. This time, since Calhoun was watching, he was able to see what happened. The moment that Boyajian came into contact with the energy field, it flared to life and blasted him back. He stumbled backward from the impact, and the only reason he didn’t hit the ground was because Kebron caught him before he fell.

“Hold on,” said Calhoun after a moment. “This is easily solved.” He took the wand that had enabled him to pass through the force field and simply flipped it toward Kebron, assuming that he could catch it, use it to pass through, and then throw it to the next man in turn.

Instead the wand bounced off the force field and fell to the ground.

“What the hell?” muttered Meyer, who had just gotten back to his feet.

“It must only function if someone is in possession of it,” said Calhoun. “It’s keyed to work for an individual. It won’t function on its own.”

“Fantastic. Now what?” said Kebron.

“Now I go in and try to shut down the field,” said Calhoun.

“By yourself?” Kebron was clearly not pleased with that plan.

“I don’t see any other alternative.” In point of fact, he did. He could just have walked out while holding it, handed it off to Kebron, and let him handle the entry to the castle. But he was determined not to send Kebron into the situation without knowing exactly what it was that they were facing. “Keep an eye on the field. As soon as it’s down, come on through.” He paused and then said grimly, “If I don’t come back within thirty minutes, beam back to the Excalibur and get the hell out of here.”

Kebron didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me, Zak?”

“I heard you,” said Kebron. “I simply cannot guarantee that I will obey. So I suggest that you don’t put me in that position.”

“Understood,” said Calhoun, and he sprinted off toward the castle.

Thallon

FA CWAN HAS been a magnificent ruler.

He sits on the throne in his empty throne room. There is no one else around because the day has long ended. His wife is sound asleep, snoring peacefully in their large bed. The people that he has aided this day are snug and safe in their homes, likely dreaming about the wonderful decisions that their leader has made on their behalf.

It is astounding to him. He looks back upon the life that he has led, and it is almost impossible for him to imagine the course that it took.

He thinks back to years ago, how he was standing on the precipice of suicide, convinced that he would never be able to accomplish anything of worth. Then, out of nowhere, the Awesome had come to him and transformed him, and he had destroyed his predecessor . . .

His predecessor.

What was his name?

Fa Cwan sits and thinks for some time and realizes that he cannot remember the name of the ruler he slew in order to become the ruler of Thallon.

This is extremely disturbing to him.

It concerns him because he knows that aging brings certain difficulties with it. Life, and no one gets out of it alive. But it makes him wonder just how much of an impact such memory losses could have on his ability to rule. Has he been having them regularly? Are his people starting to notice?

Well . . . even if they are . . . that isn’t necessarily calamitous, is it? It is certainly no secret that he has been aging. You just have to look at him to see it. Standing is not easy, walking is horrifically slow. His body is slowly giving out on him, so it makes sense that his mind would be following.

That isn’t necessarily such a terrible thing, though. His people obviously do not think that he is immortal. It will not cause them to think the less of him, will it?

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps it is time to move on.

There is no Thallonian law that says he must rule until his death. He has the option of stepping aside whenever he wishes to in favor of his heir, yes?

He could put his son, Te, in charge. Te Cwan could be named as the new ruler of Thallon. Yes, that would be splendid. They could have a coronation, a true changing of power. His son could take over, and Fa Cwan and his wife could retire to some peaceful place, away from the continued press of Thallonian politics.

The thing is, would that really satisfy him? He has spent so much of his time in the thick of working for the benefit of his people. Would he truly be able to walk away from that? Or would he find himself, day in and day out, missing the life that he had once led? Would he find any joy in sitting around every day, waiting for death to claim him? What possible sort of life would that be?

He finds it interesting how he has gone through his existence: moving from a point where he was ready to end his life to now, when he cannot contemplate simply waiting for its natural end.

Furthermore, he is not entirely sure that Te is truly ready to take over for him. He is a decent enough young man. But there is a rawness to his attitude. He does not share his father’s fundamental philanthropy, his love for the people. He acts as if they are somehow lower than him. Is that truly the right mindset for the people’s ruler? It is certainly Fa Cwan’s hope that Te will grow out of this attitude, although it seems doubtful, given his age. He has spoken with his son on enough occasions, trying to convince him to find intrinsic goodness in others instead of seeing only the negative. Yet it seems that Te’s mind remains obstinate when it comes to caring about others.

Perhaps they can take a long weekend or even an extended tour. Travel the entirety of Thallon, meet the people, talk to them, learn their stories. Certainly that would serve to reorient Te’s thinking.

But what if it does not? What if Te is unable to change his way of thinking? What if he is not, in the eyes of his father, fit to take over as ruler of Thallon?

Is there someone who can take his place?

There are certainly people who would desire to. Fa Cwan knows that much of a certainty. People who, at least on the surface, seem to share Cwan’s priorities. On occasion they have even opposed him, but they have done so respectfully and always aware of his position versus their own.

How would Te take it when he finds that power is not going to be passed on to him? Fa Cwan imagines that his son will not be happy with him. It would be up to Fa to get his son to understand that his priority is the welfare of the people. If he feels his son does not have the necessary personality to serve the interests of the people, then it is incumbent upon him to decide what serves them best, not the long-term priorities of the Cwan family.

So many things. So many concerns.

Why does ruling have to be like this? It doesn’t seem fair. It seems almost too much responsibility to foist upon one individual.

Fa Cwan sags in his chair, his head swimming. What is he worrying about, again? So many thoughts are floating through his brain that he finds it difficult to focus and remember. Te Cwan. He was thinking about his son, but he cannot remember what it was about him that he was pondering.

He closes his eyes, trying to remember. His thoughts drift. Why is he having such difficulty focusing?

He hears footsteps approaching softly and looks up. He smiles. It is his son, Te Cwan. Te Cwan is quite the impressive young man. Tall and well built, and there seems to be an openness to his face.

Seems to be . . .

Because when Fa Cwan gazes into his son’s eyes, he sees other things going on in them. Distant thoughts, perhaps even sinister thoughts that Te Cwan would not dare to say aloud.

Fa Cwan endeavors to shake such feelings off. He should not be dwelling on such things. He should be giving his son more consideration and the benefit of the doubt.

“What are you doing here at this hour, my son?” asks Fa Cwan.

“What are you doing here, Father?” replies his son. “Have you forgotten? The doctors have said that you should not get out of bed. That the mere act of walking around can cause your heart to rebel against you.”

Fa Cwan frowns. Now that Te mentions it, he seems to indeed recall his doctors warning him of such a possibility. He had forgotten about it. That is not surprising, though. What is Fa Cwan supposed to do? Rule from his bed? The thought is absurd.

“The fact of the matter, Father,” says Te Cwan, “is that you should not even be alive right now. You should really have died years ago. Yet you have continued to remain with us. That is truly an inconvenient situation.”

“Inconvenient?” Fa Cwan does not quite understand what Te is talking about. “Inconvenient to whom?”

“Well, to people such as me,” says Te Cwan. “The fact of the matter is that I am ready to take your place as the ruler of Thallon. To continue the legacy of the Cwan line. I would have thought that you would willingly have stepped aside by now.”

“I am sorry to ‘inconvenience’ you,” Fa Cwan says. He is unsure how to feel at the moment. Should he be genuinely sorry that he has not stepped aside? Or should he be angry at his son’s presumptuousness? He wishes that someone could tell him. “But the fact remains that I am the ruler of Thallon. There is really not much to be done about that.”

“That’s not quite true,” says Te Cwan.

Fa Cwan does not understand what his son is talking about until Te Cwan is actually upon him. Te’s hands are quite large, and one of them clamps down upon Fa Cwan’s face. His fingers pinch Fa Cwan’s nostrils together so that he cannot inhale, and Te’s palm is covering his mouth so that he cannot breathe or, even more to the point, call for help.

Fa Cwan cannot process what is happening to him. The notion that his son is killing him is completely incomprehensible. He tries desperately to fight back. He fleetingly remembers the battle that had placed him in charge of Thallon, the one where he had been invulnerable, unbeatable. That power had, of course, vanished once the Awesome had taken His leave, but he had never had need of it again. The mere threat of it had been enough to keep everyone in line.

He struggles desperately against his son’s grip. He cannot even begin to break it. He looks up into his son’s eyes, and he sees nothing in there. No mercy, no caring. Nothing but dark and sinister motives, serving only himself and no one else.

He was right. Te Cwan should not be the next ruler of Thallon. He must be certain to tell his wife.

Fa Cwan imagines everything that will happen once he lets the world know that his son will not be succeeding him as the new Thallonian ruler. Te will undoubtedly be furious. But he will have to learn to live with it.

His thoughts about his son’s frustration over not ruling are the last ones that pass through Fa Cwan’s head. He does not even realize that he is dying until it is too late.

Te Cwan maintains his hold on his father’s face for long moments to make certain that he is really dead. Then he steps back, releasing his grasp. His father slumps to one side. His eyes are still open, and Te Cwan imagines that there is surprise still reflected in them. Te Cwan reaches over and passes his hand over his father’s eyelids, closing them.

“Rest well,” he says in a low voice. “You have earned it.”

D’myurj Homeworld

i.

CALHOUN MADE IT up the main road with no problem. He had his phaser gripped tightly in his hand and yet couldn’t help but wish that he had his sword with him at that moment. Whenever going into a combat situation, he always preferred to have the blade even though there was no reason for him to feel that way. A blade was only worthwhile in close combat, and considering the sort of individuals that he was probably going to encounter, it didn’t seem that close combat would be a real likelihood. The chances were that Calhoun would have to do everything he could to keep one step ahead of the Brethren firing their pulser blasts at him.

He reached the outside of the towering castle, still having no clue why in the world the D’myurj had such primitive architecture as what seemed a centerpiece to their endeavors. Cautiously he tapped his combadge and said in a low voice, “Calhoun to Excalibur.”

“Burgoyne here, Captain.”

“Are you monitoring the force field that’s surrounding this place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to be bringing it down. The moment it collapses, I want you to beam out everyone with a human reading.”

“Will do, sir. Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“You almost never are,” Burgoyne commented.

Calhoun found that amusing, and also completely true. “Calhoun out,” he said, and then made his way forward.

A large door blocked his path. It was made of some sort of solid wood, situated on hinges. He pushed and then pulled on the door, but it didn’t seem to budge. There was obviously a lock keeping it secured. He considered shooting the lock, but worried he might somehow fuse the door shut instead. He could just disintegrate the door, but was concerned that the sound of the phaser blast might alert anyone who was inside.

Then he glanced at the hinges and smiled.

Raising his phaser, he took careful aim and then fired off very quick blasts at them. The hinges shattered under the impact of the phaser, but the shots were so brief that he hoped they wouldn’t tip off anyone to his presence.

He shoved his fingers into the side of the door, finding a small amount of space to reach in. Then he slowly began to pull.

At first the door did nothing. But then, very slowly, it started to come free. Calhoun kept pulling and seconds later the door began to topple toward him. He pushed back against it to prevent it from collapsing on him and then stepped to the side, shoving it up against the outside wall. He stared inside and saw a narrow corridor running in front of him. He concluded that this was not the main entrance, since he expected that there would be a large entranceway at that point. It suited him just fine, since Calhoun suspected that it would be rather populated.

Slowly, he made his way into the corridor. He tread down it carefully, one step at a time, keeping his phaser leveled while looking for trouble. He was aware of the time ticking away. With only an hour to spend on this rescue, he didn’t have the time for any errors. If he made so much as one mistake, screwed up in any way, then the entire thing was going to fall apart. His men would return to the ship and try to get the hell away while the Dayan proceeded to kill everything on the planet. Calhoun suspected that even this force field wouldn’t be able to withstand incessant blasts from the Dayan.

Then he heard footsteps, heavy and clanking. He knew immediately what it was: the approach of Brethren.

He looked right and left for someplace to hide. There was a door to his right, and Calhoun didn’t hesitate. Granted, he didn’t know who or what, if anything, was going to be on the other side of the door. But he reasoned that whatever it was, it was going to have to be better than being dragged into yet another fight with the Brethren.

He shoved open the door, stepped through, and froze.

It was a D’myurj. He was floating in the air, clearly in the midst of some manner of contemplation. The room was devoid of any furniture; clearly it was just for him to meditate. When Calhoun banged the door open, however, it snapped the D’myurj out of his contemplative state. The eyes in his glowing face opened, and he stared at Mac.

“Calhoun!”

Calhoun instantly recognized his voice. It was the D’myurj who had described himself as the Visionary. It was the D’myurj who was responsible for the death of Calhoun’s race.

Right there. Right in front of him. This was no hologram. This was no insubstantial image of the being that he hated more than any other living creature. This was the Visionary, his for the taking.

“Guards!” the Visionary shrieked, but it was too late. Calhoun was across the room, and he grabbed the Visionary by the throat. Up until he actually touched him, Calhoun didn’t trust his belief that this was the genuine article. The moment that he felt the creature’s warm throat beneath his hands, however, a trill of joy screamed through him.

It was everything Calhoun could do not to beat the Visionary to death right then and there. He was aware, though, that the D’myurj would be of far more use to him alive. He lessened his grip slightly so that he could swing the Visionary around in front of him. He placed the D’myurj between him and the door and waited.

Sure enough, two Brethren appeared at the door. Instantly they raised their gloves, ready to unleash their blasts upon Calhoun.

“Have them lower their weapons,” he said tightly to the D’myurj, “or you’ll die with me.”

The D’myurj was only too happy to cooperate. “Lower your weapons! Don’t fire! Do not fire!”

Slowly the Brethren lowered their gauntlets. They did not, however, move out of the way.

Calhoun pressed the muzzle of his phaser against the Visionary’s head. “I want to shut down the force field. You’re going to tell me how to do it.”

“No, I . . . I . . . I can’t,” the Visionary stammered. “We’ll be destroyed by the blasts from overhead . . .”

“You’re going to be blasted in your head if you don’t take me to where I can shut the field down.”

The Visionary gulped visibly.

“What’s the matter?” said Calhoun, making no attempt to keep the smugness out of his voice. “I seem to recall that you were somewhat more arrogant in your tone when we last met. That, of course, was before you killed my people.”

“You don’t un—”

Calhoun shoved the muzzle even harder against the Visionary’s skull, causing him to cry out in pain. “I swear, if you are about to tell me that I don’t understand, I will pull this trigger and blow your brains out. I won’t care in the least whether the Brethren cut me down or not. Is that clear?” When the Visionary didn’t reply immediately, he snarled, “Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes! It’s clear! It is completely clear!”

There had never been a moment in Calhoun’s life where he felt better about threatening a helpless individual. “Do you know where to go?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Take me there. And keep in mind that no matter how fast the Brethren may think they are when it comes to launching an attack, I can assure you that I will be even faster.”

The Visionary managed a nod. He made it obvious that he got what Calhoun was saying.

Slowly and deliberately, Calhoun started moving forward, keeping an iron grip on the D’myurj. The Visionary’s legs were shaking. Calhoun took pleasure in that. Anything he could do to terrorize this murdering bastard was okay with him.

At first the Brethren did not move, but the Visionary gestured for them to step to either side and they did so. Calhoun walked with him out into the hallway. “Which way?”

“Down the hall to the end and then to the right.”

They continued moving. Calhoun did not have to look behind him to know that the two Brethren were following him. No doubt they were waiting for him to lower his guard so that they could attack. That wasn’t going to happen.

Calhoun had one huge plus on his side. The Brethren’s armor-bound weaponry always made a distinct powering-up noise before it discharged. If one of them tried to ambush him, he would know that the attack was about to come and he would have more than enough time to blow the Visionary’s head off before the assault was launched.

“Who are you?” asked Calhoun between drawn lips. “A leader? A strategist?”

“I am simply one of the D’myurj.”

“Don’t give me that. The power that you wield. The way you wiped out my people. You have a hell of a lot of armament at your disposal to be ‘simply one.’ This place”—he nodded with his head around the castle—“is yours, isn’t it.”

“It is my family’s estate,” said the Visionary. “It is centuries old. I loan it out to my government as a secure place if they have people they wish to keep imprisoned. The shield is a device of my family’s creation. Another one like it does not exist anywhere in the world.”

“Who the hell is your family?”

“We are weapons makers,” said the Visionary. “We are the foremost weapons makers in the history of the D’myurj. Whatever ‘power’ that you believe I have stems from that. Because of it, our people put me in charge of overseeing our race’s departure.”

“Your departure. From this world.”

“That’s right. Although”—his voice fell—“it’s obviously too late. The Dayan are above us right now, working to destroy us. I don’t understand. I created a perfect defensive system. I have no idea why it has failed us.”

Calhoun saw no reason to answer the question. It did, however, pose one for him.

He had been told, and seen for his own eyes, the relative imperviousness of the Dayan vessel. If the ship had endeavored to launch an attack on the D’myurj homeworld on its own, the assault from the satellites and the ground guns should have been unable to stop it. It would simply have re-formed itself and continued the assault.

Why in the world did the Dayan require the Excalibur to take out the satellite arrays and the big guns? It didn’t make any sense.

They reached the end of the corridor and turned to the right. “How much farther?” said Calhoun.

“The far end. That large door. It’s the command security room.”

They headed down the corridor, Calhoun making sure to keep the phaser against the side of the Visionary’s head. “You don’t have to press it so hard,” grunted the Visionary.

“You’re lucky I’m not shoving it through your skull.”

They reached the far end, and the Visionary pushed the door open. There was a Brethren seated inside in front of an array of instrumentation. The moment the Brethren saw them, he lunged to his feet and swung his fist up.

“I wouldn’t,” said Calhoun warningly.

“Stand down,” the Visionary told the guard, who immediately lowered his fist.

“You’re quite good at that. Telling them what to do.”

“We all have aspects that we excel at.” The Visionary sounded sarcastic.

“How do you shut it off?”

The Visionary strode over to the console. Calhoun kept the phaser aimed at him. As opposed to the aged look of the rest of the castle, the equipment laid out before them was state-of-the-art. There were glowing pads on it, and the Visionary’s fingers flew over them. He worked at it for ten seconds and then stepped back. “The field has been shut down,” he said. “Your Dayan allies can blast us to hell and gone at their leisure.”

“That’s not why I needed it shut down. Calhoun to Excalibur.”

“Excalibur. Burgoyne here. The shield is down, Captain.”

“Lock onto the humans that are being held here and beam them up.”

“We can’t, sir.”

That was not the response that Calhoun was expecting. “Why not?”

“Something is scrambling our transporter beams.”

“I thought that was the force field!”

“No, sir. There’s something else there.”

“Hold on.” He turned to the Visionary, his anger threatening to overwhelm him. “What’s causing it? What’s scrambling our transporter beam?”

The Visionary was actually smiling. It was everything Calhoun could do not to hit him. “Your transporters are being thwarted by a tower, at the far end of the castle.”

“Shut it down.”

“That is impossible. It is a failsafe. The only way you could shut it down is to destroy the tower itself. Which is not something that you could do from here.”

Calhoun, for the first time, swung his phaser away from the Visionary. He fired quickly and accurately, blowing the control console to bits. Smoke and flame blew from it, and Calhoun grabbed the Visionary and clamped an arm around his throat.

“Take me to it. Now!”

“As you wish,” said the Visionary.

ii.

KEBRON REACTED WITH surprise when he saw the field fade away in front of them. “He did it. Let’s move.”

The team immediately charged down the trail that Calhoun had covered. They were not attempting a stealthy approach. Time was of the essence, and they didn’t have the option to do anything slowly.

“That entrance up there!” called Kebron. “That door was set aside! The Captain must have gone that way—!”

That was very quickly not an option. Several Brethren emerged from the doorway as Kebron and the team approached. They swung their armored fists up and opened fire.

“Behind me!” shouted Kebron as the blasts slammed into him. They were more powerful than anything that Zak had ever encountered before. High-impact phaser blasts simply ricocheted off his rock-hard skin, but this was much worse. Kebron was actually blown backward, knocked flat. He landed so heavily that for a moment the ground shook under the impact.

“Phasers on full!” shouted Kebron. He remembered Calhoun’s caution about the air vents being their only vulnerability, but reasoned that that was in close combat situations. With some distance between them and fully charged phasers in their hands, a straightforward assault seemed the way to go.

The security team fired their phasers with full disintegrative force. It should have reduced the Brethren to free-floating atoms. Instead, to the collective shock of the team, the beams coruscated helplessly against the Brethren’s armor.

“What the hell?” muttered Boyajian.

“Some sort of refractive surface,” said Kebron as he scrambled to his feet.

“How can it refract total particle dissolution?”

“We’ll ask them later.” Obviously the captain had been right. The vents remained the sole source of weakness for the Brethren, assuming that the crew could reach them.

The team scrambled across the vast lawn that ran the perimeter of the castle. The Brethren were in pursuit, firing their pulser blasts. The two things that the crew had going for it were that their armor provided some protection, and that the Brethren were not the best shots when they were running.

They rounded a corner and suddenly Kebron stopped and pressed himself against the outer wall, gesturing for the rest of the team to keep running. They did so, and the moment that the Brethren came around the corner, Kebron launched himself at them.

He didn’t bother with his phaser. Instead he slammed his massive fists into the nearest Brethren, one into each of them. One of them managed to hold his footing; the other was knocked backward, hitting the ground hard.

The Brethren who remained standing studied Kebron for a heartbeat and then threw himself directly at the Brikar. Apparently he decided that Zak was worth trying to slug it out with hand-to-hand.

Kebron braced himself and withstood the initial impact. For a long moment the Brethren and the Brikar struggled against each other, neither of them giving ground. Zak thought he might have been imagining it, but he could have sworn he heard the Brethren actually grunting inside of his armor.

Then Kebron shoved forward and up and hoisted the Brethren off his feet. He paused for a moment, and then slammed the Brethren to the ground.

That was apparently all the Brethren wanted when it came to hand-to-hand. He brought his gauntlet up and fired point-blank at Kebron. The impact of the pulser blast sent Kebron flying. He slammed backward into the side of the castle, cracking off a sizable amount of stone.

He slid to the ground, momentarily stunned. He saw the Brethren advancing on him, his fist glowing with energy. It seemed as if it was even more energy than the Brethren had generated earlier. Could this kill me? I suppose it’s possible that it could. Sorry, Captain.

That was when the sound of a phaser beam lashed out, and the stream of light drove straight into the Brethren’s helmet on the side. The Brethren shook violently and then collapsed. The other Brethren had gotten to his feet, and the phaser beam switched direction, cutting into the side of the other creature’s helmet. The Brethren trembled, throwing his arms to either side. There was definitely the sound of a loud moan, the first noise that one of the creatures had definitely made, and then he keeled over.

Kebron turned and saw Meyer standing several feet away.

“Nice aim,” said Kebron.

“Move,” Meyer told him.

Kebron did so, hurrying behind Meyer as fast as he could.

There was firing up ahead. Kebron and Meyer caught up with the rest of the team to discover that they were under fire. One man, Yarden, was already down, his face collapsed from one of the pulser bolts. Kebron stepped over him and, having brought his phaser out, fired upon the Brethren who were blocking their path.

A furious firefight ensued as the two groups continued to blast at each other. The Brethren proved more than capable of withstanding even a point-blank phaser shot, but the security team maneuvered around, shooting from the side whenever possible. Many of the shots missed, but enough managed to find their mark that the Brethren fell before the onslaught . . . but not before killing a second of the Excalibur team, a man named Sommers. Sommers was an experienced security officer, always talking about various battles that he had handily survived and entertaining the crew with his myriad war stories.

They reached a large set of double doors, undoubtedly the main entrance to the place. Kebron shouted, “Stay back!” and charged the doors. He slammed into them at full speed, and the doors shattered from the impact.

The crew stepped through into an elaborate foyer. Statues lined both sides, stone representations of the D’myurj.

Brethren were coming down the stairs, opening fire.

The team dodged to either side, getting out of the path of the Brethren’s onslaught. They took refuge behind the statues and concentrated their fire on the advancing Brethren.

“Keep steady!” shouted Kebron.

Blasts were hurtling everywhere. The pulser shots were blowing apart the statues, and the security team was moving as fast as they could, keeping up a constant stream of fire on the advancing Brethren. One by one the armored figures went down, writhing as the blasts through their vents annihilated them.

Kebron had put away his tricorder to concentrate on the battle, but Boyajian had his out and was checking the readings. “Kebron!” he shouted over the howling of the blasts around them. “I’ve got the human readings! I know where they are!”

The last of the Brethren fell, and Kebron called, “Lead the way!”

Boyajian started running, and the rest of the crew fell in behind him. Kebron was directly behind Boyajian, and as they rounded a corner, Kebron suddenly yanked him backward just in time. A pulser blast ripped past and blew a hole in the wall.

A Brethren was approaching.

It was the biggest Brethren that Kebron had seen. He was at least two heads taller than any of the others, and much wider. His pulser blast was far more intense than anything that had been fired at them up until that moment. And his armor looked different. There were additional mounts on the front and back, which were blinking for some reason.

Boyajian saw it too. “Who the hell is that?” he muttered.

“Maybe a commander,” said Kebron. “Whatever it is, it seems exceptionally nasty.”

The huge Brethren was approaching them rapidly. Kebron braced himself, prepared for him, waiting, waiting . . .

Nothing.

Kebron thought that maybe the Brethren had stopped moving. That he was waiting for them to make themselves visible. Then he saw that he was casting no shadow on the wall. This was enough to prompt Kebron to stick his head around the corner and, sure enough, the Brethren was gone.

“Where did he—?” Kebron began to say.

It was the noise that saved them. The sound of a transporter from right behind them caused the security team to lunge to either side as the massive Brethren materialized right in their midst. It happened far more quickly than an Excalibur transporter. One moment he wasn’t there, the next minute, with the shriek of a transporter, he was.

Kebron tried to shoot through the Brethren’s helmet slit, but the creature was simply too damned fast. He fired his pulser beam, slamming Evanston in the chest. There was a loud crack of bone as Evanston’s entire rib cage and his upper spine were crushed. The Brethren swung around and aimed at Kebron, but the Brikar grabbed his fist and pushed it to the side so that the detonation blew apart a section of the wall, sending stone and mortar flying everywhere.

Once again there was the shriek of a transporter, and the Brethren was gone. It was at that point that Kebron understood. “His armor; it has a built-in transmat beam. It can move anywhere it—”

The Brethren materialized as Kebron was speaking, standing a meter away. Kebron threw himself between the Brethren and the others just as he unleashed another pulser beam. Kebron had never felt an impact like it. He was blown off his feet, slamming into the opposite wall. A huge chunk of debris fell off and into his hand.

Perfect, Kebron suddenly thought.

The security team brought their phasers up and opened fire, and once again the Brethren disappeared. Kebron was expecting it, and he pivoted, facing behind them, doing his best to ignore the searing ache that was ripping through his chest.

The sound of the transporter gave him just enough notice, and Kebron lobbed the huge chunk of debris forward.

The Brethren materialized right around the piece of airborne rubble.

Kebron smiled grimly, which for him was represented by an ever-so-slight upraising of the edges of his mouth. The Brethren shuddered violently, grabbing at his chest, not fully understanding what had just happened. The transporter beams howled once more, and the Brethren vanished, but the piece of rubble disappeared along with him, now a permanent part of his inner workings. An instant later the Brethren rematerialized, but that was through the workings of the mechanism rather than anything the Brethren was telling it to do. He pitched forward and hit the ground heavily.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” said Meyer.

“May be experimental,” said Kebron. “Judging by what happened, I’d have to say it wasn’t the most successful of devices.”

“Come on,” said Boyajian. “I’ve still got our people on the tricorder.”

Kebron cast a frustrated glance at Evanston. He was clearly dead, lying there and staring up at nothing. The man deserved a decent burial, but Kebron wasn’t in a position to carry a corpse with him. We can still beam him up, though. Him and the others. Their combadges will enable us to lock onto them. Presuming, of course, that we ever get out of here.

“Get us there,” Kebron ordered Boyajian.

They continued to sprint down the corridors. Fortunately enough, they did not encounter any more of the Brethren, although Kebron suspected that there were still some of them within the castle.

They were descending steadily, going down flights of stairs, the air around them becoming danker and moister. The entire time, Kebron was keeping mental track of how time was ticking down.

They reached what Kebron suspected was the bottom floor. A long, narrow corridor loomed in front of them. Boyajian was keeping careful watch on the tricorder and gestured for the others to follow him. He led the way down the hallway, finally coming to a halt in front of another large pair of double doors. “In here,” said Boyajian. “They’re in here.”

There was a lock pad on the door. Kebron didn’t even bother with it. He brought up his phaser and fired. The door immediately disintegrated. Nice to know that the refractive component to the Brethren’s armor wasn’t included on the castle’s doorways.

They entered and Boyajian gasped at what he saw. Kebron simply grunted, which was a major emotional display for him.

There were ten human beings imprisoned in what seemed to be upright glass tubes, tinted with frost. It was clear that they were in some manner of suspended animation. Kebron didn’t know who most of them were, but one of them was immediately identifiable. It was Admiral Nechayev.

They were all Starfleet personnel. He could tell that because they were clad in their uniforms.

Kebron tapped his combadge. “Kebron to Excalibur. Can you beam us out?”

“No. The field is down but there’s still something scrambling the transporter beam. The captain is working on getting it down,” said Burgoyne.

“Fine. Stay alert. Kebron out.” He turned to Meyer and Boyajian. “Get them out. Quickly. We’re going be beamed out of here soon.”

“How? The captain is still working on it,” said Meyer.

“Don’t worry. If anyone can do it, it’s Mackenzie Calhoun.”

Thallon

TE CWAN HAS never been more satisfied with his life.

As he moves through the forest, armed with only a bow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, he is dwelling most cheerfully on the way matters are proceeding. He always manages to do that whenever he goes hunting. Hunting clears his mind, calms him. Especially at times like this, when he is engaged in hunting the dreaded flarg. The flarg is one of the nastier beasts to wander the forests of Thallon, and to kill one is a major accomplishment for a hunter. A typical flarg-hunting squad requires six to eight people. No one has ever captured one alone. Te will be the first.

He is the undisputed monarch of his world. He has two children—a son and a daughter—to take over for him if and when he is ready to secede. Not that he is expecting that to happen anytime soon.

As he makes his way through the forest, his mind begins to wander. He is all too aware of how he came to power years ago. No one else knows. It was declared a simple heart attack. Not even his mother suspected, which was fortunate, because if she had, then he probably would have had to dispose of her as well.

However, it starts to dawn on him that what goes around has a tendency to come around. Te begins to worry that his son may be of a similar disposition. He may well covet the throne as much as Te did, and what if he decides to do something about it? What if he opts to take matters into his own hands and not wait for his father to die of natural causes?

His daughter is of a much simpler disposition, sweet and adoring of her father. The notion that she would plan an assault on her father, much less actually implement it, is simply unthinkable.

But his son . . . the way that his son looks at him, the way that the lad occasionally speaks of how he will handle things once he is in charge . . .

Those comments do not sit well with Te.

What to do, then?

Te stops making his way through the forest and stops to ponder these thoughts that are passing through his head. What to do, what to do? Should he consider . . . ?

Would he really . . . ?

Kill my son?

The possibility crosses his mind unbidden, but once it is there, it is impossible for him to toss aside. On the surface of it, the very idea seems preposterous. And yet . . .

He killed his own father. Is the prospect of killing his son truly that unthinkable?

“Would you?”

He jumps, startled, not expecting a voice to have broken in on his thoughts. A voice that seems to be responding, not to anything he has said, but to the musings of his innermost mind.

He spins and sees a Thallonian standing a short distance away. He has an insufferably smug expression.

Te reacts immediately by drawing an arrow and firing. The arrow hurtles through the air and lodges in a tree three meters away. The target has disappeared.

“I didn’t have to move,” said the man, who is now standing behind Te. “I could have let the arrow thud into my chest. But I didn’t see any reason to do so. Are you going to take another shot, or are you going to realize that there is nothing you could do to harm me?”

Te has already leveled another arrow at him, but slowly he lowers it. “Who are you?”

“Your people call me the Awesome. A pretentious name, I admit, but it is rather descriptive. I was responsible for putting your father on the throne and, by extension, you.”

Te has trouble believing what he is hearing. “I . . . I always thought that was just a story my father made up.”

“No, he was quite truthful. He was a good man, your father. I wonder, how do you think he felt when you killed him?”

Te is aware that the blood is draining from his face. He endeavors to maintain his calm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do not attempt to insult me. First of all, you couldn’t. Second, your interior mind is quite clear to me. Do not worry,” he adds dismissively. “It is not as if I am going to tell anyone or have you brought to justice. You are, after all, the ultimate authority on this world. So there is no one for you to answer to.”

Te pulls himself together in the face of this incredible being. “That is true.”

“Of course it’s true. Everything that I say is true. For instance, I will tell you this true thing right now: you will not have to worry about your son killing you.”

“How do you know that?”

“It is my job to know things. That is what I do. Do you truly believe that I am only a god to your world? Any number of places bow to me. I go where I see possibilities, and I have to say, Thallon has certainly provided many a possibility. It is a shame that your world will be destroyed.”

Te does not quite understand what the Awesome is saying. “What? What are you talking about? Why do you say our world will be destroyed?”

“Because it is a gigantic egg. There is a large creature growing and developing within, and many, many years from now, it will hatch and shatter your planet to pieces.”

“You . . . are not serious.”

“I am always serious,” replies the Awesome. “Fortunately enough, this will not be a personal concern for you. You will be long dead. Starting now.”

“What in the world are you talking ab—?”

He is unaware of the presence of the flarg until its claw rips across his back. Te shrieks and whirls, but the bow has already fallen from his hand. The flarg roars at him, making noise for the first time, since its approach was entirely stealthy. Its foul breath washes over him, and its fanged mouth snaps in his face. Its head stabs forward, the jaws clamping on Te’s throat. Te tries to scream but cannot produce any sound.

“You really shouldn’t have killed your father,” says the Awesome. “There are few things that I would draw the line at, but that is definitely one of them.”

The flarg, all three hundred kilograms of it, yanks its head back and rips out Te’s throat. Remarkably, Te is still conscious enough to see blood pouring down the front of his shirt. Then his legs give way, and he collapses to the ground.

“Have no fear,” says the Awesome. “Enough of your body will be found to make an identification. At some point. In the meanwhile, your son will assume the throne and, honestly, do a far better job at it than you ever managed. Although I suppose you aren’t hearing me at the moment, are you.”

Te has in fact not heard most of what the Awesome has just said. His lifeless eyes gaze upward as the flarg proceeds to devour his chest.

“Your kind will, of course, be wiped out,” says the Awesome to the flarg. “A pity. Truth be told, I actually find you rather more appealing than any of the supposedly dominant race that currently walks around on his sphere. Ah, well. Good eating.”

The flarg pays no attention to Him as the Awesome disappears into the air.

D’myurj Homeworld

CALHOUN SHOVED THE Visionary in front of him as they headed down the hallway. He was all too aware that more Brethren had shown up and were tracking them. They were not going to make any move against him as long as he had a phaser to the Visionary’s head, but he wasn’t wild about the long-term possibilities of the situation.

“How much farther?” demanded Calhoun.

“Not much. Just ahead, as a matter of fact.” The Visionary paused and then said, “Why are you here, Calhoun? To recover your precious humans?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why do you care about them? You’re not human.”

“I’m not part of any race at this point,” said Calhoun. “You destroyed my people.”

“Of course we destroyed your people. A response was required, thanks to your actions. Anyone who was thinking ahead would have foreseen the results of the course that you had undertaken. It is not my fault, nor my responsibility, that you could not see ahead to the likely outcome of what you did.”

“You’re blaming me for the destruction of Xenex.”

“Why not?” said the Visionary. “You blame yourself.”

Inwardly Calhoun hated to admit it, but he knew the Visionary was right.

“You continue not to see the bigger picture, Captain. You do not see why your people were so unimportant.”

“Do you seriously think I care about some bigger picture? They were my people . . .”

“They were not your people!” The Visionary suddenly stopped walking and turned to face Calhoun. For the first time there was genuine impatience on his face. “You are foolish to think that they were. You have moved so far away from them that you bear no resemblance to the young man you used to be. Yes, Calhoun, I know all about your past. It has nothing to do with your future, or at least what you imagine to be your future. The fact of the matter is that I did you a favor. For as long as you thought of yourself as a Xenexian, you were never going to be able to reach your full potential. Now, though, you are a man without a people. You need not worry yourself about any past alliances. You are answerable not to any former concerns or taboos or anything that has anything to do with your former life. I enabled you to become a true citizen of the universe. You should be thanking me.”

It was all Calhoun could do not to cave his face in. The fist that was not holding a phaser was trembling. His teeth gritted, he said, “Get me to the tower, now.”

The Visionary grinned as if he had just won some sort of debate. “As you wish.”

He shoved through a door and Calhoun followed. Then, suddenly, he spun away from the Visionary and fired his phaser toward the Brethren who had been pacing them. But he did not fire directly at them; instead he aimed at the ceiling. The phaser beam blasted loose a half ton of rubble that came crashing down on and around the Brethren, creating a barricade that Calhoun hoped would slow them down.

Then he turned and sprinted up the stairs after the Visionary.

The Visionary was no longer in sight, but the stairs led straight up; there was nowhere else he could go.

Calhoun knew he only had minutes left.

There was a door at the top of the stairs, and it swung closed in Calhoun’s face. He heard the audible click of a lock. He swung his phaser up and fired. The blast enveloped the door, disintegrating it, and Calhoun sprinted through.

It led out onto the flat roof of the building. The Visionary was at the far end, apparently looking for some means of getting down. He turned and saw Calhoun right behind him and adopted what appeared to be a forced smile. “I see you caught up.”

“Yes,” said Calhoun tightly. “Where’s the scrambling device?”

“It is there,” said the Visionary, and he pointed. There was a metal tower about thirty meters away. It was twelve meters high, and there were lights blinking along the side.

Without hesitation, Calhoun aimed his phaser and fired.

It bounced off.

“What the hell?” muttered Calhoun, and he fired again. Once more his beam was deflected, and he saw what the problem was. “There’s a field around that as well?!”

“Did I forget to mention that?”

He heard the sounds of the Brethren coming up to the roof. He swung his phaser around and fired blindly down the stairs, even as he hit his combadge. “Calhoun to Excalibur.”

“Excalibur, Burgoyne here.”

“Full bombardment of photon torpedoes on the tower that’s fifty meters north of me! Now!”

“Your weaponry cannot pierce our field!” said the Visionary.

“We will see,” said Calhoun grimly.

“Calhoun,” said the Visionary, “listen to me. If you surrender now, you can join with me. There is much that we can learn from each other. I swear I will promise safe conduct for you and your fellows. You can work with us to help us achieve safety in your galaxy. You can—”

And suddenly a brace of photon torpedoes ripped down from orbit. They slammed into the force field, which flared to life in a continued endeavor to protect the tower. But it was nowhere near as powerful as the one that had surrounded the entirety of the castle. The photon torpedoes blasted it apart and seconds later the tower fell.

The Visionary let out a loud howl of shock, clearly stunned that the tower had collapsed.

Calhoun’s combadge came to life. “Captain, we have you, the away team, and our people!”

Calhoun looked to the sky, and his eyes widened in shock. The skies were alight with incoming blasts. The Dayan had opened fire. “Get us out of here!” shouted Calhoun. “All of us, and the D’myurj in front of me!”

“No!” yelled the Visionary, but it was too late. He faded out of sight along with Calhoun.

Seconds later, the Dayan blasts slammed into the castle, shattering it.

The Brethren within desperately tried to get clear, but the castle collapsed in on itself, burying them.

And that was just the beginning. The blasts from the Dayan vessel proceeded to pound down upon the planet’s surface. The D’myurj ran desperately, trying to stay ahead of it, trying not to die.

It did no good. Death rained down from on high, and there was nowhere for them to hide.

Excalibur

i.

CALHOUN SPUN AROUND the moment he materialized on the transporter platform, half expecting to see that the Visionary had not beamed up with them. But no, there he was, big as life. He was looking around in what was clearly borderline panic as he saw that he had been beamed onto a Federation starship.

Kebron was there as well, along with Meyer and Boyajian. “The others! Where are the others?” said Calhoun.

Halliwell was manipulating the controls. “I have ten people in stasis, Captain. Step off the platform, and I’ll start bringing them up.”

“Ten? Where—?”

Kebron turned to Calhoun. “We had several fatalities, Captain.”

Dammit.

He looked at the Visionary. Then, in a very low voice, he said to Halliwell, “How long can you keep them in the buffer?”

Halliwell looked somewhat surprised by the question, but then said, “Indefinitely, really. But I wouldn’t recommend—”

That was all Calhoun had to hear.

Calhoun strode over to the Visionary and grabbed him by the front of his clothing. The Visionary tried to push Calhoun away and, when that didn’t work, started to say the captain’s name.

He didn’t get a word out because Calhoun hit him in the face so hard that his jaw nearly shattered. The blue light that suffused the Visionary flared in response to the impact. A thick liquid started to seep from his mouth.

Calhoun was just getting started.

Calhoun slammed the Visionary in the gut, doubling him over, then struck him again, this time in the side of the head. The Visionary would have fallen over, but Calhoun gripped his arm and kept him upright, shoving him against the wall and slugging him repeatedly in the stomach.

“Captain!” called Kebron, but Calhoun wasn’t listening. The captain was absolutely blind with rage. Calhoun didn’t want to hear anything that the Visionary said. Calhoun just wanted to beat him and keep on beating him until he could never walk or talk again. The Xenexian wanted to beat the D’myurj to death. Calhoun could have simply blown him out of existence with a phaser, but that would have been much too quick.

And Calhoun would have. Calhoun would have beaten him until his skull was crushed and he had no blood left in his body because it had spilled all over the transporter room floor. It was Kebron who stopped the captain. Kebron grabbed Calhoun’s fist, which was thick with the blueish ooze that was seeping out of the Visionary. Calhoun tried to pull away, but couldn’t begin to break Kebron’s grip.

“Stop now,” Kebron said.

Calhoun didn’t listen. He might not even have heard Kebron. His mind was filled with so much rage that the rest of the world had ceased to exist. All he could think about was killing the Visionary. Gone was his concern about taking prisoners or bringing anyone to justice for their crimes. All that mattered was crushing the life from the Visionary’s body.

Calhoun tried to attack Kebron.

It did not go well.

Kebron did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed Calhoun’s other fist, momentarily immobilizing the infuriated captain. Then he shook Calhoun violently.

Under other circumstances, Calhoun might have been able to mount a defense against Kebron. Perhaps in a one-on-one battle, Calhoun might even have found a way to defeat the Brikar. But at that moment, Mackenzie Calhoun was simply not in his right mind. A naked fury was rampaging through him, and so he was unable to think clearly. As a result he could not defend himself at all as Kebron continued to shake him. His head snapped back and forth, and he felt himself starting to get dizzy.

“All right,” he finally said.

Kebron didn’t let go of Calhoun immediately, although he did stop shaking his captain. “Are you sure?” he said cautiously.

“Yes,” Calhoun managed to say.

Kebron released him. Calhoun didn’t say anything at first. Instead he simply stared at the unmoving Visionary. He was still alive. Calhoun had not succeeded in beating him to death. It wasn’t happenstance; Calhoun could easily have killed him instantly. He had wanted to prolong the beating for as long as possible. What fun was there in simply killing him? The trick was to extend the creature’s suffering.

The Visionary managed to focus on him long enough to whisper, “Kill me. Please . . . kill me.” Then his consciousness fled him, and he slumped to one side.

“Go to hell,” Calhoun said. He did not continue his attack. Instead he walked over to the Visionary and lifted him off the floor. “Halliwell, bring everyone else up here.”

“You can’t,” said Kebron. “They’re all unconscious. We managed to break them out of the tubes, but none of them have come around.”

“Beam them into sickbay, then,” said Calhoun. “Kebron, alert the doctor that she’s about to have a few new patients.”

“Yes, sir,” said Kebron.

Calhoun nodded, and then headed out of the transporter room toward sickbay.

Whereupon Kebron turned to Halliwell and said, “You did not see that.”

“See what?” she asked.

New Thallon

SHINTAR HAN WAS beginning to get desperate.

He had literally lost track of how long he had been worshipping in the temple, begging the Awesome to come to New Thallon and take a hand in what was happening.

It was not unprecedented. He had studied Thallonian history and knew all too well that the Awesome had stepped into the midst of Thallonian politics and instituted the Cwan family as royalty. Granted, it had happened so long ago that there were many who claimed the Awesome’s appearance was simply legend. But Shintar Han was convinced that was not the case. He kept telling himself that if he worshipped long enough and hard enough, the Awesome would eventually make His presence known.

Han had used his power as the prime minister to shut down the temple once he had taken up residence there. He did not want or need someone else showing up and questioning him or challenging his faith. He needed to be able to focus on what he was doing.

Even if it came to nothing.

That can’t be the case. I can’t be wasting my time here. I must remain steadfast in my dedication. If I do, the Awesome will come to me. He will come.

But . . .

What if He doesn’t?

Han was not prepared to cope with the possibility that he could be wasting his time.

The problem was that he was slowly wasting away. His hunger strike was weakening him to the point where he was having trouble moving at all. He was only drinking water so he could remain hydrated, but he felt as if the starvation was beginning to rob his brain of the ability to think coherent thoughts.

He realized that he was on the floor. That struck him as extremely strange, because he didn’t remember sitting down.

“Awesome,” he whispered. “Awesome, please . . . please come to me. I have been asking you to come to me for so long that I have lost track of how long I’ve been here. I know that you put the Cwan family in charge. I know that. But the baby that is now here . . . he is not truly Thallonian. The Cwan family has been corrupted by the intervention of humanity. This child cannot grow up to rule us. He must be destroyed. He and his mother. And that . . . that demigod who has come with them. You and you alone can defeat them. You and you alone can restore the heritage of New Thallon to the grand traditions of our people. You alone can—”

“Oh, for crying out loud, will you just stop?”

The voice startled Han so thoroughly that his words choked in his throat. His head snapped around as he tried to see from where the voice had come.

There was someone standing on the alter that was dedicated to the Awesome.

Han was utterly confused.

It was not a Thallonian. It was a human being. Or at least it appeared to be a human being. He had a head of black hair and a look of total impatience on his face.

“Seriously. Please. Just stop. You’re becoming so incredibly tiresome,” said the human. “On and on with your begging and pleading. Don’t you have any shred of pride?”

“Who are you?” Han managed to say. He leaned on a pew and pulled himself to standing, still not understanding what was happening.

“You ask me that?” said the human. “After all these days of begging for me to show up, you have to ask?”

“You’re . . .” He gulped deeply. “You are the Awesome?”

The human sighed. “That’s what your predecessors tended to call me, yes. Personally, I always thought that to be a rather pretentious name, but it seemed to bring you satisfaction. So I let it go. At least until now.”

“But . . . you are not Thallonian.”

“No, I’m not. I’m your god. Why would you think that I’m Thallonian?”

“You don’t even look Thallonian.”

“I look however I choose to look. This is the body that I’ve been using for a while, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. I don’t feel the need to change it just to satisfy you.”

Han’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do I know that you are telling the truth? This . . . this could all be some sort of fabrication.”

“Really?” The Awesome cocked an eyebrow. “I appeared out of nowhere and that wasn’t sufficient? I have to prove myself to you?”

“That . . . that isn’t really necessary . . .”

The human stepped forward and put a hand on Han’s shoulder. “This is a popular one. I did it once before.”

And suddenly Han was in deep space.

He let out an alarmed shriek and thrashed around, not understanding what had just happened. The world of New Thallon was far below him, turning peacefully in its orbit.

Han was still alive. He had no idea how that could possibly be the case, but he was.

“Help!” he screamed into the nothingness. “Help me!”

“How should I help you?” It was the human, who was clearly far, far more than a simple human. “Would you suggest that I create an air bubble around you so that you can survive in the depths of space? Oh, wait . . . I’ve already done that. Is there any further proof that you require?”

“No, no! I believe you! Bring me down! Please!”

“Are you sure? I could do more if there is some degree of doubt. I could transport you into the sun. I imagine that spending a year in the sun’s core would relieve you of any doubt you might have.”

“I have no doubt! You are the Awesome! You are a god! You are our god! I believe you! I worship you!”

“Very well,” said the human, and just that quickly, Han found himself back in the temple.

He collapsed to the floor, resisting the impulse to kiss it in relief. The human, who had now proven beyond any question that He was the Awesome, was standing nearby with His arms folded across his chest.

“So tell me,” said the Awesome. “Now that I’ve actually come here, what do you want me to do?”

Han didn’t quite understand why the Awesome was asking. “Don’t you know? I’ve been saying all this time.”

“I know, but I want you to say it here and now, to my face.”

“All right. All right.” Han steadied himself and focused on what the Awesome wanted from him. “The son of Si Cwan has returned to New Thallon.”

“Yes. You brought him here. In fact, you forced him to come here. For the purpose of having him live here and eventually take over as your ruler.”

“That was the stated purpose.”

“And now you want him gone. Imagine my surprise at the sudden change in your opinion.”

“I haven’t changed my opinion,” said Shintar Han. “My determination was always to have him die. As long as he lives, there are those who continue to hope and pray that he will take over the leadership of this world. That does me no good. People will never accept my leadership of New Thallon if they believe that Si Cwan’s son will eventually take over.”

“So you want to put an end to that belief.”

“I do,” said Han. “I want him to die, and I want everyone to know that he is dead. Once that happens, they will have no choice but to turn their loyalties to me.”

“That is a very exciting plan, my dear prime minister,” said the Awesome. “And yet I notice that you have failed to do so.”

“He has a guardian. A demigod of some sort who goes by the name of Mark McHenry. He has thwarted my earlier attempts to slay the boy. I need McHenry disposed of. Him, the boy, and the boy’s mother.”

“And you want me to do this?”

“Yes,” Han said, his head bobbing up and down. “I absolutely do.”

“Very well. I’ll do it. It sounds like fun.”

“Thank you, Awesome.”

The Awesome sighed. “Again, please don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you?”

“Q.”

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