Dark Allies

  "All right," Calhoun nodded. "I can respect that. But I, unlike you, have a choice. In terms of the Prime Directive, I think we're on shaky ground. An argument could probably be made for either side … correct, Commander?"

  Shelby nodded. "I can provide both, if you wish, Captain."

  "That shouldn't be necessary. Hopefully, the Overlord will be able to present the convincing argument."

  "And how," the Overlord inquired, "would I go about doing that?" The edges of his mouth actually seemed to be turning up. Shelby was trying to figure out whether he thought the entire thing amusing somehow.

  "Tell me why I should dedicate the resources of this vessel to saving the Redeemers."

  "I am afraid I do not understand."

  There were glances around the table, as everyone there knew perfectly well where the captain was going with the conversation. "Very well, I'll spell it out for you," said Calhoun.

  "That might be best, yes."

  "As much as you regard yourselves as some sort of religious do-gooders, forcing conversion upon unwilling worlds in order to prepare them for the return of your god, the fact is that most people—including me— regard you as little more than terrorists. So if you desire the aid of theExcalibur, and want to keep your homeworld in one piece, then you are going to have to change your way of life."

  "Are we?" Something flickered in those red eyes that Shelby didn't like.

  "Yes. You will have to cease and desist in your attacks on worlds in the former Thallonian space, now known as Sector 221-G. Those worlds which you have forcibly converted to your religion, you are to leave in peace. You are to withdraw your forces, your high priests, anything that poses a danger to those worlds and their populations, and allow them to go on about their lives in whatever manner they were pursuing before you got your hooks into them."

  "Is that all?"

  Calhoun said sharply, "This is a difficult situation—"

  "I'm sorry, Captain, but I beg to differ with you," the Overlord said, interrupting. His hands were flat on the table, and he was smiling and shaking his head, with the air of someone who knows that someone else simply doesn't understand what should be an easily comprehensible set of circumstances. "This is not difficult at all. We of the Redeemers are not going to change our method of operation, our way of life, in the slightest. We perform holy work. We operate in accordance with the desires and writings of Xant. We can no more deviate from our mandated duties than you can change the pattern of your heartbeat."

  "Actually, I can change the pattern of my heartbeat, if I'm of a mind to," said Calhoun, "but that's not the point."

  Prime One spoke up once more. "Our dictates and rules are not quite as fluid as yours, Captain."

  "It's not a matter of fluidity …"

  "Ah, but it is. Your Prime Directive states that you must not interfere with the natural order of societies. Yet that is precisely what you would do with us. We do what our upbringing and teachings mandate that we do, and you would have us abandon those. For what? For self-preservation? Simply to save our lives, we must betray that which we hold most sacred? Not only do you have no familiarity with our way of life, but I begin to wonder if you have any grasp of your own."

  And Shelby heard her own voice say, "Oh, go to hell."

  Slowly all heads turned at the table, focusing on her. Shelby, for her part, couldn't believe she had said it. It was as if someone had told her id to blurt out whatever was on its mind. Because the fact was that the Prime One had a valid point. If they were going to adhere to the Prime Directive, follow the absolute letter of it, then they really should leave the Redeemers to their fate. But if they were willing to bend the Prime Directive to the degree that they were dictating policy to the Redeemers as to how they should live their lives …

  … well, you couldn't have it both ways.

  Her mind racing, she tried to analyze why she had said that which had just popped into her mind, and subsequently her mouth. And for the first time in a long time, Elizabeth Shelby spoke from passion, off the top of her head, rather than the careful and measured consideration that she usually gave to matters of such importance.

  "Look … there are some things in this universe that are right, and some that are wrong," she said, thumping one hand down for "right" and "wrong" to emphasize them. "And going around to different worlds and forcing your views on them, under pain of death … it's just … just wrong." The Overlord was about to reply, but she kept right on going. "And if we save your world, your way of life, and you just go right on doing what you're doing, then every single world that falls prey to your self-styled messianic complexes, why, it's … it's as if we're endorsing what you're doing. Because we will have enabled you to keep on doing it. We'll be aiding and abetting you in doing something that we find unconscionable and that, sir … is also unconscionable. So you see our predicament here."

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Calhoun slowly nodded, smiling. "Well said, Commander. You've summed up my feelings on the matter rather well."

  "So what you are saying, then," the Overlord said thoughtfully, "is that you are lacking personal motivation."

  "We're saying" Xyon cut in, "that you and this Black Mass deserve each other. Why should we give any more of a damn about your fate than you gave about mine? Or Kalinda's?"

  "The young man speaks accurately," said Calhoun. "Out of turn, but accurately. The fate of the Redeemers—to be blunt—is not my concern."

  "Well … I appreciate your candor, Captain," said the Overlord. "Allow me, then, to be candid in turn. Let us discuss the people of Fenner a moment …"

  "Let me guess," Calhoun theorized. "At the point where the Fennerians contacted us, you were already here. You promised them something in exchange for their summoning us."

  "Very good," said the Overlord, and there was that frosty smile again. "To be specific, we promised them that we would never come to their world for the purpose of converting them. To be honest, the leadership of the Fennerians was so frightened of us, that they likely would have promised us their moons and star in exchange for whatever they asked. Odd, isn't it? Some individuals fear knowledge so greatly that they will do anything to remain ignorant."

  "They don't fear knowledge. They fear loss of independence. Loss of themselves, and to be consumed by the 'greatness' that is the Redeemer worldview," said Calhoun.

  "Be that as it may," said the Overlord, "and whatever it is that they may or may not fear … we will keep our word. We have no intention of redeeming them. However, we said nothing about allowing them to live."

  There was another silence in the conference lounge, but there was an air of menace to this one.

  "A high priest," guessed Calhoun.

  "Very good!" said the Overlord, obviously impressed. "As of this moment, one of my High Priests is in hiding on the planet Fenner. At specific intervals, I will contact him and tell him that matters regarding the preservation of our species are proceeding apace. If he does not hear from me, he has orders to slit his own throat. This will, naturally, terminate his life. But if our world comes to an end, he would not want to live beyond us anyway. So predeceasing us is something of a mercy, you see. An honor. Once he takes his life in this violent manner, that will trigger the virus that all High Priests carry within them. Within hours, every one who lives and breathes on the planet Fenner will die."

  "We can evacuate them," Si Cwan began, turning to Calhoun.

  "There are, last I checked, two billion souls on that world," the Overlord said calmly. "I was unaware that your ship had sufficient capacity to accommodate two billion individuals. Nor, I fear, do they have such capacity. In any event, it is pointless. By the time any sort of evacuation plan was under way, one of the check-in times would have passed and the High Priest will have killed himself. Plus, the High Priest is not stupid. An evacuation could not occur without his hearing about it, at which point he is under orders, once again, to end his life. The result will be the same."

  "Are
you telling me that you are effectively holding all the people on that world hostage?" demanded Calhoun. Shelby could see that his scar was darkening red, which was never a good sign.

  "Yes, Captain. That is precisely what I am telling you. And whether you doom those people or not is entirely up to you."

  Now all eyes were upon Calhoun. Aside from the scar standing out against the tan of his skin, his face was completely inscrutable.

  Every word of the Overlord's hung there, like a dark cloud. "The Fennerians are, basically, an innocent race, Captain. They have done nothing to deserve extinction and genocide, I grant you that. But these are desperate times. Since you feel that the fate of the Redeemers is not your concern … then likewise the Fenner should be of no concern, either. In that event … your decision is a simple one … is it not?"

  VI.

  SHE FOUND HIM,as she knew she would, in his ready room, pacing it like a caged animal. She had seen Calhoun in any number of moods, but she had never seen him quite this angry. He was boiling with barely contained fury, and when he turned and she saw the darkness in his eyes, it was the first time that she had an inkling of just what his enemies saw decades ago when he faced them on the surface of Xenex. She thought what it must have been like to see those eyes in a young face, covered with blood splattered on it by previous victims, a sword in his hand and a snarl on his lips.

  Not for the first time, she was glad that Calhoun was on her side.

  "This is Nelkar. It's Nelkar all over again," he said.

  She knew what he was referring to, of course. "No. It's not. It's completely different. The Nelkarites were holding, as hostages, people who wouldn't have been there except that they ignored your advice and went down anyway. So your first instinct then was to abandon them to the difficulties that they had gotten themselves into. But it's not the same here. The Fennerians are innocents, caught in between forces that they've had no part in unleashing on themselves."

  "You're saying I should give in?"

  "You're saying you're not going to?"

  He stopped pacing and leaned against the observation window of the ready room. "This isn't one of those times when I know precisely what I'm going to do, Eppy, and I'm just looking for a rubber stamp. Or even a protest that I shouldn't do something just to spur me on to go ahead and do it. I'm at a loss here."

  "Which is why you want to see me and only me, rather than all your officers."

  He nodded. "That's it exactly. You know me well. Sometimes too well, I think."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing."

  "It obviously means something … but now is hardly the time and place to pursue it."

  "I agree," he said readily. "If I help the Redeemers, then theoretically—presuming that the Overlord has been honest about the threat, and will also keep his word—I am saving the Fennerians. But I'll then be dooming whatever is the next race that the Redeemers attempt to convert. What makes the Fennerians more deserving, the next race less?"

  "What's the alternative, though? Casting a death sentence on two billion people?"

  "I wouldn't be casting it."

  "You wouldn't be stopping it when it was within your power. Doesn't that basically amount to the same thing."

  "Are you saying I should help them?"

  "I'm saying, Mac, that you can make yourself crazy if you consider what could and couldn't happen as an outcome of every decision you make. Yes, it's possible that the Redeemers will then go after some other races. But who's to say that we won't help that other race, and put a stop to the Redeemers at that point?"

  "We can put a stop to the Redeemers at this point," he observed.

  "True. But only at the cost of two billion lives."

  "And the saving of how many billions more?"

  "Mac, I don't pretend to have all the answers here, or evenan answer. What I do know is that the Overlord gave us a very short time in which to make up our minds."

  "Yes, I know. And the notion of knuckling under to the dictates of that undersized—"

  She raised a scolding finger. "Don't let this start playing to your ego, Mac. Don't let it be about that, because if it is, then I guarantee you you'll make the wrong decision, every single time. This has got to be about what's right and what's best, not what assuages your sense of self. How you feel about 'knuckling under' has nothing to do with anything. As difficult as it may be, you have to make a decision based on the merits."

  "The merits aren't very meritorious."

  "I agree. But they're all you've got."

  Calhoun thought about it a long moment. The scar which had been standing out so brightly against his face, indicating his anger, was fading to normal.

  Then he tapped his comm badge. "McHenry. This is the captain."

  "Aye, sir."

  "Set course for the Tulaan star system."

  "We're giving in to them?" inquired McHenry guilelessly.

  "To a degree," Calhoun said, unflappable. "Calhoun out." He turned to Shelby and said quietly, "Inform the Overlord that we will accede to his requests. We will accompany his vessel to the Tulaan system, and from there move on an intercept course with the Black Mass whereupon we will see what we can do. No promises, at least until we have some idea of what it is we're facing."

  "Aye, Captain. And Mac … for what it's worth … I think you're making the only decision you reasonably can."

  "Thank you, Commander. Oh, and Commander …"

  "Yes, Captain?"

  He leaned against his desk and said, with a very serious expression that gave away nothing he had on his mind, "Send Ensign Janos to me, would you? I have a little chore for him."

  Si Cwan wasn't sure what to expect when he swung by Robin Lefler's quarters to see how she was feeling, but he certainly wasn't expecting to be screamed at.

  He rang the chime and he heard Robin's voice from inside. "Comebin," it sounded as if she had said, and so he walked in.

  Robin was lying on the couch in the middle of the room. Her closed eyes were puffy, her head clearly congested, her nose red from the combination of sneezing and blowing. "Didju gedduh med'sin fum sigbay, mudder?" she said in a voice so congested that it was barely recognizable as her own.

  "No, I didn't get any medicine, and I'm afraid I'm not your mother."

  Robin's eyes snapped wide open. They looked impressively bloodshot.

  "Hello, Robin," he said, wincing at her ghastly appearance. "I thought I'd look in on my favorite aide to—"

  That was when she screamed.

  Si Cwan jumped back, startled at the volume and vehemence of the sound that was pouring from her throat. For someone who could barely breathe, she was remarkably vocal. Si Cwan backed toward the door, all the while trying to say something that would stop her from screaming. Something pleasant, something friendly. Either that or he could club her in the side of the head to silence her. With each passing moment, that seemed a better and better option.

  The door hissed open and Morgan Lefler entered hurriedly. She was carrying something that Si Cwan correctly assumed to be some sort of medicine. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  "I just came to see her, I thought, I—"

  "Don't think! Just get out!"

  Robin had, by that point, pulled the blanket over her head, and she was thrashing about, calling "Geddout, geddout, geddout!" while muffled beneath the covers.

  Morgan quickly put down the medicine and took Si Cwan by the elbow. "Come along, Ambassador," she said. She likewise sounded a bit congested, but only a bit. She was far too busy hauling Si Cwan out of the room to care about her voice.

  "What's the matter with her? Why is she acting like this?" demanded Si Cwan as they stood in the corridor. "I was simply looking in on a co-worker, that's all."

  "Perhaps she … never mind."

  He looked down at her. There was a great deal of strength in her, he could tell. But he was nobility, and he felt that he had been ill-used enough in recent days. "Please do not say 'nev
er mind' to me. Tell me what is in your thoughts."

  "I was just going to say," said Morgan after a moment, "that perhaps she cares how you see her. Perhaps she attached a great deal of importance to that."

  "I don't see why. Friends should not concern themselves about such things."

  "I suppose you're right," Morgan told him. There was something in her voice that Si Cwan could not make out. As if she had something else on her mind but she was unable or unwilling to say it.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean you're probably right. I am agreeing with you."

  "Oh. Then …" He frowned. "Why does it feel as if you're not agreeing with me?"

  "Lord Cwan," she sighed, "I have enough trouble explaining my own emotions, and comprehending those of my daughter. Please do not ask me to explain why you feel a certain way."

  "Fair enough," said Si Cwan, sounding quite formal. He bowed slightly and said, "Please convey my sincerest hopes to Robin that she recovers soon."

  "I will. Hopefully, this medicine will get her back on her feet."

  "I share your hope."

  Deciding that he wasn't going to be having much more to do with Robin Lefler that day, Si Cwan headed in the direction of Kalinda's quarters … but stopped as he passed the guest quarters he knew had been assigned to Xyon. Perhaps he had been hasty in his treatment of the young man at that. Not that he would admit it, of course, to anyone. He had a certain status to maintain, after all. But the fact that Xyon was the son of the captain—even an estranged son—certainly required some degree of respect on Si Cwan's part. And he had handled himself rather well against the Overlord during the meeting. Si Cwan had barely been able to contain his anger and loathing for the leader of the Redeemers, and Xyon's flamboyant tweaking of the sensibilities of the Overlord had provided Si Cwan with much inner amusement.

  And he had saved his sister.

  Well, that was the most important thing, wasn't it? As inappropriate as he considered Xyon's obvious interest in Kalinda, there was still the fact that the young man had risked life and limb to protect her, at a time when he barely knew her and had no inkling as to her true nature and status. He had been motivated out of the purity of heroism, apparently. On that basis alone, Si Cwan could, at the very least, be patient with the lad. Perhaps try to connect with him in some manner on an emotional basis. Certainly once he had accomplished that, he could then get Xyon to understand that any sort of romantic involvement with Kalinda was … well, it just wasn't appropriate. That was the simplest way to put it. Inappropriate. Now, granted, it was going to take a bit of a leap of faith on Xyon's part to accept that. He was, in essence, going to have to take Si Cwan's word for it. But if he could get Xyon to respect his status and knowledge of such things, then it might go that much easier.