"And if you stop the Black Mass, they'll survive."
"Right."
Xyon shook his head. "Life isn't fair. Then again… I suppose I've always known that. That's why I go around trying to even the odds wherever I can."
"Now," said Calhoun approvingly, "you're starting to understand." He extended a hand. "Good luck."
After staring at the hand for a moment, Xyon took it and gripped it firmly. "You too, Captain."
Calhoun started to leave, then stopped and said, "Xyon… before you go … could you tell me where your mother is? I… I would like to say hello to her. Try and catch up with her, just…"
"She's dead, father."
"What?"
Xyon looked down. "She's dead. She passed away two years ago. That's why I left. I had nothing to stay there for."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because," and he brought his gaze up level with Calhoun's own, "her last words were, 'Don't tell your father. He'll grieve, and he's had enough grief in his life.' She kept track of you, you know. Kept up with your career, such as it was."
"So why tell me now?"
"Because you deserve to know. And because she deserves to have you grieve for her."
Calhoun sighed heavily. Suddenly he looked a lot older. "You're right. On both counts. Thank you for telling me. And Xyon…"
"If you tell me you're sorry, you can go look for your own crewmen."
"All right. I won't say," and he paused just long enough to give space between the first half of the sentence and the last: "…I'm sorry."
Calhoun walked away then, leaving Xyon alone to prepare for his departure. He ran a final systems check, then left the ship, made a quick stopover at sickbay for a couple of items, and—shortly thereafter, fully cloaked—the good shipLyla departed theExcalibur on a mission that was even more of a longshot than the one Janos had embarked upon earlier.
XI.
IT WAS DIFFICULT TO BELIEVEthat Tulaan V could be any more inhospitable than Tulaan IV was, but indeed that was the case. And that was something, in the midst of a cold desert where wind howled along the plains, that Burgoyne and Selar were quickly discovering firsthand.
When they had first materialized naked and cold on the dark and fearsome surface, the wind cutting through the air had almost been enough to dispose of them right then and there. However, a small package of protective clothing had been left waiting for them. Obviously the Overlord tended to think these things out well ahead of time. The clothes were barely enough to shield them from the initial ravages of the planet's surface, heavy and lined as they were, but the condition of this world was such that there was no way they would be able to survive unless they found shelter, and quickly.
Fortunately, that was immediately attended to, for there was a series of caves nearby. They were not small, and they were not particularly glamorous, but at least they were functional. The only problem was, even though they were a short distance away, Selar seemed unable or unwilling (or both) to get to them. The loose clothes hanging over her bulging body, Selar staggered under the assault of the winds and it was only Burgoyne's determination and stubborn refusal to acknowledge the likelihood that they were dead that kept them going.
"Leave me!" shouted Selar over the shrieking of the wind.
"You don't seriously think I'm going to follow that suggestion!"
"Why should you!? You never listen to me any other time!" Then she said nothing more, simply grunted under the weight of her upper body and the pressure of the wind.
Burgoyne, on the other hand, kept up a steady stream of chatter. For the most part, it was intended as steady encouragement for Selar. In point of fact, all it did was annoy her, which Burgoyne would have known had s/he looked into Selar's eyes. Fortunately, Burgoyne was too busy trying to see, hir eyes narrow slits against the wind, hir free arm in front of hir face as s/he kept them moving forward, always moving forward. That was because s/he was concerned that, if they stopped moving, they wouldn't be able to start again.
Closer and closer still they drew to the caves, and finally they were right there, just a few feet away. And it was at that point that Selar collapsed. The distance didn't matter. She could have been five feet or five hundred feet, she simply couldn't move another step.
And the bothersome thing to Burgoyne was that s/he was beginning to feel a good deal of pain. S/he wasn't sure why. The chill from the pounding wind, that s/he was prepared for, that s/he was capable of withstanding. But this was something else, a general cramping, a feeling of unease that s/he couldn't attribute to anything in particular. But Burgoyne was disciplined when it came to pain management. S/he pushed it aside, focused on what needed to be done, and then put one arm around Selar's back, and the other under her legs. Burgoyne took a deep breath, which in and of itself was dangerous and a problem because it stung hir lungs viciously, and then s/he hoisted Selar into the air. S/he grunted under the formidable weight as s/he staggered the final steps to the nearest cave and practically tumbled in. S/he did not, however, allow Selar to fall. Instead s/he took the brunt of the impact with hir knees, and s/he felt the jolt throughout hir entire body. Hir legs were aflame with agony as s/he allowed Selar to slide out of hir arms and onto the floor.
For all hir pain, the first words out of hir mouth were, "Are you… all right?" S/he still had to speak loudly, for the sound of the wind was slightly diminished but still deafening.
On the floor, Selar started pushing herself back toward the far end of the cave, letting her legs do most of the work. "I am… sufficient," she said through gritted teeth. "Thank you… for helping me…"
"Not a problem."
Panting, Selar looked up and said, "Why do you say… that?" Her breath sounded ragged in her chest. "It is not logical. Obviously it was… a problem…"
"Just trying to be polite," said Burgoyne.
"Burgoyne," Selar said, "we have been transported… against our will… to a hostile planet…where we will very likely die. This is the sort of… situation… that does not truly require social niceties." She paused and stared at Burgoyne, who had an odd expression on hir face. "What is it?"
"Do you think you could call me Burgy. Just once?"
"I am Vulcan. Vulcans do not do diminutives."
"Oh, for crying out loud…"
"Be satisfied that I address you as something other than Lieutenant Command—"
And then she screamed.
And so did Burgoyne.
It was precisely the same cry, at precisely the same time, for precisely the same period. Selar fell back, gasping, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Then she stared at Burgoyne, who was halfway across the cave. When the pain had hit hir, s/he had literally leaped backward as if stabbed. Since s/he was not weighed down, and retained hir catlike reflexes, naturally s/he was far more nimble. S/he was not, however, in any less pain.
Selar fixed hir with a look that seemed to contain cold fury. "That… was not funny."
"What?" Burgoyne's eyes were bleary as s/he looked back at Selar. "Fuh… funny?"
"Imitating… my pain…"
"I didn't imitate anything! I felt it!"
"Burgoyne, if you are attempting some pathetic source of humor…"
"I'm not. I swear." Hir face, hir manner, made it clear that s/he was not kidding. "Whatever hit you just then, I felt it too…"
"Whatever hit me? You mean the labor pain?"
Burgoyne went dead-white. "You're kidding."
Selar stared at hir.
"You're not kidding. Of course you're not kidding. But… but why did I… ?"
"Because we have an empathic link."
"If we have an empathic link, then why are you so nasty to me?"
"Because we have an empathic link!" Selar said with barely contained exasperation. "You are not exactly the sort of individual a Vulcan would choose to have a deep mental and spiritual bond with, Burgoyne! Do you understand? You are loud. You are overdemonstrative. You are flamboyant. You are—"
 
; "The father of your child, and in love with you."
"In love."
"Yes."
"With me."
"Yes."
Selar shook her head. "Burgoyne… to your other attributes… I think it would be best if I added 'insa—' "
She did not manage to get the word "insane" out, for another wave of agony hit her, far worse than the previous. It hit Burgoyne as well. Burgoyne let out a yowl that Selar thought would deafen her.
"There is no pain," she whispered, and stepped out of herself. She brought her mind far, far away from what she was feeling, refused to acknowledge it, shunted it away into a deep part of herself that was so far away from her consciousness, she would never need to feel it. That done, she steadied herself, calmed her breathing, slowed her racing heart. She told herself that she was having trouble maintaining her control and discipline thanks to the circumstances into which she had been thrust, and the distracting and onerous link she had with Burgoyne. But she would not let it overwhelm her. She was Vulcan. She could handle it. "There is no pain," she said again.
"Like hell there isn't!" Burgoyne said through gritted teeth. "All that pain you've been suppressing? Well, I found it for you! It's linked right over to me!" S/he took deep, panting breaths.
As Selar steadied herself, so did Burgoyne's writhing ease. Within moments they were both lying on the floor of the cave, panting like long distance swimmers. Slowly Burgoyne propped hirself up on one elbow. Hir voice hoarse, s/he said, "This is fun. We have to do this more often."
Selar said nothing.
Burgoyne pulled hirself over to Selar and said, "So how long does it take… ? Vulcan labor, I mean. Once the labor pains have begun."
"We Vulcans may be a precise people, but even for us, some things are not an exact or precise science. I do not know how long it will take. I will try to shield you from as much of what I am feeling as possible." She was starting to sound like herself. She found that encouraging. "It may be less and less possible as the labor progresses. These are not ideal conditions. And the increase in intensity of the pains will likely intensify the strength of our link."
"So the more you feel, the more I'll feel."
Selar looked up at Burgoyne with genuine contrition. "I am… sorry, Burgoyne. It is not right that you should be put through this "
"And it's right that you should? You said it yourself: here you were, minding your own business, and suddenly the Vulcan perpetuation drive kicks in and your life is made to stand on end. That doesn't seem particularly fair to me." Buigoyne stood up then, half-hunched over to accommodate the low ceiling of the cave. S/he shoved hir hands under hir arms and, forcing a smile, said, "We don't get to pick and choose what happens to us all the time. Sometimes you just have to deal with what's been given you."
"That is very profound."
"No, it's not."
"You are right. It is not. That was simply me being polite again."
And then the next wave hit her, and however much she thought she had prepared herself for it, it wasn't enough by half. She did everything she could to contain it, to redirect it, to send it to a place where the two of them would be untouched by it. Ultimately, however, she could not defeat all of it, and what she felt, Burgoyne felt.
Burgoyne had never experienced anything like it in hir life. Despite hir reflexes, despite hir grace, s/he hit the ground hard and curled up, clutching hir belly even though there was nothing out of the ordinary in there. S/he kept trying to tell hirself that it was literally all in hir mind, that there was no physical reason for hir to feel the way s/he was feeling. S/he was not remotely successful, and all s/he could do was hang on and try to keep focus until the waves of anguish passed hir by.
S/he lay several feet from Selar, and they fixed each other with looks of sheer exhaustion. And part of that weariness came from the knowledge that their difficulties had only just begun.
"So… let's recap," Burgoyne managed to say. 'Trapped on an alien world… no supplies… just the clothes on our backs… freezing… in labor with both of us feeling it…"
"Is there some… point to this recitation?" inquired Selar.
"I was just figuring… that things couldn't get worse."
In the near distance, there was a roar. It was not the roar of a wind. It was deep and powerful and was coming from the throat of something that sounded rather angry and certainly very hungry.
Selar stared at hir as Burgoyne moaned. ''Tell me, Burgoyne," she inquired just before the next labor pain hit. "Do you ever tire of being right all the time?"
When Shelby walked into the captain's ready room, Calhoun was sitting at his desk, studying his sword. The weapon, which he had kept with him all these years, lay gleaming and polished on the desk top.
"We'll be within range of the Black Mass in ten minutes, Captain," said Shelby. She glanced at the sword. "Planning to challenge it to a duel?"
He picked the sword up, hefted it. ''Tell me: do you think that I should go down to the brig and cut off the Overlord's head?"
"Absolutely," Shelby said immediately. ''Then, if you want, I can organize a soccer game down in the holodeck. We can use the head as the ball."
"You're joking."
"Yes."
"I'm not."
"I know." She paused. "What do you expect me to say, Mac? Great idea, fearless leader. Head right down to the brig and murder, in cold blood, a prisoner."
"A blackmailer, a mass murderer… he tried to kill my son."
"You can't do it, Mac ."
He laid the sword down gently and shook his head in disgust. "What good is being the captain of a ship if you can't rid the galaxy of the occasional monster?"
"That's what we're trying to do with the Black Mass."
"Stop one monster, empower another." He placed the sword back on the wall.
"We do have options, you know," said Shelby. "The Overlord has committed crimes. Crimes in the eyes of the Federation. Once this is done, we can bring him back to Federation space. Have him tried…"
"And risk a fullblown war between the Federation and the Redeemers? You notice, Elizabeth, that we haven't seen much of the Redeemer fleet since this all started?"
"Yes, I had noticed, now that you mention it."
"Why do you think that is?"
She considered it a moment. "They're in hiding somewhere?"
"In hiding. Or lying in wait. Being kept in reserve in the event that they're needed. Who knows how much firepower they've got stashed away. But I can make a guess as to what purpose they intend to put it In fact, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if, presuming we try to leave Thallonian space with the Overlord, we suddenly find ourselves staring down the gun barrel of every ship in the Redeemer fleet. I like a challenge as much as the next man, Eppy…"
"More."
"More than the next man," he admitted "But there are certain odds that even I would prefer not to take on if I can help it. One of the first things I learned as a warlord was that knowing what fights to stay out of was as important as knowing which fights to fight."
"I know how angry you are over the situation, Mac. The simple, hard truth is … sooner or later, the Black Mass would have to be dealt with. By somebody. So it turned out to be sooner, and it turned out to be us. The reasons really shouldn't matter."
'They do matter. To me."
"Meaning what?" she said, her arms folded. "That your pride is hurt?"
"Eppy, I love you."
"So what you're saying…"
Then his last words penetrated, and her eyes widened. "What?"
"You heard me."
"But… but I… it… but…" She was trying to find something to say, and then a way to say it. "What do you mean? Where did that come from?"
"From the heart. I'm sorry, Eppy, but the conversation we were having… it sounded old. We've had variations on it for as long as I've been in command. It was time to try something different."
"Wait… wait…" She shook her head as if trying to shak
e off a dream. "So you're saying you told me you love me… just as some sort of conversational gambit? Or is this something that you're going to wind up apologizing for tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. Eppy, who knows if there's ever going to be tomorrow. Who knows… anything? About anything?"
"I always thought you did, Mac. I've never seen anyone so utterly confident that he knew so many answers to so many questions."
"Eppy…" He was careful to keep a distance from her, as if afraid that he did not trust himself in proximity. "There is no one else on this ship that I feel as close to as I do to you."
"What about XO Mueller?"
The words slipped out before she could think better of it, and the moment they had been voiced, she wished she could have taken them back.
But Calhoun did not seem upset. Instead he actually smiled. "I should have known. How long have you been aware?"
"Long enough. Mac, it's none of my business…forget I asked."
"Mueller is… a fine officer," Calhoun said. "A good woman… a good friend. And we… had another aspect of our relationship. But she isn't you, Eppy. She never could be"
"Mac… you and I, we're too different…"
"That's fortunate. If we were too much alike, we'd probably kill each other."
"And what am I supposed to do?" she demanded. She had no idea how to react. Conflicting emotions were tumbling about wildly in her mind. "How am I supposed to handle this? Dammit, Mac, we had an agreement. An understanding."
"Things change. Even me."
"And what am I supposed to do now?"
"You could," Calhoun suggested, "tell me if you feel the same way. After all we've been through, after all the difficulties we've come through together… do you, Elizabeth Paula Shelby, feel the same way about me that I do about you?"
She didn't know what to say. Her mind was completely frozen. She tried to find the words, tried to sort out the emotions that were at war with each other…
And then the door to the ready room slid open. McHenry was standing in it. "Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but… it's showtime."
"All hands, battle stations," said Calhoun briskly. He was out the door before Shelby could formulate another sentence, or even frame another word. She followed him onto the bridge, unaware of the fact that she would never set foot into the captain's ready room again.