Star Trek: New Frontier®: Blind Man’s Bluff

  He didn’t know what means the Brethren had taken to secure all of it, nor did he particularly care. All that mattered was avoiding it, and that he managed to do with alacrity. The rocks thudded down, bouncing and scattering, and he was able to observe it all from a safe distance. Had he been even a second slower, he would have been at the bottom of the pile. As it was, he watched the stones pile up while displaying no visible reaction. He showed no sense of relief, and there was no agitation in his manner that indicated he was aware just how close he had come to total destruction. For all the change in his demeanor that he presented outwardly, he might well have simply sidestepped a puddle during a rainstorm.

  “You are quite the unflappable opponent, Captain Calhoun.”

  For the time that he had been back on Xenex, thrust into an insane situation, leading his people against an implacable foe, Mackenzie Calhoun had gone back to thinking of himself as M’k’n’zy of Calhoun. But upon hearing the soft, mocking tone behind him—a tone that was cloaked in an all-too-familiar voice—he was reminded that he was, in fact, Captain Mackenzie Calhoun of Starfleet. M’k’n’zy was the warlord he once was, the relentless foe of would-be oppressors. Mackenzie Calhoun was, to M’k’n’zy’s mind, somewhat less formidable.

  He knew, however, that others would disagree.

  “That is true,” Calhoun said evenly. “None have ever managed to flap me.”

  “And further evidence of that presents itself,” said the individual who was standing behind him. The voice was familiar to Calhoun, of course, as was the image of the person who owned it. “Here am I, and by all rights my appearance should be enough to get some sort of rise out of you. Yet there’s nothing.”

  Calhoun sneered at the female who was standing before him. “You show up looking like my wife, and you think that’s going to have some sort of impact on me? That maybe I’ll be fooled? That I’ll cry out, ‘Honey, it’s you!’ and then try and throw my arms around you and be utterly crushed that I’ve been fooled.”

  The being that was wearing the appearance of Elizabeth Shelby shrugged. “It sounds rather unlikely when you put it like that.”

  As she spoke, Calhoun knelt and picked up a piece of rock. He lobbed it straight at her and it passed through her harmlessly. “As I thought,” he said. “You still don’t have the guts to show up in person.”

  “What would be the point of that?”

  “For one thing, it would give me the option of beating the living hell out of you.”

  “I don’t see where that benefits me particularly.”

  He shook his head as he stared at her. “It’s amazing. I’ll give you that. The way you manage to look like her.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You shouldn’t be. Seeing it just makes me want to throttle you for daring to impersonate her. The advantage, though,” and he smiled in that wolfish manner he had, “is that it provides me further incentive. If my determination starts to flag, I can focus on the notion that I have to stay alive so that I can find you in person and administer the aforementioned beating.”

  “You seem rather single-minded.”

  “You have no idea,” said Calhoun grimly. “Trust me, the beating will occur. The only variables at this point are when, where, and to what degree. The former two will be left to the vagaries of fate, but the latter is entirely up to you.”

  “Is it?” “Shelby” did not seem especially concerned over the prospect. “Just out of curiosity, what precisely could I do to forestall or, even better, lessen the severity of the promised beating?”

  The harsh sun continued to beat down upon Calhoun. He was annoyed with himself because he was starting to feel the intensity of it, and that had never happened before. He had been away from his home world for too long and had become accustomed to the relatively cushy existence on board starships. You’ve lost your edge, Calhoun, he thought, and then immediately cursed himself for second-guessing. That was not the sort of attitude that was going to benefit anyone, least of all himself.

  He realized that he was allowing the silence to extend, and he had to pay attention to what was going on. “You can put an end to this,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because whether you cooperate or not, it is going to end. My crew is going to realize what you’ve done. They’re going to come back for me, and once they have, we will find you—”

  “And the beating will commence? Allow me,” said the creature posing as Shelby, raising a finger as if she were testing the direction of the nonexistent wind, “to offer an alternative, and far more likely, scenario. Number one: Your ship doesn’t ever discover what’s happened. Number two: They do indeed figure it out—unlikely but, for the sake of argument, I’ll allow it—except they accomplish this far too late to be of any use to you because the Brethren will have disposed of you. And you need to understand that this is the only aspect of the situation that you can have any influence on. Your dying is an inevitability. The only question at issue is, how many of your fellow Xenexians are you going to take with you?”

  Calhoun gave no outward indication of the rage seething within him. “Any one of those brave souls is worth a thousand of you.”

  “I won’t argue your mathematics,” said “Shelby.” “Instead I will simply acknowledge that the Xenexians are fiercely devoted to you and will lay down their lives for you without hesitation. That prompts the question, though, as to what you are willing to do for them. In my opinion, you are unfairly taking advantage of that devotion, leading them on a futile crusade against an enemy they simply cannot hope to defeat. The difference between this occasion and the last time, when you were their beloved warlord, is that the only stake they have in this matter is you. Once you’re dead, the Brethren withdraw and leave the Xenexians to this,” and she looked around distastefully, “wasteland that they call home. There’s no territorial battle, no grand clash of faiths. You die; they leave. So how many of them are going to be slaughtered before your inevitable demise? For that matter, what sort of man subjects his friends and followers to such catastrophic punishment?”

  His face as unreadable as ever, Calhoun said, “The sort who is going to beat the hell out of you.”

  “Shelby” actually chuckled at that. She didn’t have the real Shelby’s laugh, and Calhoun took some cold comfort in that. Then, when she recovered herself, she said, “You’re a circular man, Calhoun. You always wind up right back where you started. I’m not sure whether to admire it or pity it. I’ll probably settle on some combination of the two.”

  Slowly she started to fade out. “End it, Calhoun,” she advised. “Either take your own life or throw yourself into battle with the Brethren in such a way that you cannot possibly win. Accept the destiny that you are facing, and spare countless innocent lives. It’s your choice. I’m done talking to you for now.”

  With that pronouncement, the image of Shelby vanished from sight.

  During the entire encounter, Calhoun had managed to restrain himself. Now, even after the D’myurj had disappeared, Calhoun remained where he was. Only the mild trembling of his clenched fists gave the slightest hint of what was seething within him.

  And when he was sure she was gone—when he was absolutely, positively sure—Mackenzie Calhoun let out an earsplitting, gut-wrenching roar, torn from deep within him that was a combination of fury and humiliation and a frightful admission that, deep down, he knew that the bastard D’myurj was right. And even if (when, dammit, when!) he managed to find his tormentor and dispose of him/her, that wasn’t going to do a thing to bring back any of the brave Xenexians who had been so cruelly taken before their time.

  And for that moment, and only that moment, Mackenzie Calhoun considered doing exactly what the D’myurj had suggested. He could find a high peak and just throw himself off, plummet to the rocks below, and terminate himself in exchange for the lives of the Xenexians who would continue to fight beside him—presuming he could find any who were still breathing at this point—and die on his beha
lf.

  Then the moment passed, and Calhoun had just enough time to wonder who, in the grand scheme of all this, was truly the villain of this piece, before continuing on his path in hopes of hooking up with the straggling remains of his ragtag army.

  U.S.S. Excalibur

  Sometime Earlier

  i.

  Calhoun, relaxing in his quarters in the way he typically did—reading military histories—looked up with interest when Zak Kebron conveyed the news to him. The massive Brikar’s voice rumbled in its usual manner, seeming to fill the entirety of the room even though he was simply speaking over the intraship communications system. The captain listened, and naturally there was no one in the room to see the surprise on his face.

  “Xyon? Are you sure it’s Xyon?”

  “Everything checks out,” Kebron’s voice said. “Ship’s registry, plus a sensor scan matches up with our previous readings of him. It’s his ship and he’s the one inside hailing us, asking for permission to come aboard.”

  Calhoun wasn’t sure what to make of it. The last time his son had taken his leave of them, it had seemed to be a more or less guaranteed thing that he wasn’t going to be seeing his father anytime soon, if ever. Yet now here he was, effectively knocking on the ship’s door.

  “How the hell did he find out where we are?”

  “We’re not exactly in stealth mode, Captain,” Kebron’s voice replied. “Xyon is a rather ingenious young man. I’m sure it was no great trick.”

  “Obviously not.” Calhoun drummed his fingers on the desk in a quick staccato, trying to figure out what it was that he was not considering. “He’s not here without a reason.”

  “Nobody does anything without a reason, Captain.”

  “True enough.”

  The Excalibur was involved in a rather innocuous science survey in the PAS3000 sector. It was, in Calhoun’s opinion, exactly what the crew needed after the recent catastrophes the ship had endured. The sequence of events that had been initiated by the late Doctor Selar had been brutal, and something as simple and straightforward as a science survey was a welcome change of pace for the ship. The main job of a starship was exploration, and it was a relief to engage in something as purely exploratory as this.

  “Captain—?” Kebron prodded him when Calhoun’s silence extended a bit.

  “Tell him to park his ship in the shuttlebay and come up to see me.”

  “Shall I provide him an escort?”

  “I think he knows his way around,” said Calhoun, “and I’m sure he doesn’t present a security risk.”

  “You’re sure? Or you hope?”

  Not for the first time, and very likely not for the last, Calhoun waxed nostalgic for the days when Kebron was little more than a big, surly, monosyllabic pile of rock with arms and legs. His “maturing” into someone who worried incessantly about everyone’s feelings was truly starting to get on Calhoun’s nerves. He’d have thought that installing Kebron as the ship’s counselor would give him an avenue to indulge his empathetic impulses, but apparently it wasn’t sufficient.

  Kebron was still talking. “Captain, you have to ask yourself just how much you want to invest Xyon with the trust of which he is deserving, as opposed to what you want to impart in order to assuage your own concerns about him. When one considers Xyon’s track record and list of dubious involvements, any dispassionate assessment of his reliability would seem to indicate—”

  “Kebron.”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Just let him on the damned ship and stay the hell out of my head.”

  There was a brief pause. Then simply: “Yes, sir.”

  Calhoun’s head slumped back. “Grozit,” he said with a sigh.

  ii.

  Xyon walked with the sort of swagger that only someone who was utterly in control of his own destiny could summon. At least that was how he saw it and, really, wasn’t that the only thing that was important?

  Various crewmen glanced at him in surprise as he passed them. He didn’t blame them. Some of the familiar faces recognized him and doubtless wondered what he was doing there. The unfamiliar ones would have noticed the distinct resemblance he had to the captain. Those same, ruggedly handsome features, except of course it looks better on me, he thought.

  He had business on the Excalibur with his father, certainly, but that wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

  Xyon didn’t want to let Kalinda know that he was coming, or even on the ship. He wanted to have the opportunity to surprise her, and get an honest reaction to his presence. So much had happened between him and the sister of the late Si Cwan that he no longer had any real idea where he stood with her. This, he felt, was his opportunity to find out.

  He desperately wanted to share his life with her. Many was the time he had fantasized about her joining him on his vessel. He would show her the galaxy, and even all the things that he had already seen and experienced would seem new to him because he would be seeing them through her eyes. He had convinced himself that he had no future with her, but he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

  So when the opportunity to return to the Excalibur presented itself, it was one that he could not pass up.

  “Well, well. It’s my son’s namesake.”

  Xyon turned and saw a familiar face. “Burgoyne,” he said. “Good to see you.”

  “You too, Xyon,” said Burgoyne 172. The Hermat extended hir hand and Xyon shook it firmly. “It is, however, a bit unexpected.”

  “I was given permission—”

  “I know that. I’m the first officer. Naturally I’m going to be informed if we have a visitor. Particularly if that visitor is the captain’s son.”

  “It’s nice to know you’re paying attention. By the way,” and his voice became serious, “I’m truly sorry about Selar.”

  “Selar?” Burgoyne gave him a curious look, as if s/he couldn’t quite figure out what Xyon was referring to. “You mean about her death?”

  “Well… sure. Of course.”

  Burgoyne shrugged, a casual gesture that left Xyon dumbfounded. “She did what she felt she had to do in order to save our son. She made her choice and I respect that.”

  “Burgoyne…” He couldn’t begin to fathom Burgy’s attitude. What was he supposed to say? That Selar had died violently after having betrayed the trust of Calhoun and Starfleet because she’d become obsessed with prolonging her son’s life? Certainly Burgoyne knew all that. S/he didn’t require Xyon to tell hir everything. So was Burgoyne in some sort of strange denial? If so, s/he certainly had bigger problems than anything that Xyon could readily address.

  “Yes?” Burgy was simply standing there, waiting for Xyon to continue the question.

  “Nothing,” Xyon said. “It’s nothing. Actually, could you tell me where Kalinda might be? I’m not sure where her quarters are these days. She’s still on the ship, right?”

  “Yeeesss,” said Burgoyne, but the drawn-out way in which s/he said it indicated there was something s/he wasn’t letting on about. “Yes, she is. But, uhm…”

  “But what?”

  Burgoyne appeared to be considering something, and then said, “Typically she’s in Ten-Forward around this time.”

  “Ten-Forward. Got it. Thanks, Burgy.”

  “I think it might be best, though, if—”

  Xyon wasn’t listening. Instead, seconds later, he was on the turbolift and heading straight over to Ten-Forward. He didn’t know what Burgoyne was going on about and, at that moment, didn’t actually care all that much. There was clearly something screwy transpiring in Burgoyne’s head, and whatever it was, it wasn’t any of Xyon’s concern or problem.

  As he approached Ten-Forward, his ears perked up. He heard delighted laughter, and knew instantly that it was Kalinda’s voice. That surprised him somewhat. Kally had many intriguing attributes, but laughing was not something she typically did. She was one of the most serious young women that he had ever encountered, which he supposed made sense since she was capable o
f seeing the dead. It sometimes seemed that she was holding on to her sanity with both hands and a vise-like grip. So when Xyon heard her clearly enjoying herself, it buoyed his heart. Obviously her time on the Excalibur had done her some good. He didn’t pause long enough to wonder whether the time away from him was likewise contributory to her good spirits.

  Like his father, Xyon could move in such a way that he did nothing to draw attention to himself. You would know he was present if you looked right at him, but otherwise he could minimize his movements so that he would remain unnoticed until such time as he decided to pull focus toward him. This was the course he opted for now, sidling into Ten-Forward and being noticed by no one present. The crewmen continued to drink and laugh and interact and, if they’d been asked, every single person present would have sworn that the captain’s son had never set foot in Ten-Forward that evening.

  Xyon, however, saw them. To be specific, he saw two of them, and the rest of the people in the place faded to irrelevance.

  There was Kalinda, seated at a table with Tania Tobias, the ship’s conn officer. Tania had her mouth up near Kalinda’s ear, and she was whispering something to her. Kalinda was responding with peals of laughter, and the happiness in her face made her seem incandescent.

  The closeness of Tania’s face, her body, all of it bespoke an intimacy that was far beyond anything appropriate to two friends being out for the evening and enjoying each other’s presence.

  Then Kalinda leaned forward and pressed her lips against Tania’s.

  That was the moment that Xyon pulled out his disruptor, took aim, and blew Tania’s head off.

  At least, in his own mind, he did.

  He might well have done so, if he’d had the opportunity to follow his gut impulse. He didn’t think of himself as someone given to rages, and certainly not the type that could rack up a body count. Xyon abruptly remembered reading somewhere that the vast majority of murders were crimes of passion, but he never thought such a thing would have a direct application. What woman, he remembered thinking, would ever be worth killing for? What woman couldn’t be casually replaced by another one at some point down the road, or perhaps even with a good hologram in the interim?