The Returned, Part I

  She rose from the chair and picked it up and studied it carefully. She turned it over and looked at the bottom as well. She didn’t see anything on it anywhere. Slowly she put the chair back on the deck and continued to puzzle over it. He had sat there, yes. But his hands . . . had they remained on the chair? She thought they had, yes. But Kalinda’s memory was astoundingly detailed, and so she ran through everything that Xyon had done while he sat there.

  And then she saw it.

  She had thought nothing of it at the time. It had been the most casual of gestures, something that she had caught out of the corner of her eye. Now the movement took on great importance.

  Kalinda walked over to the makeup table. She ran her fingers over the top and then along the bottom.

  Her fingertips ran over a small object underneath the table.

  It took her a few moments to pry it off because it was held on with some manner of adhesive. But then it came loose, and she took it out and stared at it. It was smaller than the nail on her little finger, and it didn’t appear to be doing anything. Yet she could sense a steady pulse beeping out from its innards.

  It was a tracking device of some kind.

  Xyon hadn’t come there to propose to her. He had come there to mark the ship so that it could be detected by outside vessels that were told what frequency it was transmitting on. That was how they had managed to find the Excalibur.

  “Very clever, Xyon,” she said softly. “Very, very clever.”

  She was surprised to realize that she felt sorry for him. At his core, Xyon was a good man. She was certain of it. Booby-trapping the Excalibur so that other vessels could catch it . . . that was not the action of a good man.

  Xyon had erred. He had committed a wrong because he was driven by anger toward his father and wanted to screw things up for him. He had wanted Robin Lefler and Cwansi to be taken by the Thallonians, who were going to do who-knew-what to them. Perhaps Xyon saw the loss of Lefler and her son as a defeat for Calhoun that would further undermine his father’s confidence. Or perhaps he was simply acting like a right bastard, determined to stir up trouble on the ship just for the hell of it.

  “He won’t. This is just a remission in his personality,” said Kalinda thoughtfully. “If he is given the opportunity, he will think better of this and find some way to make up for it. Yes. Yes, I am sure of that. Because at heart he is a good and decent man and, if we provide the chance, he will rise to the occasion. So we just need to provide that chance.”

  Whereupon Kalinda calmly restored the tracking device to where Xyon had attached it. She then left the room and headed for the Ten Forward to have a relaxing beverage.

  iii.

  CALHOUN WAS BECOMING increasingly frustrated. Everyone on the bridge knew it, but no one knew what to do to.

  The only one who didn’t seem the least bit concerned was Soleta. She was seated at the science station. Xy had chosen to get out of her way. She hadn’t had to ask him to; he had simply stepped aside and found things to do on other stations of the bridge. On one level, Calhoun admired her dedication. On another, his rising frustration was beginning to bubble over.

  Finally, just as he started to speak her name with irritation over the inability to discover a planet, Soleta spoke first. “Got it.”

  Calhoun blinked, scarcely able to believe it. He stared at the viewscreen, looking for some sign of a world that they had been searching for. Only the emptiness of space stared back at them. “Got what?” he asked.

  “We’ve been spending all this time looking for a planet,” said Soleta. “That was our mistake. We need to be looking for their vessels.” She wasn’t looking at Calhoun. Instead she was pulling up specs on the science station viewscreen.

  “What vessels? Nothing’s come by,” said Calhoun.

  “They have. They do have space vessels, Captain. We’ve seen them. We’ve encountered them. And, as with all faster-than-light vessels, they leave traces. In this particular case, the traces are distinctive positron fields. By searching out the positron fields of a D’myurj vessel, it will lead us directly to them.”

  Xy was staring at Soleta in admiration. “My God, that’s brilliant.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Soleta with no hint of modesty. “We have the readings of their positron fields in our database. All I have to do is pull them up and then scan the area and seek out a match.”

  “How long will that take?” asked Calhoun.

  “From this point? Approximately three seconds.”

  “You mean . . . ?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got one.”

  There were crows of approval from the rest of the bridge crew. Xy came up behind her and patted her approvingly on the back. She turned and stared at him in confusion, and he quickly pulled his hand away. Then she turned back to Calhoun. “Admittedly, I got lucky. There was no definitive reason to assume that I’d find their trail. On occasion, fortune favors us.”

  “Not all that often, but I’ll take what I can get,” said Calhoun.

  It took Soleta a full minute before she was confident that she had the tracking algorithms nailed down, and then she sent the course through to Tobias. “Ready to go, sir,” Tobias informed Calhoun.

  “Set course, warp three,” said Calhoun.

  The ship headed out, tracking the positron trail.

  New Thallon

  i.

  GILTER TIGARIN WAS not pleased with his latest assignment.

  The assignment was simple: kill Cwansi and his mother while they slept.

  On one level, he had to admit that the assignment appealed to him. He had never liked Robin Lefler, ever. He had thought it disgraceful that Si Cwan had chosen an offworlder to mate with and, even worse, produce an offspring. It was Si Cwan’s responsibility to remain true to the spirit of the Thallonian race and breed pure, not bring in some random human woman and get her pregnant. Every time he had seen Si Cwan with her, it had made his blood boil.

  Still . . .

  Personally, he was not pleased over Si Cwan’s fate. He had deserved better than that as far as Tigarin was concerned, and he had disliked it intensely when Cwan was beheaded. He had even taken pleasure when he had seen Robin Lefler kill her husband’s slayer. So, he did have some limited measure of regard for her.

  And then there was the matter of slaughtering a child.

  Tigarin was not concerned with killing people, but he always anticipated that there would be, or at least could be, a battle involved. He had seen what Lefler was capable of and knew enough to approach her carefully. Even so, a babe in arms would hardly present a threat. He was not accustomed to killing someone or something that was incapable of harming him back.

  The bottom line was that he disliked the idea of killing a child. And he had said that to Prime Minister Han when he had been given the assignment.

  Han had stared at him. “Why would you care, Tigarin? It is a target, no different from any other.”

  “If you truly think that a helpless infant is no different than killing anyone else, then I invite you to do it,” Tigarin countered.

  “It would not be neat for me to do it,” said Han carelessly.

  “Not be neat? What does that even mean? No”—he waved off Han’s response before he could make it—“I will tell you what it means. It means that you are perfectly fine with people dying in order to benefit you, as long as you don’t have to do it. Do you think that I was enthused about dispatching your political opponents?”

  “That was strategy,” said Han.

  “That was not strategy. That was assassination, because you wanted to have no one alive to thwart your endeavors.”

  “And you handled it extremely well,” said Han.

  “I handled it because that was my job. Being an assassin is what I am. Once I was a soldier, but I have found other endeavors to undertake. And I believe you have not given an
y consideration to a simple fact.”

  “That fact would be—?”

  “That I do not have any special loyalty to you,” said Tigarin. “Has it occurred to you that, sooner or later, someone may make me an offer that will exceed what you pay me? Should that day come, you may find yourself in very deep waters.”

  “I am aware of that possibility,” said Han. “And I would hope that, should that day come, you will at least give me the opportunity to make a counteroffer. That is all I ask. It does not seem excessive.”

  Tigarin had to admit to himself that it wasn’t.

  Still . . .

  “Can we at least wait until he is older? Eighteen, perhaps? Trained in combat? So that he might have the ability to protect himself.”

  “Of course we can’t,” said Han in disbelief. “If he is allowed to live to an older age, then the populace will become attached to him. He will become the people’s prince. Don’t you see? He has to die, and the people have to know that he is dead. Yes, granted, he will have the power that a martyr always has. His name may be invoked in rallies and such. Ultimately, though, he will represent the end of the Cwan line.”

  “Not the end. Cwan’s sister still lives.”

  “Kalinda?” He snorted dismissively. “I assure you circumstances could never change to the degree where she would be popular. Plus, let us remember that the ruler is traditionally male, and I very much doubt that the people will be willing to put that aside. Especially for a woman who is not in her right mind. And in the extremely unlikely event that she does become a factor, well, she can be attended to.”

  “How?” asked Tigarin.

  “Her former boyfriend. We can get word to him that we are willing to pay a good deal of money to see her disposed of. I am quite certain he will be amenable to it. That, however, is not your concern. Your assignment is the child. Can you attend to him or not?” He paused and then added, “If it will help, I can double your usual payment for this assignment.”

  “That makes no difference,” said Tigarin, except, in point of fact, it did. Tigarin had his own expenses to deal with and debts that were coming due. So although he intensely disliked the idea of killing a child and its mother, the increase in money would definitely make it at least a bit more palatable. “But I accept your terms.”

  “Good,” said Han, and he leaned forward. “I would advise that you strike in the dead of night. I don’t care how powerful her guardian is; even he has to sleep. Go in full armor, and kill the infant and mother in their slumber. With any luck, you will not even have to face her protector.”

  Tigarin wasn’t thrilled with the way Han kept speaking about the guardian with a sense of dread. “Is there anything I should know about this protector?”

  “He seems to possess some manner of energy power. It can be quite formidable. But your armor should enable you to withstand it should you find yourself in a battle with him.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Tigarin.

  He had spent long hours after that conversation preparing for his assignment. He had toyed with the idea of bringing backup with him, but had dismissed it for two reasons. First, he was sure that he could move far more silently by himself. And second, he really wasn’t interested in having a conversation with equally uncertain friends of his, explaining to them the necessity of killing a helpless child.

  The midnight hour ticked, and then one, and as the clock ticked toward two, that was when Tigarin made his move. He had taken up position outside the small house in which Cwansi and his mother were residing. Her presence was still not generally known to the people of New Thallon. Han had made sure of that, anticipating that it would be a rallying point if the people knew she was here. After her death, then word would be allowed to spread. People would learn of the child’s presence and his passing, they would mourn the loss of Si Cwan’s child for a while, and then they would move on with their lives. Yes, people would cry out to find the man who had performed the evil deed of murdering a child, but naturally that information would never be made public.

  Tigarin’s armor was quite effective. It was very thin but its tensile strength was one hundred percent. It would deflect any blaster fired at him and leave him with only the mildest jolt. It was solid black so that the shadows were superb camouflage for him. It covered him from head to foot.

  He had been watching the house for several hours and had not seen any movement within after eleven. Nevertheless he had allowed a few more hours to pass, just to play it safe. Now with his path open to him, Tigarin emerged from the shadows and sped across the pathway that lay between him and his destination.

  He crossed it easily, encountering no one as he moved. This brought him to the house, and he made his way around to the back. The rear door was locked, but Han had anticipated that and provided Tigarin with a device that was guaranteed to sever the lock connection. Tigarin pulled it out and placed it against the door. The door hummed for a moment and even vibrated slightly, and then it slid open. Tigarin stepped through and glanced around to make certain there was no sign of life.

  Nothing. He listened as closely as he could and was hearing nothing. No movement, no stirring. Perfect. Now all he needed to do was find his targets, dispense with them, and get out.

  He made his way through the food prep area. His path took him through the living room, and there he saw the sleeping body of her protector on the couch. He stared at him in confusion. Her mighty defender, the one whom Han had clearly been nervous about, looked utterly forgettable. Tigarin had expected him to be some huge brute; instead he was average height, average weight, average all around. He started to wonder if Han truly knew who his enemies were.

  He turned away from him and made his way through the rest of the downstairs just to be sure. Nothing. Obviously the baby and mother were on the second floor. This made him slightly nervous because for all he knew the stairs would creak under his weight and someone might be alerted to his presence. But he had no choice.

  Tigarin made his way to the stairs and carefully placed his foot on the bottom one. Nothing. Well, that was a relief. Slowly he made his way up the stairs. He needn’t have concerned himself; the stairs didn’t creak in the least. His approach remained completely stealthy.

  At the top of the stairs, he glanced around and quickly discerned the room that mother and son were sleeping in. He crept toward it, so careful. He was holding his breath so that even his breathing would do nothing to awaken them.

  There, right there ahead of him, was the door to their room. It was entirely possible that the door’s opening when he stepped through would awaken them, so he knew he would have to move quickly.

  He removed his pulser from his hip. The weapon had been specifically developed for him. Such weapons typically had an audible discharge when fired, but not the pulser, no. Its narrowly focused cutting beam of light was completely silent when fired. He would be able to kill them and then vanish into the darkness, leaving her protector to awaken in the morning and discover that he had failed in his job.

  Move quickly. Quickly but efficiently. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, brought the pulser to bear, and then stepped forward. The door slid open, and Tigarin leveled his pulser on the sleeping body of the baby who was lying in a crib a little more than a meter away. His mother was in bed sound asleep.

  The protector was standing in between them.

  Tigarin’s eyes widened in confusion. What the—? This wasn’t possible. The man had been downstairs asleep. How in the gods’ name had he gotten up there ahead of Tigarin? It simply wasn’t possible.

  “I don’t sleep,” said the man, and his hand was already upraised and pointed at Tigarin. A bolt of energy lanced out from his fingers.

  Tigarin lost the gun. He had no choice. The gun was in his hand, and his hand was attached to his arm, and the man had just blasted Tigarin’s arm off his body. The arm fell to the ground with an ugl
y splotching noise. The armor had provided no defense whatsoever.

  The baby, reacting in its sleep, whimpered slightly. Lefler, ever responsive, started to stir.

  The man glanced at her and whispered, “Sleep.” She promptly yawned, rolled over, and drifted back into slumber.

  Tigarin had sunk to his knees, grasping at the place where his arm had previously been. There was no blood pouring from it; the man had cauterized the wound even as he created it.

  The man strode forward and in a surprisingly convivial voice whispered, “Name’s McHenry. Hold on; this can be a little disorienting.”

  And then they vanished.

  ii.

  PRIME MINISTER HAN typically slept very soundly. So he didn’t quite understand why something was prompting him to awaken. He realized belatedly that a hand was shaking his shoulder in the darkness.

  “Lights,” he muttered, and they flared on.

  He saw the hand that was pushing at him. It was attached to an arm, but the arm had been severed from the body to which it had previously been attached. Instead it was being held by McHenry, who was half smiling as he used it to prod Han’s shoulder.

  Han drew in the air to produce a terrified scream, but he wasn’t actually able to provide the noise. That was because his throat had clenched up in absolute, stark terror. Instead he sat up in bed with his eyes wide, any discomfort provided by the sudden light in his room forgotten.

  Tigarin was lying on the floor next to McHenry. He was sobbing, clutching at the shoulder from where his arm had been severed. It was thoroughly unmanly, really, but at that moment Tigarin didn’t seem to care too much about manliness.

  “Hello, Han. Sorry to disturb you,” said McHenry. “I thought it was important to report a crime that I’m sure you’re unaware of. This gentleman here”—he nodded toward Tigarin—“broke into our house and entered Robin’s room with what I have no doubt was the intention of hurting her and the child. If not kill them outright. Me, I have trouble believing that, because I find myself wondering what sort of monster would kill an innocent baby and its sleeping mother. Then again, I guess I don’t have to wonder anymore because there he is. At least most of him. Here’s the rest.” He dropped the arm on the bed. Han curled his legs up so that his feet were clear of it. “I assume,” McHenry continued in an offhand manner, “that you share my rage with such an unjust and cowardly action. I know there’s certainly no way that you could have been aware of this before it happened. I mean”—he laughed as if the notion were preposterous—“it’s not like he works for you or anything, right?”