That brought Han up short. He had heard about the annihilation of the Xenexians. Everyone had. It wasn’t possible to obliterate the entirety of a race and not have the news find its way to the farthest reaches of space. But he had not heard of anyone blaming Calhoun for it. “This merits investigation,” he said slowly.
“That was what his questioners felt. That’s why he was brought here.”
“Indi,” Han said, “if he was brought here and you knew he was here, why did you not simply bring him in? Why did you wait until I summoned you in here to inform me?”
“I was enjoying speaking to him. He’s quite charming.”
Han had absolutely no idea how to respond to that, and so chose not to. “Just bring him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
She strode out and moments later Xyon walked in. He had the most annoying smile on his face. He walked to the opposite side of the desk and bowed slightly, as was Thallonian custom. “You are Shintar Han.”
“And you,” said Han, “are the son of someone who is quite unpopular in these circles. Am I correct?”
“Very much so.”
Han reached into the drawer of his desk and extracted a disruptor. He placed it on his desk, keeping his finger curled around the trigger. “Do you have any reason why I should not simply kill you?”
“With that?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t kill me with that.” He actually seemed amused.
At that moment, Han saw nothing in front of him except a smirking irritation. Suddenly he didn’t give a damn why Xyon had shown up or what possible thing he would have to offer. All he cared about was the prospect of bringing grief to Mackenzie Calhoun, and even if the lad said that he despised the man, so what? Calhoun was his father and likely still felt love for the boy. And if that meant that the boy’s death would bring even a moment’s mourning to Calhoun, so much the better.
He pointed his disruptor and fired.
Xyon wasn’t there.
Instead he leaped forward, his hands extended, and he landed on the surface of the desk, momentarily standing on his hands. The blast ripped through the air to his right, missing him clean. Xyon kept moving and his legs descended onto either side of Han’s throat. He clamped his thighs together, cutting off Han’s ability to breathe. The prime minister tried to bring the disruptor around to aim it, but Xyon had already pulled the weapon from his hand and was now aiming it squarely at Han’s face.
The door opened and Indi ran in. She gasped when she saw the insane scene in front of her.
Yet Xyon did not sound the least bit perturbed or even strained. “Hello, Indi. How’s it going?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he continued, “Your supervisor attempted to kill me just now. I could return the favor. However . . .”
He flopped back onto the desk and unwrapped his legs from around Han’s throat. Han coughed several times as the air rushed back into his lungs. Xyon slid off the desk and eased himself into the chair that was opposite Han. He kept the disrupter cradled in his hand. It was aimed at Han. “That was more excitement than I needed or was seeking,” said Xyon. “Now, how about if we chat instead of trying to kill each other.”
“Should I summon the guards?” asked Indi.
“No,” said Han, rubbing at his throat a moment. “No, that . . . should not be necessary. You may go.”
She did so, although she watched Xyon over her shoulder the entire time as she exited.
“I would appreciate your keeping your hands atop the desk,” Xyon said casually. “One can never be too careful.”
“That is true.” He sat back down in his chair and carefully folded his hands. “It seems you have the floor, son of Calhoun.”
“Kindly don’t call me that,” said Xyon. “My relation to him is hardly one of my favorite topics.”
“He is not popular with you, I take it?”
“You take it correctly,” said Xyon. He was keeping his expression neutral.
“Well, for what it is worth, he is not exceptionally popular here, either. Is that why you came here? So that we could discuss his lack of popularity?”
“No. I came here to discuss what you want.”
“And how,” said Han, “would you know what I want?”
“Because I pay attention.”
“To what?”
“To everything. To Federation politics. Thallonian politics. To everything that’s going on everywhere. I’m quite a source of information and, if at some later point you wish to share in that, we can discuss it.”
“Fine,” said Han with a heavy sigh. “Tell me what I want.”
“You want Cwansi, the son of Si Cwan, who is currently residing on the Starship Excalibur.”
Han had had no clue what Xyon was going to say. Once he spoke, though, Han did not immediately respond. Instead he stared at the young Xenexian, maintaining his deadpan expression, trying to give no hint of what was going through his mind. Finally, he said, “Why would I be interested in the son of Si Cwan?”
“Because we both know that Si Cwan’s popularity has only increased since his death. And that child means a lot to the people of this world. Nothing would bring them together like seeing his son growing up here into their eventual ruler. Wouldn’t it be a good position for you to be the one who was overseeing that? Being seen not only as the man who is helping to shape his mind, but genuinely being the man who is doing the shaping?”
“Yes, it would,” admitted Han. “But I feel the need to remind you of what you just said, that the baby is in residence on the Excalibur. I have no access to him, unless you’re about to produce him out of thin air for me.”
“Something like that. You see, he’s going to be coming right through Thallonian space.”
Han stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Excuse me?”
“I said he’s going to be passing through Thallonian space.”
“Impossible. No Starfleet vessels are moving through our space.”
“The Excalibur is going to be doing exactly that.”
Han was shaking his head. “How in the world could you possibly know that?”
“Because it was part of a conversation that they had at Bravo Station.”
“And you were present for that conversation?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Xyon. “I planted a small subcutaneous listening device on one of the individuals who was part of it. It wasn’t all that difficult; she was unconscious when I did so.”
Han was having trouble following what Xyon was telling him. “Why in the world would you do that?”
“Because I was curious about whatever she might have learned about a particular race called the D’myurj. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They were responsible for the death of my race, so anything she might have to say about them would be of great interest to me.”
“Remarkable,” said Han. His genuine admiration for the way Xyon thought was growing. “And what did she say that was of such interest to you?”
“That there is a wormhole that will lead anyone who goes through it straight to the D’myurj homeworld. And my father is going to do exactly that.”
“And how is he going to accomplish that? How does he plan to enter Thallonian space undetected?”
Xyon leaned forward and smiled. “I anticipated that, actually. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to think the way my father does. The woman whom I attached the listening device to has a cloaking device that they are going to connect to the Excalibur. I planted a tracking device on the Excalibur. Don’t worry, it’s quite well hidden; they will never find it. I can provide you the frequency of that tracking device, and the moment they enter your space, you will be fully aware of it. Cloak or no, you will easily be able to find them. And once you do that . . .”
“We can destroy them!” said Han with great enthusiasm.
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Xyon rolled his eyes, not attempting to hide his annoyance. “You’re not much for remembering the plan, are you? No, you don’t destroy the Excalibur. Not immediately. First you convince them to turn the infant over to you. You surround them and inform them that only if they release the baby to you will you let them go.”
“Will that work?” asked Han, genuinely interested in what Xyon had to say.
“Of course it will work. Robin Lefler will not permit the ship and its crew to be destroyed if she can do something to prevent it.”
“And once we have her?”
“Why, then, you can do whatever you wish. Blow Calhoun and the ship out of space if you’re of a mind to. There would be nothing that Robin Lefler could do to prevent it.”
Han tapped the top of his desk thoughtfully. Finally he said, “I must pray on it.”
That was clearly not the response that Xyon was expecting. He tilted his head in curiosity. “I’m sorry? Pray?”
“Thallonians do have gods, son of Calhoun. At times of potential turning points, imminent crises and such, we do turn to them and seek guidance.” He rose from his chair. “Will you remain here?”
“I suspect there are guards outside who would be instructed to have me remain here, so I don’t imagine I have a choice.”
“You are correct,” Han assured him.
ii.
THE CHAPEL FOR the Awesome was only a five-minute walk. Han had always assumed that was not coincidental, that a place of divine worship was an easy walk from the main administrative building. It helped keep matters in perspective in terms of how the government worked and, even more importantly, how life worked.
Han strode into the chapel and nodded to the priest, who was busy lighting candles. The chapel was medium sized, capable of holding up to a thousand people, although at the moment Han and the priest were the only occupants.
The Awesome’s statue was toward the front of the church. Naturally, no one had the slightest idea of what the Awesome looked like. The last time He had appeared to the people was thousands of years ago, and even then the descriptions had conflicted. It was natural for such an event to have its details shrouded in the mysteries of time. Plus, the destruction of Thallon had left many people confused; had the Awesome turned away from His people, allowing their world to be annihilated?
The Awesome did not even have a name, or at least one that everyone could agree upon. “The Awesome” had been the nickname given Him by the ancestors who had met Him, or had claimed to have met Him, and were said to have witnessed His miracles firsthand. Even the nature of the miracles He had performed was subject to discussion and disagreement.
Han didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was guidance.
The prime minister knelt in front of the statue and prayed. Praying was something that he was exceptionally skilled at. He might well have had his doubts about his politicking, and he was certainly not proud of the way that he had quietly arranged for the deaths of everyone who had been running against him. But prayer? He was rock solid on that.
He reached into his heart and poured out his thoughts and worries to the Awesome. The statue itself did not pretend to represent the Awesome’s much-disputed physicality. Instead, it was a carved amorphous mass with no actual shape. It stood about two meters high. It was said that one could measure the quality of one’s soul by what you saw in the shape when staring at it.
Han never saw anything. He had once stared at it for a solid hour and had not come away from it seeing it as anything other than nothing. When asked about it afterward, Han said he had seen clouds when he stared at it, and everyone had nodded and said that was a good interpretation. He had considered it nonsense.
For long minutes he prayed, searching for guidance. He heard no voice responding back to him, but that was perfectly fine. One did not need to hear the voice to imagine its presence.
“Thank you, most Awesome,” he whispered, and then got to his feet and headed out of the chapel.
When he returned to his office, Xyon was still there. Han nodded and then said, “Tell me how this would work.”
Xyon smiled.
Excalibur
i.
SOLETA STEPPED BACK from the shield generators, taking one more measured look at the connectors that had linked her cloaking device to the ship’s main deflector array. Burgoyne and Chief Engineer Craig Mitchell stood on either side of her, silently studying the work. “I’m reasonably sure we’ve got it,” said Mitchell.
Burgoyne turned and looked at him. “Reasonably?”
“Yes, reasonably,” Mitchell affirmed, sounding mildly irritated that Burgoyne had questioned it. “We’re talking about some major adaptations here, Burgy. The cloaking device was created to envelop the Spectre, a fine vessel, but considerably smaller than a starship. We need to make sure we’ve got the energy requirements synched up, because if we don’t, we could blow out the cloaking device and that’ll be that.”
“He’s right,” said Soleta. “I would estimate that the likelihood of successfully making the transfer to be at approximately seventy-three percent.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Burgoyne, who was clearly not thrilled with what s/he was hearing. “Well, there’s no time like the present to test it out.”
“How are we going to be able to be sure that it’s working?” asked Soleta. “There’s no ship’s instrumentation to confirm its efficacy.”
“The simplest and oldest-fashioned way.” Mitchell tapped his badge. “Beth? You in position?”
“I am, sir.”
“Is that Ensign Beth?” asked a slightly surprised Soleta. “Where is she?”
“She’s outside the ship in a shuttlecraft. This test is going to be very simple. If it works, she’ll see the ship vanish. If it doesn’t work, she won’t.”
“That actually makes a good deal of sense,” said Soleta.
“All right,” said Burgoyne, clapping hir hands together briskly. “Let’s get started.”
Mitchell stepped forward to the jury-rigged control panel. “Let’s make some magic,” he said, closed his eyes, and tapped a switch.
There was a brief humming of energy as the cloaking device flared to life. The circuitry around it appeared to be conducting energy from it to the shields, but it was impossible to tell whether it was having the desired effect.
“Holy—!” came a startled exclamation from Mitchell’s combadge.
“Beth, what do you see?” asked Mitchell.
“Nothing. It worked. One moment you were there, and the next you disappeared. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it. Or hadn’t not seen it, I suppose.”
“Run full sensor scans.”
“Already doing it. Not only have I lost visual contact with you, but I have no sensor track of you either. I’m receiving the same readings as if you were not there at all.”
“Stay on station and continue recording. Let’s let it run for a minute or two.”
They allowed it to run for five, just to make sure. They monitored every station in engineering and they were unable to find any sort of blowback or power surge anywhere in the ship. There was no trace of anything, and finally Burgoyne said, “Okay, I’m satisfied. Shut off the cloaking device.”
Soleta did so and a moment later Ensign Beth confirmed that the ship had reappeared. She sounded extremely impressed.
“Burgoyne to Captain Calhoun,” said Burgy, touching hir badge.
“Calhoun here. Go ahead, Burgy.”
“The cloaking shield is a success. We’re waiting for Ensign Beth to dock and then we’re prepared to head toward the wormhole.”
“All right then. Soleta, I want you up here to work out our destination with Tobias and then we’ll head out immediately.”
“Aye, Captain.”
ii.
CALHOUN SAT BACK in his comma
nd chair and looked at Bravo Station, which the ship was orbiting. He found himself wondering what had been going through his mind that he had willingly walked away from the Excalibur. Even as he did, though, he knew the reason why. He hoped he never reached a point in his life where he would feel the need to do so again.
“I think you’d best be heading back to Bravo, Admiral,” he said.
Shelby was standing a few feet away, likewise staring at Bravo. “You know,” she said softly, “sometimes I forget what it was like to be standing on this bridge. To be serving with all these good people.” She smiled affectionately at the crew. “I’m here for a few minutes and all the old feelings come back.”
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. “Are you thinking about giving up Bravo and perhaps coming back to the Excalibur . . . ?”
“Admiral Shelby serving under Captain Calhoun? Not the best use of my rank, don’t you think?”
“Ranks don’t really mean anything.”
“They do to me,” she said. “And I have duties on Bravo that I can’t really ignore. And”—she lowered her voice—“I don’t think you would respect me overmuch if I did.”
She did not bother to point out that Calhoun had done exactly that. She didn’t have to. They were both fully aware of it.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Best get back to Bravo. We’ll be leaving within minutes.”
“Good hunting. Be sure to tell me what happens.”
“You will be the first to know.”
“There’s a thousand people on this ship who will know before I do.”
Without missing a beat he said, “You will be the thousand-and-first to know.”
She nodded and walked into the turbolift. Calhoun smiled as she went.
Minutes later, the Excalibur was heading into Thallonian space.
Bravo Station
SHELBY, IN HER office, looked up as the viewscreen flared to life. Admiral Edward Jellico’s face stared out at her.
“He’s on his way to Sector 221-G, isn’t he,” Jellico said without preamble.
“Yes, sir. He is.”