Martyr

by Peter David

  “Not in the least.”

  “Good, because if you did, I’d start wondering about you. One time I had to step in while he was off-world and perform that function. I was a nervous wreck, but it all turned out okay.”

  “And … did you have a child? I mean, that’s the other thing that kind of threw me, I guess. The thought of dozens of little Mackenzie Calhouns running around.”

  “Yes. A son.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met him.”

  She was visibly startled. “Never?”

  He shook his head. “I had left for the Academy before she gave birth. The one time that I returned, some years later, I learned that she’d moved out of Calhoun. No one knew where. I figured if she’d wanted me to be able to find her, she’d have made it easy for me to do so, so I decided to respect her privacy.”

  “I’m sorry, Mac. That must be very painful for you. You must miss him.”

  “Miss him? Eppy, you can’t miss someone you never even knew. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. I haven’t thought about him in years, actually. Years and years.” He paused. “How many?”

  She looked at him in confusion. “You’re asking me how many years you haven’t thought about him?”

  “No, I’m asking you how many men you were with before me.” He folded his arms expectantly. “It’s a fair question, Eppy, considering the grilling you’ve put me through. How many?”

  “One.” And she hesitated, and then added, “Half.”

  “One half?” He laughed skeptically. “Bottom half, I assume?”

  “It was at a party,” she said in annoyance, “and I was, to put it bluntly, tired of being a virgin, and there was this guy who’d been after me for a while, so I let him because I figured ‘What the hell,’ but he’d only partially, uhm …” She hesitated. “Now I’m trying to be delicate. He had only partially—”

  “Breached your warp core?”

  “Yes, thank you. And then suddenly he …”

  “Fired photon torpedoes?”

  “I was going to say ‘reached critical mass,’ but if you want to mix your metaphors, you’re the captain.”

  “I think you’ve made the point, Eppy.” He smiled. “You know, Eppy, back then, I have to admit that your lack of comfort discussing sex bothered the hell out of me. But now, in a woman your age, I find it somewhat charming.”

  “Why, thank you. So, have you made a decision regarding Doctor Selar yet?”

  “No. But whatever I do decide, understand that I will endeavor to keep the common good of all concerned as my first and foremost consideration. And now, if you’ll excuse me …” He rose from his chair and exited the ready room.

  She stood to follow him, then stopped.

  “A woman my age?” she said slowly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  VI

  THE APPROACHING SHIP was bristling with armament and ready for war.

  It was a sleek, low-slung vessel, small but maneuverable, with foils that clearly indicated it was designed to function equally well in the depths of space or within a planet’s atmosphere. McHenry had been tracking it for some time, and when it began to make its approach, he nodded as if confirming his own concerns. “Yeah, it’s definite, Captain,” he said. “They’re definitely set to intercept us.”

  “How are they running?” he asked.

  Kebron checked his sensor array. “Running weapons hot. They are not, however, targeting us.”

  From the science station, Soleta went over the weapons analysis. “They’re packing phase blasters and torpedoes with nuclear warheads. Their weapons could hurt us, sir.”

  “Any thoughts, Commander?” he addressed Shelby.

  She leaned forward, like a bloodhound on the scent. “They may be suspicious of us. Desirous to ascertain our identity.”

  “Have you managed to raise them yet, Mister Kebron?”

  “Not yet.”

  The turbolift doors slid open and Si Cwan strode out onto the bridge. “Came as fast as I could, Captain.”

  Calhoun gestured towards the opposing vessel. “Recognize them, Cwan?”

  Without hesitation, Si Cwan said briskly, “Zondarian. Definitely.”

  “They’re not responding to our hails. Any thoughts?”

  Si Cwan studied the vessel for a moment. “Turn around.”

  “You mean the ship?” said Calhoun.

  “Well, you could turn around in your chair, but that would hardly alter the situation.”

  A deep voice rumbled from nearby, “Watch it, Cwan.”

  “I think I can handle this, Kebron. Thank you,” Calhoun said. “Why should we turn around, Ambassador?”

  Si Cwan hesitated a moment, as if ready to answer, but then he drew himself up even straighter, towering over Calhoun. “Looming” was perhaps one of Si Cwan’s greatest talents. “If one of your officers gave you advice in a pressure situation, you’d take it on faith first and ask questions later.”

  “Correct,” Calhoun said, arms folded. “What’s your point?”

  “Captain, five hundred thousand kilometers and closing. Still running weapons hot.”

  “Thank you, Mister McHenry.” Calhoun paused, assessing Si Cwan’s demeanor, and then he said, “Bring us about, reverse heading.”

  “Deflectors up, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  Almost as quickly as Calhoun gave an affirmative, Si Cwan said, “No.”

  Calhoun’s violet eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said with emphasis.

  Quickly the Excalibur turned about, and began to head back the way she came.

  “Sir, pursuer is picking up speed! Three hundred thousand kilometers, closing fast, coming in at heading one-two-nine mark nine,” McHenry informed him.

  “Still no targeting from their weapons array. But they are an intercept course.”

  “Evasive maneuvers, Mister McHenry!” ordered Calhoun.

  “Evasive manuevers. Aye, sir!” replied McHenry, and sent the Excalibur howling directly toward the expected point of collision.

  There was a unified shout of alarm from virtually everyone on the bridge, Calhoun’s voice above all as he shouted, “McHenry, what are you doing!?” The alien vessel loomed huge on the screen, looking as if it were about to park itself right on the bridge.

  “Evasive maneuver, sir,” McHenry said calmly. “Three … two … one …”

  The starship passed the point of intersection seconds before the oncoming vessel, and then hurtled away, missing the other ship by barely one hundred meters. Shelby fancied that she could actually hear the roar of the other ship’s engines.

  “… Zero,” finished McHenry. “Evasive maneuver successful, Captain. Orders?”

  “Bring us around behind them. Lock phasers on target, Mister Kebron.”

  “Gladly, sir.”

  “Send them a warning that if they do not stand down, we’re going to blow them halfway to hell.”

  “You are going to needless trouble, Captain,” Si Cwan said. “They were endeavoring to show ‘dominance.’ They do not like to have discourse with any race that they feel inferior to. So they make a great show of bluster, like that Earth animal … a gorilla … pounding on its chest. If you had simply stayed on course, they would have veered off on their own. No evasive maneuvers, as charmingly unorthodox as they were, were necessary.”

  “If that’s the case, Ambassador, I appreciate their desire to deal from perceived strength. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to operate from genuine strength.”

  “We’re getting an incoming hail, Captain.”

  “About bloody time. Put them on visual, Mister Kebron.”

  The screen wavered for only a moment, and then two Zondarians appeared on the screen. They were staring, almost in wonderment. “It is you? Mackenzie Calhoun?”

  He was struck by the odd sheen of their skin. They looked fairly similar to one another, except that one was taller than the other. “Yes. That’s r
ight. Identify yourselves, and explain your attempted attack upon my vessel.”

  “We would never have injured you, Mackenzie Calhoun,” said the shorter one. “We are the Zondarian pilgrimage, come to meet with you.”

  “You have a very odd way of trying to make a positive first impression,” Calhoun informed them. “If you wanted to meet with us, why did you take a combative attitude?”

  “We would have communicated sooner,” said the shorter one, and he glanced in annoyance at the taller one next to him, “but my Eenza associate insisted that he have the honor of having the first communication with you, since it was one of the Eenza who foretold your coming. But it was my belief that I had equal right to the first communication, considering all the hardships my people, the Unglza, have suffered at Eenza hands.”

  “As if the Unglza hands are clean,” snorted the taller one.

  “I told you Mackenzie Calhoun would not be familiar with your convoluted methods of greeting newcomers by way of challenge,” the shorter one said testily. “Attack, dive. Which idiot member of your clan dreamt up such—”

  “Gentlemen,” Calhoun said firmly, “there are certainly more constructive ways to spend time than arguing over who said what. I’m willing to chalk this unfortunate incident off to miscommunication and”—he glanced at Si Cwan—“rather odd greeting rituals. The point is, we’re talking now. You desired to speak with us. Here we are.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I am Killick,” said the shorter one, “and my associate is—”

  “I can introduce myself. I am Ramed,” said the taller. Calhoun noticed that there was another difference between the two of them. Ramed’s eyes were darker, more serious. He had the air of being perpetually disturbed about something. His gaze flickered to Calhoun’s right, and he nodded slightly in acknowledgment. “Lord Si Cwan.”

  “Ramed. We meet again under unusual circumstances,” Si Cwan replied.

  “Odd how things develop, isn’t it?”

  “Odd indeed. To see an Unglza and an Eenza side-by-side.”

  “We have been brought together by common cause,” Killick spoke up. “We humbly petition that you meet with us as soon as possible. We wish to share the joy of this moment with you, so that you all may understand.”

  “Do they have matter transport capability?” Calhoun said softly to Si Cwan.

  Si Cwan shook his head. “Not to your degree of sophistication. They can transport from one construction transmat point to the next, but they do not possess the Federation’s capture-and-receive technology.”

  “Very well.” He turned back to the Zondarians. “We will bring you aboard our vessel and we can discuss the matter more thoroughly.”

  “How will you do that?” inquired Killick.

  “It’s not very involved. Bridge to transporter room,” Calhoun called. “Lock onto the transmission origin and beam the senders aboard. I’ll be right down to greet them.”

  “Affirmative, Captain.”

  A moment later, Killick and Ramed vanished from the screen in a startled dissolve of sparkles. Calhoun nodded approvingly, and then said, “Shelby, Soleta, Si Cwan, Kebron—with me. Mister McHenry, you have the conn. And no evasive maneuvers while we’re gone.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Come, people: Let’s see what our new friends have to say.”

  “You are the Savior.”

  They were in the conference lounge: Calhoun, Soleta, Shelby, Si Cwan, and the Zondarians seated around the table. Kebron had taken up position directly behind the Zondarians, just standing there with his massive arms folded across his chest, his hard-to-see eyes glittering from deep within his face like diamonds with attitude. Clearly he was waiting for evidence of even the slightest false move on the part of the newcomers, and if they provided him with that opening, he would strike quickly and with finality.

  Calhoun was staring at the Zondarians in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Killick, I didn’t quite catch that, or even understand it. I am the what?”

  “The Savior,” repeated Killick, sounding extremely reasonable. “Our Savior. You are He. You are come. Just as was prophesied five hundred years ago.” He looked to Ramed for verification, and Ramed nodded agreeably. “You see?” he said as if that constituted the final, rock-solid proof. “If there is something that even Unglza and Eenza can agree upon, then it must be so.”

  “Far be it from me to dispute the indisputable,” said Calhoun, “but may I ask how just how, precisely, you came to this conclusion? That I am your Savior?”

  “Yes,” Ramed nodded emphatically. “There can be no mistake.”

  “May I ask how you can be so sure?” Shelby inquired.

  “It is in the lore of our greatest prophet, Ontear, and his greatest acolyte, Suti,” Ramed told them, and now it was Killick who was obediently bobbing his head in affirmation. “Ontear predicted your coming.”

  “Was the captain mentioned by name?” asked Soleta.

  “Well… no,” admitted Ramed.

  “Well, then,” Soleta continued, “unless this prophet said something to the effect that you should be on the lookout for a starship captain with a scar who will show up shortly after a giant flaming bird puts in an appearance, I’m afraid I don’t quite see the logic in believing that Captain Calhoun is your anointed one.”

  Killick and Ramed looked at one another, and then Killick sighed. “You’re the Eenza; it’s your right. Go ahead and say it.”

  Ramed slowly stood, and he seemed so consumed with excitement that he could barely keep his legs still. His fingers rested on the edge of the table as if he needed it for support. “‘Look to the stars,’ he intoned, ‘for from there will come the Messiah! The bird of flame will signal His coming! He will bear a scar, and He will be a great leader! And He will unite our planet!”

  “That was written by the great Ontear, on his last day upon our world, five hundred years ago,” Killick informed them.

  As one, the others turned and stared at Soleta. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “A lucky guess,” she said in an offhand manner.

  “It really says all that?” Calhoun asked in disbelief.

  “They would not lie about the predictions of Ontear, Captain,” Si Cwan said. “It is a subject they take most, most seriously. To even joke about such matters is the equivalent of consigning your soul to… well, whatever passes for oblivion in Zondarian theology.”

  “Is that specific enough for you, Captain?” asked Killick.

  “I have to admit, it’s a fairly impressive set of coincidences,” Shelby agreed. “Perhaps too many to be considered ‘mere’ coincidence, although I still don’t rule out a more scientific explanation.”

  “Such as?” inquired Ramed politely.

  “Lieutenant?” Shelby turned and looked hopefully at Soleta.

  Soleta shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind,” she said.

  “Thanks for the help, Lieutenant.”

  “Not a problem, Commander.”

  Calhoun leaned forward, and there seemed to be mild amusement in his eyes. “All right. Just for the sake of argument, let’s say I am your Savior.”

  “Which we are not saying, most emphatically,” Shelby quickly put in. She looked to Calhoun for confirmation of that, and was a bit disconcerted when she didn’t see it.

  “As I said,” he repeated calmly, “just for sake of argument. If that were the case, what would you expect of me?”

  Killick glanced at Ramed, who nodded silently, and then turned back and said, “It is our hope that you would come to Zondar. Your return has long been associated with peace among our people. Were you to come to our world, as a vehicle for peace, we know that they would listen. Both the Eenza and the Unglza are building up arms in preparation for a resurgence of the violence that has dominated our relationship for centuries. But leaders of both groups have agreed to set aside differences for the purpose of sitting at a negotiation table with the Savior Himself. Who, after all, could possibly turn down such an honor?”

&n
bsp; “Who indeed?” Si Cwan affirmed. “Captain, in my opinion, it would be foolish of you to deny your obvious heritage. The beliefs of these good people should be—must be—honored.”

  “You are our Savior,” Ramed said with quiet conviction. “Save us, anointed one. Save us… from ourselves.”

  The Zondarians had returned to their ship, impressed by the power of the Excalibur’s transporter, and Kebron—the possible threat to security now gone—had returned to his post on the bridge. Calhoun was now meeting in privacy with the remaining officers. “It could, of course, be a hoax,” Soleta pointed out. “The prophecies written only recently by those within an inner circle and then ‘discovered’ in order to fulfill recent events.”

  But Si Cwan was emphatically shaking his head. “No,” he said flatly. “I spoke separately with them. These writings go back half a millennium, as they said. There’s no chance of forgery.”

  “You can’t intend to go along with it, Captain,” Shelby said.

  Calhoun was scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Why not?”

  “Why not?” She couldn’t quite believe she had to spell it out. “Captain, you cannot go to these people and present yourself as their… their messiah!”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a clear violation of the Prime Directive! You’re interfering with the development of their society!”

  “With all respect, Commander, I disagree,” Si Cwan replied from across the table. “The captain has not inserted himself into their society. Their society has reached out to encompass him.”

  “Some men seek out greatness,” Calhoun said sagely, “and others have greatness thrust upon them.”

  Shelby kept her voice level, endeavoring to explain that which, to her, seemed crystal clear. “Captain, you do not seem to be regarding this situation with the gravity that it quite clearly demands. To set yourself up as some sort of ruler for these people, even if they demand it—even if the title seems yours by some sort of prophetic right—it’s against everything that the spirit of the Prime Directive stands for.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Commander,” Calhoun said, a bit more sharply than he might have intended to.