by Peter David
“I would imagine,” said Robin. “I mean, was Nechayev really an alien being in a body that was fashioned for her by the D’myurj? Was she an actual D’myurj wearing a… a meat suit? How long has she been that way? Always? Or was she switched out and there’s a real Admiral Nechayev being held prisoner somewhere, or maybe even dead? And are there others like her, and if so, can we figure out who?”
“All excellent questions,” said Calhoun, “and yet, oddly enough, the only one I give a damn about is whether she’s going to be all right.”
“I don’t think that’s odd at all.”
“We’ve got the Spectre stowed down in the shuttlebay. I hope she’s able to fly her again.” He shook his head and thumped his fist on his thigh. “It was her suggestion, you know. To use the mind meld to extract information from Nechayev while she was off guard. Jellico embraced it immediately, but I resisted it, and she talked me into it. I never should have let her.”
“She’s strong, Captain. She’ll be back. Oh… I think someone’s done.”
Cwansi’s head was slumping, and there was breast milk dribbling down his face.
“Speaking of someone being back,” said Calhoun as Robin tended to cleaning up her son and adjusting her clothing, “my understanding is that you’re going to be heading out with the Trident.”
“Yes, that’s right. Captain Mueller has offered me—”
“I know what she’s offered you. Don’t take it. Come work for me instead.”
“What?” Her face flushed with happy surprise. “Captain, I… that’s very flattering. You have an opening in child care as well?”
“Child care is an important function, but that wasn’t what I had in mind for you.”
“What, then?”
“Well… and I’m hoping you won’t reject the notion out of hand… but I was thinking about your old job at ops.”
She looked astounded. “Ops? But—”
“I hope you won’t think I’m being presumptuous when I say that I believe it’s what your mother would have wanted.”
“But… I resigned… and I’m not sure that I want to return to Starfleet. It may not be the life for me anymore.”
“So don’t. You didn’t lose your knowledge or experience when you took off the uniform.”
“Wouldn’t your having a civilian at that post be against regulations?”
“When has that ever stopped me?”
She laughed delightedly at the notion. Then she said, “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. So what’s your answer?”
“I meant…” Then she saw the look in his eyes, and it was the purest definition of not taking “no” for an answer that she had ever seen. “Sure,” she said.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Lefler. Your mother would be proud.”
“I like to think that she—”
“Bridge to captain,” came Burgoyne’s voice.
“This is Calhoun.”
“Captain, I think you’d better get up here. We just received an emergency transmission.”
“From where?”
“Xenex.”
Calhoun felt a chill grip the base of his spine. “How bad?”
“Very.”
“On my way,” he said, and left her quarters at a dead run.
Xenex
i.
Calhoun stood on the streets of the city from which he had taken his last name. He had ordered the security troops and medtechs to spread out, see what they could find, see whom they could help. But the initial sensor sweeps had not been promising.
He had seen so much death in his life, and was the cause of a good deal of it, that he had thought he was inured to it. As it turned out, he was wrong.
The city had been leveled. There was rubble everywhere, the remains of buildings brought crashing to the ground, and gigantic craters blasted by vicious weapons. And the bodies, gods almighty, the bodies, they were everywhere, or at least what was left of them was everywhere. Men, women, children, it had made no difference to them.
There were no bodies of those who had committed the atrocities. But lying at Calhoun’s feet was a single object that spoke volumes: a rounded helmet that could only have come from one of the Brethren. It was dented and carbon scored, and had obviously been left behind as a signature or calling card so that there would be no doubt who had been responsible for this atrocity.
It would have been bad enough had it been limited to the city in which he was standing.
But it wasn’t. It was global. There were still some flickering lives that were fighting to survive around the world and the Excalibur had away teams everywhere they thought might be of help. And other rescue ships were on the way as well to provide whatever aid might still be possible.
Yet to all intents and purposes, Calhoun was standing at ground zero of the genocide of the Xenexian people.
The Brethren had returned in a manner that said: You thought you were succeeding against us? You thought because you found a way to kill us that we were somehow just going to go away? This is how wrong you were. This is what we are capable of. We wiped out your people… in order to prove a point. Come and get us, you bastard, because we are more than ready for you.
“This is my fault,” Calhoun said tonelessly. “This is what he meant… that there would be consequences…”
He heard a footfall. He knew the exact location of all of his people, and this one was near him. He whirled, automatically reaching for his phaser, and then he stopped.
It was Xyon.
His son looked stunned, walking stiff-legged. “What… what happ—?”
Without a word Calhoun went to him and embraced him roughly. “You weren’t here… oh, grozit, you weren’t here. I… was afraid even to think about it…”
“I got a distress call… it was broadband, and it was from Xenex. I couldn’t stay away, I had to… is… is there anyone—?”
“We’re finding out now. We hope to know soon.”
“But… what were you talking about, just now? That it was your fault? How is it…?”
He told him. He told Xyon everything that had happened.
Xyon listened carefully, never speaking a word, taking it all in.
“So… so they sent the Brethren back in order to do this,” Xyon said when Calhoun had concluded, “for no other reason than to punish you?”
It was the hardest single word Calhoun had ever spoken:
“Yes.”
ii.
And at that moment, Xyon knew that it was entirely his fault. Not his father’s. His.
Because he was the one who had told Calhoun about coming to Xenex in the first place. He was the one who had fed him the false information about the soldiers. Except he hadn’t known it was false at the time. But he hadn’t cared. He did it for the money. Someone whom he didn’t know had hired him for a reason that he didn’t understand. Now he realized that if he had simply refused to go along with it… if he hadn’t been blinded by both his greed and his antipathy for his father… then perhaps none of this would have happened. Maybe it would have… but maybe it wouldn’t.
“Xyon,” said Calhoun with sudden urgency, his voice rough, “who gave you the information about the soldiers? You need to tell me.”
“It was a Xenexian.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name. What does it matter? They’re dead! They’re all dead!”
“Xyon, listen to—”
And Xyon drew back a fist and hit his father as hard as he could. Or at least he tried to. Calhoun saw it coming, sidestepped, and slammed him to the ground. Instantly contrite, Calhoun said, “Xyon, I’m sorry… I—”
He reached for him and Xyon pushed his hand aside as he got to his feet.
“This is all your fault!” screamed Xyon. “I’ll get you for this! I swear I will! You’ll pay for it! You’ll pay for what you did to all of them! Lyla, get me the hell out of here!”
And before Calhoun could stop him, his son’s body was env
eloped in transporter beams and whisked away to his orbiting ship.
Mackenzie Calhoun was alone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PETER DAVID is the New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy books, including numerous Star Trek novels, such as Imzadi, A Rock and a Hard Place, Before Dishonor, and the incredibly popular New Frontier series. He is also the author of the bestselling movie novelizations for Spider-Man, Spider-Man 2, Spider-Man 3, The Hulk, Fantastic Four, and Iron Man, and has written dozens of other books, including his acclaimed original fantasy novels Tigerheart, Sir Apropos of Nothing, The Woad to Wuin, Tong Lashing, and Darkness of the Light.
David is also well-known for his comic book work, particularly his award-winning run on The Hulk, and has written for just about every famous comic-book superhero.
He lives in New York with his wife and daughters.