by Peter David
"Impossible. It's biologic in nature."
"We're not getting a clear sensor reading of what's happening."
"We don't need one," Sedi Cwan said firmly, pointing at the screen. "See for yourself. It's only a matter of moments now before it—"
Then he went silent, as did everyone else.
The Black Mass enveloped the star.
It took several minutes for the light to cease reaching the Thallonian armada, but cease it did. The entire system was plunged into darkness, as black and unknowable as the Black Mass itself.
Si Cwan, in the entirety of his young life, had never known fear. Not really. Not the sort of fear that clutches at one's innards and simply will not let go, no matter what. But that was what he was experiencing now, and it was not a happy sensation.
"Adjust visual," Sedi Cwan said tonelessly.
The picture wavered once more, the technology of the Thallonian vessel making up for the lack of natural light, digitizing and reconfiguring the images so that they could see it again. And what they saw brought them all to stunned silence. One could almost hear the confidence seeping out of them, as if the Black Mass was vampirically draining their fighting souls.
The Black Mass devoured the sun.
It took quite some time, although the longer it feasted, the faster it seemed to go. It was as if it gained strength as it went and consequently ate that much more vigorously. Every so often it would be visibly jolted, something exploding within the sun as if the star were fighting back. Either that or just writhing in its death throes.
And when the Black Mass was finished, it eased itself off the charred husk that had once been a star and re-formed itself into its ship formation… a formation that now dwarfed not only the planet that had been there and the star that had been there, but much of the area in between. The creature, if that's what it was, was thoroughly engorged.
It did not acknowledge the Thallonian fleet, which collectively seemed little more than a speck against it, any more than it had before. Instead it simply angled off, heading back toward the distant Hunger Zone, its migration completed, its appetite sated.
"It's moving at warp speed," Toth said in a voice that might well have belonged to a corpse.
"That is impossible," said Sedi Cwan for what seemed the hundredth time that day. "It has no warp engines or drive, it has no dilithium crystals, it has no … it can't… it…"
And then he stopped talking. Instead he simply walked to his command chair, eased himself down into it… and stared.
Si Cwan had never seen him quite like this. Sedi Cwan seemed… broken. Oh, the regal bearing was still there. The squared shoulders, the determined chin. But there was something in his eyes that had never been there before. A sadness, a sense that he had been… put in his place somehow.
"Sedi… ?" Si Cwan ventured. "Are you all right?"
Sedi Cwan looked at him and seemed to shake off that which hung around him. "I am fine, Si Cwan. Fine. And this incident… was good for us. Excellent, in fact. This has been a good day."
"It has?" Si Cwan could not quite keep the incredulity out of his voice, which was a dangerous and inappropriate tone for him to take. This was, after all, Sedi Cwan, the great and noble Sedi Cwan. To doubt his word was entirely inappropriate, yet Si Cwan was concerned that that was precisely how it had sounded. Quickly seeking to perform damage control, he added, "I did not mean to give offense, Noble One… understand that, I did not…"
"I understand fully, young one. No offense was taken. In saying this was a good day, I have a very specific meaning. We Thallonians… we have believed ourselves to be the greatest force in this sector of space. We… were wrong. Clearly we cannot begin to approach the Black Mass for pure power. We are not even worth its time, nor capable of getting its attention. We have been put in our place. And that is a good thing. It is good to be reminded of one's respective place in the universe, so that one does not become too confident. For overconfidence leads to foolish mistakes, and foolish mistakes lead to disaster."
He rose then, looking more robust, his voice rising in timbre. "Remember this day, all of you. Remember how you feel, right now, in your proud Thallonian heart. Always remember the sense of disgrace and inadequacy that you are experiencing. Keep it close, so that when you face a foe another day—as you inevitably will—you do not automatically assume that victory is going to be granted you. For however powerful you believe yourself to be, there will always be someone or something… that is more so."
There were approving nods from all around the ship, and even Si Cwan felt a measure of pride in the words of his uncle. This had indeed been a humiliating day for not only the Thallonians aboard the ship, but all of the Thallonian Empire. And since it was Sedi Cwan who had commanded the fleet, it would be his disgrace to bear. But he had borne it with style, dignity and the warrior heart that he had been so long known for.
Si Cwan spent much time dwelling on his uncle's words during the voyage home. And when the proud flagship drew within an hour of the Thallonian homeworld, young Si Cwan went to his uncle's quarters to ask him some questions about Thallonian philosophy, and also perhaps what new stratagems might be developed for the next time the Black Mass swarmed. For that next time, surely the might of the Thallonians would triumph. There could be a temporary defeat, certainly, but in the long run, the Thallonians were supreme. That was simply the way it had always been throughout Si Cwan's life, and would continue to be, forever.
He entered his uncle's quarters and stopped, the odd creaking noise being the first hint that something was wrong. The darkness of the room was the second. And then, as Si Cwan's eyes adjusted to the dimness of the chamber, he saw the distinct, bulky shape of Sedi Cwan's body hanging by the neck, swinging ever so gently. The chair upon which he had been standing had been kicked over once he had stepped off it.
There was a note on the floor next to his feet, which were dangling some distance from the floor. Si Cwan crouched next to the note, his senses numb, still unable to process that which his eyes were telling him. He picked it up. His name was written on it. Sedi Cwan's last thoughts were of him, and undoubtedly an explanation was contained therein as to why he had just deprived Si Cwan of his continued wisdom and intelligence.
Si Cwan crumbled the note without reading it, turned on his heel and went to contact someone so that they could cut his uncle down. Since Si Cwan was the ranking noble, despite his youth, and also Sedi Cwan's closest relative, he was asked what he wanted done with Sedi Cwan's body.
His terse answer stunned them. "Blow it out a torpedo tube. It's all he deserves."
The protests began. One look from Si Cwan—formidable, even at that age—silenced the protests. And so Sedi Cwan was ejected into the hostile vacuum. Moments before his body was hurled away into space, Si Cwan shoved the note into his uncle's pocket, still unread. He turned away and never looked back as he walked out of the torpedo room, leaving the crewmen to their job.
Upon learning what Si Cwan had done, his father— Sedi Cwan's brother—publicly congratulated the young noble on his handling of the situation. In private, he beat the boy so soundly that he was unable to move for the better part of a week.
In the entire hideous misadventure, the one thing that Si Cwan kept clinging to was the likelihood—as Sedi Cwan had said—that Rolisa was a largely irrelevant planet that would never have been of much use to anyone.
And the Black Mass returned to the Hunger Zone… there to wait until the hunger called it once more.
NOW
I.
MORGANLEFLER HATED THE COMMON COLD, for it was the one thing that even her immortal immune systems couldn't shrug off. Every terminal disease known to humanity, those meant nothing to her. But the damnable cold that she was currently suffering through was hammering her, and Morgan was not a particularly good sick person, since it happened to her so rarely. She tended to become somewhat fetal, lie about and complain incessantly. When she was sick, she felt as if she were in a deep ho
le that she would be trapped in the rest of her life. And considering the fact that she was—to the best of her knowledge—virtually immortal, the rest of her life tended to seem a very long time.
She could have consulted with Doctor Selar about it, but in many ways, being sick was preferable. Ever since she had reached the final weeks of her pregnancy, Selar—never exactly renowned for her bedside manner—had become more distant, unfeeling and cold than ever before. It was not as if she were incapable of carrying out her duties; she was as capable of diagnosis and treatment as ever. She was just… so damned unpleasant. Her speech pattern had become flat and mechanical—even more mechanical than the computer. It was downright chilling just to be around her. Morgan didn't know whether all Vulcans were like that in the last stages of pregnancy, but if they were, then she pitied Vulcan husbands everywhere.
"No wonder Spock's father married an earth female," she murmured. "Probably went a long way toward saving his sanity." She hated the way her voice sounded. She hated the way her head was pounding. She hated herself.
At least Robin wasn't around to see it. She was busy at the banquet, which was enough to make Morgan insanely jealous. Here she was, flat on her back, and her daughter was organizing a wonderful, semiformal get-together designed to welcome the long lost sister of Si Cwan to the good shipExcalibur. All of the senior officers were going to be there and, frankly, it was going to be a good opportunity for Robin to impress her superior officers with her organizational skill. In a way, it seemed a rather trivial exercise. All the solid duties that Robin carried off in the course of a day should have been more than enough to warrant attention and promotion from the rank of ensign which she currently carried. Yet the simple truth was that people could be impressed by the damnedest things, and Captain Mackenzie Calhoun and Commander Elizabeth Shelby might be just as likely to find her duties as hostess as memorable as anything she did at ops. It didn't make any sense, but people were just funny that way.
Morgan could see the gathering in her mind's eye. There would be Calhoun and Shelby, bantering over brisket or some such preparation. Their attraction for each other was electric, and their knack for short-circuiting that same attraction was just amazing. And there would be Si Cwan, tall, noble and proud, with his young sister, Kalinda, next to him. Morgan had only caught a brief glimpse of her, having contracted her illness right after Kalinda ("Kally" as he called her) had come on board. The girl had looked older than she had originally envisioned her, equivalent to an earth child in her late teens instead of the very young girl that Si Cwan had always described. Morgan reflected that perhaps the way he described her was the way he saw her. She couldn't help but wonder whether that attitude might cause problems down the line.
This new fellow, Xyon, she hadn't seen at all. Supposedly he was the son of Captain Calhoun, but no one seemed to know quite what to make of that. Well, whatever the situation between them was, certainly it could all be worked out. Calhoun was nothing if not innovative when it came to the realm of personal relationships.
The door to the quarters slid open and Morgan, using what little energy she had, half propped herself up in her bed as she called out, "Robin! How did it go … honey…"
The term of endearment died in her throat as she saw the dishevelled condition of her daughter.
The front of Robin's dress uniform was covered in what appeared to be frosting. There was a small bruise on her forehead, and her hair—which had been neatly arrayed in a very becoming 'do—was hanging down around her face. Her expression was carefully stoic.
"It could have gone better," Robin said.
"My God! What happened?!"
Robin said nothing at first. Instead she walked across the room to the closet, from which she withdrew a towel. She used it to start wiping away the frosting from her uniform and the ends of her hair.
"Robin! Tell me what happened!"
"This," Robin said slowly, tapping the frosting which was now covering the towel, "was the welcome aboard cake. It had Xyon and Kalinda's names on it. Apparently, however, the cake also had my name on it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I was the one who wound up wearing a good deal of it, so that's why I said it had my name on it."
"I still don't understand…"
Robin sighed deeply as she peeled off her uniform to toss it into the ship's laundry. "There was some friction."
"Seems to me more like there was total combustion."
"Xyon," continued Robin, as if her mother had not spoken, "is having a bit of difficulty working and playing well with others."
"What others?"
"Captain Calhoun. Oh, and Si Cwan."
"What happened?" asked Morgan.
Robin sagged into a chair as she pulled on a short bathrobe. Her hair was still a mess, and the bruise was getting darker. She ran her fingers sadly through her hair and shook her head as she looked into a mirror and apparently wondered whether she was, in fact, the individual in the reflection. "It started nicely enough," she recounted. "Everyone was standing about, chatting. Everyone except Xyon. He didn't seem especially happy to be there. I went over to him and asked him if something was bothering him. He told me all he really wanted to do was get his ship fully repaired. Apparently his ship sustained some damage in escaping the nebula surrounding Star 7734, and there were some other repairs made to it that were simply stopgap in nature to begin with. His ship really needed an overhaul, and Captain Calhoun was more than happy to offer it since Xyon had been of such help in the entire Kalinda affair."
"So?" prompted Morgan.
"So he was spending the party keeping in a corner off to himself. In retrospect, if he'd just been left there by everyone, allowed to stew in his own juices and maybe be sociable on his own terms, then maybe matters would have turned out differently.
"But no, not our crew. First there's Captain Calhoun, trying to engage the boy in conversation. Now Xyon, he's making it clear to the captain that he's not interested in talking to him. Apparently there was some sort of falling out, or Xyon felt that Calhoun hadn't been much of a family, or something like that. In any event, Xyon was brushing him off. Everyone saw it. It was openly disrespectful. But it was obvious to everyone that the captain didn't want to make a big deal about it. That his attitude was, 'If this is how Xyon feels, I'm not going to fight with him about it. Let him work it out on his own.' Which was pretty sporting of him, if you ask me, considering that the first time they met each other, Xyon hauled off and slugged the captain."
"Yes, I know. Word of that spread rather quickly," Morgan said with a dry sense of irony. "Xyon was fortunate that the captain simply rubbed his chin and turned the other cheek, so to speak. I have no doubt that the captain could put him through a bulkhead if he were inclined to do so."
"Well, he almost had the inclination," said Robin.
"After he brushed off the captain, Xyon started to leave the party."
"Did he have any of the buffet before left?"
Robin stopped talking and stared at her. "The what?"
"The buffet."
"Mother, who cares?"
"I do. You worked very hard to set it up."
"I don't know if he did. I don't care. The point is, he started to leave… and then Kalinda stopped him. She seemed very anxious to talk to him. She sat down with him and soon they were laughing and having a grand time."
"Oh! Well, that's good," said Morgan.
"No, that was bad," Robin corrected her. "Because apparently Si Cwan decided to become overprotective of her. So he rather politely asked Xyon to stop monopolizing her time."
"Oh. That's bad."
"No, that was good," said Robin. "Because at least he was polite about it. He was nothing but civil to Xyon."
"Oh. So that's good."
"No, that was bad, because Xyon took offense anyway. I believe he said, 'After everything I've been through to save your sister, I can't believe that you would try to prevent me from having some private time with her.' "
"Oooo… that is bad."
"No, that was actually good. Because Captain Calhoun overheard, and stepped in on his son's behalf, telling Si Cwan that Xyon was absolutely right, and Si Cwan should give them some distance."
"Oh! Well, that's good."
"No, that's bad. Because Xyon told the captain that he could handle the situation himself."
"Well, that's…" Morgan stopped, frowned, and then shook her head. "I lost track. Are we up to bad or good?"
"It doesn't matter. The point is that Xyon put his arm around Kalinda and tried to walk out of the room with her. I don't know whether he did it in order to show that no one told him what to do, or in order to annoy Si Cwan, or what. But Si Cwan grabbed him and pulled him away, telling him that no one manhandles a princess of Thallon. And then Xyon shoved Si Cwan, and Si Cwan shoved him back, and the captain got in the middle and there was more shouting…" She shook her head in disbelief. "It's hard to understand how it spiralled out of control, that quickly. One minute I was standing there chatting with Shelby about something perfectly innocuous, and the next thing I know, someone is slamming into me—"
"You were attacked!" Morgan's voice bordered on outrage.
"Not exactly. More like, I got hit on the rebound. And I fell into the cake. And there was more shouting, and anger, and security showed up as Lieutenant Kebron restored order pretty quick, but they needed a cleanup crew and…" She put her face in her hands. "God, what a mess."
"Robin, it wasn't your fault…"
"And if everything had gone swimmingly, Mother, that would have been something I'd get the credit for, right? So when it turns into a debacle, as this did, who are they going to blame?"
"You're being much too hard on yourself." She coughed several times to try and clear out her lungs.
"Maybe I deserve it. I mean, look at the way things are going, Mother. Maybe fate is trying to tell me something."