Gods Above

by Peter David

  “No. She didn’t,” Robin said with certainty. There was an almost demented gleam in her eye. “She most definitely didn’t. She wouldn’t make it that easy on me.” Her voice began to rise. “Noooo, she always comes back. Always. That’s how she operates. I used to think she loved me, but now I know. I know beyond any doubt: She’s trying to drive me insane!”

  Calhoun was in front of her then, gripping her firmly by the shoulders. “If that’s the case, it appears she’s succeeding,” he said grimly. “Robin, when was the last time you had any sleep?”

  “Sleep is for lesser mortals, sir,” she told him, her eyes looking glazed.

  “Lieutenant.” Calhoun cast a glance over to Soleta. “Be so kind as to escort Lieutenant Lefler to her quarters and make damned sure she doesn’t emerge until she’s had at least twenty-four hours’ sleep. We’re in orbit around a starbase; I doubt there’ll be a matter of such urgency that we can’t survive without Robin Lefler for a while.”

  “Captain,” said Robin, “that won’t be necessary.”

  “Your opinion is noted and logged. Soleta…”

  “I’m not going!” Robin said with raised voice.

  “Lieutenant,” said Calhoun, and there was no trace of humor in his tone, “I did not issue a request just now. You cooperate with Lieutenant Soleta, or I will have Mr. Kebron come down here, knock you cold, and carry you bodily to your room. Not only will he do as ordered without question, but he’ll probably welcome it as a means of breaking up his day. It’s your call, Lieutenant.”

  Robin looked as if she was about to make some sort of reply, and then wisely thought better of it. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she squared her shoulders, pivoted on her heel, and walked out of the holodeck with Soleta at her side.

  As soon as she was gone, Calhoun called softly, “Morgan? If you can hear me…return now.”

  Nothing. No response, either out loud or in the form of Morgan shimmering into existence. There was just the silence of the holodeck and an uncomfortable cleared throat from Burgoyne.

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Calhoun couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “Just when you think this business can’t get any stranger, eh, Burgy?”

  “Captain,” replied Burgoyne, “I’m a multisexual being who is mated with a Vulcan with whom I conceived a child that is aging at an exponential rate. My threshold of strangeness is far, far higher than yours.”

  “So noted,” Calhoun said, glancing around the holodeck and wondering if Morgan was watching the entire exchange.

  ii.

  Soleta had not been able to bring herself to look upon the body of her fallen coworker and longtime associate, Mark McHenry, because—and she hated to admit it to herself—it had simply been too upsetting a prospect.

  It was a frustrating admission for Soleta to make. Despite her half-Romulan heritage (the fact of which she tended to keep to herself), Soleta made every effort to conduct herself with the demeanor and dispassion of a full-blooded Vulcan. In her heart, she knew that she didn’t always succeed, but she certainly tried her best.

  Despite that, she had found herself much more upset over the demise of McHenry than she had anticipated. She looked back at their days in the Academy together and realized with a sort of awe just how remarkably young they had truly been…which was impressive in retrospect considering that, at the time, they had felt very old and grownup. She marveled retroactively at her ignorance, and couldn’t help but wonder how she would feel when she was much older about the way she was at this particular moment in time.

  Presuming she lived to be much older.

  Well, that was it, wasn’t it.

  McHenry was the first person whom Soleta had lost whom she had considered a true contemporary. It wasn’t only the loss of a fellow crewman; it was a stark reminder of her own mortality. And considering that ideally her life span would be far longer than that of a human, the prospect of dying at such a young age was a truly daunting one.

  Even though the situation involving McHenry’s body was of scientific interest, she had nevertheless given it a wide berth. She had told herself there was no reason, really, for her to get involved. It was more a medical proposition than anything, and Dr. Selar had a handle on it. She also knew that Starfleet Medical was endeavoring to get involved, and that Captain Calhoun was insisting that McHenry’s—corpse, or whatever it was—stay right where it was.

  Now, though…now she could ignore it no longer. Because having learned what Moke had claimed to have seen opened a door to possibilities that Soleta wasn’t able to close again.

  What if Moke had been right? What if Artemis really had been there, invisible to the eyes of everyone else in sickbay? Soleta’s mind was racing even as she headed to sickbay. If that was the case, though, why had Moke been able to see her when no one else could? Well, there were several possibilities. Perhaps the fact that he was a child had something to do with it. Or Moke’s particular species, perhaps. He wasn’t human, after all, or Vulcan, or a member of any race currently serving aboard the Excalibur. So perhaps his brain waves had a unique signature of some sort.

  Bottom line, there were all sorts of possibilities. But the possibility that loomed most large for Soleta was the notion that maybe, just maybe, Artemis had indeed been there and speaking to McHenry because he was, in some manner, alive. If that was the case, and Soleta did nothing about it, then she would be abandoning McHenry at a time when he needed her more than ever before.

  She entered sickbay and attracted no notice at all. Selar was busy consulting with a med tech about something or other, and that was fine with Soleta. She strongly suspected that, if she asked Selar’s permission to do what she was intending to, Selar would not only turn her down flat, but ban her from sickbay for anything short of Selar’s head falling off.

  She had no reason to know where McHenry’s body was, and yet she found it with no problem, secluded off at a far end of sickbay. She glanced right and left before stepping into the small chamber, and then looked up at the life readings. Nothing. Straight negatives across the board. He was dead; there was no doubt about it. Not even the most minimal of brain activity to indicate anything other than that her old associate was dead.

  And yet…and yet…

  She stood over him, licking lips that had suddenly gone bone dry. The thought of what she was about to do horrified her to the core, but she could see no other option. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then reached into her own mental center and calmed herself. She slowed her breathing, even her heart, penetrating to the peaceful nucleus of her very being so that she could find the inner strength to do what she needed to.

  Her long fingers fluttered, hesitated. Preparing to send her mind into what might well be a dead brain was the psychic equivalent of plunging one’s unprotected hands into raw sewage. The very notion was repulsive; most schools of teaching of the Vulcan mind-meld absolutely forbade it. It was considered a perversion of a very sacred technique. To engage in it was to taint one’s very katra, perhaps beyond reclamation.

  Soleta took a deep breath, clearing her mind, shoving aside any hesitations. Entering a mind-meld, even a routine one, could be fatal if there were any doubts. And this was certainly anything but routine.

  She slowed her breathing, let her consciousness begin to slip away, malleable, flowing like water, envisioning the mind of her subject as a receptacle into which she could pour her essence. Her initial skittishness evaporated, simply because she didn’t allow for it to exist. Instead, having resolved to do what she felt needed doing, she remembered one of the most important rules of a mind-meld: Confidence. Confidence at all times that one would accomplish what needed to be done. Confidence in one’s sense of self, in one’s ego. Because to lose confidence was to risk being pulled into the mind of the other, and having an exceptionally difficult time finding the way back. Considering the nature of the other in this case, Soleta could not afford to engage in the endeavor with anything other than total c
ommitment and a certainty that she would be able to achieve her goal.

  She eased herself in, at first slightly tentative, like a bather dabbing her feet into a pool of icy water. Then she took a breath, fully committed herself, and eased her mind into

  Nothing, there were nothing there, just black void, just emptiness, he was gone, that’s all, simply gone, and it was madness for her to be there, she knew it, this was an unnatural act she was engaging in, an exercise in necrophilia, there was no point to this at all, Mark McHenry was nowhere to be found, his soul had wandered away, gone to wherever such things went, and this was perverse, this was a sick exercise in, wait, what’s that, just up ahead, she sensed something, something in the blackness that surrounded her, something in the void that seemed to whisper to her and urge her to come forward, deeper, and there was a soft glow from so far away, so very far, far away, and in the times that she had performed a mind-meld before, she had undergone some difficulties and taken on some challenges, but she had never seen a mind so far removed, she had never needed to probe so far into the very essence of another being, this was no mind-meld, this was no blending of minds, no halfway meeting, this was Soleta thrusting the entirety of her essence as far as she possibly could, and for a heartbeat, a heartbeat she could actually hear, she hesitated, and then she shrugged the hesitation away like an old coat and literally/virtually swam through the blackness, envisioning herself as a swimmer, which was a good trick considering she couldn’t swim, and she plunged forward and down, her arms swinging in great arcs, her legs scissoring, and the chill invaded every aspect of her essence, and down further she went, the cold everywhere now, seeping in through her imaginary bones, slowing her imaginary joints, and down further into darkness until she reached the point where she was sure she would never be able to return and still she went, and she heard him, an unimaginable distance, crying out to her, calling her name, seeking succor, and she tried to call back to him but her lungs were paralyzed and might actually have collapsed in her virtual chest, and she reimagined herself, she saw herself as a being of purest light in the darkness, because she was confident in her goal and knew that she represented the forces of light and purity and goodness, and she was not going to leave him behind and she was calling to him, and he was answering…

  …and the deaths were there, the dead Romulans, and it all came spinning back to her, when she had gone to the Romulan homeworld, to carry out the last bidding of the Romulan bastard who was her father, and that last bidding had turned out to be a sinister trick into which she had guilelessly walked, and the result had been an explosion that had killed dozens, maybe hundreds of Romulans, and it was all her fault, and she had run away without taking responsibility, which was certainly consistent as she had hidden the true nature of her heritage from Starfleet, so who was she to pretend she had clean hands, who was she to present herself as some sort of heroine coming to save the day, and all the fears and uncertainties hammered into her, pounding her back, and she sensed that they were coming from somewhere else, originating from some source that stood between her and McHenry, and McHenry was crying out to her, begging her not to leave him, and she thrust forward as hard as she could, but for every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction, as science officer she knew that, and this was no exception, for as she tried to lunge forward, to impart a fragment of her own essence to aid McHenry in the dark prison of the soul where he was being kept, the horror of what she had done, the screams of dying Romulans, the searing of their flesh from their bones, the blood, the gore, the suffering and agony, it all came at her in one great black rush and then Soleta’s own screams were mingling with the Romulans’, and it was horrible, just horrible, and she wanted to die, wanted to end herself right there, right then, just drive a psychic knife deep into her own katra and terminate the suffering and the guilt, and the blackness spun around her like an ebony tornado, the whirling both trying to pull her down and push her up, and she felt herself being torn apart, just shredded, just…

  …SOLETA, SOLETA NOW, COME TO ME NOW…

  …and Soleta tumbled backward, her arms waving about helplessly, trying to grab handholds on empty air. She collapsed, and the only thing that prevented her from hitting the floor were the strong arms of Dr. Selar.

  “You are out. You are out. It is over,” Selar kept saying, and Soleta looked around to see the confused and concerned expressions of medical technicians. For a heartbeat she forgot where she was, and then remembered. Sickbay. McHenry.

  “McHenry,” she whispered, and her voice was raspy and constricted. “McHenry…he’s in there. He’s…”

  “Calmly, Lieutenant,” Selar said to her, and then Soleta felt the push of something against her forearm, and the telltale hiss of a spray hypo. “Calm yourself.” Waving off the other technicians, Dr. Selar eased Soleta over toward a diagnostic table and helped her lie down on it. Whatever the drug Selar had pumped into Soleta’s system, it was obviously working, as Soleta’s pounding heart and scrambled mind began to relax and settle into their more normal patterns.

  Selar glanced up at the readings and nodded in mute approval of what she was seeing. “Now then, Lieutenant,” she said, “would you mind telling me what you thought you were doing?”

  “Mind-meld…with McHenry…”

  If Selar felt any revulsion at the concept—a revulsion that would have been as culturally ingrained in her as it would be in Soleta—she covered it with her customary aplomb. “That was ill advised” was all she said.

  “I had to try. Had to see if he was there.”

  Selar pursed her lips slightly, obviously considered a dozen rebukes she could have said, and just as obviously set them all aside. Instead she simply asked, “And was he?”

  “I…believe so.”

  Just as Selar did not permit annoyance to play out on her face, neither did she allow excitement or hope. But there was a brief flash of both of those in her eyes. “Did you communicate with him? Did he provide any guidance?”

  Soleta tried to shake her head, and found it too much effort. Instead she just said, “I…I wasn’t able to. It was as if…something was blocking me. I tried to bring him out. Impart to him some of my own…vitality.”

  Selar raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying? That you endeavored to convey some of your own life essence to him? Do you have any comprehension how dangerous that is?”

  “If I did not before, I do now.”

  “Lieutenant,” Selar said stiffly, “you are not to attempt such a thing again. Not ever. Not in my sickbay. Not on any vessel on which I am CMO. Is that understood?”

  Soleta’s gaze fully focused on Selar for the first time. “You pulled me out. You brushed your mind with mine…and pulled me out.”

  Selar gave the closest equivalent of a shrug in her bodily vocabulary. “You have…extended yourself in the past to me, when I required aid. I have not forgotten that. As a fellow Vulcan, and as ship’s chief doctor, I can do no less. Nevertheless…”

  “I should never do it again.” This time she managed a nod. “I won’t. But…” She sounded close to despondent. “What of McHenry?”

  “What of him? Do you believe your…rash…behavior had any sort of result?”

  And as the full effects of the sedative took hold of Soleta, she closed her eyes and whispered, “I have no idea,” before drifting to sleep.

  iii.

  Mark McHenry stood in the middle of the corridor outside sickbay and stared at his hands, his feet, his body.

  He was there. He was alive. He was whole.

  “All right, Soleta!” he shouted with more joy than he’d ever displayed in his entire life.

  At that moment he heard a cry of “Xyon! Get back here!” And here, around the corner, came Xyon, the young son of Dr. Selar and Commander Burgoyne. He was literally galloping down the hallway on feet and hands, like a small ape. Moke was directly behind him, having agreed to undertake the not inconsiderable responsibility of keeping an eye on the irrepressible half-b
reed child.

  Xyon blew right past McHenry without a second look, but Moke skidded to a halt. His eyes went wide as he stared at McHenry.

  “Moke! I’m back! Everything’s okay!” said McHenry.

  Moke threw himself against the far wall, as if he needed the corridor for back support. He slid slowly along it, easing his way past McHenry while never taking his eyes off him. McHenry stared at him in bewilderment. “Moke? What’s wrong? It’s me, Mark McHen—”

  And with a terrified yelp, Moke dashed off down the hallway in the same direction as Xyon had gone, limping ever so slightly, but otherwise moving with a great deal of speed.

  “—ry,” he finished, not comprehending what could possibly be wrong.

  Then he looked down.

  And saw no shadow.

  Other crewmen were walking casually past him, paying no attention to him. Quickly McHenry stepped into the path of one of them, and they walked right through him without slowing.

  “This can’t be good,” said Mark McHenry.

  “It gets worse,” said a low voice from behind him.

  He turned and saw an elderly, bearded man with one eye standing directly behind him.

  “Much worse,” said the one-eyed man.

  Trident

  i.

  KAT MUELLER STRODE into Captain Shelby’s ready room with her customary confident stride, but her face was a picture of concern. Shelby looked up as Mueller draped herself across the nearest chair and said briskly, “Our attempts to reach Si Cwan on Danter have proven unsuccessful.”

  “Damnation,” muttered Shelby, shaking her head, and tilted back in her chair. “This is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. And I’m someone who witnessed a giant flaming bird hatching out of a planet.”

  “I might agree with you, Captain, if I had the faintest idea of what we were talking about.”

  Shelby winced, chagrined that she had overlooked the obvious. “My apologies, XO. You’re usually so on top of matters, that it literally didn’t occur to me I hadn’t told you the latest intel from Starfleet.” She leaned forward and rested her interlaced hands on the desktop. “While we’ve been out here, looking for signs of the Beings…apparently they’ve been setting up shop on Danter.”