by Peter David
Calhoun nodded and slid back behind his desk. “I’ll think about it. Okay, Burgy?”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“See, we were able to have this discussion, and it wasn’t an effort for either of us.”
“Maybe not for you, Captain. For me, it required considerable effort.”
“Well, it was appreciated.”
“By the way,” Burgoyne added, “we received a preliminary report from sickbay on the Dayan that you asked them to dissect.”
“About weaknesses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And—?”
“They don’t have any.”
Calhoun stared at hir. “Nothing?”
“No, sir. No places on their body with nerve clusters. No organs near the surface that could be struck in combat and bring them down. No genitalia that present a reasonable target. They are walking engines of destruction, and aside from sharing our need to breathe, there are no evident vulnerabilities in their physiology.”
“Okay. Well . . . thanks for that.”
Burgoyne nodded and then got up and walked out of the ready room. Calhoun watched as Burgy strode over to Xy’s station and smacked him in the back of the head, right before Calhoun’s view was cut off by the sliding doors.
The captain leaned back in his chair and then turned around and glanced out the window again.
The Dayan ship was in view, streaking along with them.
“Grozit.”
New Thallon
THE NOISE FROM outside their home was Lefler’s first warning that they were no longer alone.
Cwansi was lying on a blanket on the floor, happily making cooing noises and waving his arms around as if he was slapping at invisible flies. It seemed to be a reasonably sunny day out, which was a pleasant change for the typically murky New Thallon day. She went to the window, frowning, uncertain why she was hearing conversation from just outside.
There was what looked to be, from its composition, a family outside. A father, a mother, two children . . . no, three. It was the third one who immediately caught Robin’s attention.
The boy appeared to be around five years old. He was seated in a hover chair, and he wasn’t moving save to blink his eyes periodically. He was sitting with his head tilted to one side, and he wasn’t staring at anything. His eyes were so unfocused that at first Robin thought he might be blind. Then she realized that, no, he wasn’t blind. Instead his gaze was focused inward. It was like he was gazing into himself.
“That’s not right,” she muttered.
“What’s not right?” McHenry was a few feet away, sitting and reading. Now his attention shifted to Robin. “What’s going on?”
“It appears we have visitors.”
He joined her at the window and looked out. “So we do. Should we invite them in?”
“I’m sure they’re not assassins, so of course. Why not?”
McHenry went to the door, and it opened wide. “Hello,” he said. “May we help you?”
The family looked excitedly at one another. “It’s him,” said the father to the oldest of the children, a girl who seemed to be a teenager. “You were right.”
“I told you I saw him.” She was looking at McHenry. “I was walking by here the other day and saw you through the window. And I thought you looked strange. But then you were on the Intervid, and I knew it was you.”
“It was. Care to come in?”
They filed in slowly. The second-oldest child, a young boy, was pushing the one who was in the chair. They looked around as if they had never entered a house before. “This is very nice,” said the mother.
“Thank you. I’m Robin Lefler.” She had picked up Cwansi off the floor and was holding him. Cwansi was staring at the people with mild interest. He was burbling cheerfully. “And this is Cwansi.”
The family seemed to intake its breath simultaneously. The mother began to drop to one knee and the others started to follow suit, but Lefler immediately stopped them. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “He’s just a baby.”
“He is our ruler,” said the husband.
“Not at the moment. At the moment he’s just an infant, and he doesn’t know anything except how to nurse. So please, just . . . sit down. It’s really not necessary to be bowing to him.”
The family seemed uncomfortable with the familiarity, but they wound up taking seats in the chairs and couch that occupied the living room. “Who are you?” Robin finally asked. “And why have you come by?”
“We are the Piro family,” the father said. “My name is Wei, and this is my wife, Shonda. These are our children, my son Tis, and my daughter, Kuna . . .” He paused and then indicated the unmoving child in the chair. “And this is Blak. He is the reason that we’ve come here.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Robin.
“When he was born, he was perfectly normal,” said Shonda. “But then, when he reached two years of age, he contracted a debilitating disease. Once upon a time, he could talk as everyone does. Now his mind is trapped inside of a body that refuses to communicate with his brain.”
“Our child is gone, and yet he is here,” said Wei. “We care for him as best we can, but every day when I look upon him, it just . . . it sickens me to see him this way. Trapped. Unable to speak to any of us. The last straw was his sight. You see how he looks at nothing. This is a fairly recent development. He gazes only inward now; we are not even sure if he is still aware that we are here.”
“It is very sad,” said Robin, “and my heart goes out to you. But I have to admit I’m a bit confused. What do you think that I could possibly do for you? Is there medical care that you wish me to find for you, or—?”
“Not you,” said Wei. His gaze shifted to McHenry. “Him.”
“Him? What do you want Mark to do?”
“Heal him,” Shonda said in such a low voice that it was barely above a whisper.
“Excuse me?” Robin looked from Shonda to McHenry. Mark wasn’t saying a word, but just sat there taking it in. “You want him to heal your son?”
“Yes, please.”
It was difficult for Lefler not to laugh. “Shonda . . . Wei . . . Mark may have many talents, but it’s not as if he’s a god or something. He can’t just lay hands on your son and heal him. Right, Mark?”
McHenry continued to say nothing.
“Mark?”
Slowly McHenry rose from his chair. He walked over to Blak and knelt down next to him. He stared into the face of a boy who did not look back at him. Then, as delicately as he could, he reached up and touched the boy’s face.
“Mark?” Lefler said again.
He shushed her without looking away from Blak. Then he closed his eyes.
Robin couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if there was a soft glow surrounding Mark’s hands. He continued not to speak but instead remained focused on the child.
Long seconds passed, and there was no reaction from the boy.
Then, to Robin’s astonishment, the boy’s gaze turned outward and concentrated on Mark’s face.
“Oh my,” she whispered.
Shonda saw it too and gasped and grabbed on to her husband’s arm. Tis and Kuna were likewise spellbound by what they were witnessing.
Slowly Blak began to raise his head. His attention was now one hundred percent upon McHenry, and Mark remained intent on the child. Lefler saw now that she wasn’t imagining it. The glow from Mark’s hands was greater, and she even thought she heard a faint hum as if power were building up within him.
McHenry’s jaw was set. It was clear that this was an effort for him. His breathing was starting to become labored, and Lefler saw perspiration dribbling down the sides of his face. She wanted to go to him and wipe the sweat away, but instead stayed right where she was. She was afraid to do anything that could interfere with whatever the hell it was that McHenry was in the midst of doing.
Blak suddenly cried out. It wasn’t a shout of pain; it was more of a startled gasp. When he
made a noise, however, everyone else in his family gasped in response, as if they were engaged in a breathless conversation.
McHenry fell backwards onto the floor. He lay there, bathed in sweat, his shirt soaked with stains. Lefler immediately went to him and knelt next to him. “Are you all right?”
He managed a nod.
Blak’s head snapped around. He stared at his family.
“Mother?” he said.
Shonda shrieked and ran to him, embracing him. Wei took a few steps back and clutched his chest, which prompted Lefler to think that perhaps he was having a heart attack. Tis and Kuna looked astounded at first, and then they started to cheer.
“Can he get out of his chair?” Wei managed to say. He had to shout it because his wife was busy shrieking inarticulate cries of joy.
McHenry shook his head. “That will take some time. I managed to reconnect his brain to his body so that he’ll be able to fire up his nervous system. But he hasn’t walked in years, so he’ll need to build up his muscles.”
“Can’t you restore his—” Shonda began to say.
“Shonda!” Wei said sharply. “He has already done more than enough for us!”
“Yes, of course, of course. I . . .” She went to McHenry, who was still on the floor, dropped to the ground next to him, and embraced him with all the energy in her slender body. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“It’s all right,” Mark said. He patted her on the back. “It’s fine.”
“I felt him.” It was Blak, and there was pure astonishment in his small and weak voice. “I felt him in my head, talking to me. I could hear him. I could hear his words in my brain.”
“That’s pretty much right,” said McHenry. “I reached into him and just sort of drew him out. He did a great job. He was very brave.”
“Are you the Awesome?” asked the boy. His voice was trembling.
“I’m not the Awesome, or a god. I’m just . . . well, it’s a little hard to describe. Just take my word for it. My name is Mark, and I’m just happy that I was able to help you.”
“This is incredible,” said Wei. “I can’t wait to tell everyone what you’ve—”
“No,” McHenry said immediately. “You can tell no one.”
“What?” The family exchanged surprised looks. “But why? What you have done here, it is so amazing. Phenomenal,” Wei said. “Everyone on our world should know about it.”
“I do not want nor need that,” McHenry said firmly. “If word gets out about this, we’re going to be mobbed by every Thallonian who thinks that I can fix them.”
“Can’t you?” asked Tis.
“No,” said McHenry. “I’d love to tell you I could, but the fact is that most of my abilities are strictly tied into the mind. I can enter your brain, fix things having to do with your neural system and such. But I don’t need people with broken spines or fractured hips or whatever else coming to me and asking me to heal them. I won’t be able to do it, and all it’s going to do is upset them. So please, I’m begging you: tell no one.”
“But everyone’s gonna see that Blak is better,” Kuna pointed out. “What do we tell them?”
“Tell them,” Lefler told her, “that you managed to find a wonderful doctor and he cured him. Or simply—yes, this is better—just tell people that he came out of it himself. That one day he simply woke up and was able to communicate. Everyone will ascribe it to a miracle, and that will be that. Okay? Can you do this for Mark? I’d think you should be able to, considering what he just did for you.”
“Of course,” said Wei. “You are absolutely correct. I swear to you, we shall tell no one. Right?” he said to his family. Their heads bobbed up and down in unison.
“Are you hungry?” said Lefler. “Thirsty? We have some food.”
“That’s very kind of you, but not necessary,” said Shonda.
But she insisted, and the Piro family, as it turned out, was actually quite happy to take her up on her offer. They were not a rich family, and food wasn’t always readily available, so they were grateful for the meal that Lefler put together for them.
Lefler wasn’t actually sure where the food came from. The cabinets were simply always stocked. She wasn’t all that accustomed to making food, since customarily she just had to go up to a replicator on the ship and request it. It would be produced for her. She suspected that McHenry was behind the supplies, but chose not to ask him. She was still having trouble adjusting to the notion that McHenry, the young and somewhat discombobulated man she’d known for years, had powers that did indeed tread close to godhood.
She knew why it had happened. She knew about the discovery of McHenry’s ancestors that had led him to learn about the depths of power that were his to command. She had found that the best way to handle it was to not ask McHenry about it. That way he could do whatever he needed to do, and she didn’t have to dwell on the fact that McHenry was far surpassing his human roots.
The impromptu dinner passed very well. By the end of it, Lefler felt as if she had actually bonded with the Piro family. The most entertaining of them was actually Blak. He had several years’ worth of thoughts and commentary that he had been unable to express, and he wound up being such a chatterbox that at one point an exasperated Tis leaned over to Lefler and muttered, “Will he ever shut up?” That caused Robin to laugh for nearly a full minute before she could pull herself together.
When they finally left, they reassured Lefler and McHenry that their secret would remain safely with them. “That’s very good to know,” she said. “I’m sure we can count on you to keep it quiet.”
She went to sleep that night feeling extremely light of heart. Lefler knew that McHenry had done the right thing. Blak would now be able to live a full and complete life, and who knew what he would be able to accomplish? Hell, he might grow up and become a medical researcher who was able to figure out the origins of the very disease that had afflicted him and save anyone else from getting it.
Best of all, Cwansi actually slept the night through. Robin Lefler, for what seemed the first time in ages, finally managed to get a good night’s sleep.
She awakened to a cacophony of noise. Cwansi was still sound asleep in his cradle. Fortunately the ruckus outside hadn’t awakened him.
“What the hell—?” she muttered, and stumbled to the window. Her jaw dropped when she looked through it.
There was a mob scene outside.
There had to be over a hundred people, pushing and shoving and arguing for placement. She had never seen a more pathetic assemblage. There were people on crutches, in wheelchairs. There were people who were blind and burned, people missing arms and legs.
“Damn,” she said. She turned and ran for her bedroom door.
McHenry was standing there when it slid open.
“I think they told someone,” he said.
Excalibur
“CAPTAIN,” SAID TOBIAS, “we’re getting a hail from the Dayan ship.”
“Put them on,” said Calhoun.
The screen flickered and then Nyos appeared.
“May I transport myself to you, Captain?” said Nyos. “We do not wish to beam aboard you without your permission.”
“Why is that necessary?” said Calhoun.
“Because we will be arriving shortly, and there are final matters to discuss.”
Calhoun glanced at Burgoyne, who shrugged in response. “All right,” said Calhoun. “We’ll bring you aboard.”
“No need.”
The sounds of the Dayan transporter beam hummed through the bridge, and moments later Nyos was standing there. He had a pleased smile upon his face, which Calhoun, for some reason, found to be a bit disturbing. “Can we go and chat somewhere privately, Captain?”
“Of course. My ready room, right over there.”
Nyos walked toward it, and Calhoun followed him in. The Dayan went straight to the sword that was hanging on the wall. “That is most impressive, this weapon. It is a weapon, is it not?”
“It most de
finitely is. You’ve never seen a sword?”
“I have not. May I?” When Calhoun nodded, Nyos lifted the blade off the wall. He swung it gently back and forth and was clearly pleased at the hissing sound it made as it sliced through the air. “Where did you acquire it?”
“When I was a young man.”
“Have you killed many enemies with it?”
“More than my share,” said Calhoun.
Nyos nodded and replaced the blade on the wall. “I thought I would come here to convey my crew’s concern about you.”
“What concern would that be?”
“They are worried,” said Nyos, “that you do not have sufficient resolve to join us in our battle against the D’myurj.”
Calhoun raised an eyebrow. “And on what do they base that supposition?”
“Your head of security did not kill Cabros. And you seemed upset because I did what your man declined to do.”
“We do not take killing lightly,” said Calhoun, slowly circling the room. “We set store by the lives of individuals.”
“Yes, see, that is the problem,” Nyos said. “My men are worried that your resolve to destroy the D’myurj is not on par with ours.”
“They annihilated my people, as you know,” said Calhoun. “I wouldn’t be worried about that if I were you.”
“What of the rest of your crew? Do they share your resolve? Or is it possible that they will balk when the time comes to do what must be done?”
“My crew will obey my orders.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Calhoun’s combadge beeped. He tapped it. “Calhoun.”
“Captain, Doctor Lochley. I just wanted you to know that the D’myurj came around again briefly. He seemed disoriented, demanded to know where he was, and then passed out again.”
Calhoun closed his eyes in pain. “Great.”
“You wanted to be kept apprised of any change—”
“Yes, later. Calhoun out.”
He broke the connection and turned his gaze to Nyos. The Dayan was simply staring at Calhoun, his face unreadable.
“You have a D’myurj on this vessel,” he said finally.