by Peter David
"I am Ramed," he told her. "You arrive at a propitious moment. It is the third hour of the third day. It is time for the Savior to pass on. Have you come to bear witness?"
Some feet away, Burgoyne had come to a cautious halt. S/he had hir talons extended, and there was a dark and fearsome look in hir eyes. When s/he spoke it was in a low and guttural voice that was barely recognizable as hir own. "Did you . . . do it?' s/he asked.
"Do what?" Ramed seemed only mildly interested.
"Did you hurt Selar?"
"Who is Selar?"
"The Vulcan. The Vulcan doctor." Burgoyne was having trouble focusing on the words; all s/he really wanted to do was leap forward and tear his throat out. But s/he had to be sure.
"Ah, yes. The Vulcan. Not directly, you understand. It was not my hand that inflicted the injuries upon her. However, I did bring into existence the rather devastating creature that attempted to stop you earlier, and that laid waste to your previous rescue attempts. How did you get around that? I must know. Because your friends were so utterly unable to"
Burgoyne had heard enough. S/he crouched and let out a bellow akin to the roar that a lion used when endeavoring to freeze prey in place in preparation for a charge. It shook Ramed to his core. To his credit, he tried not to let it show. "Most impressive," he said. "A pity that you will not be saving the captain, however. That is impossible."
"Why?" Burgoyne managed to get out.
"Because it is written that the captain will be saved by neither man nor woman. And what does that leave?" Ramed said reasonably.
Burgoyne took another step forward, hir fangs bared. "I am a Hermat. I am both man and woman. No individual, as your prediction might indicate, but rather a merging of both. So it would seem to me that I'm not covered by whatever it is that's written."
It took a moment for this to sink in for Ramed, and when it did, a slow burn of uncertainty began to spread through him. Again, however, he tried to cover it up as best he could. "That is mere semantics," he replied. "Trickery. Word games."
"Perhaps. But nonetheless, it's true. Give me the captain."
"No." Ramed gripped his spear more forcefully.
"Give me the captain and perhaps I'll let you live," Burgoyne said. S/he had dropped to all fours once more. S/he padded toward him. It was a most disconcerting thing to see S/he spoke with the barely controlled voice of a humanoid, but hir every move and gesture was evocative of a great cat.
"Don't you understand? It's not up to me! This isn't even about me! What I'm doing, I'm doing on behalf of my world! He has to die! You wouldn't understand, because you don't believe! It is from where I draw my strengththe strength that enables me to stand up to you, and do what must be done!"
"I have my own beliefs," Burgoyne told him. "My own religion, which means as much to me as yours does to you. It's where I draw my strength from." S/he had stopped hir approach and was starting to circle, trying to find the best angle from which to charge. "I believe in the sacred merging of male and female. Creatures such as yourself go through life as half one or half the other. You always remain separate. Always.
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"You," he called down, "are going to have to die."
Burgoyne said nothing, but instead scrambled up the side of the hill. Just beyond the man waiting for hir was a cave, and she was positive that the captain was held within, presuming that the captain was still alive.
"I am Ramed," he told her. "You arrive at a propitious moment. It is the third hour of the third day. It is time for the Savior to pass on. Have you come to bear witness?"
Some feet away, Burgoyne had come to a cautious halt. S/he had hir talons extended, and there was a dark and fearsome look in hir eyes. When s/he spoke it was in a low and guttural voice that was barely recognizable as hir own. "Did you . . . do it?' s/he asked.
"Do what?" Ramed seemed only mildly interested.
"Did you hurt Selar?"
"Who is Selar?"
"The Vulcan. The Vulcan doctor." Burgoyne was having trouble focusing on the words; all s/he really wanted to do was leap forward and tear his throat out. But s/he had to be sure.
"Ah, yes. The Vulcan. Not directly, you understand. It was not my hand that inflicted the injuries upon her. However, I did bring into existence the rather devastating creature that attempted to stop you earlier, and that laid waste to your previous rescue attempts. How did you get around that? I must know. Because your friends were so utterly unable to"
Burgoyne had heard enough. S/he crouched and let out a bellow akin to the roar that a lion used when endeavoring to freeze prey in place in preparation for a charge. It shook Ramed to his core. To his credit, he tried not to let it show. "Most impressive," he said. "A pity that you will not be saving the captain, however. That is impossible."
"Why?" Burgoyne managed to get out.
"Because it is written that the captain will be saved by neither man nor woman. And what does that leave?" Ramed said reasonably.
Burgoyne took another step forward, hir fangs bared. "I am a Hermat. I am both man and woman. No individual, as your prediction might indicate, but rather a merging of both. So it would seem to me that I'm not covered by whatever it is that's written."
It took a moment for this to sink in for Ramed, and when it did, a slow burn of uncertainty began to spread through him. Again, however, he tried to cover it up as best he could. "That is mere semantics," he replied. "Trickery. Word games."
"Perhaps. But nonetheless, it's true. Give me the captain."
"No." Ramed gripped his spear more forcefully.
"Give me the captain and perhaps I'll let you live," Burgoyne said. S/he had dropped to all fours once more. S/he padded toward him. It was a most disconcerting thing to see S/he spoke with the barely controlled voice of a humanoid, but hir every move and gesture was evocative of a great cat.
"Don't you understand? It's not up to me! This isn't even about me! What I'm doing, I'm doing on behalf of my world! He has to die! You wouldn't understand, because you don't believe! It is from where I draw my strengththe strength that enables me to stand up to you, and do what must be done!"
"I have my own beliefs," Burgoyne told him. "My own religion, which means as much to me as yours does to you. It's where I draw my strength from." S/he had stopped hir approach and was starting to circle, trying to find the best angle from which to charge. "I believe in the sacred merging of male and female. Creatures such as yourself go through life as half one or half the other. You always remain separate. Always.
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I am complete. I am the embodiment of the sexual union. All strength, all power derives from that union."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? No single act is more powerful. A merging of body, and of spirit. A sharing of all aspects of what you are. A uniting of purpose. The creation of new life, and the reaffirmation of one's own. A letting down of shields and barriers in the pursuit of that one, pure, undiluted mom
ent of ecstasy. The most powerful symbol in nature, and my people are a living embodiment of that symbol. Great power is drawn from that. A strength that you, with your enslavement to the scribblings of others, cannot possibly stand up to. Ultimately your faith will fail you."
"My faith is complete unto itself," Ramed said, his anger building. He swept the spear back and forth in an arc, and it whistled through the air. Burgoyne approached cautiously, aware that Ramed seemed rather adept with the weapon. Clearly, he'd been practicing with it. "Don't think to challenge me on the strength of faith, because you will surely lose."
"You've already lost," retorted Burgoyne. "I have faith that I will win. Faith drawn from my unity and holy purpose, my quest that I know I will fulfill. You . . . you have no faith at all. I can tell. I can smell it on you. I can smell the fear radiating off you, oozing through every pore. The fear, the uncertainty. You don't believe in what you're doing. You act out of some misbegotten sense of obligation. But you don't have the stomach to kill. To do what must be done."
"You know nothing! I am a good man! A decent man! And I can kill if I have to!"
And Burgoyne laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. S/he tossed back hir head and a contemptuous snicker erupted from hir throat. "You idiot," s/he told him. "You're not fooling anyone, least of all me."
"I can kill him! I can do what needs to be done!"
"Oh, can you?"
And slowly Burgoyne stood. It took effort, for hir instinct was still to pounce. S/he stood there for a moment, and then gestured. "Come on. Do it. You have that pointed stick of yours. Test yourself out on me. Kill me."
Ramed stood there, the spear wavering uncertainly. "This iswhat do you think you're"
"One of us here isn't afraid, and I guarantee you that it's not you. Take a shot. Go ahead. I won't stop you. Stab me. Stab me to the heart. Here. I'll make it easy for you." Burgoyne tapped the area directly between hir small breasts. "Right here. That's all you have to do. Strike right here. I'll offer no defense." S/he closed hir eyes, hir arms comfortably at hir sides. "Go ahead. Practice on me. Am I not an easy enough target for you?"
"Why . . . why are you doing this?" demanded Ramed.
"Because I have faith that I will win. That my gods will help me. That you do not have what it takes to be a stone cold murderer. That you lack the conviction of your beliefs. Well? Make your move, Ramed. I haven't got all night. Do what you need to do ... presuming you can do it."
S/he said nothing more, merely stood there, hir eyes serenely closed, hir entire body posture relaxed. Clearly s/he did not believe for a moment that he would try to kill hir.
He gripped the spear with both hands, holding it as tightly as he could. This was his whole life, he realized. His entire existence, boiling down to this moment. He had to do something about hir. If he simply tried to turn and run back into the cave, s/he would surely pounce on him and bring him down. His only chance was to fight. And why shouldn't he? Was
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I am complete. I am the embodiment of the sexual union. All strength, all power derives from that union."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? No single act is more powerful. A merging of body, and of spirit. A sharing of all aspects of what you are. A uniting of purpose. The creation of new life, and the reaffirmation of one's own. A letting down of shields and barriers in the pursuit of that one, pure, undiluted moment of ecstasy. The most powerful symbol in nature, and my people are a living embodiment of that symbol. Great power is drawn from that. A strength that you, with your enslavement to the scribblings of others, cannot possibly stand up to. Ultimately your faith will fail you."
"My faith is complete unto itself," Ramed said, his anger building. He swept the spear back and forth in an arc, and it whistled through the air. Burgoyne approached cautiously, aware that Ramed seemed rather adept with the weapon. Clearly, he'd been practicing with it. "Don't think to challenge me on the strength of faith, because you will surely lose."
"You've already lost," retorted Burgoyne. "I have faith that I will win. Faith drawn from my unity and holy purpose, my quest that I know I will fulfill. You . . . you have no faith at all. I can tell. I can smell it on you. I can smell the fear radiating off you, oozing through every pore. The fear, the uncertainty. You don't believe in what you're doing. You act out of some misbegotten sense of obligation. But you don't have the stomach to kill. To do what must be done."
"You know nothing! I am a good man! A decent man! And I can kill if I have to!"
And Burgoyne laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. S/he tossed back hir head and a contemptuous snicker erupted from hir throat. "You idiot," s/he told him. "You're not fooling anyone, least of all me."
"I can kill him! I can do what needs to be done!"
"Oh, can you?"
And slowly Burgoyne stood. It took effort, for hir instinct was still to pounce. S/he stood there for a moment, and then gestured. "Come on. Do it. You have that pointed stick of yours. Test yourself out on me. Kill me."
Ramed stood there, the spear wavering uncertainly. "This iswhat do you think you're"
"One of us here isn't afraid, and I guarantee you that it's not you. Take a shot. Go ahead. I won't stop you. Stab me. Stab me to the heart. Here. I'll make it easy for you." Burgoyne tapped the area directly between hir small breasts. "Right here. That's all you have to do. Strike right here. I'll offer no defense." S/he closed hir eyes, hir arms comfortably at hir sides. "Go ahead. Practice on me. Am I not an easy enough target for you?"
"Why . . . why are you doing this?" demanded Ramed.
"Because I have faith that I will win. That my gods will help me. That you do not have what it takes to be a stone cold murderer. That you lack the conviction of your beliefs. Well? Make your move, Ramed. I haven't got all night. Do what you need to do ... presuming you can do it."
S/he said nothing more, merely stood there, hir eyes serenely closed, hir entire body posture relaxed. Clearly s/he did not believe for a moment that he would try to kill hir.
He gripped the spear with both hands, holding it as tightly as he could. This was his whole life, he realized. His entire existence, boiling down to this moment. He had to do something about hir. If he simply tried to turn and run back into the cave, s/he would surely pounce on him and bring him down. His only chance was to fight. And why shouldn't he? Was
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he such a coward that he could only kill a helpless victim, tied up?
What had he become? In the final analysis, what had he become? A coward? A murderer, but one unable to commit a simple murder?
In his mind's eye, he saw his wife and child. He saw the faces of Zondarians everywhere, depending upon him to do what had to be done, and he felt his faith beginning to waver. Here, at the final hour, at the moment for which he had prepared his entire lifea moment that his ancestors had prepared forhis nerve was starting to fail him. All thanks to this . . . this creature who stood before him, so contemptuous, so convinced that he did not have the necessary inner strength to do what had to be done.
He would show them. He would
show them all.
In the name of eternal peace on Zondar, in the name of the Savior, who had to become a martyr if there was going to be an end to warfare, Ramed would find the inner strength. He would cling to the right-ness of his actions. He would do the job that needed doing.
And gripping the spearthe spear of justicehe charged forward, driving the point straight toward Burgoyne's breast.
XIX.
THE Excalibur barreled toward the Redeemer vessel, shields on maximum, all weapons fully targeting the ship.
Si Cwan had just finished, in as expeditious a manner as he could, describing for Shelby exactly who the Redeemers were and what their problem was with the Excalibur. Shelby nodded repeatedly, seeming to take it all in, and then she ordered, "Lay down a phaser barrage. Let's see what their shields have."
The phasers of the Excalibur lashed out, pounding the Redeemer ship. The opposing vessel twisted away, backing off as the starship drove toward it, firing relentlessly.
Shelby pounded the arm of her chair. "Yes! Yes!" she crowed, drawing looks from everyone on the bridge. "Damage report! Did we hurt them?"
"Not to any measurable degree," reported Boya-jian. "Their shields seem unimpaired. Commander, they're firing."
The Redeemers' phaser weapons blasted at the
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he such a coward that he could only kill a helpless victim, tied up?
What had he become? In the final analysis, what had he become? A coward? A murderer, but one unable to commit a simple murder?
In his mind's eye, he saw his wife and child. He saw the faces of Zondarians everywhere, depending upon him to do what had to be done, and he felt his faith beginning to waver. Here, at the final hour, at the moment for which he had prepared his entire lifea moment that his ancestors had prepared forhis nerve was starting to fail him. All thanks to this . . . this creature who stood before him, so contemptuous, so convinced that he did not have the necessary inner strength to do what had to be done.