by Peter David
“This is a trap,” Kebron said once more, as if he was proceding on the assumption that no one had heard him the first time. Calhoun was even more inclined to believe it now than he was before. That odd inner-warning signal, that eerie prickling on the back of his neck that so often tipped him off on an unconscious level as to some degree of jeopardy, was shouting to him now. But there was no point in trying to back out of it.
“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” he said, straightening his uniform jacket as if it needed it. “It is Tsana’s feeling that it is not appropriate for her to hide aboard the Excalibur. I’m not about to gainsay her on that.”
“It was not ‘hiding,’ ” Kebron retorted. “It was safekeeping.”
To Calhoun’s surprise, it was Tsana who responded, interrupting before Calhoun could reply. “While the voice of my people cry out for leadership—and while those who were trusted retainers stand revealed as traitors, and yet walk around with impunity—I have no business being kept safe.”
“Just what every security head likes to hear: ‘I have no business being kept safe.’ ” It was one of Kebron’s longer sentences, and a sure indicator of just how strongly he felt about the matter. To some degree, Calhoun was surprised by that. It was so hard to get a read off Kebron. He seemed to be someone who enjoyed doing his job well, but his rocky exterior gave his emotions even more concealment than the average Vulcan enjoyed. Usually, Kebron simply went about his duties with quiet and occasionally deadly efficiency. The identity of whomever he was guarding never seemed particularly relevant to him, be it old classmate Soleta, for whom Kebron presumably held nothing but affection, or Si Cwan, for whom Kebron was known to harbor almost palpable hostility. Kebron always displayed about as much passion as a rock.
But for this girl, Tsana, Kebron actually seemed emotionally involved. At least that was how it sounded to Calhoun. The words he had just spoken would normally be laced, at the most, with quiet sarcasm or a put-upon air. Kebron sounded genuinely worried, though, as if he was determined to do his job, and Tsana’s attitude was concerning him because he might not be able to. If it were Si Cwan or Calhoun who had been insistent, Kebron would have made efforts to the best of his ability, but ultimately would have held himself blameless beyond that.
Not for a moment did Calhoun think there was any romantic interest from Kebron for the youngster. The notion was absurd. It did, however, present hints of a few chinks in Kebron’s physical and emotional armor, and Calhoun found that to be considerable food for thought.
“I have every confidence in you, Mr. Kebron, to protect those in your charge,” Calhoun said, giving no hint of everything that had just been passing through his mind. Kebron simply grunted in return, which were about all that Calhoun would have expected.
There were rapidly approaching footsteps, and for just a moment Calhoun’s hand drifted toward his combadge, just in case it was a troop of soldiers with potential arrest in their eyes. But his inner warning system didn’t appear to indicate immediate danger from those coming toward them, and when the originators of the noise turned the corner, Calhoun could see that it was simply the Counselars. They were interestingly positioned, moving in a sort of V formation, with Burkitt at the leading point of the V.
“Captain,” Burkitt said briskly, with the air of someone who wanted to get down to business.
“Warmaster,” replied Calhoun. “You requested our presence, and we have come. The crowd outside, however, is not what I would have liked to see.”
“The crowd comes and goes as it will,” said Burkitt with a bland expression, shrugging his shoulders as if it was of little consequence.
“Really?” spoke up Si Cwan. “Here I had the impression it went as you willed.”
Burkitt wasn’t looking at Si Cwan. He was instead gazing at Tsana, and there was something approaching suspicion in his eyes. “The people of Aeron know that I wish to address them, and they know that the girl who would be Zarn also wishes to address them. Now, of course, she could likely do so from the friendly confines of your vessel. . . .”
“Yes, she could,” said Calhoun.
“But how would that look?” Burkitt sounded almost sympathetic to her “plight.” “The Zarn of Aeron, hiding from her own people, while making accusations against one with a long history of service who is out in plain sight, for any to judge.”
Tsana spoke up. “None can judge you,” she informed him tightly, “because none but I know what you have done.”
“Well, then,” he said, never losing his air of insufferable calm, “it will be up to you to convince them of that.” He took a step toward her as if he was about to drape a friendly arm around her, but she reflexively took a step back, bumping up against Calhoun. Calhoun’s face darkened when he saw Burkitt smile at that, as if the Warmaster had won some initial skirmish. “One should never retreat in the face of someone who is perceived to be an enemy,” he told her in a disappointed tone. “One might be perceived as weak.”
Calhoun took a quick step forward, fist cocked, and as he’d hoped, Burkitt reflexively backpedaled. Realizing what he’d done, Burkitt stopped where he was, but it was too late, and Calhoun laughed just loud enough for Tsana to hear it. Realizing what Calhoun had done, Tsana broke into a smile that was quite a contrast to the abruptly sour look on Burkitt’s face. Burkitt quickly composed himself, and gestured toward the great front steps ahead of them. “After you, ‘Zarn,’ ” he said. “I’m sure you’re most anxious to present your case to your people.”
Calhoun wanted to strangle the other Counselars. They kept silent almost as a unit, watching impassively. It was impossible to get any feeling from them as to what they believed to be the truth, although the fact that they had appeared to cede all authority to speak for them over to Burkitt was certainly not a good sign.
As if he were conducting a guided tour as they walked, Burkitt said conversationally, “The elevated stairs at the front of this building actually have quite a history, Captain. I don’t know whether Tsana informed you of it, but that area has traditionally been known as Oratory Point. Some of the greatest speakers in our history have traditionally come to the front steps of the Counselars’ Hall and addressed our people. Tsana certainly has a grand tradition to maintain. Tell me: Do you think you’ll be up to the task?”
Before Calhoun could reply, surprisingly, it was Kalinda who spoke up. She was walking next to Burkitt, with such economy of movement, drawing so little attention to herself, that even the always-attentive Calhoun hadn’t noticed her. Sounding disconcertingly friendly, Kalinda said, “Oh, I’m certain that—despite whatever difficulties may present themselves—all who are involved in this situation will perform according to their best abilities.” As she spoke, her hand brushed against Burkitt’s bare arm. He looked momentarily startled, although not only was Calhoun unable to say what jolted him, but obviously Burkitt appeared a bit unclear about it. He seemed to have trouble focusing on what was going on, but then the moment passed and he was himself again. Kalinda smiled up at him in a most fetching fashion. If the apparent friendliness toward Burkitt troubled Kalinda’s brother, Si Cwan, the enigmatic Thallonian gave no hint of it.
They stepped out to Oratory Point, the Excalibur group forming a protective semicircle around Tsana. Calhoun scanned the crowd, looking for hints of someone who might be ready to indulge in violence against Tsana. It seemed a hopeless task; faces were either scowling or unreadable, and because people were packed in, their hands were down so he couldn’t see what they might be holding. He glanced over at Kebron and saw that the security officer was doing the exact same thing, his face its usual unreadable stone, so Calhoun couldn’t tell whether Kebron was having any more luck than he was.
He’s outmaneuvered you, Calhoun, he said to himself angrily. You’ve put not only yourself but Tsana into a hazardous situation, but if anything goes wrong, it’s going to be your fault. You let your ego, your overconfidence, bring you to this point . . . and sure as hell, Shelby wouldn’t have le
t you.
He’d had a conversation with Burgoyne about it. Burgoyne had at first seemed a bit nonplussed about the prospect, and expressed extreme hesitation about it. But later, surprisingly, Burgy had turned around on the subject and actually endorsed the notion. When he asked his first officer why s/he had reversed hirself, Burgoyne had simply shrugged and said, “I would not want you to think I didn’t have confidence in your decision-making ability, Captain.”
Calhoun sneaked a look at Tsana, who now appeared to be growing exceptionally nervous as she faced her people. The child had inner reserves of strength, he was sure of that . . . but she was still a child. He started to wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, he had been transferring over to her his own recollections of what he was capable of accomplishing as a youth. That he had just automatically assumed the girl was as capable of persuading a crowd at her age as Calhoun had been at his. And if he had underestimated her capability, he might well have made a cataclysmic mistake.
“Doubt” was not a familiar emotion for Calhoun. He couldn’t say as he liked it all that much. And he was starting to wonder if perhaps he wouldn’t have been better served if Burgoyne had had just the slightest bit of distrust in Calhoun’s decision-making ability after all.
Burkitt looked solicitously down at Tsana and said, “Feel free to address your people, my dear Zarn. They wait eagerly for your every word. And then . . . I shall provide them my words . . . and we shall see what happens.”
Smyt was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
Overlooking the site of the rally, safely secured in a high building with an excellent view, Smyt was surrounded by Aeron soldiers who appeared to be regarding him with a combination of fear and suspicion, the latter doubtlessly giving birth to the former. Smyt, for his part, was busy making the final calculations and adjustments to the Gateway’s controls, and wasn’t especially thrilled with the sensation of dozens and dozens of eyes upon him.
Foremost among the watchers was an individual named Gragg, who Smyt well remembered from his first encounter with Burkitt. Gragg moved confidently among his men, apparently able to discern with a glance who appeared nervous or uncertain or just generally cranky. He would mutter a few words in their ears, pat them on the back, and they would laugh as if everything were utterly normal.
They were standing in what Smyt could only consider an auditorium, although Burkitt had referred to it as a troop-assembling center. He had spoken with great seriousness, bordering on pomposity, and Smyt misliked everything about the present situation. But he wasn’t really in a position to do anything about it.
“What do you get out of it?”
He jumped, for he had not realized that Gragg was nearby, and Gragg’s voice was almost in his ear. “I?” he asked.
“There’s more to you than meets the eye,” Gragg said softly, so softly that none of the others seemed to hear him. “I do not pretend to know what that might be. Nor is Burkitt willing to look beyond his own ambition to question it. But I am questioning it now. Would you care to share with me your . . . particulars?”
Well . . . it began with my becoming trapped here, in this dimension . . . and there was this Giant . . . and the Giant knew things, things no one should have known, and he told me to . . .
No. No, somehow he didn’t see the point in spelling all of it out. Instead he simply said, “I believe in your cause, and that is sufficient for me. Have you never believed in anything, Commander?”
Gragg gave a soft grunt. “I used to,” he said. “But things change. People change, until you wonder what it was you ever believed in in the first place.”
“How much longer, Commander?” one of the soldiers asked. There had to be at least a hundred of them, by Smyt’s count, all of them armed and armored, all of them fingering their pulsers as if they were lovers.
Voices were floating toward them from Oratory Point, even at the height of their present location. It was Tsana, speaking in a loud, clear tone that carried hints of the breeding and privilege to which she’d been raised and accustomed. Speaking of her family, speaking of what they had meant to her personally, and to her people in general.
“She speaks well,” Smyt murmured.
“She has her sister’s voice,” said Gragg.
There was something in the way he said it that caught Smyt’s attention. His brows knit as he said, “Her sister . . . were you and she—?”
Gragg snagged Smyt’s face by his nonexistent chin, snapped it around so that he was looking him dead in the eyes, and snapped at him, “Tsana’s sister and I were separated by station, birth, and destinies, and you are not to ask such questions again. Do you understand?” Smyt managed something akin to a nod, and Gragg released his face. As suddenly as Gragg’s temper had flared, it subsided, and as if no time had passed between the trooper posing the question and his answering it, Gragg turned to the one who had inquired as to how much longer and said, “We will move when the Warmaster gives the order. He will do so right from there, right from Oratory Point. The moment he does, Smyt will activate the Gateway, and our invasion of the Excalibur will commence.”
He looked over his troops. “I see doubt in your faces,” he said, sounding a bit disappointed. “That is unfortunate. It should not be there. The plan will work. In their own way, the denizens of the Excalibur are as arrogant as the Markanians. The crew of the starship will fall, and the Markanians will fall. Never doubt that. Never.”
There were approving nods from all around, and then Gragg turned back to Smyt and said in that same low voice, “And if something goes wrong with this device, never doubt that you will not live to see another sunrise.”
Smyt didn’t doubt it at all.
“. . . nor did I ask for this,” Tsana said. With every word out of her mouth, there was more confidence, more poise, as if her greatest fear had been that she would not be able to get any words out at all. “You . . . you have had your leadership snatched from you. But I have not only lost my parents . . . my brothers, my sister . . . but I’ve also lost my childhood. I can’t—” Her voice choked a moment, and Calhoun listened for the slightest hint of interruption, of derision, but there was none. The crowd seemed spellbound by the spectacle of the young girl rallying all her strength, mustering all her defenses so that she could accomplish the simple task of speaking to her people. “I can’t pretend that I’m going to be able to return to pleasant childhood diversions of playing with toys. Of seeking out small spaces to hide, giggling to myself as my siblings play the game of trying to find me. I can’t pretend I’m going to carry anything but sorrow with me for the rest of my life, but there’s no use complaining to you about it, or making a public display of mourning. What is . . . is. It must be lived with.”
And suddenly she was pointing at Burkitt with a trembling finger. “What will not be lived with is treachery. Before we address the question of the Markanians—before we consider whether we are to go to war—we must operate with those whom we can trust. And I tell you all, now . . . that Burkitt is a poison in our body.”
That was when the voices started to shout out from the crowd, and Calhoun was ready to tell Kebron to do whatever was necessary to silence them, even if it meant stepping on a few select faces. But it wasn’t necessary, for Tsana seemed to reach into depths that Calhoun couldn’t have guessed she had, and her voice soared above the catcalls and the open expressions of disbelief. “I saw him!” she cried out. “As I lay hiding under a bed, the last bits of my childhood being washed away in a wave of blood, I saw him kill my two older brothers. They smiled when they saw him, confident that they were safe in his hands, and he took that confidence and crushed it. The Markanians have never pretended to be our friends, but he, Burkitt, would be your leader. He would discredit me, he would lie to you, he would lead you down a fiery path to total destruction if it suited his purposes. You must not believe that he is anything except the greatest threat that this world has ever faced! You must join me in demanding a full hearing, a full trial, a full redempt
ion of—”
And then Calhoun saw that, apparently, Burkitt had had enough. He stepped forward, raising his arms and calling out, “All right, my little Zarn. That is sufficient rhetoric from you for one day.”
Certain sections of the crowd started calling Burkitt’s name, chanting it over and over. Calhoun had no doubt that they had been planted by the Warmaster, but that wasn’t going to make any difference if their sentiments spread. Crowds could turn very, very quickly. Yet again he felt a chill, and was certain it was more than just the air giving it to him.
High above, watching, Gragg turned to Smyt and said, “Ready that contraption of yours. The order will be given very soon, I think.”
“I mustn’t activate it too early,” Smyt reminded him. “The Excalibur will detect its energy buildup, and I’ve no way of preventing that. And if they detect it, it may warn them.”
Gragg nodded slowly, clearly understanding, but he said firmly, “Do what needs to be done to be prepared. We do not want anything going wrong.”
Burkitt had never felt so confident. It was as if there was an energy filling him, elevating him above all those who surrounded him. For the first time, he actually felt sorry for poor, pathetic Calhoun and his entourage. They would never know what had hit them.
“We must understand,” Burkitt said, knowing beyond question that the crowd’s will was in his hands, “that—”
Then he stopped.
Suddenly he could feel nothing in his face, and he knew why: It was because all the blood had drained out of it.