by Peter David
All eyes were now upon McHenry. He actually seemed to be squirming in his seat, and Calhoun couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. McHenry was always so laid-back, so comfortable, so uncaring about pressures that were heaped upon him. It was as if he went through life completely unfazed by anything that might be tossed at him. It was depressing to see him now, coming across as . . . as . . .
Mortal. The word came unbidden to Calhoun’s thoughts. That was it, really. He seemed “merely” mortal in his concerns, in his discomfort.
Artemis seemed most interested of all in what he was going to say next. She waited expectantly, one eyebrow cocked.
“I . . . think I’ll have to get back to you on that, Captain,” McHenry finally said. He looked at Artemis. “To both of you.”
Calhoun watched her reaction very carefully. She seemed to be wrestling with a response that would be a less than polite one . . . even a dangerous one. But then Artemis took control of herself, smiled, and said, “Very well, Marcus. I will respect your wishes. Take all the time you need . . .”
“Thank you . . .”
“. . . before deciding that you will do our bidding.”
And with that, Artemis turned and walked right through the bulkhead. She didn’t damage it in any way; she just passed through it as if it wasn’t there.
“Somehow,” Burgoyne ventured, “I don’t think she quite comprehended the subtlety of ‘I’ll get back to you.’ ”
ii.
McHenry had never felt more miserable in his entire life. And somehow, he had known it would be coming. He lay stretched out on a med table, in the process of being examined by every medical scanner known to Federation science. Med techs were hovering over him like embers dancing around the top of a fire, moving with remarkable grace and coordination so as not to bang into each other going about their business.
The thing that was most upsetting to McHenry was that none of them were looking at him. At least, none of them were looking him in the eyes. Every so often he would say something that he really thought sounded at least halfway amusing. His response would be grunts or a strained smile or—if someone was feeling truly expansive—a “Really?” or “How interesting!”
But he knew. He knew what it was.
They were afraid of him.
On one level, he could understand it. These people had served with him and, all this time, had thought him one thing. Now they were having to consider him something else, and the big problem was that they didn’t know what that “something else” was. The unknown had replaced the known quantity. They had no idea what he was capable of, and those aspects of his personality, which had once been looked upon as simple quirks or curiosities, were now considered to be, possibly, something deeper and more dangerous. As a result they handled him as if he was a time bomb or grenade, capable of going off at any moment and causing all manner of damage.
On another level, though . . . it hurt. He knew it shouldn’t, but it did. After all, if they were just meeting him for the first time, there would be no concern on their part. He would be simply another life-form, another being, and certainly as med techs in Starfleet they had encountered all kinds in all different places. The fact that they were familiar with him should have put them more at their ease, not less. He was, in effect, being penalized for being their friend, coworker, and crewmate. No matter how much he dwelt on it, he couldn’t make it feel right in his head.
He craned his neck around and saw that Captain Calhoun, Soleta, and Selar were in conference in Selar’s office. He knew that either he or Artemis or both were the subject of discussion, and it irked him more than he could say. McHenry was not someone who customarily felt annoyed. His entire approach to life was always extremely relaxed. It took a lot to upset him or put him out of sorts, and since he was unaccustomed to it, he wasn’t sure how to handle such roiling emotions once he reached that point.
So he went with his instinct.
McHenry abruptly sat up, startling one of the med techs who had been leaning close to him, trying to get some new damned readings or another. Dr. Maxwell, who had been overseeing the study, said patiently, “ Lieutenant . . . this will go much more smoothly if you’re lying down . . .”
“Get out of my way,” said McHenry, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. He stared with quiet de-fiance into Maxwell’s eyes.
All the med techs looked at one another uneasily. Maxwell appeared to be frozen to the spot. Then he forced a ready smile and said, “All right,” and stepped aside.
They were afraid of him.
Damn, they were afraid. It was a feeling that was both depressing and liberating all at the same time, because McHenry didn’t know what to do . . . but also knew that whatever he did choose to do, he could do with impunity.
He stepped down onto the floor and started across sickbay. It seemed as if the entirety of sickbay had been devoted to studying him, for everyone was looking at readings and output from the tests they’d been conducting. “Here I am, in the flesh,” he said. He spread his arms to either side and turned slowly, so they could all get a good look at him. “On display for all to see. Why study readouts and reports when you can get the real thing?”
“McHenry!”
It was Calhoun, standing in the doorway of Selar’s office. The two Vulcans were standing directly behind him. “McHenry . . . you said you would cooperate with the examinations,” he reminded him.
“I changed my mind, Captain,” he said, sounding almost giddy. “We demigods can do that, y’know. We put the ‘mercury’ in ‘mercurial.’ ”
He didn’t know what Calhoun was going to say. Whether the captain would shout at him or endeavor to shove him into the brig or what. But he was astounded to see that Calhoun’s expression softened into something akin to understanding. “All right, son,” he said, and instantly McHenry knew that he wasn’t talking in the same “I’ll do what you want, just don’t hurt me” manner that Maxwell had been speaking with. He really seemed as if he was sympathetic to what McHenry was going through . . . which was fortunate, since Mc-Henry’s thoughts were in such turmoil that he was having trouble comprehending it all himself. “If you say it’s over, it’s over. Come in here. We have some things to discuss with you anyway.”
McHenry sagged with visible relief, and walked into Selar’s office. The clear door slid shut behind them, giving them privacy. There were only two chairs facing Selar’s desk, but Calhoun gestured to McHenry that he should occupy the one that Calhoun had been sitting in. “Captain, no . . . protocol requires . . .”
“Screw protocol,” Calhoun said amiably. “Something tells me you need it more than I do.”
“True enough,” admitted McHenry, and he sat. He could see that all the med techs out in sickbay were staring into the office . . . until Selar fired them a look that immediately sent them back to other duties.
“The first thing you have to realize, Mark . . . is that you’ve done nothing wrong,” Calhoun said. He had folded his arms and was leaning against the wall of Selar’s office. “We know now that you were not responsible for the assault on the bridge crew. The only thing you’re guilty of is changing course without authorization. Considering the stress of the moment and the particular personal circumstances involved, I think we can let that one slide.”
“Thank you, Captain,” he said gratefully.
“What we’ve been discussing now is your friend, Artemis—”
“ ‘Friend’ might be too strong a word.”
“Were you her lover?” inquired Soleta. She asked the question with such deadpan detachment that it was impossible to perceive any prurient interest to the question. She could not have been more dispassionate if she’d informed McHenry that he could probably use a haircut.
McHenry drummed his hands uncomfortably on the armrest. “Only in the sense that we had sex . . .” he said.
“I see,” Dr. Selar now spoke up. “So ‘friend’ might be too strong a word; however, ‘passing acquaintance’ would appear
to understate the relationship.”
“All right, that’s enough,” said Calhoun, obviously seeing McHenry’s discomfort. “The thing upon which we can all agree is that McHenry has a vested interest in this. I think we owe it to him to tell him what we’ve found.”
“Before you tell me that . . . tell me . . . about me,” McHenry said slowly.
Selar leveled her gaze upon him. “You mean . . . are you human?”
“Basically, yes.”
“Don’t you know?” asked Soleta.
He felt as if he were shrinking into the chair. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I know anything anymore.”
Selar was studying her computer screen, assessing what he could only assume to be the test results that had been compiled about him. “You are being ridiculous, Lieutenant,” she said with the utter lack of bedside manner for which she had become so well known. “Of course you are human. Like any Starfleet officer, you have been subjected to numerous physicals. Do you think for even a moment that if you were not human, Starfleet would have somehow missed it?”
“All right. But then why the head-to-toe, inside-out study now?”
“To see if Starfleet somehow missed it,” Calhoun told him.
Selar didn’t look any too pleased with the captain’s explanation. “To see,” she said with forced patience, “if your current physical makeup is consistent with previous examinations. To see if she altered or affected you in some way. Thus far, according to these results—which would be more complete if you had been good enough to remain where you are,” she added pointedly, “according to these, the answer would seem to be no. You remain, Lieutenant, a rather unremarkable specimen.”
McHenry let out a sigh of relief so pronounced that he looked as if he were deflating. “That is so good to know,” he said. “I . . . I don’t know what I would have done if I’d found out I wasn’t . . . you know . . . human.”
“Yes, how ever would one cope with the tragic status of not being human,” Selar said in a tone of voice so lacerating that McHenry could practically feel the skin being peeled from his body. “I certainly know my life is the emptier for it.”
“Sarcasm is hardly necessary, Doctor,” Soleta said. “I understand what McHenry is saying. It would be as if one had thought for a time that one was Vulcan . . . and then discovered oneself to be part Romulan. Certainly such a self-discovery would be disorienting, to say the least . . . correct?”
Selar’s lips thinned in response to Soleta’s comment. She seemed rather irked by it, although McHenry couldn’t discern why. Then she said coolly, “Point taken, Soleta. My . . . apologies if I seemed unsympathetic, Mr. McHenry.”
“ ’S all right,” he assured her. “If you started seeming sympathetic about things, they’d probably be doing a thorough exam on you to make sure you were still you.”
It was hard for McHenry to be sure, but it looked as if Calhoun was endeavoring to stifle a laugh. But it happened so fleetingly that he couldn’t be sure, and then Calhoun said—all business—“What we find curious are the differences in terms of power level between Artemis and Apollo. Soleta—?” he prompted her.
“According to the Enterprise logs,” Soleta readily continued, “Apollo’s physiology was actually remarkably humanoid . . . something that should not be too surprising, I suppose, when one considers that he was able to crossbreed with a human. However, the CMO’s records stated that Apollo had some sort of extra organ in his chest . . . one that enabled him to channel energy through himself and provide the illusion of godlike powers. He was able to throw bolts of energy, to grow to gargantuan size. But he required a power source . . . one that, in the case of the incident on Pollux IV, he disguised as a temple or shrine. Once the Enterprise destroyed the power source, Apollo became effectively helpless . . . although, curiously, he was able to still attain giant size. So he obviously possessed some sort of abilities beyond those provided him by the power source.”
“And he never wandered far from his source of power,” added Calhoun. “He was able to project it into space in immediate proximity to his world . . . but beyond that, he stayed put. That does not seem to be the case with Artemis.”
“No, it’s not,” McHenry said. “As near as I can tell, she goes where she wants, whenever she wants. I’ve never noticed any limitations on what she can and can’t do. And I’m not sure why that would be.”
Soleta leaned forward, fingers interlaced. “Can you find out, Mark?”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Here is a thought: You could ask her,” said Selar. “And this ‘golden age’ to which she refers: Do you know what that entails?” When he shook his head, she said, “Ask her that as well.”
“This entire situation is too vague, McHenry,” Calhoun said. “Our mission was to find the source of these energy emissions. We’ve done that . . . or rather, it found us. Obviously, however, it’s not going to be left there. We need to get a firmer footing on what’s happening. You obviously have some sort of link with her, or she with you. You sensed that she was out there, after all.”
“I know,” said McHenry slowly. “I just . . . I knew she was there. When I was younger, and she was with me, I . . . I felt a certain way . . . I felt . . .”
“Sexually aroused?”
He gaped at Soleta, whose face remained impassive even as she had made the inquiry. “Soleta . . . is there something you want to talk about?”
“Just making scientific inquiry,” she replied.
“Look, never mind how she made me feel,” McHenry said, tugging at his collar slightly. “The thing is, you want me to find these things out. But it’s not as if I’m in communication with her—”
“You will be,” Calhoun said. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, acts around you. She’ll be back, Mark. And when she is, we need you to find out what you can, in order to help us. Promises of a golden age or no, the woman is a time bomb. What we have to determine is just how large a bomb she is . . . before she goes off.”
TRIDENT
i.
KALINDA HAD JUST DECIDED that she liked the Ten-Forward on the Trident better than the Team Room of the Excalibur when Lieutenant Commander Gleau came hurtling through the air and crashed into her table. Fortunately she had a split second’s warning when it happened, and had sufficient presence of mind to snag her drink off the tabletop so Gleau wouldn’t spill it. The remains of her pastry, however, were crushed to crumbs. Up until that point, things had been very pleasant, even convivial. Kalinda had never considered herself to be the most sociable of creatures, and yet felt herself moved to strike up conversations with people as they passed her. One of them had been Gleau himself, some minutes before he’d been transformed into a small projectile.
Radiating charm, he’d sat down at her table and she couldn’t help but feel herself drawn to him. It was a most intriguing sensation for her. It made her tingle in areas where she usually did not tingle, and she could have sworn that Gleau was not only aware of the effect he was having upon her, but actually reveled in it.
“What are you eating?” he inquired, pointing at the pastry she had in front of her.
“Oh. This.” She held it up. “A woman named Morgan Primus introduced me to them back on the Excalibur. It’s called a bearclaw. Your food synthesizers can produce them.”
“Do you mind if I—?” He gestured toward it.
“Not at all.”
He broke off a piece of the bearclaw, chewed it with great delicacy, and licked the crumbs off his lips. There was something remarkably erotic about the way he did all that. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He smiled at her and she returned it immediately. She couldn’t have helped herself. If her life had depended upon her frowning in response to his smile, she would have died at that moment.
Gleau had leaned forward and said, with extreme curiosity, “So tell me . . . is it true what I’ve heard about you?”
“I don’t know,” said the young Thallonian woman. “Wha
t have you heard?”
“That you . . . how shall I put this . . .” Even lost in thought, he was gorgeous. She just couldn’t get over it. Finally he said, “Well, no way to put it but straight out, I suppose. I’ve heard that you’ve actually communed with . . . well . . .”
“The dead?”
“Yes!” he said chipperly. “Yes, that’s exactly it. And I can see by your face that it’s a truly absurd notion . . . totally ridiculous . . . why, you must think me a fool for even bringing it—”
“It’s true,” said Kalinda.
“Really! You know, I thought it might be.” He moved closer to her, waved a waiter over to get a glass of synthehol without taking his eyes off Kalinda. “How did that come about, exactly?”
“I’d . . . rather not discuss it, if it’s all right with you,” she said softly. “The actual event, and the things that led up to it . . . they’re a bit . . .”
“Traumatic?”
She nodded.
He took her chin in his hand, and she felt her toes curling up by themselves. Suddenly she was getting fidgety in her chair and she wasn’t sure why. “I fully understand,” he said, and she was positive that he did. He seemed the type to whom she could say just about anything, and he would absolutely be on her side, and know exactly what was in her heart when she said it. “It must be terrifying . . . having that sort of unnatural communication . . .”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly, anxious to get him to see things the way she did. “No, not at all. It’s the most natural thing in the world, actually. People just don’t comprehend. Death . . . they think death is the end of existence. It’s not. It’s simply the beginning of an entirely different type of existence. One with its own rules, its own way of . . . of life, I guess, although that’s hardly the best way to put it.”
“That is extremely fascinating,” he said, and at that moment she felt as if there was nowhere in the entirety of the galaxy that she would rather be. That to be the focus of his attention . . . there was nothing better, nor could there ever be anything better. “And I suppose that by having this sort of experience, this ability to comprehend life after death . . . you probably have no fear of death yourself, then.”