by Peter David
“Because ever since the war, when our enemies managed to tap into the most secure of communications and garner critical information, he’s been extremely paranoid about communiqués of any sort of delicate nature. He’s been urging research into new technologies for developing secure channels and an alternative to subspace.”
“There is no alternative to subspace communication at the present time.”
“Yes, there is,” said Calhoun grimly.
“There is?”
“Yes: commandeering an ETV and going places in person.”
He rose from the bed, wrapping the sheet around himself, giving him the air of a Roman senator. “Morgan…”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Take a hike.”
“Yes, Captain,” she said. “Shall I inform your senior staff…?”
“You shall not,” he told her flatly. “You are to let them sleep until they’re scheduled for duty. Grozit, with any luck, whatever Jellico has to tell me will be brief enough that he’ll be gone before anyone wakes up.”
“Very well. Captain, one more thing…?”
“Yes?” he said with an annoyed sigh that indicated his rising impatience.
Morgan smiled insouciantly. “I dare you to meet him dressed the way you are right now.”
“Go away, Morgan.”
“Aye, Captain,” she smirked and vanished.
Calhoun showered and dressed quickly. His mind was racing, trying to conceive what it was that Jellico was going out of his way to convey to him. Calhoun intensely disliked the notion of going into any situation without a clear idea of what to expect. It was a habit that he’d had ever since the days of his youth on Xenex when—as his people’s warlord—he had staged a lengthy guerrilla war against the oppressive race that had stood for so many years with its boot upon the collective throat of his people. Eventually he and his people had triumphed, driving their oppressors off their world and restoring a free Xenex to its natives.
Those perilous days, when the lives of his men depended upon his seeing all sides and possibilities for any circumstance, had hammered into him the necessity of always being prepared. To consider surprise as anathema, even potentially fatal. That applied to all things for Calhoun, even something as non–life-threatening as a meeting with Jellico.
So what was up? Some sort of top-secret mission? Were the Selelvians massing for some resurgence of hostilities? Another threat, perhaps? The Tholians renewing their alliance with the Selelvians, or perhaps finding other, even more formidable allies…?
Or was it something that was unique to Calhoun that…
Elizabeth.
For a moment, as Calhoun stood there in the hydro shower, he leaned against the wall to steady himself. That had to be it. Something had happened to Elizabeth, to his wife, and Jellico was coming to tell him in person because, really, how do you drop news like that in a standard Starfleet subspace message?
Natural causes? She was human, after all, and the human body could shut down at any time with no notice at all….
No. No, it had to be some enemy. Calhoun growled low in his throat, and imagined himself taking the Excalibur and using it like its historic namesake: as a great and terrible sword that would cleave through to wherever his wife’s murderer or murderers were hiding and smite them down. And he would take great fistfuls of their blood, rub it on his face in the tradition of the barbaric Xenex he’d left behind, and howl his wife’s name that, in the great beyond, she might hear of this triumph against her killers and smile in newly acquired peace….
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said, as he stepped out of the shower. Throwing on a robe, he called, “Morgan!”
She immediately appeared. “Yes, Captain.”
“You still on speaking terms with the computer at Bravo Station?”
“Of course.”
“Interface with it, please.”
She blinked several times. “Okay.”
“Okay you’re going to do it, or…?”
“Okay, I’m interfacing with it right now. What do you wish to—?”
“What’s Shelby doing right now?”
Morgan blinked once more. “Captain, she’s sleeping. Biorhythms are normal. She’s in her quarters. She’s alone. Brain-wave scans indicate she’s in REM sleep. She’s doubtless dreaming of you. So what is…” Then Morgan’s expression changed to one of sympathy. “Oh. You were afraid Jellico was coming here to tell you she was—”
“It was stupid,” he said as he turned away. “Foolish worries that come to you in the middle of the night, that’s all.”
“Mac,” Morgan said softly, “before I wound up in this…condition…I lived a long time. Longer than you. Longer than pretty much most any other human. From what I’ve learned in that time, and from what I’ve learned of you…I think if, heaven forbid, anything happened to Elizabeth Shelby…”
“I’d know?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He laughed softly to himself. “You’re probably right. Thank you, Morgan.”
“Rendezvous in eighteen minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.”
ii.
Standing in the transporter room, hands draped behind his back, Calhoun didn’t feel ready. He was, however, convinced he had some inkling of what this was all about.
Soleta.
The guilt over her departure from Starfleet and her joining the Romulans still burned in his belly. Barely a week went by when something didn’t remind him of her, and he would mentally berate himself yet again that somehow, in some way, he should have been able to prevent matters from reaching that point.
Ensign Penelope Halliwell was at the transporter console, rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes. She’d been hauled out of bed specifically to cover Jellico’s unexpected arrival. Mostly she was there just in case something should go dramatically wrong. Calhoun wasn’t expecting that to happen but, as always, expected nothing but anticipated everything.
“You awake, Ensign?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said, “hiccuping” in a slight yawn.
“You sure? Wouldn’t want the admiral’s molecules to be scattered all over space.”
“I’m on it, sir….”
“Bridge to transporter room,” came the voice of Morgan Lefler. Morgan oversaw the nightside since, naturally, she didn’t require sleep. There were no holocircuits installed in the transporter room, however, so she remained at her station on the bridge rather than simply materializing herself down there to report.
“Transporter room, Halliwell here.”
“We are being hailed by ETV vessel Lynx. Requesting permission to beam passenger aboard.”
Such requests always had to be authorized. Under ordinary circumstances, it was the bridge officer on watch who tendered authorizations. But Halliwell glanced at Calhoun, who simply nodded. “Bridge, we have authorization for transportation, and…” She looked over at a blinking light on her console. “…we have coordinate lock. Prepared to beam passenger aboard.”
“So ordered,” said Morgan. “Keep me apprised if there’s any problem. Bridge out.”
Calhoun stood there, arms folded, as the transporter hummed to life. Moments later, Admiral Edward Jellico appeared.
It had been six months since Calhoun had last seen him. His once-blond hair had turned almost completely gray, and Calhoun was sure a few more wrinkles had taken up residence on his face.
“Welcome aboard the Excalibur, Admiral.”
A wide grin split Jellico’s face. “Good to see you, Mac,” he said as he stepped off the transporter deck and strode over to Calhoun.
“You too, Eddie,” said Calhoun with sincerity. The two men shook hands for an instant, and then patted each other on the respective shoulders. “You’re looking good.”
“I look like crap on two legs. You seem well, though. Are you?”
“Well, some of that may depend on what you felt was so important to tell me that you sped out here yourself to do i
t.”
Whatever jauntiness there might have been in Jellico’s expression quickly faded. “Can we talk somewhere private?”
“My cabin’s right down the hall. Less distance to cover, less pointless chitchat to make.”
“I’ve missed your blunt manner, Mac.”
“Really?”
“Not so much, no,” admitted Jellico, but then he smiled again, although Calhoun noticed that the smile wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Your cabin then.”
Two minutes later they had taken up residence in Calhoun’s quarters, and Calhoun was pouring Jellico a glass of Romulan ale. Jellico eyed the blue liquid steadily. Calhoun was holding the bottle a good two feet above the glass, but the ale was flowing in with pinpoint precision. Not so much as a drop was being spilled.
“Now you’re just showing off,” said Jellico.
“Best way to allow it to breathe,” Calhoun told him as he handed the glass over and poured another glass for himself, this time from three feet above. Jellico snorted at the display and stared thoughtfully at his glass.
“Interesting choice of beverage.”
“It’s what I had on hand.”
“Wouldn’t be to remind me of absent company?”
“Admiral…”
“Mac,” he sighed, “are you going to start beating yourself up over Soleta again? Or is the plan to beat me up this time about her? I mean, considering you already beat up the Starfleet Council—”
“I did not beat him up.”
“You practically smashed his face in!”
“True, but ‘beating up’ implies a lengthy fight. Repeated blows. It’s hardly my fault he was flattened with one punch.”
“What if he hadn’t been? What if he’d fought back?”
“Then I’d have beat him up,” said Calhoun matter-offactly. “Obviously.”
Jellico snickered and shook his head. “Wow, Mac. Hard to believe you’ve pissed off as many people as you have.”
“You used to be one of them. The most pissed off, as I recall.”
“Things change, as we both know.” He held up the glass and Calhoun clinked his own against it.
They drank in silence for a long moment, and then Calhoun lowered his glass. “So what’s happened? What’s she done?”
Jellico blinked in confusion. “She? She who?”
Calhoun was clearly surprised. “Soleta,” he said, holding up the bottle of Romulan ale as if she were somehow inside it. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Good lord, no. What made you think…? Strike that. I can guess what made you think it. But no, it doesn’t involve Soleta. Nor your wife, in case you were concerned about Shelby.”
“Hmm? Oh…no. No.” He shook his head. “No, it never even crossed my mind. I know Elizabeth can take care of herself just fine. But if it’s not Soleta, then…?”
“It’s…a fairly personal matter, Mac, which is why I wanted to tell you in person.” He was sitting on the edge of a chair facing Calhoun, and was leaning forward, rubbing his glass between his hands, sloshing the liquid within. “I mean, yes, I have security concerns regarding subspace these days, but I also felt this was the type of thing you should really be able to hear in a genuine face-to-face situation rather than a virtual one.”
“All right, fair enough,” Calhoun agreed, although he was dubious about it. What did Jellico think? That he was going to break down upon hearing whatever news this was and start sobbing on Jellico’s shoulder? “So what’s happened?”
“It’s…” Jellico took a deep breath, in promise of something portentous. “It’s…Xyon.”
Calhoun stared. “What about him?”
“He’s alive.”
Calhoun continued to stare. “Yes.”
Jellico was clearly taken aback. “You…don’t seem surprised.”
“Should I be? Ed,” Calhoun leaned forward, “has Selar been talking to you? Is that what this is about? Because, if so, then I apologize for your being dragged into this. She’s become obsessed about Xyon. I suppose I can’t entirely blame her…”
“You’re telling me you know that Xyon is alive?”
“Of course I know it. He lives two decks down.”
“He’s here?!” Jellico had been sitting, but now he put his drink down on the nightstand and stood, his manner one of great gravity. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“And is the girl here, too? Kalinda? Because if she is, Mac,” and Jellico was shaking his head, “and you’re offering him aid and comfort, then you’ve stuck your head into a hornets’ nest of…”
“Kalinda? Si Cwan’s sister? Why the hell would she be here?” Now Calhoun was standing as well.
“Because your idiot son kidnapped her, that’s why! What are you playing at here, Cal—”
And then Jellico stopped as Calhoun gaped at him. Calhoun felt a distant throbbing in the scar that adorned the right side of his face, the sensation he always experienced when he was under the greatest of stress. “My…son…?”
“Yes! And if you’re telling me that he’s taken refuge here on—”
“No,” Calhoun said slowly, and he leaned against the wall to help provide him support, for suddenly he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. “No…he’s not here…”
“Calhoun,” Jellico said angrily, coming toward him, and no longer did he have the genial, almost avuncular air that he’d sported since coming aboard. Now he was sounding like the belligerent, judgmental Jellico of old. “I’m not stupid.”
“No. I am. How could I have misunderstood what you—” The throbbing was extending to a pounding that threatened to envelop his entire head.
“Then don’t misunderstand this. If Xyon is aboard this vessel, then you must turn him over to—”
“Selar’s son, Ed. His name is Xyon, in memory of my…dead…son. Although these days, he usually goes simply by ‘Xy.’ ”
Jellico blinked in confusion for a moment, and then his face softened. “Oh…my God. Of course. I should have understood immed—”
“It’s not you. It’s me,” said Calhoun. “I just…I came to terms with it so long ago, I never…it never occurred to me…”
“There’s no reason it should have.”
“My…son?” Calhoun was still having trouble wrapping his mind around it. In some respects, he felt as if he were still sleeping. That this was all some sort of insanely skewed dream and he’d be waking up at any moment. “Are you sure? Perhaps it’s some crazy mistake. Or an impostor…”
“Is it possible he’s an impostor? I suppose,” said Jellico with a shrug. “But if so, he’s gone to a lot of work for no discernible reason.”
As briskly and efficiently as he could, Jellico outlined for Calhoun all that he’d learned. Calhoun was seated, and he had set aside the glass into which he’d poured the Romulan ale. Instead he was knocking back the contents straight out of the bottle. Jellico wisely chose to make no comment on that.
Jellico’s description of the events leading up to the kidnapping were fairly detailed. Calhoun didn’t have to ask him the source of his information, since it was obviously Robin Lefler, and what she’d been told by the participants. He interrupted Jellico only once, to say, “A challenge? He issued a Xenexian challenge for a woman?”
“You’ve heard of the practice?”
“Heard of it? I did it myself once.”
“Really. For anyone I know?” Jellico said with grim humor, and then abruptly a serious answer to his joke occurred to him. “Wait…not…?”
Calhoun nodded.
“Shelby?”
“I was young and stupid,” said Calhoun. “Back in my Academy days. You remember.”
“Of course I do, considering the messes of yours I had to clean up. You threw down some sort of chauvinistic challenge for Elizabeth Shelby and she wasn’t totally repulsed by it?”
“Well…I did it with a great deal of charm.”
“I can only imagine,” said Jellico, who obvious
ly couldn’t. “And did you ever relate this marvelous incident to Xyon?”
“I…might have, one evening. During a rare bonding moment.”
“Terrific.” Jellico massaged the bridge of his nose and Calhoun suspected his own headache was contagious. “Just…terrific.”
He then continued with his summary of all that had occurred on New Thallon. When he concluded, the two men sat there for a long moment in silence that was broken only by the soft glug of the Romulan ale being finished off by Calhoun.
Calhoun finally broke the quiet. “If they find him, he’s dead…again.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Then I’m going in after him.”
“His actions have threatened to destabilize the region, Mac. Tempers are running hot.”
“Yes, which is why they’ll kill him. I understand, Ed.”
“No, I don’t think you do, Mac. The sins of the son are reflecting on the father.”
Calhoun considered that a moment. “You’re saying I may not receive a particularly warm welcome myself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes. They’ll be concerned that you’re going to try and…”
“And what? Stop them from killing him?”
“Yes,” Jellico said grimly.
“Imagine their surprise when they turn out to be right.”
“Mac, you can’t go barreling into Thallonian space with phasers blasting…”
Calhoun looked at Jellico incredulously. “Ed, what did you think I was going to do when you dropped this little bombshell on me? Nod my head, say ‘Thanks for the tip,’ and go back to business as usual? If it was your son, what would you do? Or are you telling me that I can’t bring the Excalibur in there, that it’ll run contrary to Starfleet regulations. Fine.” He reached up for the pips on his collar and started to unfasten them. “I’ll resign my commission. My personal ship is down in the shuttlebay, and that’ll be all I need to—”
Jellico pulled Calhoun’s hand away from his uniform shirt. “I think what this situation calls for, Mac, is for you to overreact even more than you already are.”
“I don’t need sarcasm right now, Ed.”
“And I don’t need you flying off half-cocked.”