by Peter David
“That’s as may be…and we could go round and round about how we came to this state. But that will accomplish nothing, whereas some form of compromise might.” Just as Fhermus didn’t allow his son to respond, so now did Cwan angle the conversation away from Fhermus so that he too could not offer rebuttal. “Tell you what, Calhoun. If you can appeal to Xyon’s, dare I say it, better nature, I might be able to steer my way clear to releasing him into your custody.” He fired a preemptive, silencing look in Fhermus’s direction that, fortunately enough, worked. At least temporarily.
“And how would you define his ‘better nature’?” asked Calhoun.
“Why, obviously, by convincing him that it’s in his best interest to cooperate.”
“Obviously. All right: Take me to him.”
“Ah,” and he sounded regretful, “I’m afraid that’s not advisable at this time. Tragically, there are some here who do not trust you, Captain. So any discussions you have with Xyon would have to be subject to public scrutiny. Do not be concerned, however. You see, the moment Xyon came into our possession, I suspected you would be along.” He cast a sidelong glance at Robin, who still wasn’t looking at him. “So I took steps to prepare for your arrival. Kindly turn your attention toward the far wall.”
Dozens of heads turned in the direction that Si Cwan had indicated. A large painting of Si Cwan’s father was hanging there, and then it slid aside with noiseless precision to reveal a large viewscreen.
“I hope you like it,” said Si Cwan. “My people worked extremely hard to have it in place in time. Viewscreen, activate please.”
The viewscreen flared to life, and the sight upon it prompted audible gasps from some and satisfied growls from others.
Xyon was there, strapped to a table that was angled at forty-five degrees so that he was visible to all. He had been stripped naked and was held to the table via various clamps. Save for his leg where he’d been stabbed, there were no cuts anywhere on his body. It was, however, covered with bruises. He was a mass of swellings, almost from head to toe. His eyes were little more than large, gray and black puffiness. His breathing wasn’t steady, but instead ragged and raspy.
Si Cwan was hoping that the sight would provoke a reaction from Calhoun. Some sort of outcry, which would certainly be seen as a sign of weakness. But there was nothing. Calhoun might as well have been carved from teak. Kebron, however, was heard to murmur, “Oh my God.”
“Xyon,” Calhoun said. His voice was flat, unemotional. A Vulcan would have displayed more reaction.
Xyon tried to lift his head and look around, unaware of where the voice was coming from. “Who’s that?” he croaked out.
“M’k’n’zy of Calhoun,” said the Starfleet captain, using his Xenexian name.
“Oh.” Xyon stopped trying to look around, allowing his head to slump back. “Hi. Look…you caught me at a bad time.” He sounded as if he were gargling gravel.
“In a bit of a fix, are you, son?”
“It’s under control.”
“Is it.”
“No problem. Father…sorry about pretending to be dead. Fortunately…at this rate…I’ll be making up for the ‘pretending’ part.”
“I’ll get you out of there, Xyon.”
Xyon made a small movement of his head which was clearly an endeavor to shake it. “They won’t let me go…till I tell them where Kalinda is.”
“Then tell them, Xyon. There’s no point in keeping it to yourself. If you love her…”
“The fact that I do love her…is what’s killing me…killing me way more than they can. Because I should be out finding her…but they’ve got me locked up down here.” And then his voice began to rise as he found desperate strength bubbling up within him. “Find her, Dad. You…gotta find her…save her. Only you…”
“That will do for now,” Si Cwan said mildly. The screen shut off. Si Cwan tried to see Robin’s reaction to all that, but his attention was pulled away by Calhoun before he could spot her.
Because Calhoun was walking toward him with calm but determined stride. “Turn him over to me, Si Cwan.”
“What, just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Calhoun. You see, clearly he’s still not ready to cooperate. I was hoping that seeing you would jog loose his stubbornness….”
“He doesn’t know where she is.”
Before Si Cwan could stop him, Fhermus stepped in between Si Cwan and Calhoun. “We have only his word for that, and he is a liar and deceiver of the highest order.”
“We have devices on the Excalibur that would be able to determine the veracity of what he’s saying. There would be no margin for error.”
“Oh, and we are to trust you, are we? You, who have everything to gain from so-called infallible machines, except it would benefit you when they allegedly verify your son’s ignorance of the girl’s whereabouts.”
Calhoun looked slightly exasperated. “Who are you again?”
“Fhermus of the House of Fhermus. The one who has suffered at your son’s hands.”
“It seems to me that Xyon is the one doing the suffering.”
“Indeed. And I assure you that, if I had my preferences, I would have contributed far more to it than I did.”
“Meaning…?”
“Meaning when I stabbed him in the leg to urge him to speak.”
Si Cwan saw the scar on the side of Calhoun’s face flush crimson. “Fhermus…” called out Cwan.
“That was your doing?” Calhoun growled.
“Handiwork of which I’m quite proud, actually.”
“Fhermus,” Si Cwan tried to warn him, “I really wouldn’t…”
“They brought your arrogant whelp in here, all trussed up, and I showed him,” said Fhermus proudly, “I showed him the cost of—”
There was the sound of a loud crack, and it took the assemblage a few moments to realize that Calhoun had just broken Fhermus’s jaw.
Calhoun was standing there with fist cocked, his knuckles skinned. Fhermus was staggering, trying to maintain his footing, his knees buckling. His jaw was at an odd angle to the rest of his face. Tiraud was paralyzed, staring in shock at his father’s condition.
Fhermus swung a flaccid punch that missed Calhoun by two feet, and Calhoun took a quick step forward, his arm moving like a piston. His fist slammed squarely into Fhermus’s face, and that was it for the Nelkarite. He toppled backward like a tree and crashed to the ground, arms flung out to either side.
“Well, that was inevitable,” sighed Zak Kebron.
Tiraud was immediately at his father’s side, trying to revive him, and the hall erupted into shouting that only died down after Cwan, on his feet, spread his hands wide and repeatedly bellowed for quiet. When he finally got it, he stared gravely at Calhoun. “I cannot believe what I just saw.”
“Nor can I,” admitted Calhoun, sounding concerned. “Did you see that? It took two punches to put him down. I must be getting old.”
“This isn’t funny, Calhoun!”
“Notice my absence of laughter, Si Cwan.”
Tiraud was on his feet and he was bellowing, “This is an outrage! An outrage!”
“Your father stabbed a helpless prisoner,” Calhoun said calmly, never coming close to raising his voice. “I can think of no greater outrage than that.”
Tiraud whirled to face Si Cwan. “I am demanding that this man be taken into custody, and if you don’t do it, then I will call upon my personal guard to see it done.”
“Is there anything around here to eat?” asked Zak Kebron.
The question was so completely out of left field that Si Cwan gaped openly at him. “What?”
“Well, I was figuring if there was, we could have dinner and a show.”
It was at that moment that a cry of “Prime Minister!” rang through the great hall, and Si Cwan frowned in confusion. “Ankar?”
It was indeed the voice of his personal aide and occasional torturer. Ankar sp
rinted into the room, looking out of breath, as if he’d run the whole way from wherever he’d been off tormenting the helpless Xyon. “He’s gone, Prime Minister!”
“He? He wh—?” It was so unthinkable to Si Cwan that at first it didn’t register on him who Ankar could possibly be referring to. But then the truth dawned upon him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I was standing right there! Right there! My back was turned, and suddenly I heard a loud buzzing noise, and when I looked back, he was gone!”
Instantly there was an uproar from the onlookers. Everyone was talking at once, and the words “Outrage!” and “How dare he!” were the loudest being bandied about.
It was everything that Si Cwan could do to make himself heard over it, and what he did shout was “Calhoun!” But as it turned out, he failed utterly, because the voices were rising and his angered outcry blended in with all the rest.
And then the walls and floor shook, and the paintings swung to one side, and several of the busts trembled on their pedestals and one nearly fell over, and it all happened as a result of one single word bellowed at ear-splitting, unconsciousness-inducing, wall-shaking volume.
“QUIIIIIIIIETTTTTTT.”
The bellow was so thundering that it brought everything crashing to a halt. Si Cwan had found it necessary to grab hold of his chair lest he fall over, and he stared with outright incredulity at the source.
The only one in the room who hadn’t been staggered by the unleashed sound was Calhoun, which was impressive considering he’d been closest to the source. Not that he’d been totally unaffected; he’d put his hands to his ears to provide some degree of shielding. When the bellow had run its course, he looked up at Zak Kebron and said, “That was impressive. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I don’t like to. It hurts my throat. Still, that’s nothing. You should hear the Brikar Light Opera Company,” Kebron told him modestly.
“Actually, I don’t think I should.”
“Calhoun!” Si Cwan finally managed to get out.
“Yes?”
“You helped Xyon escape! Don’t deny it!”
“All right. I don’t deny it.”
“Then you admit it!”
“No. I don’t admit it.”
“But you didn’t deny it!”
Calhoun shrugged. “You told me not to deny it. I was just trying to be accommodating.”
“Calhoun—!”
“I didn’t take him, Si Cwan,” Calhoun said, his voice changing and becoming less laconic and more forceful. “You saw me. I was standing right here. I issued no order, gave no command to my ship.”
“He was beamed out! This is no different than when you helped Janos to escape from custody years ago—!”
“There is one minor difference, in that this time around I had nothing to do with it. Other than that, the two occasions are completely identical.”
“You…you won’t get away with this!” Tiraud cried out. He had dragged his father to a nearby chair. Fhermus, half-slumped in it, was just starting to come around. “Do you hear me? You won’t get away with this!”
Calhoun gave him a look that seemed as if he was judging whether Tiraud was worth his time to reply to. Apparently deciding to err on the side of whatever shreds of diplomacy might be left to the situation, he said coolly, “I’m not trying to get away with anything. I have as much invested in this as do you. In point of fact, I have no intention of going anywhere until this matter is sorted out. My son is missing, and this time I’m not going to presume him dead unless I see it for myself.”
“You’re offering your continued presence here as assurance of Xyon’s return?” Si Cwan said carefully, clearly wanting to leave Calhoun no room for political maneuvering.
“Since I wasn’t responsible for his vanishing just now, I’m not in a position to assure anything about his return,” Calhoun replied. “The only thing I can assure you is that I’m not leaving until this matter is resolved.”
“Then you will remain in the custody of the House of Fhermus!” snapped Tiraud. Si Cwan heard the thundering of feet and saw ten or so of Tiraud’s personal guards massing.
Calhoun looked them up and down. “That won’t be happening,” he said quietly.
Si Cwan’s gaze flickered from Calhoun to Kebron to Tiraud. “Tiraud…I respect the House of Fhermus, and in that sense of respect, I suggest you stand down your intentions here. For one thing, you don’t have enough men.”
“Oh, I think my fighting force here is up to the task, Prime Minister,” Tiraud said, brimming with confidence. “However, I always have more men in service to the House of Fhermus if need be.”
“I was actually referring to the total number of men you have in service,” Si Cwan replied. “Candidly, I doubt we have enough men on the planet to get the job done, if arresting Mackenzie Calhoun…particularly with Kebron standing here…is your intention.”
“And I respect your concerns, Prime Minister” was Tiraud’s taut reply, “but I am going to take this man into custody and throw him into the most dank, repulsive accommodations that the House of Fhermus has to offer.”
“And they say chivalry is dead,” rumbled Kebron. “Captain…with your permission…?”
Calhoun shrugged. “Be my guest.”
“Young Nelkarite,” Kebron said, folding his arms across his massive chest, “believe it or not, I comprehend your outrage. You feel humiliated and are planning a show of force to balance that. Understandable. Very understandable. Believe me when I tell you, however, that it will not go well for you if you embark upon this course of action you intend. Right now, with all that’s happened, I very much feel your pain. However, if you launch this assault, I will cease to feel your pain. You, on the other hand, will continue feeling your pain, for about as long as you’re capable of feeling anything. The same for those under your command. So I implore you…do not do what you’re contemplating do—”
“Get them!” shouted Tiraud, and his guardsmen surged forward with a collective shout of fealty to the House of Fhermus.
Kebron sighed and glanced at Calhoun. “That never works,” he admitted.
“I know,” said Calhoun, poised on the balls of his feet, a grim smile of confidence on his lips. “But I never get tired of watching you try.”
The guardsmen started to reach for their disruptor weapons hanging at their sides, but Si Cwan immediately shouted, “No! There will be no shooting in here! Bystanders will be injured! If you want them, take them without weapons…if you can.”
“You doubt us!” Tiraud cried out, sounding outraged.
“No. But I don’t doubt them, either,” said Si Cwan, nodding toward Calhoun and Kebron. Kebron tossed a slightly mocking salute in Cwan’s direction.
The guardsmen of the House of Fhermus holstered their weapons and, as one, charged.
Kebron stepped in between the onrush of attackers, his arms spread wide. They tried to move around him, determined to get at the higher ranking officer who, as it happened, also looked to be far less formidable than Kebron. Several of them, however, assaulted Kebron, swarming over him like so many Lilliputians attacking Gulliver. Their success in that endeavor was similarly transitory.
With a dull roar, Kebron began flinging them aside. All the while he kept grumbling “Sorry about this” and “You really shouldn’t be doing this” and “I wish there was another way.” He didn’t bother with various fighting techniques; the sheer brute strength of his arms was more than enough to send guardsmen crashing into one another, their unconscious or moaning bodies piling up like logs stored for winter.
Several of them, including Tiraud, managed to maneuver in behind Kebron, and it was these that came at Mackenzie Calhoun. At first it seemed as if Calhoun didn’t notice them coming, because his back remained to them as he watched Kebron flipping attackers about as if they were poker chips. But when Tiraud drew to within two feet of Calhoun, he learned something with brutal certainty that others could have told him: Mackenzie Ca
lhoun practically had eyes in the back of his head. How else to explain the booted foot that shot backward like an uncoiling spring, catching Tiraud squarely in the gut. It knocked all the breath out of him and he fell backward, clutching his stomach.
The others advanced on Calhoun and then they hesitated as they saw in his eyes an almost feral excitement. It was enough of a delay that they were caught flat-footed as Calhoun came at them. A backhand punch in the face to one sent him staggering while, at the same time, Calhoun spun and smashed his foot into the kneecap of the man nearest him. The man let out a yelp and crumpled, clutching his leg, as Calhoun ducked under a missed roundhouse from a third man. He punched the attacker solidly in the solar plexus, and there was the sound of a rib cracking from the impact.
The rest of the room was in chaos as Zak Kebron continued to shot-put around the guards who were foolish enough to attack him. The only person in the room who seemed to have no vested interest in the proceedings was Si Cwan himself. Once the pandemonium had begun, Si Cwan had chosen simply to lean back in his large chair, prop his chin up with one hand, and watch the festivities with the air of a bored spectator at a tennis match.
Tiraud had yanked his dagger from its sheath and—even though he was in pain from the shot he’d taken moments before—swung the dagger in a long, sweeping arc. Calhoun saw it coming at the last second and twisted around, barely getting his stomach out of the way. A quarter-inch closer and his digestive system would have been spilling out onto the floor through the newly created slice in his belly.
Calhoun turned full circle and came up on Tiraud’s side. He locked one hand immovably onto Tiraud’s wrist, rendering it helpless, and his face was inches away from Tiraud, who was suddenly pale with fright.
“Just a twist,” snarled Calhoun, applying the slightest pressure onto the knife which was now pointed at Tiraud’s belly, thanks to the manner in which Calhoun was holding it. “Just one twist and I sheathe this in your own body. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
With that, he brought his other arm up and across and slammed Tiraud in the face. Blood spurted from the young man’s broken nose as Calhoun pushed him down. The Xenexian held up the blade, staring at it from several angles. “Nice craftsmanship,” he observed, and suddenly his arm was up, the point of the knife aimed straight at Tiraud.