The Returned, Part I

by Peter David

  “It’s no big deal,” said Calhoun, waving it off dismissively. “Right now we have other things to worry about. Soleta”—he nodded to her—“why don’t you bring Burgoyne up to speed on what we’re dealing with.”

  Calhoun, Shelby, McHenry, and Burgy took seats around the table while Soleta stood. She then proceeded to lay out for Burgy, as efficiently as she could, her mental memories from her final battle with the fake Nechayev. Burgoyne took it all in and, unlike the doctor, did not require explanations of such concepts as pocket universes. Instead s/he nodded.

  “And now,” Calhoun said once Soleta had completed her story, “that leaves us with a bit of a quandary. Specifically: Do we head into Thallonian space in pursuit of this wormhole?”

  “By ourselves?” said Burgoyne. S/he paused. “I have to admit, Captain, I’m a bit surprised that you would ask. The Mackenzie Calhoun that I’ve always known would simply inform the crew that that’s what we’re going to be doing and send us hurtling off into battle.”

  Calhoun nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m very aware of that, Burgy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth noting that Mackenzie Calhoun lost his entire race underestimating the reactions of his opponents. I have no interest in bringing down the hammer on another race simply because I didn’t think through the ramifications of my actions.”

  “You can’t hold yourself responsible for what our enemies might do, sir.”

  “You know what, Burgy? I can do exactly that,” replied Calhoun. “What I’m looking for now is genuine advice from the people I can trust the most.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Burgy, scratching hir chin thoughtfully, “if we’re going to pull this off, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak with the people you actually trust the least.”

  Calhoun looked puzzled for a moment but then he understood. “You mean Starfleet.”

  “I do,” said Burgy. “Let’s face it, Captain, you’re talking about going to war with another race. This isn’t a job for a single starship. You’re talking about something that would require a fleet of vessels. We need to go up against the D’myurj with a force of at least three to one, and even then our triumph isn’t guaranteed.”

  “S/he’s right,” said Shelby. “And you know that because I told you that two days ago. You can’t go into this one alone, Mac. It’s too big and the stakes are too high.”

  Calhoun’s gaze shifted to McHenry. “What about you, Mark? Are you in for the long haul on this? Can we count on your powers?”

  “My powers?” McHenry chuckled at that. “Captain, my powers are for the most part passive. Yes, I can impact time and space, but I can’t throw lightning bolts and such around. I tend to lean toward talking. Yes, granted, I can’t get lost, but I hardly think never having to stop and ask directions is going to be of much help in a battle.”

  There was silence for a time. Despite the fact that Shelby outranked Calhoun and should have been running the meeting, she remained silent, watching, assessing, waiting.

  “All right,” Calhoun said finally. “We make this a full Starfleet operation then.”

  “Good,” Shelby immediately said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Which will be . . . ?”

  “We need to get in touch with someone in Starfleet who’s going to take our side. Who’d be willing to serve as the ramrod for this endeavor? There’s only one person I can think of who fills the bill.”

  “Jellico,” said Calhoun.

  McHenry looked momentarily confused. “Are you being sarcastic? I thought the admiral hated your guts.”

  “You have been gone for a while,” Calhoun said with a small smile. “Things have softened between the two of us. And he was right there beside me when the fake Nechayev blew up.”

  “If anyone can organize a fleet to back us up, it’s going to be Edward Jellico,” Shelby said. “I’ll contact Starfleet immediately and set up a meeting. Bring him up to speed. Give me a few hours to get everything ready.”

  “Good,” said Calhoun, rising. “That leaves me some time to talk to somebody.”

  ii.

  “DRAW!”

  Moke yanked the gun from his holster, leveled it, and opened fire. Black Bart staggered as the bullets slammed into his chest, his own shot going wide. Blood poured from the gaping wounds and Moke found that he liked the blood. A lot.

  Bart fell backward and lay on the ground, twitching several times as his body spasmed. Then he made a low groan and his head flopped to one side. He was dead.

  The crowd in the town set up a roar, cheering Moke’s name. They surged forward and surrounded him, lifting him up onto their shoulders and bellowing over and over again, “Thor! Thor! Thor!”

  “Thor?”

  The voice, even though it was spoken casually, rather than shouted, floated over the crowd. He twisted around in the crowd’s grasp and saw Mackenzie Calhoun standing off to the side. Wearing his Starfleet uniform, he was a stark contrast to everyone else who was dressed in the clothing of the Ancient West. He seemed amused at the adulation that Moke was receiving.

  “Freeze program!” Moke shouted.

  Immediately everyone became bolt still. It wasn’t the best timing that Moke had ever displayed, because, since he had called a halt to the holodeck program while they had him elevated, it meant that climbing down from that height was going to be a bit tricky. But he was too proud to tell the program to put him down and so it took him a few moments to clamber down on his own. Calhoun made no effort to help him, perhaps sensing that this was something Moke had to do on his own.

  They stood there facing each other, a few feet apart. Moke was genuinely uncertain of how to react.

  “Should we each be holding guns?” asked Calhoun. “I mean, you’re armed. Should I get myself a six-shooter?”

  “No, that’s . . . I don’t . . . no.”

  Calhoun glanced around at the town. It was a random assortment of Ancient West clichés and tropes. Here was the sheriff’s office, there was the bar, and down the street was the blacksmith. A tumbleweed was poised midroll in the street. “Not a bad program,” said Calhoun.

  “Reminds me a little of home.” He looked about. “A lot of home, actually.”

  “Would you want to go back there if you could?”

  “Why? My mom’s dead. I had no friends. There’s nothing there for me. The thing is, I’m wondering if there’s anything out here for me as well.”

  Calhoun frowned and nodded. “I can see how you’d feel that way . . . Thor? I mean, you know that’s not your name, right?”

  “It is here.” He stuck a finger on his vest, causing the badge that was stuck to it to protrude. “Sheriff Thor.”

  “Hunh. I knew a god once who said that should be your name instead of Moke.”

  “Whatever,” Moke said dismissively. He cocked his head sideways and stared at Calhoun. “So are you back now? For good this time?”

  “I would say so, yes.”

  “And am I supposed to trust you?”

  “I would like to think you would,” Calhoun said slowly, “but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. I admit we weren’t on the best of terms when we parted.”

  “Yeah, I know, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Moke studied him, almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Your people got wiped out. That must’ve been . . . that was hard. I’d think. For you. For them, too, I guess. Not guess, I know it must’ve been. Dying and everything. And I just . . .”

  “Moke,” said Calhoun as he walked slowly toward the boy. There was genuine amusement on his face. “Are you feeling sorry for me?”

  “A little, I guess. Yeah. Is that bad?”

  “I’m just not accustomed to it, that’s all.”

  “I can try to stop, if you want.”

  “I think I’d appreciate it
if you did, yes.” He rested his hands on Moke’s shoulders. “Moke . . . I’ve made mistakes, you’ve made mistakes. I think it’d be good for the both of us if we tried to start over. If you would give me the chance to genuinely try to be a father to you.”

  “I’d like that a lot.” Moke’s lower lip was trembling, and he did everything he could to rein himself in. “Oh!” he said. “I’ve been working on something back on the ship for you. I think I can transfer it here to Bravo. Hold on. Computer, access Excalibur holodeck log.”

  “Accessing,” the computer replied.

  “Implement Program MC1.”

  “What in the world is MC1?”

  “Your initials.”

  “I know that,” said Calhoun. “I was just wondering what—”

  The western town shimmered out of existence and something else appeared to replace it. The sun in the sky overhead was even hotter than the western town had been, and the buildings short and squat, looking as if they had somehow sprung up from the desert itself. And the people were—

  “Oh my God,” whispered Calhoun.

  It was Xenex. More specifically, it was the village of Calhoun, where Mac had grown up.

  Xenexians were going about their business, shopping, talking, and interacting with each other. Every so often one of them would glance toward Mac and nod in recognition.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Is it all right?” asked Moke uncertainly. “I mean, I can make it go away if this is upsetting you. If it’s too soon for you to . . .”

  And then Moke’s jaw dropped.

  Calhoun was crying.

  Moke couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t even thought Calhoun was capable of displaying such emotions. “Mac . . . ?”

  “I thought I didn’t have any tears left,” said Calhoun, wiping them from his face. “Moke, this is . . . this is wonderful. That you would take the time and the effort to do this for me.”

  “I figure we both lost our worlds. If we can’t be together in that, then what’s the point?”

  Calhoun reached for Moke then, drew him close, and hugged him so tightly that it was getting hard for Moke to breathe before Calhoun finally released him. Calhoun then stared at him for a time and said, “Tell me: Would you prefer I call you Thor from now on?”

  “Well, it is kind of an exciting name. He was the god of thunder.”

  “Yes, I’m very well aware of that. C’mon, Thor . . . let me show you around my old home.”

  With his arm draped around the boy’s shoulders, Calhoun and Thor started walking.

  iii.

  “IT’S IMPOSSIBLE,” SAID Admiral Edward Jellico.

  He was staring out at Calhoun, Burgoyne, and Shelby via the viewscreen in Shelby’s private office. He looked saddened by what he was saying, but also determined to make sure that he was being understood.

  “What do you mean ‘impossible,’ Admiral?” said Shelby.

  “I mean it can’t be done.”

  “We know the definition of the word,” Shelby amended. “I mean why are you saying it’s impossible.”

  “Ed, you know what’s at stake here,” said Calhoun. “You were there when Soleta destroyed the fake Nechayev. The real one is still a prisoner of the D’myurj and the Brethren. We need to go in and rescue her.”

  “Then we need to find another way,” said Jellico. “We can’t go through a wormhole in Thallonian space. The Thallonians have completely shut down all diplomatic relationships with the Federation.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” said Calhoun angrily, “considering that a member of the Thallonian counsel was working with the D’myurj. For all we know, all of them are.”

  “The rest of the Thallonians swore that Tusari Gyn was working entirely on his own and was not representing their interests.”

  “Of course that’s what they’re going to say,” Burgoyne commented. “They’re hardly likely to admit complicity.”

  “You may well be correct,” said Jellico, “but unfortunately that’s not the point. If we send a fleet of starships into Thallonian space, there is going to be resistance. The Thallonians may have allies that they can pull into the mix. As you well know, there is no shortage of races who harbor hostility for the Federation. The consensus here is that it is unwise to send a fleet into such an untenable situation.”

  “What if Spock had told you to do it?” said Calhoun.

  Jellico blinked in confusion. “You mean Ambassador Spock? I’m not sure I—”

  “Soleta is the source of our information. Soleta does not have a large number of fans in Starfleet. Tell me honestly, Ed, how many are saying we should stay out of this because our sole source of information is known as a Romulan operative?”

  Jellico dropped his gaze, which was all the answer that Calhoun needed. Then he raised it again and said, “Look . . . Mac . . . I was there when she fought the fake Nechayev. I saw what she did to get the information. To me, her devotion and bravery are without question. But if you’re going to push on this, then yes, there is some resistance from within over the prospect of sending vessels into an indisputable combat situation purely on her say-so. It may not be fair or right, but unfortunately, that’s just the way it is at this point in time.”

  “And what about you, Ed. Where do you personally stand on this?”

  “Me personally? Mac, if I had the ability to do so, I’d take command of the nearest starship and fight by your side. But I don’t have that option. Despite my rank and seniority, I have people I answer to as well.”

  “Then I want to talk to them.”

  “They don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Ed—”

  “Mac, why would they want to?” said Jellico, making no attempt to hide his exasperation. “You’re a Starfleet officer who deserted his command for months. You effectively went AWOL. You still have your ship because you have two admirals covering your ass—one of whom you’re married to and the other whom you’re talking to. Do you seriously think that anyone in any position of authority is willing to talk to you? You’re damned lucky I’m talking to you.”

  “Fine,” said Calhoun, working on keeping his temper from flaring. “Then I am informing you that the Excalibur is going solo on this endeavor.”

  “No, you are not. And if I have to pull command from you right now and put Burgoyne in charge, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And that’s for your sake as well as anyone else’s. Mac”—Jellico forced his voice to a calmer tone—“you may not be willing to accept this, but I am on your side. However, the Excalibur cannot be seen in Thallonian space. They’ve cut ties with the Federation; that section of space is outlawed to Starfleet traffic. If you show up there, you could set off a war between the Thallonians and the Federation. No one wants that.”

  “Why? Are you worried the Thallonians can defeat you?”

  “No, but we’re worried they can cause a great deal of instability. Are you listening to me, Mac? Are you hearing me? The Excalibur cannot be seen in Thallonian space. If you disobey this directive, there is every chance that you will be arrested should you be able to return. Do we understand each other?”

  “He understands perfectly, Admiral,” Shelby said.

  “If it’s all the same to you, Admiral, I would prefer to hear that from him.”

  At first Calhoun was deathly silent. Then, finally, he said in a flat voice, “I understand.”

  “Good,” said Jellico, although his tone didn’t sound as if he completely believed it. “That’s good to hear.”

  “Thank you for your time,” said Calhoun. He turned away from the screen before Jellico signed off, which was a breach of protocol, but obviously it wasn’t anything that Jellico was going to bust on him about. Moments later Jellico blinked out. All was silent in the conference room.

  “I’m sorry, Mac,” Shelby said softly.

&nbs
p; To her surprise, Calhoun turned toward her and he was smiling. “Nothing to be sorry about. All Jellico said was that we couldn’t be seen going into Thallonian space.”

  “So?” said Burgoyne.

  “So we won’t be,” said Calhoun.

  iv.

  SOLETA WAS JOGGING on a treadmill in the gym, moving at a brisk and steady trot, as the exoskeletons enabled her to run. She wondered if she should perhaps disengage them from her legs and attempt to walk without them. After all, she felt back to normal. But she was reluctant to do so because she was concerned that the exoskeletons were only fooling her into thinking she was fully functional. Still, Soleta watched her progress on the treadmill and was pleased with what she was seeing.

  She was the only one in the gym, and she was happy about that. She was aware that she might be imagining it, but Soleta felt as if others on Bravo Station weren’t sure about her. That they knew her to be “that Romulan woman who had lied her way into Starfleet,” but now, for some reason, was a friend of Admiral Shelby’s and might even be a hero. It was her impression that, as a result, people tended to steer clear of her whenever they saw her coming. Then again, she could just have been making it all up.

  She disliked not knowing what was going on in her head.

  The doors hissed open behind her, but Soleta kept her focus forward. She didn’t need to stare at whoever it was who had walked in. They had their own exercise interests and she had hers.

  “Soleta.”

  She turned in mild surprise in response to Burgoyne’s voice, and the treadmill kept right on going. She lost her grip on the handlebars and fell flat on the treadmill, which threw her off its back end.

  “You have completed your exercise,” the treadmill informed her, and promptly shut off.

  Burgoyne hurried to her side and helped her upright. She saw that Shelby, McHenry, and Calhoun had come in behind hir. “Well, that was an elegant way in which to say hello to all of you.”

  She was wearing short pants, exposing the exoskeletons that were bracing her legs. “Because you haven’t been walking for a while?” asked Burgoyne.