by Peter David
“Correct.”
“Well, you’re doing an excellent job.”
“When I am not falling down, yes.” She glanced at them. “You did not simply come here to visit. Is something on your mind?”
“Definitely.” Calhoun quickly laid out for her what Jellico had told them. She listened, nodded, and, when he had concluded, said, “I assume it is the ‘not be seen’ part that has prompted you to come see me.”
“Your ship, the Spectre, has been sitting in our docking bay for the entirety of your stay,” said Shelby.
“The Spectre has the best cloaking device that anyone has ever encountered,” Calhoun added. “Up to and including the fact that you can use your weaponry while you’re cloaked.”
“Indeed it does,” said Soleta. She knew what they were going to ask, but was disinclined to go easy on them. They were going to have to spell it out.
“If we were able to take your cloaking device—” began Calhoun.
“I believe ‘borrow’ is the word that you were thinking of.”
“—borrow your cloaking device and attach it to the Excalibur, we would be able to gain entrance into Thallonian space with no one the wiser. We would be adhering to Admiral Jellico’s orders.”
“No, you would not,” she said. “What you would be doing is adhering to the letter of the order while ignoring its spirit. He clearly does not want you to go into Thallonian space, and you are simply seeking a means around it.”
“I believe that that is exactly what Jellico wants us to do,” said Calhoun. “He phrased it a very specific way, and I think there is a reason for that.”
“Or perhaps you are simply telling yourself that. It is my suspicion that if you contacted him again and proposed your idea to him, you would get a firm ‘no’ as a response. If, however, you believe me wrong, I invite you to go ahead and do exactly that.”
The others exchanged faintly annoyed looks, and Soleta assumed that was because they knew she was absolutely correct.
“So you’re denying us use of your cloaking device, then,” said Burgoyne.
“Not at all. If you believe it is necessary to borrow the cloaking device, and assuming you are convinced it can be safely integrated with your vessel, then I would gladly donate it so that your plan can go forward. I have no particular loyalty to what Starfleet Command may desire, and I am quite content to frustrate their plans and limitations for you.”
Clear relief flooded across their faces. “Okay,” said Burgoyne, “we’ll bring your ship over into the Excalibur and—”
“Not quite yet,” said Soleta. “We have not yet discussed the price for my cooperation.”
The others seemed confused. “What manner of price?” said Shelby. “Are you talking about credits or gold-pressed latinum or—”
“That is not what I desire,” said Soleta. “I want something more essential.”
“That being?” said Shelby.
But Calhoun knew. “You want to come back and serve on the Excalibur.”
She nodded. “I am tired of being on my own,” she said. “No crew. No friends. No backup. A fugitive from the Romulan Empire. I want my old life back. Starfleet wanted to bust me in rank, put me behind a desk, likely knowing that that was not an existence that I could tolerate. I want to be back on the Excalibur, serving in any way that I can. And if Starfleet finds that intolerable, then that is simply too bad for Starfleet. I need to know that I have your support on this, Captain.”
“Soleta,” he said slowly, “I can’t guarantee that I’ll have a place on the Excalibur when this is over.”
“Of course you will. You are Mackenzie Calhoun. Against all odds you will penetrate Thallonian space, enter the wormhole, save Admiral Nechayev and the other Starfleet officers we don’t even know are missing, and earn the gratitude of Starfleet. That is simply inevitable. I have served with you for far too long to believe that this will end any other way. Indeed, if you think that any other outcome is possible, then I believe you are selling yourself short.”
Calhoun actually chuckled at that. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”
“It is not confidence. It is experience.”
“The problem is that I’m not sure where we’d put you,” said Burgoyne. “We have a science officer.”
“Yes, I know. Your son. That is of no relevance to me. The science department is more than one person. I will happily serve under Xy if he will have me.”
“I will ask him, but I’m sure it will not be a problem.”
“Good,” said Soleta. “Then let us get straight to it.”
Excalibur
i.
“I’M NOT SURE about this,” said Xy.
He was standing in the ready room as Burgoyne was finishing clearing out the last of the personal objects s/he had used to decorate it. Burgoyne looked up at him in mild confusion. “Not sure about what? About Soleta?”
“You didn’t really give me any choice.”
“No, I didn’t. I doubted there would be a problem.” S/he frowned. “Is there?”
“Not a problem, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Do I have to spell it out, Dad?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to.” Burgoyne placed one of hir trophies in a container. “Because you really haven’t managed to accomplish it so far.”
“She was the science officer. And now she’s volunteered to serve under me? Doesn’t that seem like a recipe for trouble?”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Burgy. “And you know why? Because Soleta told me so, that’s why. And I trust her.”
“You trust the Romulan operative?”
And to Xy’s astonishment, Burgoyne was suddenly across the room and had grabbed him by the front of his uniform. Before Xy could say anything, Burgy had shoved him back and slammed him against the wall. Burgy’s claws snapped out, and when s/he drew back hir lips, hir fangs were visible. “Don’t you ever,” s/he snarled, “speak of her like that again! Not ever!”
“Dad! My God—!”
It was as if Burgoyne was returning from some sort of fugue state. S/he stared at hir extended claws as if it was the first time s/he was seeing them. Slowly hir mind started to put together what s/he was in the midst of doing. S/he withdrew hir claws and stepped back from hir son, seemingly confused. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Xy. I don’t know what . . . that was . . . uncalled for.”
I should say so! He didn’t say it aloud, though. Instead he smoothed down the front of his uniform tunic. There was a hole torn in it from one of Burgy’s claws, and he made a mental note to get a fresh one. “Are you feeling all right?”
Burgoyne managed a nod. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should . . .”
“Xy, you know I love you, but if you suggest another sit-down with Zak Kebron, I swear I’ll shoot you out a photon torpedo tube.”
“Understood.”
Except that had been exactly what he had planned to suggest. He knew that something wasn’t right with Burgoyne. Ever since the death of hir beloved Selar, Burgoyne had simply not been hirself. The sudden rage, the popping of hir claws and near assault on hir son, was completely out of character for hir. Burgy had been having any number of these momentary lapses of behavior. It was impossible to predict and would be gone as quickly as it arrived. Burgoyne would always shrug it off as if it were a random belch or similar minor occurrence. But Xy had been watching hir and knew that there was something else going on. As long as Burgoyne wasn’t willing to discuss it, though, there was simply nothing to be done for it.
“Look,” said Burgy, “if you really think there’s going to be a problem . . .”
“No, no,” Xy said quickly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine. Right now, from my understanding, Soleta is down in engineering assisting Mitchell in the installation of the cloa
king device. And after it’s installed, I’ll bring Soleta down to a science lab and get her set up. I’m sure she’ll be extremely useful.”
“That’s good,” said Burgy, heaving a distinct sigh of relief. “That’s very good to hear. Thank you, Xy.”
“No thanks necessary.”
The door slid open and Captain Calhoun was standing there. “Hello, Xy. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you as well, Captain. Your absence was felt.”
“I’m quite sure that your father was more than up to the challenge of replacing me.”
Actually, I think it may have served to make hir a little insane.
“Yes, absolutely,” said Xy readily. “S/he couldn’t have done a better job.”
“And you’re all right with Soleta being assigned to your department?”
“Completely. She will be an asset.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Calhoun.
Burgoyne lifted two containers that were filled with hir personal objects. “Let me just move these back down to my quarters.”
“Need help?”
“No, sir. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be returning to my station, Captain. Again, glad to have you back.” Xy hurried out of the ready room, pleased to be back on the bridge.
ii.
“BURGY.”
Burgoyne hesitated as s/he headed for the door. “Yes, Captain.”
Calhoun appeared to have changed in the intervening seconds between when Xy had exited the room and now. His emotions seemed much more detached; it was like he was speaking to Burgoyne from several miles away. “You captained this ship, Burgy. You did it during a time when I was incapable of thinking about anything other than the loss of my people. This crew trusts you. And you owe it to them not to betray them.”
“Betray? I don’t—”
Calhoun sat down behind his desk. “I want to know if you’re really on board with this, Burgy. Not just when Shelby and Soleta and McHenry, and whoever else, is standing there. When it’s just you and me, man-to-man.”
“Technically I’m not a man.”
“Sorry. Man-to-Hermat. Tell me: Are you okay with this mission?”
“And if I’m not?”
Calhoun didn’t hesitate. “Then we don’t go.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. You’re my second-in-command. I need to know if you’re on board. If you’re not, I’m not going to put you in that position.”
“Then what would you do?”
Calhoun shrugged. “Forcibly go up the chain of command, get someone to listen to me. Do it by the numbers.”
Burgoyne stared at him and then said, “Are you out of your mind?”
Calhoun clearly wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “I don’t think so.”
“Captain, you are the leader of this vessel. I go where you lead. So does everyone else. You could command us into Thallonian space, across the Neutral Zone, or to the gates of Hell, and all you’re ever going to hear from anyone on that bridge is ‘Yes, sir.’ Our loyalty is yours and you must never question it. Is there anything else, sir?”
Calhoun smiled at that and shook his head. “I don’t believe so, no.”
“Good.”
Burgoyne walked out of the ready room. Slowly Calhoun looked around, and then he got up and went to a long wooden box that was on top of a nearby cabinet. He opened it.
His sword was inside.
He lifted the sword out of the box and hung it on the hooks that were positioned on the wall.
“That’s better,” he said.
New Thallon
i.
SHINTAR HAN WAS the newly elected prime minister of the New Thallonian Protectorate. “Newly elected” meant that he had managed to assassinate everyone else who was up for the job, so that when the election had occurred, he was the only one on the ballot who was still alive.
Han was a genuine member of Thallonian royalty, rather than being a member of one of the other races that had joined the Protectorate, such as the Nelkarites, the Boragi, the Mandylorians, or the Resplerians. It wasn’t as if his status was especially elevated. He was, at most, a distant cousin of the Cwan family, and there were even those who claimed that his claims of relation were just that: claims, without any actual adherence to reality. Shintar Han routinely brushed off such accusations; sufficiently certain and confident of his history, he knew anyone attempting to dispute it was simply jealous of him.
At least that was what he kept saying.
The spate of congratulatory parties had finally ended, and now Shintar Han was free to proceed with the rebuilding and restoration of New Thallon. The problem was the same that his predecessors had encountered:
They were not Si Cwan.
Si Cwan, the dead bastard, had a huge advantage over everyone else who could possibly rise to power because he was a martyr. The more difficulties that New Thallon faced, the more the people became nostalgic for the days of Si Cwan and his damned family. Any issues that they might have had with Si Cwan, and the politics that had resulted in his execution, had become dim and forgotten. All the idiots remembered were that they were happier when Si Cwan and company were running things. And they all knew that the new leaders of the Protectorate had killed him.
The fact that his wife, Robin Lefler, had slain the man who killed Si Cwan had not helped matters. Indeed, if anything, it had actually endeared her to many of the people—who had initially resisted the concept of an outsider marrying Cwan. Now they saw her as a vengeful widow who had inflicted deserved punishment on her husband’s slayer. And worse, they saw her half-breed child as the legitimate heir to the throne.
(In point of fact, Robin had not actually slain him. Kat Mueller had done so; that was not, however, a fact that was generally known.)
And that left Shintar Han exactly nowhere.
He had recently relocated himself to the office that had been held by his predecessor. It was reasonably elaborate, and that immediately set off mental warnings to Han. The people of New Thallon were struggling to survive. Farmers were doing their best to grow crops, but their success had been hit or miss. Unemployment was at an insanely high eighteen percent. Cutting ties with the Federation had exacerbated the situation, since it meant an end to trade.
The economy was in difficulty, the people were struggling, and many were near starvation. The prime minister should not have an office filled with oversized sculptures, large lush draperies, and mammoth wall hangings depicting great moments in the history of the original Thallon.
He tapped the comm unit on his desk. “Come in here, please.”
Moments later, his aide entered. Indi Anel was an exceptionally polite Boragi female who had, amazingly, survived the previous three individuals who had held Han’s job. Leaders came and went, but the support staff remained astoundingly consistent. Han wasn’t quite sure what to make of that and was partly tempted to have Indi Anel executed just on principle. Fortunately for her—and, to some degree, him as well—Han had restrained himself from taking such a precipitous action.
“Indi,” said Han, “I need to have things cleared out of here.”
“Very well, Prime Minister. What things in particular?”
“The decorations for the most part. The statues, the tapestries . . . anything that could be viewed as excessive.”
“All right. Do you want them stored somewhere?”
“I want them out of the building.”
“Do you want them stored somewhere outside of the building?”
“I honestly do not care what happens to them. You can keep them all in your home, for all that I care.”
“Perhaps,” she said judiciously, “you might want to donate them to the poor.”
Han realized that that was, in fact, the perfect idea. Return the property to the people.
They had no intrinsic value, therefore no one would benefit from it, but at least the optics would be favorable. “Very good. An excellent notion,” he said. “Can you arrange for that?”
“Yes, sir. Also, you have a visitor.”
“I do?” That surprised him. Han had no appointments scheduled for today; he had seen everyone who was anyone over the past two days and the likelihood was that they were sleeping off the sizable amounts of alcohol they had consumed. “When was this scheduled?”
“It was not scheduled. He simply showed up. Planetary security apprehended him when his small vessel touched down at the port. He offered no resistance and said he wanted to see you.”
That immediately told Han that whoever it was, he was not one of the races that were part of the Protectorate. No member of the Protectorate would be met at the port. “What race is he?”
“Xenexian.”
Han’s eyes widened. He had been sitting behind his desk, but now he was on his feet. He was actually holding on to the edge of the desk so that his legs would not give way. “Is it Mackenzie Calhoun?”
“No,” said Indi. “If it were Mackenzie Calhoun, I would have said, ‘Mackenzie Calhoun is sitting outside.’ ”
“Yes, of course, of course you would.”
“Mackenzie Calhoun’s son is sitting outside.”
Han sank back into his chair, astounded. “Xyon? That little bastard? After all the trouble he caused for us when he kidnapped Kalinda?”
“I believe that would be him, yes.”
“Why in the name of all that’s holy is he not under arrest?”
“Because he said he wanted to see you on a matter of some importance. The reasoning is that he can always be arrested.”
“This is a trick,” Han said suspiciously. “My enemies must know that he is here. They want me to meet with him because they are trying to paint me as an ally of Calhoun’s.”
“He was actually questioned before he was brought here. I understand he is not exactly a fan of his father. Apparently the entirety of the Xenexian race was wiped out, and Xyon blames his father for that.”