The Returned, Part I

by Peter David

  Han managed to shake his head, and with effort he was able to say, “N-no. I . . . I have never seen him before.”

  “Well, that’s good. That’s really good. Because I hate to sound aggressive and everything, but if I thought for a moment that you were involved in this attack or behind it in any way, I would feel the need to rip your head off. Understand, I don’t mean it like I’m talking in metaphor. I would literally have to tear your head off your shoulders. You understand, don’t you? It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good!” said McHenry in an insanely cheerful voice. “I’m glad we got that sorted out. Tell you what: I’m going to leave this guy here with you. I figure I can trust you to take care of administering justice on him, yes?”

  “Of . . . of course,” Han stammered. “He . . . he will suffer under the most extreme penalties of law.”

  “That’s good. And if you need someone to testify, feel free to ask. I’ll be happy to do it. Oh, I hope I didn’t scare you too much with the hand poking at you. Sometimes I just get silly. You know how it is.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  McHenry then looked down at Tigarin. “I’m sorry I had to do that. The whole ‘blasting off your arm’ thing. I suppose there were other ways to stop you that wouldn’t have involved, you know . . .”

  “Maiming me?” He groaned in pain.

  “Yes, that. But, you know, when you intend to kill an infant in its crib, you have to be prepared for someone to stop you who feels that what you were doing was incredibly scummy and not worthy of any sort of mercy. Frankly, I think you should consider yourself lucky that I didn’t outright kill you. But, y’know, I try to be nice to people.” He shrugged. “Have a nice evening, Prime Minister. Hopefully we won’t have to have another meeting like this one. Because I promise you, if we do: it will not end well. For anybody. Well, me,” he amended. “It’ll end fine for me. But way less so for you. ’Night.”

  And then he vanished. But not immediately; instead, very slowly. He faded out, bit by bit. First his legs, then his torso, his arms, and his head. Finally the only thing that was his left was his smile.

  “Ever read Lewis Carroll?” he asked.

  Han shook his head wordlessly.

  “You should. Wonderful Terran writer. Look up Alice in Wonderland and you will totally get this.”

  The smile disappeared as well.

  Han sat there, staring at the empty space, and then a low moan from Tigarin brought his attention back to the present moment. He got off the bed and knelt down next to Tigarin. “Don’t worry,” he said with an utter lack of confidence. “I am sure we can reattach the arm.”

  “I could kill you,” said Tigarin between gritted teeth.

  “I know you could. And you could also have informed on me to McHenry. I am relieved that you did not.”

  “I don’t care about your relief! Look what he did to me! Easily! With no effort! I have no right arm! I have to avenge myself on him,” snarled Tigarin. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what manner of army we have to assemble. I will kill him. I will destroy him.”

  “Let me help you off with this,” said Han. He reached down and removed the headpiece that covered Tigarin down to his throat.

  Tigarin was barely paying attention. “I don’t care how powerful he is. If we bomb him, that will certainly dispose of him. We’ll bomb him from on high. That would be the best way to go. He will never even know that he is about to be assaulted. It’s one thing trying to attack her while in their house. I can see him being aware of that. But if he is bombed from overhead, then certainly we can dispose of him. That would be the way to do it.”

  He was so busy concocting a plan of attack that he was not paying the least bit of attention to Han. He did not spot Han’s hand slipping under his pillow and producing a dagger, and he was oblivious to the fact that he was under attack until Han slipped in behind him and drew the knife across his throat.

  Tigarin gasped and gurgled on his own blood. He clutched at his throat, and his shocked mind took long seconds to process what had just occurred. Once he did, he attempted to take Han down the path of death with him. He failed utterly. Han quickly backed up, his night robes swirling around his knees. Tigarin tried to crawl after him, but moments later all the energy went out of his arm, and he collapsed to the floor. Han stayed where he was, back against the wall, not moving until he saw the last bits of life seep out of Tigarin’s trembling body.

  Then he summoned his guards.

  A trio of guards ran in, about to ask what was wrong until they saw, to their shock, Tigarin’s body on the floor. They stared, uncomprehending.

  “This man lost his mind and tried to kill me,” said Han. “I do not wish to alarm the people. Dispose of the body quickly and quietly.”

  “How did he lose his arm?” asked one of the guards.

  “He attacked me. I took measures.”

  “But how did—?”

  “Get the body out of here!” Han shouted. Then he closed his eyes and quickly composed himself. “Immediately.”

  The guards needed no further urging. The body was quickly removed from the room, and twenty minutes later, a maintenance man had cleaned Tigarin’s blood from the floor.

  Han sat there for long minutes afterward, trying to understand what had just happened. Tigarin had to die, obviously. He would have told someone about Han’s order sooner or later. Probably sooner. Dropping bombs in a residential neighborhood? It was clear that Tigarin had lost both his mind and usefulness to Han. He hated to lose one of his better operatives, but better to lose Tigarin than his life.

  Unfortunately, he was now back to square one. Actually, he was further than that; he was actually several moves behind square one.

  So now what?

  “Perhaps the Awesome can be of help,” he muttered, and then climbed back into bed. He would go see the Awesome the next day.

  Maybe it should be an extended visit.

  Excalibur

  SOLETA COULDN’T HELP but notice that Tobias kept glancing toward her. It didn’t bother her overmuch because Soleta’s personality was such that she typically wasn’t bothered by much of anything. But Tobias’s consistent glancing over toward her was, at the very least, slightly unnerving. Finally Soleta simply turned and stared at Tobias. When Tobias’s gaze met hers, she was aware that she had been caught out. “Is there something you wish to discuss with me?” said Soleta.

  Tobias hesitated, licked her lips a moment, and then said very softly, “I think I owe you an apology.”

  That definitely surprised Soleta. “An apology for what?”

  “Because I had my doubts about you. When I looked at you, I saw . . .”

  “A Romulan spy?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “What, then?”

  Tobias sighed. “All right, yes, a Romulan spy. I knew the captain trusted you, but I wasn’t sure that . . . and then the cloaking device failed, and the wormhole couldn’t be found . . .”

  “The cloaking device did not fail,” Soleta said firmly. “I do not understand why it did not protect us, but the fault was not with the cloaking device itself. Something else happened to render it ineffective. I wish I knew what.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” said Tobias with confidence. “Anyway, as I was saying, we couldn’t find the wormhole, and it seemed this entire endeavor was falling apart. But then you came up with a means of finding the D’myurj vessel, and now at least we’re following something. I’m positive that, sooner or later, we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

  “I hope you are correct,” said Soleta. “In any event, I appreciate the apology, even though I do not require it.”

  Calhoun stepped over from the command chair, leaning in toward Soleta, at ops. “What do we have?” he asked.

  “Not
hing so far. But I am positive that we are definitely pursuing a vessel.”

  “Do we know what kind?”

  She shook her head. “Such information would not be available even if I were familiar with different types of D’myurj ships. I am able to trace the energy pattern of their engines, but that simply gives me information on the type of warp drive they employ. I am not able to determine the specific ship type . . .”

  “We may be about to find out,” Tobias said abruptly. “Sir, I’m picking up a ship on the long-range sensors. I am ninety-eight percent sure that it is the vessel that we have been following.”

  “Only ninety-eight?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t like to sound too full of myself.”

  “How fast is she?” said Calhoun, returning to his command chair.

  “Not very fast at all,” said Tobias. “It’s actually moving at sublight speed. We should be overtaking it in approximately two minutes.”

  “Do we have the cloaking device up?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Bring the cloak on line.”

  Tobias looked momentarily dubious, but then shrugged. “Cloak on.”

  Space shimmered briefly around the ship and then returned to normal. Soleta nodded approvingly. “Activated, sir. We’re hidden.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  Soleta didn’t bother to comment further on the cloaking device; it had failed them earlier, but she knew that sooner or later she would find out why.

  “Take us to yellow alert,” Calhoun ordered. “Let’s be ready for anything.”

  The ship immediately went to yellow alert as the weapons and shields powered up. The shields had fully recharged from their earlier battering and were ready to deal with whatever new challenge was thrown at them.

  Within minutes, just as Tobias had predicted, the ship that they had been pursuing hung in space in front of them. It was not a ship that Calhoun had ever seen before. It was erratically shaped, its exterior a series of triangles that seemed randomly slapped together. Soleta couldn’t discern where the engines were situated. Obviously there were engines because the ship was moving, leaving a trail that they had been able to follow.

  The Excalibur proceeded slowly, easily overtaking the vessel. They remained on alert, since everyone on the bridge—with the exception of Soleta—wasn’t entirely confident that the cloaking device would shield them from being detected. But after long minutes with the ship not reacting to them, they slowly became convinced that, for whatever reason, the cloaking device was preventing them from being perceived this time.

  “Readings,” said Calhoun. “Tell me what we’re dealing with.”

  Tobias was studying her sensors and was shaking her head in confusion. “This isn’t making any sense. I’m not getting anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not picking up any life-forms. As near as I can determine, there is no one on that vessel. Or if they are, they don’t have life signs that my instruments can pick up.”

  “She’s right, Captain,” confirmed Kebron. “There are no life-forms operating the ship. It’s entirely on auto.”

  “What do we do, sir?” asked Burgoyne.

  Calhoun considered it a moment. Then he tapped his combadge. “Bridge to security. Meyer, Boyajian . . . arm up and report to the transporter room.”

  “Aye, sir,” the response immediately came back.

  Calhoun stood and then said, “Zak, Soleta, care to join me on an away team?”

  “Sir,” said Burgoyne. “Starfleet policy is explicit about captains heading away teams.”

  “I’m aware of that, Burgy, but I think the risk is minimal considering the situation.”

  “Whatever you say, Captain,” said Burgoyne.

  Minutes later, Soleta, Kebron, and Calhoun were in the transporter room. Meyer and Boyajian had joined them and Halliwell was studying the transporter controls, trying to get a reading off the ship. “I’m not sure where anything in this ship is,” Halliwell said in mild frustration. “Completely alien from anything I’ve seen before.”

  “Take your best guess.”

  “I can’t say I’m interested in risking my captain’s life on a best guess,” said Halliwell.

  “Neither am I,” said Calhoun, “so I strongly suggest you get it right.”

  “Yes, sir,” Halliwell said gamely.

  She scanned the ship a few moments more. “Okay,” she said slowly, “I think I may have managed to locate their bridge. It’s centrally located and is one of the larger chambers. Not sure what else it could be.”

  “And still no life signs?”

  “Not that I’m picking up. Of course, if there was a life sign that was minimal . . . a dying person, for example . . . it might slip past our instruments.”

  “I doubt everyone on the ship is dying,” said Calhoun. Then he thought about it. “Although we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility, I suppose.”

  They stepped up onto the transporter platform. Soleta had to jostle herself into position since she was standing next to Kebron, who typically took up more space on the platform. He tucked his hands behind his back, and they waited. Halliwell made the final checks and then said, “Here we go. Good luck.”

  “That’s more or less up to you,” said Calhoun.

  The transporter beams flickered, and seconds later the landing party vanished from the transporter room.

  The Ship

  THEY BEAMED INTO a graveyard.

  Calhoun couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The truth was that he was accustomed to seeing the D’myurj in the form of holograms, not actual beings. But now they were certainly actual.

  It seemed at first blush that Halliwell had been correct: they had been beamed into some sort of command center. It was larger than the bridge of the Excalibur, that much was certain. It was also much more spacious; Calhoun felt a moment of envy. But as he looked around at the command center’s deck, that envy promptly vanished.

  Dead D’myurj and Brethren were everywhere. There had to be at least a dozen bodies. Many of the D’myurj had been badly burned, and that was undoubtedly because sections of the bridge had exploded. Their clothes were shredded, their skin burned away.

  The Brethren were not in much better shape. Yes, they were still clad in their armor, but there had been some manner of combat. Hand-to-hand by the look of it, and it had viciously gone against the Brethren. Chunks of their armor had been cut away as if weapons with buzz saws had slashed across them. Calhoun hadn’t thought it was possible to penetrate the armor, but clearly he had been mistaken.

  “Damn,” whispered Kebron. Meyer and Boyajian looked sickened, but were able to keep themselves together.

  Soleta, dispassionate as ever, was running a tricorder over the bodies. “They’re all dead. Every single one of them.”

  “Do we have any idea how?”

  “There was a fight. They lost.”

  That much, at least, was obvious.

  She took a step forward and suddenly let out an alarmed cry. Something had grabbed her ankle. She dropped to the floor next to the body of the D’myurj who had reached out for her. He was flat on his stomach and quickly she turned him over.

  Calhoun came forward and felt ill. Much of the man’s skin had been burned away; his features were unrecognizable. He should, by all rights, be dead, and Calhoun had no idea how he could still be alive. That tracked with what Halliwell had said: his life signs were so minimal that they had slipped past the Excalibur’s instruments.

  He tapped his combadge. “Calhoun to transporter room. We have a survivor here. Beam him straight into sickbay.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll alert them to the incoming.”

  The D’myurj managed to turn his head toward Calhoun. One eye seemed blind; the other had some small amo
unt of vision left to it, and it was focused on Calhoun.

  “Don’t worry,” said Calhoun. “You’re going to be fine.”

  The D’myurj’s mouth started to move, and with a huge amount of effort, he managed to form one word as the transporter beam whisked him away.

  “Run.”

  Moments later, Calhoun and company found out why.

  About the Author

  PETER DAVID IS a prolific author whose career, and continued popularity, spans more than two decades. He has worked in every conceivable medium—television, film, books (fiction, nonfiction, and audio), short stories, and comic books—and acquired followings in all of them.

  In the literary field, Peter has had more than a hundred novels published, with numerous appearances on the New York Times bestseller list. His novels include Fearless (with his daughter Caroline), Tigerheart, The Hidden Earth Chronicles, the Sir Apropos of Nothing trilogy, the Knight Life trilogy, Howling Mad, and the Psi-Man adventure series. He is the co-creator and author of the bestselling Star Trek: New Frontier series for Pocket Books, and has also written such Trek novels as Q-Squared, The Siege, Q-in-Law, Vendetta, I, Q (with John deLancie), A Rock and a Hard Place, and Imzadi. He produced the three Babylon 5 Centauri Prime novels and has also had his short fiction published in such collections as Shock Rock, Shock Rock II, and Otherwere, as well as Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine and the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. He is also the author of the recent Halo novel Hunters in the Dark, and is one of the participants in Crazy 8 Press (www.crazy8press.com), a self-publishing venture producing ebooks and trade paperbacks available through Barnes & Noble and Amazon.