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Star Trek: New Frontier

ELSEWHERE...

THE ONLY SOUND ON THE PLANET Ahmista is the sound
of a woman singing.
    Oh, there are a few other sounds as well, but they
are merely the sounds of the planet itself. The gentle
breeze glides across the plains, moving the ashes
through the air with subtle urging. (The ashes have
been there for quite some time, but they dwindle in
quantity with every passing day and every vagrant
breeze, to say nothing of the cleansing provided by the
occasional storm or downpour.)
    There are also the normal grindings of tectonic
plates, and a continent away there's an island of
volcanoes that can raise a particularly impressive
racket. Birds flap their wings against the wind; waves
lap against shores, occasionally leaving a film of ash
decorating the beaches.
  But other than that... nothing.
    The noise is rather conspicuous in its absence. No
noise of a living, breathing population. There are
none of the sounds of industry. Nor are there the
sounds of people laughing or talking, or children
crying out to be tended to. There are no sounds as
subtle as lovers whispering in the dark, or as officious
as bombs whistling through the air.  Nothing but her singing.
    It is an odd song in that the tune seems to vary from
one moment to the next. She lilts her way through it,
never stopping except at those times when her fa-
tigued mind and body require sleep. She does not like
to give in to those urges, because it interferes with her
vigilance, but every so often her head simply droops
forward of its own accord and sleep steals into her
head. Hours can pass with her in that condition, but
then she snaps awake and is neither conscious nor
caring of how much time has genuinely passed.
    Even if there were sounds of any living beings on
Ahmista, it is unlikely that she would hear them. She
lives upon a mountain, if such a term as "lives" can be
applied to her existence. It is not the highest moun-
tain on Ahmista, but it is a fairly nice one, as
mountains go. She is not quite at such an altitude as
to feel a significant chill... not that she would even
if it were subzero temperatures, because her lover
keeps her warm.
    In fact, her lover does more than that. Her lover
keeps her company, her lover keeps her close. Her
lover is the be-all and end-all of her existence on the
planet, of her existence in the universe. She feels her
lover in her mind, and she is content.
 Her lover is sleek and gray, vaguely cylindrical in
shape but with a variety of sections branching off in
an assortment of directions. Its sections are inserted
directly into her nervous system at a dozen points. In
a way, her lover looks like a great thorny bush with
limbs trailing off and intertwining with one another.
And ultimately, all the branches come back to her,
and she comes back to it, for together they are one.
Together they are a whole. They complete one an-
other.
    She is singing to her lover more than she is to
herself.
    Her lover never tells her what it thinks of her songs.
That's okay, really. She doesn't need to hear her
lover's approval, because she knows she already has
that. How could she not? After all, she has given her
life over to her lover. She neither needs, nor wants,
anything else. Her lover gives her so much. Gives her
nutrients, gives her life and the ability to live. And all
she need do is make her lover her entire reason for
living. That she has managed to do.
    It suddenly pulses in a different manner beneath
her fingers. She has been drifting slightly, but the alert
manner of her lover snaps her back to full focus. She
reaches out with her mind, reaches out through her
lover.
  There is a creature.
    It has just hatched from an egg, approximately
twenty miles away, deep in a forest that is otherwise
devoid of life. It is small, covered with fur, and
looking for a mother who is long since dead. It has no
claws, not yet. It's fairly helpless, really, at this point.
Without its mother, it might very likely die on its
own. However, it might be resourceful enough to
survive, to grow and thrive. And possibly someday be
a threat. Birds... birds have never been a threat, and
for some reason she has always considered the sounds
of their wings comforting. This, though, she cannot
chance. She knows that. Her lover knows that. Or at
least, she knows it now that her lover has told her, but
she is--of course--in complete agreement.
    At her urging, her lover reaches out with a crackle
of energy, shudders slightly in her grip, and belches
out an energy ball. It's nothing particularly large,
because none such is needed. The energy that her
lover is capable of disgorging is directly proportionate
to whatever job is required. In this instance, it's fairly
insignificant.
    The energy ball covers the intervening distance in
no time at all. The newborn creature senses some-
thing coming, looks up, and feels a source of light and
heat. Its little eyes are still blind and so it cannot see
what is approaching, but nonetheless makes the
falsemir understandable--assumption that it's about
to meet its mother. It opens its mouth wide and
makes a small yeep sound.
    A second later, it's enveloped by the energy. The
creature didn't really have time to have a full sense of
its own existence before it didn't have an existence
anymore. Instead it is reduced, in no time at all, to
little more than a pile of ash. There is a hint of a tiny
claw in there, and a few stray tufts of fur flutter away,
caught in the breeze that quickly stirs the ashes into
nothingness. Otherwise, though, there's no sign that
the creature was ever there.
    Back on the mountaintop, she begins to tremble.
She wraps herself more tightly around her lover than
before, for she knows that it has acted to protect her.
The knowledge is exciting to her, stimulates her, and
she begins to tremble.
    She runs her hands along the surface of her lover.
She has stopped singing. Instead she is beginning to
quiver in anticipation, for this is how she always feels
when her lover shows its strength on her behalf. And
her lover knows that it has pleased her, and that
knowledge excites it in kind.
    She gasps out a name... a name known only to
her and her lover. A name that has never even been
spoken aloud, but is instead something communi-
cated without need of clumsy speech. It is something
deep within their mutual soul, for her lover was
soulless until she had joined with it.
    It had been so long since she felt the fire within her,
that for the briefest of moments she entertains the
notion that her lover had sought out something to kill
for her. Something to obliterate, because that was the
only way that it could possibly find sufficient stimula-
tion to give her, and itself, what it needed.
    But then she quickly dismisses the idea from her
mind. Her lover would never do that, would have no
need to do that. Her lover is not the embodiment of
destruction. No. Her lover is the giver of light, the
provider of joy.
    The heat fill her mind, radiates from throughout
her lover, and she can feel her heart speeding up,
thudding against her chest with such abandon and
power that it threatens to burst through her rib cage.
If that were to happen, of course, then she would die,
but she is not concerned. She trusts her lover implic-
itly. She knows it would not hurt her.
    Her lover, though, is not mortal. She realizes that
on some sort of base level. Her lover is something
 else, something special. Something beyond anything
 that she has ever known before.
    And she comes to the realization, even as its love
floods through her, that she can never return to
anything that once was.
    Her lover prefers the silence, for it makes it that
much easier for it to hear her as she starts to sob with
the pure joy she derives from their bonding.
    It used to come much more frequently, back when
there was more life on the planet. As each thing
threatened her, her lover dispensed with it, and each
demise would fill her with orgasmic pleasure. Such
encounters now are few and far between, but that is
all right with her. She has her memories, and she has
her lover to keep her warm, safe, loved.
    Slowly, so slowly, she tries to steady the pounding
of her heart. She sags against her lover, clutching it
even as her fingers open and close spasmodically.
Deep in her chest she laughs softly to herself, enjoying
the warmth her lover has given her and the sense of
security and safety.
    "Thank you," she whispers, which are the first
words spoken on the planet in some time. "Thank
you... for that. Thank you for being mine. Thank
you... for choosing me."
    Her lover does not reply, nor does it need to. It
simply continues to pulse against her, and if it is
pleased that it has given her pleasure, or displeased at
her reactions, or completely uncaring, it's really im-
possible to say. It just sits quietly, unchanged, unre-
acting. She strokes it once more and she feels her
consciousness drifting. She wants to stay awake, un-
willing to surrender to a hazy sensation of bliss that
threatens to carry her away to slumber. "Not...
tired," she moans like a petulant child being shunted
away for a nap, and she does her best to resist.
    Ultimately, however, she fails. Her eyes flutter
closed, her head sags forward and thumps gently
against the metal sheath that is the exterior of her
lover. Moments later, still warm from the gentle
pleasures of her lovemaking, she falls into a peaceful
sleep. She does not snore, does not make any extrane-
ous noise. And so, for a time at least, there is no
vaguely humanoid sound on the planet Ahmista aside
from her soft breathing as she sleeps. Sooner or later,
though, she will awaken once more. At that point, she
will begin singing again in that odd, aimless way she
has, remembering what her previous lovemaking was
like and wondering when the next opportunity will
come along ....


COMMANDER ELIZABETH SHELBY ran the video log of the
bridge of the Excalibur, not quite able to believe what
she was seeing.
    Nearby Dr. Maxwell was watching her with an
apologetic expression on his face. Behind him, sick-
bay personnel were going on about their business as
Shelby sat in the private office usually used by Dr.
Selar, studying the last moments of consciousness she
had known before keeling over several days ago. She
had been certain that she was fully recovered but
now, watching the video log with a growing sense of
doom, she was wondering if perhaps she should take a
permanent sick leave.
    Through her off-the-cuff strategy, she had just man-
aged to dispatch a warship belonging to the dreaded
Redeemers by using, literally, the power of a sun to do
so. But she had come on to the bridge still suffering
from head injuries sustained during a disastrous
landing expedition to the planet Zondar. All she
remembered was that she had passed out right after
saving the Excalibur from destruction, but now she
was watching the immediate aftermath.
    She watched herself leap to her feet, her fists
exuberantly pumping the air over her head. She called
out triumphantly, "Hah! Spectacular! Engineering,
great job! You too, McHenryI Excellent all around!
Oh! Look!" She pointed into midair.
"Look at what, sir?" McHenry was asking.
"Colors!" Shelby called out excitedly--and then
she pitched forward, Si Cwan just barely catching her
before she hit the floor.
 But that wasn't the worst of it.
    She wasn't unconscious, oh no. No, that would've
been too merciful. Instead she had stared up into the
air as Si Cwan had said with concern, "Are you all
right, Commander?"
    "They're all different colors!" Shelby had said.
"Blue, green, pink..."
    Si Cwan looked with confusion at the others on the
bridge, who seemed equally perplexed. "What are,
Commander?"
    "The colors!" Shelby had said again, joyously. And
then she had passed out.
    In sickbay, separated from the event by several
days, Shelby clicked off the video record and tried not
to display the pain she was feeling. She was not
especially successful, unfortunately.
    "You said you wanted to see it, Commander,"
Maxwell reminded her as if concerned she was going
to be angry with him. "I advised against it, re-
member."
  "I remember," she sighed.
    "It's not important, Commander. It was just a...
a stream of consciousness comment. Dreaming with
your eyes awake. I guarantee you, no one's going to
think about it or even remember it by now. And I'm
certain that absolutely no one is going to kid you
about it."
    She looked up at him bleakly. "On this ship? No
way are they going to let it go," she said as if she were
awaiting her turn to step into the cart that would
bring her to the guillotine. She put her face in her
hands. "Face it, Doctor--I'm a dead woman."

"She looks rather healthy for a dead woman."
Mackenzie Calhoun, captain of the Excalibur,
scratched his chin thoughtfully as he studied the
picture that was staring back out at him from the
computer screen. On either side of the table, Ambas-
sador Si Cwan--former head of the ThaiIonian ruling
class--and Lieutenant Robin Lefler, the ship's Ops
officer and part-time assistant to Cwan, had just
heard him make this pronouncement. Although Lefler
generally had a very ready smile, it wasn't on display
at that particular moment. Si Cwan, who customarily
had something of a deadpan, didn't look any different
than he usually did.
    Calhoun leaned forward thoughtfully as if closer
examination might yield some bit of information that
he'd previously missed. The picture on the screen was
of a woman with long, dark hair, a square chin,
narrow nose, and a steady gaze that appeared to have
a piercing, intensely intelligent air to it. Not an easy
thing to project over a mere photograph made for
computer identification, but somehow she had man-
aged it. He could only wonder what she was like in
person, if that was how she came across in a simple
photo.
    "So let's see if I've got this straight," he said after a
moment, meeting Lefler's gaze. "The Momidiums,
out in the Gamma Hydrinae system, claim that this
woman was rooting around on their planet about five
years ago. This would have made her a trespasser as
far as both the Momidiums and the overseers of the
ThaiIonian Empire"--and he gestured suavely to Si
Cwan--"were concerned." "That is correct."
    "If the Momidiums had turned her over to the
ThaiIonians, they likely would have executed her."
    "I dislike the term 'execute,'" Si Cwan said. "It
sounds distasteful to me. Cruel and most imper-
sonal."
    "Your pardon, Ambassador," said Calhoun. "How
about 'killed'?"
 "Much better."
    "As you wish. They likely would have killed her."
He watched Si Cwan nod his head in agreement and
continued, "However, they had no desire to overlook
the crimes of trespass and perhaps spying, so they
imprisoned her. Have they given any indication as to
precisely what they have to hide that they thought was
subject for a spy's interest?"
    Si Cwan glanced at Lefler, to whom the question
seemed addressed, but she made no reply and he
came to the realization that she was barely listening.
He lightly tapped her shin under the table while
stepping in himself to say, "No indication at all,
Captain. They have been fairly circumspect in that
regard. As with most sentient beings, they like to have
their secrets."
    "Fine. We needn't dwell on that at the moment. But
now," he said thoughtfully as he drummed his fingers,
"they want to make nice to us, so they offer to turn
this female over to us. One Morgan Primus by name."
Even though he knew the name he nonetheless
glanced at the computer screen for reaffirmation,
much as someone who has just looked at his watch
will look at it once more if someone asks him the time
even a second later. "They offer her in exchange for
certain promises which you, Lieutenant Lefier, feel
are not unreasonable."
    He said her name with sufficient emphasis that it
appeared to jolt her from her slightly dreamy and
distracted state. "I'm sorry... ?" she said as she
realized she wasn't focused on the question.
    "The Momidiums," Si Cwan gently cued her.
"About their demands..."
    "Oh. Not unreasonable at all, sir," she said quickly.
"They are a fairly simple people, actually. They desire
some advice from any agricultural specialists on de-
signs for a new irrigation system they've developed
for their farmland. Oh, and they have a flu epidemic
in one of their outlying provinces. They believe that
they've managed to synthesize a cure, but it will take
them approximately two weeks to finish running tests
on it, and they want to know if our facilities could
possibly cut that time down." "And--?"
    "I've already run it past Dr. Maxwell, sir. He
assures me that our labs could test the effectiveness of
the cure through cross-matching and molecular analy-
sis within three hours of receiving it."
    "Good. And if the good doctor finds flaws in the
formula, I imagine it would not be overly demanding
for him to correct those flaws, now, would it."
    "Bordering on Prime Directive violation, isn't that,
Captain?" inquired Si Cwan.
    "Bordering but not over the line, Ambassador,"
replied Calhoun. "However, in this instance, Starfleet
agreed to give us some latitude. So, Lieutenant, in
exchange for these agreements, the Momidiums will
present us with this human female." "That's right, sir."
    "A female whom you claim could pass for your
mother's twin."
    "No twin, sir," said Lefler and she tapped the
screen with a knuckle. "That is my mother."
    "The mother whom you said died in a shuttle
accident about ten years ago."
    Lefler squared her shoulders, pulling herself up
straight, for Calhoun had made no effort to hide the
disbelief in his voice. "That's correct, sir. Morgan
Lefler. At least, that's the name I always knew her by.
'Primus' wasn't even her maiden name, so I don't
know where that name came from."
    "And was the shuttle accident anywhere in this
vicinity?"
    "No, sir. Actually, it was in New Jersey. She was on
vacation, visiting family there. She was flying a pri-
vate shuttle and it went out of control and crashed
into the Atlantic Ocean."
    "You'll excuse me if I don't seem properly sympa-
thetic to your, uhm... loss," he said, leaning back in
his chair, "but do you have any theories or guesses as
to now your late mother managed to get all the way
from a watery grave to the Gamma Hydrinae
system?"
    "I believe," she said promptly, for naturally she had
given the matter no small amount of thought, "that
she never died in the accident."
  "Well, that would certainly follow."
    "Her body was never recovered after the crash.
They found the shattered remains of her personal
transport shuttle, but it was cracked open and there
was no sign of her. Since there were no traces of
transporter energy or any other intelligent agency that
might have rescued or abducted her, we had always
assumed that some... some oceanic form of life had
simply made off with her body and, uhm..."
    "Eaten it?" Si Cwan supplied after she was silent
for a moment.
    She fired him an icy look. "Yes, thank you," she
said, although she didn't sound especially apprecia-
tive. "That was the phrase I was searching for."
    "You're welcome," replied Si Cwan graciously,
sarcasm being totally lost on him.
    "It is my belief," continued Lefler, "that she
allowed us--my father and me--to believe that she
had been killed."
 "She could have been kidnapped."
  "She had been."
 "But I thought you said..."
    "She had been, to my knowledge, abducted at least
eight times in my lifetime. She was not a stay-at-home
kind of mother. Each time she escaped within hours
and returned within days. After the accident, my
father and I held out hope for a long time. Hope that
she would just walk in the front door. In the end, we
had no choice but to assume she was dead."
    "Were your parents getting along? Happy marriage
and all?"
    "To the best of my knowledge, yes, sir. Certainly
nothing my father said to me indicated otherwise. He,
uhm..." She looked down. "He... passed away
several years later, shortly after I entered Starfeet. He
was never quite the same after she was killed, and it
was like he just... just drifted away from life, and
was only waiting until my life was on track and settled
before he..."
    Si Cwan reached over and put a hand upon one of
hers. The contrast could not have been greater, for his
hands were large and red, while hers were small, pale,
and rather delicate. Under other circumstances, the
physical contact between her and Si Cwan would have
sent a secret little thrill of pleasure through her, but as
it was she was simply grateful for the gesture. She
squeezed his hand tightly in acknowledgment and he
nodded slightly as if to say that he understood.
    "I'm sorry for your loss, Lieutenant," Calhoun told
her. "But that still leaves us with the question of why
she would vanish without a trace ten years ago only to
show up in ThaiIonian space."
    "I don't know!" Lefler cried, her voice raised, and
she quickly realized that her tone was inappropriate
for such a response, particularly considering that she
was addressing her commanding officer. She looked at
him nervously, but he simply put up a calming hand,
indicating that she shouldn't get too concerned over
the breach of etiquette. "I don't know," she repeated,
far more calmly this time. "I suppose that's why I'm
rather eager to find out. When can we leave, sir? Our
mission on Zondar is concluded, but we're still in
orbit here. We could easily depart immediately
for--"
    "In case you haven't noticed, Lieutenant, our sci-
ence officer is still not aboard."
    "Yes, of course I noticed, sir," Lefler said. "She's on
the Zondarian surface exploring some sort of archae-
ological dig. Can't that be concluded another time,
sir? Or perhaps we could come back for her?"
      "Lieutenant, as much as I appreciate your anxiety
here, this is simply not an emergency."
  "Captain!"
    He shook his head, a grim smile of amusement
playing across his lips. "If it's really your mother,
Lieutenant, and you've believed her dead for the last
ten years--and she's been stewing on Momidium for
the last riverathen a few more days isn't going to
cause the total collapse of the galaxy as we know it."
  "Then let me go on ahead."
    "Negative, Lieutenant. The last time I sent any
members of this crew 'on ahead' in a shuttle, it was
with the best of intentions with the most cataclysmic
results."
    "Captain, this is hardly the same situation," Si
Cwan said. "I know what you're referring to: When
the science vessel Kayyen Ryin informed us that my
sister was aboard, it turned out to be a trap set for me
by an old enemy. But the situations are hardly analo-
gous, Captain. It's not as if the lieutenant has enemies
in this sector."
    "I'm not saying she does, Ambassador," replied
Calhoun. "The point is, the moment I send any of my
people away from the Excalibur, I'm sending them
into potential danger. I won't hesitate to do so if I feel
it's necessary. In this instance, I don't feel it is."
  "But Captain..." began Lefler.
    He looked at her levelly. "Lieutenant, are you
under the impression that my decision is open for
debate?"
    She opened her mouth a moment, then closed it
and looked down. "No, sir," she said quietly.
    "Good. The fact is that Lieutenant Soleta's investi-
gations are potentially very important for our on-
going mission, and I'm not going to put a phaser to
her head and tell her to hurry it up. Nor am I going to
abandon her on Zondar so we can head off to retrieve
your alleged mother."
 "Yes, sir," sighed Lefler.
    Calhoun tapped his commbadge. "Calhoun to
Soleta."
    After a moment, the science officer's voice came
back. "Soleta here."
    "Lieutenant, I'm not trying to rush you, but a
matter has come up that may require our attention.
Can you give me a rough estimate of when you'll be
completing your investigation of Ontear's cave and
the surrounding vicinity?"
 "Nineteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, Captain."
     He blinked in surprise. "Nineteen hours, twenty-
seven minutes?" "Yes, sir."
    "I'm surprised you didn't pin it down to the exact
number of remaining seconds."
    "You did say a rough estimate, Captain," she re-
plied.
    "So 1 did," admitted Calhoun. "All right, thank
you, Lieutenant. Calhoun out." He turned to face
Lefler and Si Cwan. "Ambassador, I would like you to
contact the Momidium government. Let them know
that their terms are acceptable if they are indeed as
described. I respect the fact that there is a time
pressure regarding the illness they are trying to com-
bat, but we won't be able to set out for about a solar
day. I assume they can hold on until then."
"I imagine they will have to," said Si Cwan.
"Lieutenant, follow up with Dr. Maxwell. Inform
him that we will indeed be needing sickbay's assist-
ance in this matter and that they should have some
lab time set aside to accommodate us."  "Yes, sir."
    He thumped his palms on the table. "Sounds like a
plan," he said briskly and rose. "Unless there's any-
thing else then... ?"
    Si Cwan and Lefler looked at each other question-
ingly. "No, I think that is more or less all, Captain,"
Lefler said.
    "Good." He rose, and then paused and added,
"Lieutenant... for what it's worth, I truly am sorry
over the personal difficulties you've had with your
parents."
 "Thank you, Captain."
 He nodded, turned and walked out.
    Lefler sat back and sighed. "That didn't go as well
as I'd hoped."
    "He agreed to make Momidium our next port of
call," replied Si Cwan. "Considering the number of
worlds that are vying for our attention, that alone is
something of an accomplishment."
    She sat forward, propping her chin up in her hands.
"It's insane, Si Cwan. I feel like Alice."
"Alice?" His brow furrowed. "What is an 'Alice'?"
She sighed. "When I was a little girl, one of my
favorite books was Alice in Wonderland. My mother
introduced me to it, in fact."
  "I can't say I'm familiar with it."
    "I wouldn't imagine it made the ThaiIonian best-
seller list," she said, speaking with an amusement she
didn't really feel. "It was actually somewhat subver-
sive in its time. It was created to be a satire of Brit--
of a particular Earth government. But functioning in
and of itself, it's the story of a young girl who falls
down a hole burrowed by an animal called a rabbit
and discovers herself in a strange and mystical realm
in which no one and nothing makes any sense. It has
maintained its popularity for centuries."
    "I can easily understand why. Entering a realm that
makes no sense? My dear Lieutenant, the technical
term for that is 'birth.' Or are you under the mistaken
impression that life as a whole makes sense?"
    "I guess not, but damn it, Si Cwan, you'd think
some things would be a given, wouldn't you?"
    "A given?" He looked at her quizzically, and then
he rose from his chair and slowly circled the room,
never taking his eyes off her. They had that piercing
quality that she found so attractive in him, but
somehow at that moment, she wasn't really paying
attention to them. "What things?"
    "Losing my morn... it was..." She took a deep
breath and then said, "Look... this isn't stuff we
really have to discuss, okay? I mean, it's kind of
personal. And you and I... we don't really know
each other all that well, when you get down to it. I
mean, we've known each other for a little while, but
not enough for me to feel comfortable discussing it
with you."
  "Are you certain?"
    He was behind her then, and he placed a hand on
her shoulder. She felt the strength in it then, even
more so than when he had rested his hand atop hers
earlier. Part of her wanted to embrace him, to just flee
from the turmoil going through her mind by disap-
pearing into his large and powerful arms. But she was
feeling vulnerable at that moment, more so than she
could recall in quite some time. Her gut reaction was
to keep her distance from him, and after another
moment's thought, that was exactly what she decided
to do.
    She stood quickly, gently brushing his hand away as
she did so. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding more
brusque than she would have liked.
    "No need to apologize," he said mildly. "This is a
very difficult time for you."
    "I should be glad," she told him, although it was as
if she were speaking more to herself than to him.
"Really, I should be glad. I mean... if it's her, if it's
really her... I get a second chance. Whatever the
reasons, I get a second chance with her, and that's
really the important thing, isn't it?"  "Is it?"
    "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, it is, and everything's
fine, and we don't have to discuss it anymore. I
appreciate your help, but I'm going to be fine, okay?"
  "Okay."
    "And I shouldn't be looking for things to be wrong
with what should be a joyous moment. Lefler's Law
Number Thirty-two: If life hands you lemonade,
don't try to make lemons out of it. Do you agree?"
  "If I knew what lemonade was, probably."
  "Good. Good." She seemed about to say something
  else, but instead she quickly exited the room, leaving
  a more-than-puzzled Si Cwan wondering if there was
  something else he should have said.



IN SICKBAY, ENSIGN RONNI BETH lay back on a medical
table, her wavy hair surrounding her face like a
corona of curls. As she did so, Dr. Karen Kurdziel
checked the scanner readings and nodded approv-
ingly. Kurdziel was a trim, blue-haired woman with
an apparently endless amount of patience and a keen
sense of the absurd. Both of those were serving her
well at that particular moment.
    "I'm gonna kill him," Beth said for what seemed
the hundredth time.
    "I know you are," said Kurdziel. "You've made
that painfully clear." She ran her tricorder over Beth's
ankle. "That's healing up nicely. Look, do me a favor
and stay off the slopes, okay, Ron? Even holodeck
slopes are tricky for novice skiers."

    "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ronni said impatiently. "Can I
sit up?"
    Kurdziel nodded and Beth sat up, pulling on her
boot gingerly. "He was supposed to be with me," she
fumed. "Did I tell you this?"  "Yes," Kurdziel said.
    As if Kurdziel hadn't spoken, Beth continued,
"Christiano was supposed to meet me on the slopes.
He promised me. Then he's running late, and I figure,
no problem, so I start a trial run because I figure, you
know, how difficult can this be?"
    "And you found out." Kurdziel was trying to
remain sympathetic, but even her infinite patience
was beginning to flag. Beth had been involved with
Ensign Christiano, who was in Engineering same as
she was. But that relationship had apparently just
crashed and burned, as Beth was quick to tell anyone
who was stationary for longer than five seconds.
    "Yeah, but that was nothing compared to finding
out he was with another woman. And after the ring I
gave him!"
"Ring?" This was news to Kurdziel. "What ring?"
"Got it off a dealer on space station K-Nineteen.
Picked it up just before being assigned here. I was...
I dunno... ! was saving it for just the right guy. And
I thought sure Christiano was him."
    "So ask for it back," Kurdziel told her matter-of-
factly.
    "I'm not going to ask for it back!" Beth said
indignantly. "It was a gift."
    "If an engagement is broken off, isn't it customary
to ask for the ring back?"
 "But this wasn't part of an engagement. I just gave
it to him because..." She looked down. "Because I
really felt like he was the one. So I got ahead of myself
and did something stupid. And now I know for next
time. Live and learn."
  "I'm sorry, Ensign."
  "Well, it's a sorry galaxy, I guess."
    She was about to say something else along those
lines, but then she noticed something. She didn't want
to point, because somehow it seemed rude, so instead
she just angled her chin in the general direction of
where she was indicating and asked, "She's up and
around?"
    Kurdziel looked where Beth was pointing and, by
way of responding to the question, said, "Command-
er. You're looking fit."
    Commander Shelby was striding across sickbay in
her familiar confident manner. There was still some
faint discoloration on her face from injuries sustained
during a fairly battering excursion on the surface of
Zondar, but at this point she seemed none the worse
for wear from it.
    "Feeling ready to get back to work?" Dr. Kurdziel
asked.
    "You could say that," Shelby said agreeably. She
flexed her shoulder. "Still feel a little tightness, but
Dr. Maxwell assures me that'll pass." "If he says so, I'm sure it's true."
    "Other than that, I've been judged fit for duty." She
smiled, looking somewhat relieved. "I'm not much
for sitting around and recuperating. Glad to be back
in action."
    "The way I heard it, you got back into action a little
too... fast..." said Ronni Beth, her voice trailing
off, realizing that, woozy from the painkiller she was
under, she'd actually spoken aloud. Immediately she
tried to figure out if there was some worse way she
could have shoved her foot in her mouth. If it weren't
for the painkiller...
    Shelby, whose back was to her, slowly turned, her
smile frozen on her face. "I beg your pardon?" she
said with a voice that would have frosted a supernova.
    "I'm sorry, I--Oh, look at the time," Beth said
quickly, hopping off the table and trying not to
hobble. "I'd better get go--"
    "I asked you a question, Ensign," Shelby said,
taking a half step that put her squarely in Beth's path,
making it clear in a fairly unsubtle manner that Beth
wasn't going anywhere.
    "I..." She looked to Kurdziel for help, but Kurd-
ziel simply shrugged in a way that said, You're on your
own. Looking visibly pained, Beth said, "Well, word
was that you went back to the bridge during a red
alert, that you put us on a collision course with a sun,
and that you passed out after seeing..."
 "After seeing what?" pressed Shelby, no less icy.
 Beth said something very quietly.
 "I didn't catch that," prompted Shelby.
    "Colors," Beth said more loudly. "Word is that you
pointed into midair, said, 'Oh look! Colors!' and
fainted dead away."
    "And did 'word' also mention," inquired Shelby,
"that my maneuver toward the Zondarian sun saved
this vessel and all aboard--including, might I point
out, yourself?."
 "As a matter of fact, yes," Beth admitted.
    "Good. Because as long as the crew is having a
laugh at my expense," said Shelby, raising her voice a
bit so that it carried, catching the attention of others
in sickbay, "it would be nice for them to remember
that particular respect is to be accorded all senior
officers of a starship. Particularly those senior officers
who have, through their actions, kept everyone on the
Excalibur in one piece. Understood?"
  "Understood, Commander."
    "Understood?" she said again, this time directing it
to the general populace of sickbay, and she got nods
from everyone there. With that settled, she squared
her shoulders and walked out of sickbay.

    Lefler's quarters were not especially large, but she'd
never been much for anything fancy. She was more of
a people person, really, and so spent very little time in
her quarters. A friend of hers had once speculated
that Robin Lefler had only one true fear in the galaxy,
and that was of being alone. That her need to be with
people was so incessant that solitude was utterly
anathema. When informed of her friend's appraisal,
Lefler had vehemently denied it while, at the same
time, wondering to herself if there wasn't just a little
bit of truth to it.
    At this particular point in time, however, she
wanted nothing but to be alone. Even though she was
on duty, even though she should have by rights been
heading up to the bridge, she had bolted into her
quarters, the door sliding shut behind her. She closed
her eyes, leaning against a bulkhead, and slowly shook
her head. "It can't be her," she whispered. "She
couldn't have done that. It can't possibly be her."
    She said that several more times before gathering
herself and going to one of her dresser drawers. She
pulled it open, rummaged around for a moment, and
then removed a holotube. It was a cylinder about six
inches tall, and inside was a carefillly preserved
hologram of her mother, the late Morgan Lefler.
    She remembered the day she had gotten it. It had
been the day before her mother had died.
    She recalled how the irony had weighed heavily
upon her. How her mother had had the hologram
produced as purely a spur of the moment thing. A gift
to send off to her beloved daughter, a keepsake with
no particular meaning other than that her mom was
thinking about her. No... no, there had been anoth-
er meaning, Lefler now recalled. She and her mom
had had a big fight the night before. Her mother had
made it clear that she had matters to attend to and
that she absolutely had to go off and visit relatives the
next day, and so she had left her daughter--for the
last time, as it turned out--with things still unsettled
between them. Robin racked her brains, trying to
remember what it was that she and her mother had
argued about, and she couldn't for the life of her
recall.
    All she could remember was the guilt that she had
carried with her when she'd gotten that hologram the
day after her mother had died.
  Not died.
  Abandoned her.
    With a strangled roar of humiliation, anger, and
frustration, Lefler's arm drew back and she hurled the
holotube with all her strength. It flew across the room
and, in her mind's eye, shattered, the tiny pieces of
the delicate technology littering her floor like so many
precious snowfakes.
    Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon how
one looked at it, the holotube was made to last. All it
did was ricochet off the wall and land on the floor
with a gentle clatter. It rolled a few feet and then came
to a stop.
    She looked at the holotube lying there on the floor,
and felt it was looking at her mockingly. Feeling anger
building inside her, she moved quickly toward it and
stomped down on it. But the tube shot out from under
her foot, rolled up against the wall, and lay there.
    Robin let out a sigh, her initial rage spent. She
walked over to the holotube, picked it up and looked
at it while slowly shaking her head. "You always did
have a knack for bouncing back, Morn," she said
ruefully before putting the tube carefully back into
the drawer from which she'd removed it.

    Shelby was convinced that everyone was looking at
her.
    Stop it/You're being paranoid! she scolded herself as
she made her way down the corridors of the Excal-
ibur, but she simply couldn't help herself. Looks or
nods of the head that previously would have greeted
her without her thinking anything of it now seemed
fraught with hidden meaning. She was convinced
that the entire crew was laughing at her behind her
back.
  Colors?
    What had she been thinking? What in God's name
had been going through her mind?
    Try as she might, she couldn't dredge up the slight-
est reason why such a complete non sequitur would
have popped out of her mouth. Sure, she had been a
bit punchy. When they'd carted her back to sickbay,
the doctors there couldn't believe that she'd been up
and around at all. Even so...
 Colors?
 What could possibly have possessed her?
    This was ridiculous, Shelby realized, as she headed
for a turbolift. She couldn't figure out why she was
being this way.
    All right, that wasn't true. She did have some
inklings. It had to do with the fact that, to some
degree, she had felt like, and continued to feel like, an
outsider on her own ship. Her style was very different
from Mackenzie Calhoun's, and although they were
supposed to be working in tandem, she still couldn't
help but feel a streak of competitiveness with him.
That was the truth of it, really. In many ways--in all
ways--Shelby felt as if she were not only extremely
qualified for command, but more qualified than Cal-
houn. Yet she was playing support to him, and not

only that, but it seemed to her as if the crew liked him
more than her.
    It's not about being liked, she scolded herself. That
wasn't it at all. It was about getting the job done. It
was about acting in the best interests of Starfleet. It
was about routine, and regulations, and procedures,
and getting back in one piece. Calhoun, damn him,
could afford to be flamboyant, daring, and heroic. He
had Shelby to clean up the mess for him: Shelby to
run interference with Starfleet, Shelby to remind him
of the way things should be done as he thoughtlessly
flaunted the rules. Calhoun was busy carving himself
a status that could only be considered legendary, and
here was Shelby, feeling like a grunt.
    Besides that, she felt extremely vulnerable in that
status. And matters hadn't been helped by recent
developments.
    But, dammit, she had sustained injury. That was
the thing to remember. That's what she should be
thinking about.
    The turbolift opened and she stepped onto it.
"Bridge," she said briskly.
    The lift hurtled toward the bridge, and as it did so,
she continued to ponder the situation. She knew the
reputation she was developing around the ship. Grim,
humorless, a total hard-case.
    The turbolift slowed and the doors slid open. Robin
Lefler was standing them, her hands draped behind
her back, looking lost in thought. She glanced up and
looked mildly surprised to see Shelby there. "Oh!
Commander! Feeling better?"
    "Just heading up to the bridge." She gestured for
Lefler to join her and the lieutenant quickly did so. As
the doors slid shut and the lift continued its way
upward, Shelby suddenly inquired, "Lieutenant...
you hear people talk. You get around. You know what
people around here have on their minds."
    "I... guess I do, yes," allowed Lefler. "I am in
charge of Ops, so I tend to--"
    "To the best of your knowledge, does the crew
lampoon me? Behind my back? Do they value my
contributions and qualifications?"
    The questions seemed to catch Lefler completely off
guard. "I beg your pardon?"
    "Am I..." She tried to find the best way to express
it, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately.
Finally, for want of a better phrase, she said, "Am
I... 'one of the guys'?"
    Lefler stared at her as if she'd grown a third eye.
"Would you want to be?"
"I..." She'd been looking at Lefler, but now she
stared at the door. "I don't know. I don't know that
fraternizing with the officers is a particularly good
idea."
"But is being so rigid all the time a good idea either?"
Now she looked back at Lefler and there was a
slightly pained smile on her face. "Is that what they
say I am?"
    The door to the bridge hissed open and Shelby
strode out, brimming with new confidence. Lefler
walked quickly past her and headed over to her
station at Ops. Mark McHenry, at the conn, was
sitting and staring dreamily at the world of Zondar
turning lazily below them. He looked as if his
thoughts were a million miles away, but by this point
Lefler--and everyone else on the bridge--was used
to him, knowing that his apparent distractedhess was
just that: apparent.
    Calhoun was seated in the command chair, going
over a report, and he glanced up when Shelby entered.
It was as if he were expecting her. But she was in no
hurry to walk down to his level, feeling perfectly
content instead to stand on the upper deck of the
bridge and look down. She found that it gave her a
nice dominant feeling, like a queen on high regarding
her realm. Zak Kebron, standing at the tactical sta-
tion, didn't even glance her way.
    The captain raised a questioning eyebrow. "It's
good to see you, Commander. Planning to come down
here and join us?"
  "Of course, sir. It's good to be back."
    She slowly walked down the ramp, and as she did so
she looked over the bridge personnel. She tried to see
if any of them were grinning her way, or whispering
among themselves, or in any other way behaving in a
disrespectful or discourteous manner that would not
only have been not in keeping with Starfleet decorum,
but would have been inappropriate in keeping with
the respect that she was due.
    Calhoun caught her eye and made a subtle "come
here" gesture. She drew close to him and he said in a
low voice, "Are you all right?"
  'Tm fine, sir. Why?"
  "You seem... stiff."
    "l'm displaying posture and poise that is suitable
for a Starfleet officer," she replied.
    Calhoun had been slouching slightly in his chair,
and she felt a bit of smug satisfaction as he reflexively
drew himself up. Nodding slightly as if having
achieved a major personal triumph, she moved
around the edge of her chair and took her place in it.
    "Our current situation," Calhoun informed her,
"just to keep you apprised, is that we are continuing
to orbit Zondar pending Science Officer Soleta's re-
turn. We will then be setting course for the planet
Momidium to pick up an individual being held there
under... unusual circumstances."
    Lefler overheard the conversation and breathed a
small sigh of relief to herself that the captain re-
mained deliberately vague. She 'didn't especially feel
like having the bizarre circumstances of her potential
maternal reunion being broadcast all over the bridge.
    "All the information," continued Calhoun, "is in
your duty log, Commander. You can get current on it
at your leisure."
 "Thank you, Captain," she said formally.
    And then she waited... waited for him to say
something, to make some sort of comment on the way
in which she had handled matters in his absence. It
would be perfectly in character for him to make some
sort of teasing comment about the "bunnies," or--
more appropriatelyinto offer even a cursory "well
done" in regard to the way she had handled the
conflict with the Redeemer war vessel that had
wanted to blow them out of space.
    But Calhoun said nothing. Instead he went back to
studying his report, his legs comfortably crossed, his
left foot waving in leisurely fashion.
    She made a slow visual survey of the bridge. No one
was looking at her. No one seemed particularly inter-
ested in welcoming her back other than with a quick,
cursory nod. Otherwise, that was pretty much it.
    She should have been happy about that; relieved
even. Instead it left her feeling oddly discontent for
some reason that she couldn't quite isolate.
    The turbolift opened and Lieutenant Commander
Burgoyne 172, chief engineer of the Excalibur,
walked out. Shelby turned and looked at the Hermat.
If there was anyone who could be counted on for
making an offbeat, uninhibited response, it was Bur-
goyne.
"Chief," Calhoun acknowledged hir entrance.
"Captain," Burgoyne replied with a tilt of hir head.
"I wanted to run some cross-checks on the energy
transfer problems we've been having. Thought I'd use
the station up here since the main one's being tied up
for research."
 "Be my guest," said Calhoun.
 "Afternoon, Burgy," Shelby spoke up.
     "Commander," replied Burgoyne by way of greet-
ing, and then s/he went on about hir business.
 That was it. That was all.
 Shelby felt utterly crestfallen.
    There was no reason whatsoever that the bridge
crew should make a big deal over Shelby's handling of
the crisis earlier. In her heart, she knew that. At most,
the captain would make a notation of it in his log and
register a commendation. But that was all. Nothing
further need be acknowledged, because really, when
you got down to it, Shelby had simply done her job.
The fact that she had done it extremely well shouldn't
really have factored into it.  Except...
    Except that the Excalibur was unlike any other ship
she'd served on.
    She couldn't help but feel that part of it was that the
crew took their cue from the captain. Calhoun was a
cowboy, no question, who walked with a slight swag-
ger, wore a look of weathered amusement, operated in
unexpected and unorthodox manners, and seemed to
delight in having little to no regard for the standard
procedures under which other ships and commanding
officers operated.
    As for the situation that Shelby was in, the people
she was surrounded by...
    An ambassador who had come aboard the ship as a
stowaway in the science officer's luggage; a conn
officer who was ... what was McHenry doing now?
She glanced over at him and saw that he was moving
his fingers in a manner that indicated he was making a
cat's cradle with imaginary string. Okay, they had a
conn officer who seemed barely there, except when he
was needed. And he was having an affair with a
multisexual chief engineer, who was in turn (accord-
ing to the latest rumors, and since the entire vessel
seemed to be powered not by dilithium crystals but by
innuendo, it was probably accurate) serving to sate
the mating lust of the normally staid chief medical
officer. The head of security was relatively normal...
at least as normal as a walking land mass could be,
but the night-side security head was different story. A
large, shaggy story. It was as if Calhoun had gone out
of his way to handpick a crew designed to appeal to
his eclectic and rather offbeat tastes. It was less like
serving on a starship than serving on a funhouse
mirror version of one. The only one who seemed
relatively normal was Lefler.
    Shelby glanced over her duty log, which had been
kept up to date by her yeoman so that she would be
able to review it handily. She took one look at her, saw
that the intended passenger from Momidium was
Lefler's mother, who had been dead for a decade, and
moaned softly to herself. Et tu, Lefier, she thought.
    Still, with all the quirkiness, with all the oddities
that seemed prevalent through the vessel, everyone
seemed to be having... Well, fun wasn't the right
word. It was a combination of professionalism mixed
with camaraderie.
    That was it. That was the bottom line, really. There
was an air of joie de vivre on the ship. For all the
craziness that went on, for all the offbeat attitudes,
everyone--from the captain down to the lowest rank-
ing technician--all seemed to be alive and part of a
circuit of energy.
    And Shelby felt as if she wasn't a part of it. She felt
wedded to decorum, a living incarnation of Starfleet
rules and regulations. It was as if the ship was a party,
and she was the designated pooper thereof.
    It was not an attitude that made her feel particu-
larly good about herself, but dammit, she was a
trained Starfleet officer. Just because Calhoun's com-
mand style was very much a shoot-from-the-hip prop-
osition didn't mean that she had to go along with it.
She was complete unto herself, confident and sure of
the rightness of her worldview.  And yet... she was lonely.
    She hated to admit it, but there it was. She had
chosen a certain way in which she desired to be
regarded, and the fact was, her return to the bridge had
been the test of that. If they'd teased her or lampooned
her, it would have been roundly insulting, and she
would have been well within her rights to light into
anyone who treated her in such a disrespectful manner.
But instead they treated her with the esteem to which
she was entitled. It should have made her feel good
about herself, but instead she couldn't help but feel as
if it just underscored her outsider status... the status
that she had been boasting of to Lefier just a little
earlier.
    And then she heard something: the sound of slow,
steady hands slamming together. She opened her eyes
and turned to see Calhoun, standing, slowly applaud-
ing and nodding his head in approval.
    Then McHenry joined in, as did Lefler. When
Kebron tried slamming his hands together it created
an almost deafening explosion of air, so he did it
more gently. But ultimately, within seconds, everyone
on the bridge was applauding Shelby and cheering.
    And Shelby, to her own astonishment, started to
laugh.
    She couldn't help it. She had clearly been set up.
Calhoun had orchestrated it, of that she was positive.
He'd wanted to single her out for praise and commen-
dation, but being the maverick and relatively bizarre
person that he was, he couldn't find it within himself
to do it in anything vaguely approaching a normal
manner.
    She continued to laugh, louder and with greater
delight, because she felt genuinely touched and a-
mused and even liked. An entire barrage of emotions,
one tumbling over the next.
    Calhoun patted her on the back and she turned to
him and said, "You always have to be different, do
you know that?"
    "That's what my first officer keeps telling me," he
replied sanguinely.
    "But what about..." Shelby began, "you know,
what I said--"
    "But nothing," Calhoun cut her off. "What you said
doesn't matter. It's what you did that counts."
    Looking into the solemn eyes of her crewmates,
Shelby suddenly felt ashamed of herself for doubting
them and her place among them.
    As if he sensed her discomfort, Calhoun jumped
into the silence. "Let me tell you, Commander," he
said, "about the colors I saw, wounded and raving,
after I won the Battle of Maja on Xenex .... "




THE SNORING OF HER SECURITY GUARD was beginning to
get on Soleta's nerves.
    The science officer had been probing every inch of
the area known as Ontear's cave, displaying the
customary patience that was a valuable part of her
Vulcan heritage. Her streak of impatience, unfortu-
nately, to say nothing of her more human reactions,
could be chalked up to that part of her that was her
Romulan heritage. She did not like to dwell on that,
though. Instead she far preferred to focus her mind on
the task at hand.
    Ontear's cave was situated in a remote and rocky
area of Zontar, many miles outside the main city. The
ground was pebbly and slippery, and there were
crevices that were almost impossible to see until one
was practically stepping into them. Ontear, according
to Soleta's research, was a seer and wise man who had
lived five hundred years previously, and had been
instrumental in shaping the direction of his world. He
had died, or disappeared, depending upon one's inter-
pretation, under most mysterious circumstances. Ac-
cording to legend, he'd literally been plucked up and
away by the wrath of the Zondarian gods themselves.
That was just a tad too mystical and over the top as
far as Soleta was concerned. Far more likely there had
been some sort of freak storm occurrence that had
been responsible for hauling Ontear away to his
"eternal reward."
    But she was further intrigued by reports that
Captain Calhoun had made to her, namely of seeing
some sort of ghostly image in the cave while he had
been a captive there. That was something that nei-
ther he nor she had been quite able to explain and,
thus far, she had found no means of supporting its
existence.
    Calhoun had been very detailed in his description
of the phantom being, which appeared, on the surface
of it, to be the ghost of Ontear. But that was not an
explanation that thrilled Soleta. What was even more
disturbing, though, was that Burgoyne had likewise
claimed to have encountered the phantasmic shade,
and Soleta had absolutely no idea what to make of
that. Group hallucination? Projection of some sort?
Possibilities, but none that particularly thrilled her.
    And then there had been the mental assaults. Some
sort of telepathic being who had, insanely, seemed
to be artificially generated, if such a thing were
possible. It had acted as the first line of defense
against intruders, driving them mad with fear, as-
saulting them, in one case even killing. But it seemed
to have vanished altogether, as if its job was done or
its time had passed. It all left Soleta seeking answers
that did not seem remotely interested in being forth-
coming.
    Soleta had determined that she was going to explore
the area until she had some sort of explanation for the
events that had occurred in the area. However, the
political climate of Zondar--although it was improw
ing--was nonetheless in a state of flux, and Calhoun
had not wanted her down there without an escort. It
had been with the extreme glee, in Soleta's opinion,
that Burgoyne 172 had eagerly urged Calhoun to
assign Ensign Janos to the task. Since this would be a
day-and-night exploration (thanks to Soleta's consid-
erable stamina) the fact that Janos was primarily on
the night shift did not factor in to the decision.
Moreover, Janos had already been down to Zondar
once and so at least had some familiarity with the
territory. What Burgoyne did not bother to mention
to Calhoun was that Soleta--while she'd been in
command of the vessel--had gone out of her way to
assign Janos as Burgoyne's backup when Burgoyne
had embarked on a rescue mission of hir own, and
this was a convenient means of payback as far as
Burgoyne was concerned.
    For Ensign Janos was something to see... a
white-haired, ape-like being from a species that was
generally more inclined to growl, snarl, and try to
tear someone apart than engage someone in polite
conversation. Janos, however, talked incessantly in
an offhand, chatty manner with an accent that the
British would refer to as "cut glass." In that respect
he was unlike any other member of his species,
although he did bear a strong resemblance to his
father. Janos's background and history was unique
to say the least, and Soleta found him intriguing in
that respect. But she felt it was inappropriate for the
science officer to consider a crewmember interesting
from a scientific perspective. It was patronizing
somehow, for no reason she could quite put a finger
on.
    Aside from his string of chattiness, though, Janos
presented another problem as well: He tended to sleep
if he was not actively engaged in eating, working, or
sex (and considering the dearth of suitable mates for
him in Starfleet, he had more or less adopted a
permanent state of celibacy, which was a state of
mind that did not weigh happily upon him).
    Since time was of the essence, Soleta had not
returned to the ship since she had arrived at the dig
site. Instead she had worked steadily, probing and
testing, searching for clues throughout the entire
area. When she had felt fatigued, she had rested for a
few minutes, fifteen at most. During all that time
Janos had remained on duty, never flagging in his
attention, and never shutting up. Soleta had re-
quested a number of times that he find something
else to do other than talk, and he had always oh-so-
politely agreed to try and curb his normally loqua-
cious nature. But within relatively short order he
always slid back into his old habits, and finally Soleta
had just developed the ability to screen him out
completely.
    At this point, however, languor had finally caught
up with him, and he had suggested that he return to
the Excalibur and have a replacement be sent down.
    "That," Soleta had replied, "is a waste of man-
power, Janos. The fact is that, truthfully, I do not
even feel that your presence is required here. It
seems foolish to engage the services of yet another
security guard. Take yourself off-duty, and if there is
any difficulty, I assure you I will alert you immedi-
ately."
    "That, Lieutenant, is simply too, too considerate of
you," Janos informed her with a grimace. A grimace
was the closest he could come to changing his facial
expression, since his species wasn't exactly geared for
smiling, frowning, and other human-like actions. 'Tll
just toddle off for a quick one then, with your kind
permission."
  "Consider it granted."
    Janos found a stone outcropping near the mouth of
the cave and moments later was dangling upside
down from his knees, as was his habit. Soleta found
the quiet to be exceedingly peaceful, up until a few
minutes later when Janos started snoring. She could
have sworn that the vibrations were actually causing
the rocks to shake.
    She had initially explored the cave first, followed
by the surrounding hills, cliffs, and crevices. She'd
found no trace of any of the technology that she had
been sure must be in the area. Technology that had
generated holographic figures, mind-probing crea-
tures, and shields that had interfered with the Ex-
calibur's scanning equipment to the degree that they
had not been able to track down the captain while he
was a prisoner there. Now, though, with the crisis
having passed, it was as if the entire area had simply
gone dead. She could find no energy emanation that
might lead her to what she sought. Nothing. Nothing
at all. There was nothing of any interest in the
vicinity with the possible exception of Janos's
snoring.
    Soleta reentered the cave, the one where not all
that long before, Captain Calhoun had been held
prisoner by a Zondarian holy man who not only
believed that Calhoun was the messiah, but that it
was his duty to kill the aforementioned messiah for
the sake of his world. For what seemed the hun-
dredth time to her, she scanned the interior with her
tricorder, trying to find something, anything, that
might provide a clue or a lead. But once again, her
tricotder told her nothing.
    "All right," she said to no one in particular. "Then
I will try it the old-fashioned way."
    She unslung a satchel that she'd had looped around
her shoulder, laid it down on the ground, and rum-
maged through it. From the satchel she removed a
tool pouch. It had been given to her by her parents on
her twelfth birthday, back when her interest in ar-
chaeology first surfaced. It was a superbly crafted and
carefully maintained batch of tools. Of course, on her
thirteenth birthday, her interest in astronomy drove
her, and her fourteenth it was xenobiology, by which
point her parents realized that she was looking at a
potential career in general sciences since she couldn't
seem to make up her mind as to a specialty.
    Carefully Soleta extracted a small hammer from the
pouch that looked as new and shiny as on the day that
she had first gotten the set. Then, at the mouth of the
cave, she got down on her hands and knees and
proceeded to tap the floor with the hammer. She
listened carefully, her sharp hearing strained to the
utmost, her face a mask of concentration, as she
sought to learn if there was anything on the cave floor
that might lead her to something else, anything else.
    That was how she proceeded for the next hour and
a half, moving one square inch at a time, her carefully
neutral face never betraying the least bit of impa-
tience or weariness with her task. Tik tik tik the
hammer continued, never wavering or letting up in its
implacable rhythm.
After ninety-one minutes, she found something.
The difference in sound was ever so faint, so mild
that the likelihood was that no one else would catch
it. But Soleta's ears pricked up and her eyes nar-
rowed as she studied the floor where she was certain
she had detected some sort of mild differentiation.
She ran her fingers carefully over the rocky surface,
and then expertly the tips of her fingers began to
probe.
    She detected it almost immediately. There was a
circular area, about six inches across, but the stone
was inset as if it had slid over it to obscure something
else. It was like a tiny trapdoor, and she wondered
what it could possibly be hiding.
    She tried chipping away at the rock, but it resisted
her attempts. Reaching into the pouch, she removed a
miniature laser carver and started to slice up the rock
ever so delicately. As she cut up each section, she
removed it and found that she was becoming more
and more excited by what was being revealed beneath
it.
    It was some sort of disk, inset into the ground. A
glittering silver disk with a small etching of something
that looked vaguely like a flame. Soleta ran her fingers
across it and she felt a warmth to it... a warmth
and... and something else...
  YOU . . ,
  She felt something.
    It was ever so gentle, a butterfly's brush against her
mind. The fluttering beginnings of something that
seemed vaguely evocative of a Vulcan mindmeld.
    From a disk? It seemed impossible. At most, the
disk would be some sort of device, a machine. A
machine wouldn't have mindmeld capacity in either
direction.
    But then she realized she was wrong. There was
precedent in mindmeld techniques for merging with a
machine. No one less than Spock had achieved such a
blending, with a floating, threatening machine called
"Nomad." And if Spock could do it, and if there
really was some sort of device that was reaching out to
her...
  You...
    She had reflexively removed her hand upon first
making contact, but now she steeled herself and
placed her hand squarely on the disk. She reached out
cautiously with her mind while, at the same time,
allowing the probe to brush against her mind.
    You... hear us, you are... there... after all...
this time...
    She could feel the impulse, originating from...
from wherever it was... trying to slip more deeply
into her mind. But she was being understandably
cautious, and she kept mental shields in place that let
the other "mind" go only so far and no further.
    "I hear you," was her reply. She had spoken out
loud to help steady herself, but mentally projected the
answer as well.
 And it exploded into her mind.
 The response was so overwhelming, so massive,
that her shields crumbled like sodden tissue. Soleta
tore her hand free from the disk, but physical contact
was no longer an issue, for the thing had completely
invaded her. She fell backward onto her back, twist-
ing and writhing, trying with all her might to shove
the intruder out of her skull.
    She rolled over, propping herself up onto her
elbows and hauling herself forward using her fore-
arms. She was trying to get to the mouth of the cave,
as if sensing somehow that once she was out of the
cave, she'd be out of danger altogether. But her mind
was feeling heavier with every passing moment, and
her body mirrored her mind as she found herself
unable to make her muscles function in concert with
one another. She tried to gather enough air into her
lungs to shout an alert to Janos, but she couldn't
manage it, couldn't get out a single word. Her
desperate fingers fumbled to touch her commbadge,
but she couldn't even mange the manual dexterity
required for that simple feat. Instead her convulsing,
palsied hand banged against the commbadge and
sent it clattering to the floor of the cave. Unfortu-
nately, it fell on its edge and rolled a couple of feet
awaymnot far at all, but it might as well have been in
Alpha Centauri for all the good it was going to do
her.
    Come to me... it has been so long, and I deserve
companionship, the same as any of my kind...
    Your... kind? It was a massive effort for her just to
be able to frame those words.
  Come to me .... Yes? You will... come to me?
    Deciding that she had absolutely nothing to lose at
that juncture considering that whatever had grabbed
her was perfectly capable of frying her brain into
cinders, she managed to get out the single word:
"Yes."
  Then come to me... now ....
    For no reason that she could quite discern, Soleta
lunged for her satchel. It was as if she regarded it,
however illogically, as the equivalent of a lifeline or
life preserver. It took everything she had, every ounce
of willpower, and total refusal to accept the concept
that she simply could not move. Her fingers fell barely
inches short, and then an additional push forward
allowed her to snag the strap with the tips of her
fingers. She pulled it towards her...
    Suddenly she felt the ground opening up beneath
her.
    It was the most outlandish sensation. It wasn't as if
the ground had gone soft beneath her, like quicksand.
Nor was there some sort of trapdoor that was tilting
and spilling her down to some subterranean area. It
was as if the ground was just... just melting around
her, phasing into nonexistence below her and then
resealing above her. And it was pulling her down with
the force of a current in the ocean. Her legs, hips, and
torso all vanished below before she had time even to
string together a coherent realization as to what was
happening. Her arms were outstretched above her
head, and at the last second she lost her grip on her
pouch, the strap slipping out of her hand. She was
barely aware of it, though, because the thoughts from
the--the whatever it was--were still rampaging
through her skull, and she felt utterly helpless to drive
it away. She tried to open her mouth to call to Janos,
to shout for help, but she felt as if something had
paralyzed the speech center of her brain. So over-
whelming were the thoughts in her head that she
wasn't able to punch past it.
    What was bizarre was that it wasn't images per se
or individual thoughts. It was an overwhelming
need, an urgency, and Soleta instinctively tried to
pull away from it, tried to sever the mindmeld. But
she was in too deep, and it had happened so quickly
that she was trapped before she even knew that she
was being ensnared. She tried to leave, but every-
thing around her howled at her, Stay with met You
can't leave now.t You have to stay with met Stay
forever and ever and ever .... But again, it wasn't in
words. It was just her interpretation of the abiding
need that had found its way into her soul and was
determined to pull her down and make her a part of
itself.
    At the last second, just before her head disap-
peared beneath the surface, she suddenly realized
that she had no idea where she was going or how
much time she would have underground, if that was
indeed where she was going. As a last-ditch measure,
she took a deep breath, wondered exactly how much
good that was going to do, filled her lungs with air,
and then vanished completely beneath the rocky
surface.
    The strata seemed to melt away before her eyes, and
she wondered how in the world she was actually
seeing anything as she spiraled downward. There was,
after all, no light. Perhaps in some way she was seeing
it with her mind's eye, or maybe something was
augmenting her view. All in all, though, she had no
sure way of knowing.
  She was corporeal, though, of that much she was
certain, because she was already starting to feel the
air burning in her lungs. She kept her lips tightly
sealed and tried to analyze scientifically what was
happening. The buildup of carbon dioxide within
her was forcing her to want to blast the air out of her
lungs. It was simply a matter of willpower, of ex-
plaining to her brain in as no-nonsense and reason-
able a manner as she could that endeavoring to take
in more air was simply suicide. It was not an option,
and she was just going to have to hold on to it longer.
Unfortunately for her, neither her lungs nor her
brain seemed quite open to rational discussion and
she knew that this was a contest of wills that she was
going to lose.
    She opened her mouth, expelling the contents of
her lungs, quite certain that that was the last breath
that she was ever going to draw.
    And that was when she suddenly became aware that
her legs were clear of the rock. Her feet kicked in
midair, and then she was in free fall, her head and
then arms coming free of the rocky strata overhead as
she fell through. Fortunately enough, she only fell a
couple of feet before thudding to a halt. She went
limp, hitting the ground and rolling, and slapping it as
she landed to absorb the impact.
    The mental assault was now overwhelming, and
Soleta's body shook as she was pummeled with desire,
longing, loneliness... a cacophony of needy emo-
tions.
    Soleta gathered her mental resources, pulled them
into a ball within her that she could almost visualize
in her mind's eye, and then she exploded the ball in
all directions as she bellowed with every thought,
every fiber of her being, "LEAVE ME ALONE?'
 And just like that--it stopped.
    But she was too wary to assume automatically that
it was over. Quickly she promptly rolled to her feet,
her hands poised, in preparation for a possible attack.
    There was another Vulcan facing her, ready to
lunge.

  Janos was startled awake.
    He wasn't entirely certain what had alerted him,
but something most definitely had. He was more
than willing to chalk it up to basic animal instinct. It
was that instinct that caused him to awaken with a
deep, throaty roar. He didn't simply clamber down
off the rocky precipice from which he was hanging
upside down. Instead he flipped off, landing on his
feet, his clawed bared and his lips drawn back to
reveal his fangs. He looked right, left, and behind
him, reacting to something that he couldn't readily
detect. But there was nothing, or at least there
seemed to be nothing.
    "SoletaW he called. He waited for a response and
when none was forthcoming, he said again, "Soleta!"
For good measure he tapped his commbadge and said,
"Janos to Soleta," just in case she was simply out of
earshot. When still no reply was forthcoming, he
murmured to himself, "Bloody marvelous."
    His nostrils flared as he assessed scents in the area,
and he quickly picked up Soleta's trail. As he tracked
her, he growled angrily to himself. It was bad enough
that Captain Calhoun had vanished while Zak Keb-
ron was supposed to be keeping an eye on him. That
loss had stuck deep in Kebron's stony craw, for
Kebron did not take particularly well to failure. How
much angrier, then, was Janos for having surrendered
to exhaustion but, at the same time, unwisely heeding
Soleta's expectations and confidence that she could
attend to matters should something go awry. Obvi-
ously something had gone out of whack, and he had
absolutely no idea what it was. But he was going to
find out fast.
    He saw the trail was leading him straight to On-
tear's cave, and he wasn't the least bit surprised.
Although they had been exploring the entire region,
Soleta had kept finding herself drawn back to that one
place, as if she somehow sensed that all the answers
she sought were wrapped up there. And he should
have known that if she was going to run into prob-
lems, that would be where they would occur. The
past, and the truth, were not always prone to yielding
up their secrets without demanding a high price in
return.
    Janos was not a big believer in weapons. He was
always more comfortable using his claws and his sheer
bulk. But in this case, he decided that this was the
time to err on the side of caution.
    He pulled out his specially designed phaser. It was
an alternate model with larger key pad, controls, and
trigger to accommodate the size of his hand. He
thumbed the power on and carefully entered the cave,
pausing at the cave's mouth to allow his eyes to
adjust. He had superb night vision, so it only took a
couple of seconds for the interior of the cave to be
completely and easily visible to him.
    He entered slowly, his claws clicking on the rocky
floor, his head moving from left to right and almost
turning all the way around, since his flexible neck
gave him 300-degree vision. He held his phaser in a
relaxed grip, and he no longer was calling Soleta's
name. Instead he was trusting his own instincts to
guide him to her; if nothing else, he was concerned
that calling out to her at this point might alert some
enemy.
    His eyes narrowed as he saw the small metal device
that was her commbadge. He knelt down and picked
it up in one clawed hand, turned it over idly like a
magician performing tricks with a coin. Then he saw
something else... a pouch of some sort. He remem-
bered it immediately as the satchel that Soleta had
been carrying slung across her chest and over her
shoulders.
    He knelt down next to it to pick it up, and found, to
his surprise, that he couldn't. The strap was inside the
ground somehow. He was able to lift the pouch, but it
jerked to a halt as if something was holding tight the
strap, and he discovered that it was as if the ground
had sealed over the strap.
    "Bloody hell," he said thoughtfully. He tugged once
more to make sure and he remained unable to pull it
out. Then he crouched next to the point in the rock
where the strap entered and probed experimentally.
He expected some sort of sponginess, but instead the
ground was, appropriately, rock solid. "Might be
some sort of inverse phase transducer," he muttered.
"Something that dematerialized the rock around
her." He didn't feel in any particular hurry, because if
Soleta had been pulled down and then the rock had
reformed around her, she was already dead. Expedi-
tiousness is rarely required in the rescue of the
deceased. But if she was alive, then rushing unduly
might well put an end to the one individual who was
in a position to rescue her. Obviously caution was
called for.
    Something glittered two feet beyond. He did not
approach it, though, out of concern that it might be
some sort of triggering device for whatever trap had
swallowed up Soleta. He decided to ignore it altogeth-
er, since obviously the main point of consideration
was the place wherein she had vanished.
    He rapped on the cave floor. "Knock knock," he
said optimistically, and when he received no re-
sponse, he added, "open sesame?" When nothing
happened, he sighed and thumbed the phaser to
active status. "Right, then. We do it the noisy way,"
he said.



Iv.

SOLETA WAS POISED, bracing herself in preparation for
the charge of the clearly belligerent Vulcan.
    It was hard to make out much, because the area
around her seemed thick with mist, but as near as she
could tell, it was a female, like herself; ready for a
fight, like herself; moving left, right, backing up,
like... herself.
    She stopped and simply stood there and waved. Her
reflection waved back.
    "That was not one of my finer moments," she
muttered.
    Slowly she approached the highly reflective surface,
tilting her head slightly as she got closer. At first she
had thought it was some sort of metal, similar to the
metal disk that she had touched to first get her into
 this fix. But now she realized that it was some sort of
 incredibly polished stone, similar to marble.
    She pulled her tricorder from her belt and held it up
to get readings. She stared at the device, frowned,
adjusted it, and tried it again. In annoyance, or as
close to annoyance as she ever got, she thumped the
tricorder with the base of her hand. Then she turned it
on herself and the tricorder obediently began giving
out readings on her. She cleared it, turned it back to
the wall, and once again tried to get readings off it.
    And once again she got nothing. According to the
tricorder, the wall simply wasn't there.
    She had been reluctant to touch the wall because
the last time she had touched something, it had gotten
her into a world of trouble, unleashing a torrent of
communication that she had been unable to shut off.
When she had hit the floor in this subterranean area,
the link had mysteriously disappeared as suddenly as
it had first contacted her. Coming into contact with
another surface might set it off again, or unleash
something even more forceful. But she felt as if she
had no choice.
    Tentatively she put out her hand to touch the wall.
She saw the reflection of herself reaching out as well,
naturally mirroring what she was doing... and her
hand passed right through it.
    Impossible went through her head, and she said out
loud, "Impossible. If this wall is not here, if it is
merely an illusion, there cannot be a reflection of me
upon it. Light would not bounce off it, but merely
pass through. Light needs something solid for a reflec-
tion to occur."
 She reached forward again, and once again her
image on the other side did so. Once again she came
into contact with nothing, her hand passing through
as if she were trying to touch fog. She withdrew her
hand ....
    Her reflection did likewise, but a few seconds later
than she did.
    "This is insane," she murmured. She paused a
moment, considered the situation, and then stepped
forward right through the wall. She moved through it
without a ripple, of course, but then as she turned, she
suddenly heard her own voice .... No, not just
heard. Felt. Her voice shouting, "Leave me alone!"
with tremendous volume and force.
    She spun and saw--herself. She was some feet
away, crouched on the ground, looking as if she were
desperately trying to pull herself together. Soleta
watched in amazement as herself from moments ago
scrambled to her feet, saw "herself," and froze in a
defensive posture.
    And Soleta automatically, purely instinctively, as-
sumed the same stance. She couldn't help it, it was
completely reflex. Even as she did so, she made a
mental note that she truly needed to brush up on her
assorted kata and other exercises, because the move-
ments of her other self seemed less than sharp to her.
    Her "previous self," having ascertained that she
was not, in fact, under attack, appeared to relax.
Soleta did likewise. And at that point, Soleta realized
what was happening: She had never seen a reflection
of herself. She had seen some sort of time "phantom,"
an echo not of what had been, but what was about to
happen. Something fatalistic within her prompted her
to now make the same movements that she had seen
her erstwhile reflection make only moments ago, since
she reasoned that she might as well since she had
already done it. She might as well keep her own
personal history consistent. So she stepped forward
toward herself, moved her hand when her past incar-
nation did, and watched the surprise flicker through
her previous self upon realizing that she was not
facing a hardened surface that would permit reflec-
tions. All the while her mind was racing, trying to
understand exactly what it was that she was in and
what she was facing.
    With great scientific curiosity she watched and
waited as her previous self, after some moments
more, made the decision that Soleta had really al-
ready made and stepped through the wall. For a
moment she wondered if a double of herself was going
to step through, and wouldn't that be cause for
conversation once she returned to the Excalibur with
a mirror image of herself. She could already hear the
snide comments. Mark McHenry, for instance, would
likely say something "clever" such as, "We like your
mirror version better, Soleta, but understand, that's
no reflection on you."
    But no copy of herself came through, and she
quickly understood why. She wasn't dealing with
some sort of time machine, physically casting her
from one place to another. Instead it was just a sort of
viewer, showing her the future on one side and the
past on another. It was, in fact, rather confusing, but
she didn't have the time to dwell on it further. She
needed to try and sort matters out before she inad-
vertently found herself once more under psychic
assault.
    She wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but it
seemed to her as if the mist around her was thinning
somewhat. Slowly she made her way forward and
found herself walking down a length of corridor. She
started to take tricorder readings once more, and this
time something began to register. It was a slow
pulsation of energy a short distance ahead of her. The
readings were oddly in flux, and she couldn't begin to
guess what any of it might mean, but she was game
enough to explore it sincereafter all--that was her
job.
    Two people were killing each other directly in front
of her.
    She paused a moment, but only a moment as she
realized she was seeing more images. And these
seemed to be from a time much farther back than the
mere minutes that she'd seen in her own recent
passing. It was two Zondarians, and they were garbed
in a style of dress that seemed rather unlike anything
that modem day Zondarians appeared to be wearing.
Granted it was possible that certain sections of Zon-
darian society were undergoing a "retro" wave of
style, but she strongly suspected that she was in fact
witnessing something from many years back: two
Zondarians battling it out, probably members of the
two castes that had been in engaged in a civil war that
had stretched back centuries.
    One image after another began to flutter past her,
some on the floor, others on the wall and ceiling, and
still others simply wafting through the air like flights
of fancy: women giving birth, people arguing, eating,
fighting, dying. They seemed to occur with no particu-
lar order, no consistency. It was... it was almost as
if she was witnessing some sort of stream of con-
sciousness, or perhaps the reverie of a dreamer.
  Oh please, she thought, don't let this world turn out
to be a sleeping giant who winds up waking up and
destroying the entire place. We've been through some-
thing like that once already, and that was entirely
sufficient for one lifetime.
    She turned a comer and it was everything she could
do not to gasp out loud. it wouldn't have made much
difference if she had, really, since she was alone, but
nonetheless it was the principle of the thing. She just
didn't like loud exclamations of astonishment. It
wasn't proper for a Vulcan woman, even one with
Romulan blood in her. That didn't always mean that
she was able to prevent herself from displaying inap-
propriate behavior, but she restrained herself whenev-
er she was able to.
    The room she was now entering seemed to go on
forever, and there was more of that marble-like mate-
rial as far as the eye could see. Once again she saw
herself, but this time she was quite positive that she
was indeed seeing a reflection since her tricorder was
giving her readings off the walls.
    But there was something in the center of the
room--or at least what she fancied to be the center,
since she couldn't accurately determine the parame-
ters and so make a mathematical determination--
that had completely engaged her attention.
    It was a column that seemed to stretch up forever. It
bore a general resemblance to the marble-like walls,
but it appeared softer, even porous. Perhaps even--
and her heart began to race with excitement at the
thought--organic? Some sort of techno-organism?
    The columnar structure was a dark, dusky brown,
and as she looked up and up, she saw that it appeared
to branch off in its higher reaches. There were cross-
connectors that ran off in a variety of directions.
  And at its base, there were... devices.
    They appeared attached to the structure, part of the
structure but also capable of separating from it. They
were a variety of shapes, made from apparently a
variety of materials, and Soleta couldn't even begin to
guess what any of them did. The tricorder was yield-
ing no useful information. The alloys were all new to
her, the shapes not analogous to anything was in any
records.
    The energy was definitely coming from within the
column, but it was like nothing that she was readily
familiar with.
    "No," she said to no one in particular. "No,
that's... not quite right. I've seen something like it,"
and she tried to remember what it was. The fact that
she didn't remember immediately was extremely dis-
concerting to her; Soleta was not one prone to forget-
ting things, and there had been something, something
that was...
    Suddenly she was struck with a thought, and it was
one that made the hair on the back of her neck stand
on end. As if she had been physically hit, she spun on
her heel, her head whipping around, and she called
out, "What did you do to me?" There was no response.
    "What did you do to me?" she asked again, and this
time she was actually driven by sufficient irritation
that she tossed aside caution and strode with quick
steps toward the towering column in the room. She
stood before it, her arms folded, and said, "There is
information missing from my mind. Information that
was pertinent to what I am discovering here today.
Were you responsible for its loss? Was that the reason
for the connection? To see what I knew and didn't
know, and then 'delete' inappropriate information
from me? 'Nell?"
    Still there was no reply, which was fairly acceptable
since she was not truly expecting one. She clapped her
hands once and then briskly rubbed them together.
"All right," she said. "Despite my earlier experience
with you, I am not the least bit intimidated by the
notion of a second encounter. If this is what you
desire, then it will be on your head... or... what-
ever," she finished. And with that announcement, she
placed her hands against the column.
    She had no intention of forcing her mindmeld upon
whatever she might encounter. The mindmeld was a
delicate technique at best, and certainly not designed
to be utilized as some sort of mind rape or weapon.
She was, however, determined to let whatever this
entity was know that it had assaulted her, and that she
was none too happy about it.
    The surface of the column was warm to the touch,
but she was not surprised. She felt something with-
in... recoil... as if it were surprised that she had
dared to seek it out.
     "Our minds are merging," she intoned slowly. "Our
minds... are merging." Go away.
    She felt it rather forcefully, and it surprised her.
Whatever the sensation in her head, it was speaking
with petulance bordering on fear. Certainly not what
she had expected.
    You brought me here. Wily do that and then tell
me... to go away?
    I made... a mistake... should not have brought
you here.
 Waves of concern seemed to be rolling off it. Slowly,
gently, she eased her mind probe farther and deeper.
She felt as if she were surrounded by blackness, falling
ever farther, and all around her there were objects in
the darkness skittering away, running in fear, like an
army of infants seeking to avoid the advent of a
stranger.
  You wanted company... you wanted to talk...
  Go away.
    I am... here... we are here .... Our minds...
are merging and we will be one... and you will not be
afraid.
  I AM NOT AFRAID/
    It came at her with such force that it nearly knocked
her off her feet. This time, though, she was ready for
it, and she maintained her footing as she clutched the
column.
  Tell me... who you are... what you are.
  You do not ask... questions of me.
    We are one .... We are merging .... You cannot
hold back from me .... You took from me... give
back to me... what you took... and give to me...
what you hide...
 I do not.. want you.
    Yes you do .... You would not have brought me
here... if you did not .... That is truly why I am
here .... You want... you want...  "What are you doing here?"
    The voice was loud and sounding quite upset, and
it completely jolted Soleta from the concentration
necessary to maintain the meld. She looked around in
surprise, feeling di~ointed and disoriented, which
was not uncommon whenever she first withdrew from
a mindmeld, and certainly understandable consider-
ing the present circumstances.
    She saw a Zondarian standing some feet away, but
immediately she saw that he was floating several
inches off the ground. He "walked" toward her
slowly, his feet moving but not touching the ground.
    He looked rather old for a Zondarian, although it
was difficult for her to be sure in even the best of
circumstances, and these were hardly those. He was
bald, as were all Zonalarians, and his skin was leath-
ery and shiny, with the customary sheen that made it
look as if the Zondarians were perpetually wet. Since
she was positive that she was seeing a projection of
some sort, she couldn't be one hundred percent sure
of such subtleties as skin texture.
    The newcomer's eyes were set wide apart, and when
he blinked, it was with eyelids that were clear. In real
life, when Zondarians blinked, their eyelids made
very soft clicking noises. They did not in this case,
however; perhaps a further indication of the fact that
he wasn't really there.
 "Who are you?" demanded Soleta.
    "I inquired of you first," replied the image. In his
'walking" manner he circled her, never taking his eyes
from her. "Will you answer?"
    "I am Lieutenant Soleta of the Starship Excalibur,"
she told him.
     The image stopped and appeared to be studying her
closely. "Starship?" he asked. "A spacegoing vessel."
    "Remarkable," he said softly. "And your ears--are
they a product of this starship? They appear rather
unusual."
    "I am a Vulcan," she said, "from the planet of the
same name. I was exploring the upper regions of this
territory, in an area called 'Ontear's cave'--"
    "I know what it's called," he told her, sounding a
bit arrogant about it.
    "And was psychically assaulted and then dragged
down here against my will."
    The image seemed to look rather surprised. "Is this
true?" he demanded.
  "You have no reason to doubt myra"
    But he waved dismissively. "I was not addressing
you," he said rather archly. He paused, waiting for a
reply from whomever it was that he was talking to.
    Soleta took a step toward him, cocking her head
with curiosity. "Who are you?" she demanded.
    "My name is Ontear," he said in a very distracted
fashion. He seemed to be listening to something as if
it were originating from very far away.
    "Ontear. The Ontear who died five hundred years
ago, carried away at the hands of mysterious gods?"
    He stopped, his attention suddenly fully back on
her. "Say again?"
    "Ontear. The noted prophet and seer, lifted away
into the skies by a swirling mass of air, commonly
called a tornado but believed, in this instance, to be
some sort of divine object."
    And with an expression of gentle sadness he asked,
"Is that what happens to me?"
    Soleta had been continuing to approach him, but at
that point she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.
You may have just destroyed a time line, her mind
informed her. You might well have informed some-
onefrom the past of their future... . and in doing so,
have virtually guaranteed he will avoid it. "I... do
not know," she said slowly, desperately trying to
figure out some way in which to salvage this awful
mess that she had inadvertently stepped into. "Not
for certain. Reports are varied and conflicting, and
there is no sure way to tell what truly happened.
There are... any number of possibilities and--"
    But he was shaking his head, his arms folded, and
he merely looked amused at her discomfort. "You
need not worry, my dear," he said. "I am too old
already to worry about such matters, and my fate--
even a violent one--holds no fear for me. Do not be
concerned that I shall run from whatever destiny has
in store for me, thereby upsetting the delicate balance
of the space-time continuum. I shall embrace it, just
as I have eagerly embraced all knowledge." He sighed.
"We do have another problem, however." "We do?" asked Soleta.
    "I am afraid so. You are here, my dear, due to a
malfunction. As I'm sure you've surmised, you see
before you a technology representing a perfect synthe-
sis of living and mechanical technology. However, no
devicemeven one of ours--is foolproof. The one
here, I am afraid, has broken down. It brought you to
itself when it should not have. It mistook you for
a...
 "For a what?" Soleta wanted to know.
    "A lover," sighed Ontear. "It then realized its
mistake, but you were already down here and so...
there it is."
    "There what is?" She felt, not for the first time, that
she was one half of a conversation and not following
the other half.
    "The materials you have seen, the valuable hints
and glimpses of other technology, the data you have
collected with that... device. What is that called?"
    -A trl--" ane paused. 5he was, after all, talking to
an individual from the past. She'd already made a
horrible error by mentioning his fate. The last thing
she was going to do was compound it by making
mention of any other accurate information.  "A tri... ?" he prompted curiously.
    "A try-trying-to-avoid-explaining-it machine," she
said, wincing slightly at how tortured that
sounded.
    "I see," said Ontear, and she wasn't sure but there
appeared to be the slightest touch of amusement on
his face. "Very well, then. The point is, none of this
was meant for you. And so something must be done
about the situation."
    "Something." Soleta pondered the significance of
this a moment and then asked, very quietly, "Are you
saying you plan to kill me?"
    "That will hardly solve the problem," replied
Ontear. "I have no idea what information you may
have already passed along to whomever you arrived
with. Even if you never return to your point of origin,
there may simply be more people following your lead.
No, I daresay that your demise will really attend to
none of the difficulties that have presented them-
selves."
    "That is most fortunate to hear." She did not,
however, relax her guard for even a moment.
    "No, I am afraid this entire installation will have to
be destroyed. Your death will simply be an unfortu-
nate byproduct."
    And the energy readings on her tricorder suddenly
spiked off the scales. The cause was immediately, and
painfully, evident, as the energy-filled column began
to glow. She could feel the ground vibrating beneath
her feet, and the building energy waves were so
powerful that she could practically feel them pulsat-
ing against her.
    "My apologies for this situation," Ontear told her.
"It's not fair, but then, life rarely is."
    "Stop!" shouted Soleta, but it was too late; Ontear
had vanished back into whatever ether he had sprung
from.
    Seeing that she had absolutely no choice, even
though she hadn't a clue as to where she was going to
go, Soleta ran. Her arms pumped furiously as she
dashed back down the corridor, heading toward the
curious wall that she has passed through. She saw
something through it, something she couldn't quite
make out because she was running too quickly.
    All around her the place was shaking furiously. As
the marble-like walls whizzed past her, she saw cracks
starting to develop in them, and from overhead debris
was starting to fall. It wasn't enough that she had to
try and stay ahead of some sort of buildup toward
detonation--she also had to run an obstacle course,
dodging frantically from one side to the other as
chunks of rubble fell all around her. One piece grazed
her shoulder. She staggered but kept going, keeping
her arms over her head to shield her from falling
objects.
    She made it to the wall and passed through it once
more as if it wasn't there... which, in point of fact, it
wasn't. She emerged on the other side and found
herself facing a dead end. She looked up desperately,
trying to find some way out, but her entrance had
been through the shifting ground above her, and it
    "A tri--" She paused. She was, after all, talking to
an individual from the past. She'd already made a
horrible error by mentioning his fate. The last thing
she was going to do was compound it by making
mention of any other accurate information.  "A tri... ?" he prompted curiously.
    "A try-trying-to-avoid-explaining-it machine," she
said, wincing slightly at how tortured that
sounded.
    "I see," said Ontear, and she wasn't sure but there
appeared to be the slightest touch of amusement on
his face. "Very well, then. The point is, none of this
was meant for you. And so something must be done
about the situation."
    "Something." Soleta pondered the significance of
this a moment and then asked, very quietly, "Are you
saying you plan to kill me?"
    "That will hardly solve the problem," replied
Ontear. "I have no idea what information you may
have already passed along to whomever you arrived
with. Even if you never return to your point of origin,
there may simply be more people following your lead.
No, I daresay that your demise will really attend to
none of the difficulties that have presented them-
selves."
    "That is most fortunate to hear." She did not,
however, relax her guard for even a moment.
    "No, I am afraid this entire installation will have to
be destroyed. Your death will simply be an unfortu-
nate byproduct."
    And the energy readings on her tricorder suddenly
spiked off the scales. The cause was immediately, and
painfully, evident, as the energy-filled column began
to glow. She could feel the ground vibrating beneath
her feet, and the building energy waves were so
powerful that she could practically feel them pulsat-
ing against her.
    "My apologies for this situation," Ontear told her.
"It's not fair, but then, life rarely is."
    "Stop!" shouted Soleta, but it was too late; Ontear
had vanished back into whatever ether he had sprung
from.
    Seeing that she had absolutely no choice, even
though she hadn't a clue as to where she was going to
go, Soleta ran. Her arms pumped furiously as she
dashed back down the corridor, heading toward the
curious wall that she has passed through. She saw
something through it, something she couldn't quite
make out because she was running too quickly.
    All around her the place was shaking furiously. As
the marble-like walls whizzed past her, she saw cracks
starting to develop in them, and from overhead debris
was starting to fall. It wasn't enough that she had to
try and stay ahead of some sort of buildup toward
detonation--she also had to run an obstacle course,
dodging frantically from one side to the other as
chunks of rubble fell all around her. One piece grazed
her shoulder. She staggered but kept going, keeping
her arms over her head to shield her from falling
objects.
    She made it to the wall and passed through it once
more as if it wasn't there... which, in point of fact, it
wasn't. She emerged on the other side and found
herself facing a dead end. She looked up desperately,
trying to find some way out, but her entrance had
been through the shifting ground above her, and it
 now appeared to be solid rock once more. The vibra-
 tions around her became more and more fierce, and
 she started to hear explosions.
    And, ever so faintly in her head, she thought she
heard something else. Something that sounded like a
faint sobbing, as if she were detecting a ghostly echo
of her previous connection with the telepathic entity
that had sought her out. Then, with all the substance
that the wall had presented, the sound faded in her
mind, leaving no more a trace than evaporated morn-
ing dew.
    Then another sound replaced it. She looked up,
recognizing it immediately; it was faint but growing
louder. It sounded like...
    "Phaser fire?" she murmured to herself, and then
her eyes went wide as she realized its significance.
And she shouted in a very loud, semi-desperate and
extremely un-Vulcan manner, "Janos, here! Down
here!"
    But she was certain that he couldn't hear her, for
the sounds of the explosions from behind her were
drowning out everything. She put her hands to her
ears, wincing against the overwhelming noise, trying
to stay on her feet but failing and tumbling to her
knees. She rolled over onto her back, and looked
up...
    She saw the ceiling, about five feet directly above
her, heating up.
    Realizing she had less than a second to react, Soleta
desperately rolled to one side, and then there was an
explosion of phaser fire directly above her as the
ceiling blasted downward, leaving a pile of rubble
about three feet high in the precise spot she had just
vacated.
    Ensign Janos dropped to the floor, landing in a
crouch atop the rubble, and with great alarm he
looked down at the rocky pile of fragments beneath
his feet. "Soleta!" he shouted.
    She ran up behind him, tapping him on the shoul-
der. He whirled, his teeth bared, his talons extended,
and for Soleta it was another reminder of just how
unwise it was to startle Janos. But then he realized
who it was and said with clear relief, "This is most
fortunate!" He held up his phaser. "Not precisely
designed to be an excavating tool, but it'll do in a
pinch, eh?"
    "How do we get out of here?" shouted Soleta over
the rumbling.
    From a distance down the corridor there was anoth-
er explosion. This one was louder, more definitive
than the others, as if they'd built up to this one. There
was a massive flash of light, and it felt like the air was
burning around them.
    "Quickly, that's how!" responded Janos. And with-
out taking time to explain, he grabbed her arm and
slung her over his shoulder. "Right! Hold on!"
    She was about to register a protest over being
treated as if she were a sack of wheat, but she saw
something heading their way. It almost seemed like a
tidal wave of energy, and suddenly the notion of
getting out of there as quickly as possible, with a
minimum of discussion, seemed a damn good one.
The only problem was, she hadn't the faintest idea
how they were evacuating the area.
    Janos very quickly answered that question as he
crouched and then leaped upward, his arms extended,
his face set in grim determination. Soleta ducked her
head, for the hole that Janos had carved wasn't
especially wide, and she almost got her head knocked
off as he hurtled upward into the only possible escape
route.
    The tunnel was perfectly vertical. For a moment
Soleta found herself second-guessing Janos, figuring
that the tunnel might be more accessible for her if
he'd carved it at an angle. She wouldn't have to be
carted around in this less than dignified manner. But
then she realized that he had simply chosen to take
the most direct route, not wanting to waste time. He
trusted in his own strength and agility to get them
back to the surface. Considering what he had gone
through thus far and the manner in which things were
proceeding, she reasoned that now was not the time to
be critical about his strategies.
    Janos climbed straight up. There was none of his
conversational chatter now, none of his typical pleas-
antries or occasionally mordant humor. Instead he
was entirely focused on the business of surviving.
With impressive strength, his talons dug into the
rocky tunnel around them and he pulled himself up,
hand over hand. There was no sign of any strain on
his part, nor focusing of his strength; he simply
moved one hand up over the next, without hesitation
or slowing. As soon as his body was entirely within
the confines of the tunnel he put the claws on his feet
to work as well, and it drove him faster, higher.
    There was no guarantee that it was going to be fast
or high enough as the air continued to broil around
them, getting hotter by the second and presaging
some massive release of energy that was already in
progress below them and in the process of catching up
to them. We're not going to make it, thought Soleta
bleakly. /t is impossible, we simply cannot make
it ....
    Suddenly they were up and clear. Janos hauled
himself out of the hole into the interior of the cave,
but he did not slow down even as Soleta tumbled off
him. "Come on!" he shouted as he bolted for the
opening of the cave. She was surprised to see that,
when Janos was really hurrying, he propelled himself
with added speed from his knuckles.
    "Right behind you!" she replied, slowing only to
grab her satchel and commbadge, which were sitting
neatly placed on the floor several feet away from the
hole.
    And then there was an immense explosion behind
them, and Soleta was lifted into the air by the force of
it, hurled through the air and waving her arms in an
impotent fashion. Janos, miraculously, had kept his
footing and he spun to face her as she hurtled toward
him atthe mouth of the cave. Janos put his arms out
and caught her and then, before she could say any-
thing, he hurled himself, and her with him, off the
rocky precipice that formed the entry to Ontear's
cave.
    They dropped through the air at dizzying speed,
and then Janos's powerful legs absorbed the brunt of
the ricochet off a lower outcropping of rock and
angled them farther away. Soleta was pressed against
Janos, looking over his shoulder, providing her a clear
view of Ontear's cave in the upper portion of the
cliff side.
    The cave trembled for a brief moment, then
erupted. An energy force blasted out in all directions,
ripping off the top of the cave and then, a moment
later, smashing apart the rest of it. Rock rained
everywhere, a massive avalanche of rubble cascading
all around. Soleta ducked her head down as several
shards flew over her, close enough to have parted not
only her hair but her entire skull. To the average
human looking straight at the explosion, it would
have been blinding. For Soleta it was extremely pain-
ful, but her Vulcan biology enabled her to withstand
looking at the overwhelming whiteness for a few
seconds without any significant harm. The energy
seemed to whirl upward, to converge and coalesce
upon itself as if forming a funnel, and then the
intensity became so great that even she had to look
away.
    Janos thudded to the ground, seeming less light on
his feet than he had been a moment before. "Get off,"
he murmured and she tumbled off him. There was a
blast of superheated air from behind them and Janos
pulled her to his chest, shielding her with his body,
and he let out a roar of pain that was even more
deafening to Soleta than anything she had experi-
enced thus far. But she pursed her lips and said
nothing, for the bottom line was that Janos had saved
her life and she wasn't about to be such an ingrate as
to complain about it, even though her head was
ringing.
    The roar of the unleashed energy high above them
continued for what seemed an eternity, and then--
just like that--it suddenly stopped. Even so, they
remained in the huddled position for a time longer, as
if unwilling to believe that they had really survived.
Slowly, they began to rise. Soleta stepped away from
him and looked up at the area of the cave. The
unleashed energy had not only blasted the cave to
bits, it had leveled the area.
    Immediately she took out her tricorder and began
surveying the area. "What are you hoping to find,
Lieutenant?" inquired Janos as he dusted himself off.
    "Some sign, some trace of--" She stopped as she
noticed large areas of red covering Janos's back.
"Ensign, you're injured. There appear to be...
shards of rock embedded in your back."
 "It's nothing to worry about. Do your job."
 "Ensign--"
    "Lieutenant," he said firmly, "finish what you set
out to do. I'll be fine, I assure you. This is just a
scratch. My pain tolerance threshold is far higher than
the human or Vulcan norm. What you perceive as
serious injury, I don't even feel. Really, truly, seri-
ously, I'm completely tip-top. Right as rain."
  "If you are sure..."
  "Couldn't be more so."
    Soleta nodded briskly and started to make her way
up the embankment. The moment she was far enough
away, Janos let out a low moan and gritted his fangs
against the pain that was so overwhelming, it was all
he could do not to black out. "Why do I have to be so
bloody brave all the time?" he muttered.
    Meantime, Soleta surveyed the area as quickly as
she could, for she suspected that Janos was likely in
more pain than he was letting on. Since the subterra-
nean chamber had been destroyed, whatever it had
been generating that had been blocking her earlier
attempts at surveying was no longer in force. Unfortu-
nately, there no longer seemed to be anything worth
finding, since it had all been demolished.
    Then she picked up something. Ten kliks to her
right, there was some sort of metal being detected by
her tricorder. She made her way over there and saw it
glinting in the rapidly fading sunlight even before her
tricorder led her to it. She knelt down and picked it
up.
    It was the disk. The one that had been embedded in
the floor of the cave, with the unusual flame shaped
symbol on it.
    "After all that..." she muttered, but then she
shrugged. At least she was coming away with some-
thing to show for her efforts. As she made her way
back down the slope to Janos, she tapped the comm-
badge that she had replaced on her uniform jacket
and said, "Soleta to Excalibur."
  "Excalibur, Shelby here. Go ahead, Lieutenant."
      Soleta raised an eyebrow. "Commander. I am grati-
fied that you have been released from sickbay."  "I certainly have. Report?"
    "I have finished my survey of the area. The conclu-
sion was somewhat... explosive... but other than
that, it went relatively smoothly."
  "Any answers to our little mystery?"
    "I am afraid"--and she turned the disk over in her
hand thoughtfully--"that we are left with more ques-
tions than answers."
 "I look forward to the briefing. We'll bring you up."
 "Most appreciated, Commander. Soleta out."
    She quickly made her way back down to Janos and
put a hand up to the joint where his wide head met his
shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked, sounding
more irritated than he would have liked. "Pressure point manipulation."
 She located the area she was searching for and
pressed with two fingers. Immediately Janos' eyes
cleared of distraction and he looked at her in surprise.
"What did you do?"
    "Cut off pain impulses you might be feeling. I am,
of course, aware of your very high pain threshold, but
you seemed in distress and it occurred to me that you
might be endeavoring to bravely endure your pain
rather than allowing your discomfort to show
through. So I felt it appropriate to provide assistance,
even though it had not been requested. I hope I have
not overstepped myself."
    Janos stared at her and never had he so much
wished that he was capable of smiling. "You know
something, Lieutenant?"  "What, Ensign?"
    "If you had claws and a thick coat of white fur, you
would be perfect."
    She sighed and, as the transporter beams shim-
mered around them to return them to their ship,
informed him, "You have no idea, Ensign, how many
times I have been told that."



v.

MOMIDIUMS DIDN'T WALK SO much as they oozed.
    As a race they were relatively short. Humanoid in
general appearance, but bearing more than a passing
resemblance to slugs in the general shape and contour
of their bodies. They had fairly pale complexions,
with skin so light that once could see the thin lattice-
work of their veins without too much difficulty. Their
arms were deceptively strong since they looked so thin
that one would have thought them almost useless.
Their legs, however, were virtually nonexistent: ves-
tigial stubs at most, left far behind by evolution.
Instead they propelled themselves along by the thick
lower halves of their bodies, which undulated along
the ground. Their faces were generally round, their
eyes uniformly orange. Their noses were horizontal
slits, and their mouths were so narrow that they
hardly seemed to move when the Momidiums spoke.
    It had taken Morgan Primus quite some time to get
used to them.
    She had not counted, however, on having quite so
much time.
    They had not put her in a prison, at least not in the
standard sense. They had not stuck her away in a cell;
instead they had given her a rather nice suite of
rooms, modestly furnished, although unfortunately
scaled to Momidium size. She'd spent her first week
there mostly banging her knees or bumping her head.
    Unfortunately for her, she'd had five earth years
since then to learn how to negotiate the space. She
knew every foot, every inch of the place, and could
pace it out with her eyes closed. Indeed, she had done
so many a time, just to amuse herself, even though it
was long past the point when it provided her any
amusement at all.
    The Momidiums had been polite enough, never
referring to themselves as her captors, but rather her
hosts. She was never a prisoner, but instead a guest.
Nonetheless her imprisonment was quite real...
thanks to her collar.
    She fingered the thin, unbreakable band around her
throat without even realizing that she was doing it. By
this point she'd almost come to regard it as a perma-
nent piece of jewelry rather than the means of her
incarceration. If Morgan made any effort to stray
outside the parameters of her accepted environment,
the collar simply shut down all synaptic impulses. She
would crumple to the floor, her brain trying desper-
ately to fire commands to the rest of her body, and her
 body simply not getting any of the messages. She had
 tried it several times, each time certain that she could,
 through sheer effort of will, force herself to move, to
 escape.
    She'd been wrong. And eventually she'd come to
accept her imprisonment, although she had never
resigned herself to it.
    She heard a familiar noise coming toward her.
There were four different primary jailers, and she'd
come to recognize each of them by the individual
shlupping sound their lower halves made when they
moved across the floor. "Hail, Kurdwurble," she
called before he even came around the corner.
    Kurdwurble came around the corner and did that
odd facial tic that passed for a Momidium smile.
"Hail, Morgan," he replied. "This day finds you
well?"
    "This day finds me here. Therefore I'm as well as
can be expected."
    Kurdwurble laughed at that. Momidiums weren't
in the habit of laughing outwardly--it was considered
to be rather bad manners. Instead his chest simply
shook in silent amusement. "Every day we say the
same thing to each other, Morgan. You would think
we would find something new."
    "Well, Kurdwurble," she said, shifting in the reclin-
er that she had presently sprawled upon, "if I am
boring you, you always have the option of letting me
go. But since it seems to be your intention to keep me
here for the rest of my natural life, then I'm afraid
that I'm going to have to just keep right on boring you.
It's your decision, really."
    He shook his head. "Not mine, I'm afraid. I am
merely one of your hosts, Morgan. A humble civil
servant. I'm not permitted such lofty pursuits as
deciding the fate of others. Tell me, does the prospect
of spending the rest of your natural life here disturb
you? You have not been ill-treated, after all. Your stay
has been quite comfortable, in fact."
    "It's an enforced stay, nonetheless, Kurdwurble.
Whether a gilded cage or no, it's still a cage. I miss my
freedom."
    "Freedom is an intangible. You have all the tangible
considerations and needs you could possibly desire
right here," and he made a wide gesture encompass-
ing the whole of the room. "I find myself wondering
what more a reasonable person could want."
    "If you want to consider me an unreasonable
person, you go right ahead." Her lips thinned slightly
as she tilted her head to one side. "I've certainly been
called worse things in my life than that. You are a
very--excuse the expression--down-to-earth people,
you Momidiums. You're not among the more spiritu-
al races I've ever encountered, and you don't have
much use for ephemera. My people are built a bit
differently. I'm not entirely certain why; we just are.
We need something else to occupy our minds besides
physical objects and creature comforts. We need
spiritual matters to comfort us or guide us, we need
freedom with which to move, to grow, and thrive. We
need the ability to think about that which does not
matter at all."
    "But why? That makes no sense, Morgan," he said,
and he now angled his head in imitation of hers so he
could continue to look at her in the same manner.
"Why would you care about that which does not
matter at all?"
  "Because it's only in caring about what does not
 matter that we are able to discover what does matter,
 Kurdwurble. Does that clarify for you?"
     "Yes, I suppose, somewhat. I... well, no," he
 admitted.
     "And in answer to your question: Yes, I'm daunted
 by the prospect of spending the rest of my life here,
 for reasons I can't even begin to go into."
     "I see." He sighed, which, for him, was an odd,
 warbling sort of noise. "Morgan, I have never been
 very much of a thinker. But I have always been able to
 appreciate people who are, and I'm going to miss our
 discussions very much."
     Morgan was instantly alert. "I'm sorry, what did
 you say?"
  "You're going to be free of this place, Morgan."
     Slowly she rose from her chair. "You wouldn't lie to
 your old friend Morgan, would you, Kurdwurble?"
    "Lie to you?" He sounded truly stricken, and he put
a hand to his chest looking somewhat aghast. "Mor-
gan, after all this time, do you think I would lie to
you? I have been many things, but dishonest has never
been one of them. I have never been anything other
than truthful with you, and now--as our relationship
draws to a close--I certainly have no intention of
changing that. Do you remember some time ago when
I told you that the ThaiIonian Empire had fallen into
disarray?"
    "Yes," she said. "You made it sound somewhat
routine, though. A temporary situation at best."
    He shook his head. "Anything but routine, as it
turned out. The very planet, ThaiIon, is gone. The
ThaiIonian Empire has crumbled completely, Mor-
gan, and it's a new galaxy that we face. And we
Momidiums are seeking our place in it. We have
always been willing allies of the ThaiIonians. Now
there are new powers, new forces astride our little
section of space. We would ally ourselves with them,
and you, my dear Morgan, represent one of the ways
that we can do so."
    Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Wait a
minute. You... you said I was going to be free."
    He shook his head. "Free of this place, Morgan. Not
free simply to walk away, however. But be of good
cheer; for we are turning you over to your own kind."
  "My own kind? What do you mean?"
    "There is a starship in the sector now, representing
the United Federation of Planets. We have contacted
the vessel, informed them of your presence here, and
have stated that we are willing to turn you over to
them in exchange for several fairly reasonable consid-
erations. They have agreed to our terms and, so I am
given to understand, are on their way here even as we
speak."
    "A starship. After all this time." She shook her
head in amazement. "Well, that is the equivalent of
being free, I suppose. If it's a Federation vessel..."
She stopped. "Which one. What's her name?"
    "I believe it is called the Excalibur, which, I am
told, is named for an Earth weapon. Rather odd name
for a vessel if you ask me, but then, no one did."
  "The Excalibur. All right, that's a relief."
    "A relief?." He looked at her askance. "Should it
make a difference which vessel it is?"
    "No, no, not really. I just... didn't want it to be
the Enterprise, that's all. I have some difficult memo-
ries attached to that one. It doesn't matter, though. If
it's a starship from the UFP, then I'm as good as
free," she said, clapping her hands together briskly in
 undisguised glee. "I'm going free, Kurdwurble. I'm
 going free!"
    "It would appear so. I have a message for you,
actually." He held up a small recording chip. "It came
in through our corem center not twenty minutes ago.
Two messages, actually. One was to our government,
accepting our terms. The other was a personal mes-
sage directed to you." He gestured to a playback unit
along her wall and she turned to face it as he undu-
lated over to it and slid the chip in. "It is from the
assistant to the official ambassador."
  "How very bureaucratic. I'm honored."
    A picture appeared on the screen. It was a young
woman, with a serious expression and her hair pulled
back. Morgan sat forward, her interest piqued. The
young woman looked familiar. That was very un-
likely, of course. This girl appeared to be in her mid-
twenties, and Morgan hadn't run into any Starfleet
personnel in nearly a decade.
    "Hello, Morgan," said the young woman. "It's me.
Cheshire."
    Morgan was across the room as if she'd been spring-
loaded. She punched the machine, popping out the
chip and catching it in her hand. She turned to face a
remarkably startled Kurdwurble, who stared at her in
open surprise. "Morgan--?"  "I want another ship."
      Kurdwurble couldn't quite believe he'd heard her
properly. "You want--?" "Another ship, yes."
 He shook his head. "Impossible."
 "Why?"
    "That is the only Starfleet vessel in the area,
Morgan!"
    "Fine, then if you're of a mind to turn me loose, let
me go and I'll find my own transportation off this
rock."
    "It's not that simple, Morgan," he said, unable to
comprehend what her problem could possibly be.
    "Then make it that simple, Kurdwurble. You can
do it. I know you can. You have friends, you have
influence, you have--"
    "Morgan, perhaps I haven't made myself suffi-
ciently clear, although I thought I had. I have no say in
the matter. Your release is part of a much larger
picture. The Excalibur has offered us help and aid in
exchange for your release."
    "They'll help you anyway!" she told him flatly,
pacing the room. "That's what they do! Starships go
around helping people! Just tell them that I escaped,
but ask for their humanitarian assistance. They'll aid
you; you have my word."
    He put his hands on his hips and looked at her in a
slightly scolding fashion. "First of all, Morgan, you're
asking us to take the wQrd of someone who, if she has
her way, won't be around to make good on that word
should it prove to be unsupported. And second, we
are people of our word. We have told the star vessel
that you will be here to be turned over to them. You
wouldn't wish to make liars of us, would you?"
    "What I wish is..." But then she reined herself in,
putting her fingers to the bridge of her nose and
endeavoring to compose herself. "I just... do not
wish to board that particular vessel."
    "That young woman... she seemed to know you.
What was her name? Cheshire? You seemed to react
quite strongly to it."
  Morgan said nothing, and Kurdwurble studied her
 closely. "Is Cheshire a particularly emotional name?
 A very rare one, perhaps, among humans?"
     "It's... not common, no. Not as common as John
 or Bill or..." She repressed a smile, which was
 something she did by habit since she was not particu-
 larly inclined to display amusement. "Or Kurd-
 wurble."
     He looked at her skeptically. "Kurdwurble is a
 common human name?"
    "Absolutely, yes," she said in such a no-nonsense
tone that for a moment he almost believed it.
    But then he shook his head and said, "I think you
are attempting to confuse me. Yes, most certainly. I
shall miss that, Morgan, as I've said. You have made
my time with you... most interesting."
    She bowed slightly in a rather gracious pose, and he
returned it. He then made it clear that he was not
easily distracted as he asked again, "So, 'Cheshire.'
Again, your reaction was excessive. You are a very
reserved individual, Morgan. You do not display
emotions easily; indeed, you seem to consider them
rather distasteful on the whole. I would be most
curious to know what provoked your response. You
know that I have found your race to be intriguing,
based on your descriptions of humanity. Is there
something about Cheshire that is--?"
    "It simply brought back memories," she said stiffly,
turning away from him. "There was a creature called
the Cheshire Cat... in a work of fiction entitled
Alice in Wonderland. The Cheshire Cat would speak
in tantalizing ways and then would slowly vanish, one
part of his body at a time, until only his smile
remained."
 "His smile? I do not think such a thing is possible."
"Well, it is supposed to be a work of fiction."
Kurdwurble looked at the blank screen where, only
minutes before, the young woman's face had been. "I
am not an especially knowledgeable judge of human
expressions, Morgan, since I have only had yours to
study. But it is my purely amateur opinion that the
young woman in the message would have a rather
attractive smile if she was so disposed. 'Attractive' by
human standards, of course."
 "Of course," agreed Morgan neutrally.
    "In fact, if I were to use my imagination--which
would be a problem since, as you know, I am most
unimaginative--I would almost think that it would
bear a passing resemblance to your own... were you
ever to smile."
    She didn't turn back to look at him for a long
moment. She was trying to figure out what to say, or
even if she should simply say nothing at all. Finally,
though, she turned to face him... But he was gone.
    She looked down and saw the slight trail of slime on
the floor that always seemed to be left in the wake of
Momidiums. It tended to evaporate very quickly,
however, and so presented minimal risk of slipping.
Still, it was unusual for Kurdwurble to simply disap-
pear that way. Perhaps he wanted to make a dramatic
exit; or perhaps, she realized, he felt she simply
wanted to be alone with her message.
    She stared at the chip in her hand and considered
grinding it into dust. But finally she realized that it
would only prolong the inevitable. So she placed the
chip back into the player and stepped back.
    How could she not have known the face immedi-
ately? Granted it had been ten years, and granted
 she'd been barely a slip of a girl at the time, but even
 so, the face was almost entirely unchanged. A bit
 rounder, a bit more mature, but that was all.
     What was she going to do now.'? What the hell was
 she going to do?
     Steeling herself, she activated the message chip and
 the face of Roblin Lefler appeared on the screen once
 more.
    "Hello, Morgan," it said just as it had before. "It's
me, Cheshire. I imagine you're surprised to see me.
Imagine how surprised I am to see you. Imagine my
amazement upon seeing that my dear mother, who
died ten years ago, is hale and hardy and in one piece
on the planet Momidium, deep in the heart of Thai-
Ionian space."
    Morgan wanted to look away, but she wasn't able
to. She was fixated by the stare of her daughter: a
bizarre combination of cold fury stoked with flames
of anger.
    "Well," continued Robin, "I'm sure you're curious
as to everything that has happened since your... de-
parture. Dad died, a little piece at a time, and finally
all of him died. And I joined Starfleet, as you can see,
living under the assumption that I was an orphan."
She paused a moment, appearing to give the matter a
good deal more thought, and then she shrugged.
"That is more or less it, I guess. The Excalibur is on
her way to pick you up, and then we'll take the
opportunity to get reacquainted. I'm sure you're
looking forward to that almost as much as I am. I
don't know about you, but I... right now..." For a
moment it seemed as if she were gong to lose her
composure, but she kept her chin rock steady and
maintained it. "I... right now... knowing that you
disappeared... knowing that you abandoned Daddy
and me, and that I mourned you when it was just a
joke, and that the last ten years of my life have been a
complete lie... Right now, mother, I wish I were
dead. And I hope you're feeling the same way." And
the screen blinked out.
    Morgan slowly sank into a nearby chair, staring at
the screen even though it was blank. Her fingers
strayed over her chest as if she were trying to massage
a stopped heart back to life, and as she did so she felt
the coolness of the medallion she wore pressed
against her. For the umpteenth time she wondered if
it had all been worth it.
    And then she leaned forward, still in the chair, and
replayed the message, over and over again. And it
was, of course, the last words that struck most closely
to her heart.
    I wish I were dead. And I hope you're feeling the
same way.
    "Darling," she said to the screen, "for what it's
worth, I do. And I just wish to God that it were that
simple."



VI.

DR. SELAR STRETCHED ON HER BED in a manner similar
to a cat, starting at her toes and slowly elongating her
spine, her hands over her head and her fingers out-
stretched to the utmost. Then she let out a low sigh
and shook herself slightly.
    She simply lay there, the hissing of the shower in
the next room only faintly making an impression on
her as she gazed out the window of her quarters at the
stars as they passed by. Not for the first time, she
wished for some other view. The peaceful deserts of
Vulcan would have gone down fairly well about then,
or that glorious red sky. For that matter, although she
had long ago become accustomed to the carefully
maintained atmosphere aboard starships, there was
part of her that missed the arid air of home.
 She wondered if this was all part of Port farr.
Whether there would be some sort of internal drive
that would try to get her to go home, now that she
was...
 Pregnant.
    She felt a strange sensation on her face, muscles
stretching that didn't ordinarily move, and there was
a faint pressing together of her teeth. It took her a
moment to fully understand what was happening to
her, and she had to reach up to touch her face to verify
the fact for herself.
    Yes, there it was, big as life: a smile. A broad,
beaming, totally unhidden smile wide across her face.
    There was no logical reason for it, but there it was
all the same. She was smiling so widely she felt as if it
would split her face in half. She was relieved that no
one was watching her, because it was extremely
embarrassing. She fought the smile, commanding the
muscles in her face to relax and smooth out, but it was
there all the same. This was ridiculous. This wasn't
her.
    She heard the shower stop, and that immediately
wiped the grin off her face. Furthermore, she suddenly
felt a degree of modesty sweep over her. She had not
felt that way for several days, particularly not whenev-
er Burgoyne was around. Selar had been rather de-
monstrative with her lusts; in fact, to some extent she
couldn't even remember everything that had hap-
pened. She could recall skin against skin, and Bur-
goyne looking down at her with a look of determined
exhaustion on hir face, her fingernails digging into
Burgoyne's back, and a lot of sweatmwhich was most
unusual since Selar didn't customarily sweat--and
heat like exploding suns that seemed to blast out of
every pore of their bodies... and laughter. Her
laughter, which was something she never heard. She
realized how odd it was not to know what one's own
laughter sounded like. She had no basis for compari-
son, really, and had no idea at all whether she had a
good laugh, or a stupid laugh, or what.
    But she had made love for days, having taken time
off from her duties as CMO for medical reasons. That
had certainly been a legitimate enough claim; the
demands of Pon farr had been ove_rwvhelming and a
medical necessity: she would have died had she not
satisfied them. She had felt almost hedonistic during
that time. She had wanted Burgoyne constantly, and
not just on a physical level. She had bonded with hir
on an emotional level as well as physical, had felt a
closeness to hir that she never would have thought
possible. She felt complete trust in hir, that there was
nothing she couldn't tell hir, that s/he...
    But ... but if Selar truly did feel that way, she
wondered, then why had she pulled the blanket up
under her chin? Why did she now feel a certain degree
of dread that any moment Burgoyne would emerge
from the bathroom? Why did she suddenly not have
the faintest idea of what to say?
    Something about readouts of the phase generators
as they interfaced with the coils. Selar didn't care, or
want to listen to it. In her state of urgency, it was
simply unimportant. Burgoyne had been trying to tell
her about it, but Selar had been too busy pulling off
Burgoyne's clothes to pay all that much attention.
    In any event, Burgoyne had been essentially doing
double duty over the preceding days. S/he'd been with
Selar, doing hir level best to satisfy the Vulcan's
seemingly insatiable needs, and when Selar had fallen
into exhausted sleep, Burgoyne had somehow man-
aged to haul hirself out and attend to engineering
responsibilities. In a way, Selar couldn't help but
admire hir stamina. Indeed, there was much that was
admirable about Burgoyne. She'd heard about how
Burgoyne, seized with righteous indignation, had
gone after the individual who had been responsible
for badly injuring Selar down on the surface of
Zondar. It had been an amazing display of stamina,
daring, bravery, and utter moral outrage. In the
subsequent word-of-mouth retelling, Burgoyne's feat
had only become more and more impressive. It had
been the last element that had broken down Selar's
resistance to Burgoyne's "charms." Selar had origi-
nally thought to have the captain serve as her sexual
partner, and he had been willing if not overly en-
thused. But Burgoyne had been making overtures to
Selar since they had first met, and between Bur-
goyne's incredible display of devotion and her own
hormones driving her to make a choice, well... Bur-
goyne had won out.
    Yes, there were a lot of positive things to say about
Burgoyne 172, the Hermat engineer of the Excalibur.
The only thing was...
    Selar wasn't sure if she was the one to say them. She
wasn't sure how to phrase it, she wasn't sure how to
put across the emotions that she was feeling because
her old training, her old personality were starting to
take hold and the concept of emotions were, once
again, anathema to her.
    If her mate had been a Vulcan, this would have
been understood between the two of them. Indeed,
he'd probably be feeling exactly the same way. But
Burgoyne... Burgoyne was a Hermat. Burgoyne was
someone who rejoiced in emotion and displays of
 affection, tendencies that had been so overwhelming
 to Selar at first that she had tried to do everything she
 could to distance herself from hir. Now she had gone
 in the other direction, becoming so intimate with hir
 that there was nowhere she could hide any part of
 herself. She felt... she didn't know what she felt.
 She only knew that she wanted that emotional dis-
 tance that would be automatically conferred upon her
 by a Vulcan partner. With Burgoyne, she had no idea
 where she stood.
    At that moment, Burgoyne emerged from the bath-
room. S/he was adjusting the top of hir uniform, and
s/he was shaking hir head in puzzlement. S/he caught
Selar looking at hir and smiled, displaying just a hint
of hir fangs. "Feeling rested?"
    Selar nodded, not taking her gaze from Burgoyne,
her mind still racing as she tried to sort out the
unwanted feelings tumbling through her mind.
    "By the way, Selar... damnedest thing, I think I
forgot to mention it... at least, I was going to
mention it when I came by earlier, but we got a bit
distracted..." S/he smiled at the memory, but then
noticed that Selar didn't seem to be reacting one way
or the other, so s/he continued. "That problem in
Engineering? The one I was telling you about, with
the energy wave that we couldn't figure out? It
stopped. Just like that, no warning. We still hadn't
quite figured out what it was, although I had some
pretty far-fetched theories. And then for no reason at
all, we couldn't detect it anymore. I've had my people
working on it, but I--"
 "I am pregnant," she interrupted.
 That left Burgoyne speechless for a moment before
s/he had a chance to compose hirselfi "Are you ...
are you certain?" s/he finally managed to get out.
    She nodded slowly. "It is curious. My mother told
me that she was aware of my existence from the
moment I was fully conceived and gestation was
under way. She claimed many Vulcan females were
capable of that. I was... skeptical. It seemed most
illogical to me, and I did not see how it was possible to
have awareness of a being so... so small. But she was
correct. I sense it. I am aware of it as an extension of
my being: separate, yet as one. It is a most compelling
sensation."
    Burgoyne couldn't take hir eyes off her. S/he strode
to Selar's side, knelt down and said, "Can I... feel?"
    "There is nothing to feel," Selar said matter-of-
factly. "The infant will not be detectable to the touch
for seven point five weeks. There is no logical reason
for you to place your hand on my stomach."
    "Maybe. I just wanted to anyway," Burgoyne said
tonelessly.
    Selar looked at hir with curiosity. "Burgoyne, we
need to speak. There is much that we--"
    "No, we don't need to," Burgoyne said. S/he rose,
finishing fastening the top of hir uniform jacket.
"Because I know exactly what you're going to say,
because it's what I was going to say."
"I do not quite comprehend," Selar told hir.
"Well, then, I'll make it clear to you. We've had our
fun, Selar. Both done what we wanted and needed to
do. And now it's time to move on. So we just end it
clean. Go back to being crewmates, and that's all."
     "Are you..." Selar couldn't quite believe she was
 hearing what she was hearing. "Are you saying that
 you are not interested in pursuing any further rela-
 tionship?"
     "Of course not," Burgoyne replied. "I'd have
 thought that would be obvious. You don't know much
 about Hermat psychology, Selar."
    "Yes, so you have told me on previous occasions,"
she said carefully. "What aspect of that psychology is
pertinent to this moment, may I ask?"
    "We're not built for long-term relationships. It's
just not in our makeup. We're a free-spirited group,
we Hermats. We're not especially monogamous. We
prefer a variety of partners, and to savor whatever it is
that life has to offer us. It would be natural for you to
fall in love with me--"
    "I?" She cocked an eyebrow. "I... fall in love...
with you?"
    "Well, you had this whole Ponfarr thing going. You
weren't thinking especially straight. You left yourself
vulnerable to me. It would be natural for you to form
an attachment to me, but I'm telling you right now,
there's no point to it. We wouldn't have a prayer
together. Not even a prayer of a prayer."
    "I find it..." She sought the right word, since
"stunned" and "shocked" expressed more emotion
than she desired. "I am intrigued that you would feel
this way. It is not how I perceived you."
    "Perceived me?" S/he laughed curtly. "I'm not
entirely sure what you mean by that."
    "It means that I... thought I had a sense of the
person that you were. And now it would appear that I
was mistaken. I emphasize that it appears that way.
However--"
 S/he raised a long tapering finger, momentarily
silencing her, and s/he said, "Was I, or was I not, there
for you when you were ready to get physical." "It is not quite that simple--"
 "Was I," s/he repeated patiently, "or was I not?"
 "You were," she admitted.
    "And you were about to tell me that you weren't
really comfortable in continuing our relationship as it
was. That, in effect, you wanted to end it. Correct?"
    "There is more than--" But when Burgoyne once
again interrupted her with a slightly scolding gesture,
she sighed and said, "Once more you are, in essence,
correct."
    "Don't you see, Selar?" asked Burgoyne as s/he
backed up toward the door. Impressively, s/he man-
aged to do so with something of a swagger. "That's
why we were perfect together. We always know exactly
what's going on in the other's mind. I was--and
remain--everything you ever needed in a man. And
in a woman, for that matter." And with that, Bur-
goyne touched hir forehead with hir finger in a signal
of departure, turned, and walked out of the room.
    Selar sat there for some time longer, amazed that it
had been that simple. Burgoyne had taken it perfectly
well, had not made a fuss over the situation, had even
beaten her to the punch by ending the relationship
before it began to get uncomfortable. She should be
happy that it worked out as smoothly as it had.
    Still, for some reason that she couldn't quite articu-
late, she suddenly felt a bit cold. She placed her hand
on her stomach and felt warmth radiating upward
from it.
    And she looked around right and left, as if afraid
that someone might somehow see her (illogical as that
concern was) and when she had satisfied herself that
she was, in fact, alone in her quarters, she allowed
herself to smile once more.

    Burgoyne's first impulse was to go straight to hir
quarters, but s/he was not, by nature, a solitary
individual. Besides, s/he would have felt as if s/he was
hiding, which would not have been far wrong. And so,
deciding firmly to take matters in the other direction,
s/he headed straight for the single most populated
area of the ship that s/he could find, namely the Team
Room lounge.
    It was busy, as it often was this time of day when
the day shift had just come off duty. The noise and
chatter from within hit hir like a solid wave. S/he
looked around carefully, spotted Robin Lefler and
Si Cwan off in a corner by themselves, and Lefler
seemed somewhat intense in whatever she was saying
to Cwan. Then s/he noticed the captain and com-
mander seated at one table, involved in what seemed
like a rather animated discussion. For a moment s/he
considered endeavoring to join it, but then s/he
spotted the person s/he was looking for. He was
seated at a table by himself, calmly nursing a drink
and staring off into space as he so often was. There
was no one on board ship whose mind was always a
million miles away quite like this individual.
    S/he made hir way across the room to the bar, and
then procured a shot of scotch. Then s/he headed for
the table, stepping between people who were heading
to or from the bar, and dropped into a seat opposite
him. "Hello, stranger," s/he said.
 Mark McHenry looked up at hir with momentary
surprise, and then he smiled in amusement. "Come
up for air, did you?"
    "A very large lungful," s/he replied. "So how are
you? Haven't seen you around in a while."
    "Possibly because you haven't been around," Mc-
Henry told hir.
    S/he leaned forward, dropping hir chin into hir
upraised hand. "Do I detect a tone of annoyance,
Mark?"
 "Not at all," he said easily.
    "I think," said Burgoyne leaned forward, looking
playfully at McHenry with that decided cat-and-
mouse manner that McHenry frequently found an-
noyingly attractive, "I think that you are jealous of
the good doctor and myself." "That is ridiculous."
    "I think that you picture me in her arms and it
drives you completely crazy nuts with envy. Yes, I
do." Burgoyne was now grinning widely.
    "Burgy," McHenry sighed, "if you're wrong about
that, as I assure you you are, then you're just wasting
your time. And if you're right about it, then what
you're saying now is kind of... what's the best
word?"
  "Sadistic? Torturous?"
"I was gonna say 'silly,' but those are fine, too."
Burgoyne studied McHenry for a long moment,
and then leaned back in hir chair, way back. "Doesn't
matter," s/he said. "The doctor and I are pffft
anyway."
    "What?" He looked at hir in surprise. "That one
didn't come down the rumor mill yet. When did that
happen?"
  "Just now. It was a long time coming though."
  "A long time? You were together less than a week."
  "Really? Seemed so much longer."
     "Well, that's... that's really surprising, Burgy.
 And a... shame, I guess."
     Burgoyne hadn't been entirely sure what s/he ex-
 pected McHenry to say, but that wasn't it. "A shame?
 Why a shame?"
     "I don't know. I just felt like you had wanted her,
 fought for her. You really seemed to like her, that's
 all."
    And Burgoyne ran hir tongue over hir upper ridge
of teeth. "I like you, Mark."
    He stared at hir as if he couldn't quite believe what
he'd just heard. Then, with a slight laugh, he said
"Ooooohh no. Oooohhh, I get it."  "Get it?"
    "Yeah. Yeah, I do. You and Selar had some kind of
fight, that's it." He pointed an accusing finger at hir.
"You had a fight, and because you can't stand being
alone, you're coming back to me. Good old reliable
McHenry. You must figure, 'Mark, he's such a flake,
he probably didn't even notice I was gone.' Well you
know what, Burgy? I did notice. And I'm not com-
pletely the flake you assume I am."  "Oh, Mark--" s/he sighed.
    "Don't 'Oh, Mark' me. What am I, your life pre-
server? Your way of avoiding solitude? I don't think
I'm comfortable with that, Burgoyne. Go off to other
people, have your flings or your affairs, and then come
back to me, the safe harbor, the port in the storm. I
feel used," McHenry said indignantly.
 "Aw, come on, Mark. What the hell are you talking
about? Are you completely flutzed in the head or
what?"
    He was about to reply, but then stopped. "I don't
know," he said honestly. "No one's ever asked me if
I'm flutzed. For all I know I might be."
     "Take my word for it, you are. We had fun together,
Mark! You and I, we had some great times."
  "Great times." He chuckled softly.
 "What's so funny? We didn't have great times?"
 "We had fun, Burgy. That's all we had."
    "Yes! Exactly!" S/he thumped the table for empha-
sis. "Wasn't that great?"
    McHenry leaned back and shook his head. "Burgy,
you just don't understand, and I don't think you're
culturally capable of understanding. So let's just leave
it, okay?"
    S/he shrugged. "Fine. So you wouldn't be inter-
ested in seeing me tonight?"
    "No way. You just don't get it, Burgyo Maybe I need
someone who cares about more than just using me as
an object to satisfy hir. Maybe I want someone who
won't make me feel like a Ping-Pong ball, or a toy to
be picked up when s/he feels like it or put aside when
s/he finds someone else, only to be grabbed later when
s/he wants another guiltless 'good time.' Maybe I want
someone who cares about Mark McHenry the man.
Who cares about my hopes and dreams and aspira-
tions more than my body. Maybe I need someone
who'll treat me better than you do.
    "Then again," he said, the memory of their last
interlude coming back to him, "maybe I don't."
    "Your place or mine?" s/he inquired, looking com-
pletely innocent.
 "Whichever," he managed to choke out, "is closer."
    "Mine, then." S/he put down the drink. "Shall we
go?"

    Robin Lefler and Si Cwan sat undisturbed in a
comer of the Team Room, and Lefler hadn't been
saying a word for some time. Si Cwan stared at her in
silence and finally he asked, "Was there something in
particular you would like to discuss?"
  "What gives you that idea?" she asked sullenly.
    "Well, to start off with there was that rather scath-
ing communiqu~ you sent to your mother."
    She looked up at him, her dark eyes snapping.
"How do you know about that? Were you reading my
personal communications? Who do you think you
are?"
    "Well, when the Momidium government first got it,
I was the one whom they came back to and asked
whether we really wanted it delivered. I told them to
transmit it back to me so that I could 'review' it. In
point of fact, I hadn't seen it at all."
    "It was sent as a private transmission. They had no
business viewing it."
    "It was sent to a prisoner. They had every business
viewing it, and you should have known that, Robin.
Considering the fact that I authorized its delivery to
the intended recipient, and considering that I am
choosing not to make a further issue out of an
extremely inflammatory message, I would mind my
tone a bit if I were you. Do we understand each
other?"
 "Yes," growled Lefler, "I understand."
    "If I may make an observation, it seems to me that
you have a great deal of anger toward her."
    "She abandoned me! She--" She stopped and
shook her head in frustration. "You wouldn't under-
stand."
 "I might."
    She considered that possibility a moment, drum-
ming her fingers on the table as she thought about it.
"This stays between us?" she asked after a time.
"Doesn't leave this table?"
"Yes, presuming you feel that you can trust me."
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. Okay," and she shifted in
her seat, "you have to understand, I never really felt
like I knew my mother. I never felt as if she was really
there for me. There were always other things on her
mind, and when she spoke to me it was like she was a
million miles away. She was sad much of the time,
and I never knew why. Every night--every single
night of my lifemshe would always be outside come
nighttime, sitting there and staring up at the stars. I
don't ever remember her going to bed. I'm sure she
did, but not so I ever saw. I always figured that
something terrible had happened to her. Some sort of
trauma in her childhood that made her that way. And
I wanted to work past it. I mean, she was my mother.
You're supposed to love your mother, right? You're
supposed to do whatever it takes.
    "So I made it my job to try and be her personal
jester. No matter how down she was, how depressed
or melancholy, I made that much more effort to be
upbeat and cheerful. I'd joke with her, clown with her.
Broke my back just to get a smile out of her. And she
knew I was doing it, of course. She was a brilliant
woman, my mother, I mean absolutely brilliant. Dad
said that when she did sleep, she relaxed herself by
doing complex equations in her head. He could hear
her muttering them to herself. So there I'd be, her
little Robin, dancing and smiling and saying, 'Let's
have a party, Morn!' She called me her 'Party Girl.'
'The Walking Grin.' There was a character called the
Cheshire Cat in that book I mentioned to you, Alice in
Wonderland, and he always had this big smile. After
mom read me that book for the first time, she started
calling me Cheshire because I always had this big,
stupid smile plastered on my face all the time. I felt I
didn't dare ever let her see me sad, because I didn't
want to take any risk that I might ever depress her. I'd
always be looking for the upside. Laughing hyenas
would have looked morbid next to me. I started doing
that whole 'Lefler's Laws' thing because she seemed to
think it was funny when I would just come up with
these crazy rules of mine.
    "But with all that, my mother never seemed to try
and make any time for me. Not ever. She seemed
amused enough by my antics, but she seemed to
regard me as a curiosity, like she was studying me
through a microscope. Like she was afraid to get too
near me. I think, bottom line, she never really liked
me much. I was just this pathetic little thing practi-
cally killing herself just to get a laugh out of her
mother. How pathetic is that?"
    "I don't think it's pathetic at all," Si Cwan said
softly. "Clearly you cared a great deal for her. Cer-
tainly she must have known this. I'm sure it made a
difference to her."
    "Not enough of a difference to get her to change,"
replied Lefler bitterly. "And then, when I was still a
teenager, just like that, poof. She's out of my life. I
spent years mourning the loss, Si Cwan. Not just
mourning the fact that she was taken from me, but
mourning the fact that I never really got to know her.
That I had been deprived of a normal mother-
daughter relationship when she was with me, and that
I'd never have the opportunity to try and fix things.
I've carried that with me, that base sense of failure,
for a decade now. And you know what the worst thing
was?" He shook his head and she continued. "Deep
down... waaaaay, way deep down where smart peo-
ple don't go, I almost felt as if she had gotten killed
because she wanted to get away from me. How is that
for a completely screwed up way of viewing the
world? That this was a woman who was so tired of
having me around for a daughter, that she was actu-
ally ready, willing, and able to shrug off this mortal
coil rather than have to deal with me anymore. The
thing is, you can chalk this up to the overstimulated
and angst-ridden imaginings of a teenager, but now
here I am, I'm all grown up, and look what we've got.
We've got my worst nightmare come true. She's alive,
Si Cwan. She's alive, and it looks for all the world like
I was dead right. That she went and faked her death
just to find a way out. Part of me is screaming, 'Good
move, Lefler. Not only did you drive away your
mother, but you cost your father his wife. You cost
him his life, because he died of a broken heart!' It's
beyond beliefl It--"
    He took her face in his hands. She was amazed by
the warmth of his skin, and when he looked into her
eyes she felt as if she were being pulled into them.
    "Now you listen to me," he said forcefully. It was
the voice of someone who was not only accustomed to
giving orders, but to having them obeyed instantly.
"Whatever happened with your mother was not your
fault. Whatever happened with your father was like-
wise not your fault. You are carrying whatever bur-
dens they may have had upon your shoulders. There is
no point to that, no reason for it. Whatever reason
your mother had for disappearing had absolutely
nothing to do with you."
  "You don't know that."
    "I do not have to. I know you. I know the wonderful
kind of person you are, Robin. I can see it in your
eyes, in your heart. You're kind and compassionate,
and if you wish to ascribe to your mother all the
reasons for your most positive qualities, then that is
entirely your privilege. The important matter is not
how you got this way, but that you are this way. She
missed you growing up, and that is your loss, but it is
also hers. And she was the one who set that into
motion.
    "Listen carefully to me, Robin. You are being given
a rare opportunity here. My entire family was slaugh-
tered in the fall of Thallon except for my younger
sister, who is lost somewhere in this gods-forsaken
space sector. My relations with my family members
were extremely acrimonious, and there were many
points of disagreement between myself and them.
There is so much that I wish I had said to them, so
many pointless hours wasted in argument and vitupe-
ration that could just as easily, and preferably, been
utilized for some positive pursuits. But all those hours
are lost to me, as is my family. You have been blessed,
Robin. You thought resolution, closure, maybe even
personal growth were all lost to you. Instead, you have
been given a second chance. Most of us would kill for
that second opportunity. I certainly know I would.
You've been given that chance, and the optimistic and
bright-eyed Robin Lefler would probably have a rule
to cover that. Does she?"
    "Lefler Law One hundred and eight," she said
without hesitation. "It's not over until it's over, and
sometimes not even then."
    "I'm not sure I understand it," Si Cwan told her,
"but you say it with conviction. The most incompre-
hensible pronouncements of our time have been said
with that sort of conviction, and subsequently ac-
cepted. In fact, there are any number of laws that have
been made that probably originated in just that way."
  "You think I'm being ridiculous," she sighed.
    "I think you're being Robin Lefler," he replied.
"And that is more than enough for me. It would be
nice if it could be enough for you as well."
"You flatterer," she said with a shake of her head.
Suddenly he drew her face toward his, and she
knew that he was going to kiss her. For a wild
moment, she wondered what it would be like. Would
it be soft and loving or hard and rough? Which way
did she want it? Part of her wanted to be swept off her
feet by this rather dashing and romantic fallen mon-
arch. But another part wanted to take it slow, to have
the relationship meet its full potential. To...
  He kissed her chastely on the forehead.
  She stared at him.
    "You know," he said, sliding back into his seat and
patting her hand warmly, "in so many ways, you
remind me of her."  "Her who?"
    "My sister. Same enthusiasm, same joy of living,
same social consciousness and feeling that the prob-
lems of the galaxy are all caused by her. Being with
you reminds me of her, makes me feel like we're
together, just for a little bit."
 His sister. Great. I'm his surrogate sister.
 "Robin, are you quite all right?"
    "Oh, fine," she said quickly. "I'm perfectly fine.
Your sister, huh? Well, that's certainly what I was
aspiring to. And you're certainly like the brother I
never had. Well, the brother I never had if he'd turned
out to be red-skinned and have tattoos on his fore-
head. That kind of brother." "I see."
    "I want to tell you, Si Cwan," she said as she
started to rise from her chair, "this has been a really
wonderful, revealing chat."

ELSEWHERE...

HER LOVER IS SPEAKING TO HER.
    It tells her of a loss. Another of its kind is suddenly
gone, just like that. It causes her, just for a moment, to
cease her singing. She feels her lover's sadness, and
she mourns the loss of others like it.
    And then a fear begins to pervade her. She does not
realize its origins at first, because she thinks it may be
coming from within her. But then she realizes that
such is not the case. It is, in fact, coming from her
lover.
    The realization is startling to her. In all this time,
her lover has been her strength, her salvation. All of
her own confidence and certainty comes from the
protection that her lover provides her. For her lover
now to feel fear, it must be a most terrible state of
affairs indeed.
    She reaches into her lover, probes gently, to learn
what disturbs it.
    She finds fear of being kidnapped. Fear of forced
abandonment. Her lover senses something, senses
that some change has occurred. That something new
has been introduced into its personal environment. A
variable, an x factor that threatens to disrupt the
status quo. And once something like that has been
introduced, it is impossible to determine what the
outcome will be or where it will all end up.
    It is possible, of course, that there will never be any
disruption to her lover. That their little world of
Ahmista will remain undisturbed and unaffected by
whatever is happening elsewhere in the galaxy. It is
more than possible, in fact. It is extremely likely.
    But there is still a chance, of course. An outside
chance that something could happen. Someone might
come to try and take her lover away.
    She will not let that happen. She knows that for a
certainty. If someone should come along and try to
deprive her of her lover, she will fight back with every
bit of ability at her disposal. Mercy will be an alien
concept to her. She will destroy anything and every-
thing that attempts to separate her from that which
she adores, that which she could not live without.
    She strokes her lover gently and speaks to it with the
power of her mind. She reassures it, lets it know that she
will never abandon it or turn away from it. You are
mine. You will always be mine, and I yours. Nothing can
ever change that. If others try to... I will destroy them. I
will obliterate them. It will be as if they had never existed.
You can trust me on that, I swear to you. I swear it.
    And her lover believes her. It knows that she is
sincere, and accepts her without hesitation.
She will be one with her lover. She will stay with her
lover.
    She draws it tighter to her, and in her mind she calls
out defiantly to any and all who might try to separate
them. Come to me, she challenges any and all poten~
tial threats. Come to me and I will show you what
happens to anyone who wouM hurt me, or who would
try to come between my lover and me. We are together,
forever. Come to me, if you will. Come to me... and
know my love... and know your death.
    And she waited eagerly for the chance to prove her
love by destroying whomever might approach.



v//.

"IT's BACK, SIR."
    Leaning over the console in Burgoyne's office,
Ensign Beth tapped the readouts dancing across the
screen, the energy spikes being generated by the
engines. Burgoyne shook hir head in disbelief as, all
around hir, the day shift in Engineering came on
duty.
    "You see? During a routine diagnostic, it suddenly
spiked as if it ... it..."
    "Woke up," Burgoyne murmured. "That'll teach
me to start a day with anything approaching a good
mood."
    "A good mood?" Beth smiled wanly. "Another wild
evening with Dr. Selar?"
    Burgoyne immediately fired her a look that fairly
shouted to her that she'd overstepped herself. "I'm
disinclined to be grist for the rumor mill, Ensign, if
it's all the same to you," s/he said sharply.
    "I'm--" She quickly looked around as if hoping
that she could suddenly spot someplace else she
should be. "I'm sorry, sir."
    But Burgoyne simply regarded her as if from very
far away for a moment, and then said wistfully, "No,
no, it's all right, Ensign. You're just being human,
with all the attendant problems that brings with it. If
we could design a starship that was fueled by rumors,
we could probably crack Warp Ten with it." S/he
scratched hir chin thoughtfully. "I should have known
it wouldn't be that easy, that the problem wouldn't
just disappear."
    "You were speculating earlier, Chief, about the
possibility of there being something..." She looked
uncomfortably in the direction of the warp core.
"Well, something alive in there? And now you're
talking about maybe something woke up. Do you
really think that--"
    "I'm not sure," admitted Burgoyne. "But I'll tell
you one thing, Beth. If there really is some sort of
energy being or creature rumbling around in the
engines, this has suddenly gone beyond being an
engineering problem. I'm going to have to bring in
science on this." S/he tapped her commbadge. "Engi-
neering to Soleta."
 "Soleta here. Go ahead."
    "We have a situation down here that I'm having
trouble resolving--and you did not hear me say that,
since everyone knows I have the answers for every-
thing."
 "Understood, Chief. I am about to brief the captain
and commander on the details of my excavation on
Zondar, but I will be down directly."
    'TI1 be waiting. Burgoyne out." Burgoyne turned to
Beth just in time to notice that Ensign Christiano was
walking past Burgoyne's office and he seemed to be
trying to sneak a very nonchalant look in. Beth was
pointedly looking in the other direction. This ex-
change, or lack thereof, was hardly lost on Burgoyne,
who said, "Trouble in paradise with Mr. Christiano,
Ensign?"
    "Lieutenant Commander," Beth said stiffly, squar-
ing her shoulders, "if you are permitted to keep the
details of your private life private, then I would think
that you would allow me the same courtesy."
  "By all means," Burgoyne assured her.
  "Whatever is going on between Ensign Christiano
  and myself, or whatever is not going on, is not
something that I really wish to discuss at this time."
  "I understand completely."
    "I don't want to talk about him or my ring, all
right?"
    "I'd be happy to honor your..." Burgoyne blinked
a moment in confusion. "Your ring? What ring?"
    "Well..." She cleared her throat. "Since you
asked..."

    In the conference lounge, Calhoun was holding up
the disk, carefully examining it front and back. Stand-
ing directly behind him, looking over his shoulder,
was Shelby. "I take it, Lieutenant, that despite your
time already spent in this sector of space, that you've
never seen anything like this?"
    "No, sir, I have not," said Soleta. "The symbol on it
has no particular meaning. The material itself is not
especially abnormal. An alloy with a mix of at least
twelve different elements to it. No internal circuitry
that I can detect; it appears to be solid throughout."
  "Looks like a metal hockey puck," Shelby observed.
    "Since I'm unfamiliar with that device, ! will take
your word for it," Soleta said.
    "And you said that it talked to you somehow? That
it channeled some sort of a... a mind?"
    "So it seemed, Captain. But to be honest, every-
thing happened so quickly that it is difficult to know
precisely what happened. It's as I described in my
report: I touched it, I felt some sort of warmth, and
suddenly there was this... this voice in my head.
Events unfolded rather quickly after that."
    "Yes, so you said. Nice that you made it back in one
piece." He sat back and said sadly, "I just wish that
there had been something left there for us to study."
    "As do I, Captain. Unfortunately, there's definitely
nothing left. The force blast that blew off the top of
the mountain was rather comprehensive. It was de-
signed to obliterate everything that was there. From
my firsthand observation, I would have to say that it
more than did the job."
    "And you're convinced," Shelby said, slowly walk-
ing along the interior of the room, "that the image
you saw was Ontear. The Ontear of Zondarian his-
tory."
 "That is my conclusion, yes."
    "And mine as well," Calhoun reminded her. "I saw
him, too, when I was a captive down there."
    "You're not going to tell me this was a ghost, are
you?" Shelby warned, clearly not sanguine over that
prospect.
"Far from it. I think he was all too real," said
Calhoun.
    Soleta was nodding as well. "From your accounts,
Captain, and from my own experience, I believe that
what we saw was a crude form of observational time
travel. Ontear utilized technology that enabled him to
project himself forward in time, to observe and, if he
desired, interact with whatever he encountered while
never truly leaving his own period of time. Since he
amassed himself a considerable reputation as a seer, I
would surmise that he pursued these endeavors with-
in his local arena of time as well. There is not all that
much difficulty in being a soothsayer--"
    "If you have firsthand access to the sooth," Cal-
houn said. "Charming little deal he has worked out.
He goes to the future, watches it unfold, then in his
own time he predicts its coming."
    "But he had to be judicious about it," Shelby
pointed out. "He had to do things in such a way that it
wouldn't result in the future actually being changed.
That could have jeopardized the entire time line that
he was trying to observe."
    "From my preliminary research," Soleta told them,
"at least half of his predictions involved natural
disasters. Warning people of floods, quakes, and such.
Nothing that foreknowledge could possibly have
made any difference in."
    "I disagree," said Calhoun. "Let's say that Citizen
X was destined to die in a volcano. If Ontear targets
the volcano, and Citizen X knows to get the hell out
of there or he winds up roasted in lava, then history
could indeed wind up being changed."
    "We will never know for certain," Soleta admitted.
"Although I would like to think that, at the very least,
he was selective in whom he dealt with and what
particular moments, if any, he chose to interfere with.
He might have been bright enough to target the
potential focal points in time that could seriously
have disrupted the path of Zondarian history."
    "We can only hope," sighed Calhoun. He slid the
disk back across the table to Soleta. "Check this with
Si Cwan. See if he knows anything about it or has ever
seen anything like it. This is supposed to be his home
turf, after all."
  "As you wish, sir."
    With a glance at the both of them that seemed to
indicate they were finished with their business, Cal-
houn rose and headed back to the bridge. Soleta was
about to follow when she heard her name spoken very
quietly, just under someone's breath. She turned,
mildly surprised, to see that Shelby was whispering
her name, barely mouthing it. Shelby knew that
Soleta's rather sharp hearing would detect it. She
hung back since Shelby's desires were clear: She
wanted to speak to her privately for a moment. As
soon as Calhoun had departed, Soleta turned squarely
to face Shelby with a questioning eyebrow raised.
    "Soleta, may I ask your opinion about a personal
matter?"
 "Of course you can, Commander."
    "I just..." Shelby's hands seemed to move in
vague patterns. "I... wanted to talk to another
woman for a moment."
    "Do you wish me to find one for you?" Soleta
inquired.
    "No, I--" Shelby laughed softly. "I meant I wanted
to talk to you. You're the highest ranking woman on
the bridge aside from me. Maybe that's a silly criteri-
on, but nonetheless I feel a sort of... of connection
with you in that respect."
    "It is flattering that you think of me with such
regard. Very well, Commander, how may I be of
service?"
    Shelby walked slowly around the table with a bit of
a swagger to her step, as if endeavoring to bolster her
confidence, as if she were discussing something that
was mere silliness at best. "You seem to be a fairly
sharp judge of character, and you've had a chance to
observe the interactions of all concerned fairly closely
since the launch of the Excalibur, and I suppose that
one of your strengths is analysis, which would make
you an ideal person to ask about this. I fully admit,
I'm not entirely comfortable discussing it, but I'm a
strong believer in talking things out, getting opinions
and feedback. You understand, don't you?"
    "Understand what? I confess, Commander, I am
still uncertain as to precisely what it is that we are
discussing."
  "Love. Desire. Attraction. That kind of thing."
      She looked at her askance for a moment. "Com-
mander, are you propositioning me?"  "What?"
    "I admit that science is synonymous with experi-
mentation, but I--"
    "No!" Shelby put up her hands as if shoving the
notion away. "No, Soleta, that's not what I'm talking
about at all."
    "I see. Then clarification might be in order if we are
to proceed."
    "Look, I just want to check how something might
be perceived, that's all. In your opinion, would you or
any members of the crew..." She shifted uncomfort-
ably in place. "Does anyone think that I have roman-
tic intentions toward Captain Calhoun?"
    "I do not know," Soleta said, sounding no less
puzzled than she had before. "Are you asking me to
conduct a survey? If so, as soon as I have completed
my current studies, I shall embark on a survey of--"
    "No! No, I don't want you conducting a survey,
Soleta! I just want to know if I come across to you as
being enamored of Captain Calhoun! That's all."
    "Commander," Soleta said slowly, "to be perfectly
blunt, it has never even entered my mind. Your
performance as second in command of this vessel has
been above reproach. Your interactions with the cap-
tain on the bridge have been nothing less than profes-
sional at all times. If you are indeed possessed of
some sort of intense romantic feelings for him, it is
not evident to me. Granted, I am not the ideal
individual to form commentary in regard to human
mating or sexual habits, but I would have to say in my
assessment as a Starfleet officer that, at the very least,
whatever emotional feelings you may possess for the
captain have not in any way compromised or inter-
fered with your ability to do your job." She paused
and cocked an eyebrow. "Is that sufficient response
for you, Commander?"
    "Yes," smiled Shelby. She raised a hand for the
purpose of placing it in a friendly manner on Soleta's
shoulder, but then thought better of it and simply
turned it into an apparently casual scratching of her
own neck. "I appreciate the time, Soleta, and I also
know I can count on you to keep this discussion
between ourselves."
    "Of that, Commander, I can most uncategorically
assure you."
    Shelby walked out of the conference room as Soleta
gathered up the disk. The science officer watched her
go, then shook her head and murmured, "Command-
er, you are so in love it borders on the ludicrous."

    Soleta walked up to the turbolift and the door
hissed open. She was mildly surprised to see Dr. Selar
in there, and she nodded her head slightly to her
fellow Vulcan in greeting as she entered the lift.
    "Soleta," Selar said after a moment as the doors
hissed closed, "I do not believe I have properly
thanked you for your help with my difficulties during
the time of Pon fart. Any discussion I had with off-
worlders about the matter was most... difficult.
Your aid, to say nothing of your efforts in mindmeld-
ing to provide diagnosis of the situation--"
    "No thanks are required, Selar," replied Soleta.
"You were in distress and I provided assistance. To do
any less than what I did would have been illogical."
    "Nonetheless, your aid is appreciated. And you will
be pleased to know that the matter has been success-
fully concluded. I believe I am indeed pregnant, and
the mating urge has passed."
    "My congratulations, Selar." She turned to face her
formally and raised her fingers in the customary
gesture of blessing. "May your child live long and
prosper."
 "Thank you."
    "I am about to see Lieutenant Commander Bur-
goyne on another matter. Would it be good form for
me to extend congratulations to hir as well?"
    Selar seemed to study her a moment, and abruptly
she said out loud, "Computer, halt lift." The turbolift
promptly came to a halt and Soleta regarded her with
open curiosity. "Soleta, may I ask your opinion about
a personal matter?"
  "I'm beginning to feel a bit like ship's counselor."
  "Pardon?"
  "Nothing. Of course you may, Doctor."
    "I simply feel that, due to our mindmeld and your
involvement earlier, I feel a sort of connection to you.
And I am..." She appeared to be searching for the
right word. "I am conflicted in my attitude toward
Burgoyne."
  "Conflicted in what way?"
    "In every way," she admitted. "The bond of Pon
farr--" Selar paused, then continued. "The point is, I
am accustomed to having distance from others. Not
simply physical distance, but the emotional distance
not only granted me by my nature, but demanded of
me by my profession. I abandoned that distance when
I gave myself over to Burgoyne. I am not certain now
if it is possible for me to recapture it, nor am I certain
that I am even desirous of doing so."
      "The gate has already been opened, Doctor. I am
not altogether certain it is possible to close it."
  "Perhaps it is," replied Selar.
    "Selar, you believe that you are bearing Burgoyne's
child. That would seem to give hir some sort of
permanent place in your life. Or did you not consider
that?"
    "To be honest, I had not. I had many considerations
driving me, Soleta, but long-term planning was oddly
enough not one of them. I do not know if I subscribe
to your belief that Burgoyne's presence in my life is
mandated. It is not at all impossible for me to raise
this child on my own. And tell me, as a Vulcan, Soleta,
can you envision Burgoyne as a lifemate for me? S/he
is so different, so very much the antithesis of all that
we are. Let us say that I were to return to Vulcan, on a
temporary or even permanent basis. There would be
no place for Burgoyne within our society. Nor would !
easily fit in with Hermat society. We are too different,
Soleta."
    "Is that your real concern, Selar? How each of you
'fits in' to your respective worlds of origin?"
    Selar considered it a moment and then slowly
admitted, "No."
    "I did not think so. In my opinion, Selar--since
you asked--I believe that you feel rather vulnerable
in the presence of Burgoyne. That it is that vulnerabil-
ity you consider to be the most daunting aspect of
your present situation, and that might be a problem
whether you were with Burgoyne or any member of
our own race. The problem that presents itself is that,
while another Vulcan might be equally and comfort-
ably withdrawn, Burgoyne would require continued
displays of intimacy, both physical and emotional.
You are not at all certain whether you are capable of
providing those. Am I correct?"
    "I would have to say that your assessment is more
or less accurate."
 "More? Or less?"
 "More," sighed Selar.
 "Selar, if I may be so bold, do you love hir?"
    "I do not know if that is a particularly relevant
question."
    "I disagree, Selar. I think it may well be the only
relevant question."
    Selar seemed to be staring intently at the door of
the lift, as if she were capable of seeing straight
through it and down to Engineering. "I do not know,"
she admitted.
    "Then it seems to me," Soleta said slowly, "that
once you have worked out the answer to that ques-
tion, the rest of the answers should be forthcoming on
their own."
    Selar said nothing for what appeared to be a very
long time, although Soleta knew internally that it was
only eleven seconds. "Computer, resume lift func-
tion." Obediently the turbolift smoothly reengaged on
its path as Selar said, "I believe you are correct,
Soleta. I shall give the matter careful consideration
and endeavor to come to a logical conclusion."
    "If I may be so bold, Selar, might I suggest that,
when pondering questions of this nature, logic is the
very last discipline you would want to apply." And
she stepped out of the turbolift and headed to Engi-
neering.

"Soleta, may I ask your opinion about a personal
matter?"
    Soleta stared at Burgoyne across hir desk. They had
been going over the energy readouts and mysterious
percolations of the engines for nearly half an hour,
and Soleta had agreed to give the matter a good deal
more study, particularly searching for potential ana-
logs to other such occurrences in assorted vessels. It
had almost been something of a blessing for her,
spending an entire thirty minutes dealing exclusively
with matters that pertained to her job description.
But now Burgoyne was seated behind hir desk, hir
long, tapered fingers interlaced, and s/he was staring
at Soleta with those remarkable dark eyes.
    Apparently under the impression that Soleta hadn't
quite heard hir, Burgoyne repeated, "Soleta, may I
ask your opinion about a personal matter? I mean,
perhaps this is being a bit forward, but after our
having worked so closely together when the captain
was gone and the commander was out of commission,
I feel that we established a kind of connection."
  "If you say so," Soleta said.
    "Sure," Soleta said more loudly. "Go right ahead,
Chief. I assume that this is a question regarding
matters of a delicate romantic nature?"  "How did you know?"
    "I'm science officer and chief data analyst of this
ship, Lieutenant Commander. Would this pertain to
Doctor Selar?"
    "Partly. Mostly, it's about Mark McHenry. That's
why I was asking you. You went to the Academy
together, worked closely, so I figured you would have
some further insight."
    "Oh." That surprised her slightly, but she took it in
stride. "Very well. What is the nature of your situa-
tion with McHenry?"
    "It's just that he may very well have pegged me on
something, and I don't completely want to admit it.
I'm very fond of him, and I just wanted to know if you
thought that, in the long term, I might be doing him
damage."
  "Damage? Of a physical nature?"
  "No, of an emotional nature."
    "Ah, well, yes, as a Vulcan, naturally I would be the
ideal person to voice opinions on human emotional
durability."
    "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Burgoyne said, looking
genuinely apologetic, and s/he started to rise from
behind hir desk. "I shouldn't be dragging you into
this."
    "Perhaps not, but here I am in any event," said
Soleta as she gestured for Burgoyne to sit down again.
Burgoyne did so. "And McHenry is indeed a longtime
associate, although 'friend' may be too strong a word,
for in many ways he is almost as incomprehensible to
me now as when we were cadets together. Still, of all
humans that 1 have ever encountered, he has always
shown a remarkable degree of resilience. Oftentimes
it seems to me that almost nothing phases him. Do
you wish to tell me precisely what is the nature of
your situation?" and she added silently to herself.
    "Soleta, you have to understand I'm a very physical
person."
    She stared at him. "As opposed to a being of pure
consciousness, like an Organian?"
    "No, I mean..." S/he let out a long, unsteady
breath. "What's the best way to put this? I had...
have... very strong feelings for Selar. From the
moment I met her, I felt as if we could be something
special together. But you understand, I'm hardly a
virgin in these matters. There have been other women
and men that I've had similar feelings for. I'm very
driven by my physical and emotional makeup. I feel
an attraction for someone and it's practically over-
whelming. And I will do everything I can to make that
attraction clear... until the physical aspect has been
attended to, at which point I feel--what's the best
word? Sated. I'm a very curious individual, Soleta."
  "I would have to agree with that, Burgoyne."
  Burgoyne was about to continue, but then hesitated
  and clarified. "I meant 'curious' as in 'inquisitive,' not
  'curious' as in 'strange.'"
  "Oh. Well, that, too, I suppose."
    "And along those lines, I have... I had... ex-
treme curiosity about Selar. That curiosity drove all
other aspects of my personality, as it always does."
    "I see. And under ordinary circumstances, having
had your curiosity satisfied, you would now be mov-
ing on elsewhere."
    "That doesn't seem unreasonable to you, does it,
Soleta?" Burgoyne leaned forward, and it seemed to
Soleta as if s/he was urgently looking for some degree
of understanding. "I mean, let's be blunt: It's not as if
my lovers aren't curious about me in turn. Don't try
to deny it. I'm the only Hermat in Starfleet. I'm used
to the looks, the speculation, the whispered discus-
sions that suddenly stop whenever I enter a room.
And I'm fine with that. It's understandable. It's even
human. I always assume when I take a lover that he or
she is motivated primarily out of curiosity as to what
sex with a Hermat is like. My peers are Starfleet
personnel. Investigation and exploration is our busi-
ness. So it only makes sense that exploring each other
would be a natural extension of the package. But with
Selar there was..."
    "Something more?" When Burgoyne didn't readily
reply, Soleta continued, "The depth of connection
that ?onfarr can foster can be quite intense. To a non-
Vulcan, it can even be overwhelming if you are not
prepared for it."
 "Could anything have prepared me for it?"
 "Probably not," admitted Soleta.
    "So, as I was saying, my curiosity should have been
satisfied, and I..."
 Burgoyne seemed to be having problems phrasing
it, and Soleta stepped in. "You had problems moving
on. Loving her and leaving her, as it was." "Yes."
     "You found you wanted to stay with her. To stay
close to her." "Yes."
 "And the problem with that was--?"
    "Don't you understand? I didn't know if it was
real!" Burgoyne said urgently. "It might have been
something forced on me because of Pon fart. I didn't
know. I don't know even now... if the feelings that
I'm having are genuine or fake. IfI had to go based on
my previous involvements, I'd have to say they're not
remotely genuine because I've never felt like this
before. But if they are... but I don't know..." S/he
leaned forward, hir head in hir hands. "It's totally
disrupting my peace of mind."
"And so you went running back to McHenry?"
"Mark is familiar. Mark is safe. I understand Mark,
understand how he makes me feel. It doesn't have to
mean anything with Mark."
    "I see. What you wish," Soleta said, "is a succession
of partners, one after the other. A variety of assigna-
tions that have no more meaning than a passing gust
of solar wind. An endless parade of intrigued sexual
playmates to satisfy your endless fascination with
physical pleasure."
"Exactly," Burgoyne said. "Is that so wrong?"
"I'm not judging good or bad, Burgoyne. I'm not
judging at all. To be honest, t'd rather be anywhere
else discussing anything else."
    "And besides, who are you to talk about emotional
attachments? It's not as if that's something at Vulcans
are particularly renowned for."
"Perhaps not in the standard human way, no. But
we know love."
    "That's an emotion. Vulcans don't believe in emo-
tion."
    "Oh, honestly, Burgoyne. You make it sound as if
Vulcans accord emotion the same level of credibility
as we would The Katha Legend. Of course we believe
in emotion. Of course we possess emotion. If we
didn't have emotions, our lives would be that much
easier. What we do is control our emotions, to the
best of our abilities. Love, like any other emotion, is
something that we regulate. We do not fall in love
based upon romantic and fairy tale notions as other
species do. Love is a state of mind that is carefully
developed. We make a decision with whom we will
fall in love and then proceed in a logical, carefully
reasoned fashion. Mates are selected through a con-
scientious process of compatibility in thirty-seven
different areas, ranging from social equatabiiity to
opinions on matters of deep philosophical meaning.
A relationship is built upon intellectual discourse,
rational conversation, and lengthy interaction that
elevates the spirit and leads toward a clearer and
greater comprehension of the disciplines of logic and
the many responsibilities inherent in being a Vulcan."
"At which point your biological drives kick in."
    "It is not a perfect system. Nothing ever is." When
Burgoyne laughed at that, she added, "I'm pleased to
see that you are amused by all this."
    "No. No, I'm not amused," Burgoyne said sadly.
"Soleta, what am I going to do? I went running back
to McHenry because I was scared off about how I felt
about Selar. Mark knows that's why I did it, I think.
But he took me back anyway, and it all seemed a great
game to me, but now I'm suddenly worried about
hurting him. And I'm worried about hurting Selar,
except I don't know that I have any basis or that I
could hurt her, but it worries me. And I'm not used to
worrying about hurting anyone. What do you think I
should do?"
    "Be prepared to hurt someone," she replied with-
out hesitation.
 "Thanks," said Burgoyne a bit sourly.
    "I apologize, Burgoyne. This area is really not my
specialty. Although, if this day keeps up as it is, I may
wind up changing my discipline from science to
interspecies romance. There's been a good deal writ-
ten about that over the years. Quite a few in-depth
studies done."
    "Really?" This seemed to intrigue Burgoyne, and
with hir pale blond eyebrows knit together in a
puckish manner, s/he commented, "I'd love to read
them."
    "Somehow," Soleta told hir, "I just knew you
would."

    Si Cwan's quarters were becoming rather impres-
sive. Soleta wasn't quite sure where he had managed
to acquire the assorted thick cloths, trappings, and
brocades that seemed evocative of his homeworld of
ThaiIon, but she had to admit that it was looking
more and more impressive.
    At that moment, Si Cwan was studying the flame
image on the disk while Robin Lefler watched him.
"Well?" Soleta asked after a moment, her arms
folded.
    "I... do not know anything... for certain," Si
Cwan said after a time. "And all that I do know is a
child's story."
    "Pardon?" asked Soleta. She exchanged glances
with Lefler, who shrugged.
    "There was a book in Kallinda's library," he said.
"A book of tales of ancient Thallon. Originally
handed down via oral tradition, spun by various
storytellers throughout the centuries. There was one
story I remember in particular: It was about a trick-
ster god named Imtempho. He liked to do things to
enrage and annoy the other gods, pulled all manner of
tricks on them. The story went that the gods had
created the ThaiIonians to be their playthings, their
objects of amusement. But Imtempho, although he
was merely a trickster, truly hated the gods and
wanted to see them all done away with. But he was
unable to lift a hand against them himself. So he stole
something from the gods that was the property of
them and them alone, and that was fire. He brought
fire down to the Thallonians, and the ThaiIonians
began using it to accomplish all manner of wonderful
things. This angered the gods, who demanded that the
ThaiIonians return the fire to them. The ThaiIonians
retaliated by setting fire to the Great Hall that the
gods lived within, and all the gods were burned up. In
that way, the ThaiIonian people left behind their
ancient beliefs and moved forward toward a time of
reasoning and self-reliance."
    "That's a very charming story," Soleta commented.
"Is it remotely relevant?"
    "It might be in one respect." He held the disk up.
"The book carried with it illustrations that were
reproductions of the tale done in ancient times. And I
could swear that Imtempho was always pictured wear-
ing an emblem quite similar to this around his neck,
like a medallion."
    "I see," Soleta said slowly. She considered it a
moment, and then said, "Very well, Ambassador.
Thank you for your time."
    "My pleasure. I wish I could be of more help to you
than simply recounting an old children's story."
    She nodded thoughtfully and headed out the door.
It took her a moment to realize that Robin Lefler had
fallen into step beside her and was accompanying her
down the corridor. She looked questioningly at Lefler,
who said, almost defensively, "I'm heading back to
Ops."
 "Of course you are," said Soleta reasonably.
    They stepped into the turbolift, the door hissing
shut behind them. "Bridge," Soleta said.
 "Soleta..." Robin said after a moment.
 "Yes?"
 "May I ask your opinion about a personal matter?"
 Soleta stared at her.
    "Computer, stop lift," Soleta said immediately.
The car promptly halted and she turned to face a
puzzled Lefler. "Love?" "What?"
 "Is this about love?"
 "Well, yes."
 "Mm-hmm. Let me guess: Si Cwan."
 Lefler blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"
 "Process of elimination. Marry him."
     "Soleta!" Robin laughed in a very uncomfortable
manner. "It's a little more complicated than that."
  "No, it's not."
  "But I don't think he even knows I'm alive!"
    "Lieutenant, if you marry him and he still doesn't
know you're alive, then you have bigger problems
than I could possibly solve."
    "Soleta, for God's sake! I thought you'd under-
stand! I mean, you were responsible for getting Si
Cwan on the ship in the first place, and you met him
years ago when he spared your life, and you saved my
life on Thallon, so I just felt as if you'd be a good
person to talk to about this because I feel you have a,
you know..."
    "Connection, yes. That is becoming painfully ap-
parent to me. If I had any more connections, I'd have
my own subspace radio frequency. Lieutenant, look,
it is not as if I am unsympathetic. Well, actually, I am
unsympathetic by this point, but you should not take
that personally."
  "I'll try not to," Robin said uncertainly.
    "Marry him, don't marry him. Tell him how you
feel, don't tell him how you feel. Sort out your
problems, throw yourself into his arms, tease him,
taunt him, decide he is not right for you or that he is
perfect for you. I do not care. It is not my problem. It
is not my specialty. It is not my area."
    "Soleta, I thought we were friends." Robin said,
sounding a bit hurt.
    "I am aware of that, Robin, and understand that I
am not averse to the notion. However, if we are
indeed friends, you will then be willing to be sympa-
thetic when I say that I really, truly, do not wish to
discuss these matters. Will you honor my request?"
  "Well, sure. I guess."
 "Thank you. Computer, resume lift operation."
    The turbolift promptly continued on its way to the
bridge, and they rode most of the rest of the way in
silence. But just before they got to the bridge, Lefler
turned to Soleta and said, "Are you going into that
Vulcan heat thing?"
    Soleta turned and stared at her with undisguised
incredulity. "What?"
 "It's just that you seem awfully testy."
    Soleta tried to find words but, uncharacteristically,
they eluded her. She settled for holding her tongue as
she stepped off the turbolift. She drifted toward the
science station, slowing only as she passed Zak Keb-
ton. He looked at her with vague curiosity. "Problem,
Soleta?" he asked in a low voice.
    "Is it my imagination, Kebron," Soleta asked
slowly, "or is everyone on this vessel preoccupied
with romance?"
  "Not me."
  "No?" she asked.
    "I don't need romance," Zak Kebron told her
confidently. "I have goldfish."
 Soleta wisely didn't pursue it.




VIII.

THE DIPLOMATIC RECEPTION CHAMBER of the Momi-
diums was scaled to accommodate Momidium needs,
as was indeed most of the other furniture and archi-
tectural design of the place. Nonetheless, it was still a
rather impressive structure, and Shelby found the
Momidiums themselves a rather pleasant people, easy
to get along with... even if they did remind her a bit
of slugs.
    Once the Excalibur had settled into orbit around
the planet, Shelby, Si Cwan, Selar, Lefier, and Zak
Kebron had beamed down to the planet's surface at
the coordinates provided. Kebron, as was his habit,
spent most of the time looking around suspiciously
and trying to determine if there was anyone hiding
who might be prepared to spring out and launch a
trap. Si Cwan, for his part, immediately fell into easy
conversation with Cudsuttle, the head of extraterres-
trial relations.
    "I'll be blunt, Ambassador," said Cudsuttle. "I
never had much patience with, or use for, the rest of
your clan. But you were of a very different stripe, and
I was pleased to learn that you had survived the
insurrection. Rumor has it that you seek the where-
abouts of your sister as well."
"The rumors are quite correct," allowed Si Cwan.
"I hope for the best, then, for her and for you," said
Cudsuttle. "Commander Shelby, you have a good
man here," he said, nodding approvingly toward Si
Cwan. "You should take care not to lose him."
    "We're very aware of that, sir, and have no inten-
tion of losing track of him," Shelby assured him. "So,
I understand we can be of help to each other. Dr. Selar
here is more than willing to get together with your
medical personnel immediately to run tests on this
vaccine of yours. With any luck, we'll be able to verify
its fitness for use in... three hours, was it, Doctor?"
    Selar nodded. "I believe that is what Dr. Maxwell
said. In fact, he tends to be conservative in his
estimates, so we may very well be able to handle it
more quickly."
    "Excellent. And you wished help from an agricul-
tural specialist regarding an irrigation system."
    "Correct, Commander. Will that person be forth-
coming?"
    "You're looking at her," Shelby said. "Believe it or
not, Cudsuttle, I grew up on a farm. I doubt there's
anyone on the ship more experienced in these matters
than I am. I'll be more than happy to give you
whatever guidance I can."
  "That is most kind of you. And we will be happy to
 escort Ambassador Cwan and Lieutenant Lefler to the
 Primus prisoner."
  "Why did you hold her?"
    The question came from Robin and, unlike the
quite cordial tone of voice that was the norm up until
that point, she sounded tense, almost angry.
"I beg your pardon?" asked Cudsuttle politely.
Seeing potential for problems, Shelby stepped in
quickly. "The lieutenant was simply asking, in a
rather intense fashion," she noted in a warning tone
that was not lost on Lefler, "why precisely the woman,
Morgan Primus, was held here, particularly for so
long. Did you believe her to be a spy and, if so, what
exactly was she spying on?"
    "You mean are we hiding something of interest?"
Cudsuttle said, sounding rather amused at the con-
cept.
"Something like that," Shelby replied guardedly.
"Would that we were that devious a people, Com-
mander. We might have gotten farther than we have in
galactic politics. No, I am afraid it's nothing quite as
intriguing as that. It was simple caution. We were not
concerned that she was spying on us so much as that
she might be some sort of provocateur or emissary for
an alien race, out to stir up trouble. We Momidiums
are a peaceful people, Commander. We do not seek
out problems, either within our own sphere or with
powerful potential opponents such as the ThaiIon-
ians. Perhaps she was an enemy of the ThaiIonians.
Perhaps she wished us harm. We did not know for
certain, and we did not desire to take the chance. All
we knew is that she showed up on our world, asked a
goodly number of questions regarding ancient arti-
facts, and violated one of the basic laws of ThaiIonian
rule, which was: No out-worlders. Based upon all of
that, we didn't so much make her a prisoner as take
her into protective custody."
 "Her protection," asked Si Cwan, "or yours?"
    "A bit of both, I daresay," admitted Cudsuttle. "In
any event, that time is now gone. She is yours to do
with as you will. I officially release her to Captain
Calhoun, with you serving as his representative.
Kurdwurble!" he called, and from the sound of that Si
Cwan momentarily thought that he had something
caught in his throat. But a moment later another
Momidium emerged from nearby. "This is Kurdwur-
ble," Cudsuttle said by way of introduction. "He will
bring you to her."
    "Right this way," Kurdwurble said, gesturing for
them to follow.
    "Ambassador," Lefler said suddenly, "perhaps it'd
be best if you accompanied the commander. I'm
certain I can handle this on my own."
  "Lieutenant--" Si Cwan began.
    "I'm certain that I can," Lefler repeated, and her
glance took in everyone in the away team, but most
particularly Shelby, in a manner that could almost be
considered to be challenging. It was as if she was
saying, I have to do this myself. Please don't mix in.
    As if in silent acknowledgment, Shelby nodded.
"Very well, Lieutenant. And good luck."
 "Thank you," she said, adding silently, I'll need it.

    Morgan Primus was sitting squarely in the middle
of her quarters, her hands resting in her lap. Except
for a slight rise and fall of her chest, she might have
been mistaken for a statue. At her feet were her
packed bags, which didn't contain all that much since
 she had not arrived on Momidium with an excess of
 luggage. She had, after all, been trying to travel light.
    She heard a soft footfall approaching the suite of
rooms that had been her prison for all these years, and
even though they were the footsteps of someone she'd
never known as an adult, she was still able to recog-
nize them. She braced herself, knowing that she was
going to have to manage with all her strength to hold
herself together. She was bound and determined not
to let the slightest weakness show through.
Robin stepped into view in the entranceway.
They stared at each other. Simply stared. Morgan
wanted to say something, wanted to explain. She was
ready for the outpouring of anger and vituperation,
prepared to handle questions although she had every
intention of being as vague as possible about many of
the replies. She was ready for the cold stare, the icy
assessment, a bellow of rage fueled by pain, a shout of
disbelief, a continuation of the earlier transmission.
Hell, for all she knew, Robin would be so infuriated
that she would simply pull out a phaser and start
shooting. Stranger things had happened, certainly. A
crime of passion, that's what they'd call it. Any board
of inquiry in the world would look the situation over
and simply pronounce it temporary insanity. They
wouldn't immediately put her back in place on a
starship, but neither would they stick her in a camp
for the rest of her life.
    What she was not prepared for, in all of that, was
the simple flat stare that greeted her. There was no
emotion in her eyes. She might just as easily have
been a Vulcan meeting a total stranger for the first
time.
    Morgan realized that Robin was going to wait for
her to say something. Stubborn little thing, that
Robin. Probably got it from her mother. Well, there
was no use for it. She was going to have to say
something, or they might just stand there regarding
each other for the rest of the day.
    The silence was fortunately broken by Kurdwurble,
who finally felt compelled to ask, "Are you a telepath-
ic race?"
 "What?" asked Morgan.
    "I was just wondering if perhaps you were commu-
nicating by thought alone. We Momidiums are lim-
ited by our ability to articulate. I thought perhaps
between members of your own species..." She shook her head.
    "I see," said Kurdwurble, who didn't quite, but he
wasn't about to admit it. He shrugged, which for a
Momidium was more a sense of one's head sagging
down between the shoulders. "Well, none of my affair.
Not anymore." He held up a small round electronic
device. "Turn around please."
    Morgan did as she was instructed, presenting her
back to Kurdwurble, and Kurdwurble placed the
device against a small panel on the collar. Morgan felt
a slight electronic jolt and then the collar fell away
from her, clattering onto the floor deactivated and
harmless.
    "You are free to go. It was good speaking with you,
Morgan. In another life," he said with that odd shrug
again, "who knows what we might have been to each
other?"
    "Who knows indeed. Thank you for making it
bearable, Kurdwurble."
    He looked to Robin and said, "Be good to her. She
is a very special woman." And then, with no further
words, he turned and undulated away, leaving the two
women once more to their silence.
    "You must have a lot of questions," Morgan finally
said, unable to take it anymore.
    "Yes," replied Robin in a voice that bordered on
total disinterest. "Are you coming or not?"
  Morgan stared at her incredulously. "That's it.'?"
  No reply.
    "Robin, let's not kid each other. You must have a
million questions. You must have a great deal of anger
in you; you certainly made that clear enough in your
little love note. So go ahead." She got to her feet and
stood there, braced. "Let me have it, right between
the eyes. Tell me what's going through your mind."
  Nothing.
    "I see. The silent treatment. That's what it's going
to be. All those questions, all that anger and hurt and
whatever else tumbling around inside your head, and
you're going for the silent treatment. Very mature,
Robin," she said sarcastically.
    "I like to think I'm very mature," Robin said in a
voice that could have been originating back on Mars.
"I had to grow up at a rather early age, what with my
parents being dead and all."
    "I'm..." She drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry about
your father. I had no way of knowing--"
    "Don't." Robin pointed a finger at her and Morgan
could see that it was everything she could do not to let
it tremble. The effort she was expending to control
herself was having a massive effect on her. "Don't
apologize. I can handle anything except that. Because
there is no apology in the galaxy that can even begin
to cover it, and if you try, Mother, so help me God, if
you try, I will snap. Do you understand me? I will
snap like a rotting twig. After everything else you've
done to me, I would like to think that you'd at least
have sufficient compassion not to do that to me as
well."
    Slowly Morgan nodded. "All right, Lieutenant." As
she was about to leave, she accidentally stepped on
the collar that was on the floor where it had fallen. She
stooped, picked it up, and turned it over in her hands.
"Hard to believe that this is what kept me here all
these years."
    "Perhaps they considered saddling you with a child,
but they knew that wouldn't be enough to keep you in
one place."
"Cheshire," she turned to face her, "you don't--"
"Shut up/Don't you dare call me that/ You've lost
the privilege, do you understand me? DO YOU?t?"
    The volume, the intensity, the fury of it was so great
that Morgan took a step back as if she'd been shoved.
Robin had to visibly fight to pull in her fury and then,
very quietly, she said, "Come. It's time to go."
    Without a word, Morgan picked up her bags and
followed her daughter to freedom.

    Calhoun sat on the bridge, watching the planet
turning beneath him, and wondered for what was
hardly the first time if he hadn't made a mistake. He
was so much happier leading away teams than staying
on the bridge and allowing others to seize the day. It
wasn't that he didn't trust Shelby to do the job; he
did. But damn, he missed doing it.
     Then again, he couldn't help but notice that when-
 ever he did get involved with setting foot on planets,
 disaster seemed to strike. Thus far his two major
 accomplishments planetside had been having one
 disintegrate under his feet and being kidnapped while
 in residence on the other. Neither incident, he felt,
 was destined to win him any away team performance
 medals.
    Shelby emerged from the turbolift and Calhoun
turned in his chair and looked up at her expectantly.
"Well, Commander?" he asked.
    "All done, sir," she replied briskly. "I gave them a
few pointers on their irrigation system that initial
estimates show will improve their harvest yield by
nineteen percent. And Dr. Selar reports that their
serum checks out. I took the liberty of authorizing our
synthesizing of a quantity of it, since the doctor
reports that their facilities are, at best, barely ade-
quate and we can accomplish the reproduction of the
serum approximately five times faster than they can.
Within twenty hours, maximum, this epidemic
they're fighting will be completely under control."
    "No sign of civil unrest?" he asked. "No outbreak
of war? No one kidnapped? No giant flaming bird
appearing on the horizon?"
    "You mean none of the usual stuff, Captain? Nope.
This was a horrifyingly simple assignment." She
descended the ramp and walked around to her
chair... and then hesitated a moment before sitting.
    He caught the movement, or lack thereof, and saw
her look at him with just a hint of suspicion. He
smiled and shook his head, and said in a very low
voice, "We're even, okay? Let's let it go."
    She nodded and sat confidently in her chair. "Now,
as to the matter of Morgan Primus--"
 "Yes, I notice that Lefler isn't with you."
    "I've assigned quarters to Primus--or Lefler, or
whatever her name is--and Robin is getting her
installed there. Kebron is running a security check on
her now, but nothing seems to be turning up beyond
what Robin already told us. I assume you want to
meet with her."
    "As soon as possible," Calhoun said firmly. "Her
presence on this ship provides a mystery, and I
generally like to have mysteries attended to as quickly
as possible."
  "Understood, sir. Conference lounge?"
    "No," he said after a moment's thought. "Captain's
ready room. The conference lounge seems more ap-
propriate for an interrogation and, for the moment,
let's remain friends."
    "Considering what Lefler's going through," Shelby
observed, "that's going to be a trick and a half."
    "Captain," McHenry now turned in his chair.
"We've just received word from the Seidman. She's
on her way to the designated rendezvous point and
wants to know if we're still going to make that as
scheduled."
      "If we're done here, then we certainly are. Set
course, Mr. McHenry, warp factor three."  "Aye, sir."
    Calhoun looked regretfully at Shelby, and she knew
what he was thinking. The Seidman was a transport
vessel sent by Starfleet to carry away the first two men
that had been lost under Calhoun's command. Two
security men, a highly dangerous job to be sure, but
that didn't make the loss any more palatable. Hecht
and Scannell: Hecht was simply dead, and as for
Scannell, his mind had been totally destroyed. He
writhed in the throes of madness, and although there
was some hope for rehabilitation, to achieve that
required facilities that were more than the Excalibur
had to offer.
    "So soon," he said with clear regret on his face, and
she knew precisely what he meant. It seemed far too
soon into the mission to lose any crewmen. And she
also knew that, no matter what she might say, Cal-
houn would still hold himself responsible.
    As much as she herself wanted command, there
were times when Shelby didn't regret in the least that
she had not yet landed in that chair.

    Morgan looked around her quarters, unpacking her
bags as she did so. She glanced out her view window
at the starscape and said, "Stars. Now that's some-
thing ! didn't think I was ever going to see again." She
tore her gaze away from it and looked around the
quarters. "Nice to see that guest quarters are still
respectable."
    Si Cwan stood nearby, leaning easily against a wall.
"Have you been on a starship before?" he asked.
    She paused a moment, and it looked to Si Cwan as
if she regretted having said anything. But then she
appeared to shrug mentally. "From time to time," she
said vaguely. She turned and looked him over from
top to bottom. They openly studied each other, and
he couldn't help but notice what a handsome woman
she was. "So, what do they call you again?"
 "Si Cwan. Ship's ambassador."
     She was momentarily impressed. "The Si Cwan? Of
the imperial family?" "Formerly."
    "Now serving as a Federation ambassador. My,
how times change, don't they?" She sat down on the
edge of the bed and looked up at him. "Why are you
here, Ambassador?"
 "A variety of reasons. I felt it necessary to return
tO--"
    "No, I mean why are you here? In my quarters? Are
you here to pump me for information?"
    "You are a blunt woman, Morgan. That is a pleas-
ant change. Very well. It was felt by Commander
Shelby that you should not be unattended until such
time as Lieutenant Kebron has run a full security
check on you. Locking you into your quarters seemed
rather hostile, and consigning you to the brig was
likewise inhospitable. In point of fact, I believe that
she was expecting Lieutenant Lefler to stay with you,
but she declined the honor. So I offered my services."
    "How very gallant of you. Do you work closely with
Robin?"
    "She is my part-time aide-de-camp. She graciously
volunteered her time."
    Morgan sized him up once more and then laughed.
It was not an open laugh, but merely a short, even
slightly disdainful chuckle, in the base of her throat.
"How gracious indeed."  "Meaning... ?"
    "Meaning you're rather attractive for a man with
red skin and tattoos on his head."
    "Lieutenant Lefier is a thorough professional, mad-
am," Si Cwan admonished her. "And I will thank you
not to ascribe any other motives aside from her
interest in serving the best interests of the Excalibur."
    She put up her hands in an overly apologetic
manner. "I offer my humble pardon, Ambassador. I
did not mean to insult my daughter or you. If it's all
the same to you, we'll keep my little gaffe to our-
selves."
  "I would far prefer that we did."
    Si Cwan's commbadge beeped on his tunic and he
tapped it. "Si Cwan here."
    "Ambassador," came Shelby's voice, "would you
be so kind as to escort Ms. Primus to the captain's
ready room?"
    "At your service, Commander." He bowed slightly
and indicated the door with a wave of his arm. "After
you, madam."
    "At your service, Ambassador," she said in a deep,
throaty tone. And as she headed toward the door, she
stopped and momentarily ran her fingers along the
curve of his beard. He blinked in surprise. "Between
you and me, Si Cwan, I don't blame my daughter one
bit."

    Lefler was at her station when Shelby stepped in
behind her and said softly, "The captain would like to
see us in his ready room."
    Automatically, Robin glanced in the direction of
the captain's ready room and saw Si Cwan escorting
Morgan through the door. Immediately Robin looked
back at Shelby and said, "Commander, if it's all the
same to you, I'd rather not."
    "It's not all the same to me, Lieutenant," Shelby
said, firmly but not unkindly. "What is all the same to
me are orders from the captain, even the ones we'd
rather not follow. He wants to see you. You get seen.
So do I."
    "But--" Then she saw the look in Shelby's eyes and
sighed, "Aye, sir." She rose from her station as Ensign
Scott Fogelson automatically took her place. When
she stood face to face with Shelby, she said very
softly, "I hate this."
 "Understood," said Shelby neutrally. "Let's go."

    Calhoun couldn't help but notice that Morgan
Primus moved about the captain's ready room as if
she felt she belonged there. He had chosen the ready
room for a reason: He'd wanted to feel as if he had a
psychological advantage. A conference lounge had the
feel of neutral territory, but the ready room was the
captain's home court. Unfortunately it didn't seem to
have much relation to the present situation, and
Calhoun--who was generally an impeccable judge of
character--had the distinct feeling that Morgan was
not someone who was readily, or easily, intimidated.
    Si Cwan remained with them and, moments later,
Shelby and Lefler joined them. There wasn't quite
enough seating space for everyone, but Si Cwan made
a point of simply standing over in a corner of the
room, arms folded. Calhoun had noticed that Cwan
preferred standing to sitting whenever possible. As if
he wasn't tall enough, it appeared that he liked to
loom. Shelby and Lefler sat in chairs opposite each
other, and Morgan settled comfortably into the small
couch. "So," Calhoun said amiably, "here we all are.
So... Ms. Primus. Or do you prefer Ms. Lefler?"
  "'Morgan' will do, if that's all the same to you." He
noticed she was running a finger along the back of the
couch. Checking for dust. Who the hell was this
woman? "I see little need to stand on ceremony."
    "Very well, Morgan. Mr. Kebron has finished run-
ning his security check on 'Morgan Primus,' and it is
very much as Lieutenant Lefler had told us. According
to records, you died ten years ago. Your body was
never recovered despite best efforts by the authorities."
    "Well, Captain, it appears you succeeded where the
authorities failed. You found it."
    "And may I ask, Morgan, where you've been all this
time? We can account for the last five years, obvi-
ously, but the five years intervening are something of
a mystery."
    "Captain," Morgan said slowly, "I believe that
these questions are somewhat outside the parameters
of your job."
    "It's a funny thing about me, Morgan," Calhoun
said with a thin smile. "I'm one for stretching param-
eters. The longer you're with me, the faster you'll
realize that."
    "That is good to know, Captain, but I do not
anticipate being here all that long."
    For the first time, Lefler spoke up. "That eager to
get away from me again, Mother?"
    Slowly Morgan's gaze swivelled toward her daugh-
ter. Her expression was very severe, her face begin-
ning to darken as if a storm cloud was setting in.
"Robin," she said, "do you wish to continue with
sniping comments that accomplish nothing or do you
want to just get it out in the open where we can
discuss it?"
 Si Cwan put a restraining hand on Robin's shoulder
as Lefier looked as if she were about to leap out of her
chair. He held her steady for a moment, but then she
pushed his hand away and was on her feet. "All
right," she said sharply. "You want to get to it? Let's
get to it."
    Shelby glanced over at Calhoun, but he made a
small gesture indicating that they should do nothing
to interfere. She sat back and watched with concern.
     "Bottom line, Mother, you ran out on me. On Dad
and me." "Yes."
 "You faked your own death."
 "Yes again."
 She took a deep breath_. "Why?"
 "It was necessary."
    And that was all she said. Robin waited for her to
expand upon it, but as the silence lengthened she
realized that Morgan was apparently under the im-
pression that that was all the explanation required.
"It was necessary?" echoed Robin. "Ten years I think
you're dead. Dad dies of a broken heart. And the only
thing I'm entitled to is 'it was necessary'?"
    "You're entitled to far more than that, Robin, but
that's all I'm prepared to tell you at the moment."
    "At the moment?" Lefler couldn't believe it. She
started pacing around the chair, Si Cwan stepping
back to give her room. "What the hell are you waiting
for? Until you're a grandmother? Until I'm on my
deathbed? That's when you're going to come around
and say, 'Oh, honey: by the way, I'm now prepared to
explain to you why I screwed up your life!'"
    At that, Morgan was on her feet, her fists curled
tightly at her sides, and said, "I gave you life, child! I
gave you life, and you seem to have survived my
departure just fine. And I'm sorry that your father
'died of a broken heart,' but people die, Robin, that's
just a statistical fact. And I miss him, but the strong
survive, and that's just a fact of nature. That's natural
selection. And if he wasn't strong enough to withstand
my loss, then nature selected him not to survive, and
that is not my fault."
    "How dare you!" Lefier shouted, and leapt to her
feet.
    "Okay, that's enough!" said Calhoun. "Lefier, back
off?'
    Lefler didn't move, even though her whole body
was trembling. Si Cwan seemed about to try and draw
her back away from Morgan, but Robin caught his
movement with a sideways glance and froze him in
his tracks. Si Cwan wisely decided to stay exactly
where he was.
    For her part, Morgan's face was flaming red, as if
she'd been slapped hard. "Did that make you feel
better, Robin?" she asked quietly. "Did that make up
for anything?"
    "No," admitted Lefier, looking no less angry. "I
want to know what's going on, Mother. You owe me
so much. At the very least, you owe me that."
    "Perhaps you're right, Robin. But we don't always
get everything we want, and sometimes there are
some things that remain mysteries. Believe me when I
say that it's far better for all concerned if we leave it
that way."
  "I can't."
    "Well, I can. And unfortunately, if I'm not willing
to say more than I have, then you are just going to
have to be prepared to live with that. You've lived
with my death for all these years, Robin. Live with my
life for all your remaining years and let it go at that.
Captain," she continued before Robin could even say
anything, "it is my understanding that we will be
meeting up with the transport Seidman. Is that cor-
rect?"
 "Yes."
    "Very well. I am officially asking you to put me
aboard her. I'll make my own way from there."
    "You're intending to leave ThaiIonian space?" Si
Cwan asked.
    "Perhaps," replied Morgan. "I haven't made up my
mind yet."
    "You know," Shelby said, "for some reason that I
can't quite put my finger on, I don't entirely believe
you. I have the sneaking suspicion that you have
indeed made up your mind, Morgan. Do you agree,
Captain?"
 "I do indeed, Number One."
    Morgan did a momentary double take. Then she
cleared her throat and said, "To be honest, Com-
mander-"
 "There's a change of pace," murmured Lefler.
    "I do not especially care what your opinion of me
is," she continued as if Lefier hadn't spoken. "What I
care about is continuing about my business. I have
been delayed for five years. I have certain goals,
certain things I desire to accomplish, and there is no
way that I can get that time back. I would ask you to
cooperate with me now by not delaying me any
further. Now I am asking you for, and frankly I expect
to receive, a means off this ship."
    "Permission to show her the back door, sir," said
Robin.
"Lefler, that's not going to accomplish anything,"
Calhoun said sharply. "Morgan--"
    "Captain, if you give the matter some thought, I'm
sure you'll see that you have no choice," Morgan said
reasonably.
    "I already have given the matter some thought, and
until this situation is resolved to my satisfaction--in
short, until I know why you faked your death and
showed up in Thallonian space ten years later--
you're going to stay put right here on the Excalibur."
    "What?" Morgan fairly exploded. "What did you
say?"
    "After all," Calhoun said, "we haven't received
formal confirmation of your identity from the Terran
data net. Until then, you could be anyone."
    "At this distance," Morgan said grimly, "that will
take ... ?"
    "At least two weeks by subspace. Not counting any
bureaucratic problems on the other end."
    "Robin," Morgan said, turning to her daughter,
"tell them I'm your mother."
    Lieutenant Leffier replied to her mother's request
with an angry glare that said "so now you want to be
my mother!"
    Calhoun noted that Shelby's face had gone slightly
ashen, although Si Cwan, from long years of practice,
kept his face properly inscrutable. "You will be
treated as an honored guest, of course," he assured
her. "You will not be kept under lock and key, but
given free access to the ship, within the limits im-
posed on all guests. But I have absolutely no intention
of simply turning you loose. For all I know, you had
some sort of mischief planned toward the Momi-
diums that you would implement the moment we
released you."
    "Captain, I assure you, if I never see Momidium
again, it will be too soon."
    He came around the desk and leaned against it in
an almost avuncular fashion. "Morgan, I'm sure you
understand why your assurances do not mean a hell of
a lot to me. Not only have you been less than
forthcoming, but you're almost proud over your abili-
ty to hide the truth. That does not sit well with me.
Until such time that you are forthcoming, you can
stay aboard this ship until you rot. Do I make myself
clear?"
 "This is extortion!"
    He clapped his hands together briskly. "Yes, I'm
clear, all right."
    "You're blackmailing me, Captain! Blackmailing
my right to privacy!"
    "One person's blackmail is another person's negoti-
ation," he said calm!v. And then he took a step
toward her and it was Calhoun whose face was
darkening. The scar on his cheek stood out in sharp
relief against it. "Now listen to me, lady," and his
voice was low and intimidating. "I don't know you.
You're just an object to me, a body to be transported.
But Lieutenant Lefier here is a valued crewmember. I
do not like the way you have treated her in her life. I
do not like the aspects of her--the anger, the boiling
furymthat you're bringing out in her now."
    "Then let me go so I don't continue to be a bad
influence," said Morgan.
    He shook his head. "Ohhh no. No, Morgan. What-
ever demons drove you away from her ten years ago
don't matter to me all that much, but you don't get off
that easily here. What you did to her was unjust, and
there will be justice now. I will see it done."
    "Captain Calhoun, trying to right wrongs and save
the galaxy," Morgan asked, her voice dripping with
sarcasm.
    "Not the entire galaxy," he said tightly. "Just my
little piece of it."
    For a long moment the air between them seemed to
crackle with energy and then, slowly, Morgan found
she couldn't help but look away from the piercing
fierceness of those stormy purple eyes of Calhoun's.
"Are we done here?" she asked, still looking away.
"It would appear that we are, yes. Ambassador...
Lieutenant... if you wouldn't mind escorting Mor-
gan to her quarters, she can begin her stay with us."
    "So I've gone from being a prisoner of the Momi-
diums to a prisoner of Captain Calhoun, is that how
it's to be?" asked Morgan.
    "You're a prisoner of your own heart and deeds,
Morgan, and of your own coldness. I'm just the
facilitator."
    She seemed about to respond, but apparently
thought better of it as she turned and walked out. Si
Cwan and Lefier followed her out, and Lefier paused
for a brief moment to look back at Calhoun. The
captain couldn't tell whether she was looking at him
in gratitude, in anger, in confusion, or perhaps a
combination of all three.
    Shelby was about to speak when Calhoun quickly
raised a finger to silence her as he tapped his comm-
badge and said, "Mr. Kebron, a moment of your time,
please."
 "Mac, you can't be serious about this."
    "You seem to say that a lot, Commander. And you
keep finding out that I'm perfectly serious. Sooner or
later I think you should really stop saying that. It's
making you predictable."
  "Mac, for the love of--"
    Kebron entered the ready room and stood there,
arms casually draped behind his back. "Yes, Cap-
tain?"
    "I want a level two security watch kept on Mor-
gan," Calhoun said.
    "All security personnel to keep an eye out for her at
all times," Kebron said easily. "No single team or
teams to watch her, but instead to trade off in pass-
the-baton fashion. Check in with security head every
fifteen minutes to keep me apprised of her where-
abouts."
    "That's it. Inform all guards. I want it done yes-
terday."
    "Aye, sir." He tapped his commbadge. "All security
units, this is Kebron. Security watch, level two, sub-
ject Morgan Primus, immediate institution. Go. All
units confirm at security board," and he walked out of
the captain's ready room with more speed than Cal-
houn would have given him credit for.
    Calhoun then waited for Shelby to lay into him. His
back was to her, but he was quite sure that it was gong
to be coming any moment. When there was nothing
but silence, he turned to face her on the assumption
that she was waiting to be able to look straight at him.
Sure enough, there she was, her arms folded and with
a neutral look on her face that could only be covering
what he was certain was a sense of complete and utter
exasperation.
 "Go ahead," he sighed. "Say it."
    "Mac," she told him, "I think what you're doing is
very sweet."
    He looked at her as if she'd grown a second head.
"Pardon?"
  "I said I think it's very sweet."
    Slowly he walked toward her with a bit of a side-to-
side motion. "You know, Eppy, somehow of all the
things I expected you to say, that wasn't among
them."
    "Look, I know you've got your heart in the right
place. You see that Lefler is suffering, you feel a degree
of moral outrage at the woman who's causing it, and
you feel you are obliged to do something about it."
    "That's mostly it," he admitted. "Oh, sure, part of
it comes from the fact that she annoyed the hell out of
me. That I can deal with, though. But y9u saw what
she did to Lefler. Lieutenant Lefler is one of my
people, and I won't see any one of them being abused
if I can help it."
    "Within the context of the ship and her mission,
Robin Lefler is one of your people, no question,
Mac." She took a step closer toward him, looking
sympathetic. "But when it comes to dirt done to her
ten years ago, and how she chooses to deal with it
now, Robin is her own person. You can't make it
better for her simply because you're refusing to let her
mother run away again."
    "The ability of each and every crewmember to
function at full capacity most certainly is my busi-
ness," Calhoun pointed out. "If this business with her
mother diminishes Robin Lefler's ability to function,
then that makes it my concern. And I will attend to
the mental welfare of my officers as I see fit."
 "That's a reach, Mac, and you know it. If a couple
of former lovers were aboard the same ship and were
sick of each other, and one of them wanted a transfer
off, would you refuse to do so because you wanted
them to--"
 He stared at his ex-fianc6e incredulously.
 "Okay, bad example," she admitted.
 "I should say so."
    "The point is, Mac, you can't force people to get
along. You have this King Arthur complex. You want
to come riding on your brave white horse and right all
wrongs, save damsels in distress, and make the world
safe for chivalry."
    "You used to compare me to a cowboy. Now you
say I'm a knight."
    "Whatever fits the moment. Mac, Morgan is right.
You can't keep her here against her will on a tecnical-
ity just because it seems like a good idea to you. She
hasn't done anything. Hasn't broken any laws."
    "She broke ThaiIonian law by coming to Sector
Two twenty-one-G. Lord Si Cwan is furious over the
transgression, and has demanded that justice be done.
He has requested that she be held until trial."
    "Oh, he has," Shelby said skeptically. "Considering
that he is a deposed lord and his empire fallen, his
jurisdiction in this matter seems questionable. And
when was this burst of indignation, may t ask?"
  "Five minutes from now, after I tell him about it."
  "This isn't a joke, Mac. Your motives are pure..."
  "As befits the ruler of Camelot."
    She nodded in acknowledgment and then contin-
ued, "But you don't have the right to do this. You're
trying to twist the legitimate concerns a captain may
possess about a crew's well being into a shape that will
allow you to do anything you want. You can't just run
 roughshod over regulations whenever you feel like it.
 The rules exist for a reason."
    "I know that, Commander. And I know that you're
right. I should be making more of an effort to live
within them. Often I consider rules and regulations to
be unworkable and, to be perfectly blunt, if I can find
a way around them in order to do what's right and
proper, then I'll do so."
  "Right and proper by your definition."
    "Yes. Because I'm the one who's out here, Eppy.
Not the paper pushers and nameless bureaucrats who
made the rules that I'm supposed to follow. Some-
thing is going on with Morgan Primus, Commander.
Something that, in my opinion, goes beyond her
abandonment of her daughter and husband ten years
ago. I don't know if it presents a threat to Federation
security, to this ship, or to the whole of ThaiIonian
space, but until I do know to my satisfaction, then
here is where she is going to stay. I'm sorry if that
upsets you, Eppy."
    "No, it doesn't upset me particularly. Saddens me a
bit, but doesn't upset me. You could be a great officer,
Mac. One of the best there ever was, if you could only
learn to live within the rules that other officers do.
Mac, do you think I enjoy constantly having to be
your conscience? To be the voice of reason? I knew
signing on that I'd be serving that function to some
degree, but I didn't quite expect it would be this
much. Sometimes I think you never listen to me."
    "I always listen to you, Eppy. Not necessarily doing
what you say is not the same as not listening to you.
Look, when it comes down to it, and if I have to
choose, I'll settle for being the best man I can be
rather than the best officer, and let everything else sort
itself out."
    "You can have that attitude now, Mac. But sooner
or later, there's going to be fallout over it. You're
flaunting regulations and someday you're going to
flaunt the wrong one. And when that happens--"
    "When that happnens, then what? Tell me, Eppy, if
they call you to testify, whose side are you going to be
on? Would you sit there and tell a board of inquiry
that you support me or that you're against me?"
     She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'll have
Captain Binky come and testify in my stead."
  "I'm serious, Commander."
  "So am I, Captain."
    She turned to go, and he smiled wanly as he called
after her, "Besides, Eppy, you shouldn't be upset. It's
appropriate, really."
 "Appropriate? You lost me, Mac. How so?"
    "You said I had a King Arthur complex. Well, what
better ship to have me than the Excalibur?"
    She shook her head as she walked out, and as she
went she said, "Mac, I just hope to hell you know
what you're doing."
    He waited until she was gone, and then he said to
himself, "So do I, Eppy. So do I."




/x.

SOLETA AND BURGOYNE STUDIED the readouts from the
matter-antimatter reactor assembly as the Excalibur
moved through space at warp three. "You see?"
Burgoyne said, noting the energy spikes. "There it is
again. Some sort of rhythmic pulse."
    "And you seriously believe it could be a biologic?"
Soleta asked. "That seems rather far-fetched, Chief."
    "More far-fetched than a gigantic flaming bird
smashing apart a planet?"
    "No. I will grant you that. And the theory," she
said, looking over the case history of the problem, "is
that somehow it's becoming energized whenever we
use the warp engines."
 "That is essentially correct."
    Soleta stepped away from the consoles and looked
at the massive matter-antimatter reactor assembly.

The M-ARA stood ten decks tall, with the matter
reactant injector at the top and the antimatter reac-
tant injector at the bottom. The core of the reactor
was a series of doughnut-shaped pressure vessel to-
roids, surrounded by phase adjustment coils and
coming together in the dilithium housing and reac-
tion chamber in the middle. The crackling energy of
ionized gas, hotter than the sun, pulsed within.
    "Something existing in that?" Soleta said in won-
derment. "Something feeding off it?" She weighed the
situation for a moment, and then said, "Well, there is
one way I can think of to test it." "That being... ?"
    "Well, when an infant is feeding at its mother's
bosom, if you remove the food source, you get a
reaction. The child demands to know where its food
source is."
    "You're not suggesting shutting down the engines
cold."
    "It shouldn't be necessary. We can scale the engines
down and very likely generate the same reaction."
    "Yessss," Burgoyne said slowly, stroking hir chin
and studying the reactor core thoughtfully. "Yes, we
could. And I'll have my people running scans all over
the M-ARA to see if they can localize some sort of
anomaly. It might very well stand out against the
lessening energy and, at the very least, make its
presence known. While we're at it, we can run a
PPT--a pressure port test--at either end of the
assembly. I'm worried that damage might have been
done to the port seals during all these energy spikes.
Besides, with the ports open, we'll have an easier time
running scans to see what, if anything is in there, and
we can only run PPTs when we're operating the
engines at a fraction of normal capacity."
    "Won't you have to remove the magnetic fields in
order to do that?" Soleta said, sounding a bit con-
cerned. "We could flood the entire engine room with
radiation."
    "No danger of that. We'll put a temporary contain-
ment patch on it. That'll be more than enough to hold
everything in place. Only problem is," s/he said
thoughtfully, "we won't be able to run at warp speed.
Impulse will have to do."
  "Do you think it wise to delay?"
    Burgoyne shook hir head. "Something is going on
in my engines. The sooner we know what, the better
off we'll be."
    "All right," Soleta said in a no-nonsense tone. 'Tll
get the necessary clearances from the captain. We'll be
a bit late for our rendezvous with the Seidman, but
that's hardly a matter of extreme concern. You get
your team assembled and we'll start the procedure
at... thirteen hundred hours?"
 "Done," said Burgoyne.

    Morgan Primus sat in the Team Room at twelve-
fifty-five hours,, trying to figure out just what in the
world she was going to do next. She had a large
pitcher of synthehol on the table in front of her, and
she was lifting it carefully as if judging its heft.
    "May I join you?" came a voice from nearby. She
glanced up and saw Si Cwan standing next to her,
looking politely interested in her.
    "Be my guest," she replied, gesturing to the empty
seat opposite her. Si Cwan took it and she couldn't
help but notice how upright he sat. Ramrod straight.
"I feel so loved."
 "Indeed. And why is that?"
    "See him?" she said, angling her head toward one
side of the Team Room. A security guard was there,
with a hand on a drink and an eye on her. "Followed
me in here. And before he followed me, another guard
was following me. I counted about eight switch-offs."
  "Why would they be doing that?"
    "Because that's what I would do. Security watch,
level two, in all likelihood. Nicely effective way of
keeping an eye on somebody if you don't want to look
like you're keeping an eye on somebody."
    Si Cwan fixed his gaze on the security guard. He
looked up after a moment, noticed that Si Cwan was
watching him, and quickly endeavored to look any-
where else.
    "He's not particularly good at it, this one in partic-
ular. But he probably hasn't had a lot of practice."
She swirled the drink she had in the glass and said
regretfully, "Synthehol. Never developed much of a
taste for it myselfi Romulan ale is my drink of
choice."
 "I believe that is illegal, is it not?"
    She put a finger to her lips and said "Shhhh" in a
conspiratorial manner. Then she put her glass down
and asked with grim amusement, "Are you here to
plead my daughter's case?"
    "I am here because you have a difficulty, and I wish
to simplify it for you."
    She leaned forward, her interest piqued. "Can you
get me off the ship?"
 "No. But you can get you off the ship."
 "Oh. This again." She looked out the main window,
 and then frowned. "We're slowing down. I wonder
 why."
  "Are you certain?"
    "Believe me, I know. We've come out of warp and
now we're reducing speed even further. I wonder why
they cut the warp engines. It's not as if we're near
anything."
"I don't know. I'm sure they have their reasons."
"Really." She turned to look at him. "Tell me, then:
If you are so certain that the people in Engineering
have their reasons for what they do, why can't you
make the leap that I have reasons for what I do?"
    "Because I know them and have confidence in
them," Si Cwan said reasonably. "You are asking for
that same degree of trust and have done nothing to
earn it."
    "You're saying I should go spill my guts to my
daughter."
    "I am saying you have a problem that is not going to
be solved simply by sitting in the Team Room and
complaining about the quality of the beverages served
here. Talk to your daughter. Talk to the captain.
Explain yourself."
    Her dark eyebrows knit. "And how often did you
have to explain yourself in your lifetime, Si Cwan,
hmm? How often did you have to explain the orders
you gave, to cite chapter and verse as to why your
instructions should be obeyed. Not very often, I
should think. In fact, all during your reign I would
venture to guess that you never had to. You simply
voiced a wish and it was obeyed."
 "For one thing, you are not royalty."
 She waggled a scolding finger. "Never assume."
 "And for another," he continued, ignoring the
reprimand, "I indeed had to explain myself any
number of times to my peers. To those who were
capable of judging what I had to say; people whose
support I depended upon in order to get things done."
    "Ahhh," said Morgan, "then that's where the prob-
lem is stemming from. You see, I have no peers on this
ship."
 "Oh, is that a fact?"
    "Yes. More of a fact than you could possibly
believe. Even if I explained it to you, it is most
unlikely that you would believe me."
    "I don't know about that," retorted Si Cwan. "I
have seen and done quite a few things of amazing
variety. You would be surprised as to what I would
believe."
 "Not this. You'll never believe this."
    "And what precisely is the nature of this thing I
won't believe?"
    She seemed to be sizing him up once more, as if she
were considering being completely honest with him.
"I wish I could trust you. I wish I could trust
someone. I can't even trust my own daughter," she
said, looking rather depressed over the entire matter.
"You'd think I could, wouldn't you?"
 "I can be trusted, and so can Robin."
    She shook her head. "She hates me. She hates me,
and I can't blame her. She feels I ran out on her, and
she doesn't understand. She just doesn't. How could
she?"
 "How could she understand what?"
    And it was at that moment that the lights suddenly
went out.
    Immediately everyone was on their feet, looking
around in confusion. The lights came back on again,
but then dimmed, and there were noises of bewilder-
ment, everyone asking everyone else questions.
    Suddenly the ship shook violently, staggering
everyone in the Team Room. Alarms began to klaxon
all over the station.
 And Morgan was already on the move.
    The pitcher in her hand, she was charging for the
door of the Team Room the moment the lights had
gone out the first time. Si Cwan, looking elsewhere
and distracted, didn't see her go. But the security
guard had her firmly in his sights and, already certain
that she had spotted him, tossed aside caution and
moved to intercept her.
    She got within two feet of him and suddenly she
was swinging her arm around full speed. The guard
didn't have any time to react as the pitcher of syn-
thehol smashed against the side of his head. The
pitcher was relatively unbreakable, but the guard's
head was not. He went down, the world swirling
around him and spinning away into blackness as
blood poured from a large wound on his head. Mor-
gan, for her part, didn't care. She tossed aside the
pitcher and was out the door within seconds.
    The plan was already running through her head
even as she heard the alarms began to wail. She
looked left and right and saw dozens of crewmen
running to the positions assigned to them at times of
shipboard emergency, which this most certainly was,
whatever was causing it. There was not going to be
any time for anyone to pay attention to one little
passenger.
    She noticed amedtech heading quickly down a
corridor. The medtech had equipment attached to a
belt looped around her waist, and Morgan saw possi-
bilities. The techie was doubtlessly heading for sick-
bay. That was the same general direction that Morgan
was going, and so she wouldn't need to go far out of
her way at all to obtain potentially useful items.
    Smoothly and unhurriedly, as if she had all the time
in the world, Morgan Primus blended in with the
running crewmen of the Excalibur, moving quickly
after the medtech and hopefully, after that, toward
her destination... and freedom.

    On the walkways above the matter reactant injec-
tor, Ensign Ronni Beth was heading in one direction,
energy survey instruments in hand, and looked up in
annoyance to see that Ensign Christiano was coming
toward her in the other direction. For a moment, just
a moment, her heart fluttered at the sight of him--the
tall, lanky body, the flowing brown hair, and the ready
grin--and the memory of what she'd once had with
him, but then she remembered the hurt that he had
given her and her heart hardened against him.
    Christiano didn't appear to notice her at first,
because he was looking over his own instrumentation
readings. But then he looked up, saw her and said
cheerfully, "Beth, hi!"
    She stopped a few feet away from him. About six
feet below them, the top of the matter reactant
injector pulsed slower and slower as the engine capac-
ity was reduced. The core itself seemed, from the
angle they were at, to stretch downward into infinity,
the ionized gas within swirling around like a captured
nova. "'Beth, hi'? That's what I get? After the hell you
put me through?"
    "Look," said Christiano, "it's not what you
think..."
      "No, it's never what I think," she shot back at him.
"You and I, we were never what I thought."
  "Ron, don't be like that."
    "I can't help the way I am!" she said, thumping the
railing in annoyance. "And what the hell are you
doing up here, anyway? I'm supposed to be running
the scans on the MRI."
  "No, that's what Burgy told me to do."
    In annoyance, Beth tapped her commbadge. "Beth
to Burgoyne."
    "Burgoyne here. We've got the engine down to five
percent of capacity, and the temporary containment
patch is in place. You should be able to start running
the pressure port tests."
    "Will do, Chief. But I've got Christiano up here as
well."
    "What's he doing up there?" Burgoyne sounded
confused and annoyed.
    "That's what I was wondering. Did you intend to
have us both up here?"
  "No! Christiano, can you hear me?"
    Making out Burgoyne's voice wasn't easy over the
thrumming of the engine below, but Christiano was
just able to manage it. "I hear you, Chief."
    "You're supposed to be running the port test at the
antimatter reactant injector. Not the MR1, the AMRI.
You're at the wrong end of the M-ARA."
    Christiano looked rather chagrined. It was bad
enough being in the wrong place, but having made the
screw up with Beth present and knowing about it...
well, that was more than he would have liked. "Sorry,
Chief. I'll get right oil it."
  "See that you do! Burgoyne out."
    Burgoyne shook hir head in annoyance as s/he
monitored the readouts. Soleta was next to hit and
asked, "Problem?"
    "Crewman's in the wrong place. At least," s/he said,
frowning, "I think he is. Frustrating thing is, I hope it
wasn't my screwup. I might have accidentally as-
signed him to the wrong place. Just had a lot on my
mind lately, I guess."
  "Do you wish to discuss it?" asked Soleta.
  "No. No, I don't think so."
    "Good," Soleta said firmly. "Because I do not
believe I wish to hear--"
    Then her eyes widened. "Burgoyne!" she said as the
readings began to spike.
    "I see it!" replied Burgoyne. Hir heart was pound-
ing against hir rib cage as hir mind fought to under-
stand what s/he was seeing. "Look at that!
Something's driving the energy readings back up
again! But that's impossible! Nothing can override the
flow from the power transfer conduits! It's got twenty
seven fail-safes!"
    "Apparently that's one less than it needed," Soteta
told hir sharply. "The engines are powering up, the
matter-antimatter feed is coming back on line."
    "Blast and damn!" shouted Burgoyne even as s/he
hit hir commbadge. S/he looked up at the ten stories
of the M-ARA as s/he called, "Burgoyne to Beth!
Burgoyne to Christiano! Get the hell out of there!
We're removing the containment patch and replacing
the pressure ports! Get clear in case something else
goes wrong!"
    That was when Burgoyne heard the screams.
Alarmed shouts coming from throughout the engine
room, reacting to something that did not seem as if it
could possibly exist.
 And then s/he saw it.
    In the heart of the matter-antimatter core, it began
to take form. The ionized gas within moved about it,
and whether it was feeding off it or whether the gas
was actually constituting its body, s/he couldn't even
begin to guess.
    It didn't have eyes or any discernible feature. It
seemed almost embryonic, as if it were trying to
decide what shape it was going to take. Burgoyne
could almost imagine that s/he heard some sort of
distant roaring, although that was flat-out impossible.
But then again, so was this.
    "Soleta to bridge!" Soleta was shouting over her
commbadge. "There is some sort of being in the
M-ARA! Repeat, some sort of creature, possibly sen-
tient, definitely hungry!"
  "On my way!" came Calhoun's voice.
    And then the alarms began to go off, systems
shutting down and starting up again all over the ship.
Burgoyne wasn't sure where to look first, and then
s/he looked up and s/he saw something truly horrify-
ing. Something that made the situation seem like the
death throes of Thallon all over again, except this
time it was the helpless Excalibur that found herself
squarely in the middle of the situation.
    Something was punching its way up through the top
of the matter reactant injector. Although the magnetic
patch was still in place, something--a talon, a claw, a
tentacle, a roiling combination of all that and more--
stretched through it and upward, toward the terrified
forms of Ensigns Beth and Christiano.
Lieutenant j.g. Michael Houle never knew what hit
him.
    Houle, a tall, handsome, and freshly promoted
flight deck officer at shuttlebay two, at that moment
was trying to figure out why all the systems were going
insane in front of him. One indicator said that the bay
doors were open, another said they were closed, a
third said that the annular force field that prevented
depressurization of the bay had come on, another said
no. It was as if the entire array had gone nuts, as if
something was blowing out energy all over the ship
and creating havoc with the systems.
    He heard a footfall behind him and turned to see if
it was someone who was going to explain to him what
was going on. He didn't even have time to fully
register that a fist was coming his way before it struck
him cleanly on the chin. Houle's head snapped
around and he sagged to the floor without having
managed to say a single word.
    Morgan stepped past him, shaking out her hand to
remove the tingling from her fist. "Never hit bone on
bone," she scolded herself. "I simply must remember
that."
    From the Ops booth, she looked down over the
shuttlecraft available to her. There was not quite the
assortment available as there was in the main shuttle-
bay; on the other hand, she knew it was considerably
less guarded and more open to attack. Besides, she
didn't need much. Then she spotted the ideal vehicle
for her needs.
    "A type six," she said briskly. "Will give me warp
two for thirty-six hours, warp one-point-two for two
days if I'm moving at full bore. Excellent."
 Her intention had been to reroute the bay door
commands so that she could activate them from the
interior of the shuttle, but she quickly found herself
falling victim to the systems blackouts that were
devastating the rest of the ship. Clearly the unex-
pected distraction of the systems problems was a
double-edged sword. It had caused enough confusion
to allow her to slip by the security guards, but it was
now impeding her intended means of egress.
    "All right," she said to no one. "Not a problem. I
have a backup plan."
    Quickly she exited the Ops deck and headed down
to the shuttlecraft that she had selected. She emerged
from the stairway to the Ops lovel, ran several feet--
and stopped.
    Si Cwan was blocking her way, standing between
her and the shuttlecraft.
    "You left right in the middle of our drinks, Mor-
gan," he chided her. "You struck me as a woman of
better breeding than that.
    "One side, Ambassador, or I'll strike you in a worse
way than that," she said. Slowly she walked toward
him, her arms swinging in leisurely fashion. "This is
none of your concern."
    "Yes, so you believe. Unfortunately for you, I do
not." He did not appear the least bit concerned about
her advance. There seemed little reason for him to be.
He was a head taller than she, with broad shoulders
and muscular build. And he was someone who had
proven himself any number of times in battle; indeed,
he had even managed to fight the formidable Zak
Kebron himself to a standstill. "Do not try it, Mor-
gan. The outcome will not be pleasant for you."
 "Yes, so you believe," she tossed back at him.
"Trust me, Si Cwan, you do not want to get between
me and the shuttle."
     "I already am, and trusting you seems to be the root
of our problem, doesn't it?" "It would seem so."
    And then, with no further preamble, Morgan
launched herself at Si Cwan.
    He admired her form. She moved quickly, confi-
dently, and although she didn't have nearly the reach
that Si Cwan did, she more than made up for it with
speed and aggressiveness. But Si Cwan's confidence
never wavered. He sidestepped as she came at him
with that graceful economy of movement he always
displayed, and he swung his leg in a roundhouse kick
that was designed to catch her squarely in the back
and knock her to the ground.
    But then Morgan made a sudden movement with
her hand, something so subtle that he almost didn't
spot it. When he did, it was too late. His leg was
already in motion, and then Morgan had out the spray
hypo that she had grabbed off the medtech and
secreted up her sleeve. She jammed it squarely into
his inner thigh and it hissed its contents into him.
    "You... !" Si Cwan managed to get out, and then
the world twisted around him. He sank to his knees,
desperately trying to fight off whatever it was that she
had pumped into his system. There appeared to be
three of her in front of him and he made a desperate
lunge toward the one in the middle. One would have
thought it was the logical choice, but his hand went
right through her and then the one on the right
slammed a fierce kick into the side of his head.
 And still Si Cwan would not go down. Instead he
crawled on his hands and knees, trying to go after her
even as she opened the door of the shuttle. "Oh, for
God's sake," she said in irritation. Displaying amaz-
ing strength considering her size, she grabbed Si Cwan
by the back of his tunic and yanked him toward a
freight container that was anchored to the floor. It was
exactly what she needed as she yanked it open and
saw that it was empty. She hauled him up and shoved
him into the container, snapping the lock shut on top.
"You won't suffocate," she said. 'TI1 let them know
you're in here after I'm safely gone. Trust me, this is
for your own good, although you probably can't hear
me or else don't believe. But as you said, trust has
always been part of our problem, hasn't it?"
    Si Cwan couldn't manage any sort of articulate
response, which wasn't all that much of a problem
since she wasn't listening to him. With the ambassa-
dor safely stowed, she headed back for the shuttle and
climbed in.
    Quickly she fired it up, bringing the engines on line
with practiced ease. She had to hurry the systems
check, but she was confident in Starfleet compulsion
to keep everything in top working order.
    For the briefest of moments she regretted taking off
on Robin yet again. But she would just have to
understand. "You're a big girl now, Robin," Morgan
said, "and you can certainly live without your mom-
my. Heaven knows you've done it for long enough."
    The bay doors remained sealed, but Morgan did not
see that as being a problem for much longer. As the
engines roared to life, Morgan brought the phaser
array on line. Standard equipment for the shuttle did
not include any weaponry, but Morgan had quickly
spotted this one rigged with a type IV phaser array.
Clearly this was a shuttle reserved for special opera-
tions. Well, she had just such an operation in mind.
    She targeted the bay doors and opened fire. The
phasers blasted outward, pounding into the doors and
easily smashing through them, sending large pieces of
the triple-layered duranium doors tumbling into
space.
    She prepared to lift off, but something ricocheted
off the front of the shuttle, tumbling away. It caught
her attention and she realized that it was the top of a
freight container. Then she heard something else,
something much fainter, bump against the lower
section of the ship. She might not have heard it at all,
for the vacuum of space and the roar of the engines
was almost deafening, but the moment she saw the
piece from the container spiraling away into space,
she had known with hideous certainty what was going
to be next. A quick exterior scan confirmed it for her.
"I don't believe it," she said.
    Si Cwan was clutching the right warp nacelle of the
shuttle, and he had mere seconds to live before the
howling vacuum of space dragged him to his death.




x.

THE TENTACLE (for that was the shape that it had
assumed at that moment) stretched up out of the
matter-antimatter core. The magnetic seal reconfig-
ured around the tentacle, preventing any of the in-
tense radiation and heat--hot enough to blast a
gaping hole straight through the side of the
Excalibur--from escaping.
    "You go this way, I'll go that way!" screamed
Christiano as it snaked upward. But Beth was para-
lyzed, staring down at the tentacle in undiluted hor-
ror. No textbook had ever prepared her for this, no
tall tale or fable of an expedition had ever mentioned
something akin to a Lovecraftian monster taking
refuge inside of the warp core. It was like nothing
anyone had ever seen, a horrific thing composed of
energy plasma, glowing and shifting, undulating hide-
ously, and she could swear that it was letting loose
with some sort of ungodly howling that was ripped
from the primordial origins of humanity.
    "Go!" Christiano shouted again, and he shoved her,
and this time she started to move. Christiano bolted
in the other direction and then the tentacle snaked out
and wrapped around Christiano's leg. Christiano
barely had time to let out a cry of terror and then he
was yanked clear off the catwalk. The tentacle started
to retract, hauling Christiano down toward the mag-
netic seal and, inevitably, toward the warp core itself.
Through the clear containment of the core, Beth
could see the being within writhing about, upset,
confused, furious, trying to come to terms with its
very existence in an environment that defied the
ability of anything to live within it.
    Christiano howled Beth's name, and Beth had no
time at all to make a snap decision. She lunged off the
catwalk, snagging the lower half of the rail with one
hand and stretching her other hand to the utmost just
as the tentacle descended past her with a frantic
Christiano writhing in its grasp. The containment
patch yawned wide beneath them, not letting the
radiation out, but not stopping anyone from going in.
The ionized gas roiled below and then Beth snagged
Christiano by the wrist.
 "Don't let go!" he screamed. "Don't let go/Don't let
trle gO.t"
    The tentacle yanked downward and Beth's grasp
slipped as she was jolted before she was able to get a
firm grip on the catwalk railing. She snagged Christi-
ano's hand, holding on with every bit of willpower she
had, as she was hauled halfway forward and her
ankles wrapped desperately around the lower strut of
the railing. Now she had no support at all, forming a
human bridge between the catwalk and Christiano.
There was no way on Earth she could possibly get the
leverage to haul Christiano back up.  Not that it mattered.
    For with that abrupt yank downward, Christiano's
lower body was yanked down into the warp core.
Ironically, Beth's endeavors to help him transformed
what would have been a quick death into an agonizing
one. Had he simply fallen in, he would have been
vaporized instantly. As it was, the lower half of his
body was immediately incinerated, but the upper
half--including a piercing and terrifying death
scream--had time to register what was happening
while it was happening.
    There is no more horrifying sensation than know-
ing that one is already dead and there is nothing one
can do about it.
    Without Christiano to anchor her, Beth simply
hung there, held only by the locked position of her
ankles. She was stunned, her mind unable to accept
what she had just witnessed, and then her entire body
simply shut down and her legs went limp. Beth began
a head first dive toward instant death.
    And a taloned hand reached down from above and
snagged her ankle.
    On the catwalk overhead, Burgoyne 172 held on for
all s/he was worth. S/he was only slightly out of breath
despite the fact that s/he had scaled the emergency
ladder along the reactor core shaft, up ten decks, in
just under sixty seconds flat. S/he paused a moment to
gather hirself and then pulled Beth up and out of
harm's way.
And the tentacle writhed up toward them.
"Pressure port seals!" shouted Burgoyne at the top
of hir lungs. "Bring engine up to seventy-five percent
capacity and keep it there!" And the emergency
systems kicked in, slamming the pressure ports into
place, sealing off access to the injectors.
    The tentacle immediately dissipated, but not with-
out giving off a massive blast of heat that Burgoyne
feared, for just a moment, was capable of incinerating
them where they stood. But after a few moments had
passed, Burgoyne was happy to realize that they were
still there and still in one piece.
    S/he held a trembling Beth tight against hirself,
displaying considerable agility as s/he made hir way
down the ladders toward the main engineering room.
Every one of hir people was gathered down there,
looking shaken and confused. They were staring at the
warp core with undisguised fear, for although the
danger seemed momentarily to have passed, it was
still all too present and all too real.
    Trapped within the confines of a cargo container, Si
Cwan fought desperately to shove away the lethargy
that was seizing his mind. The drug injected into his
system was a powerful one, but whatever it was, it had
apparently been set to effect human physiology. Thai-
lonian physiology, on the other hand, was made of
sterner stuff.
    It was not easy for him by any means. It was
everything he could do to fight it off. His overpower-
ing temptation was to sleep, to just give in to the
darkness that threatened to envelop him. But he kept
muttering, "No," over and over to himself, forcing
himself to focus, to ignore the temptation to give
up.
    He began to pound on the lid of the container. It
seemed solid, and the ringing of the noise he gener-
ated as he struck it seemed so loud that he thought it
was going to split his head wide open. But he did not
cease, did not give in, would not give up. "Won't...
get away," he murmured. "Won't get away, won't get
away." It became his mantra as he repeatedly
pounded on the lid, over and over, determined not to
lose. He felt the lid begin to loosen, bit by bit. Once
more he started to tire but he knew that if he
surrendered the momentum now, he would never
attain it again. With both his fists he smashed up-
ward, sending the lid flying up and off, and he started
to clamber out of the container...
Just as the shuttlecraft blasted open the bay doors.
The vacuum of space howled around him while he
was still hauling his numbed lower body out of the
container. Instantly he let out much of the breath
from his chest, because he knew that if he inhaled
deeply, as was his reflex, the air would explode out of
his lungs in a rather forceful fashion. The powerful
suction hauled him out of the container and he
skidded across the floor. Only seconds lay between
him and ejection into the depths of space.
    He pushed up with his powerful arms, angling
himself in a desperate move, and slammed into the
warp nacelle of the shuttlecraft. Urgently he wrapped
his arms around the nacelle, braced his slow-to-
function legs against the support strut, and hung on
with all the strength he could muster.
    The shuttlecraft lifted clear of the floor, and it was
then that he realized that seeking salvation from
death in space by clutching on to a vessel about to
head into that very same void was probably not the
best strategy he had ever developed. Unfortunately,
by the look of things, he wasn't going to be around
long enough to formulate any more.

"Damn the man!" snarled Morgan. "Goddamn the
man!"
    All she had to do was hit the forward thruster, and
the shuttlecraft would be out and away. She would be
clear of the Excalibur, gone to the safety of space and
away from her imprisonment, and by the time they
realized what had happened she would be long gone.
Granted, they'd probably be able to follow her, but
she had places she could get to, resources she could
tap. Coolly she ranked her odds at about 70130 in
favor of making a clean getaway, and those were odds
that she would happily take.
    But it was going to be at the cost of a man's life; a
man who had wanted nothing more but to try and
patch things up between her and her daughter and
obey the captain's dictates that she was not to leave
the ship. Was her freedom worth killing Si Cwan
for?
    Hell yes! Morgan's mind screamed at her. You
don't owe him anything/Punch it and let's go! But
even as her mind celebrated her freedom, she pow-
ered up the reverse thrust. The shuttle backed up
under her careful guidance, slowly and carefully
bringing Si Cwan toward the door that led to the
Operations control booth. She knew that if she could
get him to that point, and if he could just hold on
until she did, he could worm his way through the
door and to safety.
And the drug in Si Cwan's system picked that
moment to release its full potency.
    Si Cwan suddenly felt his arms and legs go com~
pletely limp. He retained consciousness, but com-
mands from his brain to his limbs simply didn't go
through. He slid off the nacelle and didn't even have
the opportunity to thud to the floor as the suction of
deep space picked him up and hauled him toward the
void. And there was absolutely nothing that Morgan
could do about it.
    So it was with complete astonishment that she saw
Si Cwan slam to a halt just as he was about to plunge
into space. An invisible barrier had sprung into
existence, and Si Cwan slid off it and fell to the
ground, looking somewhat stunned.
    Up in the Ops control booth, Lieutenant j.g. Mi-
chael Houle had come to when he heard the phasers
blast open the doors. Forcing himself to full con-
sciousness, he had desperately tried to reroute the
malfunctioning systems for the purpose of activating
the forcefield, which was the normal backup when the
bay doors were open. With seconds to spare, Houle
had managed to bring the systems back on line and
turn on the forcefield.
    Instantly the suction of space's vacuum had been
thwarted, although Si Cwan still looked somewhat
amazed to discover that he was, in fact, alive.
    Morgan, however, was left with a problem. If she
tried to open fire on the forcefield, she might or might
not be able to punch through it. But if she did, she'd
be faced with the same problem she had before: Si
Cwan, who in this case was lying in stupefied confu-
sion, still trying to sort out what had happened, was
now smack in the way. Her hasty exit meant his
untimely death.
    She had already faced that decision once, and she
knew what it was going to be.
    With the frustrated grunt of one who knows she has
lost, Morgan settled the shuttlecraft back down into
its place. Then she opened up the side hatch and
stepped out to see if Si Cwan was all right.
    What she discovered instead was half a dozen
security men with phasers drawn and leveled at her.
    "Hi, boys," she said with a cheerfulness she didn't
feel.

    A medical team had been dispatched immediately
to Engineering. Aside from some minor radiation
and heat burns as a result of the strange, energy
plasma tentacle that had extended from the heart of
the warp core, the single greatest injured party
seemed to be Beth. She sat in one corner of Engineer-
ing, trembling uncontrollably, her arms drawn close
together and her legs drawn up in an almost fetal
position. Dr. Karen Kurdziel was administering a
sedative to her as Burgoyne stood nearby, looking on
and feeling more helpless than s/he had ever felt
before.
    "There you go," Kurdziel said. "Now come on,
relax. Just relax." And slowly she forced open Beth's
arms, which were still frozen in a sort of rictus.
    Something wet and fleshy plopped to the floor,
causing several crewmen who were nearby to jump
back, startled and repulsed. It was Christiano's right
hand. Even to the end, Beth had not let go of it.
She'd been clutching it even beyond the point where
she was aware that she was doing it. Then the sed-
ative fully kicked in, and she slumped over. Mo-
ments later an antigray gurney had carried her
away.
    Burgoyne watched it go, and then Calhoun was at
hir side, a hand resting on hir shoulder. "Nice save of
Ensign Beth, Chief," Calhoun said.
    "Not nice enough to save Christiano as well,
though."
    "You did the best you could." He raised his voice to
address the other members of Engineering. "All right,
people. I know this was a rough one. And I know our
neighbor there"--and he indicated the warp core
within which something completely unknown seemed
to be lurking--"is somewhat disconcerting. But Lieu-
tenant Soleta assures me that we can keep it under
control for the time being, so we shouldn't have to
evacuate the ship. I'm asking you now to be the
professionals I know you are, and carry on your
duties with the efficiency that I've come to expect
from you as the crew of the Excalibur."
    There were still nervous stares, and fearful glances
at the core, but slowly the Engineering staff went back
to their assigned posts. Calhoun, meantime, immedi-
ately went with Burgoyne to hir office, Soleta accom-
panying the two of them. The moment they had
seclusion, Calhoun said flatly, "You're not going to
tell me I misspoke, are you, Lieutenant? You can
control the thing."
    "Yes, I believe so, at least for the time being. We
can supercool the matter-antimatter mix, basically
slow down the thing's metabolism, whatever that
may be. It will still receive energy from the ship's
engines, so it won't have another fit. But it'll be
sluggish and, with any luck, unable to cause any
damage."
    "Did you have any idea that it would retaliate in
the way that it did when we cut the energy consump-
tion?"
    "No, sir," said Soleta flatly. "But I should have
allowed for that possibility. The responsibility is
mine and I accept full consequences for the out-
come."
    "Now wait a minute," Burgoyne contradicted her.
"This is my engine room, the final decision mine. If
not for mere"
    "This was a scientific mishap, Chief. Mine was the
oversight that might have prevented--"
    "Shut up," Calhoun said sharply, silencing both of
them. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. The respon-
sibility is mine... and always is. And that's all.
Besides, all the placed blame in the world doesn't
bring back a single life. Are we clear on that?" When
they nodded silently, he said, "All right. What the hell
have we got in there, anyway?"
    "In simplest terms," said Soleta, "something
planted by the energy creature that we encountered
during the destruction of ThaiIon. Possibly an off-
spring of the creature itself. I've compared the energy
resonance of the bird-like energy creature we encoun-
tered with the entity that's in the warp core. There are
variances, but sufficient similarities to indicate that
there is some sort of relation. It is my belief that it is
presently in the natal stages. But once it 'hatches,' its
birth will very likely destroy the ship. And as it
continues to grow, the effect it will continue to have
on us is unpredictable."
 "When does it hatch?"
    "Unknown. It could be days, months, perhaps
years. Its progenitor, if such it is, took centuries.
There is simply no way to tell at this time."
 "All right. And how do we get it out of our engine?"
 "We don't know that either."
 "Great. What do we know?"
 "That we're screwed?" suggested Burgoyne.
    Calhoun looked tiredly at Burgoyne. "Yes, Chief. I
think we figured that one out all on our own."


XI.

Sl CWAN STOOD OUTSIDE the brig and looked at Morgan
inside of it with more than a little sadness. "I did my
best, Morgan," he told her. "I pointed out to the
captain that you could easily have made your escape
at the cost of my life, but you chose not to. I thought
that would weigh in your favor. Unfortunately the
captain did not choose to view your generosity in the
same manner as I did."
    From within the brig, Morgan shrugged. "That's all
right, Si Cwan. You tried. And to be honest, I can see
your captain's point of view on this one. There's just
something about having someone blast open a door in
one of your shuttlebays that makes you less than likely
to think kindly of that person."
    "That's a very philosophical way to look at it," Si
Cwan noted. Then he stopped speaking, apparently
noticing someone coming his way. "Why, Morgan, I
believe you have visitor."
    Morgan knew perfectly well who it was going to be
even before Robin appeared in view, for the tread
tipped her off. She realized belatedly why she was able
to pinpoint it so easily. It was because it sounded just
like her own step.
 "Hello, Robin," she said.
    Lefler stood on the other side of the forcefield door,
her hands behind her back, simply staring at her
mother. Judiciously, Si Cwan said, "Perhaps you'd
prefer that I left so that you ladies could have some
time alone."
    "No, that's quite all right," Lefler said. "Mother, I
know about the circumstances that resulted in your
being here, and although I know that you were in the
process of committing a crime... a crime for which
you deserve to be punished, and frankly, I don't care
if you're left here until you rot, and..."
    "Robin, is there going to be something remotely
uplifting in this dissertation anytime soon?" asked
her mother. "Because if--"
    "Mother, just be quiet, okay? I just... I wanted to
thank you for not killing Si Cwan. God, I can't believe
I said that. Thanking someone for not committing a
murder, as if that shows any sort of incredible moral
character. No one was ever thankful to me because I
didn't kill anyone."
  "Our tenth anniversary," Morgan said promptly.
  Robin stared at her in confusion. "What?"
    "Our tenth wedding anniversary, your father and
me," Morgan explained. "You were five years old.
And you decided that you wanted to make us break-
fast. You were very excited about it. You couldn't
decide what to make, so you made everything. While
we slept, you destroyed the kitchen. You made eggs,
pancakes--peanut butter pancakes, as I recall--
French toast, cereal, bacon that was fried so tough you
could have chipped a tooth on it, fresh-squeezed
orange juice that still had the pits in it, and some
other things. I think I've blanked them out. You
brought the whole thing up to our bedroom on a
tray," and she demonstrated, imitating the proud
walk of a five-year-old confident that she has just
performed the greatest service of her entire young life.
"You woke us up, showed us how you had made
breakfast for us, and then sat there and expected us to
eat it."
    "My God, I vaguely rometuber this," said Robin,
putting her hand to her mouth. She looked completely
embarrassed, and Si Cwan was happy to see it. It was
the first time he had seen her looking anything other
than angry in days. "Your hair was all standing every
which way because you'd just woken up."
    "That's right. And you were so adorable in this
little white nightgown you had then. So you marched
over and put the tray down and then plopped onto the
floor with that Cheshire Cat grin and waited. And
your father and I, we had absolutely no choice. So we
plastered smiles on our faces and we ate everything.
Every damn thing. And then we spent the next few
hours taking turns running to the bathroom. it was
the single most hideous meal we'd ever eaten."
"Oh, my God," laughed Robin. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Morgan assured her. "In many ways, it
was also the best. You were such an adorable child,
the best, you..."
 And then she saw that Robin's lower lip was trem-
bling. "Oh, Ches'," she said sadly, invoking that
childhood nickname of days gone by.
    "Why did you leave me, Ma?" Her voice sounded
very small and very defenseless.
    And Morgan walked toward her, her arms out-
stretched, and Si Cwan barely had time to shout a
warning before she would have hit the forcefield.
  She fought to keep tears from her eyes.
  "Ma, are you okay?!" asked Lefler.
    Morgan fought to bring herself under control. "Oh,
fine. Just fine. A little shaken. Nothing I can't
handle."
    "I'm sorry, Mom. That was... unprofessional."
She forced the tears to stop flowing from her eyes,
drew her arm across her face in a large and rather
dramatic smear.
    "That's... quite all right, dear," Morgan said,
feeling as if her teeth had been severely rattled. "I
probably had that coming. That and a good deal
more, I should suspect. Look, Ches', tell me what
happened before. When the whole place was going
crazy. No one's speaking to me about anything."
    "There's nothing you can do about it, Mom.
They're handling it in Engineering."
    "Well, honey, I don't quite believe that's all of the
story. I'd very 'much like to know more of what's
going on, and I'd appreciate it if you would bring me
up to speed. And maybe--just maybe--I can solve
some of your problems if you help me solve some of
mine. You know me, Ches'. You know I've got some
serious brainpower, if you must force me to boast of
myself."
    "We have top minds working on it right now,
Morn."
    "Then what's one more? Go ahead, you've nothing
to lose. Tell me."
    So she told her. She laid it all out for Morgan, the
entire story as Lefler had managed to hear it in bits
and pieces. As the narrative went on, Morgan's face
became more and more serious, and her eyes seemed
to come into even clearer focus as if the only way that
she could possibly view the world were through the
prism of a problem that required solving.
    Robin was silent for some time after she finished,
and still Morgan said nothing. Finally, though, after
having apparently given the matter considerable
thought, she said, "I need to see your captain."
  "Whatever for?"
    "Because," Morgan told her with a hint of impa-
tience, "I think that I can actually get this mess
settled. I think I may--just may, mind you--be able
to save this ship. But I'm going to have to discuss it
with your captain first, and I don't think I'm exactly
very high on his list."
    Now it was Robin's turn to appear to ponder all
that had been said. Finally she said to Morgan, "You
have to understand, Mom, you're asking me to crawl
out on a limb here. Not only, as you say, are you not
high on the captain's list, but you're asking me to risk
my own status on that very same list. Because if I
crawl out on that branch along with you and then it
winds up getting sawed off behind us, there is going to
be a very considerable crash when it hits the ground. I
have no desire to be on it." "What are you saying?"
    "I'm saying, Mother, that you're going to have to be
forthcoming this time." She leaned forward to the
very edge of the forcefield, resting with her hands on
either side of the door frame. "Before you're given the
opportunity to convince the captain, you're going to
have to convince me. Do you think you can do it?"
  "Do I have a choice?"
  "Not that I can see."
    This time Morgan didn't have to give it any thought
at all. "All right," she said without hesitation. 'Tll tell
you. Not everything, mind you, but enough to get us
started."
 And she told her.
    The narrative took a few minutes, and as she spoke
the eyes of both Lefler and Si Cwan grew wider and
wider. By the end of it, they had turned and looked at
one another with conviction on both their faces. "The
captain," said Si Cwan, "has definitely got to hear
this."
 "Do you think he'll believe it?" asked Morgan.
    "If you were in his position, would you?" Si Cwan
asked her reasonably.
    Morgan pondered it a moment and then said, "No
chance in hell."
    "In that case, he probably will. Because if there's
one thing I've noticed, it's that whenever one tries to
second-guess Mackenzie Calhoun, one inevitably
finds oneself squarely in the wrong."

 "I don't believe it," said Calhoun.
    "Captain, I'm deadly serious," said Morgan as
Calhoun paced the conference lounge. As opposed to
Morgan's earlier meeting with him, when he had
appeared utterly unflappable and relaxed for the vast
majority of the meeting, this time around he seemed
tense and cool. She couldn't blame him, really. He
had a creature living in his warp core. That would be
enough to put anyone on edge.
    Also present in the conference lounge were Shelby,
Soleta, and Burgoyne, as well as Lefler and Si Cwan,
who had organized the meeting. They likewise
seemed preoccupied, and every so often Burgoyne
would, as quietly as s/he could so as not to disturb
anyone else at the table, receive reports from Engi-
neering. S/he had demanded that s/he be updated
every ten minutes as to any changes that might have
occurred with the creature. In a uniquely odd endeav-
or to lighten the situation, Burgoyne had named the
creature, for no discernible reason, Sparky. When
Soleta had asked, "Why Sparky?" he had retorted
that the creature had to be called something, and
Sparky was as good a name as any. Soleta hadn't quite
understood exactly why the creature needed to be
called anything other than the creature, but she didn't
see much point in arguing.
    "Your skepticism is understandable, Captain,"
Morgan said. "But I'm telling you that your only hope
of solving this problem lies with a race of beings--the
same beings who are the reason ! wound up coming
here in the first place."
    "Yes, so you said," Calhoun replied. "Since you are
the one who's making this rather outrageous claim,
Morgan, I will thank you either to try and prove it, or
else stop wasting the time of everyone concerned
here."
 "Captain, if you'll just listen..." Robin began.
    "I believe, Lieutenant, that I've done more than
enough listening to this woman."
 Morgan sat in the chair nearest the captain and
leaned forward, her fingers interlaced. Speaking with
a newfound urgency, she said, "Whatever they call
themselves, I couldn't begin to say. I call them the
Prometheans, a highly advanced, technologically su-
perior race. I came to ThaiIonian space in the compa-
ny of a friend named Tarella. We'd been tracking
these mysterious Prometheans, and the research trail
led us to Momidium. What we found there led us to
believe that the Prometheans could be found on a
world called Ahmista. But before we could set off, the
Momidiums wound up capturing me. Tarella got
away, however, and I half expected that she would
come back for me. In fact, I spent my entire first year
in captivity waiting for her to return and free me. But
she never came back. I don't know whether she was
killed, or whether she found something so incredible
that she..." Morgan shrugged. "It could be any-
thing. Any of a hundred reasons why she didn't come
back."
    "And we're supposed to go searching for your
friend, is that it?"
    "I don't come to this party offering a lot of guaran-
tees. The only thing I know is that we were heading
for Ahmista. What has happened to her since then, I
couldn't even begin to tell you. If I had to guess, I'd
say that the odd_ of her still being on Ahmista are
pretty slim. Chances are that I'm going to have to
start from level zero to try and pick up the leads to the
Prometheans."
    "How do we know," Shelby asked, "that this isn't
simply another ploy to try and escape?"
    "Don't kid a kidder, Commander. We both know
that if you don't do something about junior in the
warp core, there isn't going to be a ship left to escape
from. You can't survive indefinitely. You might not
even survive into next week."
    "Considering the gestation period of the last energy
creature we encountered, we might survive into the
next century," Soleta said.
    "True enough, Lieutenant. Are you willing to risk
your life, and the lives of everyone on this ship, on
that possibility?" fired back Morgan.
    "None of us are," cut in Calhoun. "But neither are
we willing or interested in committing resources to a
false lead to a race of beings so mythic you don't even
have a definite name for them. We could be chasing
fairy tales for all we know."
    Si Cwan stepped forward. "And yet these fairy
stories have a ring of familiarity to me, Captain. I
described earlier the tales of my youth, of the gods
and the firebringers. Morgan's own naming of her
mystery race is after a similar fire-to-humanity story
that exists in our own mythology. Don't you find it
curious that both of our civilizations share a mytholo-
gy having to do with the acquisition of flame?"
    "That is not at all unusual," Soleta replied. "There
are many core concepts that prompt similar myths.
Many cultures have end of the world scenarios, flood
scenarios, and different mythologies explaining differ-
ent aspects of nature. No, it is not uncommon at all,
and hardly proof of any connection. Unless you are
about to claim that these mysterious Prometheans
were responsible in some way for technological ad-
vancement on the part of mankind." "Anything is possible."
    "But not probable," said Calhoun. "We could use
some sort of proof about this race aside from your
suppositions and guesses. Otherwise my assumption
will be that this is merely an elaborate ruse that, for
some reason, Lieutenant Lefler and Ambassador Si
Cwan have bought into."
    Si Cwan glance down at Morgan and said simply,
"Show him."
  "Now is the time, Mom," agreed Lefler.
    She nodded and reached under her shirt, sliding
something that was round and hard up toward the
collar. And then she pulled out, mounted in a black
casing, a small amulet with a raised image of a flame
on it. "We came upon two of these through a trader on
Momidium who didn't realize what he had," she said.
"Tarella and I believed that they were markers of
some sort. Perhaps even beacons, a means of sum-
moning the Prometheans, although we were not en-
tirely sure how they would function."
    There was stunned silence in the room for a mo-
ment.
 "Look familiar?" Morgan asked drily.
    Calhoun turned to Soleta and said quickly, "Go get
it." Soleta was out of her chair like a shot.
    This prompted a confused look from Morgan, who
turned and stared up at Si Cwan and Lefler, who were
standing nearby. "What am I missing?" she asked.
"You told me they'd be interested in the medallion.
You didn't go into any detail beyond that. Is there
something I should know?"
    "Perhaps," said Robin. "But you've been so busy
being mysterious and hard to comprehend, that I
thought it only fair to give you a bit of mystery right
back. Seems equitable to me, don't you think?"
    "Yes," Morgan said slowly, and clearly slightly
amused by the situation. "Yes, I suppose it does at
that."
    Moments later, Soleta had returned, and to Mor-
gan's utter astonishment, she placed down on the
table a disk that likewise had a flame emblem on it.
Slowly, her hand trembling, Morgan reached toward
it.
    "Captain..." Shelby said warningly, but Calhoun
decided to go with his gut and waved Shelby off,
indicating that they should let Morgan touch it. She
picked it up, turned it over in her hands, and ran her
fingers along the flame symbol engraved on it. She
noticed immediately that, as opposed to the medal-
lion she herself bore, the flame emblem was indented
on this one.
    Burgoyne, for hir part, seemed unimpressed.
"We're wasting our time with this, Captain," Bur-
goyne said urgently. "The smart move is to try and
get back to a starbase out of ThaiIonian space. Some
sort of facility that can help us in extracting Sparky
from the warp core."
    "There is no guarantee that any facility short of the
shipyards in San Francisco would be capable of
accomplishing such a feat, nor do we know if even
they could do so," Soleta said reasonably. "Further-
more, we do not know the full abilities of this
creature. Can you imagine if the efforts of unknowing
Starfleet engineers should cause the creature--"
  "Sparky," Burgoyne corrected her.
    "The creature," continued Soleta, "to flee the con-
tainment of the Excalibur only to take up residence
within the core of Earth itself, as the energy creature
did on Thallon? That scenario would be catastrophic,
to say the least."
 "You're saying we're stuck out here?"
 "I am saying, Chief, that if there are other options it
would be wiser to explore them first, no matter how
far-fetched."
    "Captain," Morgan said cautiously, holding the
faces of the medallion and the disk opposite each
other. "Do you have any objections if... ?"
    Her intention seemed self-evident and Calhoun
weighed the possible consequences. "From where I
sit," he finally decided, "I don't see as that we have a
lot to lose. Go ahead. Let's see if rubbing the lamp
will pull the genie out."
    With a deep breath, Morgan slowly brought the two
metal disks together. She couldn't help but notice that
the diameters were a perfect match. And not only
that, but with the slightest of turns to adjust, she
clicked the flame emblem of her medallion into the
recess of the disk handed her by Soleta.
    She wasn't sure what she had expected. A flash of
light, perhaps, or a sepulchral laugh. A surge of energy
or a massive telepathic bolt that would cut straight to
the very core of her soul and bond with her at a
spiritual level. A Chinese gong. She had no idea,
really.
    Unfortunately, what she wound up getting was
nothing.
    She simply sat there, the disks in her hand. Nothing
trembled, nothing vibrated. Nothing, in short, hap-
pened.
    "Are we rescued from Sparky yet?" Calhoun asked
drily.
    "I don't understand it," Morgan said. But then,
with more firmness of tone, she added, "But then
again, I didn't necessarily expect to understand it.
There has to be more to it than this, Captain, and
with any luck at all, the answer is on Ahmista."
    "Any luck at all is something we haven't had in
abundance." He sat back in his chair, considering the
matter a moment. "Ambassador, do you know any-
thing about this Ahmista?"
    "Not really," replied Si Cwan. "A fairly small
population, the planet had no particular strategic
value, and the residents were not especially advanced.
It was never considered a worthwhile use of Thal-
Ionian resources to have much to do with them. We
knew of them, but we never bothered with them."
    "Fair enough," said Calhoun. "Do you know where
Ahmista is?"
    "I'm not McHenry, Captain," Si Cwan said with
slight amusement. "I don't carry these matters
around in my head. If I could see a starmap and our
relative position on it..."
  "Soleta?" prompted Calhoun.
    Soleta punched it up on the computer ternfinal next
to her and, moments later, the desired information
appeared on the conference lounge viewscreen. It
displayed all the known information about Thai-
lonian space that they had, and a blinking spot that
marked the Excalibur's location. He studied it for a
moment, and then pointed to a system that was not
especially detailed. "Right here," he said. "This is it."
    "There's no indicator of any planets there," Soleta
noted.
    "I think you'll find that the Federation is not in
possession of any complete starmaps of Sector Two-
twenty-one-G," said Si Cwan, using the Starfleet
designation rather than referring to it as ThaiIonian
space. "My people tended to be circumspect about
such matters, even after the point that such circum-
spection was of any use to the greater good. Nonethe-
less, it is most definitely here. Three planets, with the
outermost being the one she refers to as Ahmista."
    Shelby leaned forward, studying the location. "At
warp nine, it's still three days' journey from here.
That's a best guess on my part; McHenry could
probably tell you down to the second. But that seems
about right."
    "Can we afford to go to warp nine, Burgy?" asked
Calhoun.
    "I think so," said Burgoyne slowly, although s/he
didn't appear all that enthusiastic. "As near as we can
tell, increased warp activity makes Sparky more ac-
tive. Doesn't make him more hostile though. The only
hitch is... well, it could accelerate his development
or growth. In trying to track down someone who can
help us with this situation, we may be exacerbating
it."
    "This entire business is a long shot at best, Cap-
tain," Shelby observed.
"Are you saying we shouldn't do it, Commander?"
"No. I'm just saying it's a long shot."
    Calhoun considered the matter for a moment,
drumming his fingers on the table in thought. And
finally he said, "I don't want to have to give up this
ship, people. Abandonment remains an option, but
it's not one that I accept gladly. To say nothing of the
fact that, if we do abandon, we have no guarantee that
once we shove everyone into the saucer section and
cut the Engineering hull loose, Sparky might not
come out of the warp core and take up residence in
the saucer section impulse engines, and then we'll be
worse off than when we started. A long shot is better
than no shot. Commander, have McHenry lay in a
 course for Ahmista. Burgoyne, monitor Sparky even
 more closely than you are now. Eat, sleep, and breathe
 in synch with his cycle if you have to, but stay on top
 of him. Understood?"  "Aye, sir."
    "Captain," Lefler asked, "may my mother leave the
brig?"
    He studied Morgan appraisingly for a moment.
And then he said, "Your mother, Lieutenant, blew a
hole in the door of shuttlebay two and almost cost Si
Cwan his life, her subsequent actions notwithstand-
ing. I don't trust her yet."
    "I'm right here, Captain," Morgan commented.
"You don't have to speak of me in the third person."
    "I don't trust you yet," amended Calhoun. "And
until such time that I do, if ever, you can take up
residence back in the brig where I don't have to
expend any security forces for the purpose of keeping
an eye on you."
    Lefler started to protest, but Morgan was already on
her feet and nodding her head in acquiescence. "I
understand fully, Captain. Were I in your position, I
would likely be doing the same thing. And I find that
I have a fairly good track record at this point in noting
what you will and will not do. Robin, Ambassador, I
appreciate your efforts on my behalf. And now I
believe my escort is waiting for me. Captain, may
I keep this?" she asked, holding up the joined medal-
lion.
    "I would rather you didn't," he told her. "Keep
your half if you wish, but return the other to Lieuten-
ant Soleta, please."
 She nodded and, with a slight effort, pulled the two
apart. She handed the indented side back to Soleta
and then said to Calhoun, "I appreciate your indul-
gence in this matter, Captain."
    "May I ask, Morgan, why you are suddenly being
cooperative?" Calhoun inquired.
    The others looked to her, clearly interested in the
answer. "I wish I had an easy answer for you, Captain.
Perhaps I simply see more advantage in cooperating
than not cooperating. Perhaps I think we can actually
be of help to each other. Or perhaps..." She looked
at Si Cwan. "You know, I thought, for all the time that
I was incarcerated on Momidium, that I would do
anything, absolutely anything, to achieve my free-
dom. And I discovered that, no, that wasn't the case.
There are some things that I wouldn't do to gain
freedom. And I found that to be... heartening. Does
that answer your question, Captain?"  "Not completely, no."
    "Well, you may just have to live with that, Captain.
We all do to some degree or another."
    He nodded in agreement, finding himself liking her
in spite of himself, which was more than a little
annoying.


XII.

Si CWAN, 1N HIS OFFICE, studied the picture of Morgan
Primus that remained on his computer screen. There
was a slight flicker of power, but then the couplings
righted themselves as the rerouted systems Burgoyne
had cobbled together righted themselves. By this
point, Cwan was barely noticing such fluctuations.
Like victims of any war-torn environment, difficulties
that would once have seemed oppressive now had
faded into mere background inconveniences.
    He studied the woman's face carefully. Damn, but
she was a striking individual. There was something
within her, though, something that seemed to cry out
of secrecy. Some deep and unending mystery at which
he could only guess.
    "She has old eyes," he said at last. To a ThaiIonian,
that was a comment that had deep meaning. To have
old eyes meant that one had an old soul, and was a
rather experienced and spiritually elevated individu-
al. Either that or it made a great pickup line when one
wanted to compliment a female that one was inter-
ested in bedding.
    He hadn't entirely made up his mind which it was
for him yet.
    There was a chime at the door. "Come," he said,
leaning back in his chair.
    To his utter surprise, Zak Kebron was standing
there. As always, the massive Brikar seemed to fill the
doorway.
    Si Cwan's first thought was to wonder what sort of
trouble he was in. He and Kebron had had a mutual
antipathy, underscored by a sort of grudging respect
for each other's personality and accomplishments.
The closest they had come to a true understanding
was the realization that they would both far rather
have each other as allies than enemies. Consequently
they endeavored to minimize their conversation, lim-
iting it to missions at hand, missions in the past, and
missions in the near future. It made for fairly succinct
discussions that consisted mainly of the imparting of
specific data. This was a relationship that worked fine
for both of them.
    So it was with great surprise that Si Cwan saw
Kebron standing at his door. "Is there a problem,
Kebron?" he asked without hesitation.
    "There is," Kebron said slowly. Kebron was the
mortal enemy of the term "gregarious," likely to try
and eliminate it from any dictionary in any language.
When he spoke it was with short, spartan sentences,
although he was occasionally capable of a fairly
morbid wit that even Si Cwan had to admit that he
admired. "A problem that has to be addressed."
  "A problem with me?" asked Si Cwan.
    Kebron nodded. Since Kebron had virtually no
neck, one of his nods more or less consisted of a slight
bow.
    "All right," said Si Cwan, slowly rising from behind
his desk. "What is the nature of the problem? If there
is anything I can do--"
 "There is. When I point, say 'You're welcome.'"
    "What?" Si Cwan stared at him. "I don't under-
stand."
    "I don't need your understanding. Just your coop-
eration." Kebron hadn't moved from the doorway.
"Can you do it?"
 "Well, yes, of course, a child could do it."
    "Very well." Kebron paused as if steeling himself
and then said, "Thank you." And he pointed.
 "You're welcome," said a bemused Si Cwan on cue.
    Kebron turned and walked away, the door sliding
shut behind him.
    "Now hold on a moment!" called Cwan, not about
to let it go at that. He followed Kebron out into the
hallway. He didn't walk right next to him, because
Kebron's size, stride, and general swing of his arms as
he walked usually precluded that. So Cwan hung
about a foot or so back and to the right. "What was
that all about? You can't just come in, say 'Thank
you,' and leave."
    "I just did." As was not unusual when he was
walking with a purpose, the floor under Kebron
rumbled slightly under his footfall.
 "You didn't say why you were thanking me."
  "Unnecessary."
  "Not to me it's not," and he grabbed Kebron by the
arln.
    The massive Brikar stopped and, without looking at
Si Cwan, rumbled, "You so very much do not want to
do that."
    Si Cwan released Kebron's arm like a fiery bri-
quette, but he took the opportunity to step around
Kebron and stand squarely in his path. This could, of
course, have backfired somewhat since Kebron could
had walked right over him without too much difficul-
ty, but he was hoping that wouldn't happen. "Keb-
ron--Zak--what's going on?"
    Kebron made a sound in his chest that came across
like rocks tumbling around in a clothes drier (al-
though neither of them had ever seen, or even heard
of, a clothes drier, so the comparison would have been
lost on them). "I feel constrained to thank you... for
your help."
  "My help?" Si Cwan said blankly.
    "You prevented Morgan Primus from escaping the
ship. That was not your job. It was my job. Mine, and
my people. We fumbled it. You recovered it. So I am
thanking you because I feel it is the right thing to do."
It was rare that Kebron ever uttered that many
sentences together; and the significance of it was not
lost on Si Cwan.
    "No one blames your security force for losing track
of Morgan. The ship was going haywire at that mo-
ment. It was--"
    "Inexcusable. I owe you, Cwan. And I do not forget
my debts. So thank you."
    "You're welcome," said Si Cwan. "And who knows,
Kebron. I've made mistakes in the past, I admit that. I
don't pretend to be perfect. Perhaps we've gotten off
on the wrong foot, you and I. Perhaps this is the
beginning of a new and improved relationship be-
tween us. Perhaps we can put aside our differences
and genuinely build a basis for a true and lasting
friendship." And he stuck out a hand for Kebron to
shake.
    Kebron stared at the open, outstretched hand, and
then he looked Si Cwan squarely in the eyes. "I don't
owe you that much," he said, and walked away,
leaving Si Cwan shaking his head in amusement.

    Dr. Selar glanced across sickbay and saw someone
unexpected. Mark McHenry was there, talking to Dr.
Maxwell and touching his back with a pained expres-
sion. Maxwell actually seemed to be smiling as Mc-
Henry spoke, then nodded and indicated that
McHenry should get up on a med table. McHenry did
so and proceeded to remove his shirt while sitting up,
as Maxwell stepped over to a rack of instruments. As
Selar approached the two of them, while McHenry
was sitting with his back to her, she could see that
Maxwell had taken the neodermic applicator off the
wall. The applicator was designed to create a graft of
new skin, and was primarily used for quick and easy
repair of abrasions. In short, it was a high-tech Band-
Aid.
    Maxwell saw her coming and looked at her ques-
tioningly. Selar, for her part, was looking at
McHenry's back. There were scratches across it, as if
he'd been clawed. She casually gestured for Maxwell
to hand her the applicator, which he promptly did.
    Upon closer inspection, she could see that the cuts
raked across his back. There were five of them, each
 running parallel to one another in a diagonal path.
 Being a fairly bright woman, it did not take Selar long
 at all to figure out just exactly how those cuts had
 come into being. Without a word she began to run the
 applicator across them. Automatically disinfecting
 the wounds, it left a trail of pink new skin behind it.
    McHenry let out a low sigh. "Ahhhhh... that feels
good. Magic hands, Doc." Selar said nothing, and
McHenry continued, "I have to tell you, that Bur-
goyne... s/he's a wild one."
  "Mmm," Selar said noncommitally.
    "I shouldn't. I mean, I really shouldn't. I know that.
I'm kinda weak-willed when it comes to that depart-
ment. Guess I don't have to tell you about what that's
like, right, Doctor Selar?"
    Selar was taken aback. She had been caught off-
guard by McHenry's affect of inattention.
    "Only problem is," admitted McHenry, "I feel
like... like I'm taking advantage of hir, you know?
Because I'm not what s/he wants, I know it. I'm not
who s/he wants. But I think s/he's afraid of how much
s/he wants who s/he wants, because s/he's never felt
like that about anyone. I wish I were a strong-willed
enough man to insist that s/he do what's right for hir,
but I'm not 'cause I'm having too much fun. So I go
along with it, even though I know that what s/he really
wants is to be with... someone else. This... some-
one, hell, I figure she'll never admit that she wants to
be with Burgoyne as much as Burgoyne wants to be
with her. They're going to have a baby, for crying out
loud! I mean, I'm a modern sort of guy. It's not as if
my mind or morality is stuck in the twenty-second
century. But these people have a bond, both emotion-
al and familial. You'd think that would mean some-
thing. You'd think they'd want to work together, not
be so petrified of intimacy or commitment that they'd
give each other a wide berth." He sighed again, but
this time it wasn't with pleasure. "I knew Christiano,
y'know. We used to hang out. Decent enough guy
considering he wound up as just a hand. If I learned
anything from that, it's that life is just too short not to
go for something that you really want."
    Selar had absolutely no idea what to say. She had
wanted to have a talk with McHenry, to ask about
Burgoyne. She had heard about what had happened in
Engineering, heard of Burgoyne's heroics in saving
Ensign Beth. The entire experience had been a terrify-
ing one overall, and although Selar was far too stoic to
actually be terrified, she still felt a great deal of
concern for Burgoyne. She had wanted to go down
there, to ask personally if s/he was all right, to say
something... try to make some sort of connection,
even though she wasn't sure what to say and was even
less sure whether Burgoyne wanted that connection.
    And here she had wound up having a talk with
McHenry, or a listen at least. Except she felt as if she
were an eavesdropper. Selar was a highly moral indi-
vidual, and this entire business now seemed sneaky
and wrong to her. She stepped back and then saw Dr.
Maxwell watching out of the corner of her eye. She
gestured for Maxwell to come over, and handed him
back the applicator and quickly slipped away. He
watched her go, shaking his head, and then leaned
over to finish the skin application on McHenry's
back. Selar, for her part, retreated to her office.
 "Everything okay back there?" asked McHenry.
    "Certainly," Selar said. "But Dr. Maxwell will
continue your treatment."
    "So... so what did you talk about?" Maxwell
asked, after Selar had left.
    "Nothing," McHenry said easily. "Nothing impor-
tant at all. Trust me, Maxie, it's nothing that you have
to know."

  "I have to know."
    Robin Lefler had entered the brig and was now
standing opposite her mother, leaning against a cor-
ner of the wall. Morgan wasn't even looking at her,
though.
  "Mother, did you hear me?"
"Yes, I heard you. You said you have to know."
"Mom..." She tried to find the right words. "The
other day, when Engineering went haywire... we
could have died then. All of us. Now, I'm not afraid of
dying, Mom. I'm really not. It's not like I'm eager to,
you understand. And it's not like, if someone tries to
take me down, I won't go kicking and screaming.
Believe me, given the choice, I'd rather be dancing on
the dirt than lying under it, you know? But I... I
don't want to die in ignorance. For years I thought
that my life was simply unfair and tragic, but at least I
was used to that. Now, though, I find that it makes no
sense. I don't know why it makes no sense. I don't
know why anything anymore. I backed you up when it
came to talking to the captain. You have no idea how
difficult that was for me. No idea at all. But I did it as
a gesture, to show you that I was capable of trusting
you. Now... now I need you to trust me, Mother. I
need you to tell me what's really going on. The truth
of everything. Will you do that for me, Mother? Will
you please do whatever you can to try and help my life
make sense again? I want... I want to go back to
being the woman I was. I was happy once. I can't be
happy, ever again, until I know and understand this.
Please. Please do this for me. If you've ever done
anything for me in your life. If you've ever really,
truly believed you loved me: Be honest with me."
  "You won't believe it," Morgan said quietly.
  "I will."
    "You won't." She looked up at her sadly. "Your
father didn't believe. Not at first. At first he thought I
was just crazy. And then, when I... when I proved it
to him... he was afraid of me."
    "Afraid of you?" Robin couldn't quite believe what
she was hearing. "How could he be afraid of you? You
were his wife! The mother of his daughter! He adored
you, hem"
    But Morgan was shaking her head vehemently.
"I'm telling you that you will react in exactly the same
way, Robin, and I just can't bring myself to risk doing
that to you... and to me. Not again."
     "Mother, I'm in Starfleet. My life is risk. I can
handle it. I swear to you I can." "You won't understand--"
    "I'm not a child, dammitt" Lefler fairly howled in
frustration. "Don't you get that? Don't you under-
stand that--"
    And then Morgan was on her feet, and in a cold and
deadly voice, she said, "And don't you understand
that I'm not who, or what, you think."
"What are you saying, that you're not my mother?"
"No. No, I am. I have been many things over the
decades, but you know, the fact that I'm your mother
is probably the thing that I take greatest pride in."
    "Over the decades. Mother, what are you talking
about?"
    Morgan took a deep breath. "I am... older than
you think."
    "Okay, fine," Robin said, throwing up her hands in
frustration. "Fine, don't tell me. I don't know why I
bothered. I don't--"
    But then Morgan grabbed Lefler's arm and spun her
around to face her, and there was fire in her eyes.
"You wanted the truth, little girl?" she said in a voice
so dark, so frightening, that it was barely recognizable
as that of her own mother. She was speaking with an
odd accent, one that Morgan couldn't even begin to
place, although it sounded very faintly like a cross
between Scot and British. "You wanted it? Here it is,
and you will listen to every damned word. I was born
centuries ago, reached maturity, and discovered that I
did not age any further... and did not, could not,
die."
    "That's... that's impossible," said Lefler, trying
to pull away. "No one can live that long."
    "No human, but not no one. While I was raised on
Earth by human parents, I soon realized that I was
from somewhere else. I was very adept at creating
identities for myself, living in them for a time, then
faking my death and moving on. I even joined Star-
fleet for a time, at first hoping to find my people, then
thinking that misadventure would do what the years
would not.
     "But it didn't work. I have an... an aura about me
that protects me from mortal harm." "An aura," said Lefler tonelessly.
    Morgan nodded. "I tried a phaser at full disintegra-
tion; it didn't harm me. I thought of setting a trans-
porter to disperse my molecules through space, but
I'm afraid that, somehow, I'll retain consciousness in
a demolecularized form, floating like a ghostwan
even more terrifying state than my current one."
  "I should think so."
    And Morgan--Morgan, who did not lose her tem-
per, Morgan who was the epitome of coolness and
control--slid into a white hot fury and faced Lefler,
shouting, "Stop it! Stop patronizing me!"
    The sound of her voice was like a rifleshot as Lefler
went down. A security guard was immediately at the
door, prepared to go in and stun Morgan for the
purpose of hauling Lefler out, but Robin put up a
hand. "Stay where you are!" she shouted. "I'm fine!"
    "The hell you are, Ches'. The hell you are, you are
light-years away from 'fine,'" retorted Morgan.
"Don't you get it? I was tired! Tired of watching loved
one after loved one die while I went on and on and on!
You would think that after centuries of it I'd get used
to it, but no. Every single loss was like a knife to my
heart. I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted to end.
And my body wouldn't let m~... except in ways that
would be so high risk that I was terrified to try them
for fear that they'd leave me worse off than when I
started. I wanted something safe, certain. Don't you
get that?"
    "I get it, I get it," said Robin. She watched her
mother from as far away as she was able to get from
her. "You're not human. You've been around for-
ever."
    Her immediate anger spent, Morgan sagged down
onto the bench. "I wandered the galaxy for a time,
slowly despairing," she said, sounding as much as if
she were talking to herself as to Robin. "Then I
returned home, met your father, and fell in love. And
after we married, for the first time I knew enough love
that I saw a future for myself. I had you. And as I
watched you grow, my love, I realized I couldn't stand
to watch you get older... grow up. I've lost so many
people that I loved, but every day I watched you get
older, it was... it was more than I could take. So I
faked my death earlier than I would normally have
and left. I left because I was selfish, and determined to
find a way to put an end to my miserable existence.
Are you happy that you know, now, Robin? Are you
happy?"
    "Mother," Robin was shaking her head. "Mother,
look, I... I know what you said about Dad... and
how he didn't believe... but I... This is so much to
try and handle. This is... It's..."
  "Preposterous?"
  "Yes."
  "Absurd?"
      "Completely. I think... I think maybe you should
see someone. There are people who can help you."
  "Would you like to see something?" she asked.
  "Uhm... sure. If you want me to."
 "All right. I'm going to show you a trick."
    She turned around away from Lefler's view, and
there was a sound like a snap. When Morgan turned
back, she was holding up a knife. The blade, three
inches long but extremely sharp, glinted in the light.
  "Mother, whatre"
    And very quickly, very efficiently, in one smooth
move, Morgan held out her right wrist and drew the
knife down it. She slid it lengthwise down her fore-
arm, opening up the vein, and blood began to well
out, thick and red.
    "Oh my God!" shrieked Lefler. Immediately she
sent an emergency call to sickbay.
    "Don't worry," Morgan said calmly. "I've done it
before."
    "Mom, oh my God, Mom!" Lefler cried out as she
leaped toward her mother, clasping her hands franti-
cally around the fountaining forearm. She tried to
apply pressure, to stop the bleeding, but the blood was
leaking out between her fingers. "Mom, how could
you? How could you?!"
    "About five seconds," Morgan said calmly.
"Four... three... two... one... let go. You can
let go."
"I can't let go! You'll bleed to death! You'll--"
With an impatient noise, Morgan pushed her
daughter aside. She called to the guard, who was still
outside as he awaited backup from the sickbay med-
ics. "Do you have a towel on you? A cloth?"
  "A... a cloth?"
    "Never mind," she said, utterly calm. She lifted up
the cushion that they were sitting on and used it to
wipe away the blood. "Just send for a new one of
these, okay? This stuff stains."
    "Where~ the medical team/?" Lefler fairly shouted.
"Where the hell is the--?"
    And then Morgan extended her arm, practically
under Leftefts nose. Robin looked down... and
couldn't believe what she was seeing.
    The blood flow had completely stopped. Where
there had been a vicious cut only moments ago, there
was now simply a thin pink line standing out against
the tan of her skin. And even that was already
disappearing. Lefler looked in stupefaction as the
pink skin of the freshly healed wound changed color
and matched the tan of the rest of her arm.
 At that moment the medical team came charging
up. They saw the blood collected on the floor and
staining the mattress, and they looked around in
confusion to find the person who was apparently
bleeding in such copious quantities.
    "Thank you for coming by, gentlemen," Morgan
said calmly, "but I'm afraid it was a bit of a false
alarm. I was just showing my daughter here a magic
trick--a rather sanguinary one, I'm afraid--and the
dear guard here overreacted to what he was seeing.
I'm terribly sorry to have wasted your time. Although
if you gentlemen would be so kind as to send someone
to clean that up"--and she pointed at the blood--"I
would be most obliged. Robin," she said, taking
Robin by the shoulders, "you look somewhat shaken.
Perhaps you'd best go on about your business now.
Don't you think that would be wise?"
    "Yes," Robin said, clearly still in shock. "Yes, that
would be... be wise."
    The guard shut down the forcefield long enough for
Lefler to leave and for a cleaning crew to come in and
attend to the mess on the floor. And Lefler put as
much distance between herself and the brig that was
holding her mother as she possibly could. She paused
only briefly to glance over her shoulder, and caught a
glimpse of her mother, looking rather serene in her
cell as if, all of a sudden, she didn't have a care in the
world.

Xlii.

THEY'RE HERE .... THEY'RE HERE ....
    Her lover cries the warning to her, and she strokes it
for the confrontation that is to come.
 "There's no one here."
    Calhoun rose from the command chair and walked
over to Zak Kebron's tactical station as the world of
Ahmista turned beneath them. "What do you mean?"
    "I mean preliminary sensor sweeps indicate no
humanoid life-forms."
    "None?" Calhoun asked incredulously. He turned
to Soleta, who was already at work at her science
station. "Soleta?"
    "Scanning. At this point, confirming Mr. Kebron's
analysis. Although the ecosystem is capable of sup-
porting life, and there appears to be some minimal
animal life, there are no humanoid organisms."
  "It's the wrong planet," Shelby suggested.
    "But it's right where Si Cwan said it was," McHen-
ry pointed out from the conn.
    "Could there have been some sort of... of war?
They wiped each other out?" Calhoun said.
    "There are no traces of lingering radiation, no
burned areas, no pollutants from toxins or germ
warfare; none of the usual indicators that a war
sufficient for the annihilation of all life upon a world
has occurred," said Soleta. "Furthermore, Si Cwan
described the populace of this world as being fairly
low on the technical scale. They very likely would not
possess the type of armament necessary to do away
with every man, woman, and child on the planet."
 "Well, grozit, Lieutenant, where are they, then?"
 "Unknown at this time, sir."
    "Perhaps they're all hiding somewhere and waiting
to pop out so they can say 'Surprise,'" Calhoun said
humorlessly. "Soleta, I want you to scan every square
foot of that planet if necessary. If there's so much as a
campfire burning, I want to know about it. Bridge to
Si Cwan."
    "Si Cwan here," came back the ambassador's voice
quickly.
    "Mr. Cwan, kindly join us on the bridge. There's a
question or two that could use your attention. Cal-
houn out." Without missing a beat, he turned to
Kebron and said, "Have security escort Morgan Pri-
mus up here as well."
    Robin Lefler turned at her position at Ops. "My
mother?" she asked.
 "Unless there's another Morgan Primus on the
ship, Lieutenant, yes. Why, is that a problem for
you?"
    "No," Robin said quickly, suddenly becoming in-
credibly engrossed in her instruments. "No, that's no
problem for me at all."
    Moments later, both Si Cwan and Morgan had
emerged from the turbolift onto the bridge. Calhoun
noticed that Robin was carefully endeavoring not to
meet her mother's gaze. Something had happened
between the two of them, something since the time
that Robin had appeared to be making inroads with
her mother. He knew that there had been some sort of
odd incident in the brig. The report he had received
had been extremely confused and confusing: An at-
tempted suicide, except that, although there was
blood everywhere, there was no sign of any sort of
wound on either Lefler or Morgan, who had been the
only occupants of the cell at the time. It made
absolutely no sense at all. It was just one of a number
of matters that needed addressing.
    "We have a bit of a curiosity," Calhoun said,
circling them. "You, Morgan, told us that the trail of
the Prometheans indicated that this world was the
place where you might be able to connect with them. I
notice that you never told us how, precisely, you knew
this. Would you be so kind as to enlighten us now?"
    "Comments we heard in our investigations. Writ-
ings buried in assorted rare texts. A long process
that--" Then she saw the way he was looking at her,
and for the first time since he'd met her, Morgan
actually seemd less than certain of herself. "Ulti-
mately," she admitted, "what it came down to is that
Tarella and I . . . we just... knew."
 "You just knew."
 "Yes."
"That's the best you can do. You just knew,"
"It's not impossible, Captain," Soleta commented,
never taking her eyes away from her scanner. "Re-
member my experience with the similar disk. There
may be some sort of connection to a greater whole."
    "You're saying they're like the Borg, but little
disks?" Calhoun said skeptically:
    "Well, that's certainly less threatening in any
event," said Shelby.
    "Ambassador," Calhoun turned to face Si Cwan,
"do you have an estimate as to the number of people
in residence on Ahmista?"
    "I couldn't say for sure, no," Si Cwan replied.
"Five... maybe six billion, I suppose."
    "Would you like to know how many there are
now?"
 "One."
    The reply came from Soleta, which naturally cap-
tured the immediate attention of everyone else on the
bridge. Calhoun crossed quickly to her station. "You
found someone?"
    "Took a while longer since the population was so
sparse--well, sparse being a generous term, I sup-
pose. I have managed to detect a single humanoid life-
form down there."
    "A single one?" Si Cwan asked, sounding appalled.
"That's... that's absurd! Where is the rest of the
population?"
    "That," Calhoun said, "is what we're going to try
and find out. Commander," he turned to Shelby, "I
want an away team composed of yourself, Si Cwan,
Lieutenant Soleta, and Mr. Kebron to head down
there and see just who or what it is we're dealing with.
I want everyone armed on this one, because we have
no idea what it is you'll be facing."  "Even me?" asked Si Cwan.
    Calhoun paused only a moment, and then he nod-
ded. "Even you." He heard a dissatsified growl from
behind him indicating that Zak Kebron was register-
ing a complaint about his captain's decision. He
judiciously chose to ignore it.
  "What about me, Captain?" Morgan asked.
  "What about you?"
    "I brought us to this planet," she said. "If anyone is
entitled to go down there and see exactly what's going
on, it should be me."
    "Perhaps in the way you see matters, yes, but that's
not the way I see it," replied Calhoun. "I'm afraid I
don't have quite enough confidence in you, Morgan,
to send you down there while my people have to be
watching their backs. For all I know, they may have to
watch their backs where you're concerned as well."
    "What about the old saying, Captain? Keep your
friends close and your enemies closer."
    'Tm not altogether sure we're enemies, Morgan.
Still, you raise a valid point. I will keep you here,
where I can keep an eye on you."  "That's not what I meant."
    "Yes, I know, but it's what we're going to do
anyway." He nodded to Shelby. "You have your
orders."
    The named away team headed for the turbolift and,
as they left, Morgan calmly walked to Shelby's chair
and, with utter confidence, sat in it. Calhoun eyed her
coolly. "I did not say you could sit there," he said.
 They stared at each other for a moment.
 "Would you care to sit there?" he asked.
"I'd be honored. Thank you for the consideration."
"You're welcome," he replied as he returned to his
command chair. And he was unable to help but notice
how completely comfortable Morgan looked in the
position of second in command.

    Burgoyne had never felt quite as frustrated as s/he
did at that particular moment.
    S/he had been going over file after file, experiment-
ing with dozens of scenarios using the computer to
plot out the likely outcome of each one. And not only
was s/he unable to find any direct reference to having
such a creature firmly ensconced in one's warp core,
but every single plan s/he designed for the purpose of
getting the damn thing out of the engine ended in
there being a likelihood that the ship would wind up
being destroyed. It wasn't a consistent likelihood.
Sometimes it was as high as ninety-nine percent, but
other times it was as low as eighty-three percent.
Somehow, though, s/he didn't think that even the low-
end odds were going to go over too well.
    S/he looked at the warp core and could see the thing
pulsing slowly within the clear tube of the core. In
what could only be termed a desperate measure, s/he
stared at it with a very, very angry glare in hope that
Sparky would sense the overt hostility and flee in
terror.
 Sparky did not appear to notice.
 "Burgoyne."
    Selar walked up to hir, looking as efficient and
removed as ever. "Doctor," Burgoyne said neutrally.
    "I thought you might wish to know. I have taken
several tests and I am most definitely pregnant. I felt
it was not wise to rely solely on my inner instinct for
such matters."
    "Well, that's... that's great, Selar. I'm very happy
for you."
    "I am..." She took a deep breath as if plunging
into something. "I am... happy for us."
    It took a moment for the comment to sink in on
Burgoyne, since s/he was still rather distracted by
Sparky. But slowly it penetrated, and Burgoyne
turned and looked at her with clear surprise on hir
face. "I'm not sure which I find more surprising, to be
honest," noted Burgoyne. "The part about being
happy, or the part about us. I was unaware that there
was an 'us.'"
    "Do you find that thought attractive? Or do you
wish to avoid the prospect of an 'us'?"
    "I know that you're not interested in an 'us,'"
Burgoyne said, sounding rather defensive.
    Selar drew herself up. "Do not presume to speak for
me, Burgoyne. You do not even know your own mind.
Do not think you know mine."
    "Know your mind!" Burgoyne said. "I can't even
find your mind!"
    "Oh, now you insult me. How very typical. How
very emotional. I should have expected as much."
    "Yes!" said Burgoyne, more loudly than s/he would
have liked. When s/he realized that others were taking
notice of the increasingly loud discussion, s/he started
to pull Selar in the direction of hir office while saying
in a low tone, "Yes, you should have expected it,
because the rest of the galaxy is populated by people
who laugh and cry and get really really angry, unlike
Vulcans, who think they have a complete handle on
emotions simply because they never use them! I--"
    Selar had stopped. She was no longer following
him. Instead her legs had become practically an-
chored to the floor and when Burgoyne tried to pull
her along, s/he was completely unsuccessful. "Selar?"
s/he said in confusion. "Selar, what're you--"
    Selar wasn't hearing hir. Instead all of her attention
was focused on the warp core. And inside the clear
tubing, the energy being--whatever the hell it was--
began to stir.
    Slowly, one step at a time, Selar began to approach
the warp core. "Where do you think you're going?"
demanded Burgoyne. Selar didn't respond. Instead
she continued toward the core, as if hypnotically
pulled. Suddenly Burgoyne began to feel extremely
apprehensive for her. "Selar! Listen to me! Back away
from that thing, right n--"
    S/he grabbed Selar's arm, and Selar stiflened it and
shoved hir back. Burgoyne was strong and agile, there
was no denying it, but the abruptness and strength of
Selar's gesture caught hir completely off guard. Bur-
goyne hurtled backward, slamming up against a wall
array and sagging to the floor, stunned.
    And Selar moved unceasingly toward the warp
core, beginning to stretch out her hands as she did so.

 The first thing that Shelby heard was singing.
    The moment that the sound of the transporter
beams faded, the lyrical singing floated through the
air. It seemed an aimless tune; whoever was singing it
appeared to be making it up as they went. Shelby
looked around to see that Si Cwan, Kebron, and
Soleta heard it as well.
    There was a steady breeze blowing that was carry-
ing the singing to them, and it appeared to be just up
ahead. They had materialized on a pathway that led
up the side of a small mountain, which gave Soleta a
bit of stomach cramps considering that she had more
than had her fill of mountains recently. But there was
no helping it.
 "What is that?" asked Shelby.
    Soleta listened a moment more and then said, "Off-
key."
    "Thank you for your opinion, Lieutenant." She
gestured for the others to follow and they slowly made
their way up the moutainside.
    As they got nearer, however, the aimless songin
which had seemed lighthearted at first, almost play-
ful-became darker-sounding. The singer went to a
voice that sounded more base and--if Shelby were to
judge--more ominous.
    They came around a curve in the path and suddenly
the music stopped. And so did they.
    They weren't quite certain that what they were
seeing was real: a woman, so skinny that she seemed,
more than anything, like a skeleton wearing a skin
suit. She might have been someone released from a
labor camp, or who had been tortured for a year
behind enemy lines before being returned to her loved
ones. She appeared to be human, or at least she had
been. Her eyes were sunken, her hair somewhat
stringy and unkempt. Her clothes, what there were of
them, were in tatters.
  And she was wrapped around something that
looked rather daunting, her arms and legs clutching it
as a drowning woman would a life preserver.
    If Shelby had to guess, she would have said it was a
weapon of some kind. It was hard to tell, however. It
was cylindrical with what could very easily be a
muzzle at one end. It appeared to be at least two yards
high, and a foot in diameter.
  "Is that... a weapon?" Si Cwan asked softly.
  "If so, it is a big one," replied Shelby.
    The weapon pointed straight up. The woman had
stopped singing altogether, but she didn't seem to be
completely aware that the away team was approaching
her. "Hello," Shelby said in as quiet a voice as she
could, for something in the air around her made her
feel as if a hushed tone was required. Although she
was armed, she made sure to keep her hands clear of
her phaser. She didn't want to give the impression
that she was hostile. Putting aside that she had no
desire to frighten the woman, if that thing was indeed
a weapon and the woman suddenly aimed it at her
and fired, there would be nothing left of Shelby's
upper body with the possible exception of a few fond
memories. "I'm Commander Shelby, U.S.S. Excal-
ibur. This is Lieutenant Soleta, Lieutenant Kebron,
and Ambassador Si Cwan."
    Si Cwan bowed slightly. "You're looking fit,
madam."
    Kebron looked at him incredulously. Si Cwan
shrugged at him in a sort of What did you expect me
to say? manner.
"Would you like to tell us your name?" Shelby said.
The woman said nothing. She merely rocked back
and forth, ever so slowly, and she looked into midair
and appeared to see nothing.
    "Would you..." Shelby took a few more tentative
steps forward, and didn't seem to get any particular
reaction out of her. "Would you like to tell us where
everyone else went? In case you didn't notice, this
planet is fairly deserted. Was it deserted when you
came here?"
 And she spoke.
    It was a frightening voice, a voice that sounded like
the lid to a coffin slowly creaking open. It was difficult
to determine just exactly how old or young the
woman was, but her voice sounded like the voice of
one who had been dead for centuries.
    "They wanted to take away my lover," she told
them.
    "Oh," Shelby said sympathetically. "That's...
that's too bad. Who would 'they' be?"
    "Them." She started to hum once more in that odd
tone of hers. "All of them. But my lover, it's strong. It
protects me. It protects us."
    "May I ask who precisely it protected you from,
ma'am?" Soleta inquired. "There doesn't seem to be
anyone around."
    For the first time, the woman seemed to focus on
them. She looked at Soleta and there was something
approaching demented amusement in her face.
  "Not anymore," she said.
    They looked at each other, and it was Si Cwan who
said, with as much control as he could muster, "Are
you saying that... your lover... got rid of all the
people who wanted to separate the two of you?"
  "It protects me. That's why it's a good lover."
    "Listen," Si Cwan said. "Madam, you know, this
would be easier if we knew your name."
  "Should I tell them my name?" She was whispering
to the large cylinder, talking to it as if it were a close
friend. "Should I--yes. Yes, you're right, of course. It
doesn't matter." She looked at them and said, "I am
Tarella."
    Immediately the name was familiar to Shelby. That
was the name of the friend who had accompanied
Morgan on her search for the Prometheans.
    "Tarella," said Si Cwan. "Tarella, we have a very
complicated situation here. But I am certain that we
can work it out in such a manner that--" Then he
paused. "Why do you say it doesn't matter if we know
what your name is?"
  "Because," said Tarella, "we're going to kill you
now."
  "You had to ask," muttered Kebron.
  And he unslung his rifle.
    Zak Kebron wasn't a big fan of phasers. He gener-
ally preferred to rely on his own strength and bulk.
However, the captain had ordered that they go armed,
and he had obeyed the captain's instructions.
Normal-sized phasers, however, were even more
problematic for him than they were for the large and
hairy hands of Ensign Janos. He could operate a
normal phaser, but it wasn't easy for him. So when he
went on away missions, he generally preferred to
carry a Type III phaser rifle. It was slung across his
back and looked fairly impressive hanging there.
    Now the phaser was in his hands, leveled at Tarella,
and he thumbed it to a high setting as he warned her,
"Do not move or take any threatening physical ac-
tion."
    "You want to take my lover," Tarella said, her voice
rising. "You want to take it away. But I won't let you.
It's mine. I won't let you take it away."
    "Tarella," Shelby said urgently, "there's someone
back on our ship that you should really see. It's your
friend, Morgan."
    The name seemed to have an effect on her. Her
body trembled slightly and she clutched the weapon
more tightly than before. And from her cracked and
dry lips hissed out the words, "Morgan is dead. Don't
you say her name." "But--"
  "Don't you say her name!!!"
 And the weapon erupted.
    "Down!" shouted Kebron, knocking the others
back with a wave of his huge arm as he fired off a shot
from his phaser rifle. The blast from the phaser rifle
struck the energy ball disgorged by the weapon, by the
lover, and it roared forward but off its intended flight
path, deflected ever so slightly by Kebron's phaser
blast.
    The energy ball roared through the air. It missed
them--but just barely--barreled through a clearing,
and struck a mountain range. And destroyed it.
    The mountain range exploded on contact. The
main brunt of the hit caused the range to be reduced
instantly to ashes, but the rest of it erupted skyward,
showering the entire area with pulverized debris. It
rained down everywhere, including upon the stunned
away team who had taken up refuge some feet away
behind a wall of rock. Seeing, a half mile away, the
complete demolition of a mountain range with one
shot of the weapon that Tarella was clutching was
enough to make the away team realize that their
temporary shelter was going to shelter them from
precisely nothing.
    Shelby hit her commbadge so hard she wound up
leaving a bruise on her chest. "Away team to trans-
porter room! Get us the hell out of here?
    Then they heard Tarella howl, "I don't want you! I
don't want Morgan) And I don't want your ship)"
And with that pronouncement, she unleashed the
power of the weapon straight up.

    The shields came on automatically before Boyajian
at tactical realized that they were under attack. The
computer also sent the Excalibur into immediate red
alert. "Captain, incoming!" shouted Boyajian. "Some
sort of energy plasma) Readings off the scale!"
    "McHenry, evasive maneu--" was all that Calhoun
was able to get out as the energy ball smashed into the
Excalibur. For all the good that the shields did, the
ship might as well have been protected by plastic
wrap. The energy ball slammed amidships into the
vessel, and anyone standing throughout the entire
ship was thrown to the ground.
    Calhoun had been standing and moving toward the
command chair when the ball hit. He was sent flying,
crashing into Morgan and tumbling to the ground.
Morgan clutched the armrests of her chair desperately
and managed to maintain her place, but the impact of
the ball was theleast of the problems.
    McHenry's station nearly exploded as a concussive
buildup blasted him back and out of his seat. McHen-
ry smashed his head against the upper rampway and
went limp, blood trickling from his mouth. The conn
station was in complete disarray, flames starting to
shoot out. Overhead extinguishing systems were out
of commission, and Morgan desperately grabbed an
emergency hand extinguisher in a wall compartment,
staggering across the bridge to get to the conn and put
the flames out.
    The bridge filled with smoke. She tried to make out
her daughter and saw that she was slumped forward at
the Ops station, a huge swelling already appearing
on her temple. She was barely conscious and trying
to pull herself together. "All stations, report!" she
managed to get out. "This is Ops, report status, all
stations!"
    The ship lurched, and Morgan managed to snag on
to a chair and prevent herself from tumbling over. But
then she saw the viewscreen, saw the planet lurching
toward them... No. No, they were spiraling down
toward the planet.
    Morgan dropped into place at the conn station,
tossing aside the extinguisher, and looked at the
distressed readouts. If she was at all thrown by the
calamitous nature of what she was facing, she gave no
hint of it. As if she'd been doing it all her life, she
began rerouting controls, trying to restore helm con-
trol so that she could pull the ship out of her dive...
before it was too late.

Burgoyne, for all hir cat-like reflexes, was nonethe-
less knocked off hir feet as the ship was hit hard.
    And Selar stumbled forward and struck squarely
the exterior of the warp core.
    And deep within the warp core, the entity residing
in there--whatever it was--seemed to move down
toward Selar. She clutched the warp core tube as it
coalesced within around the area that she was
touching.
    Burgoyne scrambled to hir feet, stumbled over
toward Selar, and tried to pull her away. To hir
surprise, s/he had absolutely no success at all. It was
as if Selar were suction-cupped to the warp core and
under no circumstance was she about to let go.
    Her eyes were glazed, and her lips seemed to be
trying to form a word, or words, but Burgoyne
couldn't make any of them out. All s/he knew was that
somehow, in some way, Selar was in direct connection
with whatever the hell it was in the warp core. Since
Burgoyne didn't know precisely what was going on,
s/he wasn't sure if it was safe to try and pull her away.

    On the other side of the bridge, Calhoun could
barely hear himself over the screech of the red alert
bell as well as the sounds of exploding equipment all
around the bridge. This is going to take forever to fix,
he thought bleakly, and then he saw that they were
heading for a crash landing. He looked toward the
conn... and was astounded to see Morgan at the
controls. He staggered across the bridge, fighting
the rolling motion of the floor beneath him, as he
shouted, "What are you doing?!"
    She looked at him with a cold, fixed, and utterly
calm gaze. "Saving your ass," she informed him, her
fingers flying over the controls.
    And the Excalibur suddenly pulled out of her dive
before she fully entered the atmosphere, avoiding any
further strain on the shields due to reentry.
    "Helm restored," called Morgan as the ship arced
upward and away from the looming planet surface.
The ship moved slowly back into orbit, having barely
withstood the assault and not knowing if another was
forthcoming.
 "Shield status!"
    Lefler was rubbing her forehead, trying to see
straight. "Shields at eighty percent and holding, sir.
Structural integrity is holding; most of what we exper-
ienced was purely impact."
    "Meaning that if we didn't have shields at all, we'd
have been smashed to bits."
    "Yes sir. Captain, transporter room reports a call
from the away team to be beamed aboard just before
the attack."
     "We can't bring them up with our shields up, and
we don't dare lower shields. Comm system?"
  "Just back on line, sir."
    "Calhoun to away team." He brushed some debris
from his uniform as he helped McHenry to his feet.
McHenry clearly looked confused and there were
burn marks on his uniform shirt. Chances were that
there were burns on his chest to match. For a long
moment, Calhoun was convinced that he wasn't going
to hear a word from the planet surface.
    But then Shelby's rattled voice came back. "Away
team, Shelby here."
    "Commander! What's going on down there? Our
readings didn't indicate any sort of massive weapons
array, but somebody shot at us and damn near took us
out!"
"It's a woman, sir. A woman with a gun."
Everyone on the bridge, sitting up bruised and
battered and trying to staunch bleeding wherever they
could, exchanged looks of utter incredulity. "Did you
say a woman with a gun?"
 "That would be correct, sir."
    Robin Lefier had seen the captain in a variety of
moods and reactions. But she couldn't recall having
seen him looking quite as stunned as he did at that
moment. "How could one woman with a gun almost
knock us out of orbit?!"
    There was a pause and then, apparently, because
she couldn't think of any other way to explain it, she
said, "It's a really big gun, sir."
    Calhoun didn't know what to say to that aside
from, "Oh." McHenry, for his part, was looking in
puzzlement at Morgan, who was at his station. Mor-
gan quickly rose and eased him into his seat.
    "Furthermore," Shelby said, "it appears to be in
the possession of the woman whom Morgan described
as her former associate."
 "Tarella?" Morgan called over the comm system.
 "That's right."
    "Captain," Morgan turned to him, "please let me
go down there. I'm the only one who can possibly get
through to her."
    Calhoun did not like the odds of the situation, but
he didn't see a lot of choices. "All right. We're going
to have to risk this. Mr. McHenry, bring us back to
maximum transporter range. Let's try and put as
much distance between ourselves and that... big
gun... as possible. Morgan, get down to the trans-
porter room. We'll drop our deflectors for just the
length of time it takes to beam you down there, and
then we'll bring the shields back on line. Shelby,
what's your read on the situation? Shall we bring you
back up when we send Morgan down?"
    "Negative," Shelby said after a moment's thought.
"From our vantage point, it seems as if Tarella is just
sitting there now. It's almost as if she's forgotten that
we're here. She seems to fade in and out of reality."
 "I can relate to that," McHenry said.
    "Captain," Lefler suddenly said. She rose to her
feet, slightly unsteady but determined. "I would like
to accompany Ms. Primus to the planet... if that's
all right."
    Despite the disarray on the bridge, Calhoun man-
aged to force a smile. "Somehow I had a feeling you
were going to say that," he said.



x/v.

MORGAN AND ROBIN SHIMMERED into existence on
the planet surface a few feet from the away team,
which was still crouched behind the shelter as if it
provided them with any protection at all. Shelby
gestured for them to approach, which they did as
quietly as they could. She immediately noticed the
banged up condition of the newcomers, but there
was no time to discuss it. "I was so worried she'd
open fire on the ship while you were coming down,"
she whispered.
 "Do we have a plan, Commander?" asked Robin.
 "Yes. It's called 'not getting killed.'"
    "Good plan," said Si Cwan. "Is there anything
beyond that?"
    Slowly Shelby turned in her crouch to face Morgan.
An eternity of time seemed to pass between them.
"You really think you can get through to her?" she
asked.
    Morgan weighed all the possibilities, all the un-
knowns, and finally admitted, "I don't know. Not for
sure, I don't know. At least I can distract her."
    "Good. An honest answer. What did you do up
there that caused the captain to trust you down here?"
"I saved the ship," Morgan said evenly.
    Shelby turned and looked at Robin, who nodded
confirmation. "All right, Morgan. Take it slow, take it
careful... and take it over there," she said, pointing
several feet to the right.
    As Shelby had indicated she should, she stepped
several feet to the right. She took a deep breath that
seemed, for a moment, to be a bit unsteady, and
Robin realized that her mother was--at the very
least--apprehensive. Looking back over her life, she
came to the realization that she had never, ever, seen
her mother in any way other than completely com-
posed and confident.
    But why? If her mother was truly immortal, as she
claimed, what was she so nervous about? Then Mor-
gan cast a glance to her, gave her a quick "thumbs
up," and Robin realized why she was reacting that
way. Morgan was anxious about Robin's safety. She
wasn't concerned about getting out of this herself. She
was worried that Robin wouldn't make it.
    Robin returned the gesture, and then Morgan
slowly pushed herself out into the open.

    Very, very tentatively, Morgan approached the
woman that she had known, in happier times, as
Tarella. It was all she could do to suppress the shock
of what she was seeing. Tarella was humming softly to
herself in a very sing-song manner, an idle and
aimless tune. "Tarella?" Morgan softly called her
name.
    "What did you say, lover?" Tarella wasn't looking
at her at all. Her thoughts seemed to be otherwise
occupied, and considering the way she seemed to be
moving her body up and down against the weapon
that she was clutching to her bosom, it was not hard to
guess exactly whom she was addressing.
    "Tarella, it's me. It's Morgan. Remember? I'm...
I'm out. I'm back. I'm here to finish what we started."
She waved her hand to try and get Tarella's attention.
"Tarella, that is a... a very impressive piece of
hardware you have there. Want to tell me where you
got it?"
    Tarella seemed to focus on her, but her eyes were
dark and fearsome things, and she held the weapon
even tighter. "Morgan."  "Yes. Morgan."
    "You're dead." She paused and seemed to be read-
justing her position slightly. "My lover," she contin-
ued, "says we should kill you."
    "If I'm dead, then you can't kill me," Morgan
pointed out. "Why waste your lover's bounty on a
ghost?"
    It was a long shot at best, and not for one moment
did Morgan expect her to go for it. To her surprise,
though, Tarella seemed to be considering the notion
very carefully. "I hadn't thought of that," she said,
every other word going up in pitch, making her sound
like a small child, or an adult cooing to one.
 All the while, Morgan was drawing closer and closer
to Tarella, one very careful step at a time. "Tarella,"
she said as unflappably as if they were at a cocktail
party together, "would you mind introducing me to
your lover? Does he... it... have a name?"
    "No name. We don't need names, no we don't, do
we?" and she stroked the weapon affectionately. And
then in that same bizarre sing-song voice, she said
with an undercurrent of danger, "You're going to try
and take my lover away from me, aren't you? That's
what my lover is telling me. My lover wants to kill
you, right here, right now. But I'm holding it back.
Me. I'm doing that. Because I miss talking to my old
friend, Morgan, even if it's just a ghost of Morgan.
That makes my lover jealous. But that's okay, isn't it?
It's okay to make your lover jealous every so often.
Helps the relationship to stay fresh."
    "I've always thought so," Morgan agreed. She al-
most stepped on a place where the footing wasn't as
sure, and she very delicately moved her foot around it
so that she would be on more solid ground. She had
no desire to slip and possibly startle Tarella out of
whatever psychosis-induced stupor she had fallen
into.
    It was difficult for her to believe that this was the
same woman who had been her best friend and
partner. An adventurer, a person full of joy and life.
Virtually unrecognizable now, drained dry of life and
love and spirit by a sick relationship with an engine of
destruction that had aspirations to sentience.
    It took all that she had to keep the revulsion from
her voice as she asked, "Where did you meet your
lover? How did you two get together?"
 "The Prometheans were here," she said. "You
remember them, right? They were here, just like we
thought they'd be. It was as if... as if they were
waiting for us. For me."
    "That sounds like them, all right," agreed Morgan.
"Master chess players, master manipulators. It was
probably like a M6bius strip. They knew we were
searching for them, and arranged for us to find them.
Our quest created the quarry."
    "That's very clever, Morgan. You always were oh-
so-very clever. But not clever enough to get off Momi-
dium, were you?"
  "No. No, I wasn't."
    "I waited for you. Do you have any idea how long I
waited for you?" Her voice was starting to rise, her
hands trembling, and Morgan was becoming increas-
ingly concerned that she was about to fire. "Do you
have any idea how long?! I've been here for three
hundred years!!"
    Morgan stared at her, shaking her head. "Tarella,
it's only been five. Five years. Not three hundred.
Five."
    And this announcement seemed to surprise Tarella
greatly. She ran her fingers through her stringy hair
and said in quiet wonderment, "Only five? Are you
sure?"
  "Yes."
"My God... it... it seemed so much longer."
Her thoughts were starting to drift, and Morgan
knew it was important to control the direction in
which they went. "Tarella, your lover. You didn't tell
me... how did--"
    "The Prometheans gave my lover to me," she said.
She laughed at the recollection. "They thought it was
just a weapon. Silly Prometheans. A weapon that
responds instantly to the thoughts of its lover. What-
ever I want, it wants. And whatever it wants, I want.
We are one. We are together. We are..." For just a
moment, her mind seemed to flutter, and as if pulling
straws from the past, she said, "The Prometheans said
they wanted the Ahmistans to have it. So they could
better defend themselves against possible enemies.
They gave it to me... to give to the Ahmistans. But I
realized that it was a mistake. That the Ahmistans
couldn't possibly handle it. They weren't ready for
this kind of technology. They weren't right for it. And
they didn't love it. That's the most important thing."
Tears were starting to roll down her face, her voice
choking. "I knew that I was the only one who could
take care of it, who should take care of it. The
Ahmistans, they came for it. They wanted my lover.
They wanted to take my lover away. I couldn't let
them do it. I had to stop them. You see that, don't
you, Morgan?"
    "Of course," Morgan said firmly, even as her soul
recoiled at what she was hearing. "If I were in your
position, I'd have done the exact same thing. It had to
be that way. You did the right thing."
    She was close now to Tarella, so close that she felt as
if she could reach out and touch her.
    "And my lover wanted to stay with me as well. I was
protecting it. I didn't want anyone getting near it. My
lover didn't want it either. But you... you can stay,
Morgan. It upsets my lover, but you can stay. Because
you're my friend."
    "Yes. Yes, I am. We closed out bars together, and
made plans together. Did everything together. You're
Tarella Lee; you know that, don't you? Your favorite
color is blue, your favorite season on Earth is winter."
She was speaking faster and faster, trying to find the
woman within this husk of a being. "You like white
wine, but not red. You dress mostly in black. When
you laugh, it's not a dainty laugh, but a big horsey
bellow from your diaphragm. You remember all that,
don't you?"
    "I remember Tarella Lee," she said with what
sounded like wonderment. "Amazing. I haven't
thought of her in so long..."
 "You look so tired, Tarella. You do."
    "I am." Her body sagged against the weapon. It
seemed as if it was everything she could do to stay
conscious. As if all the strain that she had been
through, for who knew how long, was catching up
with her all at once. "I am so tired."
    "Tell you what: That looks so heavy. Let me hold it
while you take a rest--"
    The moment she said it, Morgan wished she could
call the words back to her. For the merest mention of
it pulled Tarella forcefully and fiercely out of her
distracted state. She clutched the weapon with re-
doubled fury and howled, "You want to take it away!
You're just like all the others!"
    Knowing that she couldn't clear the distance be-
tween herself and Tarella before Tarella fired, Morgan
backed up, trying to recapture the moment of trust.
"No, Tarella, see? You're wrong. I'm way over here
now, and I'm not at all trying to--"
    But Tarella wasn't buying it as she howled, "You're
trying to take it away!" It was a fearsome howl as if
torn from her soul, and she started to bring the
weapon around.
    And suddenly Robin was out from behind the
rocks, shouting, waving her arms and calling out,
"No! Don't do it!" Morgan couldn't believe it as
Robin interposed herself between Tarella and Mor-
gan, continuing to cry out, "Don't do it!"
    Morgan tried furiously to shove her out of the way,
but Robin wouldn't go. She clung tightly to her
mother as she repeatedly shouted, "Don't do it! You
don't want to! Leave her alone! Leave her!"
    The shouting and commotion seemed to distract
Tarella for a moment as the tormented woman
blinked in confusion, trying to comprehend what she
was seeing. And there was something... something
in her eyes, in her face, and for a moment--just a
moment--Morgan saw a hint of the woman that she
had once known peering at her from within those
haunted and sunken eyes.
 "Morgan, help me." she whispered.
    And it was at that moment that Si Cwan leaped in
from the other side. Tarella's attention seemed torn,
and by the time she was focused on the assault from
the ThaiIonian, it was too late. He slammed into her
from behind, and even though she had been wrapped
around the weapon, there was no real strength in her
arms or legs. The jolt was enough to send the weapon
clattering from her grasp. She started screaming fran-
tically, completely out of control, and she lunged for
the weapon, which had fallen to the ground. But Si
Cwan scooped her up with one arm, and he couldn't
believe how light she was. It was literally as if he were
lifting nothing at all.
    "Let me go!" she howled. "Let me go! Let me go to
my lover, it needs me, it's terrified, can't you feel it?
Can't you feel it!?"
    Shelby, Kebron, and Soleta were emerging from
behind their refuge, and Shelby said briskly, "Keb-
ron, get her secured. Cwan, good work. Morgan, you
too."
    "Don't touch it! It doesn't want you! It wants me!
We are one! We... we..."
    And then, slowly... ever so slowly... something
started to fade from her eyes. Something that she

hadn't quite realized was there until it began to
dissipate. It was as if a cloud were lifting from her,
and in a low and confused voice, she said, "Mor...
gan... ?"
    "I'm here, Tarella. I'm right here." Morgan took
Tarella's face in her arms, and couldn't believe it.
Once Tarella had had the softest skin, but now it felt
papery, dehydrated. What in God's name had the
thing done to her? "Everything's going to be all right
now."
    "All the people..." Her memories seemed to be
flooding back to her. "The people... there were people
here... millions... ashes... ashes to ashes... my
God... Morgan..." She began to quiver. Wheth-
er it was from fright, or horror, or self-loathing, Morgan
couldn't even begin to tell. "Morgan, what... what did
I do?"
 "You didn't do anything."
    Kebron had lifted the weapon carefully, wary of
any mind games it might start to play with him. "It
seems almost hollow," he said in rare wonderment.
"How is that possible?"
    Tarella wasn't listening. Not to Kebron, nor to
Morgan. Instead she heard something else, something
only she could detect. "Do you hear them, Morgan?
Do you?"
 "I don't hear anything," Morgan said.
 "The people... the people are screaming .... I
can hear their voices," and she started to become
completely unraveled, the last throes of a slow descent
into what would likely be complete and utter insanity.
"Hear their voices calling me, begging me to stop, but
it won't let me .... I don't want it to, good God in
heaven, what have I done, all those people, bodies are
ashes, floating on the wind, get it off of me..."
    Shelby tapped her commbadge. "Excalibur, this is
Shelby. Prepare to beam us directly to sickbay, we
have--"
    And in a voice filled with more pain than she had
ever thought she could feel--filled with more pain
than Morgan had ever heard in all her lifetime--
Tarella Lee howled with all her heart and soul, with
ever fiber of her being: "I WISH I WERE DEAD! I
WANT TO DIE!"
    The weapon in Kebron's arms responded, one final
time, to the impassioned wish of its lover. It almost
leaped out of his grip as it belched out a ball of energy
plasma that had, only moments before, leveled a
mountain range. This ball was smaller, much smaller,
but no less devastating. It streaked across the clearing
before anyone could make a move... not that it
would have done any good.
    Tarella saw it coming, knew what was about to
happen, and she spread wide her arms, threw her
head back, and sobbed with the joy of release. "No!"
screamed Morgan, but it was too late, as the ball
struck home and blew Tarella to ashes. There was a
burst of heat that left them feeling almost crispened
and then, seconds later, the last remains of Tarella
were lifted up onto the winds of Ahmista and carried
away to join the final remains of all her victims.
 Kebron immediately upended the gun and shoved
the muzzle down straight into the ground. He sank it
in a couple of feet and then nodded approvingly.
    There was dead silence as the away team tried to
take in what they had just seen, and then Morgan
lifted a fist and shouted in fury, "Damn you! Damn
you, you all-seeing bastards! You think it's funny,
don't you? You think it's so damn funny! You're
laughing at us, I know it! Come down here! Come
down here so you can laugh at me in person and I can
push your teeth into the back of your head!"
    "Mother, calm down!" Robin urged her. She faced
Morgan, hands on either arm, as if she were trying to
brace her. "Calm down, for God's sake!"
    "Calm down! Calm down!" She was trembling with
rage, unable to control herself, but she looked into
Robin's eyes, saw the concern there, then slowly, very
slowly, she managed to pull herself together. She
nodded, as much for herself as for Robin's benefit,
and then drew her daughter to her and embraced her
tightly. "Okay," she said softly. "Okay, I'm... fine
now."
    "Commander, take a look at this," came Soleta's
voice.
    Shelby had just been updating the Excalibur as to
the status of what was happening on the planet
surface. She now said, "Stand by, Captain," and
walked over to the fallen weapon, which Soleta was
examining closely.
    "Look here... and here," said Soleta, touching
different points on the weapon. Shelby knew at that
point that she should have been surprised, but by that
point in the state of affairs, virtually nothing was
surprising her anymore.
  Inset into the side of the weapon was a disk,
identical to the one that Morgan had shown them on
the ship. And next to the disk were two shallow holes
in the metal, each of them looking as if they were
designed to accommodate another disk. Soleta tenta-
tively reached into the shallow holes, examining them
by touch. "One of these," she said, "has a sunken
flame emblem inside it, as if it's designed to fit into
the medallion that Morgan possesses. The other," and
she felt inside the next one, "is raised. It will most
certainly fit mine." And from a pouch in her belt, she
removed the disk that she had found on Zondar.
  "You brought it with you?"
 "It seemed a logical precaution, Commander."
    "Captain," Shelby said, tapping her commbadge
once more.
 "Calhoun here, standing by."
    "Captain, there appear to be receptacles for the
disks possessed by Soleta and Morgan, inset into the
weapon itself. Shall we insert them?"
    "Very well. But I'm keeping the transporter on
standby. First sign of danger, we beam you right out
of there."
 "Roger that," said Shelby.
    "Commander," rumbled Kebron, "I suggest you
allow me to do it--and all of you stand significantly
behind me."
    "Kebron," began Shelby, but then she realized the
wisdom in the suggestion. She turned to Morgan and
indicated that she should hand her medallion over to
Kebron, which she did... albeit with a look of
reluctance.
    Kebron took the medallion in one hand and Sol-
eta's disk in the other. They both looked tiny in his
huge hands as he crouched down next to the weapon.
The others hung back as Shelby said, via her comm-
badge, "Captain, about to insert the disks."
    "We're standing by and monitoring for any trace of
a power surge that would indicate a trap," Calhoun
assured her. "We'll have you out of there within a
second of any danger signal."
    "I appreciate the repeated assurances, Captain, but
frankly I wish you'd stop because you're starting to
make me nervous."
    She could almost see him smiling at that, even
though he was in orbit. "Understood."
    "Preparing for insertion," Kebron announced.
"Three... two... one..."
 He clicked them into place.
 Sixty seconds later, all hell broke loose.

~lr°

THE MED TEAM, LED BY DR. MAXWELL, looked helplessly
at Selar as she clung to the side of the warp core.
"Heart, respiration are all remaining within Vulcan
norms," he announced as he ran the medical tricorder
over her. "Brain wave functions remain stable. What-
ever's happening, it's not hurting her."
    "You don't know that for sure," Burgoyne said
angrily as s/he pulled once more on Selar's hand. It
did no good. It was as if she'd been fused to the
exterior of the structure. "This is insane! What if she
never comes out of it? What are we supposed to do?
Work around her?"
    When he saw Burgoyne's look, Maxwell said in
frustration, "I don't know what to tell you, Chief!. The
Vulcan mindmeld is something I've only read about,
never seen. I could bring in instruments, hook her up
to them, and send electricity jolting through her. That
might disrupt the telepathic connection, tear her
loose, but I don't know for certain if it would and I
sure as hell don't know if we should! We need to get
Soleta up here; she's the only other Vulcan on the
ship, and maybe she can--"
    And suddenly alarms started to go off all over the
ship.
 "Perfect," grated Burgoyne. "Just perfect."

    At first the insertion of the disks had no effect at all.
Kebron was braced for something, but nothing ap-
peared to happen. Shelby turned to Morgan question-
ingly and said, "All right, Morgan, you're supposed to
be the expert on these beings. These Prometheans, as
you call them. You said if anyone could help us with
our situation, they could. So now what are we sup-
posed tom"
    And suddenly a soft humming began to sound from
the weapon. Then it began to build in intensity,
vibrations spreading from it in all directions, becom-
ing fiercer with every passing moment. Shelby felt her
teeth rattling, and she had no idea what was hap-
pening.
    That was when the planet dissolved around her in a
sparkle of color. The next thing she knew, she and the
rest of the away team were standing on the transporter
platform of the Excalibur.
    At the controls was transporter chief Polly Watson.
She breathed a sigh of relief and then said, "Trans-
porter room to bridge! I have them, Captain, all in
one piece."
    Shelby nodded in appreciation at Watson's quick
work as she and the rest of the away team descended
quickly from the platform and headed up to the
bridge as fast as they could.

    Boyajian had taken over Soleta's science station
while she was on the planet, and when he had called
out, "Captain, energy spike! Something's happening
down there!" Calhoun had not hesitated a nano-
second.
    "Transporter room! Get them out of there, now!
Boyajian, keep me apprised!"
    "Still building, sir. The exact nature of it is hard to
tell. I've never seen wave readings like this, but if I
had to guess..."  "Yes?"
    "Sir, I don't think it's going to explode. I don't
think it's a destructive force. Best guess is that it's
similar to our subspace transmission waves."
 "You mean it's sending out some sort of message?"
 "Best guess, yes, sir."
 Calhoun frowned. "But who are they calling?"
 "Captain!"
    Calhoun had a sense for danger. Always had. Al-
most a sort of sixth sense that tipped him off about
dangerous situations moments before they occurred.
This time, however, there was no chance at all, for
even as he suddenly felt that buzz of alarm, it was too
late.
    Space was beginning to distort all around them, the
stars seeming to stretch as if the ship were suddenly
kicking into warp speed... except the Excalibur
hadn't budged from its orbit. A massive corona of
roaring power was surrounding them, kilometers off
in all directions but completely enveloping them like
a gargantuan container. It was every color in the
visible spectrum, flaring all around them. It was as if
someone had plunged them into an ocean of blue,
orange, yellow, every color imaginable.
  "McHenry, get us out of here!"
    McHenry scanned the area, looking for a path, a
course to set, but he shook his head in frustration.
"There's nowhere to go, sir! It's all around us! It's like
we're trapped in the middle of a warp bubble! But its
readings are totally different; it's like an alternate
version of hyperspace, something that's sideways of
us, different physical properties altogether."
    "Shields up! Red alert!" Even as the klaxon blared,
Calhoun moved quickly to McHenry, leaning over
the instrumentation as he said, "What if we pick a
direction and simply try to ram our way through?"
    "Wouldn't do it, sir. Beyond the fact that it's
warping space, I'm not getting any sort of a read on it
at all. It could tear us to bits the second we come in
contact."
    The turbolift opened behind him and the erstwhile
away team quickly assumed their positions on the
bridge. Shelby stepped in next to Calhoun, who said,
"Good to have you back. Any thoughts?" "We're in trouble," she said tightly.
    "On the same wavelength as always, Commander.
McHenry, I'm not going to have us sit here and wait
for the trap to snap completely. Set course one-five-
eight mark four, all ahead full. Shields on max-
imum."
    And McHenry was about to do it when suddenly it
all became moot.
    "Captain!" called Soleta from her station. "What-
ever it is... it's dropping out of warp!"
  "Where?"
  "Everywhere!"
    She was right. A vessel unlike any that they had ever
known was materializing all around them, shimmer-
ing into existence out of the inadvertently named
"sideways" of space. It did not seem to have any solid
sides, no interior or exterior as was understood by the
human mind. The ship was huge beyond their ability
even to measure it, much less describe it, with shim-
mering waves of unearthly power radiating in all
directions. It was as if a Dyson sphere were materia-
lizing around them, but one made of pure force.
  This, then, was a Promethean ship.
    Its very existence threatened to blast the Excalibur
out of existence. Everywhere there were energy waves
pounding on them from all directions. There was
nowhere for the ship to go, no defense that it could
mount. Calhoun had never been so frustrated in all
his life. There was no enemy to shoot at, no target to
train his phasers on. It was as if space itself had come
alive and was attacking them. The Excalibur shud-
dered under the pressure of a universe gone mad.
    Never before had anyone seen anything like it.
Usually in battle, ira missile struck one of the shields,
there was a brief flare of energy as the shield absorbed
the impact. Not this time. No, the shields were
completely lit up along the entire length and width of
the ship, wave upon wave of energy rolling over them,
giving off light of such intensity that it was almost
blinding. The shields were never designed to deal with
that sort of punishment, and the energy levels of the
shields dropped faster than Lefler was able to call
them out. Within seconds there would be no shields
in place at all, and the Excalibur would be pulverized,
ground into bits only moments thereafter.
    And there was nothing, absolutely nothing that
Calhoun could do about it.

  Selar had lost track of time.
    She felt as if she had been floating forever, some-
where in a state of infinite comfort and bliss. She was
no longer aware of her surroundings. Instead she felt a
warmth, a peace such as she had never truly experi-
enced before and--she suspected--would never
know again.
    There was something just beyond her, something
that seemed in touch with a universe that had once
seemed unknowable, mysterious, and even just a little
bit frightening. But she was reaching out to it now, as
it--in its slowly developing intelligence and sophisti-
cation-was reaching out to her.
    She was unaware of her own physical presence
against the warp core, oblivious to the concern of
Burgoyne and the others. All she knew was it, was the
beautiful entity that she was seeking out...  And then she sensed alarm.
    It was too overwhelming for her not to notice. The
shouts, the alarms, the fear that radiated throughout
the ship, the terror of not knowing what was going to
happen, the belief that this was, somehow, it: All of it
began to pour into her consciousness.
    She touched the mind, the spirit, of the entity,
reaching to it as it had called to her, and she needed to
find a concept that it would understand. And she
sought out one of the oldest, simplest, most primal
urges that any living being had: the instinct of self-
preservation.
 "Protect yourself," she whispered as her mind

reached out and repeated, Protect yourself... you
must... protect yourself....
 And that was when Sparky fought back.
    "Complete loss of shields," called Lefler, "in
three... two... one--"
 At that precise moment the trembling stopped.
    Calhoun looked around, confused, as did Shelby.
"Ops, did we lose shields or not?"
    "Shields are gone, Captain, but there's--" She
turned and looked at Calhoun in total confusion.
"There's something else. Some sort of... of energy
barrier that just came into existence around us."
    And then Calhoun saw it. Something was indeed
surrounding the Excalibur, acting as a barricade
against the assault that they had been receiving at the
hands of the utterly alien Promethean vessel. For a
moment, just the briefest of moments, it reminded
Calhoun of the great flame bird that they had encoun-
tered during the destruction of ThaUon, but this
didn't seem to have any shape to it. It was simply a
massive shield of fire-like power that had surrounded
the ship and was staving off any further assault on the
vessel.
    "Captain," Soleta said. "I'm getting wave readings
off the energy force that has surrounded us. They are
identical to the wave readings generated by the crea-
ture currently housed in the warp core."
    "You mean that... thing in Engineering is protect-
ing us?" asked Shelby.
    "That is correct, yes, sir. And it appears to be
holding... with very little problem, sir."
 "Bridge to Engineering," Calhoun called.
  "Engineering, Burgoyne here."
    "Burgy! Did you find some way to harness the
power of that thing you call Sparky? Because right
now it's the only thing between us and annihilation."
    "No, sir, it's not me. It's Selar. And we could use
Soleta down here, because she's the only one who's
got a shot at--"
    The rest of what Burgoyne was saying was abruptly
overwhelmed by a massive rush of noise. It was
almost deafening, staggering everyone on the bridge,
like a roar of millions of voices all at once in perfect
unison.
    Although Calhoun sensed it, Morgan was the first to
spot it. A wave of energy beginning to coalesce on the
bridge itself, taking shape before their very eyes. It
was so intense that it almost demanded that Morgan
look away, but she did not. For she sensed what it was
she was about to see.
    For years--for well over a century--she had sought
the Prometheans, for her own purposes. In her time,
she had witnessed many strange things, encountered
many amazing races. She had seen beings of almost
god-like ability. She had encountered races of almost
pure thought, races who were infinitely grotesque,
races who were so beautiful that to look at them
moved one to tears. And in all that time, she had tried
to imagine what the Prometheans would look like.
These most unknowable, most all-knowing of beings;
how would they appear? Would they be great, satanic
beings with huge, bat-like wings and evil visages?
Monstrous, dark and black, spider-like creatures?
Would they be angelic, beings of pure light, with
expressions of endless peace and serenity on their
faces? No matter how much she tried to envision
them, she always suspected that whatever she pic-
tured would be wrong. That the Prometheans would
be nothing like what she anticipated.
    And as the Prometheans materialized aboard the
bridge of the Excalibur, as Morgan Primus's long
quest finally came to its climax and conclusion, she
couldn't help but think of just how right she had been.
No matter what it was that she had been expect-
ing...
 It sure as hell hadn't been this.



IW/.

"Hi. How Y'ALL DOING. Glad to be here. Really am."
    The Promethean was nearly six feet and looked
completely human, a man in his late thirties, early
forties at most. He was dressed in a fairly tight suit of
purest white, much like a southern sheriff from the
1930s. His stomach was taut and fiat, his jaw was
squared off, and he had a thick head of blond hair.
    He took a step down from where he was standing,
smiled at Lefier and touched her cheek. "Hi, little
darlin'. You doin' okay?" To Calhoun he said, "My
pardon if my accent is a little off. I haven't been to
Earth in several hundred years."
    "I'm... fine, thank you," a stunned Lefier said.
For no reason that she could discern, she felt an
almost primal urge to scream in ecstasy and faint.
 The Promethean nodded in approval, then clapped
his hands together and rubbed them briskly. "So,
who's the captain of this fine vessel?" he asked.
    Calhoun eyed the newcomer warily. "I'm Captain
Mackenzie Calhoun, in command of the U.S.S. Excal-
ibur."
"Fine ship you got here, Mac. Can I call you Mac.'?"
"Under the circumstances, I think I'd prefer 'Cap-
tain,' if you don't mind. Particularly considering that
this... this vessel of yours"--and he indicated the
gargantuan sphere of power that still encompassed
them--"damn near destroyed this fine ship."
    "We wouldn't have let that happen," the Promethe-
an said confidently. "Just wanted to see how much
your ship could take. And who's this?" he asked,
facing Shelby.
 "Commander Shelby, my first officer."
    He took her hand and gently kissed the knuckles.
"Charmed, ma'am."
 "You're... the Prometheans.'?" she asked.
    He smiled dazzlingly. "If that's what you want to
call us, that's happily a name we'll answer to, ma'am.
Yes. We're the Prometheans."
     "I appreciate that," Shelby said in mild confusion.
"It's a... a pleasure to meet you." "Thank you," he said suavely.
 "You're a Promethean?" Calhoun asked.
    "That's us," he said, slapping his chest confidently.
"I am them, they are me. We have a sort of all-for-one
thing going, know what I mean?"
 "May I ask a question?" inquired Shelby.
    "Ask me anything you want, ma'am," the Prome-
thean said, his hands spread wide.
 "How could you, an advanced race, possibly have
made your technology readily available to people who
clearly weren't ready for it?"
    "We're the Prometheans, darlin'. We are the bring-
ers of knowledge."
    "Your bringing of knowledge destroyed an entire
race!"
    He raised a scolding finger. "We bring gifts, that's
all. What people do with 'em... that's their busi-
ness."
    He sauntered through the bridge as he spoke,
occasionally shaking hands with crewmembers, pat-
ting them on the back. It was as if he was working the
room. "We go to various worlds, pick likely subjects,
and introduce certain knowledge to the world--
whether they're ready for it or not. Sometimes it
works out. Sometimes it don't. (Pleased to meet
you.) Ultimately, it's up to the people and races we
choose. And we lay down puzzles and rewards for
some really lucky folks. (Hi, how you doin'?) That's
how we wound up here, now. We scattered some of
our connector disks throughout this sector of space.
Kept waiting for someone to bring 'em together and
find where they go. (You hayin' a good time? That's
nice.) Only took a few hundred years. You folks are
improving. Y'really are. We're proud of you. Really
proud."
    "But that's irresponsible!" protested Calhoun. "If
you're truly an advanced race, you would know that!
Going around, doing whatever you want, without
regard for the rightness or wrongness of your actions
in terms of how they impact on others. You need to
understand boundaries, to be aware of the result of
the things that you do. You can't just interfere when-
ever you want. You can't..."
"Do what you do?" asked the Promethean.
Calhoun hesitated, looking to Shelby. She
shrugged. Clearly the same thing had been going
through her mind. Calhoun turned back to the Pro-
methean and said tersely, "It's not the same thing."
    "It never is, Cap'n," said the Promethean. "It never
is."
    He had nearly completed his circuit of the bridge,
and then he stopped as he got to Morgan. He stared at
her for a long moment, scratching his sideburns
thoughtfully. "Do I know you, ma'am?"
    She said nothing. Merely regarded him with amuse-
ment, her arms folded.
    He snapped his fingers as if in recollection. "Ala-
bama. Nineteen thirty-four. Am I right?"
    "Maybe," said Morgan, "but unlike you, I've
moved on since then."
    He pointed to Morgan but addressed Calhoun as he
said, "This is a very special lady. She's been looking
for us for a long time now. You take good care of her
now, hear?"
    And suddenly the Excalibur was jolted. Then it
began to shudder ever so slightly, and it seemed as if
they could almost hear the sound of metal being
strained.
    The Promethean turned to face Calhoun, and he
had a wide smile on his face. His teeth were remark-
ably white. "So let's see if I understand you a'right,
Cap'n. You're saying that we should not interfere.
That we shouldn't help others with our advanced
abilities. Well, you got a creature down there that
could bust your ship here to pieces, and is about to,
because he's in the process of getting hisself born.
Now I could remove him from your ship, no sweat.
Just another example of the Prometheans taking care
of business. Or maybe I should just let him burst out,
smash your engines to pieces, blow up your whole
ship. Kill everyone on board. All in the interest of
noninterference, y'understand. Is that what you're
saying I should do?"
    "No," Calhoun said tightly. "That's not what I'm
saying."
    "Then I want you to ask me for my help. No,
better," and he grinned widely. There suddenly
seemed something very dark and frightening hidden
behind the "aw-shucks" attitude he displayed. "Beg
me... just like the captain of the Grissom begged
you."
 There was dead silence on the bridge.
    And then Calhoun said, "Soleta, come with me."
He pivoted on his heel and headed for the turbolift,
Soleta obediently following behind, leaving the Pro-
methean looking rather surprised at the rest of the
bridge.
 "Now don't that beat all," he said.

    Burgoyne looked up as Calhoun and Soleta ap-
proached Selar, who was exactly the same way that
she had been earlier. "Captain," s/he said formally,
"Energy readings are building to an uncontrollable
level. I think it may be time to abandon ship."
    "Not yet. Soleta, do you think you can get through
to her?"
    Soleta studied Selar as if she were looking over a
statue. "I believe so, yes."
 "Is she in communication with the creature?"
 "That would be my best guess, yes."
 "Put me in communication with it," Calhoun said.
    Soleta looked back at Calhoun and there was no
hiding the clear surprise on her face. "Captain?" She
was obviously not certain she had understood him
properly.
    "The two of you, working together... let me talk
to it."
    "We've never done anything like that, sir," Soleta
said worriedly.
  "Well, we're going to do it now."
    Soleta looked from Calhoun back to Selar, clearly
trying to figure out exactly how to proceed. Then,
with grim determination, she said, "All right. Here,
then." She pulled Calhoun over to her. "Clear your
mind," she told him.
    Calhoun did so. He washed away any thoughts of
the imminent danger, any concern over what was
about to happen. He allowed himself to descend into
a place of calm and serenity, where nothing and no
one could hurt him.
    Soleta was somewhat impressed by Calhoun's
powers of concentration and his mental control. This
might just work after all, she thought to herself as she
placed her fingers against his forehead. As she did
this, she put her other hand against Selar's forehead.
She let go of herself, of her consciousness and
identity, and she whispered, "Our minds are
merging."
    And Calhoun suddenly felt as if he were falling,
floating, and flying, all at the same time.
    All of space laid itself bare for him, and he felt
peace such as he'd never known, such as he'd never
thought possible in his lifetime...
    There was light and warmth all around him, and at
first his impulse was to push away, to protect himself,
but he surrendered that impulse, surrendered himself
to that which was carrying him down, down and along
to whatever it was that was beckoning to him. He was
drawn to that very light, and part of his mind cried
out a warning of what can happen when the unwary
come too close to the light, but he did not care, he
knew it was there, he knew that was where he had to
go.
    He felt alien whisperings in his mind, he felt cold
and logic and emotion all wrapped up and bubbling
within him, and there was Selar and there was
Soleta, and there seemed to be a sort of chatter, the
details of which he could not discern, but it didn't
matter because he felt Selar guiding him then, push-
ing him in the direction he wanted to go, felt some-
thing pure and perfect and frightened brushing up
against him...
    And he saw it: It was void and without shape, but
it was nevertheless. It was having a full sense of
itself, and it was afraid, so very afraid. For all its
power, for all its energy, it recoiled as Calhoun drew
nearer.
    No time, a voice called to him, and he didn't know
if it was Selar's or Soleta's, or Burgoyne's own
warning filtering through from some still tenuous
link to the real 'world. All was blackness around him
except for the light that the being gave off. No time,
hurry.
    You have to leave, he told it. You have to leave. You'll
destroy us otherwise.
    It couldn't communicate in words. It didn't have
the knowledge or understanding yet. It was a prema-
ture birth, a confused and disoriented being.
 Instead every emotion it was feeling washed over
Calhoun, and he drew in the sense of it and the
comprehension of it... and he realized that the
creature wasn't simply trying to be born, it was
resisting its own birth throes, clinging scared and
uncertain to the Excalibur, seeing her as the last link
to its "mother," the great energy being that had
deposited it there, almost by accident.
    It did not know itself. It did not know its mother. It
only knew fear. When it lashed out earlier, it was the
actions of a terrified infant.
    Feel this, know this... and Calhoun fed into the
creature images of its parent. The massive flaming
bird, glorious and powerful, enveloping all, spanning
star systems, hurtling off into the void, truly one of
the most amazing things that Calhoun had ever seen.
    And it felt pride. Pride and eagerness, and joy at
comprehending its own origins. Selar had not been
able to project her own visions of the gigantic crea-
ture, for her mind had been fairly overwhelmed by the
desires and needs of the being within the warp core,
but three minds combined as one were able to handle
it, to punch through the overwhelming need and give
it what it truly did need.
    You can leave here, he told it. You can leave here
without hurting us. Your continued presence will de-
stroy us. Leave us now. Leave us in peace and go in
search of your mother. Leave us.
    And the creature, emboldened, newly confident,
gathered itselfi Inspired by the images that it had
seen, it drew itself up, up and out...
    Selar gasped, taken aback, her hands slipping off
the warp core. She staggered, her legs giving way, and
Burgoyne caught her before she fell. Moments later,
Soleta and Calhoun came out of their meld as well,
Calhoun leaning against the core to brace himself,
trying to pull himself back to the real world like a
waking man trying to toss off the last vestiges of a
powerful dream.

    The creature coalesced all around the Excalibur, all
of its being coming together at last, and then it tore
loose of the starship, whirling above it, and it
screeched in a voice that was heard in the voices of
everyone in the ship. It had no wings yet, it had no
complete sense of itself beyond the fact that it existed,
but that was more than enough. It stretched out its
essence, feeling the joy of deep space, feeling the full
truth breadth of life.
    Then, with a howl and an outraged scream of
confusion... it vanished.
 As did the Promethean ship.

    Burgoyne's scans only confirmed what s/he already
knew. "It's gone, Captain. Sparky's gone. Away from
the engines, away from the ship."
    Calhoun had sagged into a chair, still endeavoring
to pull himself together. Nearby Selar was breathing
deeply as Soleta stood over her, steadying her. "Our
shield status?" he asked.
    "Shields are gone, sir. At least three solar hours to
effect repairs and bring them back up to full power."
    "But we're still here," Calhoun said slowly, hauling
himself to his feet. "Guess they found out how much
our little ship could take."
    Suddenly there was, once more, a burst of choral
voices and a flash of light. A moment later the
Promethean was standing there, looking cool and
confident. "Thank you, Captain."
  "Thank you for what?" asked Calhoun.
    "Why, for our latest acquisition, Cap'n. That crea-
ture you had growing in there. Let itself go, let itself
get born. And now part of our gestalt being."
    "Let it go," Calhoun said angrily. "It's a free being,
and deserves its freedom."
    "Freedom?" laughed the Promethean. "Cap'n, you
just don't get it. It's ours now."
    Calhoun felt a deep, burning rage building in him.
He'd felt the creature's fear laid bare, felt that--to
some degree--it had even trusted him. "I said let it
go."
    "You got the stones to make me?" challenged the
Promethean.
    He was still laughing when Calhoun flattened him.
His feet went out from under him and the Promethe-
an hit the floor, never having even seen the fist that
smashed into his chin. He lay there for a moment,
clearly stunned and surprised. "Son, that was not a
real bright move," he said slowly, rubbing his chin.
  "Let it go," Calhoun said again.
    The Promethean did not bother to get up. Instead
he sat on the floor, looking up at Calhoun, shaking his
head in wonderment. "You got a fire in your belly,
son. I like that. I do. The fact that I like it is the only
reason you're still breathing. But a fire can burn pretty
bad. You took a major chance with me, just for the
sake of something, until real recently, you were con-
cerned would destroy you all?"
    "It deserves protection. All beings do. Especially
those that are alone in the universe."
    "Well that all is a real nice sentiment, son. Just
bring a tear to m'eye, but now you tell me this and tell
me true: Let's say we let it go. Wave our hands and,
poof it's gone. And if I told you that, once we release
it, it will seek out the nearest heavily populated planet
and devour the inhabitants? Make a mighty big snack
of 'em. What would you say then? 'Cause I'll tell you
right now, that's what it's gonna do. Is that what you
want? You get to choose, son. The creature... or a
planetful of living beings? Decide."
    All eyes were on Calhoun and, slowly, the captain
realized that he had absolutely no choice in the
matter. "All right," he sighed. "Keep it with you. But
do it no harm."
    "Cap'n! We are an advanced race, son. We don't
hurt nobody 'less we have to." He rose, dusted
himself off and, in a very offhand manner, added,
"Oh, and Cap'n, just so you know. The nearest
heavily populated planet is called Tulaan IV. Bunch
of fairly nasty folks who call themselves the Redeem-
ers live there. Had you continued to insist I release the
creature I would have done it, and it would have
blown 'em away for you. As it is, they are going to be
coming after you in force before very much longer
with the intention of turning you into space dust.
Funny how there are no easy answers, huh?"
    "Yeah. Funny," Calhoun said with absolutely no
trace of amusement.
    And with that, the Promethean tossed off a sa-
lute... and vanished.
    "Soleta... Selar... you okay?" asked Calhoun.
He received nods from both of them, although Selar
looked a bit more haggard than usual. Then he tapped
his corembadge and said, "Calhoun to bridge. Stand
down from red alert. All stations at normal status. It
would appear that the danger is past."

xvI/.

THERE WAS NO WIND BLOWING on the surface of
Ahmista. It was almost as if the entire world was
waiting for something to happen.
    Morgan stood there, contemplating the weapon.
Nearby was Robin, and standing close were Kebron
and Calhoun. Calhoun had been determined to
see this superweapon for himself, and he shook his
head in wonderment at something relatively com-
pact, which, nonetheless, had nearly demolished his
ship.
    Morgan crouched down in front of the barrel,
stroking the surface.
    "Go ahead, Mother. Do what you have to do,"
Robin said softly.
    Morgan looked up at her, her expression unreada-
ble. "What do you mean?"
    "I'm not stupid," Robin told her. "I figured it
out. The reason you were seeking out the Promethe-
ans. You wanted a weapon that could put an end
to you. That would enable you to die, for certain.
And now you've found it. You found what you've
been searching for all this time. This has more than
just fire power. You heard Tarella. It'll do whatever
you want it to do. If you want to die, it'll do it for
you. So, go ahead. Bond with it or whatever you have
to do, and put an end to it. You know it's what you
want."
    Her gaze flickered to Calhoun. He nodded. "Robin
told me what you are... what you want. Who am I
to interfere in a quest of this magnitude? If this is
your wish we'll honor it."
    She looked at the gun then... really looked at it.
Then she looked to her daughter, who was--with
effort--keeping her face neutral and determined. Her
jaw was proudly set, her dark eyes free of tears.
    An eternity of time passed. An eternity almost as
long as Morgan's life.
    She turned to Kebron and said, "May I borrow
your rifle for a moment?"
    Kebron looked questioningly at Calhoun, who nod-
ded. He unstrapped his phaser rifle and handed it
over to her. She cradled it, feeling its weight, and then
with an impressive display of strength she braced it
against her shoulder, took aim, and fired.
    It took more than a dozen shots, but eventually
Morgan succeeded in blasting the weapon into free-
floating atoms.
    Robin gaped at her, not quite believing what she
had seen. And as Morgan handed the rifle back to
Kebron she said, "When Tarella looked like she was
going to shoot me, you got in the way. Even though
there was no point to it, your instinct was still to try
and save me. You were willing to die for me. The least
I can do is be willing to live for you."
    And Robin trembled, trying to suppress her sobs,
but she was only parfly successful as she half walked,
half ran into her mother's embrace.
 "What is with them?" muttered Kebron.
    "That's what I like about you, Kebron," Calhoun
said. "Your sentimental side."

    Shelby let the warmth of the shower flow over her.
As she did so, she mused about how things had
turned out. They had come upon a tragic situation
and made the best of it, but there were no easy or
clean answers to this one. Sometimes there just
couldn't be any.
    At least the one upside to it all was that Mac had
had thrown into his face a being who was the
incarnation of Mac's philosophies, taken to their
logical extremes. The Prometheans followed a sort of
anti-Prime Directive, moving capriciously as they
saw fit, an entire race governed by what felt right at
the moment. And she had a feeling that Mac had
seen something of himself in that. Perhaps he had
come to some hard realizations about himself. Per-
haps, thought Shelby, just perhaps, he was growing
up a bit.
    A few hours later, in the corridor, Zak Kebron
approached her, looking puzzled.
 "What's on your mind?" she asked him.
 "Commander," he began, "the Promethean men-
tioned the Grissom, and you could have heard a pin
drop on the bridge."
    "Spit it out," Shelby said, although she had a good
idea where the large security chief was going.
    "So I was wondering, what happened on the Gris-
sore? To the captain, I mean."
 "I'm not at liberty to say," Shelby replied.
    "And I take it you advise against asking the captain
directly?"
 "That's not a story the captain is ready to tell."
 "And if I asked him about it .... "
     "You might find yourself guarding the interior of
waste extraction for the next six months." "Thank you, Commander."
 "You're welcome. That's what I'm here for."

    In sickbay, Mark McHenry was having some of the
bruises he'd sustained attended to by Selar. "You are
becoming something of a regular customer here, Mr.
McHenry," observed Selar.
    "Wasn't my intention. Things just keep happening
to me. Speaking of things happening... congratula-
tions are in order, I hear."
    "Thank you, Mr. McHenry. And !..." She cleared
her throat. "I must thank you, I believe... for your
ability to handle with such equanimity the rather odd
relationship that has developed between myself and
Burgoyne. I am, frankly, not sure if we are together or
not together. It is very confusing, and--"
    "Doctor," McHenry said confidently, "don't worry
about it. Whatever happens, happens, and I'll be fine
with it no matter what. There's very little that--"
 At that point, Burgoyne entered and seeing McHen-
ry and Selar together, headed over to them. "Burgy,"
said McHenry, "I was just telling the good doctor
here that whatever ends up happening with you two
s'fine by me. There's nothing that I can't take in
stride."
    "Well, that's good to hear, considering I've got
some interesting news. Affects both of you, in a
way."
  "Oh, really? What?" asks McHenry.
    "Well, Selar, it appears that your child is going to
have a sister or brother."
    "What?" She shook her head, not comprehending.
"I do not understand, Burgoyne. I am not having
twins. And if you are under the impression that we
will be making a second child at some point in the
future--"
    "No, no. Actually, I guess I should have said half-
brother or half-sister. You see..." Burgoyne cleared
hir throat. "I'm a little surprised about this, I'm the
first one to admit it. But, well... it appears that I'm
pregnant. Congratulations, Mark. You're going to be a
father."
    And Mark McHenry passed out. Slumped right
back onto the reed table unconscious.
    "Well, well. Guess that proves there's some things
he can't take in stride," observed Burgoyne.
    Selar shook her head scoldingly as she reached for
a spray hypo to bring McHenry out of it. "That was
not funny, Burgoyne," she said as she prepped the
hypo. "Making up something like that just to prove
you could get a reaction out of him." Then she
stopped, the hypo poised in midair as she said
warily, "Burgoyne, you... you were making that
up, were you not?"
 Burgoyne smiled cryptically.