by Peter David
“I never meant to say, or imply, that you were, sir,” Shelby replied stiffly.
“I know what you’re concerned about. I know the regs. What I also know is that these people stand on the brink of almost certainly heading back into a civil war, now that the Thallonian Empire’s influence has ceased.”
“There is no ‘almost’ about it, Captain,” Si Cwan affirmed. “The grudges are long-standing, the hatred beyond any rational discussion. They are not able to look beyond their squabbles and stereotypes of one another. But the one thing upon which they do agree, which cuts across all of their hatred, all of their hostility, is that their Savior will reunite them. Indeed, perhaps it’s their conviction in that regard that has given them license to attack one another all these centuries. They believed that they were destined to do so. But now their Savior is here.”
“He’s not here!” said Shelby firmly.
“What would you have me do, Commander?” asked Calhoun reasonably. “Go to the Zondarians and say, ‘Sorry, you’ve got the wrong guy. You’re on your own.’ And leave? Turn my back while men, women, and children are slaughtered?”
“No, of course not.”
“You wouldn’t want to take the Thallonian route, I presume. Go in and threaten them with force of arms? Cow them into submission?”
“That is also, obviously, not an acceptable alternative.” She sighed. “Captain, I want peace for these people, the same as anyone else. And aiding in peace negotiations is well within the mandate of our mission.”
“If that’s the case, then I think I have a simple solution,” Calhoun said. “In fact, from the look in your eyes, I suspect you have it, too.”
“To neither confirm nor deny?” suggested Shelby.
“Precisely.”
“I’m not quite following, Commander, Captain,” admitted Si Cwan.
“I will not go to the Zondarians and put myself forward as being the fulfillment of their prophecies,” Calhoun said. “By the same token, if they ask me, I will not deny it either. I will simply nod, smile, and say something vague such as, ‘Who am I to argue with prophecies?’ I’m not going in there for the purpose of self-aggrandizement. I’m going in to try and convince a race that seems hellhound on destruction that there are better courses for them to follow. If they want to think of me as some sort of ‘Savior,’ let them. Let them think I’m God from on high. Let them think I’m J’e’n’t, the Three-Headed Xenexian God of Lightning, for all I care. As long as it gets them seated across from each other at a negotiation table, talking with one another, then my job is done.”
“The end justifies the means,” commented Soleta.
“Of course it does. Always,” Calhoun readily agreed.
“Captain,” Shelby said cautiously, “I know that your motives are pure and well intentioned. And I agree that this seems to be the most expeditious manner in which to proceed. But expediency doesn’t always equal wise. We have to tread very, very carefully. We’re walking a fine line here between right and wrong, both from a Starfleet standpoint, and the standpoint of morality.”
“I know that I can count on you, Elizabeth, to keep me on that straight and narrow line and warn me lest I fall off.”
She smiled wanly. “I’ll certainly do my best, Captain.”
The door to the conference lounge slid open, and Doctor Selar entered. “Captain, you wished to see me?” she asked.
“Uhm… yes. I believe we’re done here, then?” There were nods of affirmation from all around. “Commander, kindly inform the Zondarians that we will indeed proceed directly to their homeworld, there to meet with their senior advisors to try and map out some sort of permanent peace between the Eenza and the Unglza. Have Mister McHenry bring us there at warp two. That’ll give them some time to build up anticipation over our arrival. Lieutenant Soleta, work with Ambassador Si Cwan, if you will, and dig up any other information you can on this reputed Savior of theirs. Anything I can use to my advantage to pull this off will be of great help. All right, people,” and he clapped his hands briskly. “This all sounds like a plan.”
Everyone filed out, Shelby the last, and she hesitated just a moment as she passed Selar. A significant look passed between them, one that was not lost on Soleta, who was very aware of the mating urges that Selar was dealing with. She’d heard the rumors flying around the ship regarding the captain and Selar, and had known what aspects to dismiss—also which aspects to take seriously.
There was something else going on, however; some sort of odd dynamic between Selar and Shelby that Soleta could not quite understand. Feeling a need to come somehow to the aid of her fellow Vulcan, Soleta—who was already out in the hallway—said questioningly, “Commander?”
“Yes. Coming,” said Shelby, shaken from the spell that had momentarily distracted her. She walked out behind Soleta as the door slid shut behind her, leaving Selar and Calhoun alone in the conference lounge.
Selar waited expectantly.
“I’ve given the matter a good deal of thought,” Calhoun said.
“You mean the matter of having sex with me.”
He wanted to say, No, the matter of whether or not there is a God, but he wisely decided that that would not be the best course. “That’s correct. I’ve consulted Starfleet regs on the matter, and they seem rather vague on how to proceed in this instance.”
“Since this is a condition that we generally like to keep to ourselves, even though others may tend to broadcast word of it”—and she glanced with a clearly annoyed manner in the direction of the departed Shelby—“it does not surprise me that it would not thoroughly be covered in literature.”
“Be that as it may, it seems to me that the wisest course might be to say no, simply to avoid the possible entanglements such an encounter might engender. Besides, there may be other possibilities. Have you considered the option, Doctor, of simply returning to Vulcan? Of finding a mate there? I could arrange for transport.”
“I am very aware of that, Captain,” replied Selar evenly. She looked down at the toes of her boots, and for the first time she actually looked vulnerable to Calhoun. Even a little scared, although he was quite sure that she would never admit to it. “Captain, I find the entire concept of Pon Farr to be most onerous. My duties as chief medical officer of the Excalibur, on the other hand, give me great satisfaction. It does not seem proper or just to me that I must dispense with the latter in order to accommodate the former. Furthermore, I—”
She hesitated. He thought of prompting her, but he knew that she would tell him in her own time.
“I … have no one on Vulcan, sir. No one I would be… comfortable with.”
“Comfortable? Doctor, the bottom line is you hardly know me, and vice versa.”
She returned his gaze, and it seemed to him as if she were dissecting him with her eyes. “You are a good man, Captain. A proud man. Clever, inventive. I have not known many men whom I would classify as heroic, but you would certainly fall into that category. I would be,” she began, and it seemed to him—although he might have been imagining it—that she had to make the slightest effort to keep her chin from trembling. “I would be most proud if you were to sire my child.”
Calhoun smiled, actually feeling embarrassed, although he’d believed that couldn’t possibly be the case. He felt his head nodding even before he said anything. “All right, Doctor. If that’s what you want, I’ll accommodate you.”
“Thank you, Captain,” she said with clear relief.
They were standing about a foot away from each other, and the moment seemed to call for some sort of physical contact. They each moved their hands in a vague manner, and Calhoun even thought to hug her except he felt that it would be wrong somehow. They settled for a brisk handshake.
“So, judging by the fact that you’re not knocking me onto the conference lounge table, I can take that to mean that you’re still in ‘remission,’ as it were,” he said.
She nodded. ‘Yes, that is correct. However, the mating urge will r
esurface, probably within the next week. I will inform you when I will need you. I will endeavor to time it at a point where your duties and requirements are minimal.”
“I appreciate your consideration for my schedule.”
“It’s more than that, sir. You see, as I go more deeply into Pon Farr, I will… link with you, psychically. You will become as driven by the impulse to mate as I am. You will be consumed by, and be able to think of nothing else but, sex.”
“Sounds like fairly typical male behavior,” Calhoun observed. Then he grinned at the seriousness on her face. “It was a joke, Doctor.”
“Ah. I see. Humor is a difficult concept.”
They stood there for a moment, uncertain what else to say.
“Captain.”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“If you would like, you may call me Selar.”
He nodded appreciatively. “And you may call me Mac, if you wish.”
She seemed to roll the name around in her mouth for a moment, and then she said, “If you will not be insulted, I think I would prefer ‘Captain.’”
“As you wish, Selar.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
VII
THE HIGH PRIEST OF ALPHA CARINAE did not like what he was hearing.
The Alphans were relatively recent converts to Xantism. They were a somewhat barbaric race, really. Large, muscled, fairly savage of mien, yet living with a rather healthy fear of the Redeemers, which was naturally how the High Priest preferred matters.
Different High Priests handled their positions of power in different manners. High Priests on some other worlds, for instance, chose to keep themselves in seclusion, learning of the world through various “eyes” and “ears” among the populace who were loyal to the way of Xant. But the High Priest of Alpha Carinae was far too outgoing an individual to stay hidden away somewhere. He insisted upon moving among the populace, to hear their words with his own ears. To know what they were thinking, to look into their eyes and see whether their love and belief in Xant was sincere.
The High Priest was becoming concerned.
It seemed to him that the Alphans were not looking at him in the same, comforting manner of fear that usually possessed them. Usually, if there was a crowd of Alphans, they would part to make way for him. Recently, however, they’d been slower to do so. Not only that, but when they did get out of his way, they made a major show of doing so as if to draw attention to themselves, as if to make mockery of the High Priest.
And as he walked away, if he strained his ears he could hear muttering. Hear the name of the Redeemers mentioned with what sounded like contempt, and other names murmured as well. Names he had heard bandied about with greater and greater frequency these days. Names such as “Calhoun” and “Excalibur.” The names, in and of themselves, did not mean a great deal to him. But it was enough to cause a stirring of concern in the pit of his stomach.
He did not yet consider himself to be in any sort of danger. The person of a High Priest of the Redeemers was sacrosanct, and he was certain that none of the Alphans would be foolish enough to transgress in that respect. They knew the consequences. At least, he thought they knew the consequences.
However, he needed to find out more for himself. So, during one of his daily perambulations, he chose at random a cluster of Alphans standing at a street-corner, talking and arguing with what seemed to be tremendous enthusiasm. Something had them rather worked up, and the High Priest reasoned that only two things could get a group of young males quite that excited: sex, or a stimulating religious discussion.
Slowly the High Priest moved toward them. One of the young males had his back to him and so didn’t see him approaching. The others’ discussion and chatter quickly trailed off as they spotted him coming, and the one whose back was to the High Priest slowly trailed off, looking and sounding rather puzzled until he turned around and saw the High Priest standing directly behind him.
“Saulcram, isn’t it?” asked the High Priest. He tapped the young man’s chest with his staff.
Saulcram nodded fretfully. The others began to back up as if conspiring to make a getaway, but the High Priest froze them with a glance. He slowly turned his attention back to the first young man. “I would be interested to know that which you are discussing, Saulcram.”
“It’s nothing, my lord,” Saulcram said nervously.
“If it is nothing, then it is of such little consequence that you should not hesitate to tell me what it is. Correct?” He made it sound so pleasant, so simple. He prodded Saulcram under the chin less than gently with his staff. “Now you will tell me, yes?”
Saulcram looked to his friends, and then back to the High Priest. “We’re just… just discussing, well… what everyone is discussing.”
“Odd,” said the High Priest. “I don’t recall discussing it. Why don’t you share that which apparently should already be common knowledge, hmm?”
“Well, it’s… it’s about… you know… the Second Coming.”
“The Second Coming.” The High Priest nodded approvingly. “You refer, of course, to the Second Coming of Xant.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s it exactly. Can I go now?”
The end of the staff had a curve to it. The High Priest twisted it slightly so that the curve snagged Saulcram’s upper forearm, keeping him serenely in place. “Well, I find this a bit odd, Saulcram,” the High Priest told him. “If that was indeed all you were talking about—the Second Coming of Xant—then why did you hesitate to tell me? Why were you so nervous? Why are you so nervous still?”
“I… I swear, I don’t—”
The High Priest suddenly gripped his staff with both hands and twisted quickly. The abrupt sharp turn of the hooked end bent down and back against the arm, and there was a very audible snap. Saulcram went down, clutching at his broken arm, and there were tears already starting to well up in his eyes.
The others surrounding the High Priest took an angry step forward, and once again the High Priest glared around at them in that forceful way he had. It was a look that was usually capable of thoroughly intimidating the Alphans. This time, the High Priest made a mental note that the Alphans did not appear intimidated at all. Hesitant, yes. Unsure of whether to make a move or not. But it seemed no longer that they would hesitate to attack. Rather, it appeared that they were simply waiting for the right time, although no one seemed to know precisely when that was going to be.
Other passersby were stopping to observe the altercation. A crowd was beginning to grow, and it was not something the High Priest could particularly say he liked. He raised his voice and called out, “The person of a High Priest is sacrosanct! Do not forget that! Let none of you forget that! For to injure or kill a High Priest is to spell swift and immediate doom for your entire world! Know that!”
And from somewhere in the crowd, he heard a voice call out. And the voice said, “Excalibur is coming!”
“Excalibur,” he murmured in confusion and annoyance.
“Excalibur, the force of freedom, chosen of the flame bird!” someone shouted.
A third person called out, “The liberator is coming! They will destroy you, and the Redeemers, and even your precious Xant will not be able to stand before them!”
Still another person shouted out, “Calhoun! Calhoun!”
The crowd began to take up the chant, repeating it over and over: “Calhoun! Calhoun! Calhoun!”
The High Priest had no idea what was going on, but he knew he did not like it. Not in the least.
He stepped back away from Saulcram and his friends. Caught up in the defiance of the crowd, even Saulcram and those with him were calling out “Calhoun! Calhoun!”
The High Priest, maintaining as much of his dignity as possible under the circumstances, made his way back to the Alpha Carinae Central Hall of Worship. Even though things seemed calmer once he put some distance between himself and the impromptu rally, he couldn’t help but feel that all eyes were upon him. He kept feeling that someone would launch
himself from the shadows of a nearby building. Anything from a harsh word to a projectile might have come flying his way at any moment. As it happened, however, his return to his base occurred without incident. And so it was that—with his skin intact, albeit it with nerves somewhat strung out—the High Priest was putting through a transmission to Tulaan IV as fast as possible.
Moments later he was speaking directly with Prime One, the Overlord’s good right arm. At first he had been concerned that Prime One might be upset in response to what should have been a minor problem, but instead Prime One seemed amused by it all. “I know whereof the Alphans speak, Brother,” Prime One said calmly. “We know well of this ‘flame bird’ that was mentioned. You will be most pleased to know that the Overlord had officially declared it to be a sign.”
“A sign,” the High Priest repeated uncomprehendingly.
“A sign that Xant will be returning,” Prime One said with a touch of impatience. He outlined the specifics of the flame bird’s appearance in as broad strokes as he could, and then concluded, “This is not a time of concern, Brother. This is a time of rejoicing!”
“Rejoicing is a luxury in which you can indulge yourself, Prime One,” replied the High Priest. “But the people of Alpha Carinae do not seem to necessarily share your conviction that this is a precursor to the return of Xant. They seem perfectly inclined to attribute some other cause to it.”
“Other?” The thought literally had not even occurred to the Prime One. “What other could there possibly be?”
“This ‘Excalibur’ they mentioned. And another name… Calhoun.”
“Yes, we are aware of both of these,” said Prime One. “Excalibur is a Federation vessel, Calhoun its captain. They were merely on the site when the bird signaled the return of Xant. They have nothing to do with the creature’s existence, nor with the return of Xant.”
“That may very well be,” the High Priest informed him, “but the Alphans seem to feel otherwise. They believe in some sort of link. That, rather than signaling a return by Xant, the circumstances surrounding the creature’s appearance is an endorsement of, or a precursor to, the one they call Calhoun. They seem to regard him as some sort of… of liberator.”
