Martyr

by Peter David

  Nonetheless, to play it safe the Zondarians constructed the equivalent of a “landing pad.” It was festooned with decorations, flowers, and greetings of welcome sent from all over the world. As Zondarians of all sizes, shapes, and castes converged on the spot, there was a festive atmosphere. Everyone felt that they were present at the beginning of what was to be a new golden age for Zondar.

  The Excalibur had signaled down to the planet surface to let them know precisely when the Savior would be arriving, and they in turn indicated the precise spot that they desired Him to make His entrance. At the appointed time, Zondarians (some of whom had been waiting from the previous day) packed in the area. They kept a respectful distance from the appointed landing place, but were crushed in so tightly that it was believed a Zondarian could drop dead in the midst of the crowd and still remain standing just by dint of the crush of bodies all around. Unglza were pressed up against Eenza, and although the initial close contact prompted some grumbling, overall it was a fairly well-behaved throng, particularly considering that there had to be close to two thousand Zondarians crushed into an area that would have been better suited for half that number.

  There was talking, there was chattering, there was singing, there was all manner of vocal discourse both loud and soft, and then slowly, as the appointed time drew near, it all trailed off into silence. All over Zondar, people began to look to the sky. No one knew quite what to expect. Perhaps the mighty vessel of the Savior might descend from the sky. Perhaps the Savior Himself would appear on a raft made of purest spun clouds. No one knew for certain.

  And at precisely the appointed time, the Zondarians who were fortunate enough or highly ranked enough to be on the actual spot of contact heard a humming in the air. They looked up, looked around to see if they could determine the source. It sounded vaguely like their own transmat booths, but the sound was far more focused.

  And then there was a collective gasp as Mackenzie Calhoun materialized out of thin air, his body a haze of shimmering sparkles that quickly coalesced into a human body.

  There were two others, one on either side of him. One of them was instantly recognizable to many in the crowd as Lord Si Cwan, formerly of the Thallonian Empire. The other was a sight such as none on that world had ever seen. He was as wide across as any three Zondarians, and his skin was dark and leathery. He surveyed the crowd with eyes that were quite small, and yet seemed to take in everything.

  And then a collective roar, a cheer, went up from the throat of the entire assemblage. The Savior’s arrival had been simultaneously broadcast all through Zondar, and around the world the cheer went up as well.

  It was certainly a good day for a rally. There were almost no clouds in the sky, which seemed to sparkle blue with hints of purple slathered across it, as if a painter had designed it and decided to toss in just a dollop of another color. The air was warm, even a little bit dry in his lungs.

  At the forefront of the crowd were Killick and Ramed. They strode forward, bowing deeply in the presence of their Savior. They remained that way until Calhoun finally said, “Up. You can get up now.”

  They rose fully. “Savior,” said Killick, forgetting himself long enough to genuflect, however briefly. “You will be interested to know, I think, that the prophecies regarding your coming state, and I quote: ‘He will come from air and return to air.’ You see? You have already fulfilled that portion of the prophecy.”

  “I didn’t come from air, technically,” Calhoun said, sounding reasonable. “I came from my ship. The air was simply an environment—”

  “Savior,” and Killick smiled beatifically. “You must learn not to question yourself or your destiny. Self-doubt ill suits you. The Savior will be—is—a man of character and determination who will unite the world. There is no place in that destiny for uncertainty.”

  Calhoun was about to debate the point further, but he saw how Killick, Ramed, and all the others were looking at him, and instead he simply shrugged graciously. “All right,” Calhoun said, not wanting to sound unreasonable. “I will certainly accept your view of the events.”

  “Thank you, Great One.” Killick seemed about to touch him on the arm, but then thought better of it, instead gesturing to the others in an encompassing sweep. “Everyone here has waited most eagerly for you.”

  “Greetings,” Calhoun called to them, and a roar of approval went up. Truthfully, Calhoun felt a bit exposed and vulnerable with so many people packed in so tightly. His old warrior’s antennae went up as he swept the crowd, trying to see some sign of danger. He knew that Zak Kebron, the mountainous security chief, was doing the exact same thing. It gave him a certain degree of confidence, but he was still duly suspicious and apprehensive of the situation. But it was hard to remain so in the face of such open and unstinting adulation.

  Theoretically, this entire business should present no problem to him.

  “We have private quarters prepared for you, Great One … and for you also, of course, Lord Si Cwan,” said Killick. “And for …” He turned and looked at Zak Kebron, and tried to smile in amusement. “Well, I certainly hope that we have something large enough for you, sir. It is ‘sir,’ is it not?”

  Kebron didn’t bother to nod. He didn’t even seem interested in acknowledging that Killick had spoken. But then he said, “I will need to remain in proximity to the captain.”

  “As you wish,” Ramed spoke up.

  They proceeded to leave, and the crowd parted before them. Many of them were bowing, or trying to reach up and ever so tentatively touch the trouser leg of Calhoun as he passed by. It was an odd sensation for him … and not entirely unpleasant.

  “The quarters are quite nice, Commander,” Calhoun said, speaking into the monitor as he glanced around. Indeed, “quite nice” understated it. They were rather posh.

  From the bridge of the Excalibur, Shelby nodded thoughtfully, not caring overmuch what the quarters looked like but wanting to remain politely attentive. “And what is next on the schedule, Captain?” she inquired.

  “They’re having some sort of welcoming banquet tonight. They want me to stay here overnight. And tomorrow, the peace talks begin in this temple that they’ve built.”

  “Is it necessary for you to stay there?” she asked cautiously. “Is there any reason you can’t return to the ship? Security considerations would dictate—”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Commander, but I think I’ll be safe enough here. Kebron’s hovering over me, plus Si Cwan is busily paving the way; he’s already having discussions with the assorted heads of their religious castes. This may be the simplest peace anyone’s ever negotiated.”

  “I know, I know. That may be what makes me nervous. It seems too easy.”

  “Very little in this galaxy, Commander, is too easy.”

  “Watch yourself, Captain,” she said cautiously.

  “I always do. Calhoun out,” he said. His image blinked off the screen to be replaced by the rotating orb of the planet.

  She didn’t like it. Anytime the captain left the vessel, it was asking for trouble. But obviously in this instance, there was simply no choice. Calhoun the Savior was who they wanted to see. She hadn’t even asked Calhoun if he was trying to be circumspect in terms of how he was presenting himself to the crowd. The entire “anointed one” business was still fraught with peril, as far as she was concerned, from a Prime Directive point of view.

  She hoped like anything that Calhoun wasn’t making a mistake, and worse, that she wasn’t just sitting around letting him make it.

  Si Cwan was becoming slightly worried.

  Certainly the enthusiasm for Calhoun was remaining consistent wherever he went. After being brought to his quarters and informing the Zondarians that the accommodations were more than adequate, Calhoun was paraded around the city. Wherever he went as he was escorted about, people lined up, cheering, shouting, waving. A number sobbed openly, so overwrought were they by his mere presence. It seemed to indicate to Si Cwan that the people were d
oing everything they could to embrace both the concept and reality of their peace-bringing Savior.

  But the leadership, on the other hand, still had Si Cwan nervous.

  For the assorted clans were more than just keepers of power. They were also maintainers of petty squabbles that seemed to go back generations. Sulimin was not speaking to Maro, Quinzix seemed totally disinterested in conversing with Vonce, and so on. Si Cwan had asked all parties involved in the discussions—and it was well over a dozen people—for a list of grievances to be discussed. He had been staggered to see that the list went on for page after page. Some of the disputes were centuries old; indeed, Si Cwan was astounded to discover that one of them involved a territorial dispute over land that had been victimized by shifts in tectonic plates and had, in fact, slid into the ocean two hundred years previously. But both the Unglza and the Eenza said that they had title to it, and were standing firm on one side or the other, neither admitting that they were in the wrong.

  “Gentlemen, ladies, we must reach some accords here,” Si Cwan said finally. He was addressing the group that was seated around a large round table. He noticed that they had split up so that they were sitting along caste lines. He was holding the list, but was doing so with all the enthusiasm of massaging toxic waste. “Rather than obsessing about the individual grievances, of which there are many, perhaps we might wish to get to the core of the disputes between the two groups. We acknowledge and understand that the Unglza and the Eenza have been at war with each other for nearly a millennium. But why? What began it? What set it off? I have studied your philosophies, your religious beliefs—they are fundamentally the same. There do not seem to be vast gulfs between you. Why, in short, are you not able to live in peace with one another?”

  They looked at each other, scowling across the table, and then slowly Quinzix rose on somewhat shaky legs, for Quinzix was not as young as he once was. “The Eenza religion,” he said slowly, “places the Eenza above all others on this world. It is their belief that, at the time of judgment, it will be the Eenza who are given preferential treatment at the hands of the one who sits in judgment over all. We of the Unglza believe that they are wrong. We believe that the Unglza will be valued most highly. And we consider it an affront to us, and a self-worshiping elevation of the Eenza, for them to think otherwise.”

  There were nods from around the table, or scowls, depending upon who was nodding. Tulaman now rose, casting an angry glance at Quinzix, who had remained standing. “He oversimplies, Lord Cwan. The truth is that once the Eenza and Unglza were as one. But individual caste and family members desired to take control of the leadership, determined to force out the Eenza leaders. To do whatever was necessary to take over the governing and land that they desired. It all comes down to territory, Lord Cwan, at its heart. That’s what this dispute has always been about. Do not let them convince you otherwise.”

  There was already the grumbling of rising disputes around the table, and Si Cwan put up his hands for silence. “But this is absurd,” he said. “Certainly we can come to some sort of arrangement. You’re speaking of leadership struggles among people who have been dead for centuries, and philosophical debates about matters that will only be pertinent after those of you at this table, and all of your constituents, pass away. In the here and now, there seems to be no reason—”

  “The reason is, they are Unglza!” shouted Tulaman, stabbing a finger at Quinzix. Quinzix for his part trembled with outrage, and seemed prepared to shout back. All around the table, participants were starting to get to their feet, and Si Cwan could feel the rage bubbling through the room.

  At that moment, the doors to the chamber opened wide. Calhoun entered, Killick and Ramed on either side of him, Zak Kebron directly behind him.

  “Great One,” murmured the various people around the table.

  Si Cwan said, “Captain, it was my understanding that you would not be joining us here at the temple until tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Calhoun said sounding disturbingly cheerful. “But there’s only so much adulation one can take before one feels the need to accomplish a bit more with the day than just shake hands and provide spiritual comfort. So, my friends,” Calhoun continued, briskly clapping his hands together and rubbing his palms as if preparing to deal a deck of cards, “what are we discussing?”

  The summary did not go particularly well. Si Cwan attempted to outline the disputes in as straightforward and neutral a manner as he could, but it didn’t appear to help. He was interrupted no fewer than three times and, by the end of the summation, arguments had erupted throughout the room. There was pointing, there was shouting, there were accusations, there were claims and cross-claims, threats of assault, threats of retribution, threats and more threats …

  Kebron grabbed the table.

  This was not a light table. It was solid metal, having sat in the home of one of the under-bishops of the Eenza caste and having been donated to the temple specifically for the arrival of the Savior. It was ornately carved and it was massive. It had taken twenty Zondarians half a day, moving it with gravity negators which kept burning out, before they’d managed to transport the monstrosity into the conference room within the temple that had been set aside for it.

  With the slightest of grunts, Kebron lifted one end completely clear of the floor. His leverage wasn’t properly set for him to raise the entire thing clear, but nonetheless it was an astounding feat. There were gasps of astonishment, and the assembled Zondarians jumped back as Kebron then slammed the table back to the floor.

  The clang of the metal on the floor was one of the most earsplitting things that anyone gathered in the room had ever heard. Nor was it confined to the room. The echo resounded throughout the temple and out into the street, where passersby stopped in their tracks at the sound of the massive chime emanating from the temple.

  Everyone within the room was clutching their ears, save Calhoun, who simply stood there with a rather satisfied expression on his face. This was not done without effort; Calhoun’s head was ringing no less than anyone else’s, but he felt it necessary to maintain utter composure.

  “Great One—” Killick started to say, but Calhoun silenced him with a glance. Then he looked back at the room full of assorted leaders.

  “I’ve been out among your people,” Calhoun said slowly. He circled the room, his hands draped behind his back. “While you were in here, tossing around accusations, defending a status quo built upon a legacy of bloodshed, I walked among the Zondarians, those whom you supposedly represent. And I saw faces filled with such eagerness, such hope. They offered up prayers to me, did you know that? They begged me to help them, just through my mere presence. I spoke to parents who are afraid to send their children to school, for fear that they will end the day burying the bodies of their beloved children. I spoke to people who came out of their homes for the first time in ages without fear, confident for the first time that there may be a hope for peace. There is still a great deal of suspicion out there, my friends.” He stopped and put one hand on Quinzix’s shoulder and the other on Tulaman’s. “There is fear. There is anger. However, it’s microscopic compared to the intensity and depth of hostility that I feel when I am in here. Now the people out there have bought into this ‘Savior’ business. I do not know that I have, especially. But if it will help your people, then you, my friends, will buy into it. You will work with me. You will work together. And if not …”

  Suddenly the friendly hand on the respective shoulders of Quinzix and Tulaman increased in pressure, and he snapped both of them around so that they were facing one another. “If not, I will knock your heads together, with the aid of Mister Kebron here. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Great One, you do not understand the difficulties—” began Quinzix.

  At the same time, Tulaman started to say, “We will not simply accept, on their say-so—”

  Calhoun knocked their heads together.

  It was relatively gentle; he could have done it a great deal ha
rder. But it made a very loud and satisfying thud when their skulls came into contact with one another. Both of them yelped in a most impressive manner, and Tulaman was immediately on his feet, although it was clear that the room was spinning for him somewhat. The others were looking on, aghast. “Do you know who I am?” raged Tulaman.

  “Yes.” In comparison to Tulaman’s anger, Calhoun was the soul of calm. “And do you know who I am?”

  Tulaman looked squarely into Calhoun’s purple eyes, and saw the fearsome scar that seemed to be blazing a darker red than it had before. And Tulaman looked down. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Yes, I do.”

  “Damn right you do,” Calhoun told him. He took in the rest of the room with a glance. “This is not the first world I’ve brought peace to, gentlemen and ladies. When I last accomplished that, I was half the age I am now. I did it with the strength of my right arm and a refusal to see good people suffer anymore. Now I didn’t ask to be your ‘Savior.’ You came to me. You wanted me to step in, to try and bring you a peace that has long been predicted but never really considered to be a possibility. Well, I’m here, friends, whether you still want me or not. Lord Cwan, Mister Kebron, and I, we are the negotiating team that is going to bring your dreams to fruition. I am the Savior, predicted, believed in, and trusted. Lord Cwan is the experienced negotiator, skilled in dealing with recalcitrant world leaders. And Mister Kebron here …”

  “Breaks people in half,” offered Kebron.

  “Well put,” said Calhoun. “We are in a life-and-death situation, my friends. We do not end this business until it is concluded to my satisfaction. Anyone who stands in the way of that … Well, Mister Kebron here will make certain that any man who blocks the peace process will die a man of parts. Do we understand each other?”