by Peter David
“That is correct.”
“You will bring me to him so that I can kill him.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Calhoun.
Nyos was expressionless, but the edge in his voice was distinct. “We intend to kill them all, Captain. That includes whatever one you have here, hiding from us.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Nyos, the D’myurj have captured one or more of our people. This D’myurj may be of help to us in retrieving them. We are not going to simply turn him over to you for execution when he may still be of use to us. But if that is going to be a hardship for you, then the moment you return to your vessel, we’ll cloak our ship and proceed without your help. We don’t have to destroy their defense satellites, you know. We can just glide past them and count on our invisibility to mask our efforts while we retrieve our people.”
“And what of your call for justice? What of the voices of your people, crying out to be avenged?”
“They’re dead,” said Calhoun. “So I’m pretty sure they won’t know what I do.”
Nyos studied him as if seeing him for the first time. Then, finally, “Very well, Captain. Keep your D’myurj prisoner for the moment. Once his usefulness to you is at an end, though, you will hand him over to us. Is that understood?”
No way in hell.
“Absolutely,” said Calhoun. “As for the other matter, I obviously have no control over how your crew views me. Nor do I care. I can assure you that at this point, I continue to have no sympathy for the D’myurj as a race, and if you want to blow them to hell and gone, that is perfectly okay by me. As long as we are allowed to get our people off the planet first.”
“And if they are not alive? You do not seem to be allowing for the possibility that they are dead.”
“I am indeed allowing for it. It is a circumstance that we should be able to determine rather quickly once we’ve had a chance to run a sensor sweep of the surface.”
“Very well,” said Nyos. “I will hold you to your word, Captain. May I very strongly suggest that you do nothing to give me reason to regret that decision.”
“I will make certain not to,” said Calhoun.
Nyos touched his ear and said, “Bring me back.” Moments later he shimmered out of existence.
Calhoun returned to the bridge and said briskly, “Send a security detail to the sickbay.”
“Why?” said Kebron, and then immediately amended it with a quick, “Yes, sir. Kebron to security. Send a team to sickbay to . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked quizzically at Calhoun.
“Protect the D’myurj,” said Calhoun.
As Kebron repeated the instruction to the security team, Calhoun turned to Soleta, who was sitting at ops. “Soleta, if they try to beam anyone here or beam anything out, would you have warning of that?”
“Yes, sir,” she said immediately. “Anything their ship generates, I’ll know about it before it gets here. Two, three seconds at most, though.”
“Good. Keep their ship monitored. If they train their transporters on us, bring shields up immediately.”
That was when Soleta understood. “They found out about our guest.”
“Yes,” said Calhoun grimly. “An extraordinarily poorly timed communiqué from Doctor Lochley took care of that. So now I want to make sure that they don’t break their word and decide to help themselves to him.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust them, Captain?”
“Yes, Soleta, that is exactly what I’m saying. And it’s obvious that they don’t trust us.”
“Not exactly the soundest basis for an alliance,” she said.
“On that, Soleta, we most definitely agree.”
Thallon
ELIA CANTO IS amused to hear that Fa Cwan wishes to see him.
Canto is in his greeting room, the chamber that some refer to as his throne room. That seems a pretentious name to him since there is not actually a throne in it, but he understands the attitude. He is, after all, the ruler of Thallon, and it makes sense that people would refer to the room where he interacts with his subjects in that way. His greeting room is the place where he meets with allies, where he settles disputes that are brought before him. It is the place where, every day, he reminds the people of Thallon who is in charge.
Many of his friends, hangers-on, and well-wishers tend to congregate in his greeting room during his hours there. They wish to be seen and noticed by him, perhaps to advance their own standing in society. He is perfectly aware that that is why they are in attendance, and it does not trouble him. As long as they continue to acknowledge his leadership, that is really all that matters.
Elia Canto is a rarity among Thallonians. He is exceptionally intelligent, capable of predicting what both friends and, more importantly, enemies will do if a particular situation should arise. His brains are also linked to his brawn. He is a head taller than most Thallonians and half again as wide, and he is schooled in every method of hand-to-hand combat that is known on their world. With that devastating combination of mind and muscle, there is truly no one on Thallon who can overcome him.
There are also certain individuals with whom Elia Canto has very little patience. One of them has now chosen to come by, and he is extremely amused by that.
Truth to tell, he does not know why Fa Cwan has so aggravated him through the years. He supposes it is because of Cwan’s attitude. Cwan is so dedicated to helping others that Canto believes it reflects poorly on himself. As if Cwan is implicitly criticizing Canto by helping others because he believes that Canto is either unwilling or unable to do it. Canto knows that this is wrong, but sees no reason to clarify it to Cwan or his people.
“Fa Cwan wishes an audience,” Elia Canto calls to his followers. This prompts a round of laughter from them, for they know that Cwan holds him in disdain. So laughing at the notion of Cwan desiring to see Canto is definitely the appropriate response. Once the laughter has died down, Canto says, “By all means, show him in.”
Moments later, Fa Cwan slowly enters. Canto immediately notices two things. First, Cwan is accompanied by two individuals. He recognizes one of them immediately. It is a priest named Shanter Khen, a long-time ally of Cwan. The other he does not know. The stranger seems a perfectly average Thallonian, but there is something about the man that comes across as different. He is unable to determine what exactly it is, but it’s definitely there.
The second thing he notices is that Cwan is smiling. This strikes him as rather odd. Every time he has encountered Cwan before, the man seemed to be in a perpetual crouch, as if expecting that Canto was going to strike him. That attitude has vanished. Instead Cwan is walking with far more confidence than Elia Canto has ever seen. He wonders what could possibly have caused this change.
“Fa Cwan,” says Elia Canto, “I have not seen you for some time. To what do I owe this honor?”
“I am here to tell you,” says Cwan, “that your rule is over. I am here to lay claim to ruler of Thallon.”
There is dead silence for a moment, and then laughter roars through the room. Canto’s laugh is the loudest, but others are swift to join in.
It does not seem to register with Fa Cwan. He simply stands there and continues to smile, allowing the laughter to wash over him without having any direct impact upon him.
“Oh, Fa Cwan,” says Canto when he manages to regain control of himself, “I cannot believe that you have come here to provide us with such amusement.”
“I am quite serious, Elia Canto. Your time is done. I will be occupying the throne of Thallon from now on. And so will my son and their sons in turn.”
“Really. And on what do you base this on?”
“According to ancient law, I will defeat you in combat.”
Once again laughter takes hold. Canto’s followers are seriously enjoying this confrontation. They cannot wait to tell friends and family of this when they return home.
“Are we to go to the great arena?” asks Elia Canto once he has regained control. “Are we
to take arms against each other and launch into a historic battle that many will speak of for generations to come?”
“If that is your wish,” says Fa Cwan. “It is up to the challenged to determine the nature of the battle.”
“Indeed. And I can choose weaponry as well, as I recall.”
“That is correct.”
Elia Canto wipes tears from his eyes because he has been laughing so hard. “Despite what you may think, Fa Cwan, I have come to like you. No one else in the land provides this much amusement. Therefore I have determined that the method of battle shall be fists, and that the time of battle shall be here and now.”
This prompts applause from those in attendance. They had been under the impression that they would have to wait for the confrontation to be had. But it seems that Canto is going to provide them entertainment on what had been, up until now, a slow day.
Elia Canto steps down from his chair, flexing his shoulders as he does so. “Are these gentleman,” he asks, “intended to be your seconds? I know you, Shanter Khen, but not your associate.”
“This . . .”—Fa Cwan pauses a moment for what Canto can only believe is dramatic effect—“is the Awesome.”
For the third time there is laughter in the chamber, and this is the loudest of all. The so-called Awesome either does not notice or does not care about the merriment being had at His expense. Instead, He simply gazes at Canto as if He is examining some new insect species.
“Well,” says Canto, endeavoring to bounce back from his amusement and incredulity, “I daresay this is a first for me. I have never encountered a god before.”
“You never will again,” says the Awesome.
“And what is your role in this . . . sport?”
“I am here to see that Fa Cwan wins this bout.”
“How will you do that?”
“By making him invincible,” the Awesome informs him.
“That is a very compelling statement,” Canto admits. “Just as a matter of curiosity, how are you going to accomplish that feat?”
“I’m not going to accomplish it. I already have done so.” The Awesome glances over at one of the guards. “Hand me your sword, if you will.”
The guard looks to Canto for guidance, and he nods, gesturing that the guard should do as requested. The guard strides over to the alleged Awesome, removes his blade, and hands it to the god.
“Thank you,” says the Awesome.
Then He turns, faces Fa Cwan, and drives the sword directly at his chest.
Several people cry out in alarm. They were expecting to see a battle, not an outright murder.
To their shock, that is not what they witness. The blade strikes home and bends.
There is a collective gasp from everyone who sees this. It is not something that anyone remotely expected.
The Awesome steps back and holds the sword up to a crowd that has now become eerily silent. The edge of the blade remains sharp, but it is bent nearly in half. Taking advantage of the sharp edge, however, the Awesome swings the blade and it slams against Fa Cwan’s neck. This time the blade shatters against him. There are loud cries of shock.
“My apologies,” says the Awesome, and He snaps his fingers. A new blade appears in the scabbard of the guard. “I trust this will be a suitable replacement.”
The guard has no words. He moves his mouth several times but is mute.
Silence has now fallen on the hall. Elia Canto stares at what has happened in front of him and refuses to believe it. “This is a trick,” he snarls. “A very well-crafted one, but a trick nevertheless. None of this is possible.”
“Anything is possible,” says Fa Cwan, “if you are willing to believe.”
Elia Canto no longer cares about the ancient laws. He has stated that this battle will be with fists, but that option is now tossed aside. He has an ornate dagger hanging on his hip, and he grabs it now as he charges. Cwan does not move, but simply smiles.
He knows how Cwan did the stunt with the blade. The guard is in on it with Cwan and his friends, and was carrying a sword that was doctored to bend and fall apart. That must be it. When the blade that Canto is wielding is driven into Cwan’s chest, then Cwan will see that he has not fooled Elia Canto. Perhaps Cwan had assumed that Canto, upon seeing this supposed display of superiority, would simply resign. Well, Cwan is about to see that he has woefully underestimated his determination.
Canto slams his blade into Cwan’s chest.
The blade shatters.
Elia Canto cannot believe it. His gasp is lost among the others in the room, who do not understand what they are seeing.
Cwan smiles for half a moment and then swings his fist around.
His fist slams into Elia Canto’s head, and Canto goes down like a bag of rocks. The crowd cries out in shock, but no one moves toward him to intercede. Canto lies on the ground for a moment, stunned, and then he tries to clamber to his feet. He never makes it. Cwan swings his foot casually, catching Canto in the gut. Canto actually hurtles backward, skidding across the floor and slamming into the base of a chair.
That is all the incentive that the guards require. They had been standing there, stunned at what they were witnessing. Now that they have a moment to react, they charge in unison at Fa Cwan.
Cwan does not hesitate. He strides forward, ignoring the blades that are swung at him. His fists move in a blur as he slams guards aside, sending them flying in every direction. They crash into the far walls, their bones cracking on impact since they are not heavily armored. Their job is, for the most part, ceremonial. None of them had expected to have to fight today. They were not prepared to deal with this.
Fa Cwan gazes around at the stunned individuals. “Are you hurt?” he asks solicitously. “I attempted to dispatch you all with minimum violence. I hope I was successful.” Then he turns his attention back to Elia Canto. “You are defeated. I am now the ruler of Thallon. You may depart. I do not care what you do with the rest of your life. I only ask that you do it somewhere else.”
Canto grips the chair as he pulls himself to standing. “You think . . . that this is over? You think that you come in here and display your power and that you will now rule in my stead?”
“According to ancient laws—”
“I do not give a damn about ancient laws!” Canto snarls at him. “This is not over. Whoever, whatever this creature is”—he gestures toward the Awesome—“he will not be here forever to maintain your power. And even if he does, what of your wife? Children? Parents? Are they protected as well? Because you cannot be everywhere, Fa Cwan, and I can assure you this war is only just beginning. You cannot stride in here and declare yourself in charge. I will battle you everywhere I can. I will not stop until—”
Fa Cwan is across the room before Canto can finish the sentence. He has his hand upon Canto’s throat and does not hesitate as he crushes it. Canto gargles out what are presumably his final words, but they are not understandable. His eyes widen in his final shock as for the first time he genuinely understands just how badly he has underestimated what Fa Cwan is capable of accomplishing.
“I did not want to do this,” Cwan says to him between gritted teeth. “I wanted to allow you to live your life. You pushed matters to this. You did. Not me. It is important that you understand that.”
Whether Canto does truly understand that will never be known since Canto is dead. His last breath sighed out from him while Canto was still speaking. Once Cwan realizes this, he releases his hold on Canto and allows him to tumble to the floor.
He turns to the guards. “Will one of you kindly dispose of that?” He nods toward the body of Canto. “And have his spouse and son brought in here.”
The guards no longer offer any sort of resistance. Instead they do as commanded.
Minutes later the widow and child of Elia Canto are brought in. It is obvious that they have been informed of what has transpired. She still has tears on her face, and the boy looks stunned, as if he is still processing what has occurred.
Slowly the boy levels his eyes upon Fa Cwan. Then, very softly, he says, “When I grow up, I will kill you.”
His mother immediately slaps his face, and he falls silent.
Cwan does not seem the least bothered by the announcement. “I have no doubt that you will try. And in turn, my son will kill you, and yours will attack him, and so on. I very much hope that your mother will turn you away from this destructive course. In the meantime, madam”—he turns her attention to her—“I assume my offer is acceptable to you?”
“Yes, it is,” she says, and then after a moment, adds, “Your Majesty.”
Upon hearing this, everyone else in the room murmurs those two words as well.
Fa Cwan smiles. They are not words that he had ever dreamt would be used to address him. Yet, oddly enough, now that they are, he finds that he likes them. He likes them very, very much.
Excalibur
i.
SILENCE HAD FALLEN on the bridge of the Excalibur. The ship was preparing to drop out of warp space and make its approach to the D’myurj homeworld—a planet, Calhoun realized, that they still did not know the name of. He supposed that in the grand scheme of things, it really wasn’t important. He realized that he wished he’d known it. He didn’t know why; he just did.
“Activate the cloaking device,” said Calhoun.
“Cloaking device activated,” said Soleta.
Space seemed to waver around them for a moment, and then the ship was enveloped by an invisibility field. The Dayan ship was already dropping back, determined to keep its distance from the Excalibur until Calhoun sent them the signal to make their advance.
“Captain,” said Kebron, “are you at all concerned about the possibility that the cloaking device could fail us, as it did in Thallonian space?”
