The Returned, Part II

by Peter David

  “Well, if they find their way to my universe, they’re going to be overmatched. Even if they have a fleet of ships. It can’t stand up against the power of the entirety of Starfleet.”

  “You don’t know what their ships can do.”

  “I doubt it—”

  “It’s alive,” said Quentis.

  Calhoun shook his head. “What do you mean, it’s alive? How can it be alive?”

  “It’s a living organism that is also a vessel. They’re not the crew; they live within it symbiotically. It feeds on their emotions and converts it to energy. It is self-healing. Any damage that the ship sustains in combat automatically heals itself within seconds. It cannot be destroyed, Captain. None of their vessels can. It doesn’t matter how much you fire upon it; it always regenerates. Does your ship regenerate? Do the ships of your fleet regenerate?”

  “No,” said Calhoun.

  “You see the problem. No matter what you try to do to them, their ship will heal. In the meantime, they will keep assaulting whatever vessels attack it until it demolishes them. You cannot beat them, Captain. No one can. All you can do is attempt to escape, which is what we have been trying. The Brethren are able to survive in your universe, but we cannot. You dislike the manner in which we have attempted to continue our existence; well, I understand that. But that is no longer the point. The question before you now is, what are you going to do to survive? Because if the Dayan accompany you back to your universe, that is the beginning of the end for all you hold dear. You think you are in mourning for the death of your race? How much more will you mourn when the death of everyone you’ve ever known and loved is inflicted upon you?”

  At that moment, Calhoun’s combadge went off. “Calhoun here.”

  “We’ve got them, sir,” came Tobias’s voice. “Or at least we think it’s them. Sensors have detected human readings on the surface.”

  “Beam them up.”

  “We can’t. They’re in some kind of force field. We tried firing on it, but our phasers can’t penetrate it. If we want them, we’re going to have to go down there and get them.”

  “That figures,” he muttered. Then, more loudly, he said, “Assemble a security strike team. I’m going to head it up. And do not,” he continued even as he heard her about to respond, “tell me that Starfleet regulations prohibit my taking charge of an away team in this manner. Is that understood?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

  “Good. Have them meet me in the transporter room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He then turned back to Quentis. “You are my prisoner on this vessel,” he said. “I am going to keep you here, and when we return to our universe, you’re coming along for the ride. And I honestly don’t give a damn if coming back with us kills you or doesn’t kill you. Understood?”

  “Fully, Captain,” said Quentis. “Who knows? Perhaps your people will find a way to allow my body to compensate for your universe. All I know is that whatever happens, it would be better than being turned over to the Dayan, for they will kill me the moment they look at me.”

  The way that I wanted to, thought Calhoun grimly as he walked out of sickbay.

  New Thallon

  i.

  THE MOMENT THAT Mark McHenry stepped out of the house, a roar of approval went up.

  It was somewhat overwhelming to McHenry, who had never been the recipient of such an ovation. The cries of joy were so thunderous that he clapped his hands over his ears in order to combat the pounding in his head. “Shut up!” he cried out, but they didn’t hear him.

  Then the shouts turned to words. “Heal me! Help me! Cure me! Help my husband! My wife! Help my child!” The onslaught of cries for salvation came from every direction and McHenry had no idea where to look first.

  “Will you all please get a hold of yourselves!” he cried out, but still they didn’t appear to be paying attention to him. All they wanted was his power at their disposal.

  McHenry supposed on some level that he couldn’t blame them. They saw standing before them some manner of savior. They didn’t understand what he was capable of; all they knew was that he had helped someone like them, and now they wanted his help as well.

  Instead of trying to outshout them, which was not an option, he raised his hands over his head in an indication that they should be quiet, and then he said nothing. He just stood there like that, waiting for them to see the gesture and, ideally, respond to it.

  It didn’t work. Instead their noise continued without abatement. McHenry was starting to wonder what in hell he had to do to quiet them down.

  Suddenly there was a young woman standing next to him. She drew air into her lungs and bellowed in the loudest voice that Mark had ever heard.

  “EVERYONE SHUT UP!”

  To McHenry’s astonishment, the crowd immediately fell silent.

  He stared at her and whispered, “How did you do that?”

  She didn’t reply. Instead she remained focused on the crowd. “We are going to need a line,” she called to them. “You.” She pointed to the person closest to her. “You are first in line. You are second. The rest of you, get in line behind them. And anyone who fights for a place in line will be sent home immediately and not be seen by McHenry. Do you understand? Fight with each other, and you are gone. Is that clear?”

  There were nods from the mob.

  She grabbed McHenry’s arm. “Come with me,” she said, and guided him into the house. The door slid closed behind them.

  Lefler was staring at the newcomer while Cwansi lay on the floor, happily shaking a rattle around. “I know you,” Robin said after a moment. “You work for Shintar Han.”

  “I worked for him,” said the woman. “My name is Indi Anel. I was Han’s assistant for several years, and I have decided I no longer desire the job.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I am not at liberty to say.”

  “I suggest you find a way to take the liberty,” said Lefler flatly. “That is, if you have any intention of not being thrown out of here.”

  Indi shifted her feet uncomfortably and then said, “I’ve come to the conclusion that Shintar Han is evil.”

  “Really,” said McHenry, sarcasm thick in his tone. “What tipped you off? When he tried to have us killed?”

  “More or less, yes,” she said. “I can respect the idea of having enemies executed. That is hardly a new concept to Thallonians. But a baby? A helpless infant? I could not abide that notion.”

  “It’s good to know we’re on the same wavelength in that regard,” said Lefler.

  “In any event, Shintar Han left his office days ago and has not returned. I have heard that he has moved into a temple and is incessantly worshipping for answers. He can do so until his head falls off, as far as I care. The more I thought about how he targeted you, the more I wanted to come and help you. And I see that I’ve arrived just in time.”

  “Help us how?” said McHenry.

  She looked at him with open incredulity. “Isn’t it obvious? You need someone to manage you. Someone to run your affairs. To interact with the outside world. To handle the people so you do not have to.”

  “I’m not sure we need that,” said Lefler.

  But McHenry wasn’t as fast to dismiss her. “You weren’t out there, Robin. You didn’t hear the desperation in their voices. Every crippled person on New Thallon is standing outside, waiting for me to cure them.”

  “Can you?” asked Indi.

  “I don’t know. Some, maybe. Certain types of problems I can deal with. But I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t just—”

  “Stop right there,” said Indi. “You just misspoke. My understanding is that you laid hands upon a child who was helpless in his chair and you brought him back to his parents. Yes?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “That’s a miracle. I can’t do that. I suspect she can’t do it.” She nodded toward Lefler. “Since you are able to do it, that indeed makes you a miracle worker. So the question
before us isn’t whether or not you’re a miracle worker, because you clearly are. It’s a question of what sort of miracles you are able to perform. That is what we have to analyze, and that is what we have to tell people.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?”

  “Well, you already have a connection to Puentos Po,” said Indi thoughtfully. “The news anchor that you absconded with and brought here. He would be a good place to start. But my suggestion is that you bring him here in a normal way. I can reach out to him on your behalf.”

  “Will he take your call?” said Robin.

  Indi Anel smiled at that. “During my time with the prime minister, I got in touch with quite a few individuals on this world. There is no one of importance with whom I have not established a relationship. If I call Po’s people, they will definitely speak to me. I can do so if you would like.”

  Robin and Mark exchanged looks, and then McHenry nodded. “That would be extremely helpful, yes.”

  “Good. That is for the long-term solution. At the moment we need to deal with the mob that is outside your house. I believe the best way to handle it is for the people to be screened. Sit down with them, interview them, see which of them—if any—you can help. Presuming you want to help them, that is. You know you’re under no obligation to do so.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He paused for a moment, considering it. “I suppose I would like to help them, if I can. I just hate to tell the ones whom I can’t help that—”

  “You won’t have to,” Indi assured him. “That will be my job. You tell me, and I’ll tell them. We will then make appointments for those you can help, just as if you were a regular medical provider. They will come, you will help them, and they will pay you.”

  “Wait, what? I can’t demand payment!”

  “Why not?” asked Indi. “You are providing a service. I am not familiar with the race that spawned you, but in our society, one is compensated if he provides services.”

  “Well, yeah, we had that,” said Mark. “But it never would have occurred to me to start charging for what I’m able to do.”

  “Then you haven’t been thinking of it properly. If you can charge for it, you absolutely should do so. Why would you not?”

  “I don’t know,” said McHenry. “I mean, you have to understand, the main reason I’m here is to provide protection for Robin and her son. I don’t want people to think that I came here to earn money.”

  “Why should you care what people think? Look, you don’t have to charge a lot. But you should ask for some compensation. You don’t have to keep it for yourself. Give it to Robin. She could certainly use it. How did you think she was going to make a living? I mean, were you planning to spend the rest of your life here?”

  “I . . . don’t know,” McHenry said thoughtfully. “I have to admit, I hadn’t really considered it one way or the other.”

  “Perhaps you should. When you do leave, presuming you leave Robin and her son behind, it would be nice for them to have some money built up. That way they do not have to depend upon the state to support them.”

  “She’s right,” said Lefler. “It would give us independence.”

  “I . . . I guess you’re right.” McHenry wasn’t feeling entirely certain about the whole concept, but he could see the logic. “All right, I suppose. Sure. Some nominal fee. But it all goes to you, Robin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You should be provided for after I leave.”

  “So . . . Indi . . . let’s get started on the interviews,” said Robin. “We shouldn’t keep the people waiting.”

  ii.

  PUENTOS PO LEANED forward, genuine concern—or at least an excellent imitation of genuine concern—painted on his face. “And how many people have you cured so far, Mister McHenry?”

  “So far, thirty-seven,” said McHenry. He was seated on a couch in the living room and had never been more grateful for a piece of furniture. He was feeling utterly exhausted. “That’s a very small percentage of the people who came to me for help. But it was the ones I could help.”

  It had easily been the longest day of McHenry’s life. Curing people took something out of him, he knew that much. But he had never expected it would take as much out of him as it had.

  He couldn’t imagine how he could have accomplished it without Indi’s help. On the job for less than a day, she had made herself absolutely essential. She had efficiently gone through every single person who had amassed outside the house. It had taken her four hours. When new people started arriving in the early afternoon, she gave them times to come back the following days.

  Meanwhile, McHenry had dealt with the people he could help. All of them were suffering neurological difficulties. Some were similarly afflicted as the young boy that McHenry had aided, the one who had kicked off this insanity. The other issues ranged from a stammer, or the inability to sleep, to previous traumas that made it impossible to lead a normal life. For the grievously afflicted, McHenry had gone into their minds and created permanent blocks so that their consciousness would no longer be harassed.

  Granted, there were plenty who went away disappointed. His power was not infinite. He couldn’t snap his fingers and help the paralyzed to walk or the blind to see. The people that he could help, though, he did so as quickly and efficiently as he could.

  Now he was dealing with Puentos Po asking him what his day had been like. Po’s cameraman was nearby, recording the entire exchange.

  “How did it feel helping those people? Making their lives better?” asked Po.

  “It felt fine,” said McHenry, having no idea how to respond. “I wish I could have helped all of them, but my power isn’t infinite. I did what I could.”

  “And you charge for it now?”

  “The money is all going to Robin and Cwansi,” he said immediately. “I’m not keeping any of it.”

  “So your lover is getting it all?”

  “Yes . . . no!” McHenry did a double take. “Robin isn’t my lover. We’re just friends. That’s all.” He turned to Lefler. “Right?”

  “Right,” Lefler told Po firmly. “Mark is here to help me and, as it turns out, help the people of New Thallon as well. We’re not . . . the two of us aren’t . . . you know.”

  “Actually, I don’t know,” said Po. “That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Well, now you do,” she assured him.

  “Thank you for clarifying that.”

  Po talked with him a while longer, and finally McHenry informed Po that he had had enough. That was fine, since Po had more than enough for his story.

  Indi had been sitting there for the duration of the interview. Once Po and the cameraman took their leave, she stood up and stretched. “Am I correct in assuming that I have earned a position?”

  “You absolutely have,” said Lefler. “Give Mark and me time to discuss a salary. Come back tomorrow morning, and we’ll make you an offer to stay on, if that’s what you want.”

  “That is very much what I want. I will do my best to accommodate you.”

  Finally she departed, leaving McHenry and Lefler alone in the living room. Cwansi was nearby, sleeping in his downstairs cradle.

  “I cannot remember the last time I was tired,” said McHenry. He was now standing and bending over, stretching and touching his toes as he did so. “I don’t sleep most nights. I guess that’s because I don’t really do anything that can wear me out anymore.”

  He noticed that Lefler was staring at him. She seemed to have something rather sizable on her mind. “What’s wrong, Robin?”

  She seemed about to reply but then caught herself. “No, it’s okay. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s obviously something. There’s something you want to talk about, and you’re just not sure you can bring yourself to do it.” He cocked his head in curiosity. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m just . . . I was wondering, that’s all.”

  “Wondering what?”

  Lefler gazed at him. “Why are you here,
Mark? I mean, you can wander around the entire galaxy, wherever you feel like going. And instead you’re here, now. I know, you told the captain that you travel the universe, keeping an eye out for threats and all that sort of thing. But now you’re here, with me, serving as our bodyguard and taking time to help ailing Thallonians.”

  “So?”

  “So why?” she asked insistently. “You showed up out of nowhere and offered to help us. I want to know why. I want to know why you decided to take off from your job—”

  “A self-appointed job,” he pointed out.

  “Fine, a self-appointed job. Instead of watching out for the entirety of the galaxy, you’re focusing all your attention on us. I mean, there must be more to it than you were just interested.”

  “I was. There’s no question that I was.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Mark? What’s going on?”

  “What do you want me to say?” For the first time, he seemed impatient, even frustrated. “I mean, what answer could I give you that would possibly satisfy you?”

  “The truth, Mark. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “The truth is overrated. It really is.”

  He tried to turn away from her but she pulled him around so that he was facing her. “Mark,” she said, the tone of her voice indicating that she wasn’t going to relent until he provided her a truthful answer.

  He stared at her for a long moment.

  “Because I love you,” he said. “I always have. Happy?”

  She looked astounded. “What? Seriously?”

  “Well . . . yeah. I mean, what other answer would have satisfied you?”

  “I don’t know. Actually, I thought that it was that you saw Cwansi’s future and that he was incredibly important, so you were here to help shape it.”

  McHenry felt sheepish. “Oh. Yeah. Well, okay. That works too. Let’s go with that.”

  “We can’t just go with it! You told me something else completely! You told me you loved me! That you always have!”

  “And I do,” McHenry said. This time when he turned away from her, she made no effort to stop him. “I never said anything because you were obviously interested in Si Cwan. I didn’t want to interfere. I never felt it was my place. And now you’re a widow and it’s . . . I don’t know . . . it’s not right, I guess. You’re in mourning, and so your head probably isn’t in the right place for worrying about such things. I didn’t see any point in bringing it up.”