by Peter David
Burgoyne considered it for a moment, and then said, "I think I'll wait outside, if it's all the same to you."
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"As you wish. Pass up the thrill of a lifetime, if that's your pleasure."
Burgoyne stepped into the hallway, waited until the door shut behind hir, and then muttered, "Soleta, I'll get you for this. I'm not certain how or where, but I will get you for this. And Captain, if you're alive, I certainly hope you appreciate this."
XV.
ACROSS THE BELEAGUERED WORLD of Zondar, argu-ments spilled over into feuds. Skirmishes became outright battles. Accusations ricocheted, counteraccu-sations flew. Mourning took hold of the entire populace as they came to feel that a golden age of growth, a time of peace and prosperity, had been snatched away from them. It seemed to many that night and day became filled with nothing but ululations of grief, cries that could be heard from one side of Zondar to the other.
Mackenzie Calhoun was deaf to all of them.
He lay inside the cave, unable to move, barely even able to think. Slowly he felt his strength starting to return, but when he tried to move his arms and legs, nothing seemed interested in functioning. It took a massive amount of effort just to be able to open his eyes, and when he did, the entirety of his reward was darkness. Slowly he started to be able to make out things, except all he was making out was cave walls. There was no chill in the cave, however; instead he
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"As you wish. Pass up the thrill of a lifetime, if that's your pleasure."
Burgoyne stepped into the hallway, waited until the door shut behind hir, and then muttered, "Soleta, I'll get you for this. I'm not certain how or where, but I will get you for this. And Captain, if you're alive, I certainly hope you appreciate this."
XV.
ACROSS THE BELEAGUERED WORLD of Zondar, argu-ments spilled over into feuds. Skirmishes became outright battles. Accusations ricocheted, counteraccu-sations flew. Mourning took hold of the entire populace as they came to feel that a golden age of growth, a time of peace and prosperity, had been snatched away from them. It seemed to many that night and day became filled with nothing but ululations of grief, cries that could be heard from one side of Zondar to the other.
Mackenzie Calhoun was deaf to all of them.
He lay inside the cave, unable to move, barely even able to think. Slowly he felt his strength starting to return, but when he tried to move his arms and legs, nothing seemed interested in functioning. It took a massive amount of effort just to be able to open his eyes, and when he did, the entirety of his reward was darkness. Slowly he started to be able to make out things, except all he was making out was cave walls. There was no chill in the cave, however; instead he
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felt a distant warmth, leading him to believe that he was in a fairly arrid area.
He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry and raspy, his throat not much better. He cleared his throat, took another stab at it, and this time managed to get out, "Hello?"
He didn't get an immediate response, and he wasn't entirely certain if that was a good thing or not. He felt the bonds at his wrists and ankles, tested his strength against them, and found that they were more than capable of standing up to his best efforts. That didn't stop him from trying to pull his wrists clear, but after several minutes that only resulted in severe abrasions, he stopped to reconsider the matter.
He tried to remember how he had arrived at his present situation, but his memory was hazy at best. He recalled the banquet, and the vague sense of danger. He remembered retiring to his room. Beyond thatnothing. He looked down at his chest and noticed that his communicator was gone. Well, whoever had made off with him was thorough, he would certainly give him that.
Slowly he surveyed his surroundings. Definitely a simple cave, fairly unremarkable, Now if he could just figure out what in hell he was doing there. Who could possibly have done this to him, and for what possible reason?
Then something flickered over near the wall. He looked up at it, squinting, trying to make it out.
It was some sort of light emission, that much he could see. And it appeared to be taking some sort of form, coalescing into . . .
A Zondarian.
But it was not one that Calhoun had seen before. He was hairless, with the same glistening leathery skin that the rest of the people shared, but he seemed older somehow.
Calhoun sat up, propping himself up on one elbow, and said to the image, "Who are you?"
He wasn't entirely certain if he expected an answer, but was rather startled to receive one, although it wasn't much of one "I know who you are," replied the image. It had only partly materialized; Calhoun could still clearly see the cave wall behind him.
"Oh?" was all Calhoun replied. It wasn't the most useful of responses; after all, Calhoun knew perfectly well who he himself was.
"I watched you," said the new arrival. "I watched you arrive. I watched you hailed as the Savior. That is what I do, much of the time. I watch. Watch and record."
"Would you be kind enough to tell someone where I am?"
"They will know," replied the image cryptically. "I have already seen that. That is what I do, you see. I notice certain moments, and then track them to see how they develop. I have already seen what will happen to you. Now, for curiosity's sake, I am studying to see how you got to that point."
"I'm flattered I'm of such interest to you." He felt his arm becoming numb and shifted his position. "Since you seem to be so cognizant of what's to come* would you mind telling me if I get out of here?"
"You will be saved by neither man nor woman," replied the image, and then slowly it began to fade out.
"I appreciate the encouraging words!" Calhoun called out. "Get back here!"
But the image was gone.
Insanely, Calhoun sensed that the floor was warm directly beneath where the image had been, as if it had been generating body heat. But that was impossible. It had been nothing more than a hologram . . .
For, for all Calhoun knew, it had been a complete delusion. Perhaps he was simply losing his mind. Now
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felt a distant warmth, leading him to believe that he was in a fairly arrid area.
He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry and raspy, his throat not much better. He cleared his throat, took another stab at it, and this time managed to get out, "Hello?"
He didn't get an immediate response, and he wasn't entirely certain if that was a good thing or not. He felt the bonds at his wrists and ankles, tested his strength against them, and found that they were more than capable of standing up to his best efforts. That didn't stop him from trying to pull his wrists clear, but after several minutes that only resulted in severe abrasions, he stopped to reconsider
the matter.
He tried to remember how he had arrived at his present situation, but his memory was hazy at best. He recalled the banquet, and the vague sense of danger. He remembered retiring to his room. Beyond thatnothing. He looked down at his chest and noticed that his communicator was gone. Well, whoever had made off with him was thorough, he would certainly give him that.
Slowly he surveyed his surroundings. Definitely a simple cave, fairly unremarkable, Now if he could just figure out what in hell he was doing there. Who could possibly have done this to him, and for what possible reason?
Then something flickered over near the wall. He looked up at it, squinting, trying to make it out.
It was some sort of light emission, that much he could see. And it appeared to be taking some sort of form, coalescing into . . .
A Zondarian.
But it was not one that Calhoun had seen before. He was hairless, with the same glistening leathery skin that the rest of the people shared, but he seemed older somehow.
Calhoun sat up, propping himself up on one elbow, and said to the image, "Who are you?"
He wasn't entirely certain if he expected an answer, but was rather startled to receive one, although it wasn't much of one "I know who you are," replied the image. It had only partly materialized; Calhoun could still clearly see the cave wall behind him.
"Oh?" was all Calhoun replied. It wasn't the most useful of responses; after all, Calhoun knew perfectly well who he himself was.
"I watched you," said the new arrival. "I watched you arrive. I watched you hailed as the Savior. That is what I do, much of the time. I watch. Watch and record."
"Would you be kind enough to tell someone where I am?"
"They will know," replied the image cryptically. "I have already seen that. That is what I do, you see. I notice certain moments, and then track them to see how they develop. I have already seen what will happen to you. Now, for curiosity's sake, I am studying to see how you got to that point."
"I'm flattered I'm of such interest to you." He felt his arm becoming numb and shifted his position. "Since you seem to be so cognizant of what's to come* would you mind telling me if I get out of here?"
"You will be saved by neither man nor woman," replied the image, and then slowly it began to fade out.
"I appreciate the encouraging words!" Calhoun called out. "Get back here!"
But the image was gone.
Insanely, Calhoun sensed that the floor was warm directly beneath where the image had been, as if it had been generating body heat. But that was impossible. It had been nothing more than a hologram . . .
For, for all Calhoun knew, it had been a complete delusion. Perhaps he was simply losing his mind. Now
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there was a cheery thought. The image had vanished and he'd been left with more questions than answers.
And then it appeared that his questions were going to be answered in very short order, because he heard a soft footfall approaching him. Rather than immediately tip off the fact that he was conscious, Calhoun laid his head down and narrowed his eyes to slits so that he could still see. He slowed his breathing down as best he could to try and simulate an unconscious state.
He saw someone approaching him, and this, in contrast to his previous visitor, was very much a flesh-and-blood Zondarian. His captor stopped several feet away from him and said, "Feigning unconsciousness is rather pointless. I heard you talking to yourself before, so I know you are awake."
Slowly Calhoun lifted his head. "Ramed, if I'm not mistaken."
"I am honored that you remember me, oh Great One," Ramed said with a slight inclination of his head. "You have, after all, met a great many of us. It is flattering to know you can keep track of who is who."
Ramed's comment about "talking to himself had immediately struck Calhoun as odd. Ramed had apparently been oblivious to Calhoun's visitor from moments before. Calhoun decided to keep that information to himself. He wasn't sure if that was going to be of any use, but when one is in a hostile situation, any knowledge one possesses that is not shared by one's opponent is inherently some sort of advantage, even if the details of that advantage are not readily apparent. "So, what did you do to me?" asked Calhoun. "To get me here. To knock me out?"
"A simple drug in your food."
"But I ate and drank the same as everyone else. You couldn't have singled mine out."
"I did not have to. I put it into everyone's drink. However, a drug that can reduce your bodily func-
tions to simulate death can also be completely harmless to Zondarians."
So much for my vaunted sixth sense, Calhoun mused. He rationalized to himself that perhaps he hadn't realized specifically where the danger was coming from because, to so many people in the room, it presented no danger at all. Or, more likely, he just wasn't perfect. That was something he definitely hated to admit.
"And then I simply brought you here after your body was taken to the sacred place of preparation. I am somewhat stronger than I may appear to you, oh Great One. I admit, you did become a bit heavy the last mile or so, but it was nothing I could not handle. I have, after all, the strength of my convictions."
"Would you mind telling me what the hell we're doing here? I take it that this isn't something being sanctioned by your peers."
Ramed shook his head. "No. No, not at all. At the moment, in fact, there is great consternation among my people. You made quite the impression upon them in a fairly short time. Although admittedly, you did have help. We told the people of your coming, we told them that you were the fulfillment of prophecy. Naturally they could not help but love you. See you as a symbol of something truly great."
"And you, for some reason, feel the need to undo all that?"
Slowly, Ramed sank down to the ground near him, as if he were commiserating somehow. "I have no choice," he said simply. "My part in these matters is as predestined as your arrival was. As your death is."
"You are so certain, then, that I am going to die."
From the folds of his clothes, Ramed pulled out a wooden handle. He pushed on it and a long and sharpened point snapped out. "Neither man nor woman will save you," Ramed said.
The words immediately struck a cord within Cal-
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there was a cheery thought. The image had vanished and he'd been left with more questions than answers.
And then it appeared that his questions were going to be answered in very short order, because he heard a soft footfall approaching him. Rather than immediately tip off the fact that he was conscious, Calhoun laid his head down and narrowed his eyes to slits so that he could still see. He slowed his breathing down as best he could to try and simulate an unconscious state.
He saw someone approaching him, and this, in contrast to
his previous visitor, was very much a flesh-and-blood Zondarian. His captor stopped several feet away from him and said, "Feigning unconsciousness is rather pointless. I heard you talking to yourself before, so I know you are awake."
Slowly Calhoun lifted his head. "Ramed, if I'm not mistaken."
"I am honored that you remember me, oh Great One," Ramed said with a slight inclination of his head. "You have, after all, met a great many of us. It is flattering to know you can keep track of who is who."
Ramed's comment about "talking to himself had immediately struck Calhoun as odd. Ramed had apparently been oblivious to Calhoun's visitor from moments before. Calhoun decided to keep that information to himself. He wasn't sure if that was going to be of any use, but when one is in a hostile situation, any knowledge one possesses that is not shared by one's opponent is inherently some sort of advantage, even if the details of that advantage are not readily apparent. "So, what did you do to me?" asked Calhoun. "To get me here. To knock me out?"
"A simple drug in your food."
"But I ate and drank the same as everyone else. You couldn't have singled mine out."
"I did not have to. I put it into everyone's drink. However, a drug that can reduce your bodily func-
tions to simulate death can also be completely harmless to Zondarians."
So much for my vaunted sixth sense, Calhoun mused. He rationalized to himself that perhaps he hadn't realized specifically where the danger was coming from because, to so many people in the room, it presented no danger at all. Or, more likely, he just wasn't perfect. That was something he definitely hated to admit.
"And then I simply brought you here after your body was taken to the sacred place of preparation. I am somewhat stronger than I may appear to you, oh Great One. I admit, you did become a bit heavy the last mile or so, but it was nothing I could not handle. I have, after all, the strength of my convictions."
"Would you mind telling me what the hell we're doing here? I take it that this isn't something being sanctioned by your peers."
