by Peter David
“Yes, please.”
As he made his way to the conference lounge, he kept running through his mind what he was going to say. The problem was that he didn’t fully comprehend it, which was frustrating, because he felt as if he should. Every so often he would mutter back to the empty air next to him, getting more confused looks from crewmen.
Finally he stood in front of the conference-lounge door. It didn’t open automatically the way that most other doors around the ship did. He wondered why, and then saw a small steady red light on a wall panel near the door. He correctly intuited that it meant the door was locked.
“Morgan,” he called once more.
“Yes, Moke.”
“Why is the door locked?”
“Sealing a conference lounge door from the outside is standard procedure for any conference involving two or more commanding officers. It’s a safety measure.”
“Oh. Okay. Can you open it?”
“For you? Of course.”
The light switched from red to green and the door slid open as Moke confidently walked in.
He’d never seen Calhoun looking quite so surprised. He was obviously in the middle of saying something, his index finger extended, making a point. Shelby was there along with the gleaming man and Mueller, and Zak Kebron. Si Cwan was there as well, and Burgoyne, and so was a rather intimidating-looking man who reminded Moke of Soleta. But he sensed the man was much older than Soleta, and much graver of mien.
“Nice security lock you’ve got there, Captain,” said Shelby.
“Moke,” said Calhoun, shaking off his initial confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you, Mac. It doesn’t matter if everyone else is here ...”
“But it does matter, Moke,” Calhoun said firmly. He came from around the table with the clear intention of escorting the boy out. “We’re in the middle of discussing some important things, and—”
“Yes, I know. The dark, one-eyed bearded man told me so. It’s been getting easier and easier for me to hear him lately.”
There were bewildered looks from around the table. “We’re taking time for a young boy’s imaginary friend?” asked the gleaming man.
“Quiet, Mr. Gleau,” said Shelby. So that was his name. Gleau. Made sense to Moke, since he kind of glowed.
“A one-eyed, bearded man,” said the man who somewhat reminded Moke of Soleta. “Captain Calhoun ... if I am not mistaken, that description roughly matches that of the Earth Norse all-father god, Woden, father of the thunder deity Thor. Under ordinary circumstances, that would be considered—at most—a coincidence. However, when one takes into account the nature of the entities with which we’ve been dealing ...”
“Yes ... yes, I see where you’re going with that, Ambassador Spock.” Calhoun was still approaching Moke, but his body language had changed. He no longer looked as if he was about to rush Moke out the door. “This one-eyed man ... tell me more about him. Where did you see him?”
“What do you mean, ‘did’?”
“I mean ...” Calhoun stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Wait ... are you saying he’s ... he’s here? Now? You’re seeing him now?”
“Yes. Right over there,” said Moke, pointing to a spot at the far end of the room. “He’s next to McHenry.”
II.
The meeting had only just begun when Calhoun looked up in surprise at Moke’s arrival. The fact that Soleta was not present merely fueled Calhoun’s determination to attend to the Beings once and for all, and he was pleased to see that Shelby shared his attitude. It was so rare that they were one hundred percent in accord with one another.
Shelby had offered to bring her science officer, Gleau, along. Calhoun had readily agreed, since Soleta was down on Danter and could hardly be considered in useful condition anyway. However, when Mueller, Shelby, and Gleau entered, he noticed that Mueller seemed to be giving Gleau a wide berth, even looking at him with distaste. He had no idea what the problem was between them, and decided it wasn’t really his concern. Whatever it was, no doubt Shelby had a handle on it.
They had gone around the room quickly, each individual describing their encounters and sharing their knowledge in short, concise sentences. Thus in short order they were current with each other’s knowledge.
But before they could take the discussion beyond that, Moke had entered, to Calhoun’s astonishment. He didn’t know what it was the boy wanted and, at that point, didn’t much care. But he was brought up short when Moke told them of what he’d been seeing.
“McHenry?” Several voices chorused at once.
Burgoyne’s was the loudest. S/he was staring fixedly at the place where Moke had been pointing. “Mark?” s/he said, and s/he squinted and stared, then looked away and then back again, and then s/he gasped, “Oh .. my God ... Mark ... ?”
“Where?” demanded Calhoun.
“Right there!” S/he pointed with quivering finger. “He’s right there! I thought I saw him earlier, but I just ... I thought I was imagining it, thought I was crazy! I figured there was no way. He’s still lying in sickbay, he’s ... it isn’t possible, is it ... ?”
“When dealing with the unknown,” said the one who’d been called Spock, “it is generally wise to approach situations from the point of view of what is possible, rather than what is not.”
“Moke.” Calhoun was down on one knee, holding the boy by the shoulders. “Can you communicate with him? The bearded man. Can you ask him if his name is Woden?”
“He can hear you, Mac. He’s standing right there.”
“Oh. Of course.” Calhoun tried to repress a smile and didn’t entirely succeed. “All right ... what did he say?”
“He said yes. Among others.”
“Can he restore McHenry to life?” asked Burgoyne with urgency.
Moke listened carefully, then said, “He said it depends upon what happens. With the others.”
“I don’t understand,” said Shelby. “Why is it that you can hear and see him, Moke?”
Moke blinked in surprise. “I dunno. I just ... well, I just could. I never thought to ask him.”
Calhoun marveled at that, although he reasoned that perhaps he shouldn’t. Children, after all, were the most accepting of creatures, their reality an ever-changing and fluid environment.
Then he saw Moke pale, and his eyes widen. “Moke?” said Calhoun. “Moke ... what is ... ?”
“He ...” Moke’s lips suddenly looked bone dry. “He ... he said ...”
Once again Calhoun took him gently by the shoulders, except this time he could practically feel the boy trembling. “Moke ... what did he s—?”
“He said he’s my father.”
The words thudded in the air like mallets. Moke began to shake more violently, and it was all Calhoun could do to steady him. He looked in the direction that Moke was staring, as if he could see the elder god himself.
It was insane. It was a completely insane notion.
And then he thought of how vague Moke’s mother had been about the boy’s patrimony. And of the incredible stormlike powers that the boy had possessed ... powers that were certainly consistent with someone who had a filial connection to an alleged thunder god.
And just like that, it suddenly became a much less insane notion.
When Mackenzie Calhoun had come to Moke’s world, Moke had latched on to him, turning him into a surrogate father even though Calhoun had made abundantly clear to the lad that he was not at all responsible for bringing the boy into the world. That had deterred Moke’s devotion only slightly, and when his mother had passed away, she had given the boy over into Calhoun’s keeping. He’d done the best he could with him, even though occasionally Calhoun felt utterly at sea.
Yet now, out of the blue, the mystery of Moke’s parentage was solved, except all it did was evoke even more mysteries.
Moke looked up at him, wide-eyed, stunned, and obviously not a little scared. “Is ... can that ... is ... Mac, is he ... ?”
For one
of the few times in his life, Calhoun had absolutely no idea what to say. “It’s ... I suppose it’s possible, Moke. I don’t know. But this I do know,” and now he stood and, feeling a bit foolish, addressed the empty air. “These Beings ... these fellow creatures of yours ... it’s clear that they want to spread their dominion over much more than Danter. The problem is, I’m not exactly sure whose side you’re supposed to be on. I swear to God, though ... if you’re ruthlessly manipulating the hopes and dreams of this boy as part of some twisted game ...”
“It’s not a game,” Moke said suddenly. Then he said to Calhoun, chagrined, “I ... I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just saying what he said. He said it’s not a game.”
“I get that, Moke.”
“Why is he invisible?” asked Mueller. “Why is he communicating this way instead of just appearing to us, as the others have ... ?”
“If we are to believe that he is endeavoring to aid us,” Spock said, “then the logical assumption is that this condition was, in some way, inflicted upon him by others of his kind.”
“He says that’s right,” said Moke. “He says you remind him of Pan.”
Spock made some sort of odd grunt.
“It’s not easy for me to hear him,” Moke said. “He kind of ... of flickers in and out. Sometimes I catch a whole sentence, sometimes only a word. I think he said just now that he’s able to talk a little more directly through me because the Beings aren’t as strong as they were,” Moke continued.
This prompted bewildered glances among the officers. “Not as strong,” said Shelby. “They annihilated that Tholian ship with what seemed to be minimal effort. If that’s them in their weakened state, I’d hate to see them when they’re firing on all cylinders.”
“He says ... What?” Moke was addressing the corner of the room. He looked as if he was straining to hear. “The ... worshippers are key,” said Moke.
“What?” More puzzled looks. “Worshippers are key?” asked Kebron. “Key to what? If—”
“Of course,” said Spock in such a way that it was the closest Calhoun had seen the Vulcan come to expressing annoyance with himself ... or at all. “Of course. It is obvious. Painfully obvious. I am a fool.”
“Then we’re all fools,” said Calhoun, “because I’m still not entirely certain what you’re talking about or what’s going on.”
“You have no reason to feel that way, Captain,” Spock told him with certainty, “because you have no reason to have figured out what is happening here. I, however, have no excuse, for I have encountered this before.”
Slowly he began to circle the room, and it appeared as if he was talking more to himself than to anyone else at that point. “Going all the way back to the Enterprise’s encounter with Apollo, there has been one main area of consistency in the behavior of these Beings. That is their desire to be worshipped ... prayed to. A wise man once asked, ‘What does God need with a starship?’ One might also wonder ... ‘What do gods need with worshippers?’ ”
“But they’re not gods,” Calhoun said firmly. “They’re ... Beings. Beings of energy ...”
“In a humanoid form,” Gleau chimed in. He had been standing there with a distant, even annoyed air that so much attention was being paid to Moke, and that information was being gathered through this bizarre manner. But with the flow of ideas, he was starting to go along with it, even build upon it. “But even energy beings need sustenance of some sort.”
“I have encountered creatures on several occasions,” said Spock, “that actually derived nourishment from such things as emotions. Usually negative emotions, such as fear or anger.”
Mueller looked at Spock with something akin to bemused wonderment and asked, “Is there anything you haven’t encountered?”
Spock gave it a moment’s thought. “No,” he decided.
“Is this right, Moke?” asked Calhoun. “Ask your ... friend. Is what we’re saying correct?”
“He’s nodding,” said Moke. “I think it’s getting harder for him to talk ...”
“So what we’re dealing with here,” Shelby now said, “are creatures that draw their power from positive emotions—the worship—that people feel for them.”
“And also from doubt,” added Calhoun. “If an opponent becomes concerned that the Beings will triumph, they derive strength from that as well.”
“If, however, they are of the same type of creature as I have encountered,” said Spock, “thriving on psychic energy ... then their outward appearance is a sort of construct, to provide frame of reference for onlookers ... not unlike the Organians.”
“Mr. Spock ... I’m sorry, Ambassador Spock,” Gleau said. “Not to sound foolish, but I’ve taken a special interest in your career. In fact, you were the subject of my dissertation at the Academy.”
“How exciting this must be for you then,” said Mueller dryly.
Gleau ignored her, instead continuing to address Spock. “I remember studying that incident with Apollo. During that encounter, didn’t you destroy some sort of ‘energy source’ of his?”
“Yes. In the shape of a place of worship.”
“All right. So I’m thinking,” Gleau said, “that the temple was a sort of repository, a final battery of absorbed energy that Apollo had been storing. So I’m speculating that such energy has a shelf life; eventually, over enough time, it dissipates.”
“It would make sense,” said Spock. “It would explain why he so needed the Enterprise crew to worship him. That worship was what he required to sustain his power and form.”
“So let’s theorize, then, that when the Beings first confronted us, they were in a weakened state,” said Calhoun.
Burgoyne looked stunned that Calhoun would even suggest it. “Weakened state? Sir, I seem to recall they came damned close to destroying us!”
“But they didn’t,” Calhoun reminded him. “They didn’t ... because the Trident showed up. Because when the Trident showed up, we believed that we’d been saved. That we were going to be able to fight back. And the Trident came barreling in with no preconceptions as to whether she would win or lose. They were just determined to win.”
“What are you saying, Captain?” asked Si Cwan. “That the Excalibur was vulnerable to the attack ...”
“Because we believed we were. Yes. Because we believed we were in danger from them ... because we believed that they were—if not gods, at least beings with nearly godlike power—that gave them the energy they needed, like vampires. Our own belief in their ability to hurt us ... gave them that very ability. That’s why they’re encouraging races to attack them. They want word of their power to spread, because the more it is believed that they are invincible, the more so they will become. Basically they’re living incarnations of the term ‘self-fulfilling prophecy.’ ”
“That’s a hell of a theory, Mac,” said Shelby, looking somewhat dubious. “Moke, what does your invisible friend have to say about all this ...”
“I ...” Moke blinked. “I don’t see him. He’s ... he’s gone. And so is McHenry.”
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know!” said Moke with growing urgency. “I don’t know!”
III.
“I don’t know ... how much longer ...”
The Old Father’s words echoed Moke’s, except they were outside the conference room.
McHenry had found himself becoming oddly accustomed to his twilight existence, if for no other reason than the constancy of Woden’s company. Now, though, Woden was looking shaken and weak, even for a ghost. They stood in the corridor, and McHenry wondered—not for the first time—how two beings who were insubstantial could stand anywhere at all. But that was the least of his concerns.
“You don’t know how much longer what? What’s going on?”
The Old Father let out a slow breath, which was rather ironic when one considered that he had no reason to breathe. “The energy of belief that the others are tapping into ... I can access as well, even from my current state. With
greater effort, and not to as impressive an effect, but I can accomplish it. The others, however ... they’re taking a great interest in what transpires on this vessel. I can sense them doing so. I’m doing what I can to block them, however.”
“What, you’re saying there’s essentially a whole battle going on that the captain and the others have no idea is happening?”
The elder god forced a smile. “You would be amazed how often that is the way of things. The truth is that mortals only perceive a fraction of what is happening in the universe. They think they know so much, but truly comprehend so very, very little. It is the job of higher beings to help keep them safe. To protect them.”
“We can do a fine job of taking care of ourselves, thanks,” said McHenry.
“Oh, and you’ve attended to that wonderfully in your case, haven’t you.”
McHenry scowled.
“The problem is, I cannot maintain my defenses indefinitely,” said Woden. “I am old and tired, and have not fought in quite some time. It takes a lot out of me. So we must hope that your associates hurry to their conclusions while still under my protection.”
“And if they don’t?”
The Old Father stared at him. “They’d better” was all he said.
IV.
Spock was no longer walking around the conference lounge. Instead he was seated, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. “When we faced a creature that thrived on fear,” he said at last, “Captain Kirk gave the crew tranquilizers so that the crew no longer feared it—and the creature was weakened. Likewise an energy being that siphoned hostile energy during a manufactured series of battles with a crew of Klingons was thwarted when the Klingons and we ceased hostilities. What we need to do is find a way to sever these beings from their source of strength.”
“But it’s a very different situation here,” Si Cwan pointed out. “In your case, you simply had to deal with the minds and actions of the crew of the Enterprise. You’re essentially saying that the crews of the Excalibur and Trident, in going into combat with the Beings, cannot be concerned about defeat.”
