by Peter David
“Yes. Very interesting.” Actually, she wasn't sure that it was interesting, but at that moment, she wasn't all that sure of anything anymore.
The only thing that she was absolutely positive about was that she had to make it to that place on the star chart, the star that was designated as 7734.
The Quiet Place.
The words whispered in her head, and as she studied the star chart and saw the number 7734 glowing in front of her, the chart started to blur in front of her. She fought it off, rubbing her eyes. She had lost track of time. She had no idea of how many hours (days, it seemed) she had been awake. But she dared not sleep because she would dream of . . .
The Quiet Place, and the mists were congealing around her, moving through her and she felt a chill down to her very soul. And her soul was slipping away, being pulled from her body, she could feel it being dragged out. It sank its long fingers into her heart, trying to maintain its place, desperately striving to avoid its fate, but the mists were pulling on it, shredding it, and when she screamed it was in unison with herself. And there was the red-skinned man, there was Zoran (for he had a name now) and . . .
. . . another. Another red-skinned man, gods, no there were two of them? Twice the evil, twice the menace? But. . .
. . . but this one had different markings on him, and she had a different feeling from him. He was reaching out to her, this new red man, and he was crying her name, except he wasn't, and the mists seemed angry at him, as if he were trying to interfere with them. They came at him from all sides, and he was strong, but she had no idea how strong he was. She reached out towards him, and called his name, except how could it be that she knew who he was when she had never seen him before . . .
. . . and suddenly she was jolted
. . . to wakefulness, and she gasped as she tumbled off the chair. Her head snapped around as she looked up from her prone position on the floor and saw that Xyon was at the chair stationed squarely in front of the tactical array. He looked disheveled, his clothes hastily tossed on. Clearly whatever was happening had occurred while he was asleep. But despite his appearance, he was obviously fully awake and dealing with the situation, whatever the devil it was.
Then she heard an explosion that occurred in concert with the abrupt shuddering of the vessel. “What's happening?!” she called,
“Something's got a lock on us!” he shouted back. “Tractor beam . . . pretty powerful, too, from the feel of it!”
“I thought this thing had a cloaking device!”
“That's right, girl, but we don't have an infinite energy source, thank you very much,” he snapped even as he obviously assessed their options. “We don't run cloaked all the time.”
“Well, I guess you should have done it now!” she said sarcastically.
“I guess so,” he shot back. “Next time you want to contribute something to a situation other than belated wisdom, I'd be happy to hear it! Lyla, full reverse thrusters!”
“Thrusters on full. No effect. We're being held.”
“Full engines, then! Blast us out of here! Can you do that?”
“That depends, Xyon.”
“On what?” he asked in exasperation.
“On whether you mind the ship being torn in half when I do it.”
He exchanged glances with Riella. “Do I get a vote?” she asked.
“No. Lyla, what's the source on the beam! I'm not getting any lock on . . .” Then the sensor readings suddenly snapped into focus. “Wait a minute. I see it. Damn!”
“What is it?” asked Riella. She was almost afraid to ask.
“From the configurations, it's a Redeemer ship,” said Xyon, and he sounded rather worried.
She couldn't blame him. Even on the relatively isolated world of Montos, the might of the Redeemers was well known. An aggressive religious sect that maintained its home on Tulaan IV, the Redeemers were a missionary race intent on spreading the word of the return of their primary God, Xant. The only thing that had proven a deterrent to the Redeemers was the presence of the Thallonians.
But with the Thallonians out of the picture, the Redeemers very much believed that their time had come to seize their rightful place as the preeminent race in the galaxy. Using their homeworld as a base, they were prepared to launch a holy war, converting all nearby worlds to their beliefs through any means necessary. And if a selected world was populated by inveterate nonbelievers, then genocide was also an option.
Riella had never actually seen one of the Redeemers, although she had heard some fearsome stories. Meantime, Xyon seemed determined to find an upside, presuming there was one. “Not one of their megacruisers, thankfully, but still more than a match for this piece of tin.”
“My hull is not composed of—”
“It's a figure of speech, Lyla.” He thumped the viewport in frustration.
Riella thought she saw genuine fear in Xyon's face. On the one hand, the notion that Xyon was afraid of something was inexplicably daunting. He didn't seem like the type who was easily thrown. He looked over to Riella. “How lucky are you feeling right now.”
“Why?”
“Well, if the Redeemers are grabbing hold of us, they obviously have some reason for it. They don't do anything without a reason. They may want me, or you, or the ship. Impossible to tell. There is a way of avoiding the problem, however.”
Hope sprang within her. “What? What could we do?”
“Suicide. That way you don't have to face whatever they have in store for us.”
“That's it?” Her voice went up an octave. “Either we submit to them, or we kill ourselves? There has to be some other option.”
“None immediately comes to mind.”
She took a step back from him, and there was pure fury in her eyes. She couldn't help it. In a number of ways, she had actually found herself admiring him, and the recent revelations—and his attitude now—were filling her with such contempt that she could barely see straight. “I should have expected it,” she snapped. “From a thief like you . . . all thieves are cowards . . .”
“Who told you I was a thief?” he said.
“Lyla.”
“And you believe her?”
For a moment, she hesitated. “Are you saying she's lying?”
“No, no, she's telling the truth. I was just curious as to whether you believe her.”
She let out a howl of fury as the ship lurched, being drawn closer to the Redeemer vessel. They could see it now, dark and ominous, hanging there in space like a great, hulking creature, pyramidal in shape—frightening in that conquest by the Redeemer ship seemed inevitable. She lunged forward and thudded her small hands on his chest. Xyon could very likely have blocked her outburst, but he didn't even bother. Her hands made small, hollow noises that he didn't even appear to notice.
“You're so . . . so . . . ohhhhh!” she shouted. “Standing there, calm as you please, and saying we should be prepared to die!”
“I didn't say anything about ‘we.’ I'm not going to be dying now, this way. I have a different fate awaiting me, so I'm fairly safe, actually. What's going to happen to you, however,” and he shrugged.
She drew in so close to him that her face was practically in his. “I thought,” she said, her voice dripping with ice, “that you were a hero.”
“I am,” said Xyon. “I just may not be your hero, that's all.”
IX.
THE OVERLORD WAS THE TALLEST of the Redeemers, and half again as wide. His skin was hardened and black, almost obsidian, and his eyes were deeply set and a soft, glowing red. Other races generally tried not to look directly into the face of a Redeemer; it was like experiencing a little foreshadowing of death. His clothing was as black as his skin, with a tunic that hung down to his knees and black leggings that were tucked into his high boots. He wore a large black cape draped around him, giving him—when he was in a contemplative, forward-leaning mood—a distinct resemblance to a crouching bird of prey.
“Prime One,” he called. He knew he wou
ld not have to wait long; Prime One always remained an easy summons away. Sure enough, there was a quick scuttling of feet, and moments later Prime One entered. Prime One bowed deeply and waited for the Overlord to speak.
The Overlord had been working on training the new Prime One. His predecessor had been a good and faithful servant, dedicated and with a healthy fear of the Overlord that kept him well motivated. Unfortunately, the previous Prime One had had a direct engagement with the starship Excalibur, and it had not gone especially well for the late Prime One. To be specific, the starship had outmaneuvered the Redeemer vessel, with the result that both the vessel and Prime One had been the victim of a solar flare created by a burst of energy generated by the Excalibur. The solar flare had effortlessly wiped out ship and crew, leaving the Overlord to find new help.
The Overlord, to put it mildly, had not been very happy about that. As a result, evening the score with Mackenzie Calhoun and his vessel had been uppermost in his mind. However, his summons to Prime One at this point concerned another matter.
“My understanding,” he said in that remarkably soft tone of his, which commanded attention just by its lack of volume, “is that we have located the vessel with the girl aboard. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Overlord.”
“And the ship has been captured and taken in tow?”
“Yes, Overlord.”
“Why,” asked the Overlord, leaning back and fixing a deadly stare on Prime One, “have we taken it in tow? Of what possible use is some space-fool's vessel to us?”
“With all respect, Great One, he is no mere fool. The ship's computer exhibits a sentience we did not think possible, and it also carries a Romulan cloaking device. I am not certain from whence it came, but it is functioning quite well. It is our opinion that there may be other such treasures aboard the ship, which would preclude the notion of simply leaving it derelict. Unless, of course, your greatness wishes for us to leave it behind.”
The Overlord regarded him coolly for a moment. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I think,” Prime One said with a slight bow, “whatever you wish me to think, Overlord.”
The Overlord sighed heavily at this.
Once upon a time, he had enjoyed the fact that the Prime Ones—all of them—were totally subservient to him. They measured each word carefully, lest the slightest missplaced statement result in some hideous punishment. The Overlord had felt that that was the way it was supposed to be. Why shouldn't he feel that way, really? The Overlords who had preceeded him had left behind them a body of disciplinary tactics that suggested, even mandated such thinking.
But it was becoming a bit tiresome to the Overlord. How was he supposed to expand his thinking and leadership, how was he supposed to challenge his various preconceptions, if no one challenged him in return? How was one reasonably supposed to lead people who were afraid?
In a way, he admired Mackenzie Calhoun, the hated commander of the starship Excalibur, precisely because he was someone who went about his activities without giving a damn about the Redeemers, about the Overlord, even about the Great God Xant himself. If Calhoun were not his sworn enemy, the Overlord would almost be able to wish Calhoun were his ally.
“Let us say,” the Overlord said slowly, “that I was not mandating your opinion. That I had no thoughts on the matter one way or the other. What would you say then?”
Prime One looked ever-so-slightly panicked for a moment, but then he smiled slowly, as if he had managed to see around a trap that was being laid for him. “Such a circumstance would be impossible, Overlord. For the Overlord is all-knowing. It would be impossible for the Overlord not to know something, and so the situation you describe . . . could not be.” He even nodded to himself slightly as if personally approving of the way that he had just handled the challenge.
The Overlord sighed. “Very well said, Prime One. I would not presume to disagree with one as learned and perspicacious as yourself.”
“Thank you, Overlord,” said Prime One, bowing slightly.
“The reasons you have put forward are quite reasonable. Scan the vessel to make certain there is no risk of self-detonation, and then bring it into our docking bay for inspection. The girl, I shall attend to personally.”
“And the young male?”
The Overlord considered that a moment. “What sort of creature is he?”
“Humanoid. We are not entirely sure of his planet of origin, although we have some speculation.”
“It does not matter,” the Overlord waved it off. “Bring him along to watch the interrogation. It may very well be that his presence will have some effect on the girl. Furthermore, if she does not respond well to questioning, we can always question him.”
“In hopes of pressuring her to respond so that he will not suffer?”
The Overlord shrugged. “No. In hopes of killing him. I am in a bad mood today.”
* * *
The Redeemers had an annoying habit of shoving Xyon, even when he was cooperatively moving along. “Will you please stop that?” he said in irritation as they prodded him forward. They seemed disinclined to attend to him. Instead, they just kept pushing him when he showed the slightest hint of slowing down.
The silence with which they moved was a bit disconcerting to Xyon. Each of them was sporting encompassing robes that hid their feet. The lack of noise made it seem as if their feet were gliding above the floor without actually coming into contact with it. Truthfully, even if they were all capable of defying gravity, that shouldn't have thrown Xyon off that much. God knew he had certainly seen stranger things than that in his life. Still, it certainly left him with a rather odd feeling that he couldn't quite articulate, not that anyone would have actually listened to him had he put words to it.
“So where are we going anyway?” he asked. “I don't suppose you guys are actually going to tell me just why you decided to grab me when I was minding my own business.”
The Redeemers didn't respond. They didn't even look at him. That was about what he had expected, but he had really been hoping they'd say something. He might have been able to parlay that into some sort of useful information. Unfortunately, they didn't appear interested in cooperating.
He was shoved into a darkened room, but it only took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light. What he saw there, however, froze him in place.
Riella was in some sort of heavy-duty chair, locked in at her hands and feet, angled back at a 45-degree angle. There was clear terror on her face, a face that was looking even more dark than it had been before. In fact, the tint of it was starting to change; she wasn't looking quite as tanned, but rather flushed. Then again, he could certainly understand it, considering the predicament in which they found themselves.
When she saw Xyon, he could tell that there was a momentary flash of hope in her eyes. Then she saw that he was bracketed by Redeemers, and her spirits visibly sank once more.
“My hero,” she said bitterly.
“I'm pleased to see you're taking this so well,” he replied, and instantly regretted it. Sarcasm was not what the girl needed. She needed kind or brave words, or some sort of assurance—no matter how insincere—that everything was going to work out fine. Unfortunately, he had not provided her with that, and now the moment was gone. She said nothing more. She didn't even glare at him; she just stared off into nothing.
A door at the far end of the room slid open and in walked the individual Xyon instantly took (by the way the others deferred to him) to be the leader. They stepped back as he glided to the middle of the room.
“I,“he said in a surprisingly quiet voice, ”am the Overlord.”
“Really.” Xyon studied him a moment and then shrugged indifferently. “I was expecting someone taller.”
The Overlord came up to just under Xyon's chest.
When he had first been escorted by the Redeemers, Xyon had been struck by the fact that none of them seemed much taller than three-and-a-half feet. The Overlord was a comparativ
e giant, standing at a relatively gargantuan four-and-a-half-feet tall. Nevertheless, that was hardly what Xyon would consider intimidating.
“Do you only have respect for an enemy, then, if it is someone who towers over you?” inquired the Overlord. Xyon shrugged. “I stand above you in many ways, young man. Physical height is very much the least of those things to be considered. I could kill you with a word.”
“It would have to be a fairly formidable word.”
The Overlord spoke a word.
Immediately Xyon felt as if a shovel had been slammed through his brain. The actual word spoken was immediately driven from his head, as if the mere memory of it would be too much for his meager faculties. He didn't quite realize that he was on the floor until he felt the cold hardness of it against his cheek. He shut his eyes tightly to try and clear his head, then slowly sat up. His arms were trembling as he pushed himself into an upright position. He had absolutely no idea what had just happened. He looked around, and then up at the Overlord.
“What . . . did you do?” Xyon said. He decided his voice sounded annoyingly weak when he said it, and so he forced his composure to take over as he slowly brought himself to standing, his legs shaking until he managed to command them to stop doing so.
“There are certain techniques privy to the overlord,” the Overlord said coolly. “You cannot stand against them. Even other Redeemers cannot. I do not suggest you tempt your fate again. I could have killed you just then. I still may. It depends whether you irritate me or whether it will serve our purpose. We do not like to take lives, you see.”
“Oh, really,” Xyon said. He was leaning against the wall, trying to look nonchalant. In point of fact, he was doing so to make sure that he didn't topple over. He didn't completely trust his legs or his ability to remain upright. “As I recall, aren't you the people whose High Priests carry some sort of infection with them. A virus. And if their blood is spilled, the virus annihilates everyone on the planet? That doesn't indicate to me a tremendous reverence for life.”
“We revere all life when it is life that will benefit Xant,” the Overlord told him.
