After the Fall

by Peter David

  “Let me guess,” said Robin with grim certainty. “The drawings were of spacegoing vessels that match what Xyon said he saw.”

  “Absolutely right.”

  “Those little bastards!” Robin snapped, and she was so angry that she slammed a fist down on the metal shielding atop Xyon. Although the impact didn’t hurt him, he started slightly. “I should have known! I don’t have the slightest idea how I should have known, but I should have.”

  “Should have known what, Robin?”

  “They showed up,” Robin told her mother. “Here.”

  “Here in the holosuite?”

  “No, here in my office. They wanted to see Si Cwan. They were complaining about wanting their territory back. I should have known. I should have put it together and realized that they must have kidnapped her in order to apply pressure to Si Cwan.”

  “There’s two problems with that theory, dear,” Morgan said. “First, they haven’t actually contacted Si Cwan…or anyone. Somewhat difficult to apply pressure and get what you want if you don’t actually tell the person you’re theoretically trying to put pressure on. And second, that pictured vessel…it’s not something the Priatians actually had in their possession or at their disposal. It was a rendering of an ancient vessel. Very ancient.”

  “Let me take yet another guess,” said Robin. “A vessel belonging to the Wanderers?”

  “Exactly right.”

  “So obviously what this means is that they found a way to create a replica of one of the Wanderers’ ships, and use it to rally support and strike fear into any who see it.”

  “Sure scared the crap out of me,” admitted Xyon.

  “See there?” Robin said, pointing at Xyon. “It scared the crap out of him.”

  “Considering how monumentally full of crap he is, that’s quite an achievement,” said Morgan.

  “Thank you very mu—hey!” said Xyon.

  Morgan ignored him. “I’m not sure you’re right, Robin. The complexity of the vessel, particularly if it’s constructed as Xyon described…I don’t know that it would be within the capabilities of the Priatians as they currently are. Or, for that matter, our own capabilities. Granted, we’re not slouches when it comes to designing spacegoing vessels, but this ship—in both its size and mysterious means of propulsion—is unlike anything we currently have active or in development.”

  “So what are you suggesting, Mother? That their progenitors, their ‘Wanderers,’ have wandered back?”

  “It’s possible. Don’t you think it’s possible?”

  “No. Well…maybe. Okay, yes, it’s possible. But I don’t think it’s likely.”

  “In terms of likelihood, I think it ranks far above the notion that the Priatians have become the most advanced builders of ships known to the Federation, short of the Borg.”

  Robin opened her mouth but then closed it. “Okay,” she admitted, “there’s something to be said for that. Still, no matter how you look at it…”

  “There’s a case to be made for pointing the finger of suspicion somewhere other than at Xyon? Yes, I’d have to agree with that.”

  “Of course you agree with that. You practically shoved the notion down my throat.”

  “Yes, well, Mother knows best.”

  “That being the case, Mother,” said Robin, “what would you suggest be our next move?”

  “I think we should find a way to inform Si Cwan and his associates of our discoveries and dispatch a ship as soon as possible to Priatia to investigate.”

  “Yes…yes, that makes sense.” Robin considered it a moment, then said, “Mother…here’s what I’d like you to do.”

  ii.

  Burgoyne wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when s/he, backed up by a dozen security-team members, beamed down to the main reception hall of Si Cwan’s residence. What s/he saw upon arrival stunned hir…for about two seconds. Then all s/he could think was Well, yes, that figures.

  The room was a madhouse.

  People who appeared to be some sort of soldiers were charging in from all directions, and it was clear their targets were Mackenzie Calhoun and Zak Kebron. Burgoyne wasn’t sure what Calhoun could possibly have done to antagonize people to this degree, but it must have been something of stupendous magnitude.

  There were unconscious bodies strewn about, and Calhoun and Kebron were mowing through all comers. Burgoyne had seen Calhoun in action any number of times, and was always impressed how Calhoun’s facial expression never wavered. Once, out of curiosity, Burgoyne had used a medical tricorder to scan Calhoun during a brawl (an ill- advised drinking contest on Bravo Station had gotten a bit out of hand) and was astounded to discover that Calhoun’s heart rate barely accelerated the entire time.

  S/he suspected that, were that study being conducted right now, the results would be precisely the same.

  Calhoun, moving with the smooth efficiency of a machine, was effortlessly weaving through his various attackers. Taking the opportunity to observe, Burgoyne saw that there was a clear and consistent pattern: Whenever someone thought they had a bead on Calhoun, he was somewhere else. As a result, either they would expend energy swinging at empty air while leaving themselves vulnerable to attack, or else they would so badly miscalculate that they would strike one of their own fellows. Either way, no one was managing to lay so much as a finger on Calhoun.

  Kebron needed neither grace nor artistry. He simply tossed his assailants around as if he were a towering windmill and they so many pint-sized Don Quixotes.

  The only person in the place who wasn’t either trying to beat up Calhoun and Kebron or, at the very least, shouting encouragement, was Si Cwan. He was eating some sort of snack food out of a bowl on a small table nearby him. One of his long legs was draped over the chair’s armrest. He looked like someone who had clearly settled in for an evening’s entertainment.

  “Commander?” asked Ensign Burton, a lieutenant in the security squad. “Shouldn’t we…?”

  “Right, of course,” said Burgoyne, shaking hirself out from under the relentless violence’s spell. “Let’s get their attention, shall we?” With that, s/he pointed hir phaser straight up and fired a single shot.

  The shot struck the ceiling, blowing out a chunk. Some debris tumbled and, before anyone could move, struck Ensign Burton on the head. He went down, arms splayed, out cold.

  The volume of the phaser shot startled everyone in the place. Everyone froze, gaping at the sight of Burgoyne standing there with hir arm still upraised while looking down in total chagrin at the unconscious security guard.

  Calhoun didn’t hesitate, shoving away someone who had been grabbing at his arm but was now just standing there in bewilderment. “And that,” Calhoun called out loudly, “is what we’re capable of doing to our own people! So just think about what we could do to you if we decided to.”

  Insanely, the pronouncement appeared to do the job. Everyone began to back off, staring with extreme concern in Burgoyne’s direction.

  “Make sure Burton’s okay,” Burgoyne said under hir breath. Then s/he quickly walked over to Calhoun, with most of the guards following hir while one remained to tend to Burton.

  “Greetings, Burgoyne,” Si Cwan called, waggling his fingers as if it was a chance encounter on a seashore. “It’s been a while. You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you,” replied Burgoyne, still evidently puzzled and allowing hir voice to reflect that bewilderment. S/he turned to Calhoun. “Were we having a problem down here, Captain? Mr. Kebron?”

  “Strangest thing,” Kebron said. “We were minding our own business, having a perfectly civilized discussion, and suddenly we were attacked for no reason.”

  By that point, however, Fhermus had recovered most of his consciousness and was being supported by his son. His lower jaw was one massive bruise and his eyes were beginning to swell up as well. “Eee ode ahfaze!” Fhermus cried out.

  Burgoyne tapped the side of hir head, concerned that the universal translator had malfunctioned. “Wha
t?”

  “Eee!” Fhermus practically howled, wincing in pain as he did so, and he pointed angrily at Calhoun. “Eee ode! Ahfaze!”

  Helplessly, Burgoyne looked at Calhoun. “What is he…?”

  “He’s saying,” Si Cwan spoke up, seemingly amused, “that the good captain here broke his face.”

  “Not the whole face,” Calhoun demurred. “Just the lower half.”

  Burgoyne wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. Somehow “It figures” or “Terrific” didn’t seem the supportive spirit one expected from a second in command. “I’m sure you had good reason to, Captain,” s/he said judiciously.

  Fhermus tried to speak again, but Tiraud silenced him with a sharp “shush” noise. Fhermus glared at his son but fell quiet, keenly aware of just how ridiculous he sounded when trying to speak. “So this is how the great Federation and its Starfleet operates, eh, Captain?” Tiraud called out. “You abscond with a prisoner of the Protectorate, giving tacit approval for his kidnapping of a high noblewoman. Then you deny knowledge of his whereabouts while resisting proper arrest….”

  “I do not acknowledge your right to arrest me in any manner, proper or not,” shot back Calhoun. “And even though we have no idea where my son is…”

  Burgoyne muttered in Calhoun’s ear, “In point of fact, we do have an idea of where he is.”

  Without blinking, Calhoun said, “And even though we have only a vague idea of where my son may be…”

  “Actually,” Burgoyne continued, “we know exactly where he is.”

  This time Calhoun blinked as he turned and stared at Burgoyne. “Exactly?” he whispered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We know exactly where he is?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “In fairness, Captain, I just got here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Burgy!”

  “Well,” Burgoyne amended, “the thing is, Morgan knows exactly where he is. And since Morgan is part of ‘we’ in a very literal sense, if ‘we’ is taken to mean the ship, then we do know where he is.”

  “Problem, Captain?” Si Cwan called out.

  “Just getting an update,” Calhoun replied before turning back to Burgoyne. “Is he on the ship?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  Calhoun closed his eyes. “You’re killing me, Burgy. You really are.”

  Clearly realizing that something was afoot, Si Cwan now stood. “Captain,” he said slowly, “do you know where your son is?”

  Calhoun gave it a moment’s thought. “It depends, I suppose, on what your definition of ‘is’ is.”

  “What?”

  “I believe what the captain is saying,” Kebron spoke up, “is that we have a specific area in which we may or may not believe that Xyon is situated at this moment in time, and he may or may not still be there.” He looked hopefully at Calhoun.

  “Okay,” said Calhoun.

  There was now growing grumbling from the onlookers. Worse, some of the guardsmen who were down were recovering consciousness. Burgoyne had no desire to transform the interior of the chamber into a free-fire zone. “Captain, if I may…”

  He considered Burgoyne warily, but then gave a resigned shrug. “Go ahead.”

  “We have had the chance,” Burgoyne said, “to speak to Xyon.”

  “I knew it!” shouted Tiraud.

  Over the rising, angry cries of protest, Burgoyne called out, “In fairness, you have no grounds upon which to lodge a grievance, for you yourselves have had ample time to speak with him. So why should we—who have as vested an interest as you in maintaining the peace and restoring Kalinda to her home—not have the same opportunity?” This comment quieted them some, but not much. “However,” Burgoyne continued, “unlike you, we did not dismiss his story out of hand. We investigated it, and have uncovered some interesting results.”

  “What sort of results?” demanded Tiraud.

  “There’s some difficulty in my telling you…”

  “What difficulty?!”

  “The difficulty is that people keep interrupting me!”

  Tiraud took a step back at the obvious rebuke and glared at Burgoyne. Calhoun put a hand over his mouth in a casual manner to hide the smile.

  “The ship that Xyon described,” continued Burgoyne, “fits exactly an ancient style of vessel that is part of the planetary history of the Priatians. Supposedly their founding race, the Wanderers, piloted such ships.”

  There was a stunned moment of silence, followed by a cacophony of reactions that ranged from outright disbelief to calls for the heads of every single living Priatian.

  It was then that Si Cwan took the first active hand in the proceedings since the insanity had broken out. He said nothing. Apparently he didn’t need to. Instead, he almost seemed to grow taller, as if his normal posture were a bit of a slump and he was now straightening his spine. He put his arms up to either side. Had an old Earth football game been in progress, he would have looked as if he were signaling a field goal.

  It seemed to Burgoyne that Si Cwan was somehow imposing his will upon the assemblage. He wasn’t doing it through any sort of mystical means. Just the sheer force of his personality was enough to, gradually but inevitably, bring the room into some semblance of order. It took long seconds, but soon all eyes were on Si Cwan as the assemblage waited for him to speak.

  “The Priatians,” he said. Burgoyne nodded. Then Si Cwan called out, “Lieutenant Commander Lefler!”

  No response came. Si Cwan looked around, appearing both concerned and suspicious. “Robin!”

  “Right here.”

  She was standing a few feet away. She appeared to Burgoyne to be slightly out of breath.

  Si Cwan’s eyes narrowed. He looked as if he desired to say something to her, but then changed his mind and went in a different direction. “A Priatian delegation came to us not long ago, did they not?”

  “Yes. They came to present their case for wanting their worlds back. You dismissed them out of hand.”

  “A possible motive,” Zak Kebron noted. “What better way to get your attention?”

  “What better way,” a Boragi spoke up, “to ensure the destruction of their entire race!”

  “Or what better way,” said Tiraud, “for these Starfleet officers to throw us off the trail of the man responsible for Xyon’s escape? The only reason we’re even having this conversation is because they,” and he pointed angrily at Calhoun, “clearly have Xyon in their possession, and are trying to muddy the waters…!”

  “Truth is often muddying,” Calhoun said. “Facts are dirty, confusing things that get in the way of a rush to judgment.”

  But Tiraud wasn’t having any of it. “We should bring in the fleet of the House of Fhermus! Surround the Excalibur! Force you to turn Xyon over to us!”

  “By all means,” replied Calhoun. “Bring on the fleet. My people haven’t had target practice in a week.”

  “Captain,” Si Cwan said reprovingly.

  Calhoun ignored the rebuke. “Si Cwan…we’re wasting time when we have a concrete lead. We’ve nothing to lose by heading to Priatia and seeing if Kalinda is there. They can’t hide her from us.”

  “They can’t hide her from us, either!” said Tiraud.

  “Oh really?” Burgoyne spoke up. “Our ship’s sensors are sophisticated enough to be able to detect a single Thallonian life-form hidden amongst billions of Priatians. How’s your technology on that score?”

  Tiraud scowled. Burgoyne wasn’t surprised. S/he knew the tech level of just about every ship in the Federation data banks, and the capabilities of ships in Thallonian space were no exception to hir knowledge.

  The same Boragi said, “So the House of Fhermus is expected to simply stand here and allow the Excalibur to depart…with quite possibly the only lead to this fiasco on board?”

  “We don�
�t have to go anywhere,” said Calhoun, tapping his combadge. “Calhoun to Excalibur.”

  “Excalibur, Tobias here.”

  “Tania, I need you to raise a channel to the Trident and patch me through.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Tiraud, clearly impatient, demanded, “How long will all that take?”

  Apparently Tania had no trouble hearing him over the link. “Little less than a minute,” she said.

  Fifty-four seconds passed. It was quite possibly the fifty-four longest seconds of Burgoyne’s life. Everyone in the place was glaring at hir (except for Si Cwan, who continued to appear faintly detached from the proceedings). Not a word was spoken by anyone. That didn’t especially bother Burgoyne. In this environment, it seemed the moment anyone said anything, it led to an extended brawl.

  On the fifty-fifth second, a familiar voice came over the combadge. “This is the Trident. Mueller speaking.”

  “Captain Mueller, this is Captain Calhoun.”

  “You sound a bit out of breath, Captain. Is everything all right?”

  Calhoun glanced around the room. “Just finished an extended exercise program. Captain, are you aware that Kalinda of New Thallon—”

  “—has been kidnapped? Yes, Captain, I received a communiqué to that effect.”

  “We have reason to believe she’s being held on a planet called Priatia.” There was a pause. “Kat…are you still there—?”

  “Say again, Captain? Priatia?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Scheisse!”

  Burgoyne and Calhoun extended confused looks. “I didn’t quite copy that, Captain,” Calhoun said cautiously.

  “Captain, we were sent into Thallonian space on a science survey by the Federation in order to investigate unusual particle readings. They were characteristic of a transwarp conduit.”

  “Yes, I was informed of that by Admiral Jellico, Captain. Stand by a moment,” said Calhoun. He tapped the combadge once to suspend the communication and turned to Si Cwan. “Cwan, you have to tell me right now: Have the Borg been through here?”

  “The Borg!” echoed Si Cwan, and this prompted an immediate chatter of worried comments from the onlookers. Si Cwan quieted them with a sharp gesture and continued, “Why would you think that?”