by Martyr(Lit)
The knowledge tore at him, emotionally eviscerated him, and the creature flailed at him, feasting on his weakness.
And Burgoyne sensed it, sensed all of it, and suddenly, despite hir ferocity, despite hir anger, despite hir eagerness to complete hir blood quest, all s/he felt was pity for this poor, pathetic lost soul who was clutching the spear as if his life were wrapped up in it.
"Let go!" shouted Burgoyne over the howling of the energy being.
Cuts, slices began to appear on Ramed, his clothing becoming torn. He began to sob wildly, calling out names like "Talila" and "Rab," names that meant nothing to Burgoyne. "Let's get out of here!" Bur-goyne shouted, and began to drag
Ramed, not releasing hir hold on the spear but instead using it as a means of hauling Ramed away from the creature's influence. S/he felt it trying to get in at hir as well, but s/he steeled hirself with hir own security, and with the image of Selar that s/he held dear to hir, and s/he resisted its power.
"I can't!" Ramed howled. And suddenly Ramed began to wrestle with the spear with renewed effort.
Burgoyne braced hirself. "Let go! Let it go! It doesn't mean anything!"
"It's everything I am! It's the only thing I am!" Ramed cried out, and with all his weight, all his desperation, all his loneliness, all his hatred of himself and what he had become, he yanked on the spear. He did so with such force and fury that he actually tore it from Burgoyne's grasp.
He was unprepared for the sudden shift in weight. He stumbled forward, and the spear punched through his chest and out his back.
Ramed looked up at Burgoyne with what appeared to be confusion. He reached out a hand to Burgoyne, his fingers flexing on nothing, and then he slid to his knees, running down the length of the spear and coming to a halt as the handle bumped up against his chest.
"Failed... failed... all my fault..." he sobbed, but Burgoyne could not hear his last words over the howling of the creature.
And then, slowly, Burgoyne became aware that the noise was abating. All around them, the creature seemed to be dissipating. S/he couldn't tell whether it was from the creature's own volition, or if some
outside force was acting upon it. All s/he knew was that, within moments, it had stopped. The creature was gone as if it had never been there.
Burgoyne crouched over the fallen form of Ramed.
Ramed looked up at hir, the life light flickering out of his eyes. His body spasmed, and he gripped Burgoyne's arm with the last of his strength. "Save..
. my world... ask the Savior... somehow... save my..."
"This... this didn't have to be," Burgoyne said, unable to contain hir frustration. "What a foolish, foolish waste."
And Ramed smiled.
"Better... this way..." he whispered, "Better to be... a mere fool..
. than a damned fool."
And as the phantom shade called Ontear looked on from a point hundreds of years in the past, Ramed passed into a history that was yet to be.
XXI.
"AND THAT IS HOW I know that I am not your Savior." Mackenzie Calhoun was circling the large table, as the most holy men of Zondar looked in astonishment at the parchment that he had given them. The parchment, unmistakably in the hand of the holy Suti, that detailed all that had happened. "Ramed," he continued,
"was your promised Savior."
Near Calhoun stood Zak Kebron, his arms folded, his gaze baleful, and Ensign
Janos, who was eyeing the assemblage with no less suspicion than Kebron. And to the side stood Si Cwan, watching the proceedings.
As voices of protest began to rise, Calhoun raised his voice to silence them.
"Read it for yourself!" he said. "Everything that is in those scrolls fits Ramed as well as it does me. And the final proof: Ramed is dead. Slain by the ancient and sacred spear that he and his clan, in their sacred duty, had maintained for just that purpose. In his name, for his sake, in the name of the sacrifices that he made, now is the time to
set aside the differences that have wracked this planet with strife for centuries."
"Your people want it, and you want it," said Si Cwan. "When the golden age of peace beckoned you, you could taste it, couldn't you? All of you could. Like honey on your lips, like the sweetest wine filled with the promise of intoxicating peace. It was yours to take. Ramed sacrificed himself to show you the way. You must follow his sacrifice."
"You're suggesting we kill ourselves?" asked Killick in disbelief.
"You've been killing each other long enough, it's almost appropriate," Maro commented drily.
"True enough, but no, that's not what is being suggested," said Calhoun. "It is our recommendation that the Unglza immediately surrender to the Eenza."
This, as Calhoun anticipated, brought a chorus of protest from the Unglza side of the table. "Why should we?" demanded Quinzix.
"Because the Eenza will then promptly surrender to you," replied Si Cwan.
This brought another broadside of objections, but Calhoun steamrolled over them.
"You don't understand!" he said angrily. "This is not a request! This is not a plea! I'm telling you that this is what's going to happen! I'm telling you that
Ramed lay down his life to show you the way, and you will follow that way! He died for your sins! He died for his people! He martyred himself because he believed that self-sacrifice was the only way that there would ever be peace on this planet, and so help me God, you will follow that lead or you will spiral into the pit and I will make sure that I'm there to give you the swift kick that helps you along!"
There was shaking of heads, there was disbelief, there were loud arguments and objections, there was
fury, there was hostility, there were threats and more threats, there was a fistfight, there were sobs, there were pleadings, there was blustering and anger and vituperation...
... and ultimately...
... there was acceptance.
The crowds were massed outside the burial site, but for the moment, Talila was the only one allowed in. She stood at the gravesite of her husband, staring at
the dirt, as if she could somehow will him back to life.
She became aware of a presence next to her, and she looked around to see a rather odd-looking individual in a Starfleet uniform.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am Burgoyne one-seventy-two. Chief engineer. I... knew your husband," s/he said. "I was there when he died."
"Did you kill him?" she asked, her voice surprisingly even.
"It was as much at my hand as his," Burgoyne admitted. "He was trying to kill me and I defended myself. But ultimately I don't think his heart was in it. I think he was searching for a way out-and found it."
"Found it in the comfort of the grave," she said hollowly. She shook her head.
"Pointless. Pointless and foolish."
"That is what I thought, at first. He... he spoke your name at the end. Yours and, I believe, your son's."
"How kind of him," she said icily, "to think of us at the end. To think of those he was leaving behind. The wife with no one to love her, the child with no father to raise him."
"He was trying to save your world," Burgoyne told her.
And her hand snapped around, as s/he knew it would, and caught Burgoyne across the cheek. Burgoyne took the slap and didn't even reach up to rub the redness.
"Then the world can burn," said Talila. "And so can you." And she walked away, leaving Burgoyne at the gravesite of the martyr of Zondar.
"Si Cwan?"
Once again, Lefler felt as if she were talking to thin air as Si Cwan stared out his window. This time, however, rather than looking into space, he was gazing upon the planet Zondar, turning below them.
She was about to start lecturing him again on how the time she was spending as his liaison was somewhat limited. Then again, part of her didn't mind just sitting and staring at him, admiring the rippling muscles, sleek build and remarkably strong chin. But as she wrestled with her priorities, he broke the silence. "I don
't know if they're going to make it," he said.
"The Zondarians?"
He nodded. "There are many who want peace, who are so hungry for it that they readily accept Calhoun's interpretation of events. But there are others who are calling Ramed the false Savior. There are others still who, having read Ontear's unexpurgated predictions, not only believe that Calhoun should have died but, in failing to do so, has doomed the entire world. At a time when they should be uniting, we're seeing factions. I just do not know if we're going to be able to pull this off."
"If anyone can, you can," said Lefler.
He turned and smiled at her. "You truly believe that?"
And Lefler, who had just been mentally kicking herself and demanding of herself,
My God, did you
just say that? You sound like a love-struck nitwit, immediately swtiched gears and said, "Absolutely."
"Thank you. I appreciate your vote of confidence."
Then his computer beeped at him and he glanced at it. "Another incoming message," he said. He looked at it more closely. "Well, now this is interesting."
"Who's it from?"
"The Momidiums, over in the Gamma Hydrinae system. They have someone they wish to turn over to us."
"Turn over?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "A human being, apparently. Female. She was on some sort of exploratory mission there. The Momidiums felt she was a spy, but they're very reverential of life, so they didn't execute her. Nor did they turn her over to us because they felt that we would execute her."
"Would you have?" asked Lefler.
He looked at her evenly. "Do you truly wish to know the answer to that, Robin?"
When she didn't reply, he took that as her response. "In any event, they simply locked her away. They've kept her there for approximately four years now.
However, they wish to embark on solid relations with the Federation since the
Excalibur is now in the area, so they're interested in turning her over to us in exchange for certain guarantees."
"What sort of guarantees?"
"Look for yourself." He turned the computer screen around so that she could read it. The various conditions were spelled out on the screen, lined up next to a photograph of the human woman.
Si Cwan frowned. "Robin, are you all right?"
Lefler had gone dead white. Her jaw was hanging down to somewhere around the floor.
"Robin?" he asked again.
And she looked up at him and whispered, "That's... that's my mother."
"What?" He swung the screen around, as if he would actually recognize a total stranger. The woman had long black hair, a long face, and eyes that seemed to blaze with quiet intelligence. "Are you sure?" he asked.
Lefler nodded wordlessly.
"This is... this is incredibly fortunate for you, then!" said Si Cwan. "The
Momidiums claim this is a recent photo of her, so apparently she is in in good health."
"Remarkably good health," said Lefler, her voice sounding very distant.
"Considering that she died ten years ago."
Burgoyne returned to hir quarters, feeling heavy-hearted and despairing. S/he sank into hir overstuffed couch. The computer was beeping at hir, indicating a message was being held for hir.
"Computer. Message."
The screen came on and Calhoun's face appeared on it. "Chief," he said, "we've received permission from the Zondarians to explore the caves and machinery on their world, in Ontear's Sacred Realm or whatever it's called. There seems to be tremendous potential there for discovery. And hopefully it will provide some answers to some outstanding questions we have. When you get in, coordinate with
Lieutenant Soleta."
Burgoyne nodded, as if Calhoun could see hir.
"And Burgoyne, thanks again for saving my ass. I owe you one, Burgy," added
Calhoun.
The screen blinked out.
Burgoyne sighed. It was clear that s/he wasn't going to get a break. There was still that bizarre energy
situation in the engine room that s/he had to explore. And now there was this mysterious alien machinery, which did hold some fascination, but still...
Bur-goyne felt tired. Wrung out.
"A quick rest," s/he said to hirself. "Five minutes won't kill anyone."
S/he rose and entered hir bedroom.
Selar was waiting for hir.
Burgoyne blinked in surprise to see the doctor standing there. She looked fairly recovered, although there were still bruises on her. Reconstructive surgery had repaired the damage to her ear. Her gaze was steady, her manner calm and collected.
No. No, it wasn't. Her body started trembling the moment that Burgoyne walked in.
"Doctor? What are you doing here? Are you all right?"
Selar tried to speak, but couldn't get words out. Instead she took two steps forward, grabbed Burgoyne, and kissed hir forcefully, swept up in Pon Fan, caught up in her need, and knowing, finally, for once, exactly what she wanted.
No words were required.
And Burgoyne never did get that five minutes' rest.
The End
