Obsidian Alliances

by Peter David

  Kalinda laughed softly. “Don’t believe everything you hear or everything you’re told.”

  “Then why should I believe you?”

  “Good point,” she admitted. “I suppose the answer is that you’ve come to me, so if you don’t believe me, then you’re just wasting your time. If you don’t want this to be a waste of time, then you’re going to have to start taking some things on faith. And I’m telling you, McHenry wouldn’t do that. He’s too…too wise.”

  “Wise?” Kalinda nodded. Soleta came over to the edge of the bed, staring at her. “How did you…do you…communicate with him? Are you telepathic?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it like?”

  Kalinda looked as if she was trying to find a way to describe it and was not being terribly successful at it. “Do you—I’m sorry if this seems intrusive—do you believe in the concept of the soul?”

  Soleta didn’t answer at first. She was conflicted over the response. “My own…abilities…cause me to accept the concept of an inner essence. I’m able to project mine into others, to…meld…with them. But that essence is so powerful that it exists beyond the body when it ceases to function? I don’t know that such a thing is possible.”

  “It’s possible,” Kalinda told her firmly. “And it is. I am able to…how to put it? I am able to perceive what some cultures would call spirits.”

  “But how does that relate to McHenry? He wasn’t dead. He was never dead.”

  “No. But his essence—to use your word—was visible to me outside his body. He was, in a sense, perpetually dreaming. Astral projecting. And I was able to perceive that.”

  “There are some who think that dreaming actually consists of walking among other realms, rather than a simple discharge of electrical impulses in the brain,” said Soleta, unaware that she was describing the beliefs of the deceased Elizabeth Shelby.

  “They’re correct.”

  “Oh, please,” sighed Soleta, becoming totally convinced that she had been wasting her time. She started to step away from the bed. Even though Kalinda’s arms were restrained, she was still able to get her hand out enough to grab Soleta’s wrist. Her arm was slender, but her hold on Soleta was remarkably strong. She seemed to be pulling strength from some endless reserve, despite her injuries.

  “They,” she said intently, “are correct. And McHenry was dreaming for years. For years. There are worlds other than what you see before you, Soleta. Possibilities other than what you perceive. McHenry has spent a lifetime walking among them, and even he has only scratched the surface of them.”

  “McHenry said he ‘imprinted’ on us.”

  “He did, in a way. To put it in the simplest terms, you woke him up. His reentry into this world was through the perceptions of you and Muck, and now he shares those. Your priorities—particularly Muck’s—are his priorities, the way that a child’s are those of its parents.”

  “But he’s a child with incredible knowledge of all creation,” Soleta said with a tone of unmistakable sarcasm.

  Kalinda ignored her tone. In fact, she smiled. “All children have that. It’s called imagination. Why not? They spent months in their mother’s womb, doing exactly what McHenry did. But their minds aren’t developed enough to retain it, and adults do whatever they can to burn it out of them. ‘Grow up.’ That’s what we say to them. To grow up is to lose touch with the other realms. With any luck, that will never happen to McHenry.”

  “You can let go of my arm now.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Kalinda released her grasp on Soleta’s arm.

  Soleta shook it to restore the circulation, and she regarded Kalinda thoughtfully. The entire thing seemed ridiculous. But the way Kalinda spoke, the tone in her voice, the quiet conviction…

  The same as you would see in any religious fanatic, she thought, but at the same time, even though it was woefully unscientific, it also made a marginal degree of sense. And it also was consistent with things that she had heard, had read, that there were indeed other realities. Other possibilities. There was even a Vulcan philosophy steeped in that, and if there was any race not prone to flights of fancy, it was Vulcans. If the Vulcans were going to philosophize about anything, it had to have some basis in scientific fact.

  “Other worlds,” she said slowly. “Other realms. I…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You what?”

  “I…” She looked down. “I’ve always felt that Muck has incredible potential. Initially I found his…his endless well of rage to be fascinating. I was drawn to it.”

  “Understandable,” said Kalinda. “Many types of creatures are drawn to physical flames. It makes sense that you might be drawn to an emotional one.”

  “But now, I…I think it may be too all-consuming. That he has potential for so much more…and it’s being incinerated by the anger he’s carrying in him. That it’s burning out of control. And that if he were able to direct it, there’s so much he could accomplish.”

  “I don’t know him as well as you,” said Kalinda. “I don’t know him at all, really. But if that’s what you believe, then I’m willing to accept that.”

  “Which is fine. But in accepting that—in knowing that—what am I supposed to do with that knowledge?”

  “You want to turn him around.”

  “I want to pull him up from the pit.”

  “And you want to know if McHenry can help. If I can help.”

  Soleta hadn’t been aware that was the case until Kalinda said it. Once she heard the words, though, she knew the truth of them. “Yes,” she said. “Yes…that’s right.”

  “I believe we can,” said Kalinda.

  “And…” Soleta wasn’t sure how to say it. “And you would do this…even though he killed your brother? Your friends? Even though he tried to kill you?”

  To her surprise, Kalinda laughed. “Would you resent someone for changing water into steam?”

  “Water isn’t alive.”

  “Really? Stand at a shore sometime and watch the waves crashing in the surf and tell me it’s not pulsing with life. The point is, Soleta…nothing ever dies. Not really. Nothing ever dies and nothing ever ends. We just lose track of it.”

  In spite of herself, Soleta actually smiled. “Then let’s see about putting things back on track.”

  25

  Slowly, rubbing the juncture where his neck met his shoulder, Muck sat up. Then he realized that he wasn’t actually in any pain; the response was just a reflex to his having been dropped by Soleta.

  That was when he realized he was no longer in the nerve center of the Stinger. Then someone walked through him.

  He gasped, grabbing at himself, and leaped to his feet. When he did so, it was a dizzying experience. He had no weight, no mass, no nothing. He spun in place and looked around in complete confusion.

  He was on the bridge of a space vessel, he knew that much. But it was unlike anything he had ever seen. As opposed to the darkness and gloom that had pervaded every other ship he’d been on, this one was brightly lit and alive and filled with…

  …with hope.

  He didn’t know how he could possibly apply such an abstract concept to what he was seeing, but he sensed it in the air nevertheless.

  Someone walked back through him. It was a female, and she was taking her position at a station in front of him. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite—

  Lefler. It was Robin Lefler. But she was cool, confident, smiling, and she sighed heavily as she said, “Captain, McHenry’s out again.” She nodded her head to her right, and Muck turned to see what she was indicating.

  It was McHenry. He was wearing a uniform, black and gray, the same as Robin’s. He was seated at a station that was similar to Robin’s, but with what appeared to be different controls. He was slumped in his chair, his head tilted back. His eyes were closed, and his chest was rising and falling slowly.

  “It’s all right,” came a voice from behind Muck. “We know he’ll come to when we ne
ed him.”

  It was a male voice, and another voice—a female—responded sharply, “Mac, I can’t believe you let him get away with it.”

  “He’s a better conn officer asleep than most in the fleet are awake.”

  Unable to believe what he was hearing, Muck turned and saw Elizabeth Shelby. Not a mark on her. Alive and confident and looking with a combination of annoyance and amusement at the man seated in the center chair.

  It was Muck.

  He had a scar, as Muck did, but it was in a different place on his face. His hair was neatly trimmed.

  Behind him was Zak Kebron. Off to the side was Soleta, studying what appeared to be some sort of science array. Coming in through the far door, reading a report of some kind, was Burgoyne, who walked down to the man called “Mac,” except s/he addressed him as Captain Calhoun, and gave him an update on engineering.

  Muck stood there, astounded, no longer noticing as people walked to and fro, passing through him as if he wasn’t there—which, it appeared, he truly wasn’t. He lost track of how long he was there just…just taking it all in. This Captain Calhoun was strong, confident, and these people—his people—respected him. Took his orders. Talked to him and listened to him with great regard for everything he had to say.

  And Elizabeth…Muck could see it in her eyes. Even if she sounded slightly impatient with him at times, there was deep affection for the man there.

  Slowly Muck walked toward Calhoun, crouching, staring straight into his eyes.

  For a heartbeat, Calhoun appeared to be aware of him, looking right back at him.

  “Mac? What’s wrong?” It was Elizabeth, and she was placing a hand lightly on Calhoun’s shoulder.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Did you ever have a feeling you’re being watched?”

  “Yes, but I’m not about to take chances,” replied Elizabeth. All business, she said, “Lefler, run an interior scan. Make certain we’re not under surveillance. Kebron, sensors on full sweep. Perhaps there’s a cloaked Romulan vessel out there; see if you can detect an anomalous ion trail.”

  “Eppy, you’re overreacting,” Calhoun said.

  “No, I’m reacting, and don’t call me that. I hate when you call me that.”

  Interesting, isn’t it?

  Muck jumped and turned to his right. McHenry—the one he knew—was standing there, with a small smile.

  “What is this?” demanded Muck. “What are you…? Are you in my head? Is this a dream?”

  No. It’s real. As real as you are. Just different. I can take you away from it if you wish. Or you can stay as long as you want.

  “Get me away from here. Why would I want to stay to see this…this—”

  Well, because… McHenry was looking over Soleta’s shoulder. Soleta was frowning, clearly disturbed about something. There’s a star about to go nova, a science research vessel is stranded there, and I believe this ship—called the Excalibur, and commanded by a man who calls himself Mackenzie Calhoun, but was once M’k’n’zy of Calhoun—is going to try and rescue them, at great risk to himself and his ship. And I thought you might like to see how it all comes out.

  And Muck was certain he did not. He was certain he wanted nothing but to look away from this…this shadow dance, this absurdity, this ridiculous game. He was about to say all that and more.

  Instead, what he said was, “Yes. I would.”

  And he stayed. He stayed for a very, very long time, one day rolling over into another.

  He watched what could have been, or perhaps was, and every step of the way he measured himself against it.

  And he was ashamed.

  And from his shame came great fury that he was being made to feel that way. And when he could take it no longer, he cried out in rage, and the world before him was shredded like tissue paper.

  26

  Muck sat up, howling in rage, and lashed out. His fist connected with something, knocking it flat, and when his vision cleared he realized that it was Soleta.

  He staggered to his feet, looking around in confusion, and discovered that he was outside the null sphere. Soleta was on her back, rubbing her jaw in pain. Robin Lefler was there, standing behind a large life-support chair, and in the chair was Kalinda. They were all looking at him with varying degrees of interest.

  He stabbed a finger at Soleta and shouted, “You did that! You did that to me!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “To show you what you could be!”

  “It was lies! All lies—!”

  No. It wasn’t.

  Muck whirled and faced the tank and slammed a fist into it, accomplishing nothing beyond hurting his hand. “Shut up, McHenry! That couldn’t be me! It couldn’t!”

  It wasn’t. It was Mackenzie Calhoun. And so is this…

  And Muck’s head exploded with another image. This time he was still awake, but it imprinted on his mind the same way that a sudden intense, brilliant light would sear itself into one’s retina. He saw another version of himself, younger, on Xenex, his hair long, his face newly scarred, his arms spread wide as he was shouting to his people, and they were gathered by the thousands, all shouting his name, hailing him as a great hero, and even D’ndai was there crying his praises, they all loved him, they all needed him, they all—

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Muck fell to the floor, his hands over his ears, and he started to sob, feeling the last vestiges of his self-control slipping away. “That’s not me! It’s not!”

  No. And it never can be. You are you. You are what you are now. What you wish to become…only you can determine.

  He pounded the floor in frustration, his fury blasting in all directions, unfocused, like a wildfire, and suddenly there was a pair of arms around him. It was Soleta, holding him as tightly as she could. He struggled in her grasp, tried to pull away, but her strength was considerable.

  “What do you want from me!” he howled. “What do you want!?”

  “For you to be free of your rage. Of your hatred.”

  “And without those, what am I?”

  “Whatever you want to be.”

  He had stopped struggling. Soleta braced herself for the likelihood that this was a trick. Instead, he said slowly, “I killed all those people on Danter. I can’t be ‘whatever I want to be.’ I’m a mass murderer.”

  You didn’t kill them, said McHenry’s voice in his head.

  “I know I didn’t. You did. But—”

  No one did. I fired on the planet’s surface. I destroyed their military might. Their ships, their weaponry, the factories that they use to build them. And I annihilated entire surface areas that were largely uninhabited. I scared the hell out of them, true enough, and rendered them powerless. They’ll probably spend the rest of their lives living in fear of the wrath of Xenex, which isn’t a terrible thing. But they’ll live. He paused. But now that you know—if you want me to—I will indeed kill them. You tell me.

  Muck hesitated a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, “Those images…all lies…?”

  “They represent other realized possibilities. The multiverse is full of them. Infinite diversities,” Soleta told him, “in infinite combinations. And you get to choose what combination you want.”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Well,” she said, “that’s a start.”

  27

  The Xenexians of Calhoun fled in fear as the massive ship descended from overhead like a vehicle of the gods. There was a cacophony of babbling and fear and praying and great certainty that they were all going to die. There were cries of “Spare us!” and “We brought it on ourselves!” and much else.

  For a brief time, they had thought something positive was transpiring. The Danteri overseers, with no warning and no explanation whatsoever, had fled the planet. This had been widely perceived as a good thing. But now, with the arrival of this vast and potentially lethal vessel, it seemed the Danteri had departed not to free the lives of the Xenexians, but to save their own lives in the f
ace of an even more destructive force.

  And in all that time, as they wailed and made ready for the end, the ship did nothing. It came close to the ground, but otherwise took no retaliatory action. Slowly the realization crept through them that they were still alive and the ship hadn’t blown them to hell and gone. A silence started to creep through the air, and soon the vast crowd was waiting in wordless anticipation of what was to happen next.

  Then the air in front of them shimmered, accompanied by a shrill whining sound. Seconds later, several forms had materialized. A man—a Xenexian, like themselves—accompanied by a Romulan and a human woman. The unlikely trio stared at the Xenexians, and then the man spoke.

  “I am M’k’n’zy of Calhoun,” he said. “Son of Gr’zy, brother of D’ndai.” There were startled gasps as older Xenexians remembered him all too well, and were clearly having trouble squaring the man they were seeing now with the trembling, cowardly boy that had departed the planet so many years ago.

  “I have been to the pits of hell and back. I have seen many things. I have done many things. I have laid low our oppressors. The Danteri will trouble you no longer. They are in fear of my power. Their allies have deserted them. You are free.”

  They stood there for a moment, clearly unable to believe it.

  “You are free,” he continued. “But others are not.”

  And he spoke to them. Spoke to his people, and for the first time in his life, they listened. He spoke to them of the Terrans, of the lives they were leading of subjugation and misery. He spoke to them of all that could be accomplished by the Terrans, and by those living in a galaxy that was not being made to buckle under fear and oppression. He spoke to them of a reality that could be, and of realities that were, and how the former could be reshaped into the latter.

  The rage was still there, as strong as before, but now it was focused and harnessed, like a forest fire being transformed into the fires of a forge.

  His people took in his words, and his spirit, and his vision that involved joining with the Terran resistance that was already in place, and freeing all living beings who were currently bending under the yoke of tyranny.