Blind Man's Bluff

U.S.S. Excalibur

i.

The Doctor sat in Ten-Forward, looking around at the laughing couples. They were discussing the close scrapes that the ship had had, and the madness of Morgan Primus, and how terrific it was that everything was finally up and running again. He watched that Tobias woman from the bridge, the one who had somehow known that the Dauntless was about to fire upon them—which, as it had subsequently turned out, was a correct assumption. She was seated across the table from another young woman who had red skin and a haunted expression. Tobias was clearly trying to offer witticisms that would distract the young woman from her dour mood, but nothing seemed to be working. He hoped that whatever was bothering the young woman, it would all be sorted out in time.

“Is this seat taken?”

He looked up. Seven was standing there, with her hand resting on the chair opposite him.

“It is now,” he said with what he imagined was a degree of suavity. At least it was close as he was able to summon.

She pulled out the chair, sat, and folded her hands on the table. “I just wanted to say that it was very brave, what you did. We didn’t know for sure it was going to work. And if Morgan’s capabilities had exceded expectations, she might indeed have been able to detect the presence of the nano-virus within your mobile emitter. She could have turned it against you, caused you to—”

“I know what she could have done,” he said. “I was there when we had the discussions. It had to be done and I did it. I… mourn her passing, as best I can. I acknowledge the part I played in it. And now I move on.”

“I know you know it. I wanted you to know… that I knew it. You know?”

“I do. Or at least I do now. At least I think I do.”

She watched him for a time, and then said, “And I wanted to thank you. And to tell you that what you said about me… about why you were doing it…”

He looked embarrassed. “Yes, I know, it was melodramatic claptrap, foolish words from—”

“I thought it was very sweet.”

“Yes, I did, too.”

She laughed softly and he was surprised at how gentle and unforced it was. Then she said with genuine interest, “So… if you don’t mind my asking… what are you doing here? I mean, you don’t drink. You don’t know anyone else. So why…?”

“Sometimes… I just like to sit and watch people, and try to determine, just by watching them, what their individual situations are. How they eat, what their hobbies are, why they joined Starfleet. I find it a stimulating exercise.”

“And are you correct in your surmises?”

“I don’t know. I never thought to ask. It’s the speculation that intrigues me. To wonder about what might be is always much more interesting than obsessing about what is.”

Then he looked down. Seven was resting her hand atop one of his. Slowly, tentatively, he curled his fingers around hers.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Seven.

ii.

“Come in,” called Robin Lefler when she heard the chime at the door of her guest quarters.

The door slid open and Calhoun entered. Then he saw what Robin was in the middle of and immediately he averted his eyes. “I’m sorry, I can come back later.”

Robin chuckled. “Are they that provincial back where you come from, Captain? This is why women have breasts, you know.” Cwansi, uncaring about the adult conversation, continued to nurse with quiet enthusiasm.

“Yes, I know that… intellectually. But it’s not something I dwell on.”

“Sit. It’s all right.”

He did so, although it amused her to see that he was extremely focused on her eyes, diligently making sure that his gaze didn’t drop below her neckline. But then the moment of amusement over his discomfort lapsed. “I was at sickbay to see Soleta about an hour ago. It breaks my heart. Do they have any idea when she’s going to come out of it or…” She couldn’t bear to add the word.

“Or if?”

She nodded.

Calhoun shook his head. “No. We’re hoping, praying that it’s soon.” He looked grim. “Starfleet is anxious to know what’s in her head.”

“I would imagine,” said Robin. “I mean, was Nechayev really an alien being in a body that was fashioned for her by the D’myurj? Was she an actual D’myurj wearing a… a meat suit? How long has she been that way? Always? Or was she switched out and there’s a real Admiral Nechayev being held prisoner somewhere, or maybe even dead? And are there others like her, and if so, can we figure out who?”

“All excellent questions,” said Calhoun, “and yet, oddly enough, the only one I give a damn about is whether she’s going to be all right.”

“I don’t think that’s odd at all.”

“We’ve got the Spectre stowed down in the shuttlebay. I hope she’s able to fly her again.” He shook his head and thumped his fist on his thigh. “It was her suggestion, you know. To use the mind meld to extract information from Nechayev while she was off guard. Jellico embraced it immediately, but I resisted it, and she talked me into it. I never should have let her.”

“She’s strong, Captain. She’ll be back. Oh… I think someone’s done.”

Cwansi’s head was slumping, and there was breast milk dribbling down his face.

“Speaking of someone being back,” said Calhoun as Robin tended to cleaning up her son and adjusting her clothing, “my understanding is that you’re going to be heading out with the Trident.”

“Yes, that’s right. Captain Mueller has offered me—”

“I know what she’s offered you. Don’t take it. Come work for me instead.”

“What?” Her face flushed with happy surprise. “Captain, I… that’s very flattering. You have an opening in child care as well?”

“Child care is an important function, but that wasn’t what I had in mind for you.”

“What, then?”

“Well… and I’m hoping you won’t reject the notion out of hand… but I was thinking about your old job at ops.”

She looked astounded. “Ops? But—”

“I hope you won’t think I’m being presumptuous when I say that I believe it’s what your mother would have wanted.”

“But… I resigned… and I’m not sure that I want to return to Starfleet. It may not be the life for me anymore.”

“So don’t. You didn’t lose your knowledge or experience when you took off the uniform.”

“Wouldn’t your having a civilian at that post be against regulations?”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

She laughed delightedly at the notion. Then she said, “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. So what’s your answer?”

“I meant…” Then she saw the look in his eyes, and it was the purest definition of not taking “no” for an answer that she had ever seen. “Sure,” she said.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Lefler. Your mother would be proud.”

“I like to think that she—”

“Bridge to captain,” came Burgoyne’s voice.

“This is Calhoun.”

“Captain, I think you’d better get up here. We just received an emergency transmission.”

“From where?”

“Xenex.”

Calhoun felt a chill grip the base of his spine. “How bad?”

“Very.”

“On my way,” he said, and left her quarters at a dead run.





Xenex

i.

Calhoun stood on the streets of the city from which he had taken his last name. He had ordered the security troops and medtechs to spread out, see what they could find, see whom they could help. But the initial sensor sweeps had not been promising.

He had seen so much death in his life, and was the cause of a good deal of it, that he had thought he was inured to it. As it turned out, he was wrong.

The city had been leveled. There was rubble everywhere, the remains of buildings brought crashing to the ground, and gigantic craters blasted by vicious weapons. And the bodies, gods almighty, the bodies, they were everywhere, or at least what was left of them was everywhere. Men, women, children, it had made no difference to them.

There were no bodies of those who had committed the atrocities. But lying at Calhoun’s feet was a single object that spoke volumes: a rounded helmet that could only have come from one of the Brethren. It was dented and carbon scored, and had obviously been left behind as a signature or calling card so that there would be no doubt who had been responsible for this atrocity.

It would have been bad enough had it been limited to the city in which he was standing.

But it wasn’t. It was global. There were still some flickering lives that were fighting to survive around the world and the Excalibur had away teams everywhere they thought might be of help. And other rescue ships were on the way as well to provide whatever aid might still be possible.

Yet to all intents and purposes, Calhoun was standing at ground zero of the genocide of the Xenexian people.

The Brethren had returned in a manner that said: You thought you were succeeding against us? You thought because you found a way to kill us that we were somehow just going to go away? This is how wrong you were. This is what we are capable of. We wiped out your people… in order to prove a point. Come and get us, you bastard, because we are more than ready for you.

“This is my fault,” Calhoun said tonelessly. “This is what he meant… that there would be consequences…”

He heard a footfall. He knew the exact location of all of his people, and this one was near him. He whirled, automatically reaching for his phaser, and then he stopped.

It was Xyon.

His son looked stunned, walking stiff-legged. “What… what happ—?”

Without a word Calhoun went to him and embraced him roughly. “You weren’t here… oh, grozit, you weren’t here. I… was afraid even to think about it…”

“I got a distress call… it was broadband, and it was from Xenex. I couldn’t stay away, I had to… is… is there anyone—?”

“We’re finding out now. We hope to know soon.”

“But… what were you talking about, just now? That it was your fault? How is it…?”

He told him. He told Xyon everything that had happened.

Xyon listened carefully, never speaking a word, taking it all in.

“So… so they sent the Brethren back in order to do this,” Xyon said when Calhoun had concluded, “for no other reason than to punish you?”

It was the hardest single word Calhoun had ever spoken:

“Yes.”

ii.

And at that moment, Xyon knew that it was entirely his fault. Not his father’s. His.

Because he was the one who had told Calhoun about coming to Xenex in the first place. He was the one who had fed him the false information about the soldiers. Except he hadn’t known it was false at the time. But he hadn’t cared. He did it for the money. Someone whom he didn’t know had hired him for a reason that he didn’t understand. Now he realized that if he had simply refused to go along with it… if he hadn’t been blinded by both his greed and his antipathy for his father… then perhaps none of this would have happened. Maybe it would have… but maybe it wouldn’t.

“Xyon,” said Calhoun with sudden urgency, his voice rough, “who gave you the information about the soldiers? You need to tell me.”

“It was a Xenexian.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know his name. What does it matter? They’re dead! They’re all dead!”

“Xyon, listen to—”

And Xyon drew back a fist and hit his father as hard as he could. Or at least he tried to. Calhoun saw it coming, sidestepped, and slammed him to the ground. Instantly contrite, Calhoun said, “Xyon, I’m sorry… I—”

He reached for him and Xyon pushed his hand aside as he got to his feet.

“This is all your fault!” screamed Xyon. “I’ll get you for this! I swear I will! You’ll pay for it! You’ll pay for what you did to all of them! Lyla, get me the hell out of here!”

And before Calhoun could stop him, his son’s body was enveloped in transporter beams and whisked away to his orbiting ship.

Mackenzie Calhoun was alone.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PETER DAVID is the New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy books, including numerous Star Trek novels, such as Imzadi, A Rock and a Hard Place, Before Dishonor, and the incredibly popular New Frontier series. He is also the author of the bestselling movie novelizations for Spider-Man, Spider-Man 2, Spider-Man 3, The Hulk, Fantastic Four, and Iron Man, and has written dozens of other books, including his acclaimed original fantasy novels Tigerheart, Sir Apropos of Nothing, The Woad to Wuin, Tong Lashing, and Darkness of the Light.

David is also well-known for his comic book work, particularly his award-winning run on The Hulk, and has written for just about every famous comic-book superhero.

He lives in New York with his wife and daughters.