Blind Man's Bluff

Xenex

Now


It would never have happened if M’k’n’zy hadn’t been distracted. Never. His ability to perceive danger was simply too well honed to fall victim to something as obvious as a booby trap.

But he was too preoccupied with concerns for both his own people and his crew. Making his way through a path in a mountain region, he realized only belatedly that his inner sense that so reliably warned him of danger was prickling at the nape of his neck. By the time he did so, it was too late. His ankle had hit the trip wire, and the trap was sprung. In his defense, it had been almost microscopically thin. No normal individual would have had any chance at all of spotting it. It was just that M’k’n’zy held himself to a higher standard.

Fortunately for him, he was fast enough to avoid the result even though he had triggered it.

Someone else would have been momentarily frozen with the realization of what he had done, and that would have been his undoing. Not M’k’n’zy, who leaped backward a split instant after having hit the trip wire. There came a rumble from above him and, as he deftly backpedalled out of the way, a massive pile of rocks tumbled down from overhead.

He didn’t know what means the Brethren had taken to secure all of it, nor did he particularly care. All that mattered was avoiding it, and that he managed to do with alacrity. The rocks thudded down, bouncing and scattering, and he was able to observe it all from a safe distance. Had he been even a second slower, he would have been at the bottom of the pile. As it was, he watched the stones pile up while displaying no visible reaction. He showed no sense of relief, and there was no agitation in his manner that indicated he was aware just how close he had come to total destruction. For all the change in his demeanor that he presented outwardly, he might well have simply sidestepped a puddle during a rainstorm.

“You are quite the unflappable opponent, Captain Calhoun.”

For the time that he had been back on Xenex, thrust into an insane situation, leading his people against an implacable foe, Mackenzie Calhoun had gone back to thinking of himself as M’k’n’zy of Calhoun. But upon hearing the soft, mocking tone behind him—a tone that was cloaked in an all-too-familiar voice—he was reminded that he was, in fact, Captain Mackenzie Calhoun of Starfleet. M’k’n’zy was the warlord he once was, the relentless foe of would-be oppressors. Mackenzie Calhoun was, to M’k’n’zy’s mind, somewhat less formidable.

He knew, however, that others would disagree.

“That is true,” Calhoun said evenly. “None have ever managed to flap me.”

“And further evidence of that presents itself,” said the individual who was standing behind him. The voice was familiar to Calhoun, of course, as was the image of the person who owned it. “Here am I, and by all rights my appearance should be enough to get some sort of rise out of you. Yet there’s nothing.”

Calhoun sneered at the female who was standing before him. “You show up looking like my wife, and you think that’s going to have some sort of impact on me? That maybe I’ll be fooled? That I’ll cry out, ‘Honey, it’s you!’ and then try and throw my arms around you and be utterly crushed that I’ve been fooled.”

The being that was wearing the appearance of Elizabeth Shelby shrugged. “It sounds rather unlikely when you put it like that.”

As she spoke, Calhoun knelt and picked up a piece of rock. He lobbed it straight at her and it passed through her harmlessly. “As I thought,” he said. “You still don’t have the guts to show up in person.”

“What would be the point of that?”

“For one thing, it would give me the option of beating the living hell out of you.”

“I don’t see where that benefits me particularly.”

He shook his head as he stared at her. “It’s amazing. I’ll give you that. The way you manage to look like her.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be. Seeing it just makes me want to throttle you for daring to impersonate her. The advantage, though,” and he smiled in that wolfish manner he had, “is that it provides me further incentive. If my determination starts to flag, I can focus on the notion that I have to stay alive so that I can find you in person and administer the aforementioned beating.”

“You seem rather single-minded.”

“You have no idea,” said Calhoun grimly. “Trust me, the beating will occur. The only variables at this point are when, where, and to what degree. The former two will be left to the vagaries of fate, but the latter is entirely up to you.”

“Is it?” “Shelby” did not seem especially concerned over the prospect. “Just out of curiosity, what precisely could I do to forestall or, even better, lessen the severity of the promised beating?”

The harsh sun continued to beat down upon Calhoun. He was annoyed with himself because he was starting to feel the intensity of it, and that had never happened before. He had been away from his home world for too long and had become accustomed to the relatively cushy existence on board starships. You’ve lost your edge, Calhoun, he thought, and then immediately cursed himself for second-guessing. That was not the sort of attitude that was going to benefit anyone, least of all himself.

He realized that he was allowing the silence to extend, and he had to pay attention to what was going on. “You can put an end to this,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because whether you cooperate or not, it is going to end. My crew is going to realize what you’ve done. They’re going to come back for me, and once they have, we will find you—”

“And the beating will commence? Allow me,” said the creature posing as Shelby, raising a finger as if she were testing the direction of the nonexistent wind, “to offer an alternative, and far more likely, scenario. Number one: Your ship doesn’t ever discover what’s happened. Number two: They do indeed figure it out—unlikely but, for the sake of argument, I’ll allow it—except they accomplish this far too late to be of any use to you because the Brethren will have disposed of you. And you need to understand that this is the only aspect of the situation that you can have any influence on. Your dying is an inevitability. The only question at issue is, how many of your fellow Xenexians are you going to take with you?”

Calhoun gave no outward indication of the rage seething within him. “Any one of those brave souls is worth a thousand of you.”

“I won’t argue your mathematics,” said “Shelby.” “Instead I will simply acknowledge that the Xenexians are fiercely devoted to you and will lay down their lives for you without hesitation. That prompts the question, though, as to what you are willing to do for them. In my opinion, you are unfairly taking advantage of that devotion, leading them on a futile crusade against an enemy they simply cannot hope to defeat. The difference between this occasion and the last time, when you were their beloved warlord, is that the only stake they have in this matter is you. Once you’re dead, the Brethren withdraw and leave the Xenexians to this,” and she looked around distastefully, “wasteland that they call home. There’s no territorial battle, no grand clash of faiths. You die; they leave. So how many of them are going to be slaughtered before your inevitable demise? For that matter, what sort of man subjects his friends and followers to such catastrophic punishment?”

His face as unreadable as ever, Calhoun said, “The sort who is going to beat the hell out of you.”

“Shelby” actually chuckled at that. She didn’t have the real Shelby’s laugh, and Calhoun took some cold comfort in that. Then, when she recovered herself, she said, “You’re a circular man, Calhoun. You always wind up right back where you started. I’m not sure whether to admire it or pity it. I’ll probably settle on some combination of the two.”

Slowly she started to fade out. “End it, Calhoun,” she advised. “Either take your own life or throw yourself into battle with the Brethren in such a way that you cannot possibly win. Accept the destiny that you are facing, and spare countless innocent lives. It’s your choice. I’m done talking to you for now.”

With that pronouncement, the image of Shelby vanished from sight.

During the entire encounter, Calhoun had managed to restrain himself. Now, even after the D’myurj had disappeared, Calhoun remained where he was. Only the mild trembling of his clenched fists gave the slightest hint of what was seething within him.

And when he was sure she was gone—when he was absolutely, positively sure—Mackenzie Calhoun let out an earsplitting, gut-wrenching roar, torn from deep within him that was a combination of fury and humiliation and a frightful admission that, deep down, he knew that the bastard D’myurj was right. And even if (when, dammit, when!) he managed to find his tormentor and dispose of him/her, that wasn’t going to do a thing to bring back any of the brave Xenexians who had been so cruelly taken before their time.

And for that moment, and only that moment, Mackenzie Calhoun considered doing exactly what the D’myurj had suggested. He could find a high peak and just throw himself off, plummet to the rocks below, and terminate himself in exchange for the lives of the Xenexians who would continue to fight beside him—presuming he could find any who were still breathing at this point—and die on his behalf.

Then the moment passed, and Calhoun had just enough time to wonder who, in the grand scheme of all this, was truly the villain of this piece, before continuing on his path in hopes of hooking up with the straggling remains of his ragtag army.





U.S.S. Excalibur

Sometime Earlier


i.

Calhoun, relaxing in his quarters in the way he typically did—reading military histories—looked up with interest when Zak Kebron conveyed the news to him. The massive Brikar’s voice rumbled in its usual manner, seeming to fill the entirety of the room even though he was simply speaking over the intraship communications system. The captain listened, and naturally there was no one in the room to see the surprise on his face.

“Xyon? Are you sure it’s Xyon?”

“Everything checks out,” Kebron’s voice said. “Ship’s registry, plus a sensor scan matches up with our previous readings of him. It’s his ship and he’s the one inside hailing us, asking for permission to come aboard.”

Calhoun wasn’t sure what to make of it. The last time his son had taken his leave of them, it had seemed to be a more or less guaranteed thing that he wasn’t going to be seeing his father anytime soon, if ever. Yet now here he was, effectively knocking on the ship’s door.

“How the hell did he find out where we are?”

“We’re not exactly in stealth mode, Captain,” Kebron’s voice replied. “Xyon is a rather ingenious young man. I’m sure it was no great trick.”

“Obviously not.” Calhoun drummed his fingers on the desk in a quick staccato, trying to figure out what it was that he was not considering. “He’s not here without a reason.”

“Nobody does anything without a reason, Captain.”

“True enough.”

The Excalibur was involved in a rather innocuous science survey in the PAS3000 sector. It was, in Calhoun’s opinion, exactly what the crew needed after the recent catastrophes the ship had endured. The sequence of events that had been initiated by the late Doctor Selar had been brutal, and something as simple and straightforward as a science survey was a welcome change of pace for the ship. The main job of a starship was exploration, and it was a relief to engage in something as purely exploratory as this.

“Captain—?” Kebron prodded him when Calhoun’s silence extended a bit.

“Tell him to park his ship in the shuttlebay and come up to see me.”

“Shall I provide him an escort?”

“I think he knows his way around,” said Calhoun, “and I’m sure he doesn’t present a security risk.”

“You’re sure? Or you hope?”

Not for the first time, and very likely not for the last, Calhoun waxed nostalgic for the days when Kebron was little more than a big, surly, monosyllabic pile of rock with arms and legs. His “maturing” into someone who worried incessantly about everyone’s feelings was truly starting to get on Calhoun’s nerves. He’d have thought that installing Kebron as the ship’s counselor would give him an avenue to indulge his empathetic impulses, but apparently it wasn’t sufficient.

Kebron was still talking. “Captain, you have to ask yourself just how much you want to invest Xyon with the trust of which he is deserving, as opposed to what you want to impart in order to assuage your own concerns about him. When one considers Xyon’s track record and list of dubious involvements, any dispassionate assessment of his reliability would seem to indicate—”

“Kebron.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Just let him on the damned ship and stay the hell out of my head.”

There was a brief pause. Then simply: “Yes, sir.”

Calhoun’s head slumped back. “Grozit,” he said with a sigh.

ii.

Xyon walked with the sort of swagger that only someone who was utterly in control of his own destiny could summon. At least that was how he saw it and, really, wasn’t that the only thing that was important?

Various crewmen glanced at him in surprise as he passed them. He didn’t blame them. Some of the familiar faces recognized him and doubtless wondered what he was doing there. The unfamiliar ones would have noticed the distinct resemblance he had to the captain. Those same, ruggedly handsome features, except of course it looks better on me, he thought.

He had business on the Excalibur with his father, certainly, but that wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

Xyon didn’t want to let Kalinda know that he was coming, or even on the ship. He wanted to have the opportunity to surprise her, and get an honest reaction to his presence. So much had happened between him and the sister of the late Si Cwan that he no longer had any real idea where he stood with her. This, he felt, was his opportunity to find out.

He desperately wanted to share his life with her. Many was the time he had fantasized about her joining him on his vessel. He would show her the galaxy, and even all the things that he had already seen and experienced would seem new to him because he would be seeing them through her eyes. He had convinced himself that he had no future with her, but he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

So when the opportunity to return to the Excalibur presented itself, it was one that he could not pass up.

“Well, well. It’s my son’s namesake.”

Xyon turned and saw a familiar face. “Burgoyne,” he said. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Xyon,” said Burgoyne 172. The Hermat extended hir hand and Xyon shook it firmly. “It is, however, a bit unexpected.”

“I was given permission—”

“I know that. I’m the first officer. Naturally I’m going to be informed if we have a visitor. Particularly if that visitor is the captain’s son.”

“It’s nice to know you’re paying attention. By the way,” and his voice became serious, “I’m truly sorry about Selar.”

“Selar?” Burgoyne gave him a curious look, as if s/he couldn’t quite figure out what Xyon was referring to. “You mean about her death?”

“Well… sure. Of course.”

Burgoyne shrugged, a casual gesture that left Xyon dumbfounded. “She did what she felt she had to do in order to save our son. She made her choice and I respect that.”

“Burgoyne…” He couldn’t begin to fathom Burgy’s attitude. What was he supposed to say? That Selar had died violently after having betrayed the trust of Calhoun and Starfleet because she’d become obsessed with prolonging her son’s life? Certainly Burgoyne knew all that. S/he didn’t require Xyon to tell hir everything. So was Burgoyne in some sort of strange denial? If so, s/he certainly had bigger problems than anything that Xyon could readily address.

“Yes?” Burgy was simply standing there, waiting for Xyon to continue the question.

“Nothing,” Xyon said. “It’s nothing. Actually, could you tell me where Kalinda might be? I’m not sure where her quarters are these days. She’s still on the ship, right?”

“Yeeesss,” said Burgoyne, but the drawn-out way in which s/he said it indicated there was something s/he wasn’t letting on about. “Yes, she is. But, uhm…”

“But what?”

Burgoyne appeared to be considering something, and then said, “Typically she’s in Ten-Forward around this time.”

“Ten-Forward. Got it. Thanks, Burgy.”

“I think it might be best, though, if—”

Xyon wasn’t listening. Instead, seconds later, he was on the turbolift and heading straight over to Ten-Forward. He didn’t know what Burgoyne was going on about and, at that moment, didn’t actually care all that much. There was clearly something screwy transpiring in Burgoyne’s head, and whatever it was, it wasn’t any of Xyon’s concern or problem.

As he approached Ten-Forward, his ears perked up. He heard delighted laughter, and knew instantly that it was Kalinda’s voice. That surprised him somewhat. Kally had many intriguing attributes, but laughing was not something she typically did. She was one of the most serious young women that he had ever encountered, which he supposed made sense since she was capable of seeing the dead. It sometimes seemed that she was holding on to her sanity with both hands and a vise-like grip. So when Xyon heard her clearly enjoying herself, it buoyed his heart. Obviously her time on the Excalibur had done her some good. He didn’t pause long enough to wonder whether the time away from him was likewise contributory to her good spirits.

Like his father, Xyon could move in such a way that he did nothing to draw attention to himself. You would know he was present if you looked right at him, but otherwise he could minimize his movements so that he would remain unnoticed until such time as he decided to pull focus toward him. This was the course he opted for now, sidling into Ten-Forward and being noticed by no one present. The crewmen continued to drink and laugh and interact and, if they’d been asked, every single person present would have sworn that the captain’s son had never set foot in Ten-Forward that evening.

Xyon, however, saw them. To be specific, he saw two of them, and the rest of the people in the place faded to irrelevance.

There was Kalinda, seated at a table with Tania Tobias, the ship’s conn officer. Tania had her mouth up near Kalinda’s ear, and she was whispering something to her. Kalinda was responding with peals of laughter, and the happiness in her face made her seem incandescent.

The closeness of Tania’s face, her body, all of it bespoke an intimacy that was far beyond anything appropriate to two friends being out for the evening and enjoying each other’s presence.

Then Kalinda leaned forward and pressed her lips against Tania’s.

That was the moment that Xyon pulled out his disruptor, took aim, and blew Tania’s head off.

At least, in his own mind, he did.

He might well have done so, if he’d had the opportunity to follow his gut impulse. He didn’t think of himself as someone given to rages, and certainly not the type that could rack up a body count. Xyon abruptly remembered reading somewhere that the vast majority of murders were crimes of passion, but he never thought such a thing would have a direct application. What woman, he remembered thinking, would ever be worth killing for? What woman couldn’t be casually replaced by another one at some point down the road, or perhaps even with a good hologram in the interim?

The answer, one that he was not welcoming, was abruptly being presented to him.

Whether he would actually have done it, whether he would have followed through on the impulse and the mental image that was compelling him to turn Tania’s head into an unrecognizable, pulped mass, he would never actually know. A steely grip clamped onto his right wrist even as it started to move toward the disruptor, and he was abruptly twisted around in place to find himself staring into an older version of his own face.

Calhoun didn’t say a word. Instead, while Xyon was still off balance, Calhoun backstepped quickly, never easing up on his grip. Xyon had no choice but to follow, almost stumbling over his own feet as he did so. It all happened so quickly that no one in Ten-Forward was aware of the altercation.

In the corridor, as the doors slid shut behind them, Calhoun continued to keep Xyon’s arm immobilized. Xyon, for his part, made no effort to pull away. He felt it would be undignified, as if he were a frustrated infant who was balking against his daddy punishing him. He also knew it would be pointless: Calhoun was simply too strong.

In a low, tight voice, Calhoun said, “I just got done telling Kebron you didn’t need a security escort. It could damage my standing with my crew if they think there’s ever a possibility that I could be wrong about something. Am I wrong in this case?”

Xyon never lowered his gaze even as his father’s purple eyes seemed to bore right through his head. “No,” he said tightly. “You’re not wrong.”

“So I won’t regret letting go of your arm, then?”

“Only one way to find out.”

It was a small gesture of defiance, but all that Xyon could find within himself to muster at that moment.

Calhoun maintained his grip for a moment longer, just to drive home the point, and then he released it. Xyon discovered that his wrist felt numb, but decided he wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of seeing him shake it out in order to restore the circulation.

“Burgy told me the two of you happened to meet up and informed me where you were going. I wasn’t quite sure how you were going to react when you saw the two of them together.” He gestured for Xyon to walk in front of him, and Xyon did so, both of them heading in the general direction of Calhoun’s cabin.

“You knew about this? About Kalinda and that… person?”

“It’s a small ship, Xyon. Pretty hard to keep certain behaviors secret.”

“I wouldn’t really have attacked—”

“That’s what you say now. It doesn’t take all that much, though, for ‘I wouldn’t really have done it’ to become, ‘I really shouldn’t have done it.’ You know what I mean?”

Xyon did not deign to answer.

iii.

Once they were safely within the confines of Calhoun’s quarters, Calhoun made it clear that he was not done. “If you ever,” he said, “present a threat to anyone on my ship again, you will be treated as a presumed hostile and dealt with accordingly the next time you get in range. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain, I understand,” he said tersely. “Again, it was just a momentary impulse. I wouldn’t have given in to it.”

“You need to learn self-control, Xyon.”

“Pardon me, Captain,” and he once again sneered the word, “but the time to lecture me was when I was growing up and you were busy instilling your fatherly values in me. Not after the fact because you weren’t there all those years.”

“Are we really going to rehash this?” asked Calhoun, his arms folded.

Xyon was about to snap out an angry response, but then he thought better of it. With a sigh he sagged into the nearest chair. “I’m sorry. I mean it; I really am. It just… it caught me offguard, is all. I had all these ideas in my head of what I was going to say to Kalinda, and all these scenarios of how it was all going to go.”

“And what you saw didn’t match up with any of them.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Well, I can understand how it may have been…” He sought the right word, and the closest he could come up with was “… disconcerting.”

“Yeah, that was me. Disconcerted.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I just… I thought we had something together, you know?”

“You did have something. I saw how she looked at you, and you at her.”

“And now it’s gone? Just like that?”

Calhoun shrugged. “It happens, Xyon. You were what she needed at the time. And now, at this time, she needs something else.”

“And it’s… what’s her name…?”

“Tania Tobias.”

“What she needs is Tania Tobias? Really?”

“Apparently so.”

“Okay, well,” and Xyon, sighing, forced a weary smile, “I guess there’s plenty of stars in the sky, huh.”

“You’ll find someone, Xyon.”

“That was the absolute worst thing you could have said.”

“As you’d be the first to remind me, I’m not exactly the most expert when it comes to fatherly interpersonal relationships.”

“Which reminds me: How’s your adopted son, Moke?”

“Barely talking to me.”

“So maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d been there for me.”

Calhoun walked across the room to a cabinet, from which he withdrew a decanter and two glasses. “Perhaps it would have,” Calhoun said. “It could well have made things worse.”

“I should be grateful, then.”

“Perhaps you should be.” Calhoun filled up the two glasses with a blue liquid and handed one to Xyon, never questioning whether Xyon would want it.

Xyon sipped from it and the edges of his eyes crinkled, his tongue stinging from the taste. “Romulan ale? Can’t they court-martial you for having this?”

“Of all the things I’ve done for which they could court martial me, I’d have to think this would be the most innocuous.”

“I suppose so. Oh: What’s up with Burgoyne?”

“Up?”

“S/he seemed oddly restrained, to put it mildly, regarding what happened with Selar.”

“Oh. That.” Calhoun made no effort to hide the fact that he was displeased with that state of affairs. “That was Selar’s handiwork.”

Xyon stared at him blankly and shook his head. “I’m not following—”

“One of the last things she did before she died was to use a Vulcan mind technique to—oh, how best to put it—numb the part of Burgy’s brain that had any feelings for her.”

“You mean she emotionally lobotomized hir?” Xyon was appalled by the very notion. “How could she do that?”

“There were a lot of things that Selar left us wondering what she could do. In the end, the only conclusion we’re left to draw is that all her actions were driven by what she felt were the most logical choices she could make. She was a hard woman to understand.”

“I’m starting to think I don’t understand any of them.”

Calhoun simply grunted in acknowledgment. He took a sip of the Romulan ale, rolled the contents around in his cheeks, and then swallowed. “All right, so… I’m not naïve enough to think that you just happened to swing by here in order to catch up on old times. Obviously there’s something you need to tell me. If you want to sit here drinking my ale for an indefinite period, I have no problem with that. But if there’s something of more immediate concern…”

“There is, actually. Something I felt you needed to know about.”

“And which couldn’t have simply been transmitted via subspace?”

“I avoid subspace chatter when I can help it,” said Xyon. “Too many ears listening, too many chances for messages to go astray. I prefer talking to people face-to-face if it’s at all possible.”

“All right, then,” said Calhoun. “Here we are, face-to-face. What’s going on?”

“There’s trouble brewing back home.”

Calhoun’s face darkened upon hearing this. He realized it was interesting, in a distant sort of way, that when Xyon said “back home” he did not for one minute think of Earth or any other world upon which he had resided for any length. When it came to use of the term “home,” only one place qualified. “What’s happening on Xenex?” he asked.

“Scattered reports of armored soldiers setting up encampments.”

“In populated areas?”

Xyon shook his head. “So far, no. Just in outlying areas. Nor have there been any attacks; just sightings. Spying parties by various concerned tribal heads haven’t revealed much of anything useful. Mostly the soldiers just stand around; they don’t even seem to be interacting with each other.”

“Weapons?”

“None that anyone is seeing.”

“Then how do they know they’re soldiers as opposed to, say, surveying teams wearing environmental suits?”

“They’re Xenexians, Father. Do you seriously think there’s anyone more qualified to recognize soldiers when they see them?”

Calhoun couldn’t really dispute that. “Your information on this is solid?”

“I still have a contact or two there who keep me apprised about things that are going on. I haven’t forgotten my roots.”

“Do I sense a rebuke in there somewhere?” said Calhoun.

“Maybe a slight one.”

“And perhaps,” Calhoun admitted, “one that has a shred of truth to it.” He placed the now empty glass down on the cabinet. “Do you know anything more about the soldiers? What they look like, or particular markings on their armor…?”

“Just what I’ve told you.”

“Okay, then. I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll take care of it.”

“You mean you’re going to inform Starfleet?”

“I mean I’m going to handle this personally.” He looked with hopeful interest at his son. “You want to come along?”

“I would if I could,” said Xyon, “but I have a job waiting for me. Besides, I doubt that there’s much of anything I could bring to this party that you don’t already have covered.”

“Attempts at modesty ill befit you, Xyon.”

“Not modesty. Just being realistic. You’ve got this massive ship and I’ve got the Lyla. What’s the likelihood that you’re going to require my intervention because the Excalibur can’t deal with whatever you find?”

“Fairly minimal,” Calhoun had to allow. “Still…”

“Still what?”

“Well, it may sound ridiculous, but I rather like having you around.”

“You need to get over that feeling, old man,” he said, but there was no heat to the words.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Calhoun with the slightest of chuckles.

They stood there for a moment, regarding each other with some awkwardness, and then Calhoun said, “Do we hug?”

“Grozit, I certainly hope not,” said Xyon.

“Yes, exactly my thoughts as well. Come,” and he gestured toward the door, “I’ll walk you back to your ship. Show you some of the improvements we’ve made on the Excal.”

“That’s very generous. A guided tour by the ship’s captain, who you’d ordinarily think would have better things to do with his time. This couldn’t possibly stem from your concern that I’m going to go back to the Ten-Forward and start shooting, could it?”

“I know you would never do that.”

“And how exactly do you know that?”

Calhoun, who had been sitting, now rose and reached into the cushion next to him. He held up a familiar weapon. “Because I took your disruptor.”

Xyon’s eyes widened and he reached into the folds of his jacket. His disruptor was gone.

“Son of a bitch,” he said with a growl.

“After you, son,” said Calhoun with a cheerful demeanor that could not help but annoy the living hell out of Xyon.

iv.

“And there he was, just standing there, the bastard, with my disruptor in his hand and a smug expression on his face.”

Xyon had returned to his vessel and was now prepping her for departure from the landing bay. The massive doors that covered the bay were sliding open and the depths of space were visible and calling to him. At that moment, he was venting his frustration to Lyla, the holographic entity that served as the ship’s computer mind. Incarnated as a gorgeous blonde, she listened with endless patience and a carefully designed look of sympathy as Xyon gave vent to the circumstances of his wounded ego.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Xyon,” she said. “It must have hurt terribly to be outwitted in that manner.”

“I wasn’t outwitted, Lyla! He just… he…” He sighed. “Yeah, okay, he outwitted me. Are you happy?”

“Only when you are, Xyon.”

“You always know just what to say, Lyla.”

“That’s true. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re right about that. So… fire up the lift-off sequence. Let’s put this ship behind us.”

“Did you have the opportunity to say good-bye to Kalinda?”

He hesitated. There was no reason he couldn’t speak his mind to Lyla. She was utterly nonjudgmental, and for that matter, if he regretted saying something to her, he could always order her to forget it.

“I think to say good-bye to somebody… you have to be with them to begin with. Kalinda and I may have gone through a lot together, but with everything going on in my life, and all the problems rooting around in her head… I don’t think we were ever with each other. You know what I mean?”

“No,” said Lyla. She sounded ever so slightly apologetic.

He sighed heavily. “Let’s just say that Kally and I already had our good-byes and leave it at that, okay?”

“Okay, Xyon. Ship now ready for departure. Bay doors fully opened.”

“Good. Get us the hell out of here.”

“As you wish. Oh… did you provide Captain Calhoun with the information you were paid to give him?”

“Yeah. Everything our employer asked us to tell him. And he reacted exactly the way that I suspected he would. He’s taking charge of it himself and riding to the rescue to help his fellow Xenexians.”

“Do you know why our employer wanted Captain Calhoun to be apprised of the situation on Xenex? For that matter, do you know our employer’s identity?”

Being an artificial intelligence, Lyla wasn’t really capable of such things as wounded pride. Yet she had seemed mildly annoyed when she had been unable to penetrate the scrambling technology that had blocked them from seeing their employer’s face, or the point of origin of the transmissions they had received, or otherwise learn the true identity of their employer in any way.

“No, I don’t know who it is, and frankly, I couldn’t care less,” said Xyon. “I was given a fair price for my services, and the transfer into my credit account was made in a timely fashion. Besides, it’s not as if there’s any real love lost between my father and me. I was hired to feed him that information about Xenex. I did what I was paid to do. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of the story. From here on out, it’s my father’s problem.”

“Don’t you care what might happen to him?”

Xyon considered all the issues he’d had with his father over the years. He also considered how, as recently as a few minutes ago, his father had spoken of how much he liked having him around. Calhoun had reached out to him, and he had effectively batted away the efforts to set aside their differences and let go of his boundless anger.

“No,” said Xyon tersely.

“Okay,” Lyla said.

Moments later the small smuggling vessel had lifted off and was hurtling away from the Excalibur as fast as it could go. When the ship was far enough distant, the Lyla leaped into warp space and left the Excalibur far behind.

As space bent and twisted around his ship, Xyon watched the instruments with a sort of gloomy resignation. Lyla stepped in behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Xyon? Would you like me to make myself look like Kalinda and we can have sex?”

He looked up at her wanly and then sighed. “Actually… yes. I’d like that very much.”

“As you wish,” she said, and a second later had transformed herself into an exact replica of Kalinda.

Xyon pulled her toward him and brought his lips cruelly down on hers.