Blind Man's Bluff

Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco

Not Long After


i.

Admiral Edward Jellico had not been expecting a visit from Tusari Gyn, the Prime Arbiter of the New Thallonian Protectorate’s Council. And now that Gyn was there, he couldn’t say he was thrilled about the arrival.

He knew that making judgments of nonhumans based purely on their physical appearance was the exact wrong attitude to have, especially for someone who was a high-ranking officer in Starfleet. Yet he found himself reacting negatively to Gyn’s appearance. He had the typical red skin and bald pate of a Thallonian, but as opposed to the muscular and robust—and unfortunately dead—Si Cwan, Tusari Gyn was all angles and elbows. “A lean and hungry look,” as Shakespeare might have said. His brow was distended, making it almost impossible to see his eyes. He stood in Jellico’s office, hunched forward, in what seemed to Jellico to be a deliberately forced manner designed to convey subservience, which simply heightened Jellico’s suspicions all the more.

“I appreciate you taking the time to see me at such short notice,” Tusari Gyn said to him. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and Jellico had to strain to hear him. Suspicious individual that Jellico was, he had a feeling that it was deliberate on Gyn’s part. He was forcing Jellico to come to him, so to speak, and basically hang on his every word. “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

“No, not at all. Just doing some historical reading.”

“About what?”

“Naval disasters.”

“How depressing,” said Tusari Gyn.

“It can be useful, actually. After all, we basically oversee a fleet of ships travelling unknown territories. There are always lessons to be learned from the past that can be applied to modern day.”

“If you say so.” Gyn didn’t seem especially interested in pursuing the conversation, which suited Jellico just fine. In fact, he started to think that his choice of reading material was consistent with what was developing into the theme of the afternoon: imminent disasters that, with a little planning, could have been avoided.

He gestured for Tusari Gyn to be seated. Gyn politely shook his head and remained standing, which was yet another action that annoyed Jellico greatly.

“What’s on your mind, Arbiter?” Jellico said.

“Actually,” and Gyn held up a single finger, correcting him, “it would be best if you addressed me as ‘ambassador.’”

“Really. This office received no notice that you were now acting in an ambassadorial capacity.”

“Consider this your notice,” said Gyn with a slight inclination of his head. “If you do not believe me, you are certainly welcome to check with the Thallonian Council.”

“I believe I will do exactly that. Please wait outside.”

Jellico was pleased to see Gyn’s startled look. Clearly the Thallonian had not expected that response. He recovered quickly and, with a slight bow, said, “As you wish,” and removed himself to the outer office. The entire exchange gave Jellico some mild satisfaction. Gyn had shown up out of nowhere, with no appointment, and clearly had some sort of agenda. Thus far Gyn had maintained the upper hand and Jellico couldn’t resist the opportunity to get some leverage of his own. Let the Thallonian stew out there for a time, while Jellico did some quick investigative work to determine whether the Thallonian was what he said he was.

It turned out to be the truth.

A quick check with the diplomatic branch established that, yes, Tusari Gyn had been newly credentialed as the official Thallonian ambassador, with all rights and duties that came with the title. The New Thallonian Protectorate was one of the newer official members of the Federation, and it was Jellico’s obligation to extend every courtesy to its official representative.

That didn’t stop Jellico from letting Tusari Gyn cool his heels in the outer office for an additional twenty minutes, just because he felt like it.

Finally Gyn was back in Jellico’s office. It was hard to tell if he was scowling, because of his pronounced brow, but Jellico certainly liked to think that the Thallonian was annoyed. “That took longer than I thought it would,” said Tusari Gyn.

“These things take as long as they take,” said Jellico, waving once again to the chair opposite his desk. Tusari Gyn once again started to remain standing, but then he seemed to think better of it and took a seat. “So… you have something to say to me?”

Gyn regarded him thoughtfully. “If I may be forward, Admiral: I sense a bit of hostility coming from you.”

“I wonder why in the world you’d be sensing that,” said Jellico. “After all, all you did was lead an attempt to steal an infant from its mother because you considered the child a threat to consolidating your power base. You followed that up by threatening a major diplomatic incident if mother and child were not immediately turned over to you.”

“That is a gross distortion, Admiral. A grotesque rewriting of history—”

“And furthermore,” Jellico continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that you were complicit in the assassination of the infant’s father.”

Tusari Gyn sharply sucked in air and then let it out slowly. “Is it customary to hurl calumnies at all new ambassadors?”

“It’s a pilot program we’re breaking in. How’s it working for you so far?” said Jellico. He heard the words coming out of his mouth, and he thought, My God, Calhoun is rubbing off on me, but he couldn’t help it. Gyn’s people had caused him no end of grief, and had threatened a former member of Starfleet besides. He wasn’t inclined to cut Gyn even the slightest bit of slack.

“I have to say I resent it,” said Gyn, keeping his voice carefully even.

“And I have to say that I don’t care,” replied Jellico. “Thanks to the Thallonians, Robin Lefler is effectively a woman without a world.”

“It’s a large Federation, Admiral, with lots of worlds. There are many places that she could go…”

“She should be allowed to go anywhere, but because the Federation has to remain neutral in your dispute, let’s just say that her options are limited.”

“And my job here,” said Tusari Gyn, “if we could put aside your obvious antipathy for a moment, is to open her options once more.”

“You’re going to suggest that she return to New Thallon?” Jellico shook his head. “That possibility was already floated and rejected. There is absolutely no reason for Robin Lefler to think that matters will go any differently than they did before. She doesn’t trust anyone there, and I don’t blame her.”

“Nor do I,” said Tusari Gyn.

That comment surprised Jellico. “You don’t.”

“Admiral,” said Gyn with the air of someone possessing great forbearance, “my feelings on this matter mirror yours. The problem is that, as prime arbiter, my job was to carry out the will of the Council. My voice has no more weight than anyone else’s. In this case, the truth is that I was loath to attempt taking the child from Robin Lefler. But my wishes were set aside in favor of the Council’s preference, and I had no choice save to do as they bid. And their bidding was—whether you and I wish to admit it or not—entirely within Thallonian law.”

“Then I don’t see what there is to talk about, unless you’re here to issue new threats—”

“I’m here to suggest changing the law.”

Jellico looked at him askance. “Excuse me?”

“We are many things, Admiral, but a lawless society we are most definitely not. If the laws are changed, if accords can be worked out in alignment with them, then Robin Lefler would be able to live her life on the world of her husband with impunity. She would be fully entitled to raise her child however she saw fit, and the child’s life—and his relationship with his mother—would be sacrosanct. Anyone attempting to come between them or in some other way threaten the well-being of mother and child would be subjected to the maximum penalties we have to offer. And I assure you those penalties can be quite stiff.”

“Then change the laws,” said Jellico, “and we’ll see if we can sell the idea to Robin.”

“It is not that easy.”

“These things never are,” Jellico said with a sigh. “So what would be impeding it?”

“Because right now the Council is intransigent on the matter and would never consider making any sort of changes.”

“Well then,” and Jellico spread his hands in an exasperated manner, “why are you bringing this up at all? I mean, isn’t the matter somewhat academic? If it’s that hopeless—”

“I do not believe it is hopeless. I simply believe it is a situation that needs to be approached from a fresh direction.”

Jellico wasn’t ecstatic about the conversation. It was obvious that it was leading somewhere, and Tusari Gyn was the one who was doing the leading. Once again, Jellico was not in control of the situation. But he wasn’t quite sure what, if anything, he could do about it except to see where Gyn was going with it. “And I assume you have one in mind?”

Slowly Tusari Gyn nodded. “I do, in fact.”

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

“It involves Captain Mackenzie Calhoun.”

On the one hand, the statement surprised Jellico. On the other hand, for some reason, it didn’t. Calhoun somehow managed to insinuate his presence into an astounding number of situations, sometimes without even trying. This seemed to be one of those instances. “Calhoun.”

“The captain has garnered a great deal of respect from the New Thallonian Protectorate.”

“You’re not serious,” said Jellico. “From where I sit, the Excalibur is dead center of every major political dustup that’s ever been. Calhoun has pissed off more people—”

“Pissed—?”

“Angered more people than any ten Starfleet officers combined. And he has not hesitated to interfere in Thallonian internal matters, up to and including the very issue that we’re currently discussing.”

“All of that is true,” Tusari Gyn readily concurred. “But that has not led to any diminishment of the high regard in which he is held.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.” He actually smiled. It was not a pleasant thing to see. “You do not understand us, Admiral.”

“I’ll certainly concede that much.”

“We are, at our core, a warrior society. We respect strength, and we respect a clever opponent. Captain Calhoun has been all of that and much more. Because of that, he is held in high regard as a worthy opponent. And worthy opponents are worth listening to.”

“You’re saying that you want Captain Calhoun to come to New Thallon and advocate changing the laws under which Robin Lefler and her son were being persecuted?”

“I do not know that I would have used the word ‘persecuted,’ but that is more or less correct, yes.”

Jellico leaned back in his chair. It squeaked slightly and he made a mental note to have it attended to. “And you really think that would work?”

Tusari Gyn was silent for a moment and then said, “What I am about to tell you remains strictly between us, Admiral. If you were to repeat any of it, I would deny it utterly. Is that understood?” When Jellico nodded, Gyn continued, “This would actually be a blessing for my people. Even though it was in the spirit of the laws of New Thallon, the attempted removal of Cwansi from his mother, and the aftermath, is seen by quite a number of the populace as an abominable act. They don’t care that it was in accordance with the law. ‘Where was the protection of the Protectorate?’ people have said. And the peace and sanctity of the New Thallonian Protectorate cannot tolerate any sort of substantial rift between its people and the Council. It could, if unchecked, lead to disastrous consequences.”

“I’m with you so far,” said Jellico.

“By bringing in Captain Calhoun to serve as a mediator for the interests of Robin Lefler and the infant, it allows everyone involved to save face.”

“How? Calhoun would be painted as an outsider, sticking his nose into your legally prescribed methods.”

“Not at all. He would be serving as representative of a royal Thallonian infant. That would give him standing in any debate, not to mention complete immunity from anyone who would think to try and punish him for previous transgressions.”

“The Thallonians punishing Mackenzie Calhoun.” Jellico chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

“Yes, it would prove challenging. In any event,” and he leaned forward, his hard-to-see eyes fixed upon Jellico, “what do you think?”

Jellico considered it. “I think it’s something of a long shot. And I think it might be a tricky sell to Calhoun and to Robin Lefler. Not to mention that…”

That what? That Robin Lefler’s mother threatened to bring the Federation crashing down around my ears if anything happened to her daughter? That she said under no circumstances would Robin return there, and that the Thallonians weren’t to be trusted?

“That what?” Tusari Gyn prompted him.

“Nothing,” Jellico said. “It’s nothing that can’t be addressed. Look: I’ll contact Calhoun. I’ll see what he thinks.”

“You could simply order him, I assume.”

“If I firmly believed in the mission, I would do that without hesitation. In this case, I’m not sending Calhoun into it unless he’s one hundred percent on board from the get-go. Not to mention that safe passage for Calhoun, for Lefler and her son, for the Excalibur, all of that would have to be absolutely guaranteed.”

“You have my word as ambassador,” Tusari Gyn said firmly.

“All right, then,” said Jellico, and he stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” and Gyn stood up as well. “It is all I can expect, given the circumstances. I appreciate you taking the time.”

Gyn then bowed slightly, and Jellico bowed in return. And once Gyn had departed, Jellico sat and turned the entire conversation over and over in his mind, trying to see the gaps in logic, trying to determine what he had missed and what he was overlooking.

Then he instructed his aide to get word to the Excalibur that he needed to have a conversation with her captain.

ii.

Tusari Gyn walked across the grand plaza outside Starfleet headquarters. He kept his gaze resolutely forward, not making eye contact with anyone.

Heading toward him from the other direction was Admiral Nechayev. She appeared lost in thought, not paying the slightest attention to anyone around her.

They drew within a few feet of each other and then passed without ever slowing.

But as they did, Gyn said in a low voice, “It’s done.”

Nechayev nodded in acknowledgment.

They went their separate ways.





Xenex

Shortly After Tusari Gyn’s Meeting at Starfleet Headquarters


i.

D’ndai glanced out the window of his study and saw the crowds massing. More and more people were showing up with each passing minute. D’ndai shook his head and turned to face his bewildered and frustrated brother. “Well, this is becoming increasingly awkward,” said D’ndai.

“I need a ship, D’ndai. And I need one quickly,” said Calhoun.

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“It has to be now.” He was pacing the room as if he were a caged animal looking for some means of escape.

D’ndai scowled at him. “What’s the problem, little brother? Can’t wait to get the hell off the planet that gave you birth?”

Calhoun stopped pacing and turned to face his brother, an edge to his voice that could have cut diamond. “You need to put aside whatever hurt feelings and envy you’re still nursing. This isn’t about me. This is about you, and everyone around you. You can’t begin to understand the level of danger you’re in.”

“What are you talking about, M’k’n’zy? So your ship accidentally left you behind. Aside from making you late for your next appointment, I don’t see—”

“No, you don’t see.” He covered his eyes for a moment to compose himself, and then he lowered his hand. “D’ndai… it wasn’t an accident. You need to understand that. These things don’t happen by accident. It was done deliberately. I was abandoned here.”

“Why would your crew do that? Is it mutiny?”

“My crew wouldn’t do it. It’s… complicated,” he said, having no desire to get into a detailed discussion about a computer entity gone berserk. “The point is that leaving me behind wouldn’t be the end of it, because sooner or later I would be able to get off the planet. Which means that the person responsible for this wouldn’t allow enough time for that to happen. My being abandoned is step one; I need to get out of here before step two occurs.”

“What do you think step two is going to be?” D’ndai still wasn’t taking Calhoun completely seriously, but there was just enough concern flickering in his eyes to convey to Calhoun that he was at least listening.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” said Calhoun. “I have some guesses, but I think it safe to say that—whatever it is—it isn’t going to be of benefit to the Xenexian people…”

His voice trailed off.

He felt that same unaccountable warning of danger that had always served him well.

Calhoun looked toward the ceiling, “through” it, sensing that whatever was happening, it was coming from above. Then he glanced toward the window, where Xenexians could be seen looking toward the sky, pointing, seemingly concerned.

“It’s too late,” he said softly. “I waited too long. It’s here.”

“What is?”

“Step two.”

“All… all right,” said D’ndai. He might not have been totally in accord with Calhoun’s assessment of the situation, but he had enough respect for his brother to know that if M’k’n’zy of Calhoun said danger was imminent, then it very likely was. “We’ll get you to a place of safety. Hide you…”

“Are you insane?” said Calhoun. “D’ndai, whatever’s coming, it’s coming for me. I’m not going to put anyone at risk.”

“If someone were coming at your battleship specifically because they had a grudge against you, would you tell your crew that you were leaving them behind so that you would face the risk without endangering them?”

“Of course not, but this isn’t the same thing. These people,” and he gestured toward the Xenexians out the window and the planet’s population in general, “they aren’t my crew.”

“No, but they are your people. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what that means.”

“I haven’t. It means I watch out for them. And placing them between me and whatever’s coming for me would be unconscionable.”

From above they could hear the distant roar of a ship’s engines. Something was descending toward them. Obviously it wasn’t such a large vessel that entering the atmosphere was problematic, but Calhoun could tell from the sound of it that it was sizable nonetheless. A small army could come pouring out of there, with one target in their sights: him.

“I’m not going to endanger them,” said Calhoun firmly.

D’ndai’s expression softened into one of understanding. He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I understand,” said D’ndai.

“Good.”

Calhoun had no time to react as D’ndai’s fist lashed out, striking him across the jaw. Caught completely flat-footed, Calhoun staggered, and D’ndai swung a roundhouse that clocked Calhoun from the other side. Calhoun tried to recover, tried to jab back at D’ndai, but D’ndai blocked it effortlessly and delivered an uppercut to the point of Calhoun’s jaw. Any one of the three blows would have been enough to fell a normal man; it took the combination of all three to bring down Mackenzie Calhoun. His knees buckled as he took a determined step forward and then he collapsed, falling heavily to the ground.

“You have a lot going for you, M’k’n’zy,” said D’ndai, “but I always was the better of the two of us when it came to hand to hand. You might want to remember that for next time.”

It was the last thing Calhoun heard before the world faded to black around him.

ii.

D’ndai, for all the emotion and concern that he was displaying, could have been taking a casual walk in a pleasant forested area, as he emerged from his small, ramshackle home and strolled into the town square where hundreds of people were clustering, looking up at the vessel hovering above them.

It wasn’t as if the Xenexians had never seen a ship before; they had their own spaceport, as modest as it was. But they had never seen this particular design of vessel before, and the manner in which it was just hovering there, casting a vast shadow over the ground, was clearly intended to be intimidating.

We’re not so easily intimidated as all that, D’ndai thought grimly. The obvious proof was that, whereas other people might have fled to shelter, the Xenexians were gathering and waiting, and there might have been bewilderment in their faces, but there was also quiet defiance. If the crew of the ship was attempting to frighten them, they were going to learn quickly that it was not going to work.

“Where did it come from?” D’ndai asked one of his people.

“Don’t know. One minute it wasn’t there, the next it was.”

“A cloaking device,” said D’ndai to himself. This was puzzling to him. He’d heard that Romulans had such devices, as did Klingons, but their ships had fairly distinctive looks to them. This vessel didn’t look anything like those. This was far more blocky and utilitarian.

Suddenly a large hatch slowly irised open in the side of the vessel. There was a visible entranceway into the ship, but it was so dark within that it was impossible to discern anything inside.

And then a large armored figure appeared in the door. It stepped out and dropped the distance to the ground, landing with a thud that reverberated through the air. Then a second armored figure appeared and did the exact same thing, landing just to the right of the one before him. Then a third followed, and a fourth, and soon there were half a dozen of them gathered in the square, simply standing there, with no sign of weapons in their hands.

D’ndai had never seen anyone like them before. He made a practice of keeping himself apprised of all the major allies, and enemies, of the Federation, because as the tribal leader he felt it necessary to stay current on all potential threats. But he had no idea who these beings were. He didn’t like the fact that they were covered head to toe in armor. It was going to make them extremely difficult to battle. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he was prepared for it.

Still… six against a hundred or so, with more of D’ndai’s people arriving every moment. He had to think that the odds favored the Xenexians considerably.

The armored figures remained absolutely immobile, not even bothering to look around. The Xenexians were murmuring to themselves, questioning who these intruders might be, but no one seemed particularly afraid. A number of them were even smiling grimly, as if they were looking forward to a potential battle. It was the racial heritage of Xenexians always to anticipate a good fight.

Still, there was no reason to assume that such a fight was inevitable.

D’ndai stepped forward until his oncoming presence could not be ignored. One of the armored figures looked at him, or at least D’ndai thought they were looking at him. It was hard to tell.

“May I help you?” he asked.

He wasn’t sure if the armored figure was going to respond at all, but then a deep, rumbling voice, speaking through some manner of electronic filter, said, “You are in authority here?”

“I am,” said D’ndai. “Welcome to Xenex. Enjoy your stay.”

“We are not staying. Give us Mackenzie Calhoun.”

“There’s no one here by that name,” said D’ndai. As far as he was concerned, he was answering honestly. The man he called “brother” was named M’k’n’zy. D’ndai had always detested the bastardization of his name that “Mackenzie” had embraced, and thus saw no reason to acknowledge it, particularly under circumstances such as these.

“Lying will do you no good. We know he is here.”

“What you ‘know’ is up for debate,” said D’ndai. “I am telling you that there is no one named Mackenzie Calhoun here. So if that is the entirety of your business, you would do well to be on your way.”

“Give him to us now.”

“Listen carefully,” D’ndai said, and he could see the grim, prepared faces of the people all around him, his people, the ones who would never back down before an enemy. “You’re new here, so it’s possible you don’t understand. So let me explain: Generally speaking, Xenexians do not do well with threats.”

“The Brethren,” said the armored figure, “do not threaten.”

Whereupon the Brethren raised his gloved hand, and the next thing D’ndai knew he was being lifted off his feet, and the smell of something burning filled his nostrils, and he realized that the something burning was in him. Then the ground abruptly came up and slammed into him, and he heard an agonized scream that he recognized as that of his brother, and he thought, The little idiot just doesn’t know how to say unconscious, and then he thought nothing more.

iii.

The room was swimming around Calhoun as he came to. At first he was totally unaware of how he had wound up on the floor, and then it came back to him in a flash. He realized what his brother had done and, even more importantly, anticipated just exactly the danger that D’ndai had deliberately placed himself in.

Usually Calhoun did not awaken by degrees, as most people did: He snapped fully awake, ready for anything that could possibly be facing him. But the circumstances of his unconsciousness in this instance were artificial, and so it was that he didn’t spring to his feet so much as lurch there. He nearly stumbled over his own ankles before recovering, throwing his arms out to either side to balance himself like a tightrope walker.

Then he heard D’ndai’s booming voice outside, from not too far away judging by the reverberation. He was speaking in a challenging manner to someone whose identity was still unknown to Calhoun, but he had to think that it was no one who was out to do anything positive for either the Xenexians or the captain of the Excalibur.

Calhoun pulled out his phaser and approached the door to D’ndai’s house. He didn’t know what he was going to be facing, but he had to operate on the assumption that it was going to be an enemy. So he was prepared for that. The question was: What sort of enemy was it?

Does it matter? As long as it’s the dead kind, what difference does it make?

He approached the front door, already in a crouch to present the smallest possible target. And at the exact instant that he opened it, he saw a member of what he knew to be the alien race known simply as the Brethren—the warrior race that served as the muscle to the relatively intellectual D’myurj—blasting his brother off his feet with some manner of energy pulse from his armor. D’ndai didn’t even have time to scream as his body was hurled through the air. Then D’ndai slammed to the ground with such an impact that, to Calhoun, it was as if he could feel it all the way from where he was standing.

Calhoun let out a howl of fury, and even as he did so, the fighting computer that was his mind reviewed the ways in which a member of the Brethren could be killed.

There was only one of which he knew.

Action matched thought, and barely had D’ndai’s limp body hit the ground when Calhoun charged forward, gripping his phaser tightly, targeting the small release vent on the side of the Brethren’s armor that provided the single vulnerable spot. Then he leaped through the air, firing off a single phaser blast in what should have been an utterly impossible shot.

It wasn’t.

The blast drilled into the vent, and the Brethren warrior threw wide his arms, staggered, shuddered for a few moments, and then toppled forward, hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

Calhoun performed a shoulder roll and came to his feet. Without slowing down, he continued firing, shouting, “Those vents in the side of their armor! That’s your target! But don’t get close, because the surface is superheated!”

The last part of his instructions arrived a moment too late for one woman who leaped upon the closest Brethren warrior while wielding a lengthy dagger. The Xenexian screamed as the armor seared her skin, but that didn’t deter her from driving the dagger into the vent. It stabbed deep, right up to the hilt, and the Brethren stumbled and clawed at it, trying to pull it free even as his body was racked with what would be his death spasms. The Xenexian woman released her hold, falling to the ground and rolling away, a large part of her skin red and blistered and some of her clothing burned away. And yet the cry she let out upon her release was one of triumph rather than pain.

The Brethren came after the Xenexians then, but the Xenexians fell back. Despite the fact that this was no coordinated army, the Xenexians still moved in perfect precision, scattering without banging into one another. This was no terrified group of people running over themselves to escape danger. This was an instant military unit performing a strategic retreat so that other forces could step in.

The other forces arrived in no time. There were no archers in the Federation more deadly than those on Xenex, and men and women practicing that particular trade now made their presence known. A number of them had already taken up positions on rooftops of the low buildings, just in case the new arrivals were planning some form of attack. All that they had required was a decent target, and with the shouted instructions from Calhoun, they now had it. With twangs of their bowstrings, they unleashed a volley of arrows. Ninety percent of them missed because the target was as precise as it was, and the angle of the entry point kept changing as the Brethren turned this way and that to face the new threat. But ten percent of them struck home, and that was all that was required. Within seconds after the attack upon D’ndai, all six of the Brethren lay scattered about the town square. Some of their bodies were still twitching, but otherwise they posed no threat.

The Xenexians sent up a loud, rousing cheer, and some began to chant the name “M’k’n’zy.” Soon all of them were, and for a heartbeat Mackenzie Calhoun found himself back in his youth, when armies of his own brethren were cheering him and lauding him with praise for the great battles that he, as warlord, oversaw.

But now it all rang hollow for him. All that mattered to him was the unmoving body of his brother.

Calhoun ran to him and dropped to his knees, cradling his head upon his lap. D’ndai looked up at him blankly, as if he couldn’t quite make out who or what he was seeing.

The ship continued to hover overhead, and Calhoun knew that if he could just somehow get to it, he could get off Xenex, return to the Excalibur, and then… what? Confront an out-of-control computer entity that could probably destroy the ship with a thought if she were so inclined? How the hell was that going to go? Not particularly well, he had to think.

Then he yanked his thoughts back to the here and now. This was not the time for long-term planning. He needed to find a way to save his brother. If he were on his own ship, there was every chance that the sickbay might have the means to deal with the catastrophic nerve damage that D’ndai had suffered. Here, on Xenex, where the medical facilities were still fairly primitive…

“You must be out of your mind.”

It was a soft, low female voice, one that he recognized instantly.

Many Xenexians were still cheering, but some were now watching in confused silence, unsure of where this new arrival had come from. She had simply popped into existence, out of nowhere, wearing a Starfleet uniform and a contemptuous expression. She was standing over M’k’n’zy, the hero of Xenex, and speaking in a taunting manner. That alone was enough to prompt several of them to want to kill her just on principle, but they held themselves in check.

“How dare you,” said Calhoun with a snarl, “disguise yourself as my wife.”

“We are the D’myurj. We appear as we wish.”

“Then die as we wish,” said Calhoun, and without hesitation he brought up his phaser and took aim.

“You’re just going to hit one of your own people,” said “Shelby.” “I’m not really here.”

Calhoun frowned and then saw that the being standing in front of him wasn’t casting a shadow. It was true; she was just a mirage.

“You see?” she continued. “You see how I’m being solicitous of your peoples’ safety? More than you are, I should observe. This person is mortally wounded on your behalf and that one over there,” and she indicated the woman who had been badly burned and was being carried away by several Xenexians to seek medical aid, “has only one chance in three of surviving, judging by the severity of the damage she sustained.”

Calhoun wanted to snarl at her that the mortally wounded person she so casually referred to was his brother. But he caught himself; why give her the knowledge of the emotional blow he had just sustained? Instead what he needed right then was information, something that he could conceivably use against this… this creature. “I thought you D’myurj and the Brethren had had a falling-out. That you were no longer allies.”

“That is true for many of my misbegotten race. But not I. I had the foresight to forge a different agreement with the Brethren; one that would take all of us to a more positive destiny than my weak-willed kin, who were dedicated to shepherding along the development of other races rather than taking charge as we should rightly do.”

That was when Calhoun knew who he was dealing with. Soleta had described to him the insufferably smug member of the D’myurj she had encountered back on AF1963, the one who had turned traitor against his own species and set the Brethren against them. This was his handiwork.

“Shelby” knelt near him as if she were about to give him friendly words of advice, wife to husband. “Listen to me carefully, Calhoun. You’re a smart fellow; you can’t possibly think this is going to be the end of it. The Brethren will come and they will arrive in force. And your fellow Xenexians can celebrate all they want, but ultimately, anyone who stands between the Brethren and you is going to die. Is that what you want to bring down upon your people? Death and destruction? When the Brethren return, your only chance will be to surrender. In fact, if you tell me right now that you surrender, the ship will beam you up and you will be brought to us with no more danger to any of your people.”

And without hesitation, Calhoun was ready to agree to it. It was the simplest way to avoid any further horrors visited upon the innocent Xenexians.

But before he could speak, D’ndai’s hand suddenly gripped his forearm with astounding strength. Calhoun looked down at his brother, surprised.

D’ndai spoke with effort, gasping for every breath. He sounded as if his lungs had collapsed, which they very well might have. “They could… could beam you up… right now… now that they… know where… you are…”

Calhoun realized that his brother was right. How could something as patently obvious as that have eluded him? They had a direct sightline to him, and he knew the Brethren had transporter technology. Even if the ship was now devoid of crew and entirely computer operated, he could easily be targeted and brought up. At which point, if the plan was to dispose of him, they could reverse energize and disperse his molecules over several square miles of Xenexian territory. They didn’t need his cooperation.

There was only one answer: They wanted the Xenexians to see him surrender. The great M’k’n’zy, the enemy of oppressors, the man who would rather die than let an enemy triumph, giving up meekly to an unseen opponent.

There’s no more formidable enemy than a legend. It was a comment from one of the historical texts he had read, uttered by a Roman general, and it was as true now as it was thousands of years ago. And what better way to tear down a legend than to humiliate him in front of his own people?

It wouldn’t matter to the Xenexians that he was doing it for their own good. It would be of no relevance that he was just trying to save their lives. Granted, there were many on Xenex who, to this day, resented the hell out of Calhoun for having left them shortly after they had been liberated of their oppressors. Who felt that he should have stayed and guided them rather than go off to pursue new vistas. But that was the older generation of Xenexians, and even many of them had softened their views as the horizons of Xenex had expanded due to increased Starfleet interest. As for the younger Xenexians, they had practically elevated him to the level of god.

There were few things that made louder noises than a god crashing to the ground. If nothing else, Calhoun knew that from personal experience, having witnessed it.

This wasn’t simply about capturing Calhoun. It was about trying to break the spirits of the Xenexians. Calhoun couldn’t say for sure that the strategy would work, but there was certainly some merit to it.

All of this passed through his mind in a matter of seconds, and it was just enough time for D’ndai to draw in sufficient breath to say what would be his last words:

“M’k’n’zy… if you give up… I will absolutely kill you…”

He dragged out the last syllable and then it trailed off, but with enough strength to carry through the now silent square, and every Xenexian within range heard it.

Then D’ndai slumped back and was gone.

The silence continued for a long moment, and then one of the Xenexians called out, “M’k’n’zy,” each syllable carefully enunciated, each breath between prolonged.

And one by one, and then by tens and more did the chant continue until the entire square was resounding with the chanting of Calhoun’s true name. The more fanciful would have imagined that the shout was taken up round the world, ranging from one pole of the planet to the other, all Xenexians coming together and uniting behind one common conviction:

M’k’n’zy of Calhoun would be removed from Xenex when he was pried from their cold, dead fingers.

The D’myurj that was wearing the face and form of Elizabeth Shelby smiled sadly and shook her head. “On your head, then, Calhoun. Don’t say we didn’t give you the chance. This is going to end badly.”

“It will for you,” said Calhoun tersely. “For all of you.”

“Elizabeth Shelby” blinked out of existence at that point and, moments later, the ship that had been hovering overhead angled away.

Minutes later, explosions were sounding from a distance. It would not take the news long to arrive that the alien vessel had opened fire on the space port and demolished all the ships that had been docked there. Nor was there any telling when more ships would arrive, because it wasn’t as if Xenex was a major destination or heavily traveled.

When the news did come, Calhoun wasn’t the least bit surprised, because it was what he himself would have done if he had been in their position. Nor did it surprise him when he subsequently learned that there appeared to be some sort of planetary signal that was jamming any attempts to utilize subspace transmission. There would not be any possibility of getting word out to Starfleet or Bravo Station or anyone who could provide any sort of aid.

Mackenzie Calhoun was on a world surrounded by dedicated followers who would rather die than see him taken away…

… and he was completely alone.