ROLISA WAS THE GREATEST WORLD in all of the known
galaxy.
    It had started slowly, and certainly when one looked
at the wotld's earliest years, no one could possibly have
seen it coming. The Rolisans seemed a rather unre--
markable people. Rolisa was not particularly lush nor
attractive. It was not strategically located. it had no re-
sources that anyone found attractive, and the Rotisans
were mostly known for being of somewhat sturdy
stock, but not much else.  Who knew?
    Who knew that there would be a woman named Tara
(that was as far back as file ancestry could be traced)
who would sire a child named Armlgo, who in earn
begat tzzo, who begat Faicco the Small. Faicco the
Small tamed out to be not only one of the greatest
thinkers of Rolisa's history, but in fact one of the great-
est thinkers in the history of the quadrant. She took to
lecturing, putting forward philosophies and directions
on how to live a good life that were so pure, so unique
in all of recorded history, that strong men wept and
women would dissolve in paroxysms of ecstasy. Word
of Faicco spread; eventually Faicco had two children, a
boy, Milenko, and a girl, Blaymore, who shared Faic-
co's gift. They went throughout their home sector, and
word of their teachings spread, carrying across the
spaceways like glittering dust.
    Soon, races from all over the known galaxy were
flocking to hear their words. Means of communication
being what they were, their words reached places that
never would have known such thoughts and concepts
were possible.
    Different races fell over each other to show their
gratitude by making pilgrimages to Rolisa itself, the
birthplace of the greatest sages known in the history of
sentient life. Rewards, technology and gifts were rained
upon the citizens of Rolisa. Unlike other instances in
the past where races were overwhelmed by such ad-
vancements, the hardy folk of Rolisa rose to the task.
They built upon what was given them, taking things in
new and unexpected directions. Rolisa grew in stature,
wealth and power--but power used always for the
common benefit, never for destruction. Rolisa became
the model of civilization for all, likened to such ancient
and lost realms as Atlantis and Ko'norr'k'aree. But
Rolisa was not legendary; it was real, gloriously real.
    Once begun, the wave of glory rolled over the known
galaxy, unstoppable, and who would have wanted it
stopped? Within two hundred years, as the descendants
of Faicco, Milenko and Blaymore continued their an-
cestors' great work, it was a time of unparalleled peace
and prosperity. Unthinkable, unbelievable as it seemed,
there was no war, anywhere. All races, from the least to
the most advanced, had simply outgrown it. And no one
knew that it was only the beginning. Well... no one
except such elevated races as the Organians, for they
knew that soon (soon being reckoned as Organians
reckoned such things) all of that which was considered
mortal would rise to their level.
    And many millennia hence, that was exactly what
happened.
  And lo... there was glory everlasting, forevermore.
  In another universe.
    "Universe" is a misnomer, for all of creation is, in
fact, comprised of a vast and wondrous multiverse,
where many possibilities can occur. In one universe,
the humble world of Rolisa was the birthplace of a
great and transcendent fate for all of life...
    ... because, by an evolutionary quirk, the Black
Mass did not exist in that universe.
    Here is what happened in a universe where it did
exist...

    Tara let out a screech as her stomach swelled almost
to bursting. The doctor crouched next to her, clutching
her dark blue hand tightly, and said, "Now breathe
steadily... that's it... that's it..."
    She groaned. "It's easy for you to say I should
breathe easily. You're not the one who feels as if a mil-
lion needles were being jammed into every pore of the
body. You're not the one who has been carrying this
gradually growing lump of flesh in your belly for the
past eleven months. Who in Krod are you to say
breathe steadily?" She tried to sit up, couldn't, and fell
 back like a beached fish. "I'm trying to remember just
 why in the world I ever thought this was a good idea,
 and nothing immediately comes to mind. Where is my
 mate? Where is he?" she demanded.
     "He would be here if he could," said the doctor
 soothingly.
  "Why isn't he?"
    "Because he wanted to be somewhere else," the doc-
tor told her, and then let out a yelp as she squeezed his
fingers so hard that it threatened to snap them off. The
vents in his throat flapped quickly as he sucked in air to
prevent further unprofessional vocalizations of pain. He
forced a grimace and said, "Is that helping you... feel
the pain less?"
    "No," snarled Tara. "But making you suffer is help-
ing me feel better."
    "Whatever... works for you, then," he said game-
ly. "And if you break off some of my fingers...
that's... that's fine. I can always... grow new
ones. It's a long and... somewhat agonizing
process... but I just want my patients... to be. ~.
unhhhh... happy..."
  "Right now, I'm ecstatic--arrrhhhhh!"
    That high-pitched scream signalled the final mo-
ments of the birth. Her outburst echoed to the sky,
which was not surprising considering they were out-
doors. That was the traditional and preferred venue of a
Rolisan birth, since it was felt that if a child is coming
into the world, then the child should actually be ex-
posed to that world as soon as possible. Tara had
picked a rather nice area, actually, a peaceful wooded
site not far from her house. The doctor had had no trou-
ble finding it, which was rather fortunate. He was also
grateful that there was nice weather for this birth, since
births in the rain or snow were always such an unpleas-
ant chore. Indeed, Tara could not have picked a finer
day, or a more glorious moment in that day. The hottest
part of the afternoon was already gone. The sun was
lowering on the horizon, but there was still plenty of
light, with just enough shade to add to the coolness. He
had hardly had to dab any sweat from her forehead.
    The vent across her belly widened for the last push,
and her body trembled in the labor throes. One more
shove and then the newborn child popped out of the
birth sac at the usual high speed. In this case, the doctor
nearly missed the child completely, since one of his
hands was still in Tara's grasp. But he snagged the
speeding infant at the last moment. "Got him!" he
called, the traditional exclamation that a doctor gave
when the newborn had been successfully snagged.
    The declaration penetrated some of the haze in
Tara's poor brain, the pain only just subsiding. "Got
him... ? Your... your hand! Oh, my Krod, I'm so
sorry! I was crushing... and... and you needed...
andI..."
    "It's all right, it's all right. I'm used to it. Profession-
al hazard." He shook out the newly released hand,
restoring some of the circulation to it. "Actually, I sup-
pose I should be grateful. I can assure you, I've been
grabbed in far more delicate places than that."  
"And it's a him? A boy? You're certain?"
    "I don't pretend to know everything about every-
thing, but even my medical training can distinguish
that, yes."
    She laughed, which was a surprising sound for her to
hear from herself, considering the shrieking and string
of profanity that she'd been letting fly moments before.
"And his color? His color is good?"
    "This is without question the most stunningly blue
child I've ever seen. He couldn't be healthier."
    "Let me see." She stretched out her arms, waggled
her fingers. "Let me see... please..."
    "All right, all right," and now he was the one who
was laughing. "Here." He handed the child over to the
eager mother and she took him in her arms with an al-
most ferocious attitude. The membranes on his neck
were fluttering very nicely, and with a graceful, extend-
ed finger she traced the line of his face, his eyes which
were not yet open (but would be within minutes). He
made a small mewling sound and she jumped slightly
on heating it, and then laughed at her own reaction.
  "Do you have a name picked out?" he asked.
    "Arango;' she said immediately. "I shall call him
Arango."
    "A very nice name. Rather popular this year, too, I
believe."
    "That doesn't matter," was her finn reply. Her agony
of a short time ago already forgotten, she tried to prop
herself up. He eased her to sitting as she drew the child
closer into her lap. The stressed vent in her stomach
had already sealed itself up, the automatic healing
process commencing reliably on its own. "I had vi-
sions, doctor."
  "Visions?" he asked. "What sort of visions?"
    "He's going to go on to great things," she said. "And
not just him. His children, and his children's children,
and... oh, doctor. I just know it."  "Of course they are, Tara."
  "You're laughing at me" she said with a slight pout.
  "No, I'm not."
    "You are," she remonstrated. "Let me guess: you've
heard this from more mothers than you can count. We
all speak of how wonderful and incredible our children
are going to be, and we're all fools because we're set-
ting ourselves up with such high expectations that no
children can possibly live up to them."
    "Well, now, Tara, you said that. I didn't." He glanced
toward the sky, mildly surprised. It was getting darker
earlier than it usually did.
    "You didn't have to. And I admit, doctor, that most
of the time... you're right. All those new mothers,
they are being unreasonable. They don't know what
they're talking about."  "But you do."
    "Absolutely. Little Arango... he has a place in
things. It may not be a big piece of the puzzle, but it's a
piece nonetheless. And it's going to have ramifications
beyond this world, I'm telling you."
    "Oh, now, Tara, let's not start that again," he said
scoldingly. "I've been your doctor ever since you were
a little girl, and we've always had these discussions."
As he spoke, he tried not to sound distracted, because
he saw that he wasn't imagining it. It really was getting
dark far too early to be normal. An eclipse, perhaps?
But such an event would certainly have made the news,
and there had been no word of such. He tried not to be
alarmed about it, though. There really was no reason to
be. It's not as if it was the end of the world, just be-
cause the sun was setting faster. "As much as I would
like to indulge your fantasies about meeting up with
alien life forms some day, I have to admit I'm some~
what the skeptic."
  "There are the legends..."
    "Yes, yes. The Red Gods. They who come from the
sky and return to the sky at will." He shook his head.
"As you say... legends."
    "Or visitors from outer space," she said insistently.
She tickled under Arango's chin. The baby scrunched it
up automatically. "Perhaps Arango will find out.
Arango or one of his children's children's children,
right, my precious? My love?" Then she gasped in de-
light. "Doctor!"
  "What? What?"
    "His eyes! They've opened. Aren't they beautiful?
Quickly, what's he looking at? They say the first thing
a child looks at will be a tremendous influence in his
life."
    "The 'they' who say that are mothers, and the reason
they say that is obvious, don't you think?" said the doc-
tor.
    "You," she said archly, "have no romance in you at
all. No sense of wonder, no..." Her voice trailed off
and with clear disappointment, she said, "Ohhh... he
isn't looking at me."
    "And here I thought you said mothers weren't the
ones who came up with that superstition. So where is
he looking?"
  "Skyward. Just straight up, at..."
    Once more she lapsed into silence, but this time it
wasn't simply tapering off into quiet. This time her
voice sounded more choked off. Confused, the doctor
looked up to try and get a feel for what the child was
looking at.
    "The sky..." she whispered in low, uncomprehend-
ing horror. "The sky... it's... it's moving..."
    The sky was darkening, faster and faster. Something
huge was blocking out the sun... no. No, beyond
huge. It enveloped the entire horizon. And the reason
that Tara had said it was moving... was because it
was.

     Something dark had entered the skies above Rolisa,
 something very dark. The rays of the sun were trying to
 punch through, but were failing. And in the few areas
 where sunlight was visible, they were quickly closing
 up, as if the planetary curtain being drawn over Rolisa
 was getting tighter and tighter. Day was becoming
 night without the usual niceties of the planet turning on
 its axis. Something, some... thing... was eating the
 sky.
    And it was indeed moving. Not just moving... un-
dulating. It was still miles off, but it was drawing
steadily closer, and whatever it was looked--even from
this distance--like a huge mass of intertwined threads.
The light was completely gone now. There was only the
mass, drawing closer, becoming blacker, and eerily
silent. It seemed as if such an occurrence should be ac-
companied by some sort of noise, but there was noth-
ing. Only the silence.
    The threads were continuing to move, twining and
untwining, slithering, pulsating...
    "Oh my Krod... it's alive," she whispered. "What-
ever it is, it's alive."
    "That impossible," said the doctor with a distinct
lack of conviction. "Whatever that is, it's not part of na-
ture. It can't be alive. It has to be a... a..."
    "A what?" she demanded. She didn't sound as if she
was being challenging. Instead, more than anything,
she sounded like someone who desperately wanted
some sort of explanation that made anything remotely
resembling sense.
    "Let's get back to the house," he said urgently, not
trying to answer. What purpose was there in endeavor-
ing to come up with a reply. He had none to give, no
real clue. The only thing he wanted to make certain of
was that they weren't in the open when it hit. And it
was going to hit, of that he was quite certain. What it
was going to do once it got there, he had no clue, but he
knew he didn't want to be outside to find out.
    "Hurry. Hurry!" he urged her. Normally he would
never have dreamt of speaking so to a woman who had
just given birth, or forcing her to stand. But now he
took one of her arms and draped it over his shoulders,
hauling her to her feet as she held her baby fight with
her other arm. He didn't give her any opportunity to
delay or drag her feet. Instead he half-pulled, half-car-
ried her along the ground, hauling her toward her unas-
suming houseú
    The mass drew closer. Its individual components
were becoming more and more evident. It was unques-
tionably creatures, individual creatures, interlaced with
one another. His rational, scientific mind told him that
was not possibleú Because science had made far too
convincing a case against there being any such things
as creatures from outer space. And if this cloud was
what it seemed to be, then it was something extraterres-
trialú Something beyond the understanding of everyday
science.
    The notion that there might be anything beyond that
which was already known was utterly terrifying to him.
    He had no intention of letting her sense his fear. For
her, he was going to be brave and determined and fixed
on the not-inconsiderable task of getting them to safety.
    They made their way to her house, and the mass was
coming faster. He wouldn't have thought it possible,
that something that far away could approach that quick-
ly. The house was just ahead. There, there would be
safety and explanations. There he would put on the vid-
news, and they would explain the nature of this... this
 mass hallucination, yes, that had to be it. A trick of
 light, or swamp gas, or some similar rational explana-
 tion would be put forward, and they would all laugh
 about it by tomorrow and go on with their lives.
     He shoved her into the house, barred the door, just in
 case it wasn't something completely laughable. "Let's
 watch the vidnews," he said quickly. "See what's hap-
 perting."
    She tried to turn it on. Nothing happened. The rid re-
mained silent. There was a visual, but it was a sign that
just told them that there were technical problems which
were being dealt with as expeditiously as possible.
    "Don't worry. They'll get it fixed shortly" said the
doctor with an impressive amount of certainty, all
things considered. "These things always work out in
the end."
    There was a sudden rushing of air, and for some rea-
son that the doctor never quite understood, there was a
sense of heaviness all around. He turned to her, was
about to speak...
    ú.. and then there was a fierce rustling in the trees
nearby, as if something was pushing down on the tree-
tops. There was a sound of bending and breaking, and
branches being splintered...
    ú.. and suddenly the roof caved in. Everything was
shaking them from all around, and there was the very
quick flash of blackness.

    Arango looked up from his mother's arms. He heard
the shriek from his mother as the Black Mass descend-
ed, but was unable to process the information as being
anything other than a loud noise. As for the Black
Mass, there was something attractive, even beautiful, in
the way that it was slithering, and Arango burbled hap-
pily just before the Black Mass dropped down on him
after having eaten through his mother in less time than
it took him to make a cooing noise. He didn't have time
to comprehend his fate before it was upon him, and as
he vanished into the maw of the Black Mass, his de-
scendants who would never be cried out in protest, and
somewhere the Organians wept for the future of all life
in the galaxy.

    Si Cwan had no idea where to look first. He was so
excited that he ran back and forth on the bridge of the
cruiser until finally his uncle, the noble Sedi Cwan, fed
up, grabbed him firmly by the wrist and shook him. Si
Cwan's feet lifted clear of the deck and his body
snapped about like a whip being jiggled. "Stop it! Stop
it!" Si Cwan cried out, his protestations and slightly
shrill voice gamering amused glances from others
aboard the bridge. "Sedi! Let me go!"
    "You let yourself go," he said sternly. Sedi Cwan was
not especially tall, but he was wide and beefy and his
strength was almost as legendary as his temper. The
weight of Si Cwan did not daunt him at all. Neverthe-
less, he opened his thick fingers and allowed his
nephew to thud to the floor. "You let your emotions go.
That is not the discipline one wants to see in a young
nobleman, Si Cwan. Even one of your tender years."
    Si Cwan stumbled to his feet, rubbing the posterior
that he'd been dropped on. "I was just excited;' he said
with as much defiance as he could reasonably muster,
given the circumstances. "I think it's understandable."
    "Anything is understandable. One understands why
an infant messes itself. One, however, can still be of-
fended by the stench of immaturity. You should not be
acting like a child."

      "But I am a child!" protested Si Cwan, which was
 true enough. He was not quite eight years old.  
"Have you ever seen a drunken man?"
 Si Cwan blinked, not following the question. "Yes."
 "As have I. Many more than you have, I fancy. Most
 of them, however, have the good decency to at least try
 and act as if they are sober. It may be obvious to any-
 one seeing them what their true condition is, but one at
 least gives them points for effort. You are a young
 prince and noble, Si Cwan. Do you think it u~eason-
 able that you be held to the same standard as a drunken
 man?"
  The young man sighed heavily. "I guess not."
  "You guess not?"
  "No, it's not unreasonable."
    The corners of Sedi Cwan's mouth twitched ever so
slightly, but from long practice he prevented it from be-
coming anything more pronounced than that. "This is
my flagship, Si Cwan," he said gravely. "How you be-
have yourself becomes a reflection upon me. Do not
embarrass or disgrace me."  "I won't, Sedi Cwan."
    "Good." He nodded approvingly. "The ThaiIonian
Empire has a grand and glorious tradition. We have
never lost a battle. Such a rich tradition stems from
equally rich discipline. I know that I can trust you to
uphold it."
  "Thank you, Sedi Cwan."
    "Sedi Cwan!" The call came from the officer man-
ning the tactical station. Sedi Cwan crossed the bridge,
and Si Cwan followed, appropriately, in his footsteps.
In his heart, Si Cwan had mixed feelings. On the one
hand, he was embarrassed that he had allowed himself
to get so rambunctious. On the other hand, he was so
excited to be on a ship for the first time--and the flag-
ship of the great Sedi Cwan at that--that he could un-
derstand why he might be a bit out of control. And if it
was understandable to him, why couldn't it be under-
standable to Sedi Cwan? Well... perhaps, Si Cwan re-
alized, it was just that Sedi Cwan had so many other
things on his mind.
    Si Cwan tried to peer unobtrusively around Sedi
Cwan to see what the readout was on the tacticals. Sedi
noticed from the comer of his eye that his nephew was
trying to get a better view. He reached out, got a grip
on Si Cwan's shoulder and eased him around to another
angle so that he could see. Si Cwan tried to understand
what he was looking at, but much of it was a jumble of
indecipherable readings. Nevertheless, he made as seri-
ous a face as he could and nodded as if comprehending
everything that he was seeing.
    Sedi Cwan, on the other hand, clearly understood it
all, and didn't like what he was seeing. "How is it pos-
sible?" he demanded. "How could they have gotten so
far, so fast? Where were our observation stations? Our
early warning facilities?"
    "Our facilities are state of the art, Lord Cwan" one
of his men said. "And they were entirely within keep-
ing with the time required, based upon the Mass' previ-
ous attack, to alert us as to movement"
  "So what went wrong... ?"
  "The Mass... moved faster..."
    Sedi Cwan made a rather angry-sounding noise in
his throat. Si Cwan, knowing that he should simply re-
main quiet, was unable to help himself. "Is it the Black
Mass, Sedi? As the instruments said?"
    Happily for Si Cwan, Sedi did not remonstrate with
the boy for speaking out of turn. Instead he said very
 gravely, "Oh, yes. Yes, it is most definitely the Black
 Mass. And the situation is worse than we have imag-
 ined. Are we in visual range?"
  "At extreme magnification, yes, Lord Cwan."
     Sedi Cwan turned and faced the viewing array.
 "Let's see it," he said. It seemed to Si Cwan that Sedi
 was steeling himself, preparing for a sight that he did
 not particularly want to see.
    The viewing array shifted from the starscape that
was before them, and then a world appeared on the
screen that was so black, it appeared to have been cov-
ered with some sort of thick liquid. Si Cwan couldn't
beheve it. His understanding had been that, for a world
to be that dark, it had to be situated so far from its sun
that light never reached it. But this was...
    Then he gasped as he realized that the planet... was
throbbing. At least, its surface was. Like a great heart,
it pulsed, the covering around it writhing about as if it
were having...
    "... a feeding frenzy," he whispered. Si Cwan had
been on a hunt once, less than a year before, and he
had seen a pack of beasts running. One of them had
been wounded by a shot from one of the hunters, and
Si Cwan had expected that the pack would simply
leave it behind. Instead, several members of the pack,
sniffing the blood, had turned on their wounded fellow,
and proceeded to tear him to pieces. Consequently, the
hunters made a larger capture than they would have,
previously, as the attackers were so busy devouting the
wounded one, they forgot about their own self-preser-
vation. Si Cwan had been told that the term was a
"feeding frenzy."
    Now Sedi Cwan nodded when Si Cwan spoke.
"You're very tight," he said, and although under normal
circumstances Si Cwan's little chest would have
swollen with pride over being told that he was right
about something so grown-up, in this instance all it did
was sicken him. "The only difference," continued Sedi
Cwan, "is that other creatures lose their heads and give
in entirely to instinct during such a time. The Black
Mass is... something else again."
    "Where did they come from, Sedi? Where is its ship?
Are they animals? Or a sentient race? Or... ?"
    "Not... not now, Si Cwan," Sedi said. There was no
anger in his voice, but instead focused concentration.
Then he turned to several of his men. "Toth. Bring
weapons on line. Prepare to fire."
    The one known as Toth looked confused. "Fire at
what, precisely, Lord Cwan?"
    "I'll tell you in a moment. Sanf, put me in communi-
cation with the other ships."
    Within moments, Sedi Cwan was in touch with the
four other vessels that had accompanied them to the
site of the Black Mass' migration, and had--in quick,
straightforward terms---outlined a plan of attack calling
for a simultaneous assault at different points on the
planet upon which the Mass was feeding.
     As the ships moved into position, Si Cwan couldn't
 remove his eyes from the undulating sheet of parasitic
 life that had enveloped Rolisa. "The people," said Si
 Cwan. "The people of Rolisa... where are they?" he
 asked suddenly. "Where are their escape ships? Where
 are--"
     His voice trailed off as he saw the look in Sedi
 Cwan's eyes. "No," he whispered.
     "They are gone;' Sedi Cwan said flatly, making no ef-
 fort whatsoever to sugarcoat the truth for the boy. "As we
 speak, they are in the belly of that... whatever it is."
    "All those people.. "Si Cwan could barely grasp it.
One death, he could understand, he could relate to. Two
deaths, three ... these were simple quantities for him
to grasp. But there had been hundreds of millions of
people on Rolisa, according to what he had heard Sedi
Cwan say when they first launched.
    Sedi Cwan's voice hardened. "It means nothing" he
said.
    "Nothing?" Si Cwan couldn't fathom whether his
uncle was saying these things because he believed
them, or out of some belief that it was necessary to
toughen the boy up in some manner. "It's lives. It's
people. How can you say it's nothing... ?"
    "You're embarrassing me, young noble," Sedi said
sharply, and Si Cwan immediately fell silent. "In the
ThaiIonian Empire, all that matters, truly matters, are
we ThaiIonians. That's it. That's all. You should know
that. If your tutors have not made that clear to you, then
I am going to be having some serious discussions with
them."
    "Yes. They've made that clear" said Si Cwan. "But
they have also made it clear that waste is a sin. This is a
waste of lives, and therefore a great sin."
    "They were nothing, Si Cwan. Rolisa was an unad-
vanced planet with an unadvanced people who were
never going to make the slightest difference to anyone
except themselves. Whether they are here or gone mat-
ters not in the slightest. The Black Mass, on the other
hand, presents a threat. A threat that we shall deal
with... now. Toth... ?"
    "All ships are in position, Lord Cwan," Toth in-
formed him.
    "Excellent. Attention, all vessels: When we fire upon
the Black Mass, it will come after us. The plan is sim-
ple, but effective: Divide and conquer. The Mass will
not know which ship to attack first and--theoretically,
at least--will%plit up and come after each of us. When
they do..." and his voice dropped to a deadly tone,
"then we simply fry the bastards. Prepare to fire, on my
order."
    Si Cwan watched the flurry of activity on the bridge
as they prepared to go to war with an unknown, and un-
knowable, opponent. He wished that there was some-
thing he could do, but realized that there are times
when one simply has to stand by and let others who
know their business attend to things. He couldn't wait,
though, for a time when he would be old enough to be-
come involved in a great and glorious battle against an
incredibly bizarre foe.
    "Three, two, one..." Sedi Cwan paused a mo-
ment--dramatically, it seemed--and then shouted,
"Fire!"
And the ships cut loose with everything they had.
They used disruptors, they used plasma cannons,
they used controlled fusion and thermite bombs...
they used, in short, every weapon of mass destruc-
 tion they had in their arsenal.  The Black Mass ate it.
     Si Cwan couldn't believe what he was seeing. In
 fact, he was certain that what he was perceiving--what
 he was believing to be the case--had to be just flat out
 wrong. There was no way, simply no way, that the
 Black Mass was somehow absorbing their assault. But
 that was what it seemed as if they were doing.
     "This isn't possible," Sedi Cwan said, and the fact
 that he was clearly so stunned by what he was witness-
 ing was probably the most upsetting thing of all for Si
 Cwan. As far as he was concerned, his uncle was un-
 flappable, a rock, a pillar of strength who had endless
 war stories through which he swaggered with confi-
 dence and gusto, overconn~rg all manner of opponents
 with equal ease and facility. "Is it... is that thing...
 absorbing it somehow?"
    "It... appears so, Sedi Cwan," said Toth. He was
looking at his instrumentation and he appeared as thun-
derstruck as his commander. "The Black Mass is com-
pletely ignoring us. We haven't... sir, we haven't even
really gotten its attention."
    As humiliating as it was to admit, that was indeed
the case. The Black Mass had not the least interest in
departing the world upon which it was feedingú Instead
it simply ate...
  ú.. and ate...
  ú.. and ate.
    The Thallonian fleet fh:ed again, and again. They
used everything they could think of on the Black Mass,
every weapon, every tacticú But it was simply impossi-
ble to make any sort of effective attack upon an enemy
that doesn't even seem inclined to acknowledge your
existence. For over an hour it went on, as Sedi Cwan
consulted with his scientists, his fellow commanders--
even, in desperation, his personal fortune teller, who in-
toned that the day would be long remembered in the
annals of ThaiIonian military history, but refused to say
just what it would be remembered for. This was, of
course, less than useful.
    In the meantime, the planet which had once been
Rolisa continued to shrink, the Black Mass converging
upon itself as its feast diminished in sizeú
    Sedi Cwan walked right up to the viewing array, star-
ing at it intensely. Si Cwan watched in silence from
nearby. And then Sedi Cwan leaned forward, his hands
flat against the screen, and he hung his head and shook
it in a most dismaying fashion.
    "Sedi... ?" whispered Si Cwan. He had not spoken
during the entirety of the assault. "Sedi... what are
you going to do now?"
    When his uncle looked at him, it was with darkened
and haunted eyes. "Do?"
  "There has to be something else... there has to---"
    Sedi Cwan sighed deeply, and called out, "Stand
down all weapons. Withdraw to a safe distance."
    There was a collective gasp from the bridge crew
which was quickly smothered, and they worked
smoothly to carry out their orders. Si Cwan stood bolt
still, transfixed to the place where he had just heard his
renowned uncle give an order for retreat. "Withdraw?
You mean... we're going to run away?"
    "No, Si Cwan," said Sedi Cwan softly. There was a
sound in his voice that Si Cwan had never heard before.
It took him a moment to hazard a guess as to what it
might be: It was the sound of defeat. "No... we are
going to remain... and we are going to watch. So that
we will be able to sear into our brains the memory of
this day. The day when the collective might of the Thai-
lonians... was utterly useless."
    Si Cwan shook his head in disbelief as he stared at
the feasting Mass. "What... are they?" he asked final-
ly. He had asked the question before, but the answers
he had received had been terse, tossed at him in an off-
hand fashion as if the question were going to be moot
in short order, since the Black Mass certainly couldn't
hope to stand up to ThaiIonian supremacy.
     "They swarm from the Hunger Zone, Si Cwan," his
 uncle told him, "an area of space that no Thallonian has
 ever been. That is, indeed, forbidden to all. If anyone
ever has been there, then he has not lived to return and
speak of it."
  "Why is it called the Hunger Zone?"
    "Because... it is where the Black Mass resides until
such time that its hunger becomes overwhelming. At
which point, the migration begins." He shook his head,
obviously still barely able to believe it. "The Mass mi-
gration can be in any one of an infinite number of di-
rections out of the Hunger Zone, and no one ever
knows when it will be. It depends, I suppose, on how
much they consume during their time out of the Zone.
They have not been seen for over fifty years before this
day; the time before that, however, was only a ten-year
stretch... before that, ninety. There is simply no way
of telling. They may return during your lifetime, Si
Cwan. I pray, for your sake, that they do not."
    "Is it one creature? One being? Or millions, or bil-
lions, or--"
    "I don't know, Si Cwan!" and Sedi Cwan made no
effort to hide his frustration. Considering his formida-
ble powers of self-control, there was no greater indica-
tor of just how utterly dismayed he was. "I don't know.
Nobody knows. If we knew something about it, per-
haps we could defeat it. It is not like a traditional
enemy... it's not like any enemy at all, it's..." He
stared at it with a combination of horror and awe. "It is
like a force of nature."
  "Lord Cwan!" Toth said suddenly. "It's on the move!"
  "Are you certain?"
  "Positive, milord!"
    He was right. The Black Mass was moving away
from the world around which it had swarmed. And in
its place was... nothing. A few stray bits of rubble;
that was all that remained. The Mass began to re-form
itself, then, slithering about and reshaping into some-
thing that Si Cwan fancied looked a bit like a ship. It
seemed vaguely symmetrical, with downward scoops
that rippled as the ship moved.
    "Wait .... look!" Si Cwan said, excitement growing.
"Look where it's going! It's killing itself! Our prob-
lems are over!"
    Sedi Cwan, unlike the overenthused Si Cwan, didn't
immediately trust the evidence of his eyes. "Check its
heading. Make sure that it's going... where we think
it's going," he said with a glance toward Si Cwan.
    "It is, milord!" said Toth. Clearly he was fighting to
contain his own enthusiasm. He likewise couldn't be-
lieve that it was going to be this easy. "It's heading di-
rectly into the Rolisan sun!"
    Technically, since there was no more Rolisa, it was
wrong to refer to it as the Rolisan sun. But no one both-
ered to correct him, for the important thing was that the
Black Mass had apparently decided to end its collective
existence. It was angling, straight and true, toward the
heart of a star.
    "Track it" said Sedi Cwan. "Bring all the ships back
to maximum distance. If there's some sort of disrup-
tion, some sort of nova, I want to make sure we don't
suffer any casualties. Not when we stand on the brink
of ending this."
    The ships obediently retreated, watctfing as the
Black Mass continued to head straight and true toward
the blazing star.
    "It cannot be this easy," Sedi Cwan was muttering.
"It simply can't be. The Black Mass will veer off.
That's the only answer. It will veer off and..."
     It didn't. Instead it began to spread out, to become
 even larger as it approached the sun.

     "Lord Cwan!" said Toth, "we're losing sensor read-
 ings on it!"
  "What do you mean?"
    "There's some sort of..." He shook his head in be-
fuddlement. "Some sort of spacial distortion develop-
ing around the Mass, as if it's bending or warping
space as it's moving."
  "Impossible. It's biologic in nature."
    "We're not getting a clear sensor reading of what's
happening."
    "We don't need one," Sedi Cwan said firmly, point-
ing at the screen. "See for yourself. It's only a matter of
moments now before it--"
  Then he went silent, as did everyone else.
  The Black Mass enveloped the star.
    It took several minutes for the light to cease reaching
the ThaiIonian armada, but cease it did. The entire sys-
tem was plunged into darkness, as black and unknow-
able as the Black Mass itself.
    Si Cwan, in the entirety of his young life, had never
known fear. Not really. Not the sort of fear that clutches
at one's innards and simply will not let go, no matter
what. But that was what he was experiencing now, and
it was not a happy sensation.
  "Adjust visual;' Sedi Cwan said tonelessly.
    The picture wavered once more, the technology of
the ThaiIonian vessel making up for the lack of natural
light, digitizing and reconfiguring the images so that
they could see it again. And what they saw brought
them all to stunned silence. One could almost hear the
confidence seeping out of them, as if the Black Mass
was vampirically draining their fighting souls. 
The Black Mass devoured the sun.
 It took quite some time, although the longer it feasted,
the faster it seemed to go. It was as if it gained strength
as it went and consequently ate that much more vigor-
ously. Every so often it would be visibly jolted, some-
thing explod'mg within the sun as if the star were fighting
back. Either that or just writhing in its death throes.
    And when the Black Mass was finished, it eased it-
self off the charred husk that had once been a star and
re-formed itself into its ship formation... a formation
that now dwarfed not only the planet that had been
there and the star that had been there, but much of the
area in between. The creature, if that's what it was, was
thoroughly engorged.
    It did not acknowledge the ThaiIonian fleet, which
collectively seemed little more than a speck against it,
any more than it had before. Instead it simply angled
off, heading back toward the distant Hunger Zone, its
migration completed, its appetite sated.
    "It's moving at warp speed," Toth said in a voice that
might well have belonged to a corpse.
    "That is impossible," said Sedi Cwan for what
seemed the hundredth time that day. "It has no warp
engines or drive, it has no dilithium crystals, it has
no... it can't... it..."
    And then he stopped talking. Instead he simply
walked to his command chair, eased himself down into
it... and stared.
    Si Cwan had never seen him quite like this. Sedi
Cwan seemed... broken. Oh, the regal bearing was
still there. The squared shoulders, the determined chin.
But there was something in his eyes that had never
been there before. A sadness, a sense that he had
been... put in his place somehow.
  "Sedi... ?" Si Cwan ventured. "Are you all right?"
  Sedi Cwan looked at him and seemed to shake off
that which hung around him. "I am fine, Si Cwan. Fine.
And this incident... was good for us. Excellent, in
fact. This has been a good day."
    "It has?" Si Cwan could not quite keep the increduli-
ty out of his voice, which was a dangerous and inappro-
priate tone for him to take. This was, after all, Sedi
Cwan, the great and noble Sedi Cwan. To doubt his
word was entirely inappropriate, yet Si Cwan was con-
cerned that that was precisely how it had sounded.
Quickly seeking to perform damage control, he added,
"I did not mean to give offense, Noble One... under-
stand that, I did not..."
    "I understand fully, young one. No offense was
taken. In saying this was a good day, I have a very spe-
cific meaning. We ThaiIonians... we have believed
ourselves to be the greatest force in this sector of space.
We... were wrong. Clearly we cannot begin to ap-
proach the Black Mass for pure power. We are not even
worth its time, nor capable of getting its attention. We
have been put in our place. And that is a good thing. It
is good to be reminded of one's respective place in the
universe, so that one does not become too confident.
For overconfidence leads to foolish mistakes, and fool-
ish mistakes lead to disaster."
    He rose then, looking more robust, his voice rising in
timbre. "Remember this day, all of you. Remember
how you feel, right now, in your proud ThaiIonian
heart. Always remember the sense of disgrace and in-
adequacy that you are experiencing. Keep it close, so
that when you face a foe another day--as you in-
evitably will--you do not automatically assume that
victory is going to be granted you. For however power-
ful you believe yourself to be, there will always be
someone or something... that is more so."
    There were approving nods from all around the ship,
and even Si Cwan felt a measure of pride in the words
of his uncle. This had indeed been a humiliating day
for not only the ThaiIonians aboard the ship, but all of
the ThaiIonian Empire. And since it was Sedi Cwan
who had commanded the fleet, it would be his disgrace
to bear. But he had borne it with style, dignity and the
warrior heart that he had been so long known for.
    Si Cwan spent much time dwelling on his uncle's
words during the voyage home. And when the proud
flagship drew within an hour of the ThaiIonian home-
world, young Si Cwan went to his uncle's quarters to
ask him some questions about ThaiIonian philosophy,
and also perhaps what new stratagems might be devel-
oped for the next time the Black Mass swarmed. For
that next time, surely the might of the ThaiIonians
would triumph. There could be a temporary defeat, cer-
tainly, but in the long run, the ThaiIonians were
supreme. That was simply the way it had always been
throughout Si Cwan's life, and would continue to be,
forever.
    He entered his uncle's quarters and stopped, the odd
creaking noise being the first hint that something was
wrong. The darkness of the room was the second. And
then, as Si Cwan's eyes adjusted to the dimness of the
chamber, he saw the distinct, bulky shape of Sedi
Cwan's body hanging by the neck, swinging ever so
gently. The chair upon which he had been stmlding had
been kicked over once he had stepped off it.
    There was a note on the floor next to his feet, which
were dangling some distance from the floor. Si Cwan
crouched next to the note, his senses numb, still unable
to process that which his eyes were telling him. He
picked it up. His name was written on it. Sedi Cwan's
 last thoughts were of him, and undoubtedly an expla-
 nation was contained therein as to why he had just
 deprived Si Cwan of his continued wisdom and intelli-
 gence.
     Si Cwan crumbled the note without reading it, turned
 on ,his heel and went to contact someone so that they
 could cut his uncle down. Since Si Cwan was the rank-
 ing noble, despite his youth, a~d also Sedi Cwan's clos-
 est relative, he was asked what he wanted done with
 Sedi Cwan's body.
    His terse answer spanned them. "Blow it out a torpe-
do tube. It's all he deserves."
    The protests began. One look from Si Cwan--formi-
dane, even at that age--silenced the protests. And so
Sedi Cwan was ejected into the hostile vacuum. Mo-
ments before his body was hurled away into space, Si
Cwan shoved the note into his uncle's pocket, still un-
read. He turned away and never looked back as he
walked out of the torpedo room, leaving the crewmen
to their job.
    Upon learning what Si Cwan had done, his father--
Sedi Cwan's brother--publicly congratulated the
young noble on his handling of the situation. In private,
he beat the boy so soundly that he was unable to move
for the better pan of a week.
    In the entire hideous misadventure, the one thing that
Si Cwan kept clinging to was the likelihood--as Sedi
Cwan had said--that Rotisa was a largely irrelevant
planet that would never have been of much use to any-
one.
    And the Black Mass returned to the Hunger Zone...
there to wait until the hunger called it once more.

NOW.. .

/.

MORGAN LEFLER HATED THE COMMON COLD, for it was
the one thing that even her immortal immune systems
couldn't shrug off. Every terminal disease known to
humanity, those meant nothing to her. But the danre-
able cold that she was currently suffering through was
hammering her, and Morgan was not a particularly
good sick person, since it happened to her so rarely.
She tended to become somewhat fetal, lie about and
complain incessantly. When she was sick, she felt as if
she were in a deep hole that she would be trapped in
the rest of her life. And considering the fact that she
was--to the best of her knowledge--virtually immor-
tal, the rest of her life tended to seem a very long time.
    She could have consulted with Doctor Selar about it,
but in many ways, being sick was preferable. Ever
since she had reached the final weeks of her pregnancy,
Selar--never exactly renowned for her bedside man-
ner--had become more distant, unfeeling and cold than
ever before. It was not as if she were incapable of car-
rying out her duties; she was as capable of diagnosis
and treatment as ever. She was just... so damned un-
pleasant. Her speech pattern had become flat and me-
chanical---even more mechanical than the computer. It
was downright chilling just to be around her. Morgan
didn't know whether all Vulcans were like that in the
last stages of pregnancy, but if they were, then she
pitied Vulcan husbands everywhere.
    "No wonder Spock's father married an earth female,"
she murmured. "Probably went a long way toward sav-
ing his sanity." She hated the way her voice sounded.
She hated the way her head was pounding. She hated
herself.
    At least Robin wasn't around to see it. She was
busy at the banquet, which was enough to make Mor-
gan insanely jealous. Here she was, flat on her back,
and her daughter was organizing a wonderful, semi-
formal get-together designed to welcome the long lost
sister of Si Cwan to the good ship Excalibur. All of
the senior officers were going to be there and, frankly,
it was going to be a good opportunity for Robin to
impress her superior officers with her organizational
skill. In a way, it seemed a rather trivial exercise. All
the solid duties that Robin carried off in the course of
a day should have been more than enough to warrant
attention and promotion from the rank of ensign
which she currently camed. Yet the simple truth was
that people could be impressed by the damnedest
things, and Captain Mackenzie Calhoun and Com-
mander Elizabeth Shelby might be just as likely to
find her duties as hostess as memorable as anything
she did at ops. It didn't make any sense, but people
were just funny that way.
    Morgan could see the gathering in her mind's eye.
There would be Calhoun and Shelby, bantering over
brisket or some such preparation. Their attraction for
each other was electric, and their knack for short-cir-
cuiting that same attraction was just amazing. And
there would be Si Cwan, tall, noble and proud, with his
young sister, Kalinda, next to him. Morgan had only
caught a brief glimpse of her, having contracted her ill-
ness right after Kalinda ("Kally" as he called her) had
come on board. The girl had looked older than she had
originally envisioned her, equivalent to an earth child in
her late teens instead of the very young girl that Si
Cwan had always described. Morgan reflected that per-
haps the way he described her was the way he saw her.
She couldn't help but wonder whether that attitude
might cause problems down the line.
    This new fellow, Xyon, she hadn't seen at all. Sup-
posedly he was the son of Captain Calhoun, but no one
seemed to know quite what to make of that. Well, what-
ever the situation between them was, certainly it could
all be worked out. Calhoun was nothing if not innova-
tive when it came to the realm of personal relation-
ships.
    The door to the quarters slid open and Morgan, using
what little energy she had, half propped herself up in
her bed as she called out, "Robin! How did it
go... honey..."
    The term of endearment died in her throat as she saw
the dishevelled condition of her daughter.
    The front of Robin's dress uniform was covered in
what appeared to be frosting. There was a small bruise
on her forehead, and her hair--which had been neatly
arrayed in a very becoming 'do--was hanging down
around her face. Her expression was carefully stoic.
  "It could have gone better," Robin said.
  "My God! What happened?!"
    Robin said nothing at first. Instead she walked across
the room to the closet, from which she withdrew a
towel. She used it to start wiping away the frosting
from her uniform and the ends of her hair.  
"Robin! Tell me what happened!"
    "This," Robin said slowly, tapping the frosting which
was now covering the towel, "was the welcome aboard
cake. It had Xyon and Kalinda's names on it. Apparent-
ly, however, the cake also had my name on it."  "What do you mean?"
    "I mean I was the one who wound up wearing a
good deal of it, so that's why I said it had my name on
it."
  "I still don't understand..."
    Robin sighed deeply as she peeled off her uniform to
toss it into the ship's laundry. "There was some fric-
tion."
"Seems to me more like there was total combustion."
"Xyon," continued Robin, as if her mother had not
spoken, "is having a bit of difficulty working and play-
ing well with others."  "What others?"
  "Captain Calhoun. Oh, and Si Cwan."
  "What happened?" asked Morgan.
    Robin sagged into a chair as she pulled on a short
bathrobe. Her hair was still a mess, and the braise was
getting darken She ran her fingers sadly through her
hair and shook her head as she looked into a mirror and
apparently wondered whether she was, in fact, the indi-
vidual in the reflection. "It started nicely enough," she
recounted. "Everyone was standing about, chatting.
Everyone except Xyon. He didn't seem especially
happy to be there. I went over to him and asked him if
something was bothering him. He told me all he really
wanted to do was get his ship fully repaired. Apparent-
ly his ship sustained some damage in escaping the neb-
ula surrounding Star 7734, and there were some other
repairs made to it that were simply stopgap in nature to
begin with. His ship really needed an overhaul, and
Captain Calhoun was more than happy to offer it since
Xyon had been of such help in the entire Kalinda af-
fair."
  "So?" prompted Morgan.
    "So he was spending the party keeping in a comer
off to himself. In retrospect, if he'd just been left there
by everyone, allowed to stew in his own juices and
maybe be sociable on his own terms, then maybe mat-
ters would have tumed out differently.
    "But no, not our crew. First there's Captain Calhoun,
trying to engage the boy in conversation. Now Xyon,
he's making it clear to the captain that he's not interest-
ed in talking to him. Apparently there was some sort of
falling out, or Xyon felt that Calhoun hadn't been much
of a family, or something like that. In any event, Xyon
was brushing him off. Everyone saw it. It was openly
disrespectful. But it was obvious to everyone that the
captain didn't want to make a big deal about it. That his
attitude was, 'If this is how Xyon feels, I'm not going
to fight with him about it. Let him work it out on his
own.' Which was pretty sporting of him, if you ask me,
considering that the first time they met each other,
Xyon hauled off and slugged the captain."
    "Yes, I know. Word of that spread rather quickly"
Morgan said with a dry. sense of irony. "Xyon was for-
tunate that the captain simply rubbed his chin and
turned the other cheek, so to speak. I have no doubt that
the captain could put him through a bulkhead if he
were inclined to do so."
    "Well, he almost had the inclination," said Robin.
,After he brushed off the captain, Xyon started to leave
the party."
  "Did he have any of the buffet before left?"
  Robin stopped talking and stared at her. "The what?"
  "The buffet."
  "Mother, who cares?"
  "I do. You worked very hard to set it up."
    "I don't know if he did. I don't care. The point is, he
started to leave... and then Kalinda stopped him. She
seemed very anxious to talk to him. She sat down with
him and soon they were laughing and having a grand
time."
  "Oh! Well, that's good;' said Morgan.
    "No, that was bad," Robin corrected her. "Because
apparently Si Cwan decided to become overprotective
of her. So he rather politely asked Xyon to stop monop-
olizing her time."
  "Oh. That's bad."
    "No, that was good" said Robin. "Because at least
he was polite about it. He was nothing but civil to
Xyon."
  "Oh. So that's good."
    "No, that was bad, because Xyon took offense any-
way. I believe he said, 'After everyfiling I've been
through to save your sister, I can't believe that you
would try to prevent me from having some private time
with her.'"
  "Oooo... that is bad."
  "No, that was actually good. Because Captain Cal-
 houn overheard, and stepped in on his son's behalf,
 telling Si Cwan that Xyon was absolutely right, and Si
Cwan should give them some distance."  "Oh! Well, that's good."
    "No, that's bad. Because Xyon told the captain that
he could handle the situation himself."
    "Well, that's..." Morgan stopped, frowned, and then
shook her head. "I lost track. Are we up to bad or
good?"
    "It doesn't matter. The point is that Xyon put his arm
around Kalinda and tried to walk out of the room with
her. I don't know whether he did it in order to show
that no one told him what to do, or in order to annoy Si
Cwan, or what. But Si Cwan grabbed him and pulled
him away, telling him that no one manhandles a
princess of Thallon. And then Xyon shoved Si Cwan,
and Si Cwan shoved him back, and the captain got in
the middle and there was more shouting..." She shook
her head in disbelief. "It's hard to understand how it
spiralled out of control, that quickly. One minute I was
standing there chatting with Shelby about something
perfectly innocuous, and the next thing I know, some-
one is slamming into me--"
    "You were attacked!" Morgan's voice bordered on
outrage.
    "Not exactly. More like, I got hit on the rebound.
And I fell into the cake. And there was more shouting,
and anger, and security showed up as Lieutenant Ke-
bron restored order pretty quick, but they needed a
cleanup crew and..." She put her face in her hands.
"God, what a mess."
 "Robin, it wasn't your fault..."
    "And if everything had gone swimmingly, Mother,
that would have been something I'd get the credit for,
right? So when it turns into a debacle, as this did, who
are they going to blame?"
    "You're being much too hard on yourself." She
coughed several times to try and clear out her lungs.
    "Maybe I deserve it. I mean, look at the way things
are going, Mother. Maybe fate is trying to tell me
something."
  "Tell you what? I don't understand--"
    "Well, first I decided to tell Si Cwan that I have
strong feelings for him and that I wanted to accompany
him on the mission to Montos... except by the time I
did it, he was gone. And then I offered to conduct the
entire reception, arrange everything, set it all up, most-
ly to make him happy... and it became a huge misfire.
Maybe somebody up there," and she pointed, "is trying
to tell me something."
    Morgan looked up to where Robin was pointing. "Up
there? You mean on the bridge?"
    "No, Mother!" she said in exasperation. "I mean 'up
there.' You 'know. Divine intervention may be trying to
get a point across."
  "You're overthinking it, Robin."
  "No, I'm not. Nothing goes right for me."
    "Now you're just dissolving into self-pity, Robin. i
won't have it," Morgan said sternly. "You're made of
better and stronger stuff than that. So instead of com-
plaining about how everything goes wrong for you, just
pull yourself together, and be the officer and the
woman that I know you can be. Clear?"
    Robin's jaw twitched in irritation, but finally she
sighed heavily and said, "Clear."
    She went into the bathroom and took a shower. By
the time she came out, she was sneezing and her tem-
perature was starting to climb. As she blew her nose,
she looked daggers at her mother. "Thanks, Ma. I'm
sure the cold you've apparently just given me will serve
me as well as your advice."
    Morgan rolled her eyes and pulled the covers over
her head. As one, they sneezed.

    Xyon sat in his quarters, chair tilted back, whistling
softly. He was bare to the waist, having cleaned up
after the debacle originally intended as a welcoming
banquet for Rie--for Kalinda. He had to keep remind-
ing himself that her real name was Kalinda. His long
blond hair was newly cleaned and hanging around his
muscled shoulders. There was a chime at his door.
"You can't come in," he called. "Apparently I have mis-
behaved and am in isolation."
    The door slid open and Mackenzie Calhoun was
standing in the doorway. "Actually, what with being the
captain and all, I can come and go as I wish."
    "That is what you excel at, isn't it? Going? As you
went from Xenex after leaving my mother pregnant
with me?"
    Calhoun sighed deeply. "Xyon... grow up. Whatev-
er disputes you have with me, they don't begin to ex-
cuse what took place at the banquet."
    "I'm not looking to excuse myself to you, Captain. I
don't care what you think."
    Calhoun shook his head. "That's not true. If you
didn't care what I thought, you would not have acted,
and reacted, as you did. You would have ignored me, or
brushed me off. You would not have taken a swing at
me, certainly, and tried to hurt me."  
"I didn't try. I did hurt you."
  "No. You couldn't. Particularly if I'm ready for you."
  Xyon's eyes flashed. "Is that a challenge?"
  "No. Simply a statement of fact."
    Instantly, Xyon was out of his chair. It was an im-
pressive burst of speed. Anyone else would have been
very hard-pressed to get out of his way.
    Calhoun sidestepped and drove his knee up into
Xyon's midsection. Xyon gasped and Mackenzie
slammed him in the back of the neck, sending Xyon to
the floor. Xyon lay there, momentarily stunned. He
couldn't understand it. He was as formidable a fighter
as they came, and had handled any number of oppo-
nents with facility. So what in hell had just happened?
    As if reading his mind, Calhoun sat down next to
him and said, "You rushed it. Also, you were probably
a bit daunted by the fact that I am your father."  
"I wasn't... daunted."
    "My mistake, then," Calhoun said, sounding overso-
licitous.
    There was dead silence in the room then for an un-
comfortable period of time. "How is Catfine?" Calhoun
asked finally.
    "My mother is fine. I'm sure she hardly thinks of
you at all."
  "That's... good."
    "How could you have done it?" He was shaking his
head in slow disbelief.
    "Xyon... certainly you must know the circum-
stances of your conception?"
    "I know, I know. Mother wanted to continue the fam-
ily line, her late husband had been dead a year, and
you, as Warlord of Xenex, in keeping with tradition, ac-
commodated her by producing me. Hurray for you.
Hurray for tradition."
    "You don't know... you can't understand what it
was like for me, Xyon. It was not something I desired
to do. But I had my duty--to tradition, to your mother,
and to my title as warlord. Frankly, it should have been
my brother, since he was the ranking..." He waved it
off. "No, it doesn't matter. Because I also had a duty to
myself. I was going to be leaving Xenex, attending
Starfleet Academy. I couldn't put that aside because
of--"
  "Of a son."
    "It was what your mother desired. She wanted to
raise you on her own. She didn't want to hold me
back."
    "That may be what she told you, but it wasn't what
she desired."
    "What do you mean?" When Xyon didn't reply im-
mediately, Calhoun repeated shortly, "What do you
mean?"
  "It doesn't matter"
  "Obviously, it does. To you."
    Xyon looked at him levelly and said, "She always
hoped you'd come back some day. She could never ask
you herself, tell you herself, because she didn't want to
force you. But she hoped that someday... you'd re-
turn. Or send for us."
"I..." Calhoun looked stunned. "She never said..."
"Of course she never said. She felt it had to come
from within you." Xyon leaned back against a wall,
hands draped over his legs. "She has too much pride.
And optimism: She hoped, sooner or later, your
thoughts of us would become so overwhelming that
you'd feel the need to return to her... to me... to us."
    "That's not how we left it between us," said Calhoun
tonelessly.
    "Things are never as we think they are. But I knew. I
am your son, after all," he said bitterly. "I know your
nfind as well as ! know my own. My guess is, over the
years, you never thought of us. Did you? And the idea
of returning, of being with her, with me... you never
considered that at all. Did you?"
    "No," was his soft reply. Then he looked over at
Xyon with his hard, purple eyes. "I won't lie to you.
The answer is, no, I never considered coming back to
stay with her, not really. I had my own life to lead. I
thought she was living hers."
    "You said I had no idea what it was like for you,"
Xyon told him. "Well, you had even less what it was
like for me. Living in the shadow of my father, the
legend. The man who cared so much about his people
that, by the time he was the age I am now, he had lib-
erated an entire planet. Do you have any inkling what
it was like... knowing that you cared that much
about Xenexians in general," and he raised his hand,
flat and horizontal, high above his head, "that you
would do all that for them... and that you cared for
me so little," and he placed his other hand just above
the floor, to indicate the disparity in distance, "that
you didn't come back to Xenex, or contact me, or...
anything."
    "! did come back... once. And I tried to find
Catrine... but she had moved out of Calhoun. No one
knew where she was."
    "And you made oh-so-much endeavor to find her.
Strain yourself mightily, did you? Use all your re-
sources? Or was the challenge of finding one woman
and one child on a small world too much for the re-
doubtable M'k'n' zy."
    "I took her absence--her 'disappearance'--to mean
that she did not want me as a part of her life," Calhoun
told him.

    "No. That was what you wanted to think. And what
she knew you wanted. And deep down, you knew it,
too. But pretending otherwise made it that much easier
for you to go on with your life."
  There was a long silence then.
  "So what have you been up to?" Calhoun asked.
    It caught Xyon off guard. Still on the floor, he angled
trimself around to look at the captain. "What do you
mean?"
    "It's a fairly straightforward question. What have
you been up to? When you're not rescuing princesses.
Or is that all you do?"
    "Captain..." Xyon felt as if he were back in the
nebula. "Didn't you hear anything of what I said? I
don't like you. You're not someone I feel like dis-
cussing my life with."
    "Yes, you've made that clear. And if all you want to
do is dwell on that which can't be changed, then that is
entirely your privilege. But I can tell you that the 'leg-
endary' M'k'n'zy of Calhoun didn't help free his world
from its oppressors by obsessing about what had been.
Instead I thought only about what could, and would, be.
If the only future you see for us is one of hostility, fine.
We've gotten along just fine without each other to this
point, and we can continue to do so, I would imagine.
It's one thing to learn from the past; it's another to be a
prisoner of it."
"Do you always speak in aphorisms?" Xyon asked.
"Depends on my mood. Aphorisms, riddles, rhyming
couplets... whatever strikes my fancy at any given
moment."
    He headed toward the door and didn't even bother to
look over his shoulder as he said, "I'm lifting your iso-
lation to these quarters. Feel free to go where you
choose, barring standard security protocols. Try not to
slam anyone around. Oh, and you may want to tender
an apology to Ensign Lefler; you made quite a mess of
her little gathering."
    "You mean that's it?" demanded Xyon. "That's all
you have to say to me?"
      This prompted Calhoun to turn and look question-
ingly at his son. "What else is there to say?"  
"I don't know."
    "What..." Calhoun actually looked astounded at the
notion--"you're not... actually expecting me to say i
love you or some such, are you?"
  "Of course not," Xyon said stiffly.
    "Good." Once more Calhoun started to leave, and
suddenly Xyon said, "Did you love her?"
      This time Calhoun did not turn quite as quickly.
"You mean your mother?" he asked.  "Yes. Did you love her?"
    "Xyon," he said heavily, "you probably don't know
this... but your mother was the first."
  "The first woman you got pregnant?"
  "No. The first woman."
    "Oh." Xyon cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I
didn't... uhm... no. No, she never mentioned that."
    "I love... that she was good to me. That she didn't
make me feel self-conscious. That she understood that
there could never be anything between us other than
that. I love those things about her. But I don't love her.
For the most part, I didn't even know her. I don't know
you. You can't love someone you don't sufficiently
know; it's just not possible."
    "You know..." Xyon said with a touch of defiance,
"I bet you've never 'known' anyone enough to love
them... truly love them. Not ever. Because to get that
close to them, you'd have to let them get that close to
you. And you never have."
    Calhoun appeared to be considering the concept.
After a long, thoughtful pause he said, "You know
what? You may very well be right. Then again, I should
point out that, while you're busy judging me... I no-
tice that you didn't feel compelled to remain on Xenex,
with your more, any more than I was. And I was about
your age when I left. So before you're too quick to
judge me... you may want to think about judging
yourself. Enjoy the rest of your day, Xyon." With that,
he walked out into the corridor and left Xyon behind,
thoughtful, in his quarters.

IL

MEDITA, THE AREA OF TULAAN IV wherein most of
the Redeemers resided, seemed even less hospitable
than usual. And considering that the temperatures
there never rose much above freezing, and that during
the night a steady wind called "monster breath"
ripped constantly across the already battered ground,
saying that Medita seemed even less welcoming than
it usually was was going quite a ways in characteriz-
ing it.
    In the Great Hall wherein dwelt the Overlord, the
Overlord was not in his usual place--namely, his
throne. Instead he was standing on the roof. The fact
that he was doing so caught the attention of more than
one of the Redeemers as they gathered at the bottom of
the building, looking up and muttering to one another
about the possibility that the Overlord had undergone
some sort of mental breakdown and was contemplating
hurling himself to his death.
    He was, in fact, thinking about no such thing. His
great black cape fluttered briskly around him as he
stood at the foot of the statue representing the great
God Xant, He Who Had Gone On, He Who Would Re-
turn. He knew in his heart, of course, that the statue
was not divine in and of itself. It was simply a repre-
sentation of the Great One himself, built by all-too-
mortal hands of Redeemer acolytes many years before.
It felt cold to the touch of the Ovefiord's obsidian
hands, and his eyes glowed cold red in the chill of the
night air.
    "Great Xant," he whispered. "Help me in this...
your followers' darkest hour."
    Truthfully, he was not at all sure what he was hoping
to accomplish. Nothing, probably. Anything that hap-
pened as a result of this impromptu "communion" with
the great statue would come out of his own mind, rather
than some actual link to the departed Xant.  He waited.
    No response from Xant. No response from his own
mind. Just the whistling of the wind... and the in-
creasing volume from the nervous acolytes below as
they obviously wondered whether their fearless leader
had utterly lost his mind. He would have found it amus-
ing if the circumstances were not so tragic.
    He looked down upon his people one more time, and
then stepped away from the statue and headed back to
the door that led up to the roof. Several minutes later,
he was in his throne room as the top Redeemers in his
select council grouped around him. There were a dozen
of them. None of them had names, or at least names
that they discussed. The only one who had a separate
designation was Prime One, the Overlord's second in
command.
    They stood silently and waited patiently for the
Overlord to speak. At such times, that traditional wait
could stretch for hours... even days, on one memo-
rable occasion. This time, however, the Overlord spoke
almost immediately. The fact that he did so was more
than enough to add gravity to an already difficult situa-
tion.
    "I will say now, for your mutual benefit, that which
most--if not all--of you probably already know," the
Overlord said. "The Black Mass is swarming from the
Hunger Zone... and its target is this system."
    The Redeemers did not quite manage to stifle the
outburst of excited and frightened talk among them-
selves. It was an utter breech of protocol to do such a
thing, to babble that way in the presence of the Over-
lord, and it was to their credit that the Redeemers real-
ized this almost immediately and reined themselves in.
But the Overlord could see it in their faces: They were
afraid. They had no idea what to do, or what was going
to happen, and they were looking to the Overlord for
answers. Unfortunately, he had none to give.
    "That is why you were speaking to the statue of
Xant," Prime One said suddenly. "You were hoping that
he would speak to you and give you guidance."
  "Yes."
  "And did he?"
    "Did he? .... Tell us, Overlord, we beg you." The com-
ments came from all over, the inquiries, the pleadings,
and he knew at that point that he was in an excellent
position. All he had to do was lie to them, tell them
whatever wisdom Xant had "imparted" to him, and
they would take it as gospel. They were so anxious to
believe, so desperate to know that there was some plan,
some alternative, that they would have swallowed
whatever he tossed to them, gobbled it hungrily and
begged for more. If he told them that Xant had said
they should abandon their world, they would do it. If he
told them that Xant wanted them to die, they would do
that, too.
  So much power he possessed.
  And yet so little.
    For he was bound by the truth. There were other reli-
gious leaders, he knew, who would not hesitate to say
whatever was on their mind, to fabricate some sort of
personal dialogue with their respective almighty for the
purpose of guiding, even misleading the flock. Such
leaders, however, were to be held in contempt. To be
pitied. They did their followers no service, and they
had no business calling themselves leaders. For it was
their job to convey to the followers the true word of
their deities. In the case of Xant, in many ways the
Overlord was no different from the other Redeemers.
He drew Xant's word and beliefs from the writings and
teachings of Xant, back when the Great One walked
among them in his mortal form. But that was the only
true means of communication he had. It would be so
easy... so easy... to make himself out to have more,
for that was how eager they were to find options.
    Not for the first time, the Overlord wished that he
was evil and bereft of morals, so that he could make the
lives of others that much easier.
    "Xant speaks to me every day in his philosophies, as
he does to you. But no more than that, I fear" said the
Overlord.
    The Redeemers took in that response without com-
ment. Then one of the Redeemers stepped forward and
said, "Overlord... we have no choice. None can with-
stand the might of the Black Mass. Even the ThaiIoni-
ans, at the height of their power decades agone, could
not deter them."
    "What would you recommend?" inquired the Over-
lord.
    Emboldened by the quiet, open manner in which the
Overlord asked his advice, the Redeemer said, "We
must leave Tulaan IV." The others gasped once more,
exchanged hurried comments. The Redeemer glanced
at the others from the comer of his eye, and then game-
ly continued, "Our touch is upon dozens of worlds.
There is no reason to cling to this one."
    "No reason... save that this was the birthplace of
Xant," the Overlord reminded him. "He departed from
here to begin his great journey. It is to here that he will
return. And does Xant not say that this world is sa-
cred?"
    "The Overlord is right," Prime One said. "It may
very well be that this is a test... a precursor to the re-
turn of Xant. If we abandon this world, Xant might
very well consider us unworthy of witnessing his re-
turn. We must have faith."
    "But does faith mean that we are to simply sit here
and wait to die at the hands... or the whatever... of
the Black Mass?" asked another Redeemer.
    "Of course not," Prime One replied. "Xant helps
those who help themselves. We must try and take steps
to forestall this horrible calamity. We must try to do
what no one else has done: We must try and stop the
Black Mass."
    There were murmurs of approval, nodding of heads.
It was hardly a plan, but at least it seemed like the be-
ginnings of one.

    The Redeemer who had advocated leaving, however,
was not so quick to agree. "And if the steps we take
fail, as--based upon the lack of success that others
have had--they most likely will? What then? Do we re-
main on Tulaan out of some sort of loyalty to Xant? Or
is it at that point that we leave for safety?"
    "There is safety as long as we believe in Xant,"
Prime One said serenely. "For remember, no matter
what else we may do to try and head off the Black
Mass, the most important thing is our faith. As long as
we maintain that, no harm will come to us. If we have
taken every possible step, and nothing has averted
them, then if we remain here, on Tulaan, to the
last... Xant will protect us."
  "We do not know that !" said the Redeemer.
  "Yes. We do. For it is written that "
    "It is written that the Black Mass is unstoppable! I
know! I have read the research, the abortive previous at~
tempts. And we can argue about what Xant wants or
doesn't want, tests he may or may not be making. But it
is foolishness to simply stand here and let ourselves be
devoured by the Black Mass! It would be idiocy to--!"
  The Overlord spoke a word.
    It was one of the more ancient words, and he direct-
ed it in such a way that only the one, protesting Re-
deemer heard it.
    The Redeemer staggered back. The veins on his
head began to throb, his eyes went wide, his entire
body paralyzed in a rictus of shock as every muscle
grew taut, and then his brain exploded. He stumbled
back and fell.
    "Now then," the Overlord said, not even bothering to
wait until the Redeemer hit the floor. He hesitated only
for a fraction of a second as the thud from the Re-
deemer's falling body reverberated throughout the
chamber, and then he continued, "Prime One is quite
correct. I did not require the spirit of Xant to speak to
me... as comforting and convenient as that occurrence
might have been. It is plain to any, aside from our de-
ceased associate, that our faith requires us to remain
here. But I do not believe that we must stay on this
world, in the event we cannot stave off the Black Mass,
and wait to see if the will of Xant saves us. For it is my
belief that the saving of the planet itself is the test. That
Xant will accept no less from us than the rescue of his
birthplace. And I believe, my brethren, that we are up
to this task."
    "But how, Overlord?" asked one of the Redeemers,
taking a half-step away from his fallen associate so that
leaking brain matter would not get on his boots. "How
are we to stop them?"
    "Some of you are trained in a scientific bent," said
the Overlord. "Which of you is the most trained, the
most knowledgeable... in short, the most formidable
scientific mind in our service?"
    As one, all of the Redeemers pointed to the Re-
deemer who was on the floor.
    "Ah. Hmm... that presents a problem, doesn't it?
That is unfortunate. Oh well... there are alternatives."
    "Such as, Overlord?" inquired Prime One. He had
been more than happy to support the notion that Tulaan
1V should not be abandoned. Beyond that, unfortunate-
ly, he was not going to be of much help.
    The Overlord steepled his fingers thoughtfully.
"Since the last time that the Black Mass swarmed...
indeed, for the first time in recorded history... a new
element has been added, introduced into what was once
ThaiIonian space."
  "What element is that, Overlord? ....Yes, tell us."
"Tell us, Overlord."
    So eager they were once more for any shred of hope.
This time, however, he actually had an answer for
them.
  "The Excalibur."
    There was stunned silence. "The Excalibur?" said
one of the Redeemers. "The vessel captained by
Mackenzie Calhoun, the false prophet of Zondar? The
one that destroyed a Redeemer ship piloted by Prime
One's illustrious predecessor? The one who recently
aided a resistance in the M'Gewn sector to the degree
that we were unable to spread the word of Xant there
and were actually forced, for the first time in our histo-
ry, to retreat?"
    "The very same" said the Overlord with an air of
confidence.
    "But Overlord," began Prime One, and then he
paused, obviously to choose the right words. Any sen-
tence that began with "But Overlord" was one that
had to be carefully considered and very judiciously
phrased. "But Overlord... he is our nemesis. Our
swom enemy."
  "That is correct, Prime One."
  "He will not aid us."
    "Ah, but perhaps" the Overlord said slowly, "per-
haps he will. Perhaps that is the pure subtlety of Xant's
grand plan. That we are to use this current state of af-
fairs to take one who is a long-standing enemy, and use
it to transform him into a helpmate. In this way, we can
weaken his resolve. In this way, we can put him on the
path to greatness that leads to Xant. For let us not for-
get, my brethren, that our mandate is not to kill. Not to
annihilate. But to help. To teach. And there is quite pos-
sibly no one in this entire sector of space more in need
of being taught than Mackenzie Calhoun and his crew.
To be blunt, my brethren, ! have been considering this
course of action from the first that I had hem-d of the
Black Mass' imminence. it is my firm belief that we are
to employ the resources of the Excalibur in order to
serve us. They will cooperate."
    "But how will we force them to do so, Overlord,"
asked one Redeemer. He glanced at the body of the
fallen Redeemer and added hastily, "if I may be so bold
as to inquire. You need not tell me, of course. This
isn't--"
    "I do not think it will require force," said the Over-
lord. "There are gentler means of persuasion. We can
find ways, for Xant will bless us with the resourceful-
ness to do what must be done. Let us never forget that
Xant is on our side. Praise Xant."  
"Praise Xant," they intoned.
  "Xant is vast. We are insignificant."
  "Xant is vast. We are insignificant."
    That went on for approximately ten minutes, the
Overlord leading them in chants praising the greatness
of Xant as opposed to the relative lack of greatness of
the Redeemers. One would not have guessed, from the
look of them, that their leader was capable of dealing
punishment or death with a few well-chosen words, or
that one of their High Priests could annihilate the popu-
lation of an entire planet singlehandedly. In short, they
did not appear threatening on the surface. But the fact
was that the Redeemers, as a race, were the second most
deadly force in ThaiIonian space. Another fact was that
the most deadly force in ThaiIonian space was heading
for them, with the destruction of their world inevitable
unless they managed to do something about it.

    And it seemed that the key to staving off their
world's fate rested with an individual who might well
be the third most deadly force in ThaiIonian space. The
outcome of that very unlikely alliance would probably
determine which, among those three, would end up as
the deadliest force in ThaiIonian space... presuming
that all of them were left alive.

IlL

Doctor Selar waddled down the corridor and wondered
what she had ever done to deserve this.
    She couldn't help but notice that most of the crew
seemed to be steering clear of her. They would give
her quick "Hello's" or such, but otherwise seemed
more than happy to keep their distance from her.
She wondered why that would be. She decided that
it was just their concept of being solicitous; no
one wanted to risk banging into her rather copious
stomach.
    Now if she could just get Lieutenant Commander
Burgoyne, the child's father, to rein hirself in, that
would go a long way toward solving her problems.
    Intellectually, she knew that Burgoyne was just try-
ing to help, just trying hir best. But the Hermat didn't
understand that hir involvement in the pregnancy was
purely on an as-needed basis. For reasons that com-
pletely eluded Selar, she had bonded on some sort of
mental level with Burgoyne. It was probably some sort
of random, unexpected development as a result of her
experiencing a delayed, and extremely erratic, case of
pon farr. It had been completely unpredictable, and
frankly, somewhat embarrassing. If Burgoyne would
simply realize that--
    She came to a stop just outside her quarters. Her
sharp heating detected something moving within. That
was, to say the least, unexpected. She had no idea why
there would be any intruders...
Yes. Yes, she did. Suddenly she knew all too well.
She took a deep breath, readying herself for what
was undoubtedly going to be a very unpleasant scene,
and stepped in.
    Immediately she noticed the candles. How could she
not? They were set out, along with an elaborately pre-
pared dinner, on the small dining table in the middle of
her quarters. Seated on the opposite side of the table
was Burgoyne, hir slender face flickering in the candle
light. "Welcome home, stranger" s/he said. "Thought
I'd prepare a nice dinner for you."  "Burgoyne---"
  "Call me Burgy. It's about time you did."
    "And it is about time you left, Burgoyne. These are
my quarters. They are private. You cannot simply let
yourself in..."
    "Actually, I can," said Burgoyne cheerfully. "I am,
after all, the Chief Engineer. With that job comes great
power, and with that, great responsibility--"
    "Which you are willing to toss aside at your conve-
nience if it suits your purposes."
  "You see?" Burgoyne was pouring soup into two
bowls. "You know me so well. Small wonder then that
we belong together."
  "Burgoyne, that would be illogical."
    "Really? How call you tell? Your plomik soup is get-
ting cold, by the way." S/he gestured to the bowl.
    "What do you mean, 'How can I tell?'" She didn't
sit.
    "Well, you just carry yourself in exactly the same
manner whether you have a headache, or a belly ache,
or if your legs are hurting, or..."
    "Is there some point to this, Lieutenant Cormnan-
der?"
    "'Lieutenant Commander.' Great Bird, I was going
for 'Burgy.' We're backsliding here. The point is, you
have this whole stoic thing down so pat, I'd be
amazed if you were in touch enough with your own
body to know that you have a headache. Are you
going to sit or am I going to have to bend your legs at
the knees?"
    Selar sat, very stiffly, very properly. She kept her
hands placed on her lap. "This 'stoic thing' you refer to
is a fnnction of my training and my biology. It is my
way of life. They are what make me who and what I
am."
    "Funny. Considering you're a pregnant Vulcan, I
thought I made you who and what you are. The soup
isn't getting any wam~er, by the wa--"  
"I do not desire soup."
    "Straight to the entr6e, then?" inquired Burgoyne,
nonplussed.
    "Burgoyne... I am obviously not making myself
very clear. So I shall try to make this as simple and
straightforward as possible," said Selar. She noticed
that she was over-pronouncing her words with exces-
 sive formality and tried to tone it down. "I am someone
 who, every day of my life, has been in control of it. I
 knew what I wanted, I knew how to go about getting it.
 I answered to no master but myself. And I was proud of
 that. Very, very proud."
  "And you have every reason to---"
     "I am not..." the mechanical tone slipped back into
 her speech, but she mastered it and said as pleasantly as
 possible. "I am not finished. Consider, if you will, my
situation. I am a doctor, a healer with responsibilities
 and skills that I have worked very, very hard to hone.
 Suddenly I find myself at the mercy of an unwanted bi-
 ological urge that compels me to mate and spawn in a
 manner more suited to ahnost any lower order of life
 form, not excluding humans."
  "That's cold, Selar, even for you."
     "That is exactly my point. As pregnancy, and its at-
 tending discomforts, progresses, a Vulcan woman be-
 comes... colder. Stoic. It is a reaction to how we are
 trained to handle annoyances in a logical, unemotional
 manner. That I am nearing term means this effect is at
 its strongest."
  "So it's me."
 She shook her head. "It has nothing to with you..."
 "Oh yes it does," Burgoyne interrupted her. Hir lips
 were pulled back, hit teeth flashing slightly in the dim
 lighting. "You are linked, biologically and mentally,
 with a being that is as emotional as you are unemotion-
 al. I am the opposite of what you would like a child of
 yours to be. So, having partaken of my seed, you no
 longer wish me around."
  "That is not what is happening."
  "Yes, it is, and it hurts."
  "I hurt as well," she said with force. "Lower back.
 Spine. Breasts. Head. Calves. The child moves con-
 stantly--"
    "S/he's moving?" Burgoyne said with interest. "Can
I feelre?"
    "No. To continue, my entire pelvis hurts. I am mov-
ing in a manner that makes a horta look like a gazelle.
In short, Burgoyne, every physical aspect of me is in a
monstrous amount of pain... and I deal with that by
becoming what you call colder. I---ow!"
    "What's the matter?" Burgoyne asked, coming
around the table.
    "More pain. I am in control again now" Selar said.
"And do you know why I am in control. Because I am
Vulcan. That breeding and discipline that you hold in
such low regard is what will get me through this."
    "I think as long as you deny what's really bothering
you--"
    "What is 'bothenng me' "she said, making no effort
to keep the ice out of her voice, "is you" Burgoyne
would have stepped back except that s/he was alarmed
to discover that Selar's hand was squarely gripping a
rather tender area on hit body. Fully aware of the Vul-
can's strength, Burgoyne didn't move a cent'uneter.
Selar continued, her tone still frozen. "It is because of
your secd within me that I am having these difficulties.
Your presence therefore makes maintaining my control
more difficult."
  "That... must be very imtating..."
    ú ~ro say nothing of the fact that a Vulcan mother
forms a mental bond with her child while it is in utero,
and the child in my belly has the most chaotic psi pat-
terns any female in the history of our race has had to
experience. Are you beginning to grasp the source of
my difficulties?"

    "Actually," Burgoyne said with remarkable restraint,
looking down, "I think you're the one who's grasping
the source. If you wouldn't mind..."
    It took Selar a moment to focus on what Burgoyne
was saying, and then with a grunt she released hir.
Then Selar straightened her hair and said, in a more
normal manner, "I suppose I should be ~ateful, to
some degree. With my current condition-----considenng
the previously unknown result of a mating between a
Vulcan and a Hermat--in a way, I am providing a med-
ical precedent. Thanks to you, my place in history is as-
sured. So... thank you."
  "You're, uhm... you're welcome."
      "But as I said, I am experiencing difficulties that
your presence exacerbates. Rightly or wrongly..."
  "Logically or illogically;' he said.
    She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement.
"Your continued endeavors, therefore, to build an emo-
tional bond between us are making things worse."
"But don't you see that this is the ideal time to... ?"
"No. I do not see that, Burgoyne. What I see is
that you are not susceptible to reason. So I am
spelling it out for you: Leave. Me. Alone. Is that clear
enough?"
  Very stiffly, Burgoyne said, "Yes. Perfectly clear"
    "Good. Do not concern yourself with the meal; I
shall deal with it."
    "All right;' said Burgoyne. "Good evening to you,
then. I just wish to add--"
  Selar rolled her eyes. "I knew it."
    "I just wish to add that everything I've said is right.
That... and I love you."
    Selar came as close to laughing as she ever had.
"Love me? Burgoyne... you do not even know me."
    "That makes two of us," said Burgoyne who, appar-
ently deciding that was a good exit line, chose to
exit.
    Selar shook her head, then looked down at the table
Burgoyne had so lovingly prepared.
 The hell of it was, she really did like plomik soup.

    Mackenzie Calhoun sat in Ten-Forward, nursing a
drink and hoping that everyone in the place would un-
derstand, without being told, that he just really wanted
to be left alone at that moment.
    "Ah. Good," said Si Cwan as he dropped into the
chair opposite Calhoun. "Just who I desired to talk
tO."
  "Uhm... Ambassador..." began Calhoun.
    Si Cwan waved dismissively. "I know, I know" he
said in his deep voice which always made him sound as
if he were singing when he was speaking. "You hoped
to sit here, giving off unspoken signals that you wished
to be alone. However, if you truly wished to be alone,
you could sit in your quarters or your ready room.
What you are really seeking is interaction and, more
specifically, someone interested enough in you to make
the effort of breaking through your barriers."
      Calhoun stared at him, trying to form words.
"That's... very impressive, Ambassador."  "Thank you."
    "And you are that interested in me, that you will
make that effort?"
  "In you as a person? To be honest, no."
    "Ah. I appreciate your honesty." Calhoun took a sip
of his drink. "Why, then, are you honoring me with
your presence."
  "Because you are the commander of this vessel, and
I would appreciate your cooperation in a formal re-
quest."
  "All right. I'm with you."
  "I need you to maintain noble propriety."
 Calhoun blinked. "You just lost me."
    Si Cwan shifted in his seat and leaned forward, el-
bows on the table. "I have been observing the activities
of your son, Xyon. I believe that he has been showing
an interest in Kalinda. More disturbing, I believe that
she has been showing an interest in him."
    "Ah. I think I begin to see," Calhoun said. "And you
find this bothersome."
  "That is correct. That is exactly correct."
  "May I ask why, precisely?"
    "Several reasons." He raised his hand, fingers ex-
tended.
    "How did I know you were going to count them
off?." Calhoun asked rhetorically.
    "First, Kalinda is still trying to acclimate herself.
Until fairly recently, she believed that she was some-
one else entirely, with an identity created artificially
by my enemy Zoran. Thanks to some mental probes
through the courtesy of your Lieutenant Soleta, her
true personality has reasserted herself, her full memo-
ries returned. But that is still a great deal for her to as-
similate."
    "Could you possibly use a different word. It has
rather negative connotations these days."
      "Second," said Si Cwan as if Calhoun had not spo-
ken, "there is a matter of positions to consider."
  Calhoun stared at him. "Yes?"
  "She is, after all, of the nobility..."
  "Ah?'
  "And for someone of the nobility to become romanti-
cally involved with..." He drummed his fingers on the
table. "... what's the best way to phrase it... ?"  
"A commoner?"
    "Yes. Exactly, thank you. A commoner. It's simply
not appropriate. Third... well, there is no insult in-
tended upon you, Captain, since I know you were not
involved in the boy's upraising."  "You know this how?"
  "Everyone on the Excalibur knows."
    "Of course. For one foolish moment, I believed
that such a thing as a right to privacy existed on this ship."
    "It exists, but largely in theory. As I was saying, I
know you had nothing to do with how the boy was
raised, but the simple truth is that I'm concerned he can
be something of a negative influence. On that basis, I
would appreciate you sitting down with the boy and ex-
plaining to him why---during his presumably brief stay
aboard--he should keep his distance from Kalinda. As
captain of the ship, you would certainly have the au-
thority to do so, and make it stick by instructing securi-
ty to enforce it." Si Cwan laughed softly. "Certainly
you can understand my concerns. Xyon has many com-
mendable qualities, but he is very impulsive, acting
with instinct instead of forethought. He is, to be honest,
a bit crude, and he most certainly has an inflated sense
of his own importance."
    "I have no idea where he gets that from," said Cal-
houn.
    "Kalinda is still a bit naive, despite all she's been
through. I do not want her seizing on young Xyon as
some sort of role model, or someone to aspire to."
    "Despite the fact that he saved her life. Despite the
fact that he essentially, to the best of my knowledge,
passes his days trying to help people with no thought of
remuneration or self-aggrandizement. Heaven forbid
that you would want Kalinda to emulate such behav-
ior."
    "Noi' Si Cwan said, waggling a finger, "now you
see, I think you're missing the point somewhat."
    "Oh really. Then I will reiterate, to make certain all
the points are covered." Now it was Calhoun counting
off on his fingers. "First, you're worried because Kalin-
da is still getting her bearings. Understandable. And as
her big brother, I'm quite sure you can be counted on to
make certain that she gets them. Second... you're a
snob."
  "Now wait just a minute..."
    Si Cwan's voice was raised, and Calhoun noticed
that others in Ten-Forward were starting to look their
way. He didn't care. Why should he? Everyone on the
damned ship seemed to know everyone else's business.
Why become faint-hearted about it now? Nevertheless,
he dropped his voice to a low, intense level to afford at
least an illusion of confidentiality. "Lord Cwan, I don't
know if you've taken stock lately, but the planet upon
which you reigned is rubble, and your empire has fallen
apart. We continue to treat you with respect appropriate
to your title as a courtesy to you, but make no mistake:
It is courtesy, and nothing more. It's charming to con-
sider yourself part of the ruling class, but considering
you have nothing to rule over, you may want to rethink
the possibility of pulling your head out of the dark area
it's gotten stuck in."
    Si Cwan flushed redder than he usually was. "How
dare y--"
    "Third, whatever Xyon's strengths and weaknesses
of character might be, the fact is he doesn't have an in-
flated sense of his own self-importance. He has a streak
of independence slightly wider than the Horsehead
Nebula, and even if I lost all sense of reason and tried
to order him to keep away from Kalinda, I can tell you
with a reasonable amount of certainty that all such an
action would do is increase his determination to spend
time with her"
  "Captain, you are being unreasonable..."
    "I thought you were better than this, Si Cwan.
Where's the nobility in this whining attitude?"
    The muscles in Si Cwan's arms twitched as if he
were containing himself. His teeth were tightly set. "I
would strongly suggest that you do not insult me fur-
ther, Captain, or I cannot be responsible for the conse-
quences."
    Calhoun felt a flush against his cheek, and was quite
aware that his scar was burning red, the most reliable
exterior sign that he was angry. "Are you implying that
you would lose your temper and take some physical ac-
tion against me?"
"I believe, Captain, the statement speaks for itself."
"Si Cwan... I have tremendous respect for you"
Calhoun said, sounding so calm that one would have
thought he was having a passionless discussion about
gamma particles. "I know that you are trying to pull to-
gether the worlds in this sector into some sort of al-
liance that will enable them to function as one. I know
that, to a certain degree, you have had to swallow your
pride in your dealings with those over whom you used
to rule. And you have been of tremendous use in the
past months as we have gone about our business. All of
this I freely admit. But lest you forget, we came to
blows when you first arrived on this vessel, and I
dropped you where you stood. So I think you have to
understand that if you continue the direction of this con-
versation... or if you are foolish enough actually to
swing on me... then I will be responsible for the con-
sequences. Do we understand each other, Lord Cwan?"
    Si Cwan appeared to be considering taking his
chances. But there was something in Calhoun's dark,
purple eyes that signalled him as to the lack of wisdom
such a course would entail.
    "Out of respect to your position, Captain... yes, I
believe we do," Si Cwan said.
    "Good." Calhoun sat back in his chair. "Would you
like a drink?"
 "No. I think not."
 "Very well, then. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
    Si Cwan rose from the chair, turned stiffly and
walked out. All heads turned watching him go. The
other patrons of Ten-Forward had not been able to
hear what was being said between the two of them;
they had made their voices too low for that. But
everyone could tell that some rather harsh words had
been exchanged, and there was even a general sense
that something worse had only narrowly been avert-
ed. Practically in unison, everyone looked back at
Calhoun. He raised a glass jauntily and downed the
contents. "I wonder" he said out loud to no one in
particular, "if this evening could possibly get any
worse."
    His comm badge beeped and he tapped it. "Calhoun
here."
    "Captain;' came the brisk voice of Shelby, "sorry to
contact you this late, but we've received a distress call
from the planet Fenner. They're under attack by the Re-
deemers."
    "That," Calhoun said, "will teach me to ask ques-
tions I don't really want the answers to."
  "Sir?"
    "Nothing. Alert the senior staff. We'll conference in
the ready room."
  "Not in the conference lounge, sir?"
    "No. I don't feel like lounging. I feel like being
ready. Calhoun out."

IV.

IN THE READY ROOM, Soleta tapped the computer screen
which had the specs on the planet Fenner. "Standard
class M world," she said. "Populace is in early techno-
logical stages, having achieved space travel approxi-
mately one hundred years earlier. The people had a civil
war relatively recently, but threw out the leadership that
brought them to that state and since then have lived in
relative harmony. Recently, however, an emissary for
the Redeemers arrived on their world and informed
them that they had been selected for conversion."
    Around the room, Calhoun, Burgoyne, Shelby, Ke-
bron and Si Cwan all nodded. They knew all too well
the significance of that designation: the Redeemers had
chosen the Fennerians for "redemption," to be convert-
ed in their beliefs to accept Xant as their savior and the
Redeemers as their undisputed masters.

    "They are aware of the Excalibur's presence in the
sector" continued Soleta, "and have requested our help
to stave off this intended conversion."
    "At warp six, we can be there in thirty hours," Bur-
goyne said. "Sooner if I squeeze a bit more out of the
engines."
  "Thoughts, people?" said Calhoun.
    "I don't see that we have a choice," said Si Cwan. He
was speaking in such a calm, businesslike manner, that
Calhoun would never have suspected the cross words
they'd had earlier if he hadn't been there. "We have to
extend aid."
    "It would seem," observed Soleta, "the logical thing
to do."
    "It may not be easy" Burgoyne said. "We took a bit
of a pounding back in the M'Gewn system. All systems
are running, but to be up to maximum efficiency, we
could really use time in a starbase."
    "I thought you told me you had a handle on it,
Burgy."
    "I do, Captain. But having a handle on it for normal
operations, and taking this ship into combat against an-
other of those Redeemer heavy destroyers... it's not
something I'm looking forward to. For something like
that, I wouldn't mind putting in some time for a major
overhaul first. I'm not saying the ship is going to blow
apart or anything from stress, but I certainly wouldn't
mind skewing the odds in our favor a bit more."
  "Time is of the essence," rumbled Kebron.
  "I agree," said Si Cwan.
  "We agree. Shoot me now."
    Kebron's small joke drew a few smiles around the
ready room. Calhoun looked to Shelby and said, "Com-
mander, you've been rather quiet. Your thoughts?"
 She didn't hesitate. "We help them, of course."
 "'Of course?' "Calhoun was clearly surprised.
    "Yes, of course. We can't stand by and allow the Re-
deemers to subsume their culture."
    "Actually;' Calhoun said, "according to the Prime
Directive, I thought that was precisely what we would
have to stand by and do. As a matter of fact, in the
M'Gewn situation, I seem to recall that you argued ex-
actly that"
    "Then, with all respect, captain, you do not recall
correctly. M'Gewn was a different situation entirely.
The M'Gewns were a warlike race who decided to take
on the Redeemers, found themselves in over their
heads, and called upon us to help them out. My con-
tention was that they had brought their predicament
upon themselves, and that it wasn't appropriate for us
to bail them out."
    "But there were strategic considerations" Si Cwan
began.
    Shelby put up a hand, cutting the conversation short.
"It is pointless" she said, "to rehash something that is
already done with. In any event, the situations are not
analogous. I think we are obliged to help the Fenneri-
ans."
    "Well, good. Good" Calhoun said. "All right... if
we're all agreed. Mr. Kebron, have McHenry set course
for Fenner. Inform them that we're on the way. Bur-
goyne... do what you can to make certain the ship is
in the best possible condition, should we have to take
her into battle."
    "You'll have her fighting ready, Captain" Burgoyne
said gamely.
    "Good. The Redeemers," said Calhoun, interlacing
his fingers on his desk, "have been our most persis-
tent opponents since we arrived here. I suspect that
matters are going to be building to a head. We have
to be prepared for that. I want snap drills run in the
various departments, just to keep everyone on their
toes."
    "You are assuming, then, captain, that however mat-
ters develop with the Redeemers, the only possible out-
come will involve battle?" asked Shelby.
    There was a subtle hint of challenge to her voice, so
subtle that only Calhoun--from long practice--could
detect it. "I think it likely, yes."  "Hmpf."
  That was all she said. "Hmpf."
    Calhoun looked at her through narrowed eyes, and
then said, "All right. Everyone to their stations. Com-
mander... a moment of your time, please."  "Of course, sir."
    As soon as everyone else had cleared out, Calhoun
sat back in his chair and regarded Shelby thoughtfully.
"Elizabeth... I sense there's something on your mind."
    "I'm simply wondering why you called the meeting,
Mac."
"Why I called it? To solicit opinions, of course."
"All right. Fine." She shrugged. "Are we done?"
"No, we're not done. To be honest, Eppy, you've
been acting strangely ever since Riker was in charge
for a short time. What's going on?"
  "I was just impressed by his honesty, that's all."
  He stared at her. 'Tm not following you."
    "Riker" she said, "had total disregard for everything
I had to say. But he wasn't polite about it, the way you
are. He was straightforward about it. It was blunt and
rude and, in some ways, refreshing." He started to
voice a protest, but she kept talking. "You already de-
cided that we were going to help the Fenner. I'm posi-
tive you did. So why did you waste our time discussing
something you had already decided? For form's sake?
Since when did you care about that?"
    "Since when did you stop caring about the Prime Di-
rectire? We both know that an argument can be made
that we shouldn't help with the Fenner. They're not a
member of the UFP, and their being targeted by the Re-
deemers doesn't automatically mean they're entitled to
our aid."
    She laughed at that. "You must really think I have no
compassion at all, Mac. You do, don't you? You think
I'm just some sort of walking rule book, tossing around
regulations and not caring about the conditions under
which people are living."
    "And you apparently think that I do whatever I want,
whatever impulse seizes me, without caring about what
could happen as a result." He came around his desk and
leaned on the edge, barely a foot away from her. "Well?
Isn't that true?"
    "Of course!" she said reasonably. "That's exactly
what you do. You do whatever, whenever, however.
That's been your method of operation from the moment
you took command. What, don't tell me you're denying
it. Or starting to waver from that. The Mackenzie Cal-
houn I know would not only agree with my assessment,
he'd consider it a badge of honor."
    "That doesn't render me incapable of listening to
what my officers have to say."
    "Mac, you know what?" She put her hands up and
rose from her seat. "I'm tired. It's been a long day as it
is. And I'm getting worn out."  "From what?"
  "From acting as your conscience, Mac, and being ig-
nored. From acting as the voice of reason, and being
steamrolled over. Or you go on the assumption that I'm
going to disagree with you, and even express shock
when I don't, as if we couldn't possibly ever be of a
like mind, or I couldn't think of something beyond the
edges of the Starfleet rule book. I'm tired from trying
to ride herd on you, and from the fighting. Fighting
with you, fighting with Riker, fighting with Jellico. I
feel like I'm in a rut, Mac. Like we both are. That we
just go around and around, and I don't know if I'm
doing you any good as your second in command, and I
sure know I'm not doing myself any good. The hell
with command at this point; I'm starting to believe it'll
never happen, because maybe I just simply don't de-
serve it. But I know what I do want: I want more from
life than fighting. I want... I..."
    Calhoun didn't even know he was going to do it be-
fore he did it. He stepped forward, grabbed Shelby by
the arms, and pulled her to him. Their bodies pressed
together and she gasped into his mouth as he brought
his lips down on hers. For a moment, just a moment,
her instinct prompted her to fight, and then she just
seemed to melt against him as they kissed each other
hungrily, giving in to something that had underscored
their entire relationship, but which they had both been
hell-bent to avoid acknowledging.
    She pulled back from him, then, her chest rising and
falling rapidly. For a moment more he held her, and
then he let her go, and she bumped up against a chair.
She held the back of the chair as if to steady herself,
and they regarded each other as if seeing each other for
the first time... or perhaps reacquainting themselves
after a lengthy absence.
  "Where the hell did that come from?" she asked. Her
breath was wavering and she sucked it in in order to
steady it.
"I... don't know," he said. "It just... popped out."
"Mac..." Once more she took in a deep breath to
steady herself, and when she let it out her voice still
trembled slightly. "Look, I..."
    "You don't have to say it. Bad idea. It was a bad
idea." He had never felt quite so disoriented. "I
just... I have a lot on my mind... and I was..."
  '!Looking for grounding?"
      "Yes. Yes, exactly. That's all it was. Looking for
grounding."  "Why?,,
  "It's not important. Nothing I want to discuss."
  "Mac, perhaps it--"
    "No," he repeated with more certainty. "It's nothing.
Nothing I can't handle."
"It has to do with Xyon, doesn't it? Somehow, he---"
"Eppy" he said gently, placing his hands on her
shoulders. "It's nothing. Really. I'm back to myself
now."
  "Are you sure?"
  "Positive."
  'ørhat's good to know, because I--"
    This time, when he kissed her, she was a bit more
prepared for it even though he wasn't. It lasted longer
and was more intense on both sides, and when they
parted they didn't hurry to distance themselves quite as
quickly as before.
    "Mac..." she said steadily, smoothing her uniform
jacket, "this... is inappropriate. You're the captain.
I'm the furst officer. We understood going into this..."
  "I know. I know."
  "I think we, and the ship, would be best served if we
acted as if this never happened. With your kissing me,
twice..."
  "You kissed me back."
  "No. I didn't."
  "Yes, you did, Eppy. I should know, I was there."
      "Mac, I didn't..." She closed her eyes. 'Tm not
going to discuss this. I'm just not."
  "That's probably wise."
  "I'm going off shift now"
  "That's probably even wiser."
    "If this happens again, I will have to consider filing a
report."
  "I would understand," said Calhoun.
  "Promise me you won't do it again. Ever."
  He considered her request. "No" he said.
  "No, you won't do it again?"
  "No, I can't promise. Eppy..."
    "Mac..." She took a deep breath. "Please...
you've always been someone I could count on... even
when what I was counting on was that I couldn't count
on you. So don't disappoint me, okay?"  "Okay."
    She exited quickly, and Calhoun sagged against his
desk. What the hell had just happened? How could
he... ? How could he have lost control that way... ?
    Was it really that much of a fight for him to resist
kissing her? Was he really still that drawn to her? Or
was it what she had said... that the arrival of Xyon
had triggered things within him. Regrets, doubts. Those
things that Xyon had said about his not loving anyone,
about never having let anyone get close.
    "I don't doubt myself," Calhoun said firmly, as if
someone was listening in on him. "Never" The words
sounded hollow, though, possibly because he had never
felt the need to say them out loud before. The fact that
he felt the need now somehow undercut the sentiment.
    He turned the computer screen around and looked at
the information about Fenner. In doing so, he felt the
hair on the back of his neck stand on end, which was
generally his reliable indicator that there was danger
hovering nearby.
    He studied their distress message, tugged at his
lower lip thoughtfully, and came to the conclusion that
the entire thing might very well be a set-up. That the
Redeemers either might be in league with the Fenneff-
ans, or else were pressuring them to summon the Ex-
calibur and force a confrontation on that basis.
    Knowing this, however, or at the very least suspect-
ing it, did not do Calhoun a great deal of good. He only
had two choices: Go there or not go there. If he didn't
go there, and the distress was legitimate, then Fenner
would be overran and the Excalibur will have done
nothing to prevent it. That was unacceptable. But if he
did go there, and the Redeemers were lying in wait,
then things could get ugly.
    The only foreseeable option was heading to Fenner
and proceeding with as much caution as possible. Ex-
pect nothing, anticipate everything. That had always
been Calhoun's personal mantra, and he saw no reason
to change it.
    He poured himself a raktajino and was quite an-
noyed to notice that his hand was shaking. He could
still taste Shelby's lips against his.
    "I think I'm losing my mind," he said. Then again, if
he was... there were worse ways for it to go.

Shelby felt as if she were losing her mind.
Normally she never had any trouble sleeping, but
this night had been incredibly fitful. She thought that
perhaps she had managed to sleep a few minutes here
and there, but for the most part she had spent the
evening staring at the ceiling, or the floor, or burying
her face in her pillow. All in all, it had been one of her
most wasted nights. She rolled over, looked at the
chronometer and moaned softly. It was just past oh-
four hundred hours, and she knew that closing her eyes
was going to be pointless. She could have been on the
bridge, in the middle of her shift during the height of a
Romulan attack, and not been more awake than she
was right then. She got out of bed, put on her exercise
clothes, and headed for the rocketball court.
    She figured that, at that tune of night, it would not be
occupied. So she was appropriately surprised when she
walked in and found Katerina Mueller, the ship's exec-
utive officer, wielding a paddle and slapping the glow-
ing ball around with ruthless efficiency.
    Shelby had never quite known what to make of
Mueller. In many ways, Mueller was still something of
a mystery to her. She was a tall woman, with broad
shoulders and an air of infinite superiority about her.
Her body, outlined in the clinging tights she wore, was
lean and hard. As she concentrated on the ball, her jaw
was slightly out-thrust and her dark blonde hair--usu-
ally tied in a severe knot--was completely out of the
way beneath a kerchief. She immediately became
aware of Shelby's presence and turned to face her, her
cobalt-blue eyes so intense that Shelby felt as if they
were drilling right through her.
    Mueller's most prominent feature remained her scar.
It was not exactly like Calhoun's, it was on the left side
of her face instead of the right, and thinner. The fact
that she wore it, though, as opposed to having had
some simple surgery to get it removed, spoke volumes
of her. Shelby had heard that she had picked it up fenc-
ing at a university on Earth called Heidelberg.
    Once upon a time, the rank of second in command,
which was Shelby's rank, and executive officer, which
was Mueller's, were synonymous. But about a hundred
years before, it had been decided to split the two from
one another, giving the ship the equivalent of two right-
hands to the captain. After all, in space the designation
of day and night was purely arbitrary, a convenience for
the crew and something that no potential enemy was
necessarily guided by. Inadvertently wandering into
hostile territory, the sleeping ship could venture smack
into the middle of someone else's day. So although
there remained one captain, it was felt that two people
of identical rank directly beneath the commanding offi-
cer were required. But two individuals both referred to
as "Number One," as it were, seemed confusing. After
much debate, the First Officer/XO split was decided
upon. It was a compromise that pleased absolutely no
one, which was how everyone knew it was a good com-
promise.
    So in essence, Mueller and Shelby were peers. How-
ever, since Shelby functioned during the day shift while
Mueller had charge of the night, the two women almost
never saw one another.
    "Commander" Mueller said in her faint-but-crisp
German accent. "You're up early, I see."
    "More like up late, actually. I didn't know you
played."
  "Played?"
  "Rocketball."
    "Oh." Mueller looked at the small racquet in one
hand and the glowing ball in the other. "Yes, I suppose
some consider this play. To me it's more work, actually.
Exercise. Keeping trim." She slapped her taut belly in
obvious pride. It made a hollow sound. The woman
was pure muscle.
    "Absolutely," agreed Shelby, and slapped her own
middle. It jiggled slightly and she muttered under her
breath before forcing a smile. "Would you care to..."
    "By all means. I so rarely have an opponent. Most
people don't desire to compete. They find it dishearten-
ing."
    "Do they?" Shelby said, her thin lips bright against
her face. "How sad for them."
    They lined up at the ready line and Mueller put the
ball into play. It had been ages since Shelby last tested
herself in rocketball, but she was pleased to see the old
reflexes coming back to her. She moved gracefully to
and fro across the court, handling each return and
delivering it back against the wall with a smart snap
of the wrist. She was rather pleased with her perfor-
mance... until she noticed that Mueller barely seemed
to be moving. She had absolutely no idea how she did
it. The executive officer wasn't that much taller than
she, her reach not terribly further. And yet she seemed
to have no problem getting to every return of Shelby's
with the most minimal of effort. For six straight re-
turns, Shelby could have sworn that Mueller's feet
didn't even budge from the spot. It was as if her
damned arm just stretched somehow to get the racquet
there.
    Shelby, for her part, was constantly on the move.
Consequently, she began to wear herself out. As the
game progressed, she missed more and more returns.
Soon she was panting, and at one point she missed the
ball so completely that she stumbled. Just before she

fell, however, one of Mueller's strong arms was around
her, stopping her from hitting the floor. "Thanks," Shel-
by managed to gasp out.
  "You're playing excellently" said Mueller.
    "Sure I am," Shelby said, pausing for breath by lean-
ing against a wall. "You're kicking the crap out of me."
    "Perhaps. But I play regularly, and my body is ac-
customed to functioning at this hour. You're in an unfa-
miliar sport at an odd time of day. If I were not kicking
the crap out of you, there would be something seriously
wrong with me."
    Shelby laughed. "You make it sound like I should be
proud that I'm losing."
    "You should be. There are others I've played who
would have left the court by this time, or even earlier.
Then again, I haven't played many women. Mostly I've
played against men." She shook her head, sounding a
bit annoyed. "I know that, by and large, they are the
weaker sex, but one would have thought they would
have a bit more intestinal fortitude than that. Come."
She gestured for Shelby to follow her, which she did.
Mueller crossed to a food slot and said, ''Two Mueller
specials."
    After only a moment's pause, the slot door slid open
and two small glasses of some sort of colored liquid
were inside. Mueller took one and sipped it, extended
the other to Shelby. "Here" she said. "Only drink a lit-
tle. It goes a long way, plus you wouldn't want to fill
up with liquid. You'll cramp."
    "What is it?" It didn't smell particularly inviting to
Shelby.
    "My own special blend. Very high in electrolytes.
Just what you need."
  Shelby braced herself and took a sip. It smelled
worse than it tasted. And she had to admit that Mueller
knew what she was talking about; just a small bit of it
reinvigorated her. "This is excellent. Thank you."
    "Odd, isn't it?" said Mueller philosophically. She sat
on a small bench nearby, the racquet dangling from a
loop around her wrist, squeezing the glowing ball ab-
sently in her hand. "Humanity considers itself so ad-
vanced. We look to our ancestors, see the racism, the
hatred, the pointless wars, and we pat ourselves on
the back over how far we've come. And yet, the male
ego remains a universal constant, after all this time.
Men get much more upset when I beat them than
women do."
    "Well, to be fair, there are other universal constants
besides the male ego," said Shelby.
    "Female superiority?" Mueller suggested, which
drew a laugh from Shelby.
    "Yes, that. And stupidity. Stupidity is a major univer-
sal constant. Despite what scientists say otherwise, stu-
pidity is probably the most common element in the
entire universe. And there are others."
  "There certainly are. Another round?"
    "Why not?" said Shelby gamely, slapping her thighs
as she rose.
    Shelby fared slightly better the second time around.
She still wasn't Mueller's match in technique, but she
started watching Mueller more carefully and saw that it
wasn't so much that Mueller wasn't moving. It was
that, through a combination of patience and practice,
she was anticipating where the ball was going to go. So
instead of playing catch up, trying to make it to where
the ball was (as Shelby was doing) Mueller was mov-
ing to where the ball was going to be and heading it off
before it could take additional bounces or build up
more speed to stay away from her. So Shelby started
imitating the style of play. Naturally she wasn't quite as
deft at it as Mueller was. But every now and then she
managed to get to the ball earlier than she had been,
and send it off in unexpected directions that would sur-
prise Mueller and make her work a bit more than she
had anticipated. Mueller smiled in grim appreciation
and approval. "Very good," she said after one particu-
larly invigorating and lengthy volley that Shelby had
won.
  "Thank you."
    "You're watching me and learning. A very good
practice."
 "Thank you."
    Another sip of Mueller's brew, and then Mueller
said, "So why the difficulty sleeping? I assume that's
why you're here."
    "Oh, it's nothing. Stupidity. Nothing of any real sig-
nificance."
 "Ah. I see. It's a man, then."
    Shelby laughed and shook her head. "Do you have a
problem with men?" she asked. "You seem very critical
of them."
    "A problem? No. No, not at all" said Mueller. She
removed her kerchief which was soaked with sweat by
that point, and waved it about to dry it a bit. "Actually,
I get along with most men quite well."
 "Yet you seem to enjoy picking on them."
    "Well," said Mueller wryly, "they are fairly easy tar-
gets. So this man you're losing sleep over... is he
worth it?"
    "Is he worth it? Yes. Is the relationship worth it?
I don't know. Is the relationship smart? Definitely
not."
    "Ah. One of those," Mueller nodded knowingly. "Do
you want to tell me who it is?"
    "Nab. It's not really worth dwelling on." She looked
at Mueller askance. "Have you ever lost sleep over a
man?"
"Only during activities that make it difficult to sleep."
It was difficult for Shelby to tell when Mueller was
joking. She said everything with the same deadpan. She
either had a wicked sense of humor, or no sense of
humor. Shelby couldn't quite make up her mind.  
"I see. Ever had a shipboard romance?"
    "Once. Probably it would be best if I didn't discuss
it."
  "Okay. I understand."
    Mueller readied herself to serve again, and Shelby
felt a wall going up between the two of them. She sud-
denly felt, not for the first time, a keen loneliness. The
truth was that she didn't have many friends aboard the
ship, and certainly no one who was her peer in rank.
She felt as if she and Mueller were making tentative
steps toward friendship with one another, but their mu-
mM tendency toward internalizing and caution was now
getting in the way of that.
    The bottom line was, she liked Mueller. She wasn't
sure why, but she did. She seemed dependable and
forthright, someone whom she could count on. In many
ways, they were quite similar, and there was a lot that
they could build upon. The thing was, they could only
go so far as long as they kept their guards solidly in
place.
    What the hell, thought Shelby. A little honesty won't
hurt. Half the time everyone on this ship finds out
everyone else's business anyway, so for all she knew,
word would be out about her and Calhoun's unexpected
romantic embrace. She didn't think Calhoun would
broadcast it, but nevertheless these things somehow
tended to leak.
    So just as Mueller served the ball, Shelby said, "Cal-
houn. Captain Calhoun."
    Mueller turned and stared at her, eyes wide open,
clearly dumbfounded. "How did you know?"
  "What?" Shelby saw the ball coming, returned it.
    As if she were psychic, Mueller returned the serve
without even glancing at it. "How did you know that it
was Captain Calhoun I had the shipboard romance
with?"
    Shelby spun, gaped... and the ricocheting ball hit
her in the head.
    "Are you all right?" Mueller asked. She held three
fingers up in front of Shelby. "How many fingers do
you see?"
 "Ninety" said Shelby.
    "Here. Let's sit you down on the bench. Do you want
me to call sickbay?"
    Shelby took a deep breath and shook off her disori-
entation. "It's all right. I'U be all right."
    "You didn't answer me. How did you know about me
and Mac?"
    Shelby steadied herself and forced a smile.
"Well... it seems a natural fit, that's all. The two of
you are a lot alike... and you've got the scars. As I
said, natural."
 "I didn't think it was that obvious."
    "Well, when you know exactly what to look for,
things become that much more obvious. So how long
have you and the captain been..." She waggled her
fingers while, at the same time, trying to fight down
mounting incredulity.
    She felt slightly relieved, though, when Mueller said,
"Oh. It hasn't been here. On the Grissom. We were in-
volved on the Grissom."  "Oh."
    Mueller looked surprised. "What, you thought it was
here? Now?"
  "I wasn't sure..."
    "Definitely not." She shook her head. "This was
back before he was a captain. Not now. Oh, no, you'd
have to be ten kinds of stupid to become romantically
involved with a ship's captain."  "You think so?"
    "Oh, absolutely. The captain has far too many re-
sponsibilities. The last thing he or she needs is to
form some sort of romantic attachment to a member
of the crew. It would totally affect the way he con-
ducted himself. It would invite charges of preferential
treatment, no matter how even-handed the captain
was. And besides, let's face it: A captain is usually
married to his ship, and he's got a thousand or so chil-
dren he calls the crew to look after. Not that they nec-
essarily need looking after, you understand, but that's
the mindset they come from. Oh, involvement with a
captain is just too much trouble. It's a huge amount of
aggravation, and more than anyone could possibly
need."
      "So you would never become romantically involved
with the captain now, despite what happened before."
  "Never. Absolutely no way."
    Shelby nodded and took a sip of Mueller's special
brew.
  'Td sleep with him though," said Mueller by way of
finishing a thought.
      It was all Shelby could do not to cough up the liquid
through her nose. "What?" she managed to get out.
"But you just said you'd never..."
    "Become romantic, fight. Sex isn't about romance.
Sex is about exercise, relaxation, and letting off steam."
    "You make it sound like rocketball" protested Shel-
by.
    "It is a little," she admitted. "Although with me, sex
is more of a game than rocketball."
      Shelby leaned back and let her head thud against the
wall. "You know, Katerina--"  "Kat."
    "You know, Kat, in a lot of ways, I don't understand
you at all."
    "Good" Mueller said approvingly. "I value my mys-
tique. So tell me--I've been candid with you--who is
the man who's been keeping you up at nights. I told
you, after all."
    "You didn't tell me. I guessed. One guess is all it
took."
  "I see. So if I guess, then you'll tell me."
  '~Fhis is a stupid game, Kat"
  "It's simply seeking a bit of equity. Since--"
    "Fine, fine," Shelby said impatiently. "Go ahead.
One guess"
    Mueller leaned back, her eyes appearing to search
the inside of her skull. She chewed on her lip a mo-
ment, then leaned forward once more and looked
straight into Shelby's eyes. "Captain Calhoun," she
said.
     Shelby did not so much as blink. Her face was a
carefully maintained deadpan.
  "Wrong;' she said.
  "Really? I was sure--"
  "Wrong."
    Mueller shrugged. "All right. Keep it to yourself, if it
will make you happy."
    It did not, in fact, make Shelby happy at all. And she
was beginning to wonder if anything ever would.

Burgoyne was having trouble sleeping as well.
Unlike Shelby, however, s/he had no idea in the least
what was causing it. S/he felt a vague uneasiness in hit
stomach, but was at a loss to determine what was
wrong. S/he reviewed the contents of what s/he had
eaten that day, but it hadn't been anything unusual. So
it likely wasn't food poisoning. It could be some sort of
virus or bug, but the symptoms seemed so free floating.
One moment there was a discomfort in hir stomach, the
next it was an achiness in hir joints. "Computer" s/he
said at one point, "am I running a fever?"
    "Scanning," said the computer, and then after a mo-
ment, said, "Negative. Your present body temperature is
well within Hermat norms"
    "Atmosphere control: Room temperature at request-
ed standard?"
  "Affirmative."
    Yet s/he felt clammy. It was nothing but confusing to
hir. Finally some instinct prompted hir to sit up and say,
"Burgoyne to Selar."
    There was a long pause, with no response. "Bur-
goyne to Selar" s/he repeated.
    "Burgoyne;' came Selar's tired voice, "do you have
any notion what time it is?"
  "I'm not feeling well and I don't know why."
    "You are in luck. There is this brand new invention
called 'sickbay.' It is staffed with another new inven-
tion, called a 'night shift.' Go complain to them."
  "! was wondering if..." Burgoyne wished that Selar
was with hir instead of simply being a disembodied
voice over the intercom. "I was wondering if it might
be connected to you somehow."
      "That is very unlikely. Go to sickbay or go to sleep.
Either way. But leave me alone."  "Selar, perhaps--"
    "Burgoyne," and there was a faintly dangerous edge
to her voice, "as much as you enjoy the pleasure of my
company: If you make me come down there, I will kill
you. Is that clear?"
     The word "but" died aborning in Burgoyne's mouth.
Instead s/he rather wisely said, "Clear." 
"Excellent. Good night."
    With Selar's voice gone, Burgoyne leaned back in hir
bed, moaned softly as hir stomach ached, and then
rolled over as best s/he could and went back to a fitful
sleep.

v.

CALHOUN LOOKED UP FROM HIS DESK in the ready room
as Shelby walked in and stood there, her hands draped
behind her. "You wished to see me, Captain?" she
asked.
    "Yes" he sighed. He took a deep breath, rose, and
said, "Commander... I wish to apologize, formally
and for the record, for my inappropriate behavior of the
other day. Our previous relationship prompted me to
act incorrectly in this relationship. If you wish to file
formal charges or grievances with Starfleet, I will
freely admit to the--"
    "Oh, Mac, please, knock it off;' she said. "Why are
you saying all this?"
    "Because it is the fight thing to say in accordance
with regulations when one has given offense in the
manner that I believe I did," Calhoun told her, "and
since you've always been someone with great respect
for the regs, I knew you'd appreciate it if I attended to
them in this instance."
      She actually laughed softly. "Because you do it so
infrequently, you mean?"  "Partly, yes."
    "Mac," she said, "we have history. I took this posi-
tion knowing that, and knowing that it might come up
someday in our... interactions. And I know that
you've been under a good deal of stress lately. You've
held up under it well with your usual blend of stoicism
and smart-ass remarks, but I know that Xyon's pres-
ence has been very difficult for you. Is it something
you want to talk about?" she asked solicitously.
    "At the moment I'm too busy being stoic," he said.
"But when I'm feeling sharper, perhaps then I will."
 "Okay. Well, the point is... I'm not dwelling on it."
 "You're not?"
    "No. I haven't given it a moment's thought since it
happened. It's not like I'm losing sleep over it."
    "Well, that's..." He snfiled. "That's good to hear. I
think we have a fairly solid working relationship here,
Commander. I would hate to think I'd jeopardized it."
  "You haven't. Don't give it another thought."
  She extended a hand then, and he shook it firmly.
  And that was when they heard the massive sneeze.
  They looked at each other and Calhoun said, "What
  was that?"
     Suddenly Kebron's voice filtered through. "Cap-
tain... Kebron here. Your attention, please." 
"Right there, Mr. Kebron."
    "We're on final approach for Fenner" said Shelby as
Calhoun came around the desk. "It's probably in regard
to that. Let's hope it's not too big a problem."
  "We can hope it, but let's expect that it is."
    They walked out onto the bridge and Kebron said,
without preamble, "Captain, long range sensors have
detected--"
    From his command chair in the center of the bridge,
Calhoun put up a hand to momentarily quiet Kebron.
"Let me guess," he said. "A Redeemer war vessel."
  "Yes, sir."
    Shelby turned to Calhoun and said, "Good guess,
sir."
  "It wasn't a guess. Are we close enough for a visual?"
    "Puddin it onscreen, Cabdin," said Robin Lefler
from ops.
    Calhoun and Shelby both turned to Lefler, and Cal-
houn was mildly appalled at what he saw. Her eyes
were puffy, the edges of her nose red and crusting. Her
lips were chapped. "Good lord, what's happened to
you, Ensign?"
  "Nothin, Cabdin. Uhm fine."
    "You're not fine. You look like an elephant sat on
your face."
    "Very colorful description, Captain" Shelby said,
wincing.
  "Ids juza liddle cold."
      "Well, look at her, for pity's sake! The poor woman
can barely breathe. Ensign, get down to sickbay"
  "Uhm nod sick," she said stubbornly.
    From conn, Mark McHenry said, 'Tve been telling
her to clear out of here; she wouldn't listen to me, sir. If
she were any more in denial, she'd be Cleopatra."
    There were blank stares from everyone on the
bridge.
    "Denial. The Nile," McHenry explained. "Cleopatra
was Queen of--"

    "We get it, Lieutenant," said Shelby. "We're just not
sure why you thought it was funny."
    "Lefler, get out of here, now. That's an order" said
Calhoun, having had enough. "Boyajian, take over at
ops."
    Lefler tried to protest, but momentarily choked on a
wad of phlegm and thus was unable to put forward any-
thing approaching a convincing argument. Giving in to
the inevitable, she got up from her post and headed into
the turbolift. Meanwhile, Boyajian eased into the ops
station and moments later an image of Fenner appeared
on the screen.
    "Where is ..." began Calhoun, but then he pointed.
"I see it. Right there."
    Moving in slow orbit around the planet, and com-
ing into view from the other side, was a Redeemer
vessel.
    Calhoun gave a low whistle and said, "Big son of a
bitch. If Burgoyne wasn't happy about the prospect of
going into batfie with a standard Redeemer warship,
s/he's really going to hate this. Soleta, give me a full
scan. Are there any others around?"
    Soleta fed the tactical array through her science sta-
tion. "No, sir."
    "Any possibly hanging in warp space? Or with a
cloak?"
    "Not detecting any approaching vessels. No emis-
sions outputs that would suggest a cloak."
 "Still," Kebron added gravely, "anything's possible."
 "I know."
    "Captain, it's breaking out of orbit. Heading for us at
a slow intercept course."
 "Slow, Mr. Boyajian?"
 "She's not moving in any sort of aggressive manner,
sir. We are not targeted, nor are they running weapons
hot. They're just... heading this way."
    "To let us know that they've spotted us;' suggested
Shelby.
    Calhoun nodded. "And we've spotted them. So far,
we're even. Mr. Kebron, take us to yellow alert. I won't
take the first aggressive action, but I'm sure as hell
going to be prepared."
    "Going to yellow alert, aye," affirmed Kebron.
Within moments, the entire ship was at a state of pre-
paredness. The shields were on line, although none of
the phasers or photon torpedos had been brought to
bear.
    "Scan their ship. Do they have sufficient fire power
to overwhelm us?" asked Calhoun.
  "Short answer: Yes," said Kebron after a moment.
    Out of curiosity, Calhoun asked, "What's the long
answer?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Ah."
    "Their weapons still remain offiine," said Soleta
from her station. "They're not doing anything threaten-
ing. In point of fact, we're taking the more threatening
posture at the moment."
    "Possibly because we feel more threatened," com-
mented Shelby.
    "Nor have they raised shields" said Soleta. "Thus far
they've yet to take any offensive or defensive action at
all"
    "Sir" Kebron said abruptly. "We're being hailed by
the Redeemer vessel."
    "Are we now? How very interesting. All right, Lieu-
tenant. Put them onscreen. Let's see what they have
to say."

    The screen wavered for a moment... and then Cal-
houn was looking at someone who had a face so dark it
was almost obsidian, and red eyes that seemed to glow
with an almost unholy fire. "Captain Mackenzie Cal-
houn," he said. He was speaking so softly that Calhoun
had to strain to hear. He had a feeling that was the
point.
  "I'm Captain Calhoun. And you are... ?"
 "I... am the Overlord of the Redeemers."
    Shelby and Calhoun exchanged glances. There was
clear surprise on her face. "The Overlord himself," said
Calhoun. "You are the leader of the Redeemers, as I re-
call."
 'q'hat is correct."
 "Should I feel honored... or worded?"
    "A bit of both." Something resembling a smile actu-
ally passed over the Overlord's face. "As I'm sure
your very capable instrumentation has already in-
formed you, we are not approaching you in any sort of
aggressive fashion. I was hoping that we might...
talk."
 "We are talking."
 "In person."
    Calhoun could feel all eyes from the bridge crew
upon him. "In person?"
    "Yes. Face to face. My shuttle vessel stands ready to
bring me and my entourage over to you."
    "It is my understanding," Calhoun said slowly, "that
such an action can have a certain degree of risk at-
tached to it. I seem to recall, for example, that if the
blood of a Redeemer is spilled, that releases a virus ca-
pable of wiping out an entire planet's population in a
fairly short time. How do I know that such a device
wouldn't be brought aboard the ship. You may be sim-
ply endeavoring to destroy us in a new and simplified
manner."
    "I appreciate your caution and borderline paranoia,
Captain."
    "There's an old saying, Overlord: Just because you're
paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to get you."
    "I daresay. Indeed, I daresay. Very well, then. It is my
understanding that your matter transport devices are
equipped with an array of screens designed to detect
and eliminate any such potentially hazardous conta-
gions. Instead of coming to you in my shuttle vessel--
as decorum would dictate--I shall allow myself and my
associates to be brought over via your transporter. Be-
fore rematerializing us, you can scan our molecular
make-up for any inappropriate viruses or similar conta-
gions that could present a threat to you." He smiled
once more. It was not a comforting facial expression. "I
am bearing all the risk now, captain. After all, once I am
in the grip of your transporter beams, I am entirely at
your mercy. You could disperse our molecules over half
the sector if you took a mind to. Deal the Redeemers a
devastating blow by doing away with their leader with
just the touch of a transporter control. If I am willing to
incur risks, should you not be willing to as well? Partic-
ularly considering that--admit it--you are intrigued to
know why I would want to meet with you."
    "That is certainly true enough," said Calhoun. "All
right, Overlord. I think a face-to-face meeting can be
arranged. Provided you tell me, ahead of time, what the
reason for the meeting is."
    "That is simple. The reason is nothing less than the
preservation of the Redeemer race... and it is entirely
possible that only you can help us."
  "Let them die!"
    It was the fifth time that Si Cwan had said that in as
many minutes. He was walking down the corridor next
to Calhoun, with Shelby on the other side of the cap-
tain. "Do you have any idea how much strife those ob-
sidian bastards have caused the ThaiIonians? Going
around space, convening people to worship of their
precious Xant on pain of death. They're monsters! And
if they're in some sort of trouble, then we would be
monsters for helping them."
    "And eighty years ago, the Klingon homeworld un-
derwent an ecological disaster, prompting them to
launch a major peace initiative," Shelby pointed out.
"And there were lots of people in the Federation who
were saying the exact same thing you are fight now,
Ambassador. But the Klingons wound up becoming the
staunchest allies the Federation ever knew. And the les-
son to be learned from that--"
    "Is that you were all damned lucky. The Klingons
could just as easily have used the respite to rebuild
their empire and attack you with newer and greater
aggressiveness. Just because you were fortunate once
doesn't mean you should count on it again. Besides,
it was one thing when the entirety of the Klingon
Empire was approaching the entirety of the Federa-
tion. This is the entirety of the Redeemers, incarnated
in their supreme leader, approaching a lone ship who
has proven to be a source of constant irritation and
embarrassment. There is no upside here, Captain. Ei-
ther it's a trick that we're falling into, or else they re-
ally do need our help, in which case we'd be fools to
provide it."
    "I'm going to listen to them, Si Cwan. It's about time
that you dealt with that fact. Just because I'm listening,
however, doesn't mean I'm throwing caution to the
wind. So calm down."
Si Cwan rolled his eyes. "Madness. It is madness."
They entered the transporter room and stopped. Zak
Kebron was standing there, arms folded. "Lieutenant,
how did you get here before us?" asked Calhoun. "You
left the bridge a few moments after us." This was not
unusual practice for Kebron; because of his bulk, he
did not fit comfortably in the turbolift with others and
avoided it if he could.
  "I hurried," said Kebron.
    Shelby cast a confused glance at transporter chief
Polly Watson, who smiled and shook her head. "He
contacted me from the bridge and asked me to beam
him down here."
  "She lies," Kebron said archly.
  Calhoun didn't pursue it.
    Standing next to Watson was Burgoyne, who in-
clined hir head in greeting. Burgoyne's presence didn't
surprise Calhoun at all. Whenever there was anything
unusual in the offing for a transport, Burgoyne tended
to be present.
    "Well, Watson?" asked Calhoun. "Have we heard
from the Redeemers?"
    From behind the transporter controls, she said
briskly, "I have their coordinates, sir. Ready to beam
them over."
  "Where's Dr. Selar?"
    The door hissed open and Selar stepped slowly in.
Calhoun looked at her. She looked like an overripe
melon. He did not, however, say that. "Thank you for
joining us, Doctor." He noticed that although Burgoyne
wasn't taking hir eyes off Selar, the doctor was barely
glancing at hir. Trouble in paradise, it seemed.

    She nodded, and then said, "Understand this caveat,
Captain: I have had no opportunity to perform detailed
research of Redeemer physiology. I can provide some
degree of guidance, but there are no absolutes in this
instance."
    "You're saying that if somehow they trick us and,
within minutes of their showing up on this vessel,
we're all dead... don't come crying to you about it."
  "That is basically correct, yes."
    "Your 'caveat' is duly noted, Doctor. All fight, Wat-
son. Commence beam-over."
    If she had the notion that she might well be beaming
over something that would destroy everyone on the
ship, she didn't give any indication of it. Instead Wat-
son simply said, "Energizing."
    The transporter beams hummed to life and the pads
flickered in their customary fashion. And then, after a
few moments, Watson said, "All right... freezing the
transport, as ordered. They're in stasis." Burgoyne
checked the readings and nodded hir approval.
    Calhoun and Shelby stepped aside as Selar waddled
to the pattern scanners. "All right... let us see what we
have."
 "Bio readings coming through now."
    Selar's eyes narrowed as she took it all in. "There are
three of them," she said after a moment. "Hmm. Inter-
esting physiology. I will probably want to study these
at my leisure. Their circulatory system is--"
    "With all respect, Doctor, is this remotely pertinent
to the issue at hand?" asked Shelby.
    "Very likely not." She studied the patterns for what
seemed a very long time. But no one was inclined to
rush her. Not for a matter of such significance, at any
rate. "Keeping in mind the cautions I presented to you
earlier... I do not detect, anywhere in their bodies, any
sort of organism or entity that could be interpreted as a
virus. Not in any form, active or inactive."
    "So you think we can materialize them here and be
safe."
    "No, I think you can reassemble them in the heart of
the FennerJan sun and be safe. If you bring them on,
there remains a risk of something that I have over-
looked. Not that I do not appreciate your putting this
much pressure on me, Captain, that the likelihood of
whether everyone on this ship will live or die is resting
largely on my say-so. That is, after all, why I have
taken on this position. To provide expert advice while
commanding officers try to determine whether they
should risk the lives of all aboard."
    There was dead silence for a moment. Calhoun
glanced warily at Shelby. She shrugged.
      "All right... thank you for your insight, Doctor;'
Calhoun told her. "Let's bring them aboard, Watson."
  "Aye, sir."
    The transporter beams shimmered to life once more
after having kept the Redeemers in stasis, and the three
of them appeared on the transporter pad.
    For a moment, Calhoun thought that the time in
stasis had had some sort of adverse effect on them, or
perhaps Watson had simply screwed up. For the Re-
deemers had to be the shortest master race he had
ever met. The Overlord barely came to Calhoun's
chest.
      "Greetings," said the Overlord. "Did you do as I sug-
gested, Captain? Keep us in stasis and scan us?"
  "Yes, we did."
    "Impressive. For us the process was instantaneous.
This," he indicated the Redeemer to his right, "is
my assistant, Prime One. And this is a nameless re-
tainer."
    "I see. Well, we here on the Excalibur all have
names. This is Commander Elizabeth Shelby. This is
Doctor Selar, our chief medical officer. Zak Kebron,
head of security. Chief Engineer Burgoyne 172. Trans-
porter chief Polly Watson. And this is--"
    "Lord Si Cwan." The Overlord had bowed slightly to
each of them in turn, but to Si Cwan he bowed the most
deeply. "We have had dealings in the past. I see that
you have turned to this vessel for aid, Lord Cwan, just
as we have done. On that basis, I imagine that you can
be expected to be sympathetic to our cause."
    "I would rejoice in the annihilation of your race," Si
Cwan said.
 Calhoun sighed inwardly.
    "Yore' antipathy is understandable, Lord Cwan." The
Overlord studied Selar for a moment. "By the disten-
tion of the middle of your body, can I take it to indicate
that you are with child?" "Yes."
    "I'm the father," Burgoyne said, sounding rather
cheerful about it. Selar remained stoic, as always, but
Calhoun thought he detected a slight rolling of her
eyes.
    Then, to Calhoun's surprise, the Overlord suddenly
put one hand on Selar's stomach and the other on Bur-
goyne's shoulder. Kebron took a quick step forward,
clearly concerned over some sort of attack, but the
Overlord closed his eyes and said mildly, "May the
wisdom of Xant be given this child. May he bring pride
to you in all his future endeavors." He removed his
hands then and bowed once more in Selar's direction,
then Burgoyne's, and then turned to Calhoun and said,
"What good comes from anything that we do... unless
there is a new generation to do it for? Don't you agree,
Captain?"
    Thoughts of Xyon briefly crossed his mind, and
then he pushed them away. "Absolutely," he said. "If
you wouldn't mind coming this way, Overlord...
do you have a name, by the way, other than your
title?"
    "We have no names, in that our individuality does
not matter. All that is significant is what position we
hold relative to our service of Xant. I am the Overlord.
Prime One is my prime assistant. That is all that is re-
quired. And as for the individual Redeemers, nothing
more is required than that they know that they are Re-
deemers."
    "A simple 'no' would have sufficed, but I appreciate
the insight. This way, then. Commander Shelby, if you
wouldn't mind conducting our little group to the con-
ference lounge on deck nine?"
    Calhoun made certain that he hung toward the back
with Si Cwan, and as they headed toward the confer-
ence lounge, he said in a low voice, "'I would rejoice
in the annihilation of your race' ? What the hell was that
about?"
  "It is how I feel."
    "Grozit, Cwan, I don't give a danm how you feel.
Your function on this ship, such as it is, is as an ambas-
sador of good will. No matter how much you may per-
sonally dislike the Redeemers--no matter how much I
may dislike them--the bottom line is, Shelby is right.
They represent, at the moment, potential allies, and our
mission to provide aid and relief in this sector of space
becomes that much easier if they're with us than if
they're against us."

    "You do not understand, Captain, and there is noth-
ing more that I can say that will make you understand.
But you will. Sooner or later--most likely sooner--the
Redeemers will make you understand. Let us simply
hope that it is not too late when that happens."

    Shelby had to admit it; the Overlord certainly had a
knack for looking imperial. He sat in a common, ordi-
nary chair in the conference lounge in such a way that
he made it look like a throne. And he, the imperious
king, belonged there. Prime One and the nameless Re-
deemer stood on either side. When Shelby had indicat-
ed that they should sit, they politely shook their heads
but said nothing else otherwise.
    Grouped around the table were Calhoun, Kebron,
Si Cwan (who never took his gaze off the Overlord,
as if expecting him to pull a weapon at any moment)
and Soleta. Soleta had actually had a brush with
the Redeemers many years before. Of all the Star-
fleet personnel on the ship, only Soleta had spent any
extensive time in ThaiIonian space, exploring the
region surreptitiously back when it was still closed
to outsiders. She had been on a world that was
converted by the Redeemers and had had the oppor-
tunity to see them at work close up. To hear her
tell of it, they had functioned with ruthless effi-
ciency. The Redeemers in action, according to So-
leta, were a terror to behold. Yet she was able to
sit one seat away from the Overlord of the Re-
deemers and look at him with such a bland expres-
sion that Shelby couldn't help but admire her
sangfroid. Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn't do
her some good to go to Vulcan and study there for a
couple of years.
    "All right, Overlord," Calhoun said, leaning back in
his chair, "you have all our attention. So why don't
you--"
    The door hissed open and Shelby, as did the others,
looked up in surprise. Standing there were Xyon and
Kalinda. Shelby noticed that Kalinda's hand had, a split
second earlier, been brushing against Xyon's, but now
they were simply next to each other.
    "Hello," Xyon said evenly. "I was hoping, if it
wouldn't be too much trouble, that we might be able to
sit in on this meeting."
    "May I ask why you feel your presence is neces-
sary?" asked Calhoun.
    "Well, it so happens that of everyone in this room,
we had the most recent experience with the Redeem-
ers... including this gentleman right here," said Xyon,
indicating the Overlord. He was smiling in an exces-
sively polite fashion... so much so, that Shelby imme-
diately sensed danger. "As a matter of fact... he tried
to kill me. Thought he did so, in fact. Left me for dead.
Isn't that right, Overlord? And tortured Kalinda as well.
That's right too, isn't it?"
    There was a deathly silence and then the Overlord
said, quite coolly, "Yes. That is right. Although the
young lady was somewhat paler at the time."
    "You torture my sister... try to kill the son of our
captain .... and now you sit here looking for this ship
to help you out of a problem?" said Si Cwan, barely
containing his anger.
    The Overlord never came close to losing his compo-
sure. "I did not know them for who they were... at
least, not at first. Nor, obviously, did I know that I
would at some point require your assistance. Had I
been aware of any of this, then naturally I would likely
had done some things differently. It is too late to go
back. We can only go forward"
    "Xyon... Kalinda... you may stay, if you keep in
mind that you are here as guests," Calhoun said. "And
you will be expected to conduct yourselves as such.
Understood?"
    They nodded and took seats as far from the Overlord
as possible. Shelby imagined that she could feel the
temperature in the room dropping a good thirty de-
grees. She wouldn't have been surprised if her breath
started coming out of her mouth as mist.
    "As I was saying," continued Calhoun, "why don't
you tell us what this is about, Overlord, and we'll see
how perhaps we can be of service to one another."
    "I will come right to the point" said the Overlord, al-
though coming to the point didn't stop him from pans-
ing, possibly for dramatic effect. "The Black Mass is
migrating toward our homeworld"
    Shelby had the feeling that this was something that
should have had a tremendous impact on her, from the
way that the Overlord was saying it. Unfortunately, she
had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.
    But then she saw Si Cwan stiffen, looking as if he'd
been stunned with a cattle prod. Kalinda likewise had a
strong reaction, and even Soleta looked perturbed.
    "All right," Calhoun said slowly. "Who wants to fill
me in?"
    "It is... a terrible thing" said Si Cwan, and from
the gravity of his tone, it was clear to Shelby that he
was speaking from first-hand experience. "I saw
them... it... once, many years ago. It is horrible. I
wouldn't wish it on anyone."
    "On almost anyone," Kalinda said, firing a resentful
look at the Overlord. The Overlord ignored it.
"And what would them, or it, be precisely?"
"Precisely, Captain... no one is quite certain," Sole-
ta said. "The Black Mass is a 'thing,' for lack of a bet-
ter phrase. It is either a single creature or millions of
smaller creatures combined into one ~eat creature; no
one is quite certain, and descriptions vary. It resides in
an area of space colloquially known as the Hunger
Zone, situated in the outskirts of ThaiIonian space.
Computer, Section Alpha Zed Eighty-three."
    On the screen on the wall of the conference lounge, a
sector of ThaiIonian space came up. Shelby was imme-
diately struck by how little was charted.
    "Think of it as the Marianas Trench of ThaiIonian
space," continued Soleta. "Any endeavors to explore
there have been unsuccessful. Probes have been dis-
abled..."
  "Eaten" said Si Cwan.
    "Whatever" Soleta told him. "The point is, no scien-
tific investigation of the nature of the Black Mass has
ever been made."
  "How big is it?"
    "As big as it needs to be, Captain," said Si Cwan. "I
saw it consume an entire world."
    "An entire world?" said Shelby. "Si Cwan, you said
you were a child at the time. Is it possible you're misre-
memberrag... ?"
    "No. It is not. Nor will I forget when it ate the
sun..."
    There were outright sounds of skepticism then from
Zak Kebron, and even Calhoun seemed incredulous. "A
sun ? You mean an entire star? Some entity actually ate
an entire star?"
    It was rare that Shelby saw Calhoun quite that doubt-
ful, but she had to admit that she understood why he
was reacting with such astonishment. The concepts that
they were describing seemed not only beyond the realm
of possibility, but beyond comprehension. "How can
something eat a star?" Shelby said.
    "If you come to Tulaan IV, you will be able to ask
the Black Mass yourself" said the Overlord dryly.
    "I must say that what we are heating," said Soleta,
"is in fact consistent with anecdotal evidence. Not
only what others have said, but what I myself have
observed. I went to one site that was allegedly assault-
ed by the Black Mass. My charts indicated that there
was supposed to be a star there... but there was
nothing. I think it difficult to misplace an entire star,
don't you?"
    "I'm sure that the vessel I was on as a youth record-
ed the event," said Si Cwan, "but naturally obtaining
such records will be a bit problematic, considering my
homeworld was devoured by a gigantic flmning bird.
And might I add, captain, that since you witnessed such
an unlikely event with your own eyes, you be a little
less quick to question the likelihood of that which you
consider 'beyond comprehension.'"
    "Point taken," admitted Calhoun. "All fight... just
for the sake of argument... let's say this thing is real.
It comes out of this Hunger Zone whenever it feels like
it, eats whatever it feels like, and then disappears into
the Hunger Zone for... ?"
 "There is no set time. Years," said Si Cwan.
    "We keep watch on the Hunger Zone, just as we
keep watch on many things that have impact on our
sector" said the Overlord. "We detected the Black
Mass swarming from the Hunger Zone, and we tracked
its trajectory. By calculating its present course, we
found that it will make contact with Tulaan 1V and,
presumably, devour it--and, equally presumably, our
sun--possibly within days."
    "But I'm looking at where the Hunger Zone is...
and I know basically where your homeworld is" said
Calhoun. "Travelling at sublight speeds, it would take
years for this--"
  "Not years. It moves at warp speeds."
    "Oh, come on!" Even Shelby was finding it impossi-
ble to deal with everything that was being tossed at her.
"A biological creature travelling at faster than the speed
of light? And yes, yes, I know, the damned Great Bird
moved faster than the speed of light, but I would have
liked to think that was a one-time occurrence, not
something that was routine."
    "You may think whatever you wish" said the Over-
lord. "The point is, this is what is going to be happen-
ing, and this is the difficulty with which we are faced."
    "So you're saying that you want us to help prevent
this Black Mass from destroying your world."
    "Impossible," said Si Cwan flatly. "Nothing can stop
the Black Mass. Nothing. I suggest that if your planet
is targeted, you leave. Believe me, there are others
who did not have such an opportunity. I watched them
die."
    "Now wait a minute," said Calhoun. "What hap-
pened then, and what might happen now, is not neces-
sarily the same thing. Perhaps we can do something."
  "We can't," Si Cwan said.
    "We have been known to be fairly resourceful, Ambas-
sador, from time to time" said Shelby, but she was start-
ing to wonder. From everything she was hearing about
this Black Mass, she was beginning to question just what
one starship could possibly do. A fleet, perhaps...
  "The Black Mass must be destroyed," said the Over-
lord. There did not seem to be any sign of compromise
in his tone.
    "Wait one moment," said Shelby. "If this is a sentient
being, we can't just go in with guns blazing..."
  "It wouldn't matter if we did," Si Cwan said again.
    "We're not murderers," Shelby continued. "That's
not what Starfleet is all about. We would "
    "You would what?" It was Prime One who had spo-
ken. Then he hesitated, but a nod from the Overlord
clearly encouraged him. "Try to converse with the
Black Mass? Strike up a chat? Endeavor to talk it out of
its intentions? Commander, with all respect, you speak
thus because you have not witnessed the Black Mass in
action. If you had, you would know that any such ef-
forts would be doomed to failure."
  "Starfleet has a Prime Directive, doesn't it?"
    It was Xyon who had spoken, and all eyes turned to
him. Kalinda looked mildly amused. "For someone
who seemed to have no interest in Starfleet, you seem
rather conversant with its rules" she said.
    "A Prime Directive," continued Xyon, "that says you
cannot interfere. Correct?"
  "Yes,' said Calhoun evenly.
    "If this Black Mass is, in fact, some sort of sentient
creature... I don't see where you can interfere with it,
then. It's just going about its business. And if the Re-
deemers are having problems, why then, it's the Re-
deemers' problems. Can't interfere with that either.
Way I see it, you don't have a choice. You have to stay
out of it."
    There were looks passed around the table. "He
brings up a valid point," Shelby said.
    "A valid point?" said the Overlord. "Nonsense. There
is no rule that says Starfleet must stand by when there
is an invasion of another world. That is what this is. An
invasion."
    "But Tulaan IV is not a world that we necessarily
need care about," Calhoun pointed out. "It is populat-
ed-with all respect--by a race who has shown itself
time and again to be very aggressive."
    "And you have shown yourself, time and again, Cap-
tain, to be someone who does what he feels needs to be
done, regardless of rules. I am aware of your activities,
and any number of them fall outside the parameters of
your Prime Directive," said the Overlord. "You can
help... if you want to."
    "And why should he want to?" Xyon said, and there
was no mistaking the anger in his voice.
    "It is not your concern, boy;' said the Overlord. "And
I suggest you hold your tongue, lest I be forced to teach
you another lesson in manners."
    Xyon's anger was clearly bubbling over. He was out
of his chair and he took a step toward the Overlord.
"You son of a--"
    The Overlord spoke then. He said a word. Shelby
didn't hear it.
    Xyon apparently did. He staggered, grabbed at his
ears, cried out and slammed back against a wall.
    Shelby was half out of her seat, as was Kebron. Cal-
houn, however, never came close to losing his cool. In-
stead he was watching with keen interest.
    Slowly, Xyon staggered to his feet. He brought his
gaze up level with the Overlord...
    ú.. and then he laughedú The pain he appeared to be
feeling, the agony that had supposedly thrown him
around were gone, just like that.
    The Overlord's face dropped in surprise. He spoke
again, and once again, Shelby didn't hear him, which
was odd because she was looking right at him. This
time Xyon didn't move at all. Instead he made a fairly
grotesque face and then uttered some odd noises.
    "All right, that's enough, Xyon." Calhoun looked
rather amused, both at his son's theatrics and also at the
look of pure astonishment on the Overlord.
    "Thank you for allowing me to test that, Captain. His
expression upon realizing his impotence was very small
payback... but it was something, nevertheless."
    "Thank you, Xyon. And you, Lieutenant," he said to
Soleta. Soleta nodded in acknowledgment.
    Shelby was utterly clueless as to what had just hap-
pened. "Captain..." she began.
    "The Overlord," Calhoun said by way of explana-
tion, "has access to a most... curious form of of-
fense, according to Xyon. Certain words, ancient
words, that apparently trigger painful and aggressive
synaptic responses. However, everything we hear the
Overlord say, naturally, is translated for us via the in-
stantaneous translators that are fairly standard issue
throughout all of known space." He tapped his ear.
"So once Xyon told me of this, I took the liberty of
having Soleta reprogram all of the ones worn by Ex-
calibur personnel--and by Xyon--through the central
computer. The translator is essentially acting as a
screening device. When it encounters a word that has
no direct analog--one that is not known to modern
linguistics--it disrupts the word's sonic frequency be-
fore it reaches your inner ear. As a result, the brain
never hears it, and no damage is done. So you see,
Overlord... whatever tricks you intended to pull,
whatever pain you intended to inflict upon me or
other members of this ship... it's not going to hap-
pen. Now then, Overlord," and he leaned forward, his
hands on the table, his fingers interlaced, "what are
you going to do to convince us to help you?"
    Shelby figured that she should have been angry at
Calhoun, perhaps even furious. She hated when he did
this sort of thing: Embarked on some sort of strategy
without bothering to let her know. She had complained
about it to him repeatedly. He had always apologized,
promised it would never happen again... and then had
done it anyway. It was becoming tiresome for her, and
she wondered whether she should just stop saying any-
thing about it.
  Or whether she should just quit.
    She pushed the thoughts out of her mind as being in-
appropriate to the matter at hand.
    "Convince you to help us?" asked the Overlord. "Do
you need convincing? You were sent by Starfleet to ex-
tend humanitarian aid where needed. We are in need.
Was there anything in your mandate that allowed you,
or encouraged you, to judge who was, and who was
not, worthy of aid in your eyes? Who are you to
judge?"
    "Coming from the Redeemers, that is almost amus-
ing;' said Si Cwan.
    The Overlord did not even bother to continue look-
ing at Si Cwan. Instead the level gaze of those red eyes
remained entirely on Calhoun.
    Shelby was, by that point in her career, quite accus-
tomed to dealing with members of races other than her
own. She did not habitually hold them up against hu-
manity and set standards for them. That would have
been inappropriate for someone who was a member of
Starfleet. Nevertheless, she felt a chill in her spine as
she looked into the eyes of the Overlord, for in them
she saw something very, very inhuman.

"Well, Captain?" asked the Overlord. "You haven't
answered my question. Who are you to judge?"
    'q'he captain of the Excalibur" replied Calhoun,
"with resources that are admittedly a bit limited, but dis-
cretion that is nearly unlimited. There's an old Xenexian
saying that I think is especially appropriate at this time,
Overlord: You plow my field, I'll plow yours. You want
me to save your homeworld. All well and good. But it's
not as if your people have gone from world to world,
spreading good will and cheer. I don't reject the notion
out of hand of saving your homeworld... but fives are
not at stake. You could evacuate if need be."
    "It is to our homeworld that Xant will return when
he comes back from the beyond. We must wait for him
there. We have no choice. If the Black Mass are not
stopped, then we will be on Tulaan IV, waiting to the
last. And if that last, for whatever reason, determines
that we are devoured along with our world, then we
will trust that Xant's will has been done. However, ob-
viously living is preferable to dying. Given our choices,
we would opt for the former"
    "All right," Calhoun nodded. "I can respect that. But
I, unlike you, have a choice. In terms of the Prime Di-
rectlye, I think we're on shaky ground. An argument
could probably be made for either side... correct,
Commander?"
    Shelby nodded. "I can provide both, if you wish,
Captain."
    "That shouldn't be necessary. Hopefully, the Over-
lord will be able to present the convincing argument."
    "And how" the Overlord inquired, "would I go about
doing that?" The edges of his mouth actually seemed to
be turning up. Shelby was trying to figure out whether
he thought the entire thing amusing somehow.
    "Tell me why I should dedicate the resources of this
vessel to saving the Redeemers."
  "I am afraid I do not understand."
    There were glances around the table, as everyone
there knew perfectly well where the captain was going
with the conversation. "Very well, I'll spell it out for
you," said Calhoun.
  "That might be best, yes."
    "As much as you regard yourselves as some sort of
religious do-gooders, forcing conversion upon unwill-
ing worlds in order to prepare them for the return of
your god, the fact is that most people--including me--
regard you as little more than terrorists. So if you de-
sire the aid of the Excalibur, and want to keep your
homeworld in one piece, then you are going to have to
change your way of life."
    "Are we?" Something flickered in those red eyes that
Shelby didn't like.
    "Yes. You will have to cease and desist in your at-
tacks on worlds in the former Thallonian space, now
known as Sector 221-G. Those worlds which you have
forcibly converted to your religion, you are to leave in
peace. You are to withdraw your forces, your high
priests, anything that poses a danger to those worlds
and their populations, and allow them to go on about
their lives in whatever manner they were pursuing be-
fore you got your hooks into them."  "Is that all?"
Calhoun said sharply, "This is a difficult situation "
"I'm sorry, Captain, but I beg to differ with you," the
Overlord said, interrupting. His hands were flat on the
table, and he was smiling and shaking his head, with
the air of someone who knows that someone else sim-
ply doesn't understand what should be an easily com-
prehensibte set of circumstances. "This is not difficult
at all. We of the Redeemers are not going to change our
method of operation, our way of life, in the slightest.
We perform holy work. We operate in accordance with
the desires and writings of Xant. We can no more devi-
ate from our mandated duties than you can change the
pattern of your heartbeat."
    "Actually, I can change the pattern of my heartbeat,
if I'm of a mind to," said Calhoun, "but that's not the
point."
     Prime One spoke up once more. "Our dictates and
rules are not quite as fluid as yours, Captain." 
"It's not a matter of fluidity..."
    "Ah, but it is. Your Prime Directive states that you
must not interfere with the natural order of societies.
Yet that is precisely what you would do with us. We
do what our upbringing and teachings mandate that
we do, and you would have us abandon those. For
what? For self-preservation? Simply to save our lives,
we must betray that which we hold most sacred? Not
only do you have no familiarity with our way of life,
but I begin to wonder if you have any grasp of your
own."
And Shelby heard her own voice say, "Oh, go to
hell."
    Slowly all heads turned at the table, focusing on
her. Shelby, for her part, couldn't believe she had said
it. It was as if someone had told her id to blurt out
whatever was on its mind. Because the fact was that
the Prime One had a valid point. If they were going to
adhere to the Prime Directive, follow the absolute let-
ter of it, then they really should leave the Redeemers
to their fate. But if they were willing to bend the
Prime Directire to the degree that they were dictating
policy to the Redeemers as to how they should live
their lives...
  ... well, you couldn't have it both ways.
    Her mind racing, she tried to analyze why she had
said that which had just popped into her mind, and sub-
sequently her mouth. And for the first time in a long
time, Elizabeth Shelby spoke from passion, off the top
of her head, rather than the careful and measured con-
sideration that she usually gave to matters of such im-
portance.
    "Look... there are some things in this universe that
are right, and some that are wrong," she said, thump-
ing one hand down for "right" and "wrong" to empha-
size them. "And going around to different worlds and
forcing your views on them, under pain of death...
it's just... just wrong." The Overlord was about to
reply, but she kept right on going. "And if we save
your world, your way of life, and you just go fight on
doing what you're doing, then every single world that
falls prey to your self-styled messianic complexes,
why, it's... it's as if we're endorsing what you're
doing. Because we will have enabled you to keep on
doing it. We'll be aiding and abetting you in doing
something that we find unconscionable and that,
sir... is also unconscionable. So you see our predica-
ment here."
    There was a long moment of silence, and then Cal-
houn slowly nodded, smiling. "Well said, Commander.
You've summed up my feelings on the matter rather
well."
    "So what you are saying, then," the Overlord said
thoughtfully, "is that you are lacking personal motiva-
tion."
  "We're saying," Xyon cut in, "that you and this
Black Mass deserve each other. Why should we give
any more of a damn about your fate than you gave
about mine? Or Kalinda's?"
    "The young man speaks accurately," said Calhoun.
"Out of turn, but accurately. The fate of the Re-
deemers--to be blunt--rs not my concern."
    "Well... I appreciate your candor, Captain," said
the Overlord. "Allow me, then, to be candid in turn. Let
us discuss the people of Fenner a moment..."
    "Let me guess," Calhoun theorized. "At the point
where the Fennerians contacted us, you were already
here. You promised them something in exchange for
their summoning us."
    "Very good," said the Overlord, and there was that
frosty smile again. "To be specific, we promised them
that we would never come to their world for the pur-
pose of converting them. To be honest, the leadership
of the Fennerians was so frightened of us, that they
likely would have promised us their moons and star in
exchange for whatever they asked. Odd, isn't it? Some
individuals fear knowledge so greatly that they will do
anything to remain ignorant."
    "They don't fear knowledge. They fear loss of inde-
pendence. Loss of themselves, and to be consumed by
the 'greatness' that is the Redeemer worldview" said
Calhoun.
    "Be that as it may," said the Overlord, "and whatever
it is that they may or may not fear... we will keep our
word. We have no intention of redeeming them. How-
ever, we said nothing about allowing them to live."
     There was another silence in the conference lounge,
but there was an air of menace to this one. 
"A high priest," guessed Calhoun.
 "Very good!" said the Overlord, obviously ira-
pressed. "As of this moment, one of my High Priests is
in hiding on the planet Fennel At specific intervals, I
will contact him and tell him that matters regarding the
preservation of our species are proceeding apace. If he
does not hear from me, he has orders to slit his own
throat. This will, naturally, terminate his life. But if
our world comes to an end, he would not want to live
beyond us anyway. So predeceasing us is something of
a mercy, you see. An honor. Once he takes his life in
this violent manner, that will trigger the virus that all
High Priests carry within them. Within hours, every
one who lives and breathes on the planet Fenner will
die."
    "We can evacuate them;' Si Cwan began, turning to
Calhoun.
    "There are, last I checked, two billion souls on that
world," the Overlord said calmly. "I was unaware that
your ship had sufficient capacity to accommodate two
billion individuals. Nor, I fear, do they have such ca-
pacity. In any event, it is pointless. By the time any sort
of evacuation plan was under way, one of the check-in
times would have passed and the High Priest will have
killed himself. Plus, the High Priest is not stupid. An
evacuation could not occur without his heating about it,
at which point he is under orders, once again, to end his
life. The result will be the same."
    "Are you telling me that you are effectively holding
all the people on that world hostage?" demanded Cal-
houn. Shelby could see that his scar was darkening red,
which was never a good sign.
    "Yes, Captain. That is precisely what I am telling
you. And whether you doom those people or not is en-
t'n:ely up to you."
 Now all eyes were upon Calhoun. Aside from the

scar standing out against the tan of his skin, his face
was completely inscrutable.
    Every word of the Overlord's hung there, like a dark
cloud. "The Fennerians are, basically, an. innocent race,
Captain. They have done nothing to deserve extinction
and genocide, I grant you that. But these are desperate
times. Since you feel that the fate of the Redeemers is
not your concern... then likewise the Fenner should
be of no concern, either. In that event... your decision
is a simple one... is it not?"

VL

SHE FOUND Urn, as she knew she would, in his ready
room, pacing it like a caged animal. She had seen Cal-
houn in any number of moods, but she had never seen
him quite this angry. He was boiling with barely con-
tained fury, and when he turned and she saw the dark-
ness in his eyes, it was the first time that she had an
inkling of just what his enemies saw decades ago when
he faced them on the surface of Xenex. She thought
what it must have been like to see those eyes in a
young face, covered with blood splattered on it by pre-
vious victims, a sword in his hand and a snarl on his
lips.
    Not for the first time, she was glad that Calhoun was
on her side.
  "This is Nelkar. It's Nelkar all over again," he said.
  She knew what he was referring to, of course. "No.
It's not. It's completely different. The Nelkarites were
holding, as hostages, people who wouldn't have been
there except that they ignored your advice and went
down anyway. So your first instinct then was to aban-
don them to the difficulties that they had gotten them-
selves into. But it's not the same here. The Fennerians
are innocents, caught in between forces that they've
had no part in unleashing on themselves."
  "You're saying I should give in?"
  "You're saying you're not going to?"
    He stopped pacing and leaned against the observa-
tion window of the ready room. "This isn't one of those
times when I know precisely what I'm going to do,
Eppy, and I'm just looking for a rubber stamp. Or even
a protest that I shouldn't do something just to spur me
on to go ahead and do it. I'm at a loss here."
    "Which is why you want to see me and only me,
rather than all your officers."
    He nodded. "That's it exactly. You know me well.
Sometimes too well, I think."
 "What's that supposed to mean?"
 "Nothing."
    "It obviously means something... but now is hardly
the time and place to pursue it."
    "I agree," he said readily. "If I help the Redeemers,
then theoretically--presuming that the Overlord has
been honest about the threat, and will also keep his
word--I am saving the Fennerians. But I'll then be
dooming whatever is the next race that the Redeemers
attempt to convert. What makes the Fennerians more
deserving, the next race less?"
    "What's the alternative, though? Casting a death sen-
tence on two billion people?"
 "I wouldn't be casting it."
    "You wouldn't be stopping it when it was within
your power. Doesn't that basically amount to the same
thing."
  "Are you saying I should help them?"
    "I'm saying, Mac, that you can make yourself crazy
if you consider what could and couldn't happen as an
outcome of every decision you make. Yes, it's possible
that the Redeemers will then go after some other races.
But who's to say that we won't help that other race, and
put a stop to the Redeemers at that point?"
    "We can put a stop to the Redeemers at this point,"
he observed.
  "True. But only at the cost of two billion lives."
  "And the saving of how many billions more?"
    "Mac, I don't pretend to have all the answers here, or
even an answer. What I do know is that the Overlord
gave us a very short time in which to make up our
minds."
    "Yes, I know. And the notion of knuckling under to
the dictates of that undersized--"
    She raised a scolding finger. "Don't let this start
playing to your ego, Mac. Don't let it be about that, be-
cause if it is, then I guarantee you you'll make the
wrong decision, every single time. This has got to be
about what's right and what's best, not what assuages
your sense of self. How you feel about 'knuckling
under' has nothing to do with anything. As difficult as
it may be, you have to make a decision based on the
merits."
  "The merits aren't very meritorious."
  "I agree. But they're all you've got."
    Calhoun thought about it a long moment. The scar
which had been standing out so brightly against his
face, indicating his anger, was fading to normal.

      Then he tapped his comm badge. "McHenry. This is
the captain."  "Aye, sir."
  "Set course for the Tulaan star system."
    "We're giving in to them?" inquired McHenry guile-
lessly.
    "To a degree," Calhoun said, unflappable. "Calhoun
out." He turned to Shelby and said quietly, "Inform the
Overlord that we will accede to his requests. We will
accompany his vessel to the Tulaan system, and from
there move on an intercept course with the Black Mass
whereupon we will see what we can do. No promises,
at least until we have some idea of what it is we're fac-
ing."
    "Aye, Captain. And Mac... for what it's worth... I
think you're making the only decision you reasonably
Can."
 "Thank you, Commander. Oh, and Commander..."
 "Yes, Captain?"
    He leaned against his desk and said, with a very seri-
ous expression that gave away nothing he had on his
mind, "Send Ensign Janos to me, would you? I have a
litfie chore for him."

    Si Cwan wasn't sure what to expect when he swung
by Robin Lefler's quarters to see how she was feeling,
but he certainly wasn't expecting to be scremned at.
    He rang the chime and he heard Robin's voice from
inside. "Comebin," it sounded as if she had said, and so
he walked in.
    Robin was lying on the couch in the middle of the
room. Her closed eyes were puffy, her head clearly
congested, her nose red from the combination of sneez-
ing and blowing. "Didju gedduh med'sin fum sigbay,
mudder?" she said in a voice so congested that it was
barely recognizable as her own.
    "No, I didn't get any medicine, and I'm afraid I'm
not your mother."
    Robin's eyes snapped wide open. They looked im-
pressively bloodshot.
    "Hello, Robin," he said, wincing at her ghastly ap-
pearance. "I thought I'd look in on my favorite aide
tO---"
  That was when she screamed.
    Si Cwan jumped back, startled at the volume and ve-
hemence of the sound that was pouting from her throat.
For someone who could barely breathe, she was re-
markably vocal. Si Cwan backed toward the door, all
the while trying to say something that would stop her
from screaming. Something pleasant, something friend-
ly. Either that or he could club her in the side of the
head to silence her. With each passing moment, that
seemed a better and better option.
    The door hissed open and Morgan Lefler entered
hurriedly. She was carrying something that Si Cwan
correctly assumed to be some sort of medicine. "What
are you doing here?" she demanded.
  "I just came to see her, I thought, I--"
  "Don't think! Just get out!"
    Robin had, by that point, pulled the blanket over her
head, and she was thrashing about, calling "Geddout,
geddout, geddout!" while muffled beneath the covers.
    Morgan quickly put down the medicine and took Si
Cwan by the elbow. "Come along, Ambassador" she
said. She likewise sounded a bit congested, but only a
bit. She was far too busy hauling Si Cwan out of the
room to care about her voice.
  "What's the matter with her? why is she acting like
this?" demanded Si Cwan as they stood in the corridor.
"I was simply looking in on a co-worker, that's all."
  "Perhaps she... never mind."
    He looked down at her. There was a great deal of
strength in her, he could tell. But he was nobility, and
he felt that he had been ill-used enough in recent days.
"Please do not say 'never mind' to me. Tell me what is
in your thoughts."
    "I was just going to say," said Morgan after a mo-
ment, "that perhaps she cares how you see her. Perhaps
she attached a great deal of importance to that."
    "I don't see why. Friends should not concern them-
selves about such things."
    "I suppose you're right," Morgan told him. There
was something in her voice that Si Cwan could not
make out. As if she had something else on her mind but
she was unable or unwilling to say it. "what do you mean by that?"
    "I mean you're probably right. I am agreeing with
you."
    "Oh. Then ..." He frowned. "why does it feel as if
you're not agreeing with me?"
    "Lord Cwan,' she sighed, "I have enough trouble ex-
plaining my own emotions, and comprehending those
of my daughter. Please do not ask me to explain why
you feel a certain way."
    "Fair enough," said Si Cwan, sounding quite formal.
He bowed slightly and said, "Please convey my sincer-
est hopes to Robin that she recovers soon."
    "I will. Hopefully, this medicine will get her back on
her feet."
 "I share your hope."
    Deciding that he wasn't going to be having much
more to do with Robin Lefler that day, Si Cwan headed
in the direction of Kalinda's quarters... but stopped as
he passed the guest quarters he knew had been assigned
to Xyon. Perhaps he had been hasty in his treatment of
the young man at that. Not that he would admit it, of
course, to anyone. He had a certain status to maintain,
after all. But the fact that Xyon was the son of the cap-
tain---even an estranged son--certainly required some
degree of respect on Si Cwan's part. And he had han-
dled himself rather well against the Overlord during the
meeting. Si Cwan had barely been able to contain his
anger and loathing for the leader of the Redeemers, and
Xyon's flamboyant tweaking of the sensibilities of the
Overlord had provided Si Cwan with much inner
amusement.
  And he had saved his sister.
    Well, that was the most important thing, wasn't it?
As inappropriate as he considered Xyon's obvious in-
terest in Kalinda, there was still the fact that the young
man had risked life and limb to protect her, at a time
when he barely knew her and had no inkling as to her
true nature and status~ He had been motivated out of the
purity of heroism, apparently. On that basis alone, Si
Cwan could, at the very least, be patient with the lad.
Perhaps try to connect with him in some manner on an
emotional basis. Certainly once he had accomplished
that, he could then get Xyon to understand that any sort
of romantic involvement with Kalinda was... well, it
just wasn't appropriate. That was the simplest way to
put it. Inappropriate. Now, granted, it was going to take
a bit of a leap of faith on Xyon's part to accept that. He
was, in essence, going to have to take Si Cwan's word
for it. But if he could get Xyon to respect his status and
knowledge of such things, then it might go that much
easier.

    He rang the chime of Xyon's quarters, smoothing the
front of his tunic as he waited to see if there was any
response from within.
    What he heard instead was the sound of whispered
voices. And then a voice that was unmistakably Xyon's
called out, "Go away! Come back later, okay?"
    And there was a giggle. A female giggle. One that Si
Cwan recognized instantlyú How could he not? All
those times out riding, when she was a little girl, and he
would hear that same quick, light girlish laughter as
they pounded across the surface of Thallon, secure in
their nobility and future without a care in the world.
    Before he was even aware of it, Si Cwan was shov-
ing his fingers into the connection point where the
doors fit togetherú Within moments he had a fingerhold,
and that was all he needed. He grunted only once as he
applied his considerable strength, and within moments
had overridden the doorlock mechanism through the
simple expedient of sheer muscle power. He shoved the
doors open, stepped in...
    ú.. and saw exactly what he thought he was going to
see.
    Xyon, barechested, wearing only his slacks, the rest
of his clothes scattered about the room. Next to him on
the couch, wrapped around him in an embrace, was
Kalinda. She was wearing considerably fewer clothes
than Xyon. Only undergarments, and Si Cwan could
tell from where Xyon's hands were that even those
were not going to be adoming her for much longer.
    "Si Cwan!" said an alarmed Kalinda. "Now... don't
overreact. This isn't--that is to say, Xyon and I--"
    "We don't owe him any explanation, Kally," Xyon
said, starting to get to his feet. "We're two independent
people, and don't have to answer to anyone or anything
except our own conscience. And if Si Cwan doesn't un-
derstand all that--"
    What Xyon didn't comprehend was that Si Cwan's
lack of understanding didn't even factor into it. The
fact was that he wasn't even heating any of it. From the
moment the door had opened, a haze of fury had de-
scended upon his brain and shut out all words being
tossed about with the exception of proper names. He
heard his own name spoken by Kalinda. He heard her
mention the hated name of Xyon. And he heard Xyon
speak the affectionate nickname by which Si Cwan,
and only Si Cwan, had addressed her since infancy.
That was it. Everything else was swept away by rapidly
escalating rage.

    Xyon had always been confident in his fighting abili-
ties. Granted, he had experienced a small setback when
his father had handled him with relative ease. But since
that brief and unfortunate encounter, he had told him-
self two things. First, that his father had caught him off
guard. And second, for crying out loud, his father was
M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, the savior of Xenex and the sin-
gle most formidable warrior in the history of the planet.
At least, that was what the legends claimed. Xyon
knew he had great skills as a fighter himself, but he
wasn't kidding himself. His father was legendary.
Competing with a legend is a rather daunting proposi-
tion; he knew that, since to some degree he had been
doing exactly that his entire life. So he didn't let him-
self become too disheartened over his quick and defini-
tive loss to Calhoun.
    But he was still confident that he could dispatch pret-
ty much any other foe with precision and efficiency.
He had a feeling that Si Cwan might make a move

on him. Certainly the ThaiIonian was angry enough.
His eyes looked like they had glazed over, and his en-
tire body was absolutely dead still and tense, pounding
with contained energy. He was standing there in the
doorway, having just forced it open with an impressive
show of strength.
    That was not enough, though, to deter Xyon. He was
still confident that he could handle whatever situation
presented itself, particularly one that involved some
sort of physical conflict.
    "I will further remind you, Si Cwan," said Xyon,
"that these are my private quarters. You have no busi-
ness here. So I will ask you to depart at once while
Kally and I conduct ourselves as we see fit in the priva-
cy of--"
 That was as far as he got.
    Later, he would review the incident over and over
in his mind, and each time would come to the same
conclusion. He had not, for a moment, taken his eyes
off Si Cwan. His concentration had never flagged,
he had never looked over to Kally in a moment of
pride to see how he was doing as far as she was con-
cemed. His focus had remained, unwaveringly, upon
Si Cwan.
    As a result, he would forever remain unable to ex-
plain just how it was that, one moment, Si Cwan was
on the far side of the room, standing in the doorway,
still unmoving, and the next, Si Cwan was across the
room with one hand on the waist of Xyon's pants and
the other hand around Xyon's throat. He never saw Si
Cwan move. He was just... there.
    The abrupt proximity of the enraged ThaiIonian was
daunting enough. What further confused Xyon was just
how Si Cwan had managed to get such a firm grip on
him. Instinctively, he grabbed at Si Cwan's ann to try
and pry it off, and was inwardly horrified to find that Si
Cwan's arm was a collection of corded muscles that
wasn't going to be moved short of the application of
explosive devices.
  "Si Cwan! Stop!" shouted Kalinda.
    Si Cwan, however, was apparently just getting start-
ed. For with a quick turn, he threw Xyon straight at the
temporarily broken door. Xyon hurtled through, unable
to stop, and crashed into the opposite wall in the corri-
dor.
    Hands balled into fists, Si Cwan stalked toward him,
about as easily deterred as a meteor shower. Xyon's
head was spinning, and he knew he had only seconds to
pull himself together, if that long.
    Fortunately those seconds were provided for him as
a passing crewman saw the situation developing and,
apparently remembering that Xyon was the son of the
captain, decided that the best thing to do would be to
stop Si Cwan in his tracks. The crewman threw both his
arms around Si Cwan's upper torso, momentarily pin-
ning his arms, in an endeavor to stop him. It seemed to
Xyon that the only reason the crewman got that close
was because Si Cwan's entire attention was focused on
Xyon. When he noticed that the crewman was holding
him, he reacted with immediate dispatch. Barely seem-
ing to flex his arms, he nonetheless broke the crew-
man's grasp, and without even mining to look at him,
lashed out with a quick right hand. The blow caught the
crewman on the side of the head and he went down.
    It had been a delay of only moments, but it was suffi-
cient time for Xyon to get back to his feet. Now Kalin-
da was behind Si Cwan, shouting to him, but he was
seized with such a blind fury that he was paying no at-
tention to her at all. Instead he lunged at Xyon, who got
out of the way, but Si Cwan pivoted, cat quick, his
hands weaving a fast and exotic pattern. Xyon's atten-
tion was drawn to the hand movements, which was ap-
parently precisely what Si Cwan wanted, because he
suddenly lashed out with his foot and caught Xyon
squarely in the pit of the stomach. Xyon doubled over,
gasping, and Si Cwan straightened him up with a blow
to the chin that Xyon actually partly managed to dodge;
if it had landed squarely, it would have broken Xyon's
jaw.
    Xyon was operating entirely on instinct, as he
dodged this way and that, trying to stay out of Si
Cwan's way while he recovered his wits. Si Cwan gave
him no time to think at all, coming at him with a series
of quick leg kicks. Xyon stayed out of their way, most-
ly by luck, while calculating a plan of attack, and then
he launched it. When Si Cwan lashed out with a side
kick, Xyon actually vaulted over it and came in fast
with a series of lightning strikes to Cwan's head and
upper torso.
    He certainly launched the blows in a quick and effi-
cient manner. The problem was, not a single one of
them landed. With quick parties, Si Cwan brushed
every one of them aside with his forearms. He did so in
a manner so unhurried, so unruffled, that it was clear to
Xyon that Si Cwan felt himself in no danger at all. He
was about to take umbrage at that when a sudden leg
sweep from Si Cwan knocked Xyon's feet out from
under him. The young man fell again, hit the floor, and
this time before he could try and stand up, Si Cwan's
booted foot was squarely atop his rib cage.
    "Si Cwan! Stop!" howled Kalinda, and she was
pulling at his arm. But no matter how much she yanked
at him, all she managed to budge was his ann. The rest
of his body was so unaffected that one would have
thought he was simply ignoring the fact that he had an
arm at all, much less someone attached to it.
    Si Cwan started to apply pressure, and Xyon
couldn't catch a breath. It was at that point that it truly
began to dawn on him that he was in serious, mortal
danger. Si Cwan was implacably fixed on doing him,
presumably, sufficient damage to make sure that he
never went near Kalinda again. At that point, however,
Si Cwan's restraint was non-existent.
    Suddenly, just like that, the pressure was gone from
Xyon's chest. He gasped in lungsful of air and felt a
sharp stabbing pain. He wondered if he had a broken
rib.
    Si Cwan was bellowing in fury, and small wonder.
Zak Kebron was standing directly behind him, and he
had lifted Cwan clear of not only Xyon, but the floor.
Si Cwan pounded on the massive arms, snarling, "Re-
lease me! Right now!" but neither the blows nor the
commands were having the least effect on Kebron, who
held him in place and seemed about as vulnerable as a
small mountain.
  "Idiot," said Kebron.
    And then, to Kebron's clear surprise, Si Cwan was
no longer in his grip. Si Cwan had wiggled free, leav-
ing Kebron grasping only his tunic. Dropping low, Si
Cwan threw both his arms around Kebron's left leg,
right at the joint of the knee, and pulled. The movement
overbalanced Kebron, and Zak fell backward with a
crash so pronounced that it caused reverberations
throughout the entire deck.
  Si Cwan spun once more...
  ú.. and Mackenzie Calhoun was there.

    No one quite knew where he had come from, but he
was simply there, standing between Xyon, who was
just starting to get up, and the enraged Si Cwan. His
arms at his sides, he looked utterly relaxed and totally
undaunted by the ThaiIonian.
 "Out of my way, Captain," Si Cwan grated.
 "Move me," replied Calhoun.
    Si Cwan took a step forward... and then his gaze
locked with Calhoun's for a long moment... and then
he took a step backward.
    "Very wise," was all Calhoun said. Then, apparently
having faith that Si Cwan would not attack someone
whose back was to him, Calhoun very deliberately
turned away from Si Cwan and extended a hand to
Xyon. Xyon hesitated only a moment, then took the
hand and allowed Calhoun to pull him up. He was sur-
prised that Calhoun brought him to his feet with so lit-
tle effort that Xyon might as well have weighed
nothing. "Are you all right?" he asked.  
"I'm fine," said Xyon stoically.
    "Really." Calhoun looked him up and down as if he
had x-ray eyes, and suddenly prodded the area of
Xyon's chest where he had felt the sharpness. Xyon
gasped, even though the pressure had been relatively
gentle. "Go get that looked at," he said. "Sickbay. Now.
Take her with you," he said, inclining his head toward
Kalinda.
  "I'm not hurt, Captain," she said.
    "Yes, I know. I just think some distance will better
serve all concerned. As would some additional clothes
on your part."
    She looked down and remembered that she was rela-
tively scantily clad at that point. She nodded, darted
into Xyon's quarters and re-emerged with her clothes
hastily tossed onto her. By this point any number of cu-
rious crewmen had shown up and were standing there,
gawking at the odd scene before them.
    "Return to your quarters," Calhoun ordered them in
the time-honored tradition of law enforcement officers
throughout the centuries. "Nothing more to see here.
Show's over. Lord Cwan... I invite you to return to
your quarters and stay there."
  "Are you confining me?" Si Cwan said stiffly.
    "At this point, no. I am asking you to stay put. And if
you ignore my request, then I will shoot you out the
nearest photon torpedo tube. But I'm not confining
you."
"I appreciate your consideration," said Si Cwan.
Kebron was on his feet by that time, and he was
helping up the crewman whom Si Cwan had knocked
down.
    "You're damned right it's consideration. You just as-
saulted a crewman, my head of security, and my son. I
could stick you in a cell until you're old and pink. And
if anyone here wants to press charges, I won't stand in
their way."
    He looked around at the others. The crewman, Hud-
son by name, simply rubbed his jaw and said, "The
sooner I forget about how easily he took me out, the
better"
    "What charges?" rumbled Kebron. "He got lucky,
that's all."
    "Funny how I always get lucky when we go head to
head, isn't it, Kebron?" said Si Cwan.
    "I wouldn't push my good fortune right now if I
were you, Cwan," warned Calhoun. He turned to Xyon
and said, "Well?"
  Xyon rubbed his chest and then pulled on the shirt
that Kalinda had handed him. "It's a private matter, sir;'
he said after a moment. "I regret that it spilled out into
the corridor and involved others. It should not have. In
any event, I see no reason to clutter your time, or any-
one else's, with the fallout."
    "Very well," said Calhoun. "Sickbay, then. Si Cwan,
your quarters. The rest of you," and he gestured that
they should go on about their business.
    Si Cwan did not move, however. He remained exact-
ly where he was, his gaze never leaving Kalinda and
Xyon as they walked away together, she with her arm
around his waist, helping him along.

    First he paced his quarters for a time, and then when
he came to the realization that pacing didn't make the
quarters any bigger, Si Cwan sat in one place and
stewed. He remained that way until he heard a chime at
his door. "Come," he said.
    To his utter astonishment, Robin Lefler was standing
there. Her face still looked a bit puffy, but she seemed
in slightly better shape than she was earlier. Perhaps the
medicine was having some effect.
 "What are you doing here?" he asked.
    "What am I doing? What are you doing, is the better
question." She sniffed and walked forward. The door
shut behind her and she leaned against the wall.
  "Would you care to sit?" he asked.
    "That probably wouldn't be wise, seeing as I would
most likely fall asleep," she informed him. "I want to
know if you've gone crazy."
    "I want to know if the world has gone crazy," replied
Si Cwan. "We are helping the Redeemers, have you
heard that?"
 "Yes, I've heard."
  "Madness !"
    "From the way I've heard it, the captain has no
choice."
    "And now this. Kalinda's involvement with...
with..."
    "With Xyon. You can say it. He has a name.
'Xyon.'"
    "I know his name. I know, to some degree, I should
be grateful to him. But still..." He shook his head,
feeling utterly discouraged. "I feel as if I am alone in
this matter. As if no one can comprehend how I feel.
Nor do I really know why I would expect them to un-
derstand. Of everyone on this vessel, I alone am of the
nobility. No matter, as others have pointed out, that my
line may have ended. That that which I ruled over is
gone. Nobility comes from within."
  "So does compassion... and... and... and..."
  "And what?'
    Her response was an explosive sneeze that Si Cwan
would have sworn had enough force to blast a hole
through the bulkhead. By the laws of action and reac-
tion, he would have expected her head to fly off her
shoulders as a result.
  "Are you all right?" he inquired.
    "Fine. I'm fine. Look ... Si Cwan... I think you're
gonna have to start exploring just how much of this is
your precious nobility... and how much is just plain
jealousy."
    "Jealousy!" He scoffed at the notion. "I am simply
concerned with what's best for her, that is all."
    "It'd be understandable. I mean, all this time you've
been looking for her, and worrying about her. And now
she's here... and she's ignoring you for Xyon. That
must be hard to take."

    "Robin... you are an intelligent woman, and I've
come to respect your advice and counsel. But please
believe me when I say that you have misread the situa-
tion completely. It is not at all as you have described it.
I am only worded about propriety."
    "You're saying basically, then, that you feel he's not
good enough for your sister."
    "It is nothing personal," shrugged Si Cwan. "No one
on this strip is."
    "And you? Would no one be good enough for you?
On this ship?"
 "I don't know what you mean."
    "Well..." Charmingly, she cleared her throat. "Let's
get you a 'for instance.'" She leaned forward, her fin-
gers interlaced, and her voice dropped to an almost inti-
mate level. "Let us suppose, for sake of argument, that
I said to you, 'Si Cwan, I think I'm falling in love with
you. I love your dignity, your nobility. I love the way
you conduct yourself, when you're not busy making a
fool of yourself. I love your heroism. In short, I find
you incredibly attractive, on both an emotional and
physical level. I want to take our relationship to a new
and more intimate level. Now... what would you say
to all that?"
    He considered it, stroking the narrow beard that
lined his chin. "I would be flattered, of course. But
other than that, I .... "
    And then he looked into her eyes. Really looked
there. And he saw a depth of emotion, a bottomless
pool that seemed to be inviting him to swim within
them. He was astounded by the intensity of what he
was seeing there, and it was entirely focused on him.
    For a moment, just a moment, he forgot about his
title and station. Instead all he could see was this
woman with her emotions so on the surface, that he
wondered just how in the world he could have missed it
all this time.
  "I . . ."
    "You don't know, do you?" she said quickly. Abrupt-
ly she sat back, as if she was trying to cover something
up as fast as she could. "You see? It's always easy to
judge such matters from a distance. But once it's close
up, once your own emotions are in play, it's not quite as
simple to say, 'Sorry. You two can't be together be-
cause of rank.'"
  "Robin... I see your point, but..."
    "He makes her happy, Si Cwan." She took his hand,
which didn't thrill him overmuch, because she had
been coughing into it. But he took some consolation
from the fact that she was a human with a human sick-
ness, and therefore the odds were that it wouldn't be
able to make the transition to the ThaiIonian system.
"And it's obvious she makes him happy. They're young
and they're exploring a universe of possibilities. If you
deny it, then..." She sat up, apparently seized by an
inspiration. "Then you're no different than the Re-
deemers."
    "What?" The criticism stung like no other. "How can
you say that? I'm her brother "
    "And they're the self-styled saviors of the galaxy.
They're imposing their worldview on others without
caring what the others may think, or what makes those
others happy. You're displaying the exact same lack of
consideration. You would 'redeem' her by making sure
that she shares your view of things, whether she wants
to or not. Obviously you're not going around taking
over planets... but the principle is the same. Either
you show tolerance in all things, or you don't. Would
you ever dream of forcing a world full of strangers to
think the way you do?"  "No, of course not."
    "Then why are strangers entitled to more considera-
tion than your own sister?"
    "You just..." He hung his head. "You just don't un-
derstand, Robin."
    "Actually, I think I do. I'm afraid that you're the one
who doesn't. But I'll tell you right now, if you don't
understand, and soon... you really are going to lose
her, and soon. Because the more you try to force them
apart, the more they're going to want to stay together,
just to spite you."
  Slowly he looked up at her... and he chuckled.
  "Did I say something funny?" she asked.
    "Not intentionally," he smiled. "But you have given
me something to think about. Something very impor-
tant. Thank you for that, Robin."
    He reached over and embraced her quickly. For an
instant he felt her reciprocate in a far more intense
fashion that he had imagined she would. He released
her and looked into her eyes with a measure of curiosi-
ty. "Robin, that 'example' you gave me before. Asking
how I would react if you told me you felt... a certain
way about me. That was simply a hypothetical...
wasn't it?"
    "Of course!" she said, a little too quickly. "Of course
it was. I was just trying to get a point across to you. I
hope I succeeded."
    "I think you did. But Robin ... if you did have...
you know... feelings of that nature for me, then I---"
    "Si Cwan," she said quickly, "you don't have to say
anything. It's really not necessary. It was just pretend. I
hope you understand that."

"I understand... perhaps more than you think I do."
Robin nodded briskly, then sneezed with so much
power that she stumbled back and almost knocked her-
self off her feet. "I... goddago," she said and backed
out of Si Cwan's quarters, leaving the ThaiIonian noble
thoughtfully considering his options.

VH.

IT TOOK THE BRIDGE CREW some time to get used to the
sight of a Redeemer vessel pacing them. The impulse
was to be at battle stations, preparing for a direct as-
sault. Indeed, the captain had told them to remain bat-
tie-ready, but the ship had stood down from yellow
alert. They were cautious, and Kebron kept a wary eye
on any sign that the Redeemers were powering up their
weapons. But there was nothing. One would have
thought the Redeemers to be the most benign of races
in the history of the galaxy.
    They reached the Tulaan star system, and Soleta held
a brief (over the screen) conference with the Prime One
who, along with the Overlord, had returned to the Re-
deemer vessel. He indicated the point where the far
watch points had indicated that the Black Mass had
first emerged, and then Soleta--in conjunction with
McHenry--plotted a course that would take them in the
direction of the Black Mass so that they could see it
first-hand and, hopefully, intercept it.
    By that point, Calhoun brought the ship to yellow
alert so that they would be ready for anything. Si Cwan
was likewise on the bridge as the Excalibur, side by side
with the Redeemer ship, hurtled in the direction of the
Black Mass' last reported position. Although the entity
was moving at warp speed, it was nevertheless only in
the realm of warp one or two. The starship could move
far faster, of course, and therefore could get to the Black
Mass long before it got anywhere near Tulaan IV. They
would have lots of time to try and deal with the Mass
and somehow get it to change course or, preferably, turn
around and head back for the Hunger Zone. At the very
least, they hoped to re-steer it toward an uninhabited
system, of which there were more than a few.
    There was none of the usual banter on the bridge as
they watched the monitor. Even though they knew that
the sensors would inform them of contact well before
there was a visual, they couldn't help but strain their
eyes studying the screen.
    And finally, Soleta--the more experienced senso/
monitor--announced, "Captain. I'm getting readings,
dead ahead."
  "What are they?"
    She paused for a long time before finally saying, "I
do not know."
    "You don't knowT' Calhoun tried to keep the sur-
prise out of his voice. "Best guess, then."
    "A biological form, moving at approximately warp
one point three. Impossible to determine its size, since
it keeps changing. Best description is that it is like an
amorphous, living cloud."
 "Is it one entity?"
    "I do not believe so. It appears to be composed of
millions of smaller entities, but I am unable to get an
individual reading from any of them." "Put it onscreen."
    Calhoun imagined that the collective breath of the
bridge crew was being held as the screen shifted for a
moment, and then the Black Mass appeared on it.
    He didn't quite know what he was looking at, at first.
"Highlight it, Lieutenant," he said. Within seconds the
screen adjusted so that the rest of space dropped out
and the pulsing Black Mass was the only thing on it.
  "My God," whispered Shelby.
    It was not the most professional thing she had
ever said, but Calhoun could fully understand it.
In his memoirs, James Kirk had written of a time
when the Enterprise had encountered a gigantic,
space-going amoeba. Calhoun had often wondered
what it must have been like to be on the bridge of that
legendary ship, to encounter something as incredible
as that and know that somehow, it had to be dealt
with. But it wasn't as if he had wondered about it so
much that he had a compulsion to actually find out.
As it happened, though, that was exactly what was
happening.
    And not only that... but the Black Mass seemed
bigger than the amoeba reportedly was. Bigger... and
more vicious.
    Calhoun had a knack for knowing when danger was
near, a sort of sixth sense that warned him and had
helped him to survive during his days as the Xenexian
warlord. Never in his life, though, had this survival in-
stinct been less necessary, because never had the dan-
ger been more obvious.
  "Suggestions?" Calhoun said.
    "I don't suppose dropping the Redeemers a nice
good-bye note and getting the hell out of here would be
an option," suggested McHenry.
    "Actually, that's already crossed my mind. Si
Cwan... tell me specifically what your people did
against it."
    "Everything," said Si Cwan. "Everything... and
nothing." He was staring at the screen with what
seemed to Calhoun an almost haunted expression.
"We threw everything we could at it, and not only
didn't we slow it down... it didn't even acknowl-
edge us."
    "All fight;' Calhoun said slowly. "Mr. Kebron, open
a hailing frequency, broadest possible band. Let's see if
we can talk to it."
    "Talk to it?" Cwan was shaking his head and he
turned to Calhoun. "You still don't understand, Cap-
tam. Let me make it clear to you. The battle between
our forces and file Black Mass was the single most hu-
miliating experience in the history of the ThaiIonian
Empire. My uncle took his own life because he could
not stand living with the disgrace... nor was he capa-
ble of surviving in a galaxy where the ThaiIonians were
that inferior to another being. All we can reasonably do
is leave the Redeemers to their much deserved fate and
leave."
  "Because we don't care about the Redeemers."
  "Correct."
  "And the Fennerians?"
    "They have my sympathies," said Si Cwan, "but they
are casualties of war. Such things happen, regrettable as
that may be. And in this war, we are at least on the
verge of having one of our greatest enemies wiped out

by a force that no one and nothing can stop. Let us be
satisfied with that and be done with it."
    "And if next time the Black Mass swarms" Shelby
said, "it's toward a system or world that we do care
about? Understandable, Ambassador, that we have no
desire to extend ourselves for the Redeemers. But if
twenty, thirty years hence, another world, another sys-
tem dies because of the Black Mass... and we could
have stopped it here, now... then are we not, in some
small way, responsible for that as well?"
    "You can't stop it," Si Cwan told her. "The most--
the very most--that you will be able to do is get its at-
tention. And if you do that, we may very well all die."
    "No response to the hail on any frequency, Captain,"
Kebron said. He did not sound surprised.
    Truth to tell, neither was Calhoun. They might have
had as much luck trying to strike up a conversation
with a comet. "Are you sure this thing is sentient?" It
was a general question, aimed at whoever might be in a
position to answer.
    "Captain, at the moment I am not entirely sure of
anything except that it is moving on its projected
course," said Soleta.
    And Si Cwan added, "I wouldn't venture to say what
it is at all."
    "All right. Inform the Redeemer vessel that we're
going to be arming weapons. Bring shields up, go to
red alert."
 "Red alert, aye."
    Within moments the klaxon was sounding through-
out the vessel. Everyone was bracing for what
promised to be a very daunting proposition. Word was
out throughout the ship of just what it was that they
were facing, and as screens throughout the ship brought
the Black Mass into focus, crewmembers were shaking
their heads in astonishment.

    In her quarters, Kalinda looked at the screen mutely.
She had heard so many stories about the thing from her
brother, but seeing it here, now... it was like having a
childhood nightmare suddenly come to life right in
front of you.
  Her door chimed. "Come," she said.
    She suspected the identity of the person on the other
side of the door, and she was correct. It was Xyon. Im-
mediately she was up and in his arms, and they kissed
passionately. "I can't believe," she whispered in be-
tween kisses, "that I ever thought you were some sort
of arrogant, know-nothing slime."
    "And I can't believe I thought you were a standoff-
ish, self-centered brat," he whispered back.
    They continued to kiss for a moment, and then she
broke off and stared at him. "You thought that about
me?" she said in surprise.
    "Well... remember" Xyon said, obviously thinking
quickly, "you weren't yourself. So the personality I had
a problem with... probably wasn't yours anyway."
    She smiled in amusement. "All right. Fine. I'll let
you get away with that one." He started to lean forward
to bring their lips together once more, but she moved
easily away from him and instead went to her computer
screen, which was at that point tied in with the other
screens throughout the ship. "Have you ever seen any-
thing like this?"
    He walked over and gaped at it. "Looks like a sci-
ence experiment gone berserk. So that's the dreaded
Black Mass, huh."
  She nodded.

    "Grozit. Someone should just dump it in a black
hole or something and be done with it. There is one, ac-
tually, not too far off the Black Mass' path, as I recall."
    "Sounds good to me. Maybe you should suggest that
to your father."
    "He's got plenty of people to suggest options to him.
He doesn't need me."
    He paused, and Kalinda looked at him with a raised
eyebrow. "Isn't this the point where you're supposed to
say, self-pityingly, 'He never needed me?'" 
"You think it's funny?"
    "No. I don't. But I'll tell you what I do think," and
she took his hand. "I lost my birth mother and
father... and then there was a woman on Montos who
I thought was my mother... except all those memories
were false. I feel like I have a piece missing out of my
life. With all those losses... it makes me all the more
aware of how important it is to value something when
it's there."
 "Such as a father."
    She nodded. "It's obvious that he's wanted to con-
neet with you. And let's be honest, Xyon... you could
have left by now. Your ship is sitting down in the shut-
tle bay, but it's fully repaired. There's nothing keeping
you here."
 "Don't underestimate yourself;' said Xyon.
    At that, she laughed lightly. "Somehow, I don't think
I'm the reason. I'm not an idiot, Xyon. You're a... a
man of the cosmos. You've been around. Am I sup-
posed to seriously think that you would stay in any one
place for any one female?"
    "Why are you so quick to dismiss the notion, out of
hand?" he asked. "Why is that concept so unthink-
able?"
  "Because I..." She looked down.
    He took the tip of her chin and brought her face up
so that he was looking into her eyes. "Because you
what?"
    "Because I don't dare think that you might stay for
me... want to be with me... because that will get my
hopes up and I don't want to be disappointed"
  "Kalinda..."
      And suddenly his head whipped around. He frowned.
"Did you hear that?"  "Hear what?"
    He went quickly to the computer, checked the
screen. "I was right."
  "Right about what? I don't understand."
    He looked up at her and said, "We're firing on the
Black Mass. The battle is joined:'

  Xyon wasn't precisely correct in his assessment.
  'Troy reaction to the warning shot, Mr. Kebron?"
    "None" said Kebron. "Still no reply on any hailing
frequencies."
  "McHenry--?"
    Mark McHenry didn't even need the rest of the ques-
tion framed. "No deviation from the current path that
it's following. The shot across its bow... or whatever
you'd call it... hasn't caused it to alter its course."
    "All right" said Calhoun. "Tell the Redeemer vessel
to hang back. I want to draw closer and see what hap-
pens when we uses phasers directly on it."
  "Nothing will happen" said Si Cwan confidently.
    "You know, Ambassador, you're becoming annoy-
ingly one-note," Calhoun told him.
    "You've trusted me in the past when I've told you
about things in ThaiIonian space," Si Cwan replied. "If
you wish to disbelieve me now, or simply desire to find
out for yourself, it is of little consequence to me."
    "Awaiting targeting order, Captain," said Kebron.
"The Redeemers have pulled back."
    "Let's go for broke, Mr. Kebron. Target dead
center... or at least what passes for dead center at the
moment. And... fire."
    The Excalibur cut loose with its phasers, firing
straight into the heart of the Black Mass.
    "No discernable effect," said Soleta from her scan-
ners.
    Si Cwan made a "told you so" grunt. "See? It's in-
vulnerable."
    "Not necessarily," Soleta corrected him. "We did not
hit it."
    "Are you questioning my marksmanship?" asked Ke-
bron. He sounded mildly amused that anyone could
conceivably do such a thing.
     "You smack where you aimed. But you did not hit
the Black Mass." "Impossible."
    "You will find," Si Cwan said with a sanguine air,
"that you will use that word a great deal when dealing
with the Black Mass."
    "The creature--if such it is," Soleta said, "morphed
itself around the shots. It happened so quickly that it
would have been undetectable to the eye. It simply
sensed the phaser blast, and opened a hole within itself,
allowing the shot simply to pass right through. Our
weapons might be useful against it... presuming we
can get it to stand still."
    "Full phaser spread and photon torpedo array, Mr.
Kebron," said Calhoun. "Let's see just how much si-
multaneous fire power it can handle."

    Within moments the Excalibur had unleashed a full-
blown assault on the Black Mass. And even as the ship
cut loose with everything it had, Calhoun was starting
to get the uncomfortable feeling that Si Cwan had been
right in his relentless declarations as to the Black Mass'
invincibility.
    The phasers hammered at it, the photon torpedos
slammed through it with their destructive payload.
Nothing. Wherever the weaponry was, the Black Mass
wasn't. Calhoun couldn't fathom it. Phasers, by defini-
tion, moved with the speed of light. Dodging them with
such facility should have been an impossibility, for the
moment that the Black Mass saw the phaser beam com-
ing at it, the phaser beam was--to all intents and pur-
poses-there.
    And no matter what they did, the Mass continued
unswerving on its course.
  "We're receiving a hail," said Kebron.
  Calhoun turned in surprise. "From the Black Mass?"
    "No. From the Redeemers. They want to know if
they should join the battle."
    "I don't see any point to it at this time," Calhoun ad-
mitted. "So far, we--"
    "Captain!" Soleta said. And there was something in
her voice that was about as close to alarm as the Vulcan
science officer ever came. "I think we got its atten-
tion !"
    This visibly startled Si Cwan. "What? Are you sure?
We fired on it twenty years ago with everything we had
and it never even noticed us."
    "But you did so while it was eating," Soleta pointed
out. "At least that is what you told us. It may be that,
while heading for its nourishment, it's more inclined to
be ag~essive defensively and offensively."

    Shelby moved over to the science station, looking
over Soleta's shouldeL "What is it, Lieutenant? What
makes you think we got its attention?"
    "Look for yourself. A section of it is splitting off...
and coming right for us."
    It was true. A small part of the Black Mass--at-
though small was a relative term, considering that it
kept changing in size from one moment to the next--
was on a direct intercept course for the Excalibur.
    "And it is moving very quickly" Soleta said.
"When separated from the rest of the Mass, it is ap-
parently capable of even greater speed than the Mass
as a whole. It is presently moving at approximately
warp four."
    "Mr. Kebron, inform the Redeemers we're embark-
ing on a strategic retreat. Mr. McHenry, kindly move us
somewhere that isn't here."
 And suddenly it was tight there.
    Calhoun had no idea how such a thing could possi-
bly be. Seconds before it was still a safe, albeit rapidly
closing, distance. And suddenly, there had been a tipple
of space--he had been certain he had seen such an ef-
fect from the corner of his eye--and then the Black
Mass was right on top of them.
 And suddenly the screen went completely black.
    "It's all over us, sir!" Soleta called out. "It's com-
pletely enveloped the shields !"
 "Is it eating them somehow?" demanded Calhoun.
 "Negative, sir!"
    "Burgoyne to bridge!" came the alarmed voice of the
chief engineer over the intercom.
 "Bridge, Shelby here," said the first officer.
    "What the hell is going on up there? We've got read-
ings off the shields that I've never seen in my life!
Whatever's doing this, could you kindly get it the hell
off my ship?"
  "We're working on it. Shelby out."
    Calhoun was studying the Black Mass thoughtfully.
"Mr. McHenry, get us out of here, full impulse. We're
going to try and shake that thing loose."
      McHenry didn't move. He was staring, stunned, at
the blackened screen.  "McHenry !"
  "I... I can't;' McHenry said.
    "What do you mean, can't?" Calhoun was out of his
command chair, standing next to McHenry, looking
down at him in surprise. "I've seen you fly this ship
virtually blindfolded. You piloted her without instru-
mentation. You're the one who's constantly in tune with
his environment. This shouldn't be any different for
you."
  "Captain... it's..."
  "It's what?"
    He had never seen McHenry look so lost. "Sir, some-
thing about its motion... it's disrupting space/time. I
feel completely disoriented. I'm not sure why it's hap-
pening, but I can't get any sort of... of mental lock on
where we are and where we should be. I don't know
which way to take us. I could fly us into a star or crash
us right into the Redeemer craft. I could--"  
"I get the picture, Mr. McHenry."
    Soleta said. "We are starting to lose integrity of our
force fields. It's not draining them, it's simply... push-
ing them aside. Estimate breeching of the shields in
two minutes."
  "Bridge to engineering."
    "Engineering, Burgoyne here. Give me good news,
Captain."
    "Actually, you're going to have to give it to me, Bur-
goyne: You've got sixty seconds to get up here with
something that will enable Mr. McHenry to penetrate
some sort of space/time distortion field that the Black
Mass has around the ship."
    To Calhoun's surprise, Burgoyne said, "Mitchell's on
his way."
    And that was an understatement. Inside of fifteen
seconds, Lieutenant Craig Mitchell had materialized on
the bridge, Burgoyne having arranged for Mitchell sim-
ply to be beamed up. Naturally the transporter didn't
work ship to ship while the deflectors were up, but
there was nothing to prevent intraship beaming.
    Mitchell was Burgoyne's second-in-command in en-
gineering. Although ensigns Yates, Beth and Torelli had
frequently worked with Burgoyne, it was to Mitchell
that they actually reported. Mitchell was a heavyset
man, although he had lost some weight recently and
was planning to lose more. He had a head of brownish
black hair, and a thick beard that Burgoyne told him to
shave so often that it had become something of a run-
ning joke between the two of them. He also had a ten-
dency to make the worst jokes of anyone on the
ship... an attribute which Shelby had once comment-
ed on as "going some."
    Without any sort of explanation, Mitchell immedi-
ately walked over to McHenry and draped an odd-look-
ing device over his head and eye. "And this would be?"
asked McHenry.
    "An exographic targeting scanner" Mitchell said. He
had a tendency to rumble when he spoke; his voice was
only slightly less deep than Kebron's, and when Ke-
bron spoke it tended to sound like a rockslide. "Adjust-
ed for use when the viewscreen becomes inoperative
for some reason. We've never had to worry about using
them before as long as wonder boy here was at the
conn. Good thing we kept it handy, though. So what
happened, McHenry? Lose the old touch?"
    "My touch is just fine, thanks," said McHenry, al-
though it was evident that he was rather put out over
the fact that he had to use some sort of supplement. He
strapped it over his face while Mitchell stayed nearby
in case the device needed adjustment. Then McHenry
sat there for a long moment, taking in readings which
he in turn fed directly into the navigational computer.
"Okay," he said after a few moments. "Okay... I've
got it. I still feel like I'm wearing a sack over my head,
but I've got it. Where to, Captain?"
    "I'm still blind, Mr. McHenry. I'm not wearing an
ETS. Just move us away from the Black Mass at maxi-
mum impulse. We need a straight line of movement,
because we're going to try something."
    "What are we trying, sir?" Shelby said, sounding a
bit worried.
  He glanced at her. "Trust me."
    Smiling gamely, she replied, "Why did I have a feel-
ing you were going to say that?"
    Within moments, the Excalibur was cutting through
space at full impulse speed.
    "What are you trying to do, Captain? Get the high
winds to blow it off?" inquired Si Cwan.
    "I assume, Lord Cwan, that you're familiar with the
notion that objects in motion tend to stay in motion.
Well, we're in motion, and so is the Black Mass. When
we stop... with any luck, the Black Mass keeps going.
Mr. McHenry, get ready to hit the brakes on my order.
And... full reverse. Now!"
  The Excalibur slammed to a halt. If it had had tires,
and been on a road, there would have been skid marks.
Theoretically, once the starship came to an abrupt halt,
the organism surrounding them should have slid right
off.
    It was, in fact, an excellent theory. Unfortunately, the
fact did not cooperate with it. The viewscreen remained
black.
  "It's still there, Captain," said Soleta.
  "So I noticed," said Calhoun.
      Burgoyne's voice crackled up from engineering.
"Captain, we're seeing a drain from the exhaust!"
  "The what?"
    "The exhaust from the impulse engines! The hydro-
gen plasma! Something's consuming it! It's not hurting
us any, but it's damned weird!"
    "It's eating the hydrogen plasma? Why?" said Cal-
houn. He looked to Soleta, who shook her head.
    Burgoyne, however, had heard the comment. "'It?'
Can I assume safely from that report, sir, that some part
of that Black Mass is still in residence around our
shields?"
 "That would be a very safe assumption, yes."
 "Can we get it off, please?"
 "We're working on it, Burgy. Bridge out."
    "We can only assume," Soleta now said, "that con-
suming the hydrogen plasma is adding to the creature's
strength. That's how it's managing to remain attached
to US."
    "That and the inertial damping field. When we decel-
erate at impulse, the IDF is helping to keep the thing in
place," said McHenry. When he turned and looked at
them with the ETS on his face, he bore a disconcerting
resemblance to a Borg.
 "You're suggesting we try the same stunt at warp
speed;' said Calhoun. "The IDF will have less tune to
adjust, and the lag time in the adjustment might be
what's needed to kick the thing loose."
    "Whoa, hold it." It was Lieutenant Mitchell who
had spoken up. He had been silently obeerving the
entire exchange, but now he stepped forward. "I hate
to bring this up," said Mitchell, "but you're pushing
the specs on this ship. You bring this vessel to a
sudden halt while at warp speed, you risk tearing
the ship into pieces. The structural integrity field
might not keep us together. To say nothing of the fact
that what the IDF can't adjust for on the outside of
the ship, it also is going to be slow adjusting for on
the inside. We could be scraping crewmen off the
bulkhead with a spatula. There's got to be a better
way."
    "Captain, the Mass is beginning to penetrate our
shields."
    "You know, I always liked this slam-to-a-halt plan,"
Mitchell continued smoothly. "In fact... this could be
the greatest plan ever made."
    'Tm glad you approve," Calhoun said. "Mr. McHen-
ry, take us to warp six. Bridge to engineering."
"Engineering, go ahead" came Burgoyne's voice.
"Burgy, we're going to accelerate to warp six and
then stop abruptly in hopes of shaking the Black Mass
loose."
    "Has Lieutenant Mitchell informed you that you
could tear the ship apart in doing so?"
  "He has brought it to our attention, yes."
    "So we're on record then... presuming our record
isn't destroyed."
    "That's correct. In case we shred ourselves, your
warning has been duly noted."
  "Good. I wouldn't   want to be in trouble with Star-
fleet in the event we all die."
    "Commendable, Burgy. Calhoun out. McHenry, on
my countdown: Three... two... one... warp factor
six, now!"
    The Excalibur, like a gazelle flushed out into the
open by hunters, leaped into warp. It coasted up the
warp scale, accelerating and hitting warp six in no time
at all. Everyone on the bridge was tense, leaning for-
ward, their collective breath held. All accept Calhoun,
who seemed utterly confident and, indeed, even a bit
blas6 about the unorthodox maneuver.
 "Captain, we're at warp six and holding steady."
 "And the Black Mass?"
    Soleta scanned it. "We are moving at a far higher
warp rate than it is accustomed to. And it no longer has
the hydrogen plasma from the impulse engines to sus-
tain it. I believe it is... uncomfortable."
    "All right, Mr. McHenry," Calhoun said slowly, me-
thodically. "Get ready to bring us to a halt. Ladies, gen-
tlemen... in the event that we're all sucking vacuum
in a moment, may I say it was a pleasure working with
you."
 "A pure delight," deadpanned Kebron.
    Calhoun began to count down from ten. The count-
down seemed endless, the tension building with each
descending number. For a moment, Shelby wondered
whether Calhoun had started so high just to build up
the drama.
    Finally it came down to "Three... two... one...
and... full stop!"
    McHenry took a deep breath that was most likely a
prayer, and slammed the ship into reverse in order to
bring it to a halt.
    The sudden lack of movement was so abrupt that
Calhoun nearly skidded out of his chair. McHenry
slammed up against the conn panel, and Boyajian--sit-
ting in for the under-the-weather Robin Lefler--got the
ops control in the pit of his stomach. Soleta barely
managed to maintain her position, and Shelby would
have tumbled clean out of her chair if Calhoun hadn't
managed, with one hand, to grab the back of her uni-
form and hold her in place even as he fought to stay
where he was. Si Cwan, who wasn't sitting, fell for-
ward. However, being Si Cwan, he turned it into a deft
forward roll and came up on his feet.
  Kebron, naturally, didn't budge an inch.
    Calhoun actually fancied that he could hear the
creaking of metal, the stress upon the structure of the
ship itself. For a second he was positive that it had not
worked; that the ship was, indeed, ripping itself apart.
He had to admit to himself that engineers were always
predicting the worst, because that was their job to a de-
gree.
    It felt as if the ship was elastic, stretching like a mas-
sive rubber band... and then snapping back. It was in
that snap that he was suddenly sure the vessel was
going to tear apart, and then, just like that, the disori-
enting sensation was gone.
    And so was the Black Mass. The stars were visible
once more. And there, not far off, to starboard, was the
section of the Black Mass which had, until very recent-
ly, been clinging to the shielding of the ship. It actually
seemed confused, undulating back upon itself as if it
were looking around for something. Probably the Ex-
calibur
    "I knew it'd hold together," Mitchell said proudly,
and patted the nearest railing.
    "McHenry, take us out of here, warp six. Plot us a
roundabout course that will bring us back to Tulaan IV,
and let the Redeemers know that we're still in one
piece. Barely, but in one piece. All sections report in.
Boyajian, crew assessment. Was anyone in the ship
hurt?"
    "I'm getting reports of some serious bumps and
bruises, several fractured ribs, a couple of broken arms
and legs, one concussion."
  "Poor bastard," rumbled Kebron.
    "I think it was more than one crewman who sus-
tained the injuries, Zak," said Soleta. "Not one person
with bumps and bruises, fractured ribs, broken limbs
and concussion."
  "That's a relief."
  "Soleta, is the Black Mass coming after us?"
    "No, sir," she said looking at the scanners. "It ap-
pears to be following the most direct course back to
the... parent body, for lack of a better word. Its ability
to warp space around itself is continuing to make it dif-
ficult to get reliable readings off..."
    Her voice trailed off then, and that was more than
enough to grab the attention of everyone on the bridge.
"What's wrong, lieutenant?" inquired Calhoun.
    "Sir... I'm still getting a reading on the Black
Mass."
 "But you said they were moving off..."
    "They are. I'm picking up something else, still at-
tached to our deflectors. A couple of them are still at-
tached to us."
    "How much? How large, I mean, or how many...
actually, I'm not sure what I mean at this point," Cal-
houn admitted. "What are we looking at?"
 "A small readout near by the starboard nacelle. Only a
foot or so across. I almost missed it; I wouldn't have no-
riced it at all if I hadn't been doing a scan of the vessel's
exterior, looking for something like this, just in case."
    "Take two gold stars out of the ship's stores, Lieu-
tenant, you've earned them. I want you to feed the co-
ordinates directly to Watson in the transporter room.
Calhoun to sickbay."
    "Sickbay, this is Selar. Are you quite through tossing
the ship around, captain? My fetus was quite per-
turbed."
    "My apologies to you and your unborn associate. I
need you to have your people ready a stasis tank. We
have a life form we're going to want to keep as harm-
less as possible."
  "How large a tank?"
    "Three by five feet should suffice," Soleta whispered
to Calhoun. "That will give it room to move about so
that we can observe it."
    "Three by five," said Calhoun. "As soon as it's ready,
bring it to transporter room A and be ready. Calhoun
out. All right, Kebron," he said, turning to tile Brikar at
the tactical station. "When everything is in place, I
want you to lower the shields. At that point, Soleta, you
coordinate with Watson and get that thing aboard here
and beamed directly into the stasis tank. I want to see
up close just what it is we're dealing with. And once
we know that..."
  "Then we can stop it?" said Shelby.
    "Either that," Si Cwan commented, "or else be able
to tell the Redeemers just exactly the nature of the crea-
ture that is going to wipe them out."
     'Tm sure that, if the Redeemers know precisely
 what it is that's going to devour their world and their
 star, they can die happy" said Calhoun.
    "I certainly can tell you that if I know what's going
to eat the Redeemers' world and their star, I can die
happy," said Si Cwan.
    "If we're fortunate," said Calhoun, "we'll all have
our wish." He then focused his attention on the depths
of space and watched Si Cwan's expression as the
ThaiIonian tried to figure out whether he had just been
insulted or not.

VIII.

CALHOUN LEANED IN CLOSE to the stasis tank and
shook his head in slow amazement. "Remarkable," he
said for what seemed the umpteenth time. "Just re-
markable."
    His astonishment was understandable. The sight was,
in fact, remarkable.
    It had turned out that there were apparently four of
the Black Mass entities clinging to the ship's shielding.
Apparently they had managed to hold on when the ship
had made its abrupt start and stop. For their troubles,
they had been left behind, and were little more than sit-
ting ducks when the Excalibur dropped its shields and
brought them aboard.
    They reminded Calhoun vaguely of Trill symbionts,
although they seemed to be no kin of that race. They
were wormlike in appearance, solid black of course. It
had taken Calhoun some minutes to determine, as Sole-
ta already had, that there were four of the creatures in
the stasis tank. They stayed so close together, so utterly
intertwined with one another, that it was difficult to
have any clear idea immediately of just how many of
them there were.
    The ttfing that Calhoun noticed most prominently--
and that which he found probably the most daunting--
were their mouths. One end of their nauseating
wormlike bodies was nothing more than a perpetually
open mouth. The mouths would flutter closed every so
often, but would open once more a very short tune
later. They did not have teeth.
    "Remora," said Soleta. She was standing next to Cal-
houn, and she appeared to be making notes on her sci-
ence tricorder.
 "Who's she?" asked Calhoun.
    "Remora," Soleta repeated. "Any of several marine
fishes, native to earth, of the family Echeneidae. They
attach themselves to larger creatures such as sharks or
whales via a sort of sucker disk. These remind me of
them."
 "Are they sentient? Individually so, I mean?"
    "I simply do not know," Soleta said. "If they are,
they have certainly resisted every attempt to engage in
any sort of meaningful dialogue. They would appear
to have about as much intellectual prowess as a gold-
fish."
    Standing nearby, Kebron said warningly, "Watch it. I
have goldfish. They challenge my intellect daily."
    Soleta didn't even glance at him as she commented,
"I am not certain whether that is more of a commentary
on the fish or you."
 "You're cold, Soleta."
  "I am Vulcan, Kebron."
  "Same thing."
    They were grouped in sickbay, watching the four an-
imated fragments of the Black Mass moving about.
Shelby was there as well, and she was shaking her head
in am~ement as she watched. "They're never still. Do
you notice that? They just keep on moving and moving,
twisting and turning back on each other constantly.
When was the last time you ever saw such a constant,
unceasing writhing of flesh?"
    Calhoun, without hesitation, replied, "Graduation
night at the Academy."
    Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, Shelby
actually laughed at that. "I knew you went to more in-
teresting parties than I did."
    "They never spend any time at all out of contact with
each other;' observed Selar, apparently not caring one
way or the other about the respective quality of parties
attended by anyone else in the room. "We've tried a va-
riety of ways to separate them, just to see what would
happen, but nothing has been successful thus far. We're
hoping that--ah."
    The "ah" was in response to the entrance of Bur-
goyne. S/he was carrying some sort of bizarre-looking
device that Calhoun had not seen before. "Where
should I set it up?" asked Burgoyne.
  "Right over here," said Soleta.

    As Burgoyne moved in from one direction, however,
Doctor Selar moved in from the other. "Soleta... a
moment of your time, please."
    Soleta nodded and walked over to Selar, who stepped
away from the group to provide them with a minimal
degree of privacy. "May I ask how much longer this
will be going on?" she inquired. "This is my sickbay,
after all. Not a science lab."
    "I had thought to make matters convenient for you,
Doctor," replied Soleta.
    "Yes, but this has been going on for longer than an-
ticipated."
    "This is a new species and a matter of science, doc-
tor. There is never any period of time 'anticipated' in
such instances. We study, research and test until we
have answers, however long that may take. I am sur-
prised that you would even question that."
    "All right, Soleta. Fine. You..." It sounded as if
Selar was in pain. Then she put fingers to either side of
her temples and, taking a deep breath, appeared to calm
somewhat. "You... do whatever is required. However,
I would request that, at the very least, you do so as qui-
etly as possible. I am possessed of a headache at the
moment."
    "Yes. Of course." Soleta looked at her askance, but
Selar said nothing further, merely turned on her heel
and went back about her business.
    "Lieutenant. Ready when you are," called Burgoyne.
Soleta turned and saw that Burgoyne, although s/he had
the device set up, was watching Selar as she walked
away. Soleta shook her head and rejoined the group.
    "So what have we got here?" asked Calhoun. His
purple eyes were glittering slightly. Soleta had to admit
that she couldn't remember the last time she had dealt
with a captain who expressed such intense joy and in-
terest in the sheer act of discovery. "It appears to be a
sound device of some sort."
 'What is precisely correct," replied Soleta.
    "Very good, Captain," Shelby said approvingly. "Ob-
viously you were paying attention in science classes.

Apparently the Academy wasn't entirely extended par-
ties of writhing flesh."
  "Shame, that," said Calhoun wistfully.
    "To continue," said the unflappable Soleta, "it's a
harmonic dissonance generator. Very small scale, of
course. I'm interested to see if there's any manner in
which our shields or deflectors can be used against it
somehow. Considering the manner in which it adhered
to the shields, I do not hold out much hope, but... we
must try all options. Are you ready, Lieutenant Com-
mander?"
  "Whenever you are," said Burgoyne cheerfully.
    The generator was fight up against the stasis tank.
"Activating on three... two... one... and activated,"
said Burgoyne.
  The effect was immediate, if puzzling.
  The creatures stopped.
    For the first time since they had been brought
aboard, the samples of the Black Mass which they had
lucked upon ceased their internal movement. It was as
if they were trying to figure out just what it was that
they were being exposed to.
  And then they went berserk.
    "Perfect," said Soleta upon observing the subsequent
small-scale chaos, and Calhoun was struck by just how
apt Kebron's description of her had been. She really
was cold, because what they were observing was diffi-
cult for anyone to watch, despite the inherently destruc-
tive nature of the creatures before them.
    The four black wormlike entities thrashed about
wildly, as if they had suddenly gone blind (although
where their eyes were at all was still a matter of some
debate) and then, just like that, they split apart from
one another. As if driven apart by the pounding of a
surf or hauled apart by raging currents, the four entities
lost contact with one another, driven to the four far
ends of the stasis field.
    "Better than we could have hoped;' Soleta said ap-
provingly.
  "You were expecting this?"
    "No, Captain, merely hoping for it. The harmonic
dissonance is forming, for them, the equivalent of a
small-scale deflector wave. If it were magnetic, it
would be the equivalent of like charges repelling. I've
introduced a vibrational frequency to them to which
they are all responding on a molecular basis. Under
those conditions, it becomes insurmountably painful
for them to be in touch with one another. If they do,
they encounter vibrations so violent that they feel as if
it is going to tear them apart, and so they have no
choice but to keep separate from each other. Watch.
They will try and draw close to one another again, but
they will fail."
    Soleta was absolutely fight. Each tentative move the
creatures made toward one another was rebuffed by the
waves of sound. Indeed, it was almost pathetic to
watch.
"Are they being hurt in any other way?" asked Shelby.
"No. They're not even really being hurt as it stands,"
said Soleta, "as long as they remain separate from one
another. Individually, they're vibrating at high speeds
molecularly, but that in and of itself is not particularly
painful. They'd be aware of the vibration, certainly, but
there is no discomfort. It is only when they come in
contact that they sense discomfort and end up moving
apart from each other."
    Then Calhoun leaned forward, frowning. "Is that
supposed to be happening?"

    The creatures were starting to droop. Until that point,
they had been continuing in their futile endeavors to get
near each other. Now, however, they were ceasing mo-
tion altogether.
    "Doctor Selar" Soleta called, as she began checking
readings on her tricorder. "A moment of your time,
please. And bring your medical tficorder, if you
would."
    Selar approached them with her by-now-standard
lack of grace. She was holding her tricorder and she did
not seem pleased that her presence was required. "Yes.
What?"
    "Could you scan the creatures, please, and compare
them to the readings you took when they were first
brought on board."
    The doctor nodded and began inspecting the crea-
tures in her customary brisk, straightforward manner.
By that point, they had stopped moving altogether.
Selar continued to study her readings, and soon there
was an unmistakable frown on her face. "These two,"
she pointed to two of the creatures on opposite sides of
the stasis field, "are dead."
  "Are you sure?" said Shelby.
  Selar fired her a look.
  "Sorry. What was I thinking?"
    "I do not know. As I said... these two are dead...
and these other two are dying. What have you done to
them?"
"Nothing. Aside from keeping them apart, nothing."
"It may be," speculated Selar, "that saying you're
doing nothing 'aside from keeping them apart' may be
the equivalent, as far as they're concerned, as saying
that you're doing nothing but keeping someone from
breathing."

"Shut off the generator. Now" said Calhoun.
Immediately Burgoyne shut down the harmonic dis-
sonance generator. The two dead creatures, naturally,
did not move. The two remaining, however, immedi-
ately began to twitch and writhe about. As if rediscov-
ering each other from a very great distance, they
hurtled toward one another, intertwined, and stayed
that way.
    "All vital signs returning to normal," Selar said.
'q'hey will live. Am I done here?"
  "Yes, thank you, doctor" said Soleta.
    Selar nodded stiffly and walked off, swaying as she
went. But she was stopped in her tracks by Soleta, who
called, "Oh, doctor. Since we have two dead speci-
mens, dissecting them might be helpful. Might I count
on your assistance for that?"
    "Of course. I cannot think of anything I would rather
do," said Selar, and she walked off.
    "Good lord, she's in a bad mood," muttered Shelby
to Calhoun under her breath.
    "I heard that, Commander;' came Selar's voice from
across the sickbay.
    Shelby winced. "Vulcan ears, Commander" Calhoun
reminded her, sounding sympathetic. "What can you
do?" Then, becoming all business, he turned to Soleta.
"I want a full report on the biological make-up of these
things inside of two hours, Lieutenant."
    "Captain, it will take me at least three hours to do the
job to the fullest of my capabilities," Soleta told him.
    "I want a full report on the biological make-up of
these things inside of an hour, Lieutenant."
    Soleta opened her mouth to protest, then closed it
again. "One hour it is, sir."
 "I knew I could count on you, Lieutenant."

    "That is very encouraging, sir, considering that if I
had voiced another protest, you might well have given
me a deadline of last week."
    "That's the secret of our success, Lieutenant. Our
ability to communicate. It's not quite up there with
theirs, granted, but it works for us."
    The "theirs" he was referring to meant, of course, the
two surviving creatures, still intertwined with one an-
other and apparently oblivious to the rest of the world.

    Kalinda and Xyon were intertwined with one another
and apparently oblivious to the rest of the world. At
least, so it seemed to Si Cwan while he was standing
outside Kalinda's quarters, waiting for them to ac-
knowledge the chime.
    "Would you mind coming back later?" Kalinda's
voice came from the other side.
    With effort, Si Cwan said, "Not at all. Kindly contin-
ue... whatever it is you were doing." And with that, he
started walking down the hallway.
  Very.
  Slowly.
    It was more than enough time for Kalinda to make it
to the door and stick her head out. She was wearing a
dressing gown and she called, "Si Cwan? Are you all
right?"
  "All right?" asked Si Cwan, turning back to face her.
  "Yes, all fight. You sounded... odd just then."
    "I am sorry," Si Cwan said politely. "I was unaware I
sounded any way in particular. I simply wished to
speak with you."
    Xyon appeared just behind Kalinda. He was tucking
the edges of his shirt into the tops of his slacks. "Look,
I'll just be going, if the two of you want to talk..."

     "No, that's quite all right," Si Cwan said quickly.
 "Not necessary at all."
'Tm not looking for trouble right now, that's all."
"Nor will you have any," Si Cwan said with his most
winning smile. "There are things that must be said, to
Kalinda... and to you. And now, my children, is as
good a time as any to say them."
  "'My children?' "said Xyon suspiciously.
    "Come. Come," and Si Cwan draped an arm around
either of them, escorting them back into Kalinda's
quarters. He made an endeavor not to stare at the rum-
pled sheets on the bed. "Sit down, please. No, now you
don't have to sit on opposite sides of the room," he
laughed. "That's quite all right. You can sit next to each
other. You don't have to worry about sparing my feel-
ings or some such nonsense. We are all adults here,
after all. Well ... some of us are younger adults than
others, but the concept remains the same, correct?"
    "Correct," said Kalinda, shifting uneasily in her
chair. "So... what is it, Si Cwan? What did you want
to talk about?"
    "Why, the two of you, of course," Si Cwan said ex-
pansively. "I have been giving the matter a good deal of
thought, and have also been listening closely to the ad-
vice of people whom I respect. And I believe that I
have been handling this matter inappropriately."
    "I thought trying to kill your sister's lover is appro-
priate behavior where you come from?" Xyon said sar-
castically.
    "Well, actually it is," Si Cwan told him with all seri-
ousness. "In a case involving a princess and a common-
er having a dalliance, yes, absolutely. Not only would
my trying to kill you in such an instance be appropri-
ate, it would be considered absolutely mandatory. So
you see my problem. My instincts and training are
sending me in one direction, whereas the new mores
and standards under which I am expected to live are
sending me in another. It is something of a predica-
ment."
    "I should think so," Xyon said, trying to look under-
standing. "And may I ask what conclusions you've
come to?"
    "There's only one possible conclusion, really" Si
Cwan said. "One reasonable conclusion, in any event. I
must live in the present, not in the past. Thallon is noth-
ing but rubble now, the empire fallen. I cannot and
should not expect Kalinda to adhere to bloodlines that
no longer exist.
    'q2ae point is, I do not wish to be unreasonable or in-
transigent. It is clear to me that the two of you make
each other quite happy. I cannot reasonably put forward
a protest on this matter based upon a social order that
no longer exists. I think... perhaps most of my diffi-
culties stemmed from my simple reluctance to ac-
knowledge that. I was raised as part of the ThaiIonian
Empire, and part of me still does not want to admit that
those times are gone. I am afraid, Xyon, that you were
the victim of a good deal of personal fall-out on my
part."
  "Well... no harm done, then" Xyon said.
      "I am glad that you feel that way. Ultimately, all ei-
ther of us cares about is Kally's happiness."
  "Absolutely."
    "Good. It's settled, then" Si Cwan said, slapping his
knees and standing. "When would you like me to do it?"
     There was a moment of confused silence. "It? Do
 what? What 'it' are you supposed to do?" asked a puz-
 zled Xyon.

  "Why, the marriage, of course."
  "Marriage." Xyon's voice was flat.
    "Of course. The environs in which I once lived may
be gone, but I still hold my status and rank. And as a
high noble of my family, I am empowered to perform
marriages. Oh... but I see that, once again, I have mis-
read the situation. I simply took for granted that you,
Xyon, would act in the manner of a ThaiIonian noble.
There is that antiquated class structure in my head once
more. Rather than lower, in my own mind, Kalinda to
the status of commoner, I elevated you in my thinking
to that of nobility. So that you would be, in my mind,
'good enough' for my sister. That was foolish, I sup-
pose." He laughed. Xyon laughed as well, although
rather uncomfortably.
    "Now a ThaiIonian noble," continued Si Cwan,
"were he in the sort of relationship with a princess that
you are now enjoying... why, marriage would simply
be the natural order of things. Any other action or atti-
tude toward his beloved would be... well, unthink-
able. But it is, once again, inappropriate to hold you to
an outdated, outmoded standard. The fact is, I'm sure,
that you have absolutely no intention of doing the
noble thing and marrying my sister. Is that not right,
Kalinda?"
    "Why are you asking me?" said Kalinda. "I cannot
speak on behalf of Xyon's feelings."
    Xyon looked at her in surprise. "Well, of course not,
but you can speak on behalf of yours. Remember what
you were saying earlier? About how you'd never expect
me to stay for you?"
    "Of course. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't want
you to. I just... I wasn't expecting it."
 "Nor should you," Si Cwan said, sounding quite de-
fensive of Xyon. "I would hope, Kally, that you do not
make the same mistake ! did and hold Xyon to an im-
possible standard of devotion and--"
"Now hold on! Are you saying I can't be devoted?"
"Am I giving offense again?" Si Cwan said, sound-
ing sincerely apologetic. "It was not at all my inten-
tion."
"Are you saying I'd be unwilling to marry Kalinda?"
"Truthfully, I do not know you all that well, Xyon. I
do not know what you would and would not be willing
to do. I was simply trying to give you the benefit of the
doubt, that's all. Far be it from me to put any sort of
pressure upon you."
  "Well, you are!"
  "How?"
    "By saying that you don't expect me to marry your
sister!"
    Si Cwan and Kalinda exchanged looks, and then
Kalinda said gently, "Xyon... I hate to admit it... but
even I'm not quite following what you mean."
    "Kalinda!" and Xyon pointed accusingly at Si Cwan.
"Don't you see what he's doing!"
    "I will tell you what I'm doing," said Si Cwan. "I
am leaving. Apparently, in my efforts to make certain
that you two are happy, I've instead simply stumbled
upon a sore subject. Kalinda, obviously, is not at all
put off by the notion of marriage. You, Xyon, are.
She will not force you into any such permanent
bond... and you, Xyon, are not quite certain of
where your mind is in the matter. Perhaps it would be
best if I simply kept my distance for the time being
so that I do not give any additional offense. Good day
to you."
  "Si Cwan, wait..." Kalinda started to say.

    "No, no... I would not want to risk any further dis-
ruptions. Good day, I said." And with that, Si Cwan ex-
ited into the corridor. He stood there for a moment,
reviewing in his mind everything that had just tran-
spired...
    ... and then he laughed to himself, softly and with
great satisfaction.

IX.

IN MANY WAYS, CALHOUN HATED CONFERENCES, particu-
larly when there was as much on the line as there was
with this one. It made him feel... vulnerable in a way.
After all, there he was at a table surrounded by every-
one whose advice in a given situation might be of
value. He was expecting them to provide him with use-
ful information. They, in turn, would anticipate his
being able to develop a strategy and put it into effect.
    The problem was that the distribution of responsibili-
ty did not go equally both ways. For it was entirely pos-
sible that his people could come to him at any given
time of crisis and say, "Sorry, Captain... we've no idea
what to do." At which point it would be up to him to
come up with something. As the old earth saying went,
the buck stopped with him. Admittedly, it was not a say-
ing that Calhoun completely understood. He had heard
it once in passing from an older professor at the Acade-
my, and had endeavored to research it to understand its
meaning. The only relevant information he'd been able
to turn up, however, indicated that a buck was an adult
male deer. He was at a loss to comprehend how the ap-
parent hunting metaphor worked, but rather than try to
figure it out, he had been more than willing to chalk it
up as yet another one of those simply incomprehensible
things about humans and just let it go.
    Burgoyne, McHenry, Soleta, Selar, Shelby and Si
Cwan were grouped around the table in the conference
lounge. Calhoun toyed with the notion of announcing,
in a very serious tone, that they had entirely too many
people whose name began with the letter "S" on hand,
and some of them were simply going to have to go. But
he decided, wisely, that it was neither the time nor
place. "All right;' he said. "What have we got?"
    "We have completed the autopsy on the two crea-
tures which died," Selar said. "Computer: File Mass 1
Alpha."
    A detailed chart of the disassembled creature ap-
peared on the computer screen. "And just before lunch,
too. Most appreciated, Doctor" said Calhoun.
    Ignoring the comment, Selar said, "It does not have a
standard brain as we understand it. Instead of one cen-
tral cerebral organ, it appears to have a network of
brain tissue throughout its body. Its skin is not a normal
epidermis, showing a remarkable capacity for elasticity.
It is little wonder that the creature, as a whole, is capa-
ble of such drastic shifts in its proportions. A conserva-
tive estimate indicates that the creature can swell to
approximately five times the size it was here. Conserv-
ative estimate, as I said. It could possibly become even
larger."
 "But what causes it to change in size?"
  "Its stomach."
    Calhoun leaned forward, frowning. "I beg your par-
don?"
    "At rest" Soleta stepped in, pointing to the appropri-
ate organ on the screen, "the creature's stomach is
rather small. No larger than the size of the average fist.
But its stomach has the capacity to expand immensely."
  "Caused by its eating. What does it eat, though?"
  "As near as we can determine, just about anything. It
  draws nutrients and energy from anything it consumes,
  and excretes the waste material," said Soleta.
    "Here's another interesting thing," McHenry spoke
up. "I decided to do some research into the migratory
paths of the Black Mass.."  "You did?" said Calhoun.
    "Very heads-up of you, Mr. McHenry," Shelby said
approvingly. "You're usually not quite so... aggres-
sive."
    "That thing" McHenry said with uncustomary heat,
"blinded me. Shut me down. I take that very, very per-
sonally."
"Good," Calhoun replied. "So what have you got?"
"Well, the problem is that a good deal of information
about the Black Mass is anecdotal, as we know. So
some of this is guesswork. Although it is solid guess-
work. Some guesswork involves more guessing than
others, and that of course could possibly undercut the
reliability of the research. So I guess you could say--"
    "Mr. McHenry... the point, please;' Calhoun said
with remarkable patience.
    "Oh, right. Right. Okay, here's the thing: As near as I
can tell--best guess---"
  "Mark!" said an exasperated Burgoyne.

  "They always travel a route with a pulsar on it."
    Si Cwan blinked in confusion. "A pulsar? What
would that be?"
    There were soft chuckles from around the table. "Si
Cwan, the knowledgeable guide around ThaiIonian
space, doesn't know what a pulsar is?" asked Shelby.
 "I'm unfamiliar with the term."
    "Admittedly, it's not used much outside of earth,"
said Soleta. "It's a name for a type of neutron star--
dense stars composed mostly of tightly packed neu-
tlons."
    'That is something I've heard of" said Si Cwan,
sounding a bit defensive. "But a 'pulsar'... ?"
    "A term coined by earth scientists in the twentieth
century. A pulsar is a neutron star surrounded by an ex-
tremely powerful magnetic field," McHenry explained.
'q'he magnetic field produces a strong electric field that
rips protons and electrons from the surface of the neu-
tron star. The rotation results in detectable bursts, or
pulses, of radio waves. Those pulses are what prompted
scientists to term such stars 'pulsars.'"
    "So what's the significance of all this, then?" asked
Calhoun.
    "We've put together a hypothesis" said Soleta.
When she spoke, her hands moved in slow, lazy ges-
tures as if she were painting a portrait with her finger-
tips. "The Black Mass resides in the Hunger Zone,
like... like a great serpent which has devoured a cow.
It sits there digesting its meal, a process that takes
many years. Eventually, however, the food supply in
the stomach of the Black Mass dwindles to a noticeable
degree. At that point..."
 "They swarm?" said Si Cwan.
 "Correct," Selar stepped in. "By discharging energy
plasma, they are able to move quite quickly. At first,
this rapid--albeit utterly normal--speed served the
needs of the creature. But the Black Mass consumed all
the usable stars and systems in its immediate vicinity
over the centuries. And so it developed a new means of
propulsion to get about."
    "By all means, don't keep us in suspense," said
Shelby.
    "In the heart of the Hunger Zone;' said Soleta, "it is
our theory that there is very likely either a pulsar or
neutron star. The way that the Black Mass is able to
move at faster-than-light, as an entity, is that they es-
sentially surf the event horizon of the pulsar and, using
a modified version of the slingshot effect first pio-
neered by the starship Enterprise, move off at warp
speeds. By this means, they find a useful system and
eat the planets first. This provides them with needed
mass. They then regurgitate the mass into the star, con-
suming the star in its entirety as well, thus giving them
the plasma they require. Their stomachs now massive,
they move through space by discharging the plasma."
    Selar's and McHenry's heads were bobbing in agree-
ment. Calhoun managed to keep a poker face, but Si
Cwan could not keep the incredulity out of his expres-
sion. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. This
creature, this Black Mass--the single most feared enti-
ty in all of ThaiIonian space, a monstrosity that has
been used to scare recalcitrant children into going to
bed--you are sitting here and telling me that, in
essence, it gets around by... by..."
 "Passing cosmic gas, yes. Mildly amusing, I suppose."
 "Oh, I'm sure the notion will provide hours of hilari-
 ty for the billions of beings who have died because of
 it," said Si Cwan.
     'q7o continue," Soleta said, clearly not wanting to
 dwell too heavily on the Black Mass' means of propul-
 sion. "the Black Mass maintains its course until it
 comes upon another pulsar, which it then uses to whip
 around once more and hurtle back to the Hunger
 Zone..."
    McHenry picked up the narrative. "We think their
need to 'hang together' stems from evolution. Not all of
the Black Mass can get to a particular destination, you
see. Some of the unit sacrifices itself in order to get the
rest of the Mass to a given point. Biologically co-de-
pendent, over the centuries they've become linked at
such a core level that it's become a biological impera-
   They cannot exist individually."
tivei get it," said Shelby, leaning forward. "They need
to Panction as a unit. They can split into smaller units
and function independently, but if they're split from
one another into individuals... they die."  
"Exactly" Selar said.
    "And sound seems to break them apart," Burgoyne
pointed out. "You saw the effect the harmonic disso-
nance generator had on them. So all we have to do
iS . , ?'
    Then s/he paused, seeing the problem. Then they all
understood it, exchanging glances that underscored the
fact that their difficulties were just beginning.
 "All we have to do is what?" asked Si Cwan.
    "All we have to do," said Calhoun, "is change the
laws of physics by getting sound to travel in space."

    The High Priest was discovering that he was becom-
ing rather fond of sunsets on Fenner.
    In his hiding place, deep in the Fennerian jungle, far
away from any of the planet's residents, he had a good
deal of time for contemplation, deep thought, and gen-
eral pondering of the way of things. He felt somewhat
aggrieved that the Overlord had given his oath to the
inhabitants of this world that they would be forever
"safe" from being redeemed. A tragic concept, that. It
was like being safe from one's own heart. Nevertheless,
it had been the Overlord's decision to make, and so not
open to question.
    But Xant would have liked this world. That much the
High Priest was quite certain of. The jungle was indeed
lush, the local animals quite harmless. And that
sunset... undoubtedly the single most beautiful that he
had ever seen. He couldn't get over it. Who would have
thought that a planet such as this would be possessed of
such a remarkable sunset? The way that the rays fil-
tered through the horizon, and in turn illuminated the
flora and fauna surrounding him.
    He hoped he wouldn't have to annihilate everyone
on this world.
    That would be a sad thing, truly a sad thing. After
all, the Fennerians actually had the opportunity to wit-
ness the sunsets as well. If they were all dead,
why... it was almost as if the sunsets wouldn't matter
anymore, for who would be there to see them? A thing
of beauty is only worthwhile if there is someone there
to witness it.
    The High Priest had been carefully selected for this
duty. He was a very light sleeper, unnaturally so, in
fact. As a result, in the event that anyone from Starfleet
actually managed to track him down, day or night, he
could still take his life and--consequently---end the
lives of all those on Fenner. Obviously it was not his
first choice, but he would still do it. He also had detec-
tion devices in his cabin. If any small vessels came
within range, obviously searching for him, he would
act on the assumption that his capture was near and,
once again, he would kill himself. One did what had to
be done.
    He heard a rustling in the trees nearby. His dagger
was comfortably on his hip, and his hand strayed to-
ward it, just in case.
    The brush parted... and the most curious creature
that the High Priest had ever seen peered out at him. It
was large, about twice as big as the High Priest. It was
covered with white fur, and had an odd, wrinkled face.
It looked anthropoidal.
    Considering the size of the thing, the High Priest
touched his thigh to make sure that his blaster was se-
cured to it. If the thing rushed him, or appeared the
slightest bit hostile, he wanted to be prepared for it.
    But instead, far from hostile, the creature seemed
genuinely curious and certainly seemed to have no in-
tention of attacking the High Priest. Instead it moved
toward the Redeemer, grunting softly, tilting its head
with interest. "Oooff?. Oooof?." it asked.
    Still maintaining his guard, the High Priest said,
"Well, hello... and who are you?"
    The creature watched him for a moment more...
and then backflipped. It turned a somersault right in
midair, and then flipped back again.
    The High Priest laughed. The creature was trying to
entertain him. Certainly it was a simplistic beast, but
despite the initial appearance it had, it was obviously
harnfiess.
    The white-furred creature did a backward roll, then
laughed in an odd grunting fashion and applauded for
itself, banging its large padded hands together in clear
triumph, pleased at its own cleverness.

    "Very good! Very good!" said the High Priest, clap-
ping his hands in approval. Then he laughed again,
struck by the amusing irony that the mindless creature
had taught him a trick, rather than the other way
around. "Can you do this?" The High Priest proceeded
to bounce up and down in place.
    The creature watched him for a moment, tilting its
head quizzically, and then it imitated the bouncing.
    "What a sight we must be, eh?" called the High
Priest to his newfound friend. They bounced up and
down for a few minutes and then the creature placed a
hand on the ground and started to run in a circle. It did
so with great excitement and another series of "Oooofi
Woooof! Woooo ooof oooof!"
    Then the creature flopped back onto his hind quar-
ters. It looked a little tired.
    "Wait. Wait right here," said the High Priest of the
Redeemers. He ran back into his makeshift cabin and
emerged a moment later with some foodstuffs. He had
no idea whether the thing would consume it or not,
but it was certainly worth a try. He held it up, waving
it in the direction of the creature's face, and said,
"Here. Here. Want to try it? You might like it. Hmm?
Like it9."
    Clearly the creature, for all its size, was still tentative
around the Redeemer. It approached slowly, head
cocked, apparently hypnotized by the sight of the food
being dangled in front of it. Obviously nervous, but
overcome by its hunger, the creature slowly reached up
and, ever so carefully, took the food from the High
Priest's outstretched hand. It was now seated bare inch-
es from the High Priest.
     "Very good," said the High Priest approvingly, "very
 good." And then, more for his own amusement than
 anything else--for naturally he didn't expect a reply--
 the High Priest added, "What do we say?"
      The creature looked up at him and said, very clearly,
 very crisply, "Night night."  "No, we say thank y--"
     The High Priest's response was so automatic that it
 didn't dawn on him at first that the animal had spoken.
 Then he caught himself in mid-reply and gasped,
 "What did you say?"
     "I said night night. Is your heating defective?" in-
 quired the creature.
     No words were coming out of the High Priest's
 throat.
    "The reason I'm saying night night, by the way, is
because I've just jammed a hypo into your leg. I'd esti-
mate another three seconds before it takes full effect.
Frightfully sneaky trick, I'm afraid, but then again...
these are dangerous times, as someone once said."
    The truth of what had happened was filtering
through the High Priest's brain. He tried to pull out his
knife, but his arms weren't functioning. He suddenly
realized that his legs weren't working either, and he
started to sag to the ground. The white-furred creature
caught him on the way down.
    "I said 'full effect.' However, even the partial effect
is enough to make you harmless to everyone... your-
self, me, everyone. Oh, but I've been a frightful boar
and haven't introduced myself. Ensign Janos, attached
to the Starship Excalibur. A pleasure to make your ac-
quaintance. I've had the devil's own time tracking you
here. You were very well hidden. Very well. So good
for you, I suppose, but you know, you couldn't hide
forever. Oh... oh dear. You seem to have gone all un-
conscious."

Which he had. The High Priest had passed out. The
only thing stopping him from falling was Janos' arm.
    Slowly Ensign Janos lowered the High Priest to the
ground. Then he walked into the makeshift cottage and
discovered transmitting equipment there that the High
Priest had been using to keep in touch with the other
Redeemers. It would be merely the work of moments to
reconfigure it so that Janos could get word to the Ex-
calibur and let them know that the planet Fenner was
safe. Then something caught his eye. Something quite
pretty and, truthfully, rather magnificent. He sat down
next to the insensate form of the High Priest and, gaz-
ing at the sky, said, "Smashing sunset tonight, don't
you think?" And he proceeded to keep up a steady
stream of chitchat with the unconscious Redeemer as
the sunlight dwindled on the horizon.

x.

"YOU'VE GOT ME COMPLETELY CONFUSED NOW!" said
Xyon.
    He was sitting on the deck of his ship, the Lyla.
Specifically, he was sitting on the floor of the vessel,
while Kalinda sat in the pilot seat nearby and regarded
him with open curiosity. "Why do I have you con-
fused?" she asked. "What is there to be confused
about?"
    "This whole situation! The things that your brother
said--!"
    "What things did he say that were so terrible?" she
asked. "He offered to have us be together. Don't you
see, Xyon? We won! We have what we want..." Then
she hesitated. "Or do we? Well, that's really the prob-
lem, isn't it."
 "No. The problem," said Xyon, stabbing a finger at
her, "is that everything was going fine until your
brother suddenly started piping in with this business
about mareage. That suddenly changed expecta-
tions..."
    "What expectations?" she asked, blinking her eyes
like a blinded owl. "I told you what my expectations of
you were..."
    "Yes, you told me. But they changed once you
got your brother's encouragement, didn't they. Sud-
denly-"
    "Suddenly nothing," she shot back. "ff anyone's
changed in all of this, it's you. All of a sudden you're
saying I want things that I didn't ask for... didn't even
think of asking for, because I know you're not capable
of giving them."
  "How do you know that?"
  "Are you saying you are?"
    "I'm saying..." Xyon moaned and gripped his
blond hair on either side as if he were ready to tear it
out of his head... which he more or less was. "I don't
know what I'm saying."
  "Well, that much I believe."
    "I wasn't thinking ahead, Kalinda. When you and I
became involved, I wasn't... I mean... I never think
ahead. You know? Life's too short."
    "And it gets shorter if you make a full time profes-
sion of risking it" she told him. She slid off the chair
and took his hands in each of hers. "You could stay
here, you know."
    "Oh, yes, of course; starships are always in the habit
of taking in strays."
    "This isn't just a starship, and you know it. Your fa-
ther is the captain. And he wants to be more of a father
to you, we both know that. He won't turn you away."

  "Kalinda... I..."
    "But, of course, think of everything you'd be giving
up." She spoke with an edge to her voice, a trace of bit-
ter anger that he hadn't heard before. "Your freedom.
Your life of adventure. It's not as if you'd be gaining
anything from it--security, me--none of those things
matter."
    He blew air impatiently through his lips. "Are you
going to bother to listen to anything I have to say, or
are you simply going to have this entire discussion by
yourself?"
  "Fine. I'm listening. Go ahead. Say what you want."
    He stared at her. "I don't know what to say," he ad-
mitted.
    She released his hands and stood, shaking her head
in a discouraged manner.
    "Kalinda, it's just... it's a lot to process at one time.
A lot to deal with. I don't want to rush into anything, I
don't want to make any mistakes, I don't want--"
  "Me?"
    "Yes, I want you." He tried to sound teasing as he
got up, went to her and took her hand. "Haven't I been
pretty obvious about that?"
 "But you want me on your terms."
    "I didn't know any terms had to be set. That was
your brother's idea. He's trying to push us into some-
thing that neither of us is ready for, in hopes of pushing
us apart."
    "Tell me something, Xyon. If you were going to
leave, right here, right now... and I said I wanted
to come along with you, be with you. The only
'term' attached is that we be together, for however
long it's something we both desire... would you
want that?"
  "Of course," he said without hesitation.
    "Think," she said softly, "about what you'd be
agreeing to. I'd be there, all the time. You'd have no
privacy. You'd have someone else's life intertwined
with yours. Anything that you wanted to do, any task
you desired to undertake, would have an impact on
me. So naturally you would be honor bound to discuss
it with me. And if I said 'No, I don't want to risk my-
self... and I don't want you to risk yourself,' why...
what then, Xyon? So I'm asking you again: If you
were going to leave, right here, right now... and I
said I wanted to come along with you, be with you.
The only 'term' attached is that we be together, for
however long it's something we both desire ... would
you want that?"
    "Of course," he said with a great deal more hesita-
tion.
    He tried to speak more, but she put a finger to his
lips. "I think" Kalinda said in a very gentle tone, "that
if we are to speak of this more... and I emphasize
'if'... then it should be later. Don't you think that
would be a better idea?"
    He found himself nodding, and then Kalinda kissed
him gently on the knuckles of his right hand and eased
herself out the door of the ship.
  Xyon was alone.

  The Overlord actually seemed excited.
    Having been brought over from the Redeemer ship,
he sat in the conference lounge with Calhoun and all
the senior officers, and listened to the entire description
of what the Excalibur had discovered in its encounter
with the Black Mass. Most of the commentary seemed
to be coming from the younger Vulcan woman, Soleta.

He noticed a couple of times that the one called
McHenry seemed about to interrupt, particularly when
Soleta was describing means of propulsion, but she
managed to silence him with a look.
    When she was finished, the Overlord sat back, taking
it all in. "But where does that leave us, then? Sound
cannot travel in space."
    "True," agreed Calhoun. "But we believe we've
found a way around it. Mr. Burgoyne... ?"
    The Hermat, Burgoyne, got to hir feet and started
to move while s/he spoke. The Overlord suspected
that, for some reason, s/he felt more comfortable that
way. "Phasers can be rigged," s/he said, "to make
them over into, essentially, blasts of magnetic disso-
nance. Pure magnetic fields wouldn't hurt them or
contain them, but magnetically based dissonance
blasts will very likely split them apart. If we're fortu-
nate, then it will have the same impact it had on them
in sickbay."
 "You can do this thing'?" said the Overlord.
    "Yes. It actually is not that difficult a proposition for
us. We suspect you may be able to as well, although
we're not quite certain. Your phaser weapons are differ-
ent from ours, and obviously I'm not familiar with all
the working parameters."
    "Well, it should not matter whether we can or not,"
the Overlord told them. "After all, you are here. The
Black Mass is still approaching Tulaan IV, but there is
time to do what needs be done. And you can..."
    The Overlord stopped. He found the smiles from
around the table to be somewhat disconcerting. He
could not, for the life of him, imagine what they might
be smiling about.
 "Do it yourselves," said Calhoun.
    The Overlord's already obsidian face darkened even
farther, which would have seenled impossible. "Do not
test me, Captain. Do not play this game. My threat to
the people of Fenner still stands."
    "Actually ... it doesn't," Calhoun informed him. He
seemed remarkably smug about it, too. Of everyone in
the room, the Overlord noticed that Si Cwan seemed
the most pleased.
    Shelby said, "You see, your threat isn't standing; ac-
tually, it's sort of... Mr. Kebron, what would you say
it was doing?"
  "Lying down," Kebron said.
    "Yes, lying down. Good choice of words. Your threat
is lying down, Overlord," said Shelby. "Unconscious.
No threat to himself, and certainly no threat to the in-
nocent people of Fenner."
  "This is a trick," said the Overlord.
    Calhoun shrugged in response. "If it pleases you to
believe that, fine. But I assure you that the next time
you contact Fenner, one of my people is going to be re-
sponding."
    "You could not have found him. Nothing could have
tracked him there."
    "As I said, we have no reason to lie. Check for your-
self if it will make you happy. I don't particularly care."
    He looked around the room, saw the challenging ex-
pressions... and he knew then, beyond question, that
Calhoun was telling the absolute truth. There indeed
was no reason to lie. Any fabrication would be quickly
discovered.
    "I see," the Overlord said slowly. "So let us say, for
the sake of discussion, that you are telling the truth. Am
I now to understand that you will abandon the quest
against the Black Mass?"
     "We have given you some idea of how to defeat it
 and save yourselves," Calhoun told him. "Whether you
 choose to or not is entirely up to you. It is not our con-
 cem whether you manage it or not, though."
     "Have you considered the fates of future races who
 might find themselves victims of the Black Mass?"
     "Absolutely. And if we are so inclined, we can de-
 stroy the thing after it has devoured Tulaan 1V..."
    "And you," said Si Cwan, revelling in the notion a bit
more than the Overlord would have liked.
    "You see, Overlord... we are gamblers, you and I,"
said Calhoun. "You gambled that I would care enough
about the predicament you put upon the Fennerians that
I would aid you. I gambled that one of my people, on
his own, would be able to find and incapacitate your
High Priest. So in a sense, we both won. Chief engineer
Burgoyne here will be happy to provide you with the
specs as to how you may be able to convert your
phasers over, and you can take that information against
the Black Mass..."
 "Or take it to your grave," Si Cwan suggested.
    "That's enough, Ambassador. I think the Overlord
gets the point."
    "Oh, I do. I do. But there is a point that you still do
not seem to 'get.'"
 "Really," said Calhoun. "And what would that be?"
    "That I will not have my word gainsayed. Prime
One..."
    The Overlord's red eyes blazed with cold satisfac-
tion, and he was pleased to see the momentary unease
in the conference lounge as they tried to determine just
what he meant by that... and why he was calling for
his second-in-command when Prime One was, in fact,
not them.
    Suddenly there was the sound of a Redeemer trans-
port device. The Overlord had noticed that the sound of
the Redeemer transport mechanism was somewhat dif-
ferent from that of the Excalibur He could only sur-
mise that it was because the Redeemer's technology
was so far superior to, and more powerful than, the
Federation's. Of course, even the Redeemers' trans-
porters couldn't penetrate shielding... but the star-
ship's shields weren't up at that moment.
    Heads whipped around as everyone leaped to their
feet, uncertain just what was happening. Everyone,
that is, except Chief Engineer Burgoyne 172, and
Doctor Selar. The two of them shimmered out of exis-
tence in a transporter haze. The only things there that
marked their former presence were their uniforms,
along with comm badges, left in crumpled heaps.
    Calhoun was around the table so fast that the Over-
lord had barely blinked before the captain was fight in
front of him. "Where are they!" he demanded. "What
did you do?!"
    "You remember the blessing I bestowed upon
them?" said the Overlord, not at all intimidated by the
angry Calhoun. "When I placed my hands upon them?
While doing that, I encoded them with my personal
DNA trace. This entire meeting has been monitored by
Prime One from back on my ship, through a communi-
cations device on my person. He has served me well,
this Prime One, and when I spoke his name after he
heard all that had transpired here, he knew precisely
what to do"
     "What... did he... do?", said Calhoun, looking as
 if he was ready to snap the Redeemer's neck.
     But the angrier Calhoun became, the calmer the
 Overlord grew. "Our world is called Tulaan IV for a
reason. There are, in fact, eight planets in this system.
We are simply the fourth one away from our sun...
although, as poor fortune would have it, the one whose
orbit takes us straight into the Black Mass' path. Aside
from our homeworld, there are two other worlds that
are habitable. Three worlds; a good deal of territory to
search... plus, for all you know, we have created un-
derground refuges on one of the uninhabitable worlds.
So you do not have overmuch time in which to look
around for your departed officers. This is not to say
that you could not fmd them, of course. A very
lengthy, prolonged sensor sweep should do the job. A
week should suffice, I think. Perhaps two, at most. A
pity that the Black Mass will not provide you with that
much time."
    There was dead silence in the conference lounge
then. The Overlord revelled in it.
    'ørhe abduction of your people, captain ... was my
back-up plan. Do you... have a back-up plan? Be-
cause if you do, now would be an excellent time to em-
ploy it."
  "We have you," said Calhoun, "as hostage."
    "True. And I will happily remain here. Kill me or do
not kill me, as you see fit. It is of no consequence to
me. If my system dies, I die anyway. But then
again... so do your people. It is entirely up to you. I
do not personally care if your people are doomed or
not. But you might very well care. Do you, Captain?
Care, I mean?"
    Calhoun said nothing. After a time, he simply
nodded.
    "I can take that to mean that you will continue in
your assistance of our plight?"
 "I want my people back, alive and unharmed."
    "And you will have them... when we are alive and
unharmed."
    For a long moment, Calhoun didn't speak. Then he
said, "There was a time... not that long ago, in
fact... where I would have let them die. Where I
would have thrown out any life rather than let myself
be dictated to by monsters such as you. You are very,
very fortunate... that you did not encounter me in
those days."
"I daresay your crewmen are fortunate as well."
"But I want you to know" Calhoun said stiffly, "that
after we do this... all bets are off. And I will not rest
until you, and everything you stand for, is wiped out of
Sector 221-G"
    "Are you threatening me with war, Captain? And
here I had hoped that we would be able to become al-
lies."
    With a low growl, Calhoun said, "Mr. Kebron...
place the Overlord in the brig."
    The Overlord stood and bowed slightly. "I will go
quietly... although I will request that, in the unfor-
tunate happenstance that you fail, you return me to
my world so that I may die with the others of my
race."
  "Gladly:'
  "Oh, and Captain... one more thing."
    "I," said Calhoun, "have had more than enough of
your dictates"
    "Not a dictate; merely a suggestion. While you are
fighting the Black Mass... which is, by my calcula-
tions, approximately eighteen hours away from us... I
do not suggest you leave shuttles behind to sweep the
area, hoping to stumble over your missing crewmen. I
regret that I have left instructions aboard my ship that
any such vessels are to be shot down on sight. I do
apologize for the inconvenience."

     Xyon found it odd: He had become used to the
 solitude. He had even come to enjoy it. Yet now, for
 some reason, the vessel felt... empty. He felt empty.
 But it was not such an overwhelming, keening sen-
 sation that he felt any great drive to do something
 about it.
     It had been some time since Kalinda had left him in
 his ship. From the time that she had departed until now,
 he hadn't budged an inch.  "Lyla," he said.
     The entity which lived aboard the ship, and was per-
 manently merged with the inner workings of the vessel,
 said promptly, "Yes, Xyon."
  "Lyla... do you ever feel lonely?"
  "No, Xyon. It is impossible for me to feel lonely."
  "Why is that?"
  "Because it is not part of me."
    Xyon looked around as if he could actually see Lyla,
tucked away in the ship's inner workings. "What do
you mean? How can it not be part of you?"
    "Xyon... as you know, I'm an engram computer. I
do not see other creatures, do not touch them or inter-
act with them in any way save for my voice. If I pos-
sessed the normal socialization capabilities of other
creatures, I would lose my mind. I would go insane.
That would certainly not leave me of any significant
service to anyone."
 "Okay, I understand that, but--"
    "So when I was installed as part of this ship, any part
of me that would have been a triggering device for so-
cialization was removed."
    Xyon hadn't known this. "So you were just... lo-
botomized? They carved pieces out of your personali-
ty? That's what you're telling me?"
  "Yes, but only because you asked."
  "Lyla, that's... that's terrible..."
    "Is it, Xyon? Is the inability to feel loneliness... all
that more terrible than actually feeling it? I will always
be complete unto myself. The work done on me here in
the starship simply expedited a repair program that I
could have instituted myself via the nanotech that is part
of my maintenance programming. It would have taken
more time, but I could have done it. I do not need--"
  "Me?"
     "Of course I do not need you, Xyon. I am a ship. You
 are humanoid. I do not need you in particular to exist
 any more than you need me in particular to travel
 through space." She paused a moment and then added,
 "But that does not mean that I do not like spending
 time with you. That I would not rather spend time with
 you than with other beings. You were speaking, howev-
 er, of necessity and absolutes. Those are always very
 difficult questions to answer."
      "Yeah. I know. And they don't seem to get any easier
 no matter how many times you ask them"  "Xyon."
     The deep male voice was so unexpected that Xyon
 actually jumped slightly. He looked around and saw
 Mackenzie Calhoun standing in the doorway.
 "Captain;' he said, acknowledging his presence.
 "Xyon," Calhoun said again. He stepped fully into
 the ship, through the irised doors, and then stood there
 for a moment, looking and feeling somewhat awkward.
 Xyon had trouble envisioning an awkward Mackenzie
 Calhoun.

     'øthis is somewhat difficult, but there's no other way
 to put it: I was hoping I could borrow your ship."
     "Borrow my ship," Xyon said blankly. "Why should
 I lend you my ship?"
     '~rwo of my people are missing. The Overlord
 arranged for their disappearance. They're on one of the
 worlds in this system, and those worlds are being
 watched by Redeemer vessels. Your ship, however, has
 a cloaking device, so I'm told."
     "You're told correctly" Xyon replied. "But if anyone
 told you that I'm in the habit of loaning out my ship,
 then in that you were misinformed."
 "No one told me that. But I was hoping that "
 "Captain, if you need help... if your people need
 help... then I'll help. That's what I do. But I'll do it
 my own way, by myself."
    "Why?" Calhoun stepped forward and sat on the
edge of the pilot seat. "Why do you do this? This...
going about the galaxy, trying to help people, being a
hero."
  "Why do you?" countered Xyon.
    Calhoun allowed a small smile. "Good point. So are
you saying you're trying to be like me? Live up to the
legend?'
    "No. I'm trying to be like me. I just..." His
hands moved in vague patterns. "I just haven't fig-
ured out... exactly who I am yet. How much of me
is you, how much is mother... and how much is
just me."
    "Don't worry about the first two," said Calhoun.
"Just worry about being the best you possible, and
everything else will come in time."
 "Did they teach you that at Starfleet Academy?"
 "In a sense. The gardener there said it to me one
time. You have to learn to take wisdom wherever you
can get it." He hesitated and then said, "Are you sure
you want to do this? Check out the planets, see if you
can turn up my crewmembers."
  "Which ones? Oh, grozit, tell me it's not Si Cwan."
    "No, no," chuckled Calhoun. "It's Burgoyne, my
chief engineer, and Selar, my CMO."
    "Oh. Well, they're okay, those two. Sure, I'll do it. I
can..." He looked off in the general direction that
Kalinda had gone. "I can use the distance. The time on
my own."
"Xyon... is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
Xyon laughed softly. "It's too late, Captain. Any-
thing I wanted to talk about... it was a long time ago.
I was somebody different then."
  "No. You were never different. You were always my
son."
    "Believe it or not, I know that. I was all too aware of
it. And when I was here... you stood up for me.
Helped me out."
 "I wish I could have been there more for you..."
 "No. You don't. Because you wouldn't have given up
 all this," and he gestured in a manner that took in the
 starship, the stars, all of it, "... you wouldn't have
 given up all this for anything. And... I think I under-
 stand that a little."
  "Do you?" He seemed amused by the concept.
     "Yes. I do. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm still mad
 at you."
     "Oh, of course. That goes without saying" Calhoun
 said. "A lifetime of anger doesn't disappear in so short
 a time."
     "But there are... other things. Things that... well,
 it's not important. It's just that I see there are... possi-
 bilities I hadn't considered. And it's like you said: it's
 hard to know anything for sure. Even yourself"  
"I know one thing for sure" said Calhoun.
     "Oh, grozit, you're not going to say you love me, are
 you? I mean, we've been over this..."
     "No. No, I wasn't going to say that at all. As I've
 said to you before ... it's impossible to love someone
 that you don't really know. But I'm... I'm pleased
 that I've had the chance to meet you. And I hope that,
 once this business is over... perhaps you'll stay a
 while longer. What's happening with you and Kalinda,
 by the way."
  'Whe same thing that happened with you and mother."
    "Oh." He paused. "And how is it going to turn out
this time?"
  "I don't know. I wish I did."
  "Do you love her? Does she love you?"
    "Oh, come on, Captain. You know our type. We
never get to know anyone enough to love them."
    "I'm not sure about that," Calhoun said slowly. "I've
been thinking that might not be true."
    "Don't tell me that, Captain. You'll destroy my entire
view of the universe."
"All right," said Calhoun. "It can wait until later."
"Until later. I'll power up my ship, make a few last
minute preparations, and be on my way." He looked in
annoyance at his father. '"rhese missing
crewmen... the Redeemers are holding them over
your head so that you'll cooperate and help save their
miserable planet, right?" "Right."
 "And if you stop the Black Mass, they'll survive."
 "Right."
 Xyon shook his head. "Life isn't fair. Then
again... I suppose I've always known that. That's
why I go around trying to even the odds wherever I
can."
    "Now;' said Calhoun approvingly, "you're staxting to
understand." He extended a hand. "Good luck."
    After staring at the hand for a moment, Xyon took it
and gripped it firmly. "You too, Captain."
    Calhoun started to leave, then stopped and said,
"Xyon... before you go... could you tell me where
your mother is? I... I would like to say hello to her.
Try and catch up with her, just..."
  "She's dead, father"
  "What?"
    Xyon looked down. "She's dead. She passed away
two years ago. That's why I left. I had nothing to stay
there for."
  "Why didn't you tell me?"
    "Because," and he brought his gaze up level with
Calhoun's own, "her last words were, 'Don't tell your
father. He'll grieve, and he's had enough grief in his
life.' She kept track of you, you know. Kept up with
 your career, such as it was."  "So why tell me now?"
     "Because you deserve to know. And because she de-
 serves to have you grieve for her."
     Calhoun sighed heavily. Suddenly he looked a lot
 older. "You're right. On both counts. Thank you for
 telling me. And Xyon..."
     "If you tell me you're sorry, you can go look for your
 own crewmen."
     "All right. I won't say" and he paused just long
 enough to give space between the first half of the sen-
 tence and the last: "... I'm sorry."
  Calhoun walked away then, leaving Xyon alone to
prepare for his depam~re. He ran a final systems check,
then left the ship, made a quick stopover at sickbay for
a couple of items, and--shortly thereafter, fully
cloaked--the good ship Lyla departed the Excalibur on
a mission that was even more of a longshot than the
one Janos had embarked upon earlier.

Xi.

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO BELIEVE that Tulaan V could be
any more inhospitable than Tulaan IV was, but indeed
that was the case. And that was something, in the
midst of a cold desert where wind howled along the
plains, that Burgoyne and Selar were quickly discover-
ing firsthand.
    When they had first materialized naked and cold on
the dark and fearsome surface, the wind cutting
through the air had almost been enough to dispose of
them right then and there. However, a small package
of protective clothing had been left waiting for them.
Obviously the Overlord tended to think these things
out well ahead of time. The clothes were barely
enough to shield them from the initial ravages of the
planet's surface, heavy and lined as they were, but the
condition of this world was such that there was no
 way they would be able to survive unless they found
 shelter, and quickly.
     Fortunately, that was immediately attended to, for
 there was a series of caves nearby. They were not
 small, and they were not particularly glamorous, but at
 least they were functional. The only problem was, even
 though they were a short distance away, Selar seemed
 unable or unwilling (or both) to get to them. The loose
 clothes hanging over her bulging body, Selar staggered
 under the assault of the winds and it was only Bur-
 goyne's determination and stubborn refusal to acknowl-
 edge the likelihood that they were dead that kept them
 going.
     "Leave me!" shouted Selar over the shrieking of the
 wind.
     "You don't seriously think I'm going to follow that
 suggestion!"
     "Why should you!? You never listen to me any other
 time!" Then she said nothing more, simply grunted
 under the weight of her upper body and the pressure of
 the wind.
    Burgoyne, on the other hand, kept up a steady
stream of chatter. For the most part, it was intended as
steady encouragement for Selar. In point of fact, all it
did was annoy her, which Burgoyne would have
known had s/he looked into Selar's eyes. Fortunately,
Burgoyne was too busy trying to see, hir eyes narrow
slits against the wind, hir free arm in front of hir face
as s/he kept them moving forward, always moving
forward. That was because s/he was concerned that, if
they stopped moving, they wouldn't be able to start
again.
    Closer and closer still they drew to the caves, and
finally they were right there, just a few feet away.
And it was at that point that Selar collapsed. The dis-
tance didn't matter. She could have been five feet or
five hundred feet, she simply couldn't move another
step.
    And the bothersome thing to Burgoyne was that s/he
was beginning to feel a good deal of pain. S/be wasn't
sure why. The chill from the pounding wind, that s/he
was prepared for, that s/he was capable of withstand-
ing. But this was something else, a general cramping, a
feeling of unease that s/he couldn't attribute to any-
thing in particular. But Burgoyne was disciplined when
it came to pain management. S/he pushed it aside, fo-
cused on what needed to be done, and then put one arm
around Selar's back, and the other under her legs. Bur-
goyne took a deep breath, which in and of itself was
dangerous and a problem because it stung hir lungs vi-
ciously, and then s/he hoisted Selar into the air. S/he
grunted under the formidable weight as s/he staggered
the final steps to the nearest cave and practically tum-
bled in. S/he did not, however, allow Selar to fail. In-
stead s/he took the brunt of the impact with hir knees,
and s/he felt the jolt throughout hir entire body. Hir
legs were aflame with agony as s/he allowed Selar to
slide out of hit arms and onto the floor.
    For all hir pain, the first words out of hir mouth
were, "Are you... all right?" S/he still had to speak
loudly, for the sound of the wind was slightly dimin-
ished but still deafening.
    On the floor, Selar started pushing herself back to-
ward the far end of the cave, letting her legs do most of
the work. "I am... sufficient" she said through gritted
teeth. "Thank you... for helping me..."  "Not a problem."
  Panting, Selar looked up and said, "Why do you
 say... that?" Her breath sounded ragged in her chest.
 "It is not logical. Obviously it was... a problem..."
   "Just trying to be polite," said Burgoyne.
   "Burgoyne," Selar said, "we have been trans-
   ported... against our will... to a hostile planet...
   where we will very likely die. This is the sort of... sit-
   uation... that does not truly require social niceties."
   She paused and stared at Burgoyne, who had an odd
   expression on hir face. "What is it?"
  "Do you think you could call me Burgy. Just once?"
  "I am Vulcan. Vulcans do not do diminutives."
  "Oh, for crying out loud..."
      "Be satisfied that I address you as something other
 than Lieutenant Command--"
   And then she screamed.
   And so did Burgoyne.
    It was precisely the same cry, at precisely the same
time, for precisely the same period. Selar fell back,
gasping, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Then she
stared at Burgoyne, who was halfway across the cave.
When the pain had hit hir, s/he had literally leaped
backward as if stabbed. Since s/he was not weighed
down, and retained hir catlike reflexes, naturally s/he
was far more nimble. S/he was not, however, in any
less pain.
    Selar fixed hir with a look that seemed to contain
cold fury. "That... was not funny."
     "What?" Burgoyne's eyes were bleary as s/he looked
back at Selar. "Fuh... funny?" "Imitating... my pain.. 7'
 "I didn't imitate anything! I felt it!"
    "Burgoyne, if you are attempting some pathetic
source of humor..."
 "I'm not. I swear." Hir face, hit manner, made it
clear that s/he was not kidding. "Whatever hit you just
then, I felt it too..."
  "Whatever hit me? You mean the labor pain?"
  Burgoyne went dead-white. "You're kidding."
  Selar stared at hir.
    "You're not kidding. Of course you're not kidding.
But... but why did I... ?"
  "Because we have an empathic link."
    "If we have an empathic link, then why are you so
nasty to me?"
    "Because we have an empathic link!" Selar said with
barely contained exasperation. "You are not exactly the
sort of individual a Vulcan would choose to have a deep
mental and spiritual bond with, Burgoyne! Do you un-
derstand? You are loud. You are overdemonstrative. You
are flamboyant. You are--"
  "The father of your child, and in love with you."
  "In love."
  "Yes."
  "With me."
  "Yes."
     Selar shook her head. "Burgoyne... to your other
 attributes... I think it would be best if I added
 'insa--'"
     She did not manage to get the word "insane" out, for
 another wave of agony hit her, far worse than the previ-
 ous. It hit Burgoyne as well. Burgoyne let out a yowl
 that Selar thought would deafen her.
     "There is no pain" she whispered, and stepped out
 of herself. She brought her mind far, far away from
 what she was feeling, refused to acknowledge it, shunt-
 ed it away into a deep part of herself that was so far
 away from her consciousness, she would never need to
 feel it. That done, she steadied herself, calmed her
 breathing, slowed her racing heart. She told herself that
 she was having trouble maintaining her control and dis-
 cipline thanks to the circumstances into which she had
 been thrust, and the distracting and onerous link she
 had with Burgoyne. But she would not let it overwhelm
 her. She was Vulcan. She could handle it. "There is no
 pain," she said again.
     "Like hell there isn't!" Burgoyne said through gritted
 teeth. "All that pain you've been suppressing? Well, I
 found it for you! It's linked right over to me!" S/he
 took deep, panting breaths.
     As Selar steadied herself, so did Burgoyne's writhing
 ease. Within moments they were both lying on the floor
 of the cave, panting like long distance swimmers.
 Slowly Burgoyne propped hirself up on one elbow. Hir
 voice hoarse, s/he said, "This is fun. We have to do this
 more often."
  Selar said nothing.
    Burgoyne pulled hitself over to Selar and said, "So
how long does it take... ? Vulcan labor, I mean. Once
the labor pains have begun."
    "We Vulcans may be a precise people, but even for
us, some things are not an exact or precise science. I do
not know how long it will take. I will try to shield you
from as much of what I am feeling as possible." She
was starting to sound like herself. She found that en-
couraging. "It may be less and less possible as the labor
progresses. These are not ideal conditions. And the in-
crease in intensity of the pains will likely intensify the
strength of our link."
 "So the more you feel, the more I'll feel."
    Selar looked up at Burgoyne with genuine contrition.
"t am... sorry, Burgoyne. It is not fight that you
should be put through this."
    "And it's right that you should? You said it yourself:
here you were, minding your own business, and sud-
denly the Vulcan perpetuation drive kicks in and your
life is made to stand on end. That doesn't seem particu-
larly fair to me." Burgoyne stood up then, half-hunched
over to accommodate the low ceiling of the cave. S/he
shoved hir hands under hir arms and, forcing a smile,
said, "We don't get to pick and choose what happens to
us all the time. Sometimes you just have to deal with
what's been given you."
  "That is very profound."
  "No, it's not."
    "You are fight. It is not. That was simply me being
polite again."
    And then the next wave hit her, and however much
she thought she had prepared herself for it, it wasn't
enough by half. She did everything she could to contain
it, to redirect it, to send it to a place where the two of
them would be untouched by it. Ultimately, however,
she could not defeat all of it, and what she felt, Bur-
goyne felt.
    Burgoyne had never experienced anything like it in
hir life. Despite hir reflexes, despite hir grace, s/he hit
the ground hard and curled up, clutching hir belly even
though there was nothing out of the ordinary in there.
S/he kept trying to tell hirself that it was literally all in
hir mind, that there was no physical reason for hir to
feel the way s/he was feeling. S/he was not remotely
successful, and all s/he could do was hang on and try to
keep focus until the waves of anguish passed hir by.
    S/he lay several feet from Selar, and they fixed each
other with looks of sheer exhaustion. And part of that
weariness came from the 'knowledge that their difficul-
ties had only just begun.

    "So... let's recap," Burgoyne managed to say.
'Trapped on an alien world... no supplies.. ~ just the
clothes on our backs... freezing... in labor with both
of us feeling it..."
    "Is there some... point to this recitation?" inquired
Selar.
"I was just figuring... that things couldn't get worse."
In the near distance, there was a roar. It was not the
roar of a wind. It was deep and powerful and was com-
ing from the throat of something that sounded rather
angry and certainly very hungry.
    Selar stared at hir as Burgoyne moaned. "Tell me,
Burgoyne;' she inquired just before the next labor pain
hit. "Do you ever fire of being right all the time?"
    When Shelby walked into the captain's ready room,
Calhoun was sitting at his desk, studying his sword.
The weapon, which he had kept with him all these
years, lay gleaming and polished on the desk top.
    "We'll be within range of the Black Mass in ten min-
utes, Captain" said Shelby. She glanced at the sword.
"Planning to challenge it to a duel?"
    He picked the sword up, hefted it. "Tell me: do you
think that I should go down to the brig and cut off the
Overlord's head?"
    "Absolutely," Shelby said immediately. "Then, if you
want, I can organize a soccer game down in the
holodeck. We can use the head as the ball."
  "You're joking."
  "Yes."
  "I'm not."
    "I know." She paused. "What do you expect me to
say, Mac? Great idea, fearless leader. Head right down
to the brig and murder, in cold blood, a prisoner."
    "A blackmailer, a mass murderer... he tried to kill
my son."
  "You can't do it, Mac."
    He laid the sword down gently and shook his head in
disgust. "What good is being the captain of a ship if
you can't rid the galaxy of the occasional monster?"
    "That's what we're trying to do with the Black
Mass."
    "Stop one monster, empower another." He placed the
sword back on the wall.
    "We do have options, you know," said Shelby. "The
Overlord has committed crimes. Crimes in the eyes of
the Federation. Once this is done, we can bring him
back to Federation space. Have him tried..."
    "And risk a full-blown war between the Federation
and the Redeemers? You notice, Elizabeth, that we
haven't seen much of the Redeemer fleet since this all
started?"
  "Yes, I had noticed, now that you mention it."
  "Why do you think that is?"
    She considered it a moment. "They're in hiding
somewhere?"
    "In hiding. Or lying in wait. Being kept in reserve in
the event that they're needed. Who knows how much
firepower they've got stashed away. But I can make a
guess as to what purpose they intend to put it. In fact, I
wouldn't be the least bit surprised if, presuming we try
to leave ThaiIonian space with the Overlord, we sud-
denly find ourselves staring down the gun barrel of
every ship in the Redeemer fleet. I like a challenge as
much as the next man, Eppy..."  "More."
    "More than the next man," he admitted. "But there
are certain odds that even I would prefer not to take on
if I can help it. One of the first things I learned as a
warlord was that knowing what fights to stay out of
was as important as knowing which fights to fight."
    "I know how angry you are over the situation, Mac.
The simple, hard truth is... sooner or later, the Black
Mass would have to be dealt with. By somebody. So it
turned out to be sooner, and it turned out to be us. The
reasons really shouldn't matter"  "They do matter. To me."
    "Meaning what?" she said, her arms folded. "That
your pride is hurt?"
  "Eppy, I love you."
  "So what you're saying..."
    Then his last words penetrated, and her eyes
widened. "what?"
  "You heard me."
    "But... but I...it...but..." She was trying to
find something to say, and then a way to say it. "What
do you mean? Where did that come from?"
    "From the heart. I'm sorry, Eppy, but the conversa-
tion we were having... it sounded old. We've had
variations on it for as long as I've been in command. It
was time to try something different."
    "Wait... wait..." She shook her head as if trying to
shake off a dream. "So you're saying you told me you
love me... just as some sort of conversational gambit?
Or is this something that you're going to wind up apol-
ogizing for tomorrow?"
    'Tomorrow. Eppy, who knows if there's ever going
to be tomorrow. Who knows... anything? About any-
thing?"
    "I always thought you did, Mac. I've never seen any-
one so utterly confident that he knew so many answers
to so many questions."
    "Eppy..." He was careful to keep a distance from
her, as if afraid that he did not trust himself in proximi-
ty. "There is no one else on this ship that I feel as close
to as I do to you."
  "What about XO Mueller?"
    The words slipped out before she could think better
of it, and the moment they had been voiced, she wished
she could have taken them back.
    But Calhoun did not seem upset. Instead he actually
smiled. "I should have known. How long have you
been aware?"
    "Long enough. Mac, it's none of my business...
forget I asked."
    "Mueller is... a fine officer" Calhoun said. "A good
woman... a good friend. And we... had another as-
pect of our relationship. But she isn't you, Eppy. She
never could be."
  "Mac... you and I, we're too different..."
    "That's fortunate. If we were too much alike, we'd
probably kill each other."
    "And what am I supposed to do?" she demanded.
She had no idea how to react. Conflicting emotions
were tumbling about wildly in her mind. "How am I
supposed to handle this? Dammir, Mac, we had an
agreement. An understanding."  "Things change. Even me."
  "And what am I supposed to do now?"
    "You could," Calhoun suggested, "tell me if you feel
the same way. After all we've been through, after all
the difficulties we've come through together... do
you, Elizabeth Paula Shelby, feel the same way about
me that I do about you?"
    She didn't know what to say. Her mind was com-
pletely frozen. She tried to find the words, tried to
sort out the emotions that were at war with each
other...
    And then the door to the ready room slid open.
McHenry was standing in it. "Sorry to disturb you,
Captain, but... it's showtime."
    "All hands, battle stations," said Calhoun briskly. He
was out the door before Shelby could formulate another
sentence, or even frame another word. She followed
him onto the bridge, unaware of the fact that she would
never set foot into the captain's ready room again.

X/L

SI CWAN, ANXIOUS TO SEE THE END of the Black Mass
after it had haunted his darkest nightmares for more
than twenty years, was on his way to the bridge when
Kalinda fell into step next to him. "Where are you
going?" he asked.
    "The same place you are. The bridge. To watch this
end."
    "Shouldn't you be with Xyon? At a time like
this..."
  "He's gone."
Si Cwan slowed, stopped and faced her. "Gone?"
"His vessel is gone. No one would tell me where or
why." Her face was immobile, impossible to read. "He
left without even saying good-bye."
  'Tin sure he had a reason. And I'm sure that--"
  She walked past him then, and into the nearest turbo-

lift. He stepped in next to her, and she turned and
looked up at him. "Did you mean those things you
said? About Xyon and me getting married? Or was it
some elaborate psychological trick to drive a wedge be-
tween us."
    "If what you have with Xyon is solid...is
real... then nothing I could possibly say or do could
ever drive a wedge between you:'
  "You didn't answer my question"
      He looked away from her. "All I want for you, Kally,
is for you to be happy."  "On whose terms?"
  "It doesn't come down to terms..."
  "Doesn't it? Doesn't it, Si Cwan?"
    "I didn't feel he was right for you, but I would have
come to deal with it, given time..."
    "It wasn't for you to deal with, Si Cwan. It was for
you to embrace. My happiness. You should be celebrat-
ing it, accepting it. Not dealing with it. 'Dealing with
it' is what you do when an enemy attacks, not what you
do when your sister is in love"
    "Kalinda," he sighed, "you're too young to know
what love is."
  "And you're too tall to know what love is."
    He stifled a laugh. "What? What does height have to
do with understanding the true nature of love."
    "As much as youth. Although maybe I'm more accu-
rate. From your lofty height, you look down on some-
thing that you can't even begin to understand."
    The turbolift slowed and opened onto the bridge, and
the two of them walked out in silence.

    There was no sound on the bridge. No one spoke. No
one even seemed to be breathing.

    The Black Mass was still coming, not more than nine
hours away from the Tulaan system. Nine hours away
from putting an end to the Redeemers... and also end-
ing the lives of Burgoyne and Selar, wherever they
might be.
    Robin Lefler was back at her post. She was sniffing
slightly, but otherwise was not giving any indication of
the flu which had hammered her earlier. She nodded an
acknowledgment to Si Cwan and Kalinda when they
stepped onto the bridge, but otherwise focused her at-
tention completely on the looming Mass.
    When Calhoun spoke, it was the picture of icy
calm. If she had not been there herself, Shelby would
never have believed that, mere moments before, the
man was coming as close to opening his soul to her as
he ever had. "Mr. Mitchell," he said. "Are we ready
to go?"
    Down in engineering, Craig Mitchell, acting in Bur-
goyne's stead, turned to Ensign Ronni Beth who was
studying the controls. She turned to him and gave him a
confident "thumbs up" gesture. "Ready on this end,
Captain," he said. "Phasers are realigned to fire pure
blasts of magnetic dissonance."
  "How long can we sustain each blast?"
  "Without overheating? Twenty seconds each."
    "So the only way to do this is a steady series of bar-
rages. Soleta," and he turned toward his science officer.
"Will it be enough to drive them apart?"
    "And why won't the Black Mass be able to dodge
around it, as it dad with our previous attack?" asked Si
Cwan.
    "Because a phaser is a pinpoint blast of concentrat-
ed light," explained Soleta. "We're not dealing with
light here. By reconfiguring the phasers, we're essen-
tially creating fields of dissonance. Far more wide-
spread, and they should theoretically affect the entire
area that they hit. By continued and sustained fire,
there's a chance that it will cause the Black Mass to
dissolve into components, and those individual compo-
nents will die."
    "I notice an excessive number of 'theories' and 'per-
haps' in your explanation there, Soleta."
    "Simply trying to be as accurate as possible, Cap-
tain."
    "Let's hope that we're dealing in more than theory.
Mr. Kebron... target all phaser banks on the Black
Mass. Sustained barrages of magnetic dissonance in al-
ternating twenty-second intervals."
  "Phasers locked and ready, sir" said Kebron.
    "And..." Calhoun held his breath for a moment, and
then said, "Fire."
    The phaser banks cut loose, and the Black Mass was
under attack.
    "lf any piece of it comes toward us, reconfigure
phaser lock and fire on that instead" ordered Calhoun.
    "Aye," was all Kebron said, concentrating on the
phaser array before him.
    Into the heart of the Black Mass stabbed the phasers
of the Excalibur, giving it everything they had. In engi-
neering, Mitchell and Beth watched the readings with
apprehension, making rapid-fire adjustments to keep
the flow of energy steady and not risk any diminish-
ment in the ship's attack.
    Long minutes ticked by without any outward sign of
anything happening. And then Soleta said, "Sir...
Black Mass is breaking apart."
 A startled cheer went up from the bridge crew.
 "Quiet!" snapped Calhoun in an uncharacteristical-
ly sharp tone. His gaze had not wavered from the
screen. He was clearly not going to relax his guard
until the Black Mass had, once and for all, been
stopped.
    The Black Mass surged, rippled, fought against the
magnetic dissonance of the phasers. Even from their
distance, they could see it trembling, fighting to main-
tain its integrity. "They're having an effect... they're
definitely having an effect," said Shelby.
    "Engineering to Bridge. Captain, I'm not sure how
much longer we can maintain this barrage" came
Mitchell's voice.
    "Do your best, Mr. Mitchell, so that we can do our
worst."
    "Aye, sir," said Mitchell. And then he was suddenly
heard to mutter a string of imprecations that appeared
to question both Calhoun's competence and his parent-
age.
    Smothering a grin, despite the ~avity of the situa-
tion, Calhoun said, "Mr. Mitchell, you've still got an
open line here."
    "Oh. Sorry, sir." The comm link immediately went
dead, and Calhoun shook his head. Pretend you thought
the comm link was closed and then speak out of turn
"accidentally." A nice way to let the captain know ex-
actly what he thought of the present situation without
opening himself up to charges of insubordination. A
very old stunt... and one that Calhoun could recall
pulling himself once or twice in his career.
    More time went by, and now even Kebron was re-
porting of the strain to the phaser array. In the mean-
time, the Black Mass continued to fight back. It
rippled, it wavered...
  "There it goes!" said Lefler excitedly. "It's going !"
      The Black Mass, under the sustained pounding of the
 ship's weaponry, fell apart...  ... and regrouped.
     It happened so quickly that it almost didn't register
 on them. Within seconds, the Black Mass had reformed
 itself, become smaller, tighter, more determined than
 ever to make headway.
     "Sir!" came the call from engineering without any
 preamble. "We're going to have to shut down or we're
 going to blow out the phaser banks!"
     All eyes turned to Calhoun. He could have been
 carved form a block of marble.
    "Cease fire," he said quietly. "Mr. McHenry, give us
some distance... just in case the Black Mass couldn't
take a joke."
    "A joke?" Si Cwan obviously couldn't believe it.
"That was our entire strategy... our plan of
attack... and you refer to it as a joke?"
      "Soleta did warn us, repeatedly, that it was theoreti-
cal. I appreciate your candor, Lieutenant."  
"It was only appropriate, sir."
    The Black Mass, shaking off the last lingering ef-
fects of the phaser barrage, moved off. The immediate
threat from the Excalibur ended, and with the ship
clearly not intending to press an attack, the Black Mass
resumed its previous course. Apparently it had even
managed to absorb and digest some of the energy un-
leashed by the phasers, because it was discharging that
same energy and picking up speed.
    "Why isn't it coming after us, the way it did before?"
asked Kalinda.
 "Are you knocking it, princess?" inquired McHenry.
 "Obviously not. I'm just curious."
 "My guess is that we did it some degree of damage,"
Soleta said. "And it feels the need to keep the entirety
of itself together, just in case there are further attacks.
It doesn't want to split its resources."
    Si Cwan came down and around to face Calhoun.
"And now," he said with forced calm, "what do we
do?"
  There was, once again, dead silence on the bridge.
    It was Kalinda who broke it. "Someone should just
dump it in a black hole or something and be done with
it," she said.
    "An excellent idea," said Soleta, "provided there was
a black hole in the area."
    "Xyon said there was one. Not far off the Black
Mass' path."
    "Xyon said..." Calhoun looked at her. "When did
he say this?"
  "The other day."
  "Why didn't he suggest it to me?"
    "He said you had other people to give you advice
and didn't need his."
    "You're all fired;' Calhoun said immediately to the
entire bridge crew. "Mr. Kebron, punch me up some
star maps of the area, now."
    "If you're rehiring me, Captain, we'll need to discuss
salary increases."
  "Now, Kebron."
    Kebron had already brought up star charts of the en-
tire area. All eyes on the bridge scanned it.
    "Nothing," Soleta said after a few moments. "There
is no indication of any black hole on any of the star
charts. If it's here, it's unrecorded, and Xyon stumbled
onto it on his own."
    "Where is Xyon? Let's get him up here, have him
point it out to us," suggested Shelby.

    "He's unavailable," Calhoun said quickly, and Shel-
by saw a glance exchanged between Calhoun and
Kalinda. She had no idea what was going on, and had
the uncomfortable feeling that this was yet another one
of those times when Calhoun was up to something that
he wanted as few people as possible to know about.
Without giving Shelby time to inquire about it, Cal-
houn said, "Ambassador... is it possible that a black
hole could be in this area without appearing on any star
maps?"
    "Quite possible," said Si Cwan. "Remember, we're
roughly in the heart of Redeemer territory. Even at the
height of our influence, this was not an area that the
ThaiIonians ventured into a great deal."
    "Mr. Kebron, have security escort the Overlord up
here. It's about time he served some sort of purpose
other than threatening us."
    It took only a few moments to have the Overlord
brought up to the bridge. It was somewhat annoying to
see that a stay in the brig had not diminished his sense
of authority or fundamentally arrogant air one bit. The
way he walked around the bridge made it seem as if he
considered everyone there as objects to serve his
whim, rather than people with their own minds or con-
ceres.
    "A black hole. In this general area," Calhoun said,
indicating the section that was on the star map. "Do
you know of any?"
    "Of course," said the Overlord. "It is here." And he
pointed to a specific section.
    "Mark that location, Soleta," ordered Calhoun, and
obediently a glowing indicator flashed onto the screen
right where the Overlord had said.
  "Why didn't you tell us about it?" asked Calhoun.
    "Tell you about it?" The Overlord looked stunned
that the notion was even broached. "Why would I? Of
what possible relevance is it? You are needed to deal
with the Black Mass, not to visit sacred sites of the Re-
deemers."
    "Sacred sites? A black hole?" Calhoun looked to Si
Cwan, who shrugged. "Why would a black hole be a
sacred site?"
    "We call it the Beyond Gate. It is said that it is the
place where Xant went beyond. It is from there that he
will re-emerge, when he is ready, and return to Tulaan
IV."
    "If your Xant went into there," Soleta advised him,
"I would not be lighting candles in the window waiting
for him to come home. No one comes out of a black
hole."
    "Including space-going swarms of hungry creatures,"
Calhoun said meaningfully.
    The Overlord could not have looked more stunned.
"You are not seriously thinking of trying to send the
Black Mass into the Beyond Gate... ?"
"If we can figure out a way, you bet we will."
"But... but that is impossible! Unconscionable!"
The Overlord was clearly becoming incensed. "First,
the Beyond Gate is not along the path of the Black
Mass. You cannot cause the Mass to deviate from its
course. Your task is to destroy it altogether..."
    "Our task, which you have inflicted upon us, is to
stop it, period, and we will use any and all means to do
so," Calhoun advised him. "As for not being able to get
the Black Mass to deviate: the thing is an animal, Over-
lord, not the force of nature that you claim it to be. As
an animal, it has instincts, and instincts can be misled if
you're clever enough."

    "But to send a creature such as that into the Beyond
Gate... Xant would not approve! It is a holy relic, do
you hear me?" He was becoming very agitated. "A holy
relic! You cannot, must not, do this thing!"
    "The fact that it has you this upset is more than
enough for me," said Calhoun. "Mr. Kebron, have the
Overlord escorted back to his temporary home, would
you, please?"
    The Overlord was visibly trembling with rage
as security guards appeared on either side of him.
He said nothing, merely fixed them with fearsome
looks from his blazing red eyes. Although the Over-
lord was, at this point, powerless to all intents and
purposes, there was still something there that Shelby
found extremely disconcerting. Without a word,
maintaining his dignity, the Overlord followed the
guards out.
    "All right," Calhoun said briskly. "Now that I've
talked tough to the Overlord, let's not make a liar of
your intrepid captain. The black hole is about three
hours distant. We have that much time to figure out
how in hell we get that thing to shove itself into a
black hole and out of our lives."
    "The creatures must have a highly evolved sense of
color," said Soleta.
  "How do you figure that?" asked Calhoun.
    "Because they're drawn through the color band to
the types of stars that would be attractive to them," So-
leta said reasonably. "The magnetic dissonance settings
of the phasers had some effect on them, although it did
not come close to stopping them. If we can disorient
them again, we can lay a path of tri-cobalt flares as a
lure that they might be confused enough to follow. That
path of flares, in turn, would lead to a field of tri-cobalt
flares in the general vicinity of the black hole. If we use
the flares to draw the Black Mass close enough, then it
will be pulled in."
    "A black hole for the Black Mass. It has a certain at-
tractive symmetry to it" said Calhoun. "Let's do it,
people."

Xlil.

BURGOYNE DID NOT KNOW what to attend to first: hit
own agony, the impending birth of the child, or the
slow approach of whatever was out there on the surface
of the planet.
    It did not take hit long to determine that Selar's con-
dition was the first priority. The Vulcan doctor had
withdrawn to some sort of odd state of mental distance,
staring up at the cave roof and gasping at certain mo-
ments. Burgoyne was more than able to tell when those
moments were, because s/he felt them even more
sharply in hit gut than Selar did.
    The simple fact was that, from a biological point of
view, Burgoyne was completely unequipped to deal
with the sort of sensations that s/he was experiencing.
Hermat birth was actually fairly painless. An already
existing flap was eased open and the Hermat child was
brought into the world by the gentle hands of a Hermat
medical practitioner. Not a problem, not a fuss, not
even much muss. So for a Hermat, any Hermat, to have
to experience the level of pain that Selar was experienc-
ing, just for the purpose of producing a child, was un-
precedented in Hermat medical lore and an utter
departure for Burgoyne or any other Hermat.
    "Steady... steady..." Burgoyne said, fir fangs
clenched. S/he felt another wave of discomfort and
nausea flooding over hir. Selar moaned somewhat be-
latedly; Burgoyne was already staggering enough for
both of them. S/he sank to hir knees, leaning over Selar
as s/he did so, trying to focus on the job at hand. The
pain was coming faster now, and although the contrac-
tions were less sustained now, they were harsher and
sharper when they did hit. Burgoyne felt as if stars
were exploding behind hir eyes, and it was all s/he
could do not to pass out.
    "Come on, Selar... get it done already" whispered
Burgoyne, fighting back yet another swelling of the
agony. "And keep it down. We don't need that whatev-
er-it-is coming---"
    "Coming..." Selar's eyes were now wide openú She
had been doing all she could to deal with the pain via
mental discipline, but with the apparent advent of the
child, and the disconcerting awareness of Burgoyne's
mental proximity, it was too much for Selar. "It... is
coming... it is..."
    And she let out a scream, her focus slipping com-
pletely away. The moment the pain hit her, it rebounded
through Burgoyne via their link, and Burgoyne was
likewise twisting about on the ground. All s/he wanted
to do was shove out of fir the small intruder within hir
body, except there was nothing in there. Nothing but
the pain which was paralyzing hir, putting hir brain on
fire...
    Lying on the ground several feet away from Selar,
trying to get to the Vulcan so s/he could aid her in the
final moments of the birth process--that was when
Burgoyne saw it.
    The creature was in the mouth of the cave. It was
snarling at the occupants.
    It was large, at least eight feet from tip to tail. It pos-
sessed a single eye, blinking implacably at Burgoyne,
clearly not the least bit interested in backing out of the
cave and going about its business elsewhere. Above the
eye, on its forehead, was a horn, long and pointed like a
unicorn's or some other fanciful beast. It was slung low
to the ground, poised on all fours like a gigantic
warthog. Most remarkable were the small wings on the
creature's spine. They were moving, twitching, and
they seemed far too small to be of any use. The entire
monstrosity was covered with a coating of thick purple
fur.
    "All right," Burgoyne said slowly as s/he came to a
crouch. The pain was too overwhelming for hir to fully
stand. "All right, just... back out of here. Okay? Just
get out of here. We're trying to have a child here, and
you're not doing anyone any good by..."
    Selar cried out. The shout was actually a mild warn-
ing, giving Burgoyne about a split second's notice be-
fore she was hit with the same pain. S/he staggered,
falling...
    ú.. and that was the moment that the creature chose
to charge.
    Remarkably, its wings actually seemed to perform
some mild function as the creature took a quick run-
ning start, leaped, and sailed through the air at Bur-
goyne, letting loose with a roar designed to paralyze its
victims.
    It was unnecessary in Burgoyne's case. S/he was par-
alyzed already; paralyzed with the pain of the labor
contractions smashing through hit, playing havoc with
her mental balance. With the pain exploding in hir
head, s/he was barely able to react in time as the mon-
ster angled straight toward hir.
    A phaser would have made short work of it. A knife
might also have proven handy. What s/he did have,
however, were hir clawsú That, and a determination that
s/he was not going to end her existence in the belly of
some creature in the middle of nowhere.
    Burgoyne let out a scream that matched the crea-
mre's, in ferocity if not in volume. S/he rolled out of
the way and lashed out with hir feet, the claws on hir
toes fully extended. S/he sliced across the creature's
midsection, tipping out a good chunk of its side and
eliciting a fairly satisfying screech of pain from the
creature.
    It spun in place, ready to charge again, and then an-
other wave of pain struck Burgoyne. S/he gasped, un-
prepared for it, and that was when the purple creature
came at hir, jaws wide, ready to bite hir in half. It
scooped up Burgoyne in its mouth, enveloping hir en-
fire upper torso, and proceeded to bite down.
    The only thing that stopped Burgoyne from being
bitten in half was that s/he had one arm braced against
its upper jaw, one arm securing its lower jaw, and s/he
was doing everything s/he could to hold them apart. Hir
arms were quivering with tension, s/he was panting
from the effort, and then the worst pain of all hit fir. It
made all the others seem mild in comparison.
  And instead of succumbing to the pain, which was
what s/he was most tempted to do, s/he did the oppo-
site. S/he focused it, used it, summoned it to hir and
took all the agony, all the anguish, and instead of al-
lowing it to debilitate hir, s/he forced it to strengthen
hir. S/he let out a shriek that, instead of acknowledging
the pain, served as a war cry. S/he shoved the jaws of
the beast wider and wider apart...
ú.. and then s/he heard a most satisfying snap.
It was the sound of the creature's jaws breaking.
Now it was the monster's turn to be in pain as it bel-
lowed hideously and flopped over. The impact threw
Burgoyne clear, and the Hennat pivoted in place and
charged, leaping across the intervening space, propelled
by hir powerful limbs. S/he skidded tight under the crea-
ture's belly and hir claws lashed out, slicing the creature
right up the middle and rolling out the other side.
    The creature blinked its one eye furiously and came
at Burgoyne with its horn. Burgoyne snagged the horn
just before it would have lanced straight through hir
chest, and the creature pushed hir halfway across the
cave floor, dragging hit all the way. It roared tight in
her face.
    That was the moment when the incisions that Bur-
goyne's dextrous claws had made finally did their job.
The cuts ripped open, the skin no longer able to hold
together, and the creature's innards spilled out onto the
cave floor.
    The monster let out a yelp of surprise, its eye rolling
around, trying to see what was happening under its
belly. It knew it smelled something, and its ears perked
up when it heard something that sounded like a wet,
splashing noise. Then it came to the realization that the
animal guts it was detecting, through smell and sound,
were its own.
    It tried to get away from Burgoyne at that point, but
it was too late. Too late for itself in terms of its own
survival, and too late in the hope of retreating from
Burogyne who smelled victory. Burgoyne came in from
the side, and this time when pain hit hir from the con-
tractions, s/he used the energy of it to push off from hit
feet and practically fly over the distance to the creature,
sinking hir fangs into its throat and tearing out a piece
of the jugular vein. Blood fauceted from it and s/he rev-
elled in it, letting out a scream of triumph that was
louder than anything the creature had unleashed thus
far. The great beast took only one more step, and then
toppled over. It hit the ground heavily and didn't move,
its final breath rasping in its throat.
    Burgoyne took no time at all to revel in hir triumph.
Instead s/he shoved the creature's carcass aside and
rolled over toward the Vulcan. "Selar" s/he whispered,
surprised at the hoarseness of hir own voice. "Selar, it's
okay... it's going to be okay n--"
    And then Burgoyne flipped completely over. S/he
fell next to Selar, whose eyes were wide, and together
they bore down, and together they felt it coming, and
they gasped in synch, and they pushed together, and
cried together, and when the child's head emerged Bur-
goyne felt it as much as Selar. Gasping, s/he pushed the
pain aside, and crawled, hand over hand, over to where
the child was emerging. "I have it... I have it..." s/he
managed to get out, tears rolling down his face, and
there it was with the most elegant little pointed ears,
and close-cropped blondish hair, and then Burgoyne's
guts convulsed as s/he pushed the child out with Selar.
And then the child was nestled in Burgoyne's arms.
Burgoyne couldn't believe it. S/he laughed and sobbed
simultaneously.

  "Your... fault," came Selar's voice, raspy and tired.
    "What... would be my fault... precisely," inquired
Burgoyne, sounding no less exhausted.
    "I would have been... far more dignified... in the
labor... less histrionics... without link to you. You
made it... difficult for me to focus... less con-
trolled..."
  "Sorry," Burgoyne said contritely.
    Selar paused a moment, and then said, "Do not
worry about it... Burgy..."
    Burgoyne laughed softly. Then s/he saw that Selar
was starting to sit up, and said quickly, "I wouldn't if I
were you. Just stay put. Relax. You've earned it. I
think... we both have."
    Selar was staring at the fallen monstrosity at the side
of the cave. "What... is that?" she said.
    "Couldn't tell you. It sure looks strange to me,
though."
    Selar could only nod in agreement. Then she focused
on the bundle in Burgoyne's arms. She did not smile, of
course. The edges of her mouth, however, did turn up-
ward slightly, which for her was a tremendous advance-
ment. "What is it? Is it a boy... or a gift... or... ?"
    Burgoyne had automatically torn a piece off hir own
ragged clothing and wrapped it around the child. "I
think it's more in the 'or' category."

XIV.

The Black Mass knew hunger.
  The Black Mass knew exhaustion.
    This had been a particularly difficult migration for
the Black Mass. It had known assault. It had known
discomfort.
    Now it wanted to know sustenance, and it wanted to
know it soon. It sensed sustenance not far off, and it
hoped, at the most fundamental core of its being, that
there would not be more noise.
    (It did not actually know noise as noise, of course.
Until then, it had known largely silenceú Noise was a
concept it could not begin to grasp as such. It simply
knew it as a negative sensation, something that had
hurt it, something that was unnatural.)
    It tired of noise, tired of something trying to hurt it.
Was it not simply trying to survive? To exist? Was it
not simply going about its business, as it had for as
long as any part of it could possibly recall? What right
did the noise have to interfere, to try to drive it apart.
No right. None at all. It should just leave the Black
Mass atone, it should...
  It was thereú
  The noiseú
  Was thereú
    The Black Mass felt it, just as it had earlier. It
pushed it away, and still the noise came. It ran, and
still the noise came. And all of us, we creatures,
we pull together and it will not hurt us, it will not
stop us, we are the Black Mass, felt at a primal
level, fighting for survival, attacking us, hurting us,
and we will hurt it, we will make it stop, but we are
so hungry and have no idea which way to look
first.. ú
  ú.. and then it stopped.
    We, the Black Mass, let out a collective silent sigh
of relief. We have held together. We are not alone, no
member is alone.
  But we are angry.
    We have not attacked before. We have been patient.
We have cared about food, only food, but now it must
be made to stop, it must stop, it will come at us again
and again...  Light.
  Light.ú. from... a star?
    We had not detected it before, but there it is...
light...
    Go... there... go and eat... see... must have...
light...
  Eat... eat... eat...

"It's going for it!" called Soleta, sounding remark-
ably excited for a reserved Vulcan.
    And indeed, that was exactly what was happening.
Slowly, steadily, the Black Mass was following the trail
of the tri-cobalt flares that the Excalibur had strung in
preparation for the creature's advance.
    In the distance was the Beyond Gate, the black hole
that would ideally serve as the creature's final resting
place. Once there, it could never hurt anyone again...
except in the unlikely event that it happened to run into
Xant on his way out.
    "Come on," said Shelby in an encouraging whisper,
as if the thing could actually hear her. She was on the
edge of her seat. Other members of the bridge crew
were likewise positioned forward on their chairs.
"Come on... go for it, you oversized oil slick."
    Each of the cobalt flares snuffed out of existence as
the Black Mass rolled over it, trying to absorb what it
perceived as energy from a star, drawn by the light, com-
ing up empty but pulled inexorably to the next one, and
the next, searching for sustenance. Closer and closer...
  "Thirty seconds until it reaches the event horizon,"
Soleta reported."Twenty-nine... twenty-eight...
twenty-seven..."
    "You're very fond of countdowns, aren't you?"
McHenry asked her.
  "Yes," was her straightforward reply.
    The countdown continued. The Black Mass' ap-
proach toward the black hole continued as well. Closer
and closer it drew, the final flares beckoning to it...

  Something... is wrong...
    No star. No food. Look... but
See... but no feel.

not touch.

    We are hungry. This star... not enough... need
food...
    Must eat... eat... eat... this is... not enough...
must eat...

 "It's slowing down."
    "No," whispered Calhoun upon heating Soleta's pro-
nouncement.
    "It's definitely slowing down. It's on the edge of the
point of no return... but it's not going all the way
oven It's hesitating... maybe it suspects some-
thing..."
    The Black Mass began to surge, moving about,
thrashing this way and that, as if trying to sense some-
thing...
    "Ready phasers," said Calhoun. "Let's see if we can
push it over the edge..."
      "Captain!" Soleta's increased volume put across the
gravity of the situation. "It's coming after us!" 
"You mean it's heading this way?"
  "No, I mean it is coming straight for us !"

    Food... there. . . the thing which made the
noise... we want it... we want it... food...
food...

    It was their last stand. Calhoun knew there was no
time to try anything else. This was their last, best shot.
If they couldn't get the creature into the black hole,
there would be no stopping it. But it wasn't going for
the flares, and the only chance they had was to try and
pummel it once again, break it apart, send its compo-
 nents hurtling into the gravity well of the black hole.
 "Engineering! Phasers on line!"
    "Captain," came back Mitchell, "we've pushed it too
far already. I can't give you bursts for more than five
seconds each."
  "That won't be remotely enough, Mr. Mitchell."
    The thing was coming straight toward them. Space
was warping around it, and Calhoun knew that within
seconds it would be upon them. They could still out-
race it, still get out of its way... but that wouldn't stop
the Black Mass. It would just get them to safety. There
had to be another way, there--
      "Captain!" Kebron suddenly said. "Detecting a small
vessel, moving fast, straight toward the Black Mass."
  "Onscreen !" ordered Calhoun.
    Somehow, he knew. Before he even saw it, he knew.
He lmew whose ship it was going to be.
    "Give me a hailing frequency," he said. His voice
sounded very distant, very cold.
  "You're on, Captain," said Kebron.
    "Xyon" he addressed the small craft with such calm
that one would have thought he was scolding a cranky
child on a playground. "You're on a collision course
with the Black Mass. Pull back."
    Deep down, he hadn't been expecting an answer, but
he got one anyway. "This was my idea. Just helping see
it through."
  "You're not supposed to be here."
    "I 'know. But I came anyway. Did some checking at
Tulaan IV, made sure justice was done, then came here.
I'm doing my job. You wanted to make sure they were
safe; so I'm making sure."
    "Xyon, veer off!" There was greater urgency to Cal-
houn's voice. "Now! Kebron, tractor beam."
 "Out of range, sir" said Kebron.
    "Xyon!" It was not Calhoun who had spoken. It was
Kalinda, standing there on the bridge, calling out to
him. "Xyon, don't do it!"
    "Came back for you, Kally. Wanted to make
sure... you were all right." His voice was crackling
over the link now, beginning to break up. "This is the
way to do it. Si Cwan... you punch like a girl.
Dad... see if you can improve his punch. He needs all
the help he can get. We... all do..."
Calhoun mouthed his name, mouthed words...
"Don't you dare say I love you," warned Xyon, and
then the crackling overcame his communications beam,
and his voice was lost.
  But the visual was there, for all to see.
    Xyon's ship hurtled straight and true, directly into
the Black Mass. There was no hesitation, no slowing
down, and as a result the ship was through the far side
of the Black Mass before the entity fully understood
that something had thrown itself into it.
    What it did fully understand, however, was hydrogen
plasma... the type being emitted by the impulse drive
of Xyon's ship. It knew the taste...
    As one, the millions of creatures that comprised the
Black Mass wheeled around and went right for Xyon's
ship. The plasma lured it, and it came, and kept
coming...
  Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat...
    And then it was right there, right there, crossing the
event horizon of the Beyond Gate.
    The black hole, a bottomless pit of reality, drawing
in light and gravity and anything else, impossible to see
except through instrumentation, a thing that was a
blend of science and legend, hanging there in space.
Nothing meant anything to a black hole, for it sat there,
God's ~tchen drain, pulling in anything that got within
range...
  ú.. pulling in the Black mass.

  What is happening to us?
    We are being pulled apart, but we must not, we
must stay together, we are the Black Mass, do not
leave us alone, we must be together, not separate for-
ever, stay together, do not go, do not go...

    At the last second, it seenled to realize that some-
thing was wrong. It tried to reverse itself, tried to pull
out, and the Black Mass began to shred. Half of it was
being pulled away, the other half endeavoring to es-
cape, and for one horrific moment the bridge crew
thought that part of the Mass was going to get away.
Even a part of it could be devastating if it managed to
find a way to continue on its courseú
    But then that part which was on the verge of escap-
ing... stopped trying. Instead it hurled itself toward
that which was already caught, reforming, coagulating
into its magnificent whole once more and spiralling
down, down...
    It stretched, elongated, twisted down and away, the
Mass black against the black hole, and Soleta could
have sworn... could have sworn... that somewhere
in the inner recesses of her mind, where her sensitivity
to other minds was at its greatest, somewhere in there
she sensed some sort of hideous collective scream, as if
something had realized its fate at the last moment and
had been horrified by it. And then it was gone, just like
that, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined
it... and hoping that she had.

    They stared in silence at the place where the Black
Mass had vanished. So formidable had the creature
been, that they almost expected it somehow to make a
miraculous return from the maw of the Black Hole. But
there was nothing. There were certain constants of the
universe that nothing--not even the Black Mass--
could overcome.
    "Mr. Kebron," Calhoun said tonelessly, in a voice as
still as death, "scan the area. Is there any sign of
Xyon's ship?"
  "No, sir."
  "Scan it again."
  "Sir, there is no sign of--"
  "Scan it... again."
  "Yes, sir"
  "You too, Soleta."
  "Aye, sir:'
      For the next ten minutes, the sensors of the Excal-
ibur swept the area, probing and searching.
  And finding nothing.
  Xyon was gone.

xv.

SELAR AND BURGOYNE HUDDLED close to one another
as the temperature in the cave dropped. It seemed to
Burgoyne that the wind was only getting stronger, and
the meager clothes with which they had been provided
were becoming less and less effective with every pass-
ing moment. Obviously night on this damnable world
was going to be even worse than day... and of course
there was no telling just how long night was going
to be.
    Selar was holding the child close to her bosom. She
had nursed the child earlier, although her own hunger
was interfering with her ability to do so. But she had
done the best she could, and the child was resting com-
fortably. Still, Burgoyne had no idea how long the
child's comfort was going to last. How long, indeed,
any of them would last.

    "i hope you plan to be involved with the rearing of
the child," Selar said. "It would be best .... "
    "Do you really hope that?" Burgoyne was tired, hun-
gry, and not a little fed-up with the entire situation. "Do
you really hope that I will be around? Because it's dif-
ficult for me to be sure. You see, all I've ever been is
nice to you. And sometimes I think you're being re-
sponsive, and sometimes not. I never know where I
stand with you. To be blunt, Selar--and this may not be
the best time and place, but it's not as if we have a
choice--to be blunt, you are the single most aggravat-
ing individual I have ever met."
    "You have just summmSzed my sentiments about you
as well."
  "Good. l'm glad."
    They sat there for a moment longer, huddled in the
cave, and then Selar said in a low voice, "Perhaps...
we deserve each other."
    Slowly Burgoyne turned to look at her. "What... do
you mean?"
    "I mean... precisely what I just said. Perhaps we
deserve one another. Perhaps we are the only ones...
who can possibly stand erich or!2er. That may not be
such a... terrible thing. After all, to be alone... is not
logical."
    "Be careful what you say," said Burgoyne. "For all
we know, you'll change your nfind again once we're off
this rock."
    "That is quite possible. However, there is every like-
lihood that we will not 'get off' this rock, as you say.
For, to be blunt, I do not see how anyone can..."
    And then, to their shock, there was the unmistakable,
tell-tale humming of a transporter. Before it had even
fully registered upon them, the cave had dissolved
around them and they found themselves sitting on the
transporter deck of a Redeemer vessel.
    Standing in front of them was the Redeemer known
as Prime One. He regarded them with open curiosity,
his attention particularly drawn to the small child
clutched tightly to Selar.
  "I see you have been busy," he said.

  The Overlord was not happy.
    He had been escorted from the brig to the transporter
room, and from there he was to be sent over to his ship
which had moved to within range of the Excalibur.
Captain Calhoun and Commander Shelby had been
waiting there for him, as well as Si Cwan. "You," he
said stiffly to Calhoun, "have transgressed on holy
ground. By using the Beyond Gate to dispose of the
Black Mass, you have forever sullied one of the purest,
the greatest religious sites of the Redeemers."
    Calhoun looked at him with a gaze that seemed ca-
pable of drilling through the back of his head. "Over-
lord," he said--very soft, and very deadly--"you have
no idea at the moment just how fortunate you are, and
how lightly I am letting you off. Your High Priest, who
was captured by my crewman, has been returned to
your vessel. You are also being returned to your
vessel..."
    "As we are returning your doctor and chief engi-
neer," the Overlord reminded him.
    "Whom you kidnapped. The long and short of it is,
Overlord... you have absolutely no idea how lucky
you are. It is requiting every ounce of willpower I have
at the moment not to kill you where you stand. I could
do it, in a heartbeat, with absolutely no compunction or
remorse."

    "Then why don't you?" The Overlord didn't sound
particularly challenging when he spoke. Indeed, he
seemed more curious than anything.
    "Because" said Calhoun, "unlike the Black
Mass... I do not always operate on instinct, lest I be
pulled down into something from which I can never re-
turn."
    "Very wise," said the Overlord. "Understand, Cap-
tain... I cannot forgive you your transgression. How-
ever... the inescapable truth is that you did save
Tulaan IV. You have saved my race."
"I know." His lack of enthusiasm was quite evident.
The Overlord turned and stepped up onto the plat-
form. When he looked back at Calhoun, he said, "Be
aware that, as far as the Redeemers are concerned...
there is a truce between us."
    "Which will last exactly as long as it takes for anoth-
er helpless world to call to us, begging us to aid them
against you."
    "I have given the matter some consideration, actual-
ly. You see... much has happened as a result of both
your intervention in this sector of space, as well as in
your aid against the Black Mass. These events require
thought, contemplation. We must consider quite thor-
oughly all the ramifications, and how we may best
serve Xant as a result. Therefore... we will not be re-
deeming any worlds for at least a year. We will simply
reside on Tulaan IV... and think. We do not seek
peace, you understand... but neither do we mindlessly
pursue war. We, too, you see... are capable of giving
thought to matters rather than acting on instinct. Good
day to you, Captain... Commander... Ambassador."
He bowed slightly.
  "Energize," said Calhoun.
    The Overlord shimmered out of existence, and a mo-
ment later, Selar and Burgoyne appeared on the plat-
form.
    "Thank God. Get yourselves down to sickbay," said
Shelby. "You look like you've been through..." She
stopped, stared. "Is that... what I think it is?"
  "That depends. What do you think it is?"
  "A baby."
  "Oh, good. I'd have been worried otherwise."
    Shelby and Si Cwan moved forward to get a better
look. "Congratulations," said Shelby. "I'd guess it
wasn't exactly the best conditions to have... him?
Her?"
  "Him," said Selar a bit too quickly.
  "What is his name?" asked Si Cwan.
    "Well," Burgoyne said, "under ordinary circum-
stances, my child's name would be Burgoyne 173."
    "Except I was not especially sanguine about that,"
said Selar. "There was some dispute between us. But
then we learned--that is to say, the Redeemers told
us--of the sacrifice made by the Captain's son. And so,
if it is agreeable with him, we wanted to name the child
Xyon."
    "I think that's very sweet," said Shelby, visibly
moved. "Captain, what do you think about--?"
    They all turned and saw that Calhoun was no longer
there.
    Shelby went to his quarters to tell him the answer to
his question--the one he had posed in the ready
room--was "yes." But he was not there.
  She went to Ten Forward. He wasn't there either.
    She called up to the bridge. They had not seen him
there, either. Beginning to get worried, she checked

with the computer, which assured her that, yes, Captain
Calhoun was definitely on the ship.
    Tapping her comm badge, she said, "Shelby to Cap-
tain."
    There was a pause, and then she heard Calhoun's
voice. He sounded very distant. "Calhoun here."
      "Mac..." She didn't know how else to phrase it.
"Are you okay?"  "I'm fine."
  "Do you want to talk?"
  "Not right now."
    "All right, well... if you do... you know where to
find me."
  "Thank you. I appreciate that. Calhoun out."
    She told herself that, really, she shouldn't have
been surprised. In many ways, Calhoun was still a
loner. He tended to internalize everything, particularly
grief. It made perfect sense that he would find some-
where small, private, isolated--and handle his mourn-
ing there.
    There were things sl~e wanted to say to him, things
that needed to be said. But they could wait until a time
that he was ready to heat' them. They had time, after all.
All the time in the world.

No words had been necessary. That was the wonder-
ful thing about her.
    Calhoun sat in her quarters, stating off into space.
Mueller rested a hand on the back of his shoulders and
said nothing. Nothing at all.
    He should have gone to Shelby, he knew that. He
should have been able to pour out his heart to her, to
grieve to her. But he did not want to appear weak to
her. Somehow he felt that it would lower her opinion
of him, make him less in her eyes. He could not bring
himself to risk that. How could she love him if
she saw him that way? That wasn't the Calhoun
she knew, or the Calhoun she would want to know.
She needed...
 He needed... he ....

    Kalinda stood in the observation deck, looking out at
the stars. She didn't even have to glance to her side to
see that Si Cwan had walked up next to her.
      "I'm sorry," he said. "I know that does not make
much of a difference at this point... but I am sorry."
  "Why?" she asked.
    "Because... I misjudged him. Because you were
able to see him in a way that I was not... that my up-
bringing, my instincts, would not let me see. I should
have been able to rise above my instincts. Gotten to
know him..."
  "No one knows anyone. Not really," she said.
  "Yes, so I hear. But you knew him..."
    "No. I didn't. When he came back--came back be-
cause of me--I was the most surprised person on that
bridge." She looked out at the stars. "I had absolutely
no faith that he would return. None at all. But he did.
I didn't know him, either. And now... I'll never
get to."
    "I know. That is what I feel the most sorry about. I
really did want you to be happy."
    "I know you did," she sighed. "You just didn't know
how to go about it."
    "It will not be a mistake I make again. The next
time..."
    "Next time?" She looked up at him and laughed bit-
terly. "There won't be a next time. I'm never going to

love again. It's too difficult, it's too painful, it's..."
She shook her head. "It's not worth it."
    He rested a hand on his shoulder and said, "Yes.
It is."
    "Oh, and you know this? You know this from person-
al experience?"
    "No," he admitted. "But I have it on reliable au-
thority."
    She hit him on the upper arm. It didn't hurt him at
all, but he felt obliged to say "Ow" just to make her
feel better.
    Tears began to trickle down her face, but she wiped
them away. Then she wrapped her hands around Si
Cwan's arm and they stared out at the stars together.

    Dr. Maxwell paced sickbay nervously. He was not
looking forward to what he was going to have to tell
Dr. Selar. This was not news that she was going to be
happy about hearing.
    How could they have vanished? How was it possi-
ble?
    The doors to sickbay hissed open and Ensign Beth
walked in. He crossed quickly to her and said in a low
voice, "What have you found?"
  "Nothing."
  "Are you sure?"
    She nodded. "Positive. Mitchell and I have run a
complete scan of the entire ship. There isn't a centime-
ter we left uncovered. Wherever those things are,
they're not on the vessel."
    Maxwell sagged into a chair. "I don't know whether
to be upset or relieved. But if they're not here...
where are they?"
  "I couldn't tell you. But, you know... we were
dealing with an alien life form. Who knows what its ca-
pabilities are. Maybe when the rest of the Black Mass
vanished into the black hole, the things just... discor-
porated."
    Maxwell stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You
know... I like that. i like that a lot. It almost makes
sense."
    "Don't say ! never did anything for you," said Ensign
Beth, as she turned and headed back down to engineer-
ing.
    Meantime, feeling somewhat relieved, Dr. Maxwell
looked once more at the empty stasis tank, from which
the only two remaining creatures that had once been
part of the Black Mass had disappeared. He rolled the
notion around on his tongue. "They just... discorpo-
rated." It sounded better and better.
    It certainly sounded a lot better than, "I have no idea
where they disappeared to."

    Xyon stared out at the stars through the viewport of
the Lyla and, even though he couldn't see the Excal-
ibur, he imagined that Kalinda was looking back at
him.
    It had been a near thing. Using the energy to switch
to "cloak" at the last second, barely pulling away from
the black hole before it had pulled him in. A very near
thing. He couldn't help but feel that he had escaped it
for a purpose. And that purpose did not involve return-
ing to the Excalibur.
  "It's better this way," he said.
    He had not been addressing Lyla, but she wasn't ter-
ribly good at discerning random comments which
weren't directed at her. "What is, Xyon?" she asked.
  "They probably think I'm dead. That I was pulled
into the black hole. I mean, of course they know that I
have cloaking technology at my disposal, but it would
very likely not occur to them that I would survive and
then not let them know."
    "Why? Because they wouldn't think you that insen-
sitive?"
    "Insensitive?" He scoffedú "No, just the opposite.
I'm being very sensitive to their needs. My father is
Mackenzie Calhoun, dammit. Tough as nails, smart,
unsentimental. Having me around... it was making it
difficult for him to function. I could see it in his eyes;
he was losing his edge. That wasn't fair to him, and to
the others who served with him, who need him in top
form. And Kalinda... poor kid. Torn between me and
her brother. Not knowing what she wanted. Why should
she have had to make a choice between a life with him,
on a bustling starship, and an uncomfortable hand-to-
mouth existence with me?"
    "Because she wanted to make that choice?" sug-
gested Lyla.
    "It's good to want things" said Xyon. "But it would
have been practically indecent of me to insist that she
have to choose. But one of us was going to have to, so I
chose for her. Believe me, it's better this way. All
around."
    He was silent for a long time then. Finally Lyla said,
"Xyon... are you all right?"
  "I will be," he sighed. "Sooner or later, I will be."
  "It was not an easy decision, was it?"
      "Sure it was," he lied. "Easiest decision in the worldú
Well.. ú not the easiest."  "No?"
    "No. The easiest decision," and he grinned like a
just-satisfied predator, "was deciding what to do with
the Black Mass creatures I liberated from sickbay. That
decision was no challenge at all."
    And he laughed. And Lyla, having no idea why, but
feeling that it was the fight thing to do, joined in.

    On the surface of Tulaan IV, the Redeemers went
about their business and planned for their future.
    In the meantime, on the other side of their world,
two small, black, wormlike entwined creatures content-
edly chewed on the planet's surface... and started to
grow...

XV/.

Tim NORMAL LOW LEVEL BUZZ of conversation on the
bridge tapered off as Captain Calhoun stepped out from
the turbolift.
    He had missed an entire shift, which was unprece-
dented for him. Everyone understood, however, and no
one knew quite what to say to him when he did reap-
pear.
    He went to his command chair, took his seat, and
when he looked around at the respectfully silent crew, a
smile played across his lips. It was a sad smile, but a
smile just the same.
  "Captain," began Shelby. ú
    "Commander... it's all fight," he interrupted. "All
of you...really...it's all fight. The important
thing... the thing I'm not going to lose sight of... is
that he went out like a wmxior."

  There were nods from all around.
    "It was very... Xenexian of him, believe it or not.
The notion of dying in one's bed is anathema to my
people. To die in combat, on the other hand, is very
nmch to be desired... and to die in combat while sav-
ing others is the highest, most noble passing that any-
one could wish for. I will miss him... and regret the
time that we did not spend together, and the time we
will not have... but the bottom line is, he died hero-
ically. All of us... should only be so fortunate as to
have that opportunity," said Mackenzie Calhoun, five
minutes before the Excalibur blew up...

OUR FIRST SERIAL NOVELl

Presenting, one chapter per month...

The very beginning of the Starfleet
        Adventure...

     STAR TREK
STARFLEET: YEAR ONE

A Novel in Twelve Parts

       by
Michael Jan Friedman

Chapter Four