The Returned, Part I Page 5

  McHenry offered no explanation. “She was responsive. I’m sure Soleta was ready to come out on her own.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Calhoun said uncertainly.

  “Why can’t I stand?” Soleta demanded. She tried to slide off the bed once more, but this time the moment her legs started to give way, she allowed Shelby and Calhoun to place her back on the bed. “What’s wrong with my legs?”

  “You’ve been off them for several months,” Shelby told her.

  “Months?” It was her nature to endeavor to emulate her Vulcan upbringing and sound as dispassionate as possible, but she was unable to hide her incredulity. “How many?”

  “Close to three,” said Calhoun.

  She shifted her gaze to McHenry, who was standing several feet away now. “You brought me back. I’m starting to remember now. You entered my mind.”

  “I did,” he said, sounding almost convivial.

  “I was unaware you had that sort of power.”

  “So was I. I guess we were both surprised.”

  Soleta stared at him dubiously, obviously uncertain of whether to take his words at face value. However, she decided not to press the matter. She turned her gaze to Calhoun and blinked in confusion. “Captain,” she said uncertainly, “you look ghastly.”

  “I haven’t showered in a while.”

  “Or shaved,” she added, looking at the copious beard.

  “Yes, well . . . I’m hoping to take advantage of the facilities at Bravo Station to attend to that. Soleta, I need to bring you up to date.”

  Somehow she had a sense of what he was going to say. “What did the D’myurj do?”

  “They sent in the Brethren,” Calhoun said, referring to the armored warriors who worked closely with the D’myurj. “They sent them to Xenex. They obliterated everyone. Everyone.”

  Soleta managed to keep a deadpan expression. “Everyone?”

  “The Xenexians are gone,” said Shelby. “All of them except Mac and Xyon.”

  “Not exactly a breeding pair,” said Soleta matter-of-factly. “Have you considered going to the Guardian of Forever and traveling back in time to stop them?”

  The three of them exchanged looks, and then Calhoun cleared his throat. “That option was considered and dismissed,” he said in a tone of voice that convinced Soleta there was far more to the story than he was ready to admit just then.

  “Probably better that way,” she said judiciously, and then licked her lips. “I am desperately thirsty.”

  “I’ll get you some water,” said Shelby.

  “Ale,” Soleta said. “Romulan ale.”

  Shelby and Calhoun glanced at each other. “You know that’s illegal?” said Shelby.

  “I just came out of a three-month coma. I am not impaired. Someone on this station has Romulan ale. I need some to set my head straight.”

  Shelby looked as if she was still ready to argue the point, but Calhoun put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s find her some ale,” he said.

  The admiral shrugged. “Fine. We’ll be right back. McHenry, please keep an eye on her.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” McHenry said readily.

  “Admiral,” Soleta said. Shelby turned and stared at her expectantly. “I was just curious: In my time here, did anyone come to visit me?”

  “Yes, you had visitors from time to time. Burgoyne came by.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Xyon.”

  “Xyon?” Both Soleta and Calhoun echoed the name, and it was Mac who continued, “My son, Xyon?”

  “Yes. He came by and stayed for a couple of hours, talking with you. He told you about Xenex. I think it made him feel better.”

  “How odd,” said Soleta. “I would not have expected . . .” Her voice trailed off, and then she shrugged. “Thank you.”

  Calhoun and Shelby walked out, leaving the two of them alone.

  “You don’t really want ale,” McHenry said.

  “I could not care less. I simply wanted a few moments alone with you.” She composed herself, eliminating any trace of emotion that might have been visible on her face. “First, I wish to thank you. And second, I would prefer if you ignored any stray thoughts you may have stumbled over about—”

  “That you’re in love with the captain?”

  Her face actually flushed greener than it had been before. “Yes. That. Those were obviously the delusionary thoughts of a troubled brain. They should not be attended to.” She cleared her throat, her voice sounding raspy. “I was . . . obviously not in my right mind.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am sure. I am not—geared, I believe you would say—to be in love with anyone, much less Captain Calhoun. Love is not an emotion that I would readily embrace.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame.”

  It was such an odd thing for McHenry to say that she stared at him in mild confusion. “Why is it a shame?”

  “Because I love you,” McHenry said gently.

  Her mouth opened and closed without any words emerging. “What?” she finally managed to say.

  “I’ve been in love with you since the Academy,” McHenry told her. “I may have been in love with you since I first saw you. At the time I thought you were a Vulcan and figured that I’d have no chance with you. But things have changed since then—you’re half Romulan, I’m half god—so I figure you never know what’s going to happen. You know, if you ever change your mind and decide you’re available, and you can get past your hopeless crush on Mac, well . . . get in touch. By, you know, thinking really hard. Maybe we could get together or something.”

  Soleta had absolutely no idea how to respond to him, and at that moment Calhoun and Shelby walked back in with a bottle of Romulan ale. “Do not ever ask where we got this,” said Shelby, handing her the bottle and a glass.

  Soleta put the glass on the table, the bottle to her lips, and immediately drank down a third of the bottle in a matter of seconds. Calhoun let out a low whistle while Shelby gasped. McHenry just stood there and smiled. Soleta wiped her arm across her lips and then settled back in bed, letting out a contented sigh. “That helped,” she said in a low voice.

  “May I point out that you could not pick a worse time to drink yourself into a coma?” said Shelby.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Soleta, who then burped quite loudly. She did not bother to apologize for the impolite sound; she obviously had other things on her mind.

  “Soleta . . . this may be too soon . . . you may need to concentrate and sort through what happened . . . but I need to ask you—”

  She cut him off with a succinct, “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “I remember everything,” said Soleta, “up to and including where the D’myurj are hiding.”

  iv.

  SOME TIME HAD passed.

  Shelby had insisted on getting some solid food into Soleta before she settled in to discuss what she remembered. She also attempted to walk a few more times and did nothing to hide her frustration over the fact that her legs still seemed useless.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Shelby said. “Help is on the way.”

  Soleta was having a light dinner when Doctor Ortensio knocked and entered her quarters. The older man greeted the three people in the room cordially, although he stared in confusion at McHenry, uncertain of where he had come from and what he had to do with anything. Ortensio had thinning red hair and was so slender that he looked as if he’d been starved in a camp somewhere. But he seemed healthy enough, which is of course all anyone really wants to see in a doctor.

  The doctor was carrying an array of interconnected metal circles under his arms. Soleta recognized them immediately. “Exo-legs,” she said.

  “That is correct,” said Ortensio. “These will enable you to walk, and they will simultaneously stimulate the muscles
as they do so. You’ll be able to remove them within a week or two, although truthfully I’ve never worked on Romulan muscles before, so I couldn’t say for sure.”

  Soleta immediately tossed back the sheet on her bed, exposing her bare legs. “Strap them on,” she said.

  He approached her and proceeded to do as she had requested. As he did so, Calhoun said, “I don’t want to be pushy . . .”

  “Pushy? You have been exceedingly patient,” Soleta said. It seemed as if she was no longer looking at him, or indeed at any of them. Instead she was gazing inward, and when she next spoke her voice was so soft that they had to strain to hear her. “When I penetrated Nechayev’s mind, it caught her so off guard that she was unable to prevent me from perceiving major aspects of her existence. Understand, by the way, that I am using terms such as ‘Nechayev’ and ‘her’ simply for your reference. She does not have a gender that we would understand. None of the D’myurj do.”

  “All the ones we’ve encountered so far have seemed male to me,” said Calhoun.

  “They are not. They are a unigender. Neither male nor female. I would not even attempt to speculate how exactly they would reproduce. If I had explored the aspect in more detail at the time, I would doubtless be able to answer the question, but . . .” She shrugged.

  “We don’t need to know that,” said Calhoun. “We have to know where they are and how to stop them.”

  “What are the coordinates of their homeworld?” asked Shelby.

  “They do not have a homeworld.”

  “You mean they’re a vagabond race? Wanderers? That would seem to make sense,” said Calhoun.

  Soleta was shaking her head. “No. I was unclear. They do not have a homeworld in this dimension. The D’myurj’s point of origin is in what we would refer to as a pocket universe.”

  Ortensio had just finished strapping on the exoskeleton to her right leg, but he stopped before starting on the left. “Excuse me? A what?”

  Soleta paused, trying to come up with the best way to explain it. “The universe is not a universe. It never has been. It is a multiverse. A series of universes aligned with each other, but separated from each other because of internal vibrations, each one unique to each universe. All the universes are different from one another, some in small ways, others in major ones. We have even encountered alternate universe versions of our own.”

  “Indeed we have,” said Calhoun.

  “Let us ignore the definitions first conceived by Alan Guth. A pocket universe,” Soleta continued, “is a sort of world within a world. It is not an entire dimension, but rather it exists between dimensions. As if the universe were a pair of trousers, and the universe is fitted within a pocket of that dimension.”

  “How are they getting between the pocket universe and ours?” said Soleta.

  “A wormhole. Typically a wormhole serves as a bridge between two places in a universe, but in this case the wormhole is a passage between their universe and ours.”

  “Wormholes aren’t generally stable,” said McHenry.

  “This one is. I am unclear on whether it is naturally occurring or if the D’myurj constructed it. In either event, that is how they pass between their world and ours. I also believe that time passes differently between the two. Their disappearance, for several months, might be substantially less on their world. It is on that world that they are holding the real Nechayev, plus anyone else they may have kidnapped.”

  “So that’s perfect, then,” said Calhoun. “The Excalibur goes through the wormhole and retrieves whoever the D’myurj have kidnapped. And, with any luck, renders them helpless to continue to attack us.”

  “There is a problem,” said Soleta.

  “Of course there is.” Shelby said, with a sigh, “What would that be?”

  “The wormhole is in the heart of Sector 221-G.”

  “Perfect,” said Shelby.

  Ortensio was completing the attachment of the other exoskeleton but once again stopped. “What is the problem with Sector 221-G?”

  “It’s more colloquially known as Thallonian space,” said Calhoun. “The Excalibur has had its share of dust-ups with Thallonian personnel. Not to mention the fact that the son of their murdered ruler is an infant on board the Excalibur. They would like nothing more than to get their hands on him and make him a prisoner on their world. So that they can raise him to rule them in the same way that those currently running things do.”

  “A puppet ruler, in other words,” said Ortensio as he activated the exoskeleton.

  “Not other words,” said Shelby. “Those are exactly the words.”

  “Sounds like you have a bit of a problem.” He stepped back. “All right. Stand up.”

  Cautiously, having no desire to take another spill, Soleta slid off the bed and slowly stood up. She wavered at first, almost losing her balance, but then managed to recover. She took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then walked forward one step at a time. She did so without effort. “It appears to work. My thanks.”

  “Just doing my job,” said Ortensio. Then he glanced at the others in the room. “You know, I’m aware that I’m an outsider in all this, but it seems to me that you have a bit of a challenge ahead of you.”

  “I believe that you’re right,” said Shelby.

  v.

  THAT NIGHT, CALHOUN looked into the mirror of Shelby’s quarters and ran his hand across his now-smooth chin. Then he checked the length of his hair, which had been restored to Starfleet standard. “Your barber did a good job,” he said.

  Shelby emerged from the head, having just finished brushing her teeth. She was wearing a bathrobe and pajamas. “So I guess you assume you’re sleeping here,” she said.

  “I did, yes. But I can go elsewhere if you wish.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Making love to me on Xenex and then taking off and leaving me there. How could you?”

  “I felt I had something to do.”

  “Right. Leap into the Guardian and risk changing the entirety of the universe. Tell me, Mac, did you give any thought to us? To what your interference with history could do to us? Did you consider the possibility that you could wipe us out of existence?”

  “Yes. That’s why I didn’t go through with it. Do you understand now, Elizabeth? I put you above my entire race.”

  Shelby stood there, staring at him. She had no idea how to react. “Really?” she said very softly.

  “Yes. Granted, McHenry showed up. He made me think long and hard about what I was doing. But when it came down to it, Eppy, all I saw in my head was you. I could have tried to save Xenex, or I could make sure that nothing would happen to you. You meant more to me than Xenex. All right?”

  Slowly she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay. Was the message sent off to the Excalibur?”

  “Uhm . . . yes. Yes. They should receive it in about twenty-seven hours and then, with any luck, they’ll be on their way here.”

  “Good.” He looked left and right and then said, “You know . . . you’re probably right. What I did to you on Xenex was not how a husband behaves with his wife, and I should really be sleeping elsewhere while I’m here on Bravo Station. If you could just point me to some other quarters.”

  “Absolutely. There are actually guest quarters right next door.”

  “Okay. Well . . . good night. He turned his back to her and headed for the door. His steps were slow and heavy; he felt as if he weighed four hundred pounds. He stopped at the door and turned toward Shelby. “I just want you to know . . .”

  She was standing there naked, with her pajamas and bathrobe on the floor.

  “Yes?” she said.

  They stopped talking.

  Excalibur

  i.

  BURGOYNE COULD NOT remember an occasion when s/he was happier to be awakened than s/he was right now. And this was despite the
fact that s/he hadn’t been sleeping particularly well or deeply for several months.

  “He’s on Bravo. They’re sure,” s/he said into hir combadge. S/he was rubbing the sleep from hir eyes and had already turned on the light in hir quarters. They were the same quarters s/he had always used. Technically s/he could have relocated hirself to Calhoun’s quarters, since s/he had taken command of the Excalibur in his absence, but s/he preferred to stay in hir own quarters.

  Zak Kebron’s voice came back over the speaker. “Well, it’s from his wife, so I’d think she would know. He’s going to be waiting for us on Bravo.”

  Burgy let out a sigh of deepest relief. “I’ll be right there,” s/he said.

  The truth was that s/he should have been there already. Hir shift had begun twenty minutes ago. But thanks to yet another lousy night of sleep, s/he had wound up oversleeping right through hir alarm.

  S/he showered and dressed as quickly as s/he could. Then s/he extracted a newly brewed cup of coffee from the replicator over in the far corner of hir quarters. S/he didn’t bother with anything else for breakfast; Hermats had very little need for morning sustenance.

  S/he strode out into the corridor and tossed off quick hellos to other crew members s/he passed. Normally s/he was friendlier, even convivial. Not this morning; this morning hir focus was entirely on the transmission they had received.

  What in the world was Calhoun doing on Bravo Station? To the best of Burgoyne’s knowledge, he’d been on Xenex, having embarked on a hopeless search of his homeworld for any Xenexians who might have survived. Burgy had known going in it was simply the excuse that Calhoun had felt the need to provide. S/he knew all too well that Calhoun blamed himself for the terrible fate that had befallen his people, and needed some time alone to come to terms with it.

  As weeks had turned into months, Burgoyne had become seriously worried that Calhoun’s departure might be permanent. If that was the case, then what was Burgy supposed to do? Take command of the vessel? That decision would ultimately be up to Starfleet. S/he had the rank, enough experience. But s/he hadn’t been able to decide if becoming the captain of a starship was something s/he wanted. Truthfully, there were days when Burgoyne 172 would fondly remember hir days as the chief of engineering as being preferable. Part of hir now wished that s/he had never taken up Calhoun on his offer of becoming his first officer. If s/he had known that Calhoun would then vanish, feeling the need to spend months in a futile search, s/he very likely would not have accepted the promotion.