Текст книги "Gods Above"

Автор книги: Peter David

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“No, no ... you just adore them,” said Calhoun. He was now much closer to Lodec, and Si Cwan could see that the scar which Calhoun perpetually carried upon his face was flushing a slightly brighter crimson ... a sure sign that the starship captain was becoming angry. “I want Artemis. I have an injured man because of her. A man who might very well be on the brink of death ... or worse. I believe she’s the only one who can do anything about it. And she had better, or ...”

“Or what?” Lodec sounded gently reproving. “What do you think you could possibly do that will deter her in some way? Artemis is what she is. They all are what they are. If you,” and he glanced at Spock, “have any hope of working out some manner of cooperation with the Beings, or if you have a desire to obtain ambrosia, then it’s far preferable that you respect them as we do.”

“By building temples to them?” asked Arex. “By sacrificing helpless animals to them?”

“Yes,” Lodec said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Si Cwan realized that, to Lodec, it very likely was.

II.

The away team had split into three groups, heading off in different directions in an almost arbitrary fashion. The notion was, after all, that they were upon a fact-finding mission. So they went their separate ways to find facts. Since they were all in easy communication with one another, there didn’t seem to be a problem.

Nevertheless, Calhoun insisted that each of them check in with him every half hour. He had no intention of losing touch with any of his people. And Mueller, for her part, kept in constant touch with the Trident,and the Tridentwith the Excalibur.No one was taking any chances.

Mueller and Arex walked from residence to residence in the city, stopping and talking with passersby, or knocking on doors and speaking to whomever inside would talk to them. Mueller was impressed by the forthright way in which the people spoke to two offworld strangers.

Her study of the typical Danteri mind-set indicated that they should have treated them in a high-handed, arrogant manner. But that definitely was not what she and Arex were encountering. Instead the Danteri greeted them warmly, welcomed them into their homes, spoke to them of their hopes, dreams, and aspirations.

And, of course, they spoke of the Beings.

“We were lost without them.”

“They have focused us.”

“They are greatness personified.”

“The Beings are the source of all things wise and wonderful.”

These and many other comments were uttered with the sort of unshakable conviction that Mueller only ever saw in the truly dedicated ... or the truly demented. Nor was it always easy to tell the difference.

After several hours of hearing the same thing over and over again, Mueller and Arex stopped in the center of a lush park and sat on a bench. More correctly, Mueller sat. The bench wasn’t designed in such a way that the three-legged Arex could make himself comfortable, so he chose to stand.

“I have never seen this many happy people in my life,” Mueller said. “Have you?”

“Yes,” said Arex serenely. “My people. But we’re a singularly cheerful race.”

Mueller half-smiled and shook her head. “Thank you for the clarification, Lieutenant.” Then the smiled faded as she considered the array of chipper individuals they’d met. “Tell me, Lieutenant ... even amongst your ‘singularly cheerful race,’ are you all happy in the exact same manner? About the exact same thing?”

“No. And I see what you mean and where you’re going with the thought,” he said. “It’s an impressive uniformity of mind.”

“ ‘Impressive’ would not be the word I’d use. ‘Frightening,’ perhaps. It’s almost as if they’ve started functioning as a hive mind. They’re like the Borg, except they’re not trying to assimilate us.”

“Aren’t they?” said Arex. “Perhaps the ambrosia is the means of assimilation.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it and nodded.

They were silent for a moment, and then Arex moved in a slow circle around Mueller. “What do you think of the M’Ress and Gleau situation?”

“What?” She blinked in confusion. “Where did thatcome from?”

“I thought this might be a good opportunity to discuss it, away from the ship.” His head extended a bit further from his body. “I assume you know what I’m referring to. ...”

“Of course I know. But why are you asking me?”

“Because,” Arex said slowly, “I have reason to believe that you and the good lieutenant commander exchanged some harsh words.”

“And how,” inquired Mueller, her voice taking on an icy edge, “would you know that?”

“I’m head of security, Commander, and a starship—for all its size—is still little more than a small town in space.” He shrugged, which was a truly odd gesture for someone with three arms. “People overhear things, people tell other people things, and sooner or later most people know each other’s business. And if the security chief doesn’t know, he’s not much of a security chief.”

“And yet, here I am feeling not especially secure.”

“I notice,” said Arex, “that you’re also not answering the question.”

“Here’s a concept, Lieutenant,” Mueller replied, rising from the bench and standing with her sharp, angled chin pointed in an imperious manner at Arex. “I’m your superior officer. I am not required to answer any questions that I’m disinclined to answer.”

“I wasn’t disputing that.” He drew closer to her, tilting his head and studying her with a gaze that seemed to bore right through her head. “But here’s something else that is beyond dispute. M’Ress is a dear, dear friend. And it’s my firm belief that Gleau is out to harm her. I suspect it’s your belief as well. But I’m not going to allow it to happen. So I was curious as to whether you were going to allow it.”

There was far more to what he was saying than the mere words. Mueller was not the least intimidated by the intensity of his stare. Instead, her interest was piqued. “A dear, dear friend? How dear a friend?” There was a distinct air of challenge in her voice.

She was pleased to see that Arex seemed a bit taken aback by the way she addressed him. “What do you mean by that?”

“What do youmean?” A slow smile spread across her sharp-edged features. “My God ... are you in love with her?”

Arex promptly retracted his head, his neck sinking as if it were deflating. “That is a pointless subject to—”

“You are.”

“It is pointless to discuss it,” he said, and he turned his face away. “Our ... species ... would not be compatible. Whatever I might feel for her intellectually, even emotionally, is rendered moot by certain physical realities.”

“And she doesn’t know.”

He turned back to her. “And you must never tell her.”

“Are you issuing me an order, Lieutenant?” There was an almost condescending challenge in her voice. “I don’t do well with subordinates ordering me about.”

“It’s not an order. It’s ... an emphatic request.”

“I see.” Her lips twitched, and she said nothing for a time. Arex waited, as if he knew that she would talk eventually. Slowly she lowered herself back onto the bench, lost in thought.

“Do you,” she asked finally, “believe Gleau presents a threat?”

“I have already said I do,” Arex said promptly, as if he knew she would ask. “My question is, do you believe it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel as if something is off ... but it’s nothing actionable.”

“Did you threaten him?”

She shifted on the bench. “We had ... strong words.”

“He won’t stand for it,” said Arex. “He will do something to retaliate.”

“Such as?”

“Such as ... I don’t know what. But that, I believe, is part of my job. To not wait around to find out what sort of threat someone poses.”

“And what would you do, to be preemptive?”

“Whatever was necessary.”

“To be blunt, Lieutenant,” Mueller said, “that sounds as much like a threat as anything that Gleau has said.”

Arex considered that. “Good,” he finally decided.

III.

Soleta, Spock, and Si Cwan—the “S” squad, as Si Cwan had dubbed them, getting absolutely no humorous response from the Vulcans (and not really expecting any)—approached one of the temples. They walked right past the lengthy line of people waiting to file through and perform—what? Prayers? Rituals? Slaughter? All of them at once?

They had not gone directly to the temple. Instead they had first spent time at a meeting of the Danteri senate, and Si Cwan had been quite frankly astounded by what they had witnessed.

“Committees working in unison,” he told Spock and Soleta as they left after several hours of observing, shaking his head in incredulity even as he recounted it. “Votes being passed unanimously. All points of view being represented and considered before one firm direction is decided upon.”

“Not, I take it, what you were accustomed to during your stay here?” inquired Soleta.

“It was impossible to accomplish anything while I was here,” Si Cwan told her. “Every project, every proposal was awash with selfish considerations, tied to irrelevant concerns, and caught up in week upon week of endless discussion. It seemed that the world was governed more through back-room gamesmanship and betrayal than anything approaching uniformity of spirit and will. Now it’s as if ...”

“They’re all drugged?” suggested Soleta.

It gave Si Cwan pause, and then slowly he nodded. “You’re saying ...”

“The ambrosia.”

“An intriguing hypothesis,” said Spock, “and not remotely outside the parameters of possibility.”

As they approached the ring of temples that adorned the part of town casually referred to as “Worship Circle,” the people waiting in line didn’t seem to care that the three offworlders appeared to be cutting in front of them. In fact, they stepped back and indicated that the trio should feel free to do what they wished.

“Not precisely the renowned Danteri aggression of which I have heard tell,” Spock commented as they walked past, “and providing of only further support for the lieutenant’s ambrosia hypothesis.” Then he glanced at Si Cwan. “Curious the twists and turns of fate, is it not, Ambassador?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Ambassador,” replied Cwan. “And for that matter, I wouldn’t have thought Vulcans to be big believers in ‘fate.’ ”

“I do not speak of ‘fate’ as predestination, but merely a convenient term to apply to life’s vagaries which we can retroactively perceive,” Spock said in his singularly smooth cadences. “As to what I am referring: The last time the three of us were together, Soleta and I were endeavoring to escape imprisonment on Thallon, and you were our captor.”

Cwan smiled at that. “Yes. Yes, I remember.”

“Yet now we are thrown together as colleagues.”

“It is rather amusing, isn’t it.”

“Speaking as someone who would likely have died in prison if left to Thallonian tender mercies,” said Soleta rather dourly, “you’ll forgive me if I don’t join in the general air of nostalgia.”

“You are forgiven,” Spock said with no hint of sarcasm.

They entered the temple. As Si Cwan looked around, he decided that “temple” might be too strong a word. “Shrine” was probably more accurate.

A small altar had been erected and a Danteri family—father, mother, two sons—were kneeling in front of it, their hands clasped before them in supplication. They weren’t in the process of sacrificing any small living creatures, which Si Cwan was a bit relieved about. What instead caught his attention were the crude paintings on the wall opposite them, on the far side of the altar.

It was an ebony-skinned being with the head of a fearsome dog.

“That’s Anubis,” Si Cwan said softly. “In the picture.”

“Anubis. The Egyptian god of passage to death,” Spock said.

“Whatever he was ... that’s the bastard who damned near killed me,” Si Cwan told him.

“Indeed,” said Spock, looking back at the pictures. “Fascinating. And what prevented him from doing so.”

“Kalinda managed to—”

One of the supplicants, the father, turned abruptly and, putting his finger to his lips, spat out an annoyed “Shhh!”

Si Cwan was reasonably certain that he could break the father’s arms and legs without exerting much strength. But he restrained himself, and was rather pleased that he was able to do so. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Kalinda managed to get her hands on his weapon ... that,” and he pointed at the short scythelike blade that Anubis could be seen holding in his hand. “And she threatened him with it. He didn’t seem especially anxious to attack her while she held it.”

“Indeed,” said Spock, cocking an eyebrow curiously. “That could be of extreme significance.”

“Or it could be that he simply had no desire to destroy a lesser being.”

The voice had come from behind them. The father of the worshipping group, irritated at the newcomer making no effort to keep his voice down, turned his scowl toward the person who had just spoken. Upon seeing the speaker, however, the father’s eyes went wide and he immediately prostrated himself upon the ground, practically groveling. His family took one look where he’d been looking and did likewise.

The newcomer was clad in Egyptian garb, with wing-like ornaments that ran the length of either arm, festooned with a mixture of black and white feathers. His face was quite handsome, and his eyes were a deep, glistening yellow. He had a slender nose and angular face, and his skin was a healthy olive brown. Something similar to a crown was perched atop his head.

“Greetings, Soleta,” he said.

“Thoth.” She glanced at Spock and Si Cwan. “Gentlemen ... this is Thoth. Egyptian god of writing, mathematics, law ...”

“And truth,” he reminded her softly. “Let us not forget truth.”

Si Cwan saw a subtle shift in Soleta’s expression, as if something had been brought up that made her most uncomfortable. Thoth, for his part, was looking at the supplicants groveling upon the floor. He reached out with one sandaled foot and prodded the father in the side. “Rise. Your prayers have been heard, and they will be answered. Anubis has assured me of such. Now you may depart. And tell others to remain outside for a brief time, if you’d be so kind.”

They hastily exited, bowing and scraping as they did so. Thoth watched them go, his mouth drawn in a thin line, looking as if he felt sorry for them. Then he turned back to Soleta and the faint disdain radiantly became a smile. “It is good to see you again, Soleta.”

“A friend of yours?” asked a skeptical Si Cwan.

“ ‘Friend’ might be overstating it. Thoth, this is Ambassadors Si Cwan and Spock.”

Thoth barely acknowledged Si Cwan’s presence, his attention instead focused upon the stately Vulcan ambassador. “I know you of old, I believe,” he said.

“We have not met.”

“No. But Apollo made the acquaintance of you, and what he knew, we all know. A tragic figure, Apollo was.”

“Perhaps between his assaults upon us and his kidnapping of our officers, we were not in the proper position to appreciate the tragedy of his situation,” Spock replied.

Thoth eyed him a moment and then said, “Hunh. And I take it that you, on some level, object to this world, despite its serenity.”

“ ‘Object’ is too strong a word. ‘Have reservations’ would be the more proper sentiment. You see, Thoth, I have had some little experience with worlds signing away their growth, development, and independence in exchange either for protection by false deities ... or else for spores or some other element that seems to present a paradise, but for a hidden price.”

“And you see us as false deities with a hidden price. How tragic, Ambassador. And how little you know of us.” He looked back to Soleta. “Our time together was cut short, Soleta. There are other things that need to be said.”

“Then you can say them here,” Si Cwan told him.

“Yes. I can,” agreed Thoth with an amiability that nevertheless hinted at someone who was not only accustomed to getting his way, but powerful enough to make certain he did. “However, I think it best for all concerned if they are said elsewhere.”

“Apollo followed much the same pattern,” Spock reminded him. “A neutral observer might take note that his story ended, as you say, tragically.”

Thoth’s smile widened, although the outward amusement wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Why, Ambassador ... are you warning me? Threatening me?”

“No. Merely noting that those who do not listen to history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Perhaps. But that has little bearing to one who actually ishistory. Besides ... you called us secretive. Far be it from me not to live up to expectations. Soleta ... let us go and discuss matters.”

Si Cwan was about to say something, to protest, but it made no difference. One moment, Soleta and Thoth were there, and the next—with a sound like a popping soap bubble—they were both gone.

IV.

In the main receiving room of his spacious residence, Lodec rose from his couch and spread wide his arms as Calhoun and Kebron strode in, having just been announced by one of Lodec’s servants.

“My friends, it is good to see you again,” he said in such a way that he really, truly made it sound like he was pleased to see them. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Calhoun evenly.

“Sit. Sit, please.”

He gestured toward a large, comfortable-looking chair. Calhoun’s impulse was to stay exactly where he was, but he yielded to the trappings of polite society and seated himself. Lodec sat opposite him.

“I was true to my word,” he said. “Were you at all impeded in your inspection of Danter? Is it not all that I said, and more besides?”

“It’s very peaceful,” said Calhoun. “I’d hardly recognize it.”

“Indeed. To be candid, Captain,” and he leaned forward a bit as if speaking with an intimate and old friend, “I think upon what we once were, and I am appalled. But look at all that we have accomplished! And if the galaxy were united in the cause ...”

“We remain unclear as to what that ‘cause’ might be.”

“Why ... to worship the Beings, of course,” said Lodec, for whom it apparently seemed the most obvious concept in the world. “To benefit from their radiance, to ...”

“I want a sample of this ambrosia,” Calhoun said. “Something I can take back to my ship, to study, to ...”

Lodec politely shook his head. He looked almost grief-stricken as he said, “My apologies, Captain, but ... I am afraid that’s not possible. You are neither ready nor—and I regret I must say it—deserving.”

“I see. And you are?” he asked humorlessly.

“Well, obviously.”

“Obvious to you, perhaps,” said Calhoun, his voice tightening. “Now I’ll tell you what’s obvious to me. It’s obvious that you’re going to provide me with this ‘ambroisa’ so I can make a thorough report to Starfleet. Furthermore, I want Artemis, and whatever difficulties might be involved in that are of no interest to me.”

In a way, Calhoun was hearing his own voice from a distance. He heard the flatness of it, the mercilessness. Even to his own ear, he sounded as if he were spoiling for a fight. For a moment, the concerns of Shelby came back to him. She had been so convinced that the history between Calhoun and the Danteri in general, and between he and Lodec in particular, was going to make it impossible for him to do his job in a dispassionate manner.

He hadn’t cared what she’d said. He hadn’t listened to her. Now the cold, detached part of his brain which never left him—the one that served to analyze a situation in an unemotional way no matter how dire the circumstance, and had thus enabled him to survive any number of to-the-death battles—was telling him that Shelby might very well have been right.

Unfortunately, he was making the conscious decision not to heed what she’d said. There was no point in second-guessing himself. He was here, and this had to be dealt with. And the fact that he could still see himself in his mind’s eye, lunging forward, wrapping his hands around Lodec’s throat and squeezing and squeezing ...

He took a deep breath and shook it off, and suddenly the hairs on his neck were standing on end.

Calhoun had an almost infallible inner warning sense. He really didn’t know how he had come by it. All he knew was that it had saved his life on any number of occasions, and this might very well be one of them.

He pivoted and Kebron, seeing that his commanding officer had suddenly come to full alert, likewise turned to see what it was that had alarmed Calhoun.

The creature that greeted their eyes was as big, if not bigger, than Zak Kebron. His skin was darkest black, so much like the depths of space that Calhoun might have expected to see stars floating against it. His head looked like that of some great beast.

Calhoun was utterly taken aback, but he did not let the fact that he was startled show. Furthermore, although he had not had an opportunity to discuss Si Cwan’s “adventures” with him in detail, Shelby had been good enough to forward him her logs and accounts of what the Thallonian had told her and he’d read them over quickly before beaming down to Danter. So he had at least some idea of who and what he was facing.

“Anubis, I take it,” Calhoun said evenly.

“Very good, Captain!” Lodec said, looking quite pleased, as if Calhoun was a clever student who had just produced some marvelously timely answer.

“And is your plan to try and treat Lieutenant Kebron and myself with the same distinctive lack of hospitality that you provided Si Cwan and his sister? To try and manhandle us, toss us about?”

“Please. Try,” said Kebron. Calhoun noticed Kebron’s fist tightening, and a slight snapping sound coming from it. Apparently Kebron was cracking his knuckles.

“I already told you, Captain,” Lodec said with a heavy sigh. “Although, in the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t been all that long since Si Cwan’s abrupt departure from our world, much has changed in—”

“Death,” Anubis said abruptly, interrupting Lodec as though what he had to say was of no consequence. He was pointing a taloned finger at Calhoun.

“Are you threatening me?” Calhoun asked calmly.

It was hard to tell if Anubis was smiling, or even capable of doing so, for his thin canine lips were drawn tightly back against his teeth. He lowered his hand and growled in a deep, hoarse manner, “We have much in common, you and I. In a way, we are brothers.”

“Striking family resemblance,” deadpanned Kebron.

Calhoun fired him a look, then turned back to Anubis. “We have nothing in common. You know what I’m seeking. I want a sample of ambrosia, and I want Artemis. Unless you’re willing to provide either of those, we have nothing to talk about.”

“We have much to talk about,” Anubis replied.

He began to stride toward Calhoun, and Kebron promptly interposed himself, providing a looming living barrier between the advancing “god” and the Excaliburcaptain.

Anubis didn’t appear to give Kebron any more priority than he had Lodec. He seemed to be considering only Calhoun and himself to be the only two individuals in the room. It was flattering in a way. A sick, perverse way, but a way. Nevertheless, he came to a halt a foot or so short of Kebron, although it was difficult to tell whether he was doing so because he thought Kebron posed a threat.

“We are very much alike,” Anubis said. His pointed teeth clicked together when his long snout moved in speech. “We have made death an art. We embrace it. We guide our opponents to the other side knowing, as we do so, that how we die defines how we live. If we greet death with bravery, we are brave. If we meet it sniveling, we are cowards. The measure of a man is taken in his last breath. We both understand that in a way that others cannot possibly.”

“What I understand is that you’re beginning to annoy the hell out of me,” Calhoun said. He suddenly wished he had his sword with him. He had a phaser on his hip, and Kebron who was as strong as any ten men guarding his back, but nevertheless the blade he’d wielded as a Xenexian warlord would have provided him a greater measure of security. “What I understand is that your kind nearly destroyed my ship and killed members of my crew.”

“These are non-issues,” said Anubis.

“To you, perhaps,” said Calhoun, bristling. “To me they are very real issues indeed.”

“You can learn so much more than you know now,” Anubis told him.

“That’s nice to hear. But I’ve no intention of learning it from you.”

“Perhaps you will, despite yourself.”

Suddenly he made a swift motion toward Calhoun.

Zak Kebron, far speedier than anyone unfamiliar with him would have thought, matched the move and was directly in the path of Anubis. Kebron usually disdained to use weapons of any kind. He considered his own body all the weapon he required, and besides, his gargantuan fingers did not fit easily around the trigger mechanism of a phaser.

Anubis’s hand whipped out and around, and he was holding his short scythe. The curved blade swept right through Kebron’s guard, slicing across his chest. Kebron staggered and the blade was a blur, cutting right and left across Kebron at will. Blood welled up from Kebron’s chest, blood with the same color and consistency of tar.

Another low growl escaped Anubis’ lips. It was a growl that was matched only by the sound coming from Calhoun’s own mouth as he charged forward. Anubis switched his attention from Kebron to Calhoun and brought his scythe whipping around.

Kebron was not accustomed to dodging, and certainly wasn’t built for it. His tough hide was normally all the protection he required. Not this time, however. Calhoun suspected that, had any of the cuts been even an eighth of an inch deeper, Kebron’s organs would be splattering out onto the floor. He wasn’t certain whether it was remarkable luck on Zak’s part or supreme control on the part of Anubis. Nor was he intending to wait to figure it out.

“You will learn respect,” Anubis said quietly. “Even one who is such a purveyor of death that he could be my brother, will still learn respect.”

Calhoun tapped his combadge. “Calhoun to Excalibur.Two to—”

And then Kebron, with a roar, charged Anubis.

Anubis appeared briefly taken aback, and then he swung his scythe once more. Kebron buckled at the knee and took the point of the scythe in his shoulder. It buried itself in there and Anubis tried to yank it out. But it was in too deep.

The Egyptian “god” was clearly startled, and then Kebron thrust one of his massive hands forward, catching Anubis just under the jaw. Anubis lost his grip on his scythe as he was literally lifted off his feet, and he crashed to the ground several yards away.

Kebron grabbed at the scythe and then, with a grunt, pulled it clear. More of his dark blood massed at his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “I’m guessing, without this, you’re helpless,” he rumbled.

That was when Anubis’ eyes began to glow red. He reached behind his back and suddenly there was another scythe in his hand. “You guessed wrong.”

And suddenly Lodec was in between them, his arms spread to either side. “No!”he cried out, and to Calhoun’s surprise, turned to Anubis. “Please, great one,” he implored, “I have promised these individuals safe passage! I have spoken to them of how matters have changed! I would not presume to question your righteous wrath, but this action is most unfortunate in terms of ongoing relationships with Calhoun and his associates! I beg you not to do this thing!”

Calhoun’s hand hovered over the combadge, prepared at a moment’s notice to call for emergency beam-up. It was against his nature to run, but he had a wounded man who required immediate attention. Besides, the way Anubis was staring at Lodec, it seemed as if the god was just as content to annihilate his follower as he was Calhoun and Kebron.

But then the glow subsided from Anubis’ eyes. Although he glowered in Kebron’s direction, he was addressing Lodec when he said, “Very well. Out of deference to you and yours, I shall not pursue this matter further.”

“ Youwon’t pursue?” snapped back Calhoun. “After everything that you and your fellow Beings have done, what gives you the impression that Iwon’t pursue it?”

“For one thing,” Anubis said, his teeth still clicking together, “I would like to think that you are not that stupid. But if you are eager to prove me wrong, by all means ... please do.” He shifted his gaze back to Lodec and said, “They require manners. It would be most wise for them if they acquired them by the next time we met.” He turned on his bare foot and strode out of the room.

“Drag him back in here, Captain,” Kebron said defiantly.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So I can collapse on him.” And with that, Kebron fell forward, like an avalanche.

“Kebron!” shouted Calhoun, dropping to Kebron’s side. Lodec was making fluttering apologizing noises that Calhoun ignored as he tapped his combadge once more. “Calhoun to Excalibur.Two for emergency beam-up. Then start rounding up the others and get them the hell off this world.”

“Aye, sir,” came the response from the combadge. He recognized the voice instantly. It was Morgan.

“Captain, this is most unfortunate!” Lodec called out. “I assure you, I—”

“Save your assurances and bank one of mine,” said Calhoun. “If Kebron dies, I’ll tear this place apart with my bare hands.”

Even as his hands ran along Kebron’s thick hide, he was stunned to have a huge piece of it come off in his hands. It was a chunk at least a foot wide, and beneath the skin was roughly the same color, albeit a bit lighter.

And over the continued pleadings for understanding from Lodec, the captain and security chief of the Excaliburwere beamed off the surface of Danter.

EXCALIBUR

I.

THE GHOSTLY, intangible image of Mark McHenry and the elderly man who called himself Woden or Aman-Re or possibly Santa Claus stood outside the sickbay and watched dispassionately as Zak Kebron was hauled in on an antigrav gurney that was just barely powerful enough to support his weight. The doctors grunted as they hauled him into the sickbay, and McHenry saw the horrific gaping wound in his shoulder and the scythe protruding.

“What the hell is that thing?” he demanded, pointing at the curved blade that Calhoun was holding as he followed Kebron in.

“A scythe,” said the old man calmly. “It is the symbol of Anubis.”

“Yeah, well you know what I’m starting to think would be my best symbol? A good kick in the ass for whoever gets in my way.” McHenry began to pace. “I’m tired of standing around like Banquo’s ghost while life goes on all around me, and I’m helpless to participate. I ...”