Текст книги "Gods Above"

Автор книги: Peter David

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“What are you doing?!”

“If we can’t survive direct hits, then the best thing to do is be where they’re not shooting until we’re out of range.”

Under Si Cwan’s deft handling, the runabout darted to the right and left. Ground blasts erupted in the air around it, the shock waves battering the ship mercilessly even when the cannons missed. The higher into the atmosphere they went, the thinner the air became and the less of a problem the near-hits were. But Si Cwan wasn’t thrilled with the way the runabout was maneuvering. He suspected that some of the guidance systems had been damaged by the assault. He didn’t tell Kalinda that, however, seeing no point in worrying her.

Reaching escape velocity, they pulled free of the gravity of Danter, and Si Cwan and Kalinda shot each other a look of relief just before one final, stray shot slammed into them squarely, sending all their nav systems completely off line and the runabout whirling helplessly into the depths of space.

EXCALIBUR

I.

“I CANNOT DETERMINE a cause of death.”

In the sickbay of the Excalibur,Mackenzie Calhoun stared with incredulity, first at Dr. Selar and then at the unmoving, charred body of Mark McHenry, laid out on a diagnostic table, and then back to Selar. “What the hell do you mean, you can’t determine it?” demanded Calhoun. “Look at the man! He’s got a burn mark through his chest the size of a cannonball!”

Selar frowned. “The size of a what?”

Calhoun was about to reply, and then thought better of it, particularly since he saw that others in the sickbay were reacting with surprise to his raised voice. They looked bedraggled, shell-shocked. Sickbay was crammed to overflowing with the injured; everyone from every shift, and everyone who had ever wielded any sort of medical instrument in their life, had been pulled in to deal with the damage the ship had sustained in the battle with the Beings. People were battered, burned, moaning and waiting for painkillers to kick in. They were lying there waiting for skin grafts to take, or sleeping and in stasis, waiting for their bodies to stabilize so further work could be done on them. And everyone, everyone who was conscious was looking at him, and he felt as if there were accusatory stares ... or hopeful? Or desperate? Looking to him for salvation or explanation or something, anything. What the hell do they want from me? What am I supposed to be? Made of stone?Then he drew in a deep breath, steadied himself, found a calm center, and focused once more on Selar. As frustrating as Vulcans could be at times, he had to admit that their capacity for maintaining calm in the face of difficulty was something he occasionally envied. “I’m simply asking,” he said, “how it could be unclear what caused Mr. McHenry’s ... demise.”

“Because I am not entirely certain that he is dead.”

Once again Calhoun found himself staring at Selar in total confusion. “I would have thought,” he said, “that the lack of life signs in his readings would have been sufficient to establish that.”

“Ordinarily, yes. But Mr. McHenry is ... less than ordinary. And more.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset of a thumping headache. “That much, I’ll agree with. So lay it out for me, Doctor. What are you saying?”

“There’s no deterioration of his cells,” she said, circling the bed on which McHenry was stretched out. “No cellular degeneration. Oh, there’s been catastrophic damage to his body, there is no disputing that. But ...” She paused and then looked up at Calhoun. “You will think I am joking.”

“Trust me, the odds of my thinking that are minuscule at best.”

She nodded and then said, “From all accounts, some sort of massive surge of energy leaped out of the conn station and lanced through Mr. McHenry. Morgan Primus ...”

“Also known as Morgan Lefler ... Robin Letter’s mother.”

“I know who she is, Captain,” said Selar with raised eyebrow. “Morgan Lefler endeavored to intercept the energy surge, and was killed instantly. I could not say for certain, however, that McHenry was killed as well. I do not know whether the blast of energy drove his life from his body ... or if his life was pulled from his body before the blast struck.”

Calhoun shook his head in confusion. “Isn’t that just semantics?”

“I do not know,” she said, and pushed a strand of stray hair from her face. She was actually starting to look as if the pressure of the situation was weighing upon her. “I simply ... feel as if I am missing something.”

“What are you missing?”

“If I knew the answer to that, Captain, then I would no longer be missing it,” she replied matter-of-factly, and with the air of someone who did not suffer fools gladly. “All I know is that something is not right with McHenry’s body. It is as if ...”

“As if time has frozen around it somehow?”

She considered that, looking as if she wanted to dismiss the notion out of hand owing to its inherent absurdity, but at the same time finding a measure of explanation there. “Somewhat ... yes. The effect is not dissimilar from a medical cellular stasis field. But such things cannot be generated by nature.”

“Doctor,” Calhoun said tiredly, “we are part of nature. You and I and everyone on this ship. Nature made us. We are capable of generating it. Therefore, nature can generate it. It’s just that, until now, it’s been done with mechanical aids. But if something can be done with mechanical aids, then it stands to reason that the possibility exists it could be done without them as well.”

Selar considered that. “Interesting, Captain. There are times where you would make a passable Vulcan.”

“Thank you.”

“There are some who would not consider that a compliment.”

“I choose to take it in the spirit it was meant. So ... what do we do with Mr. McHenry?”

“I will be moving him to a separate, private observation room,” Selar said, studying him thoughtfully. “Nothing is to be gained by having him continue to remain here. It is disconcerting to the other patients.” She eyed him. “Captain, you may want to consider some rest for yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he said dismissively. “What are you doing?”

She was holding up a medical tricorder and aiming it in his direction. “In addition to my observations of your having sustained multiple contusions and lacerations, you have also a broken rib, a hairline fracture of the clavicle, and a mild concussion ...”

“I’m Xenexian, Doctor,” said Calhoun. “I can take a lot more punishment than humans ... or Vulcans, for that matter.”

“I think it would be wise,” she said, “if you did not inflict an excessive amount of punishment upon yourself in order to prove that point.”

“What does that mean?”

“I believe the statement speaks for itself.”

Before he could push it further, his combadge beeped. He tapped it. “Calhoun here.”

“Captain, this is Burgoyne,” came the voice of the Hermat first officer. “You wanted a shipwide status meeting as soon as we had in reports from all decks and departments. If you would—”

“Burgy?” said a puzzled Calhoun, firing a look at Selar. Her face was impassive. “What the hell are you doing on duty? You have a broken leg. You should be up here. Why isn’t s/he up here?” he demanded of Selar.

Before Selar could reply, Burgoyne said, “Selar treated me and I felt it imperative I return to duty.”

Calhoun let out an impatient sigh. “Fine. Department heads in the conference lounge in—”

“The conference lounge was badly hit, sir. Recommend the team room.”

“Fine. Team room in twenty minutes. And after that, Burgy, bed rest for you. That’s an order.”

“Aye, sir. Burgoyne out.”

Calhoun ended the connection and shook his head. “Running around with a broken leg. What is s/he thinking?”

“Have you considered the likelihood, Captain,” Selar pointed out, “that my mate is using you as a role model for how s/he is expected to conduct hirself.”

Calhoun looked at her in surprise. “You know, Doctor ... I could be wrong, but I believe that’s the first time you’ve ever referred to Burgoyne as ‘your’ anything.”

“I still make certain, Captain, that it does not recur,” she said archly.

He turned away, but instead of heading to the team room, he crossed the sickbay and returned to a bed he’d visited when he’d first arrived there.

Moke, his adoptive son, was lying there, staring up into space. Calhoun’s heart went out to the boy, seeing how banged up he was. Apparently he had taken a spill down a Jefferies tube during all the commotion when the ship had been under attack. The boy had been brought into the sickbay convinced that he was never going to walk again, and Calhoun’s heart had been in his throat until it had been discovered that he’d just pinched a nerve in his spine. It hadn’t taken Selar long to set things right, but she was keeping him there a few hours more for observation.

The boy was staring fixedly up at the ceiling, and didn’t even seem aware that Calhoun was standing there. That concerned the captain greatly. He took Moke’s hand, listening to the steady thrum of the monitoring devices. “Moke? You’re going to be fine. Remember, I told you earlier, you’re going to be fine?”

Moke said nothing. Just continued to stare. Calhoun started to worry that, despite Selar’s earlier assurances, the boy had sustained some sort of brain damage. Then Calhoun caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the metal surface of the monitor. He looked as bedraggled as Selar had said. He hoped that hadn’t scared Moke. Doing his best to be of comfort, he squeezed Moke’s hand even more tightly. “Moke ... I know you had a scare. But really ... everything’s fine now.”

“No. It’s not.”

It was a very, very faint whisper that escaped from between the boy’s lips. He spoke with the air of someone who knew without reservation that matters were going to go from bad to worse, and was only trying to figure out just how to impart this information to others. “It’s not going to be fine. It’s going to be worse. A lot worse.”

“Who told you that?” Calhoun said with a faint tone of scolding.

Moke looked as if he wanted to answer, but wasn’t able to bring himself to do so. Prodding a bit more determinedly, Calhoun repeated, “Come on, Moke. Who told you that, huh?”

“Nobody. I just know. The Dark Man wouldn’t be here if everything was going to be all right.”

Calhoun had no idea what the boy was talking about. He leaned in closer to Moke. “What Dark Man? What are you talking about ... ?”

But Moke would not respond, and not all the urging from Calhoun could get him to do so. So it was that Calhoun left sickbay feeling as if he knew even less than when he’d arrived ... and with the uncomfortable sensation that something he didn’t understand could turn out to prove very, very dangerous.

II.

Robin Lefler paced the shattered bridge of the Excalibur,watching in mounting frustration as Ensign Beth labored under the still-sparking remains of the conn station. The monitor screen, which had gone on and off line repeatedly since the battle had concluded, was back on at the moment. However, the view of the starfield before them was still a bit fuzzy, as was the view of the Trident.

She still couldn’t quite believe the timing of it. When she’d been aboard the Trident,on her way back to the Excalibur,she had thought nothing could distract her from the foul mood enveloping her since Si Cwan had elected to remain on Danter. The entire voyage back, she had done nothing but dwell on his lack of gratitude, on his frustrating inability to realize her interest in him, and now ... this? To try and restore the Thallonian Empire? Had he learned absolutely nothing in his stay aboard the Excalibur?Well, obviously not. Obviously not.

But she had been startled from her ennui by the call to battle stations that had been sounded in the Tridentupon her approach to the Excalibur.Since she’d been aboard merely as a passenger rather than an officer, she didn’t have a battle station per se. Consequently, she’d felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness, particularly when she’d realized that it was her home ship that was under attack. She’d stood at the deserted Ten-Forward (since the recreation area obviously wasn’t heavily populated at times of crisis) and stared out the window in fixed astonishment as she’d witnessed the Excalibur,punctured, battered, saucer separated from the main hull and both of them badly injured, under attack by ...

She still couldn’t wrap herself around it.

And then the call had come in ... the call about ...

She looked at the ops station, which had been occupied by her mother such a short time ago, and all she could think of was how she had resented Morgan because of it. Her mother had subbed in for her, and it had angered her. All she could reflect upon was the time wasted through harsh words and ...

She pushed it away, unable to deal with it, and instead focused her irritation on the hapless Ensign Beth. “What’s the problem here?” she demanded finally.

“I’m working on it,” Beth said testily, craning her neck out from under the unit. Her face was as smeared with grime and soot as anyone else’s, and her normally curly hair had flattened out from the sweat that was dripping off her. There was an array of tools to her right.

“That’s what you keep saying. That’s what you’ve beensaying .... !”

The others on the bridge were going about their tasks as best they could, but the dispute over by the conn station was starting to catch their interest. “You think you could do better?” demanded Beth.

“I think a trained chimp could do better!”

Beth, infuriated, threw down the spanner she’d been holding and started to rise, but managed to strike her forehead on the underside of the conn station. She fell back as a thin stream of blood began to trickle down the side of her face. “Dammit!”she snarled.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” snapped Lefler. “That’s just—”

“That’s enough.”

Lefler didn’t have to turn to know that it was Soleta’s sharp voice that had intervened. The Vulcan science officer was approaching, moving with impressive grace over the debris, stepping around maintenance crew members who were in the process of clearing it away. “Do we have a problem, Lieutenant?” she demanded evenly of Lefler.

“ ‘We’ are less than satisfied with the speed that the repairs are being accomplished,” Lefler replied.

Beth was about to respond, but Soleta silenced her with a look. “That’s as may be, Lieutenant,” she said. “Ensign Beth, however, does not answer to you. She answers to Chief Engineer Mitchell. If you have any concerns—”

“But—”

Soleta spoke right over her. “—then I suggest you bring them to Mr. Mitchell, who will, I assume, give your complaint the deepest consideration right before he tells you to go to hell.”

Robin stepped in close, fuming, and the two women faced each other just before a loud, high-pitched whine filled the bridge and sent them clapping their hands to their ears. Soleta was the hardest hit, staggering, as her sensitive ears sent the science officer to her hands and knees. “What in the world is that?!”she called out.

Trying her best to shake it off, Robin made it over to the ops station. “It’s the ship’s computer!”

“Shut it down!”

“I can’t shut down the ship’s computer from ops! It has to be done at the computer core in engineering!”

“I knowthat!”

“Then why did you tell me to shut it down!”

“Because I can’t think!”shouted the obviously exasperated Soleta. “Bridge to enginee—”

And then, just like that, the noise stopped.

Robin sagged against ops, waiting for the ringing in her head to cease. Soleta eased herself into the command chair, putting her hands out to either side in a way that indicated that the world was whirling around her. “I did not need that,” she announced. “Beth ... run a systems analysis and full diagnostic immediately. If we have another virus in the computer, I will personally use the Vulcan death grip on whomever put it there.”

From over at the tactical station, apparently unfazed by the earsplitting sound that had been emanating from the computer moments before, Zak Kebron rumbled, “There’s no such thing as a Vulcan death grip.”

“I’ll invent one for the occasion,” replied Soleta.

Drawing in air unsteadily, Robin turned to Soleta and said, “Why have Ensign Beth run the systems diagnostic? I can do it ...”

“No. You cannot. Not in your current state of mind.”

Robin’s face colored; she felt the sting of blood rushing to her cheeks. “I don’t see who you are to ...”

“Robin,” Soleta replied, her voice imperturbable, “I am that deadliest of combinations: I outrank you, and I am your friend.”

“You’re my friend?” Robin said dryly.

Soleta seemed to shrug with her eyebrows. “In the sense that we see each other every day and I do not find your presence repulsive, yes.” Then, more softly, and with what seemed genuine sympathy, she said softly, “We’ve helped each other in the past, you and I. Believe it or not, I’m helping you now by telling you to get off the bridge and take some time. Take as much as you need.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. Go to your quarters. Go to the holodeck.”

“The holodeck.This is hardly the time for recreation.”

“Perhaps it’s exactly the time. Just ... go. Be anywhere but here. If a situation arises, I promise you that you will be summoned instantly.”

“But Soleta, I don’t think that ...”

“Robin,” sighed Soleta, “leave before I have Mr. Kebron carry you out bodily.”

“Can I?” inquired Zak. “I’m bored.”

“Fine,” Robin said in exasperation. Maintaining as much of her dignity as she could, she crossed quickly to the emergency stairs, since the turbolift had been unreliable at best. She clambered down and out of sight of the bridge ...

... and for a moment, she almost lost her grip on the ladder.

She wondered what could possibly have caused her to do so, and it was only at that point that she realized her body was seized with great, racking sobs. Desperate not to slip off, she threw her arms around the ladder, clutching it like a lover, and she dissolved into tears while chewing on her lower lip so as not to let her sobs echo up and down the passageway.

III.

Elizabeth Shelby was shocked at how wan and exhausted her husband, Mackenzie Calhoun, appeared.

She’d been sitting in the team room, along with Dr. Selar, Commander Burgoyne, Lieutenant Soleta, and Chief Engineer Mitchell. They all looked tired and shaken by what they’d been through, but that didn’t surprise the Tridentcaptain particularly. They were all fine officers; she knew, having served with all of them. They’d had a hell of an experience, though, and she couldn’t blame them at all for looking tired, even a bit forlorn.

She was not expecting it from Calhoun, however. It wasn’t simply that he was her husband and therefore she anticipated a certain level of performance from him. It was because, in all the years she’d known him, he was one of the most unflappable people she’d ever encountered. Not only did stress and difficulty not impede him, but he actually seemed to thrive on it.

Not this time, however. When Calhoun entered, there was a haunted look in his face, in his eyes, such as she had never seen. He covered it very quickly; when the others began to rise in response to his entrance, he gestured for them to remain seated with as much calm and control as he always displayed. They’d never have known there was anything wrong. But Shelby did.

“Thank you for coming, Captain,” he said with impressive formality. She’d been expecting his typical, offhand “Eppy,” his abbreviation for “Elizabeth Paula.” He knew she hated it and derived perverse delight in employing it whenever possible. “And I should add,” he continued, “that the thank-you is on behalf of everyone aboard this ship ... or what’s left of this ship,” he added ruefully. Immediately he turned to Burgoyne and Mitchell. “Damage report.”

They proceeded to give him a blow-by-blow description of everything that was wrong with the Excalibur.It was a staggering list. The Beings had done an astounding amount of damage, up to and including punching a hole in the saucer section that was sealed off by automatic forcefields. “With all of that,” Mitchell commented, shaking his head, “it’s a miracle we were able to rejoin the saucer and hull sections as smoothly as we did.”

It had seemed a good idea, a smart tactical move. Separate the saucer from the main hull and then fly both into battle, with Calhoun (and Morgan Lefler assisting) employing a new holographic technology that enabled them to be on both the saucer section and the battle bridge of the main hull. Unfortunately, it had backfired ... or else it simply had not been enough. The damage sustained by both vessels had shorted out the holotech, and things had gone downhill from there. ...

Maybe it wouldn’t have if you’d been there.

As Mitchell and Burgoyne continued their report, it was all Shelby could do to banish such thoughts from her mind. Calhoun was a brilliant captain, leader, and tactician. There was no reason whatsoever to think that, if she’d been along for the ride, she would have been able to accomplish what he hadn’t.

Except you did. They ran when you showed up. ...

“Only because I had another starship,” she said.

That brought conversation screeching to a halt as they all look at her in bewilderment. “I ... beg your pardon, Captain?” asked Burgoyne.

“Nothing.” She waved it off dismissively. “I was just ... thinking out loud.”

Calhoun nodded, looking as if he wasn’t paying all that much attention. “Dr. Selar ... total damage?”

“At last count, eighteen fatalities, forty-seven injured. Considering the violence of the attack, we must consider that number to be extraordinarily low.”

“Almost miraculously,” said Burgoyne.

“Miraculously,” Calhoun said distantly. “Burgy, we’ve lost eighteen crewmen and we’re only a few notches above dead in space. This isn’t exactly the time to start dwelling on the mercies of the almighty.”

Burgoyne looked in confusion at the others. “My apologies, Captain ... I didn’t mean to—”

As if Burgoyne hadn’t even spoken, Calhoun said, “Repair estimates.”

“Hard to say, Captain,” Mitchell told him. “Until we get in to a starbase ...”

“We’re not going to a starbase.”

There was a stunned silence around the table. “Captain,” Soleta said cautiously, “Starbase 27 is reachable, particularly if the Tridenttakes us into warp-speed tow.”

Shelby nodded. “That’s certainly doable. Not the best thing for standard practice, but once we put tractor beams on and get moving, and we don’t go above warp three ... provided Burgy and Mitchell think the ship’s up for it structurally.”

“We should be able to hold her together,” said Mitchell. “The question is—”

“Excuse me,” Calhoun said, his voice far sharper than it had been before. “I believe I’m still in the room. Furthermore, I believe I’ve already addressed the idea. We’re not going to a starbase.”

“But Captain ...” began Burgoyne.

“For future reference, Commander, those are two words that should never be combined in the same sentence ... especially at the beginning.”

Shelby saw the stunned look on Burgoyne’s face, and on Mitchell’s. Soleta and Selar, naturally, managed to maintain inscrutable expressions, although Shelby fancied she could see a flicker of surprise in Soleta’s eyes.

Calhoun leaned forward and said, “This is the part where you say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”

“Yes, sir,” Burgoyne immediately replied.

Nodding once, Calhoun continued, “We came to this area of space because we detected energy surges that we now know were created by the Beings. We’re not going to run off because we got our eyes a little blackened ... particularly considering that, for all we know, they’re still out there, waiting to see what happens next. Well, if they’re going to keep an eye on us, we’re keeping an eye on them as well. And we can’t do it if we’re sitting in drydock at Starbase 27. Captain Shelby, I take it that the Tridentcan extend whatever aid is required in terms of effecting repairs?”

“Whatever is required, yes,” Shelby said carefully.

“Very well. Chief, I want you to put together a complete list of what you’re going to need to pull this ship together again. Manpower, hardware, the works. Have it for me within the hour.”

“Within the—?” Then Mitchell paused, the expression of shock on his round, bearded face subsiding, and he simply said, “Yes, sir. Within the hour, sir.”

“All right. Dismissed.”

Everyone except Shelby began to rise, and she said, “Captain ... a moment of your time? To discuss logistics.”

Calhoun nodded, and the others filed out. Shelby watched sadly as Burgoyne limped away with hir leg in a massive brace. The brace was humming softly, resetting the bones even as s/he walked. Still, considering the fluidity with which Burgoyne customarily moved, it was a depressing thing to witness. On the other hand, at least s/he was still alive.

Calhoun sat again once they were alone, his fingers interlaced, his face grim. “I didn’t get a chance,” he said, “to formally thank you for your timely—”

“Fine, glad to help, now what do you think you’re doing?” demanded Shelby.

He stared at her blankly. “What?”

“What. Do you think. You’re doing?”

“Are you questioning my command decisions, Captain?” It sounded as if he didn’t know whether to be amused or angry, and settled for a combination of both.

“No, I’m questioning your sanity,” she said, and rose to come around the table to him. “Mac, you can’t do it. You can’t make the kinds of repairs this ship needs out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“You said you would provide whatever was required ...”

“That’s right,” she said, “and right now what’s required is some common sense. Your crew doesn’t need to try and stitch the Excaliburback together against such odds when it’s not necessary.”

“I don’t think I need to be lectured by you, Eppy, as to what my crew needs or doesn’t need, particularly since you’re no longer a member of this crew.”

She blinked in surprise. “And what is thatsupposed to mean? What, are you now saying you resent me for getting my own command? Is that where this is going?”

“No, what I resent is having you second-guess me ...”

“And what I resent is seeing one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known thinking with his wounded pride instead of his head!”

“This has nothing to do with my pride.”

“Mac, it has everythingto do with your pride,” she said, her voice a bit softer but still firm. She half sat on the table, facing him. “You absolutely despise the idea of limping back in to a starbase seeking help, because the truth is that you think you’re better and smarter than the entirety of Starfleet and you see it as some great loss of face, admitting you need help from the fleet. It’s ridiculous. Starfleet is a resource, and it’s madness not to take advantage of that resource.”

Calhoun said nothing; simply stared into space. Shelby knew that look all too well. He was going to say something; he was just going to take his own sweet time saying it.

When he did, it was with a long, frustrated sigh. “I got my ass kicked, Eppy.”

“I wouldn’t say that ...”

“No?” He looked up at her.

“No. Well ... not to your face.”

It was intended to provoke a smile from him. It didn’t succeed. Instead he drummed his fingertips on the table. “I’ve had setbacks, Eppy. Don’t think that I haven’t. Going all the way back to my warlord days on Xenex ... it’s not like I won every battle. But this was ... this was different. When I was fighting to free Xenex from the Danteri, my fellow Xenexians came to me of their own free will, and we were battling for a common cause. Here, though ... most of the people on this vessel were assigned. They’re doing a job, and trusting me to keep them safe so they can do it. I let them down.”

“You did the best you could.”

“You know better, Eppy,” he said chidingly. “I’ve never settled for ‘the best I could.’ That’s a way of finding an excuse for not getting the job done.”

“Not always. And no one thinks the less of you.”

“I do.”

“Well, now you’re just getting into self-pity.”

His eyes flashed with temper, which she was actually happy to see since it seemed more like the fiery Calhoun she was used to. “Have you ever known me to feel sorry for myself?”

“No. That’s why I’d rather not start now.”

For a moment, the old scar that lined the right side of his face flared a bright red ... and then just as quickly subsided. “I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself,” he said softly, sounding just ever so slightly like a recalcitrant child. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn’t help but smile.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she pointed out, “it took no less than gods to kick the ass of the great Mackenzie Calhoun.”

He rose from his chair to look her eye-to-eye. “They weren’t gods,” he replied. “They may be many things ... energy beings, creatures of incalculable power ... but they aren’t gods. That much I know. And if they aren’t gods, I can find a way to kill them.”

“Mac ...”

“They die, Eppy.”

“Mac... ”

“Eppy,” and his voice became low and angry, but the anger wasn’t directed at her. It was instead focused on the entities out there, somewhere in the void. “Eppy, I sat in my ready room and talked to Mark McHenry, and he told me these ... Beings ... are not to be trusted. In the privacy of that room, he expressed an opinion, nothing more. And he died for it, and Morgan died for it, and other good people died for it. These creatures don’t walk away from that. I don’t care if they’re some advanced species. I don’t care that they claim they can present us with some sort of ‘golden age.’ I don’t want to study them, or understand their point of view, or try to comprehend their alien thought process. I don’t care that our mandate is to seek out new life and new civilizations, because we sought out that new life, and it wasn’t civilized, and it killed us, and I’m going to kill it back. And don’t you for a moment think you’re going to talk me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t even begin to try,” she sighed. “On the plus side, I suppose this beats you feeling sorry for yourself. I do feel constrained to point out, though, that if you have any intention of taking on these individuals, you’re going to want your ship at her best. Not held together with spit and baling wire. You’re going to have to make some choices in terms of your priorities.”