'mythological ' . . . it takes centuries for the 'egg,' if you will, to hatch."
"But you told me 'May the Great Bird of the Galaxy roost on your planet' was a blessing," Calhoun pointed out.
"Obviously it was. Look at the prosperity that Thallon saw during the time of the roosting."
"But when it hatches, the planet is destroyed! What kind of blessing is that?"
"It's oral tradition, not an exact science, sir," McHenry commented.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Burgoyne said.
"Sir, it's catching up."
"Pull out the stops, Mr. McHenry. Warp nine."
The Excaliburraced away, and this time the creature seemed to let out another squawk before the Excaliburleft it far behind. It dwindled, further and further, to the farthest reaches of the ship's sensor, and then was gone.
There was a slow sigh of relief let out on the bridge. "Well," said Shelby brightly, "that wasn't too much of a chore."
"Collision course!"shouted McHenry.
The Great Bird was directly in front of them, its mouth open wide. Faster than anyone would have thought possible, McHenry course-corrected and tried to send the ship angling out of the way of the creature's maw.
No good. The Excaliburflew straight into the Great Bird's mouth . . .
. . . and out the other side of its head.
The ship was jolted, shaken throughout, and it was all that the bridge crew could do to keep its seats. "Damage report!" shouted Calhoun.
"Slight dip in deflector shields! Otherwise we're clear!" called Lefler.
The creature appeared on their rear monitors. It appeared to be watching them go with great curiosity. Indeed, if any of the crew were given to fanciful interpretations of events, they would have said that the creature seemed just as curious about this new life-form that it had encountered as the new life-form was about them.
And then, with a twist of its powerful wings, the Great Bird seemed to warp through the very fabric of space . . .
. . and disappeared without a trace.
This time there was a long pause before anyone took it for granted that they were safe. And then Shelby said, "Where do you think it went?"
"Anywhere it wanted to," McHenry commented, and no one disagreed.
"Captain . . . I suggest you get yourself down to sickbay. You need to be patched up," said Shelby.
"Good advice, Commander." He rose unsteadily from his chair, and found himself leaning on Kebron. "Ah. You wouldn't mind escorting me down there, would you, Lieutenant?"
But Shelby stepped in and said, "Don't worry, Kebron. I'll handle this. After all . . . if you can't lean on your second-in-command, whom can you lean on?"
"Good point," said Calhoun wearily.
"And a word of advice: Don't keep the second scar on your face. The one is enough."
"Sound suggestion, as always."
As they headed to the turbolift, he paused and said, "Oh . . . we had an incoming message? What was that about?"
"Audio only, sir. I'll put it on." Kebfon tapped his comm board and a voice filled the bridge. A voice that was instantly recognizable as Zoran's.
And Zoran said, "Si Cwan . . . I just wanted you to know . . . I lied before. Your sister is alive. Try and find her, O Prince."
And his chilling laughter continued in Si Cwan's memory long after the message had ended.
U.S.S. EXCALIBUR
XII.
IT WAS EVENINGon the Excalibur. . . evening being a relative term, of course.
Selar was in her off-duty clothes, and she looked at herself in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, she liked what she saw in there.
She was nervous, so nervous that she could feel trembling throughout her body. For a moment she considered turning away from her intended course, but she had made a decision, dammit, and she was going to see it through.
She smoothed out her clothes for the umpteenth time and headed toward Burgoyne's quarters. On the way she rehearsed for herself everything she was going to say. The ground rules she was going to set. The hopes that she had for this potential relationship. She would never have considered Burgoyne her type, but there was something about hir that was so . . . so offbeat. So different. Perhaps that was what Selar needed. Someone to whom questions such as sex and relationships and interaction were nothing but matters to be joyously explored rather than tentatively entered into.
That, Selar realized, was what she needed. Whatever this residual urge was within her, driving her forward, it was something that needed a radical spirit to respond to. Someone offbeat, someone aggressive, someone . . .
. . . someone . . .
. . . someone was with Burgoyne.
Selar slowed to a halt as she neared Burgoyne's quarters, her sharp ears detecting the laughter from around the corner.
And then they moved around the corner into view: Burgoyne 172, leaning on the shoulder of Mark McHenry. They seemed hysterically amused by something; Selar had no idea what. Just before they stumbled into Burgoyne's quarters, Burgoyne planted a fierce kiss on McHenry's mouth, to which he readily responded. Then he popped what appeared to be some sort of chips into hish mouth, which Burgoyne crunched joyously. They side-stepped into Burgoyne's quarters, and the door slid shut behind them.
Selar stood there for a long moment. This was going to be a problem. She had counted on Burgoyne to resolve her . . . difficulty with her mating drive. Perhaps a return to Vulcan was in order. Or perhaps there was another solution, closer to hand.
Selar returned to her quarters, changed into her nightclothes, and stood before the memorial lamp which burned so that she would remember Voltak.
She reached over, extinguished the light for the first time in two years—never to light it again—and fell into a fitful sleep.
In his ready room, Calhoun had just finished mounting the sword back onto the wall. He heard a chime at the door and said, "Come."
Shelby entered, and stood just inside the doorway. "I was wondering . . . I was about to head down to the Team Room and have a drink. Thought you might like to come along."
"That sounds great." He regarded the sword for a moment and said, "You know what was interesting?"
"No, Mac. What was interesting?"
"When I tried to save Ryjaan . . . I did so without even thinking about it. It was . . . instinctive."
"That's good."
"Is it?" he asked. "I've always felt my instincts were based in pure savagery."
"Your survival instincts were, sure. Because they're what you needed in order to get through your life. To do what needed to be done. But even basic instincts can change, and that's not automatically a terrible thing. Being a starship commander isn't just about survival. There's much, much more to it than that."
"And I suppose that you're prepared to tell me what that is."
"Of course. Chapter and verse."
"Well, Eppy . . . maybe—just maybe now—I'm prepared to listen."
"And I'm prepared to tell you, if you'd just stop calling me by that stupid nickname."
He laughed softly and came around the desk. As they headed for the door, she said, "One quick question: You told me that you had a 'vision' of me, long ago."