"You're not real," she said, quietly, but with conviction. Cadet Anson stared back at her, her blue eyes wide with confusion and hurt. Slowly, lowering her gaze, the girl withdrew her hand from Janeway's arm, curling the fingers closed and hiding it behind her back as if ashamed. Her soft cheeks turned fiery red.

"Admiral?" The voice belonged to Cadet M'Benga.

Janeway tore her gaze from Anson to regard M'Benga steadily.

"I'm not an admiral. I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. We're still lost in the Delta Quadrant." As she stated the words, she knew in her heart the truth of them. Her mind knew it, even though the evidence of her eyes might suggest otherwise. She was missing parts of the homecoming parade day because there never had been a homecoming parade, nor even a homecoming.

Fluffy/Barkley barked.

"We were leading a caravan through dangerous space," she said, continuing to speak aloud. The cadets had fallen silent and now stared at her as if she had gone mad. Which, she supposed, to their way of looking at things, she had.

Except they weren't real. None of this was real. "I stepped through a gateway," she said, her voice growing louder. "With Fluffy. And I'm not here teaching or attending an Academy class, I'm not on the bridge of the Enterprise, I'm on the other side of that gateway and someone is pulling the strings."

She picked up the dog, felt the reassuring warmth, the thump of its heart.

"I don't take kindly to being controlled," she said aloud to whoever was listening. "Show yourself and let us open a dialogue. I don't know if you're trying to make me feel more at home or are simply toying with me. Either way, it's not working. I can see through it." The cadets disappeared. The room remained. Janeway took a deep breath and strode out the door.

It was the fragrance that registered first. She breathed in the scent of freshly cut grasses, the sweetness of flowers she could identify - apple blossom and roses, honeysuckle and freesia - and some achingly wonderful smells she couldn't. The light was bright, but her eyes adjusted quickly to behold one of the most tranquil scenes she'd ever had the good fortune to witness.

Green grass, waving in the gentle breeze that had carried the delectable scents to her nose, stretched as far as the eye could see. Over there was the shimmering image of a stream. She could barely hear its happy burbling. And to her right, a large house, surrounded by a white picket fence. Huge oak trees provided shade on a warm summer day, and from one of those oak trees dangled a swing. A porch hosted two rocking chairs and a small table, upon which there was pitcher of what Janeway was willing to bet was icy cold lemonade.

"I've been here," she whispered, but the same heavy sensation that had slowed her true memories to a crawl now clogged her brain. She couldn't recall it. "Think, Kathryn, think!" she told herself in a harsh whisper. It wasn't a real place, she knew that much, but it was real, in its own strange way.

A sudden image of a little girl and a white rabbit appeared in her mind. This whole thing reminded her of the famous Lewis Carroll children's story, and she was most definitely cast in the role of Alice. Where, then, was the white rabbit, the one who had lured her here with the...

The gateway. She remembered now, remembered it all. The gateway was the rabbit hole into this strange, bizarre world, where the most dignified captain in the fleet had made a clumsy pass at her, where she was reduced to being a terrified cadet or elevated to the equally false rank of a hometown hero. The gateway had been real, and whoever was casting these illusions was real. No white rabbit, but a trickster par excellence.

She could identify the place now, though she did not recognize it per se. She was inside the very heart of the Q Continuum.

The door opened and closed with a bang. A little boy rushed out. He was towheaded and tanned, wearing a straw hat, shirt and shorts, suspenders, and nothing on his feet. For all the world, he looked like the classic image of Tom Sawyer. He uttered a delighted, incoherent cry when he saw her, and ran toward her. It was such a happy, living sound that it startled Janeway.

Barkley wriggled furiously in her arms. She struggled to hold on to him, but he leaped down and ran across the green grass to leap into the arms of a small boy. Both fell to the ground, joy writ plain in every movement, every laugh, every wriggle.

She had finally found Fluffy's master.

"The boy has formed such odd attachments to mortal creatures," came a voice right beside her that Janeway knew all too well. "Can't imagine where he gets it."

Janeway turned around with deliberate slowness to regard the grinning figure of Q.

Chapter 2

He was clad, as usual, in his appropriated Starfleet uniform. She was happy that Barkley had found his home and his master, who had obviously missed him terribly. She was much less than happy to see Q again. Even as she regarded him, struggling to keep her emotions down, anger roiled to the forefront.

"I might have known you would have something to do with this," she snapped. "It's got your stink all over it. I should have figured it out when Will Riker had nothing but good things to say about you."

He lifted his hands in mock horror. "Kathryn! You wound me to the quick. Such undeserved slurs!"

"Undeserved?" Janeway let her outrage come unchecked. She strode toward Q and shoved her face up to his. "Those gateways had to be your doing. It's just the sort of thing you'd get your sick amusement from - opening doors here and there, letting innocent people wander through and get lost. Let me count up all the deaths you're responsible for. There's the Ammunii ship - two hundred and ten lives. The Kuluuk, whom you didn't kill outright but who would most certainly be alive in their own space. That's four hundred and fifty-seven. There are the all the V'enah and Todanians who - "

"I repeat," Q said mildly, "you've got it all wrong. As you humans usually do. Calm down, dear Kathy, and have a spot of tea."

Janeway found herself sunk deep in the cushions of a flowery chair which had lace doilies on the arms and over the back. She struggled to extricate herself, realizing as she did so that she was clad in a full-length, constricting dress. It was a yellowish paisley pattern, and she strongly suspected that the thing restricting her breathing was a whalebone corset.

On a lovely oak table in front of her was a delicious-looking spread of finger sandwiches and pastries.

Q, dressed in what Janeway guessed to be formal Edwardian, poured. "Would you like cream or sugar with your Earl Grey?" Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Whoops, that's dear old Jean-Luc. You like coffee, don't you?"

And so quickly it was dizzying, Janeway was in a cozy nook at a coffee bar of the late twentieth century. She was now sitting on a wooden stool in front of a small, battered table. Soft jazz played in the background and in front of her was a large cup of coffee as black as night and smelling as rich as heaven.

She wanted to toss the steaming contents onto Q's smirking face, but restrained herself.

"All right," she said with an effort. "I think I know what happened, what you did, but you're telling me I'm wrong. So explain to me what really happened. I'm listening."

Q, dressed in black denim pants and a black turtle-neck sweater, and sporting an earring in his left ear, took a sip of his own coffee. "Ah, delicious. I can see why you like it so much. Well, it's a very long story."

"My attention span is not," Janeway warned.

He pursed his lips, made a tsk-tsk sound, and then sighed. "What do you want to hear about first?"

"The gateways."

"Very well." Suddenly they were in a child's nursery. To her consternation, Janeway found herself to be a small child, wearing a frilly pinafore that horrified her. Her mind was the same, but trapped in a six-year-old's body. Q loomed over her, an enormous book in his hands. Its cover was of tooled leather and bore the title The History of This Universe.

Despite herself, Janeway would have given a lot to have been able to get her hands on that book.

"Once upon a time," said Q in a singsong voice, "there was a wonderful, remarkable, intelligent, benevolent, superior, humorous, witty, handsome - "

"Q," said Janeway, her high-pitched six-year-old's voice nonetheless managing to fully convey the depth of her impatience.

Q sighed. "Now, now, little Kathy, mustn't interrupt your bedtime story or you'll not get the answers you want." He glared at her over the enormous book propped up in his lap. Angrily, Janeway folded her small arms over her chest and sank back into the nursery chair. Q was a nearly omnipotent being. If he didn't want to tell her something, he wouldn't. In a very real sense, she was entirely at his mercy. She'd have to let this "story" unfold the way he wanted it to.

"Much better." A plate full of chocolate-chip cookies and a large glass of milk materialized on the table beside Janeway's chair. She didn't touch either.

"As I was saying," said Q, "once upon a time there was a race known as the Q Continuum. Now, of course, being such omnipotent and benevolent beings, they turned their attention some five hundred thousand years ago toward assisting other races in attaining culture and technology."

"You're lying again. That's a direct violation of what you've told us before," said Janeway. "It was my understanding that in the case of Amanda Rogers, for example, she had to either join the Continuum or forsake her powers." 'That's quite true. You may have a cookie."

One appeared in her hand. Irritated, Janeway tossed it back onto the plate. Warm chocolate clung to her fingers.

"However," Q continued, "that was a few short, human years ago. And the reason we have adopted this new, improved policy toward inferior species was because things had gone wrong earlier. You're vaguely able to grasp the wisdom of such strategies yourselves, you Federation types, with your own Prime Directive."

Janeway nodded. She was starting to get some answers, and she felt herself calming a little. She wiped her chocolate-stained fingers on the pinafore.

"So, there was a very pleasant and promising race called the Iconians."

"Iconians! The gateways ... of course," breathed Janeway. It all made sense now. She had thought the strange portals had looked familiar, but she hadn't been thinking in terms of ancient, vanished technology. Therefore, she hadn't made the connection.

Q sighed heavily. "Kathy, do you want to hear the story or just go right to bed without any supper?"

"Q, please. A favor." The sound of a child's voice issuing from her own lips was driving her crazy. "Restore me to my adult image. Your talking down to me this way doesn't help my listening skills any."

"All you needed to do was ask," he said, maddeningly. In a heartbeat, they were on the porch Janeway had glimpsed earlier, both in the surprisingly comfortable rocking chairs. Between them was a small wicker table bearing, as Janeway had guessed, a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses with ice and slices of lemon. Moisture condensed on the metal pitcher and slipped silently down the side.

"No stories. No teasing." Suddenly Q was wearing a trench coat and a fedora. "Just the facts, ma'am." Just as suddenly, he was in his Starfleet uniform.

On the lawn in front of them, the little boy - Q's child, her godson - romped with Barkley/Fluffy. She wanted to hear about him too, but she needed to learn about the Iconian gateways first.

'The facts are these, and they're very simple. We liked the Iconians. We wanted to help them."

"We, or you?"

"Oh, I can't shoulder all the blame for this one," said Q. "There were others involved. We gave them technology, and they used it for benevolent purposes. Everything was working according to plan. Then, somebody got mad at them." He sighed. "A feeling I know all too well."

"So, in the end, their own technology - the technology you gave them - was their destruction," said Janeway.

"Well," and he squirmed a little in his rocking chair, "kind of. I'm not supposed to tell you everything."

"Well, for Heaven's sake, please at least tell me something!"

Q hesitated, choosing his words with care. "The technology that enabled them to become the fabled 'Demons of Air and Darkness' was what caused other civilizations who didn't understand their technology to become afraid of them. And that led to the downfall of their civilization."

Janeway wondered what the difference was between "destruction" and "downfall of their civilization." Then she inhaled swiftly: Q was hinting that the Iconians hadn't become extinct. That was a choice tidbit of information, but she kept silent about it.

Instead, she asked, "Then why did you give them something so powerful?" In over two hundred thousand years, no known civilization had come close to re-creating the transportation system of the Iconians. She'd reviewed the information Picard had provided, as all Starfleet captains had soon after the incident. What was it Captain Donald Varley had said, on those poignant records? Something about being a Neanderthal looking at a tricorder?

"It wasn't." Q sipped his lemonade and watched his son with affection.

"Excuse me?"

"It wasn't that tremendous a piece of technology." He shrugged. "Kathryn, I continue to manifest myself and the Continuum in ways that you can readily comprehend. You keep forgetting that. You think that this" - he waved an elegant hand down his torso - "is the real Q. That this happy, tranquil scene in front of you is the real Continuum. It's but an illusion. Remember, Kathy, my little q was able to pull planets out of their orbits when he was but a baby."

He cocked a meaningful eyebrow in the direction of his playful son. Janeway felt suddenly chilled, as if a dark cloud had passed over the sun.

"Do you mean to tell me," she said, slowly, "that all the Q Continuum gave the Iconians was the most casual piece of technology?"

"Bravo!" Q clapped his hands enthusiastically. Janeway was suddenly dressed in a black robe and wore a mortarboard on her head. The tassel flipped from one side to another as if by unseen hands. "You graduate at the top of your class!"

At once, the outfit was gone and Q had sobered slightly. "I wouldn't even go so far as to call it technology, really," he continued. "That's too grandiose a term. You've got no children of your own - not that you didn't have the chance, you know - but perhaps you are familiar with some archaic toys with which children of yesteryear used to play."

Janeway, who in truth had not had much contact with children in her career-oriented life, tried to think. Mobiles. Rattles. Tops. What other old-fashioned toys had yet survived as nostalgia pieces for infants? Kites. No, that was for older children. Blocks.

"Precisely," said Q. He had, of course, read her thoughts. "When a child plays with blocks," and he waved his hand to create a few, "he learns how to spell."

The blocks moved, turned, and spelled out the word "cat."

"Oops. Sorry. I meant," and suddenly the word "dog" was spelled out in large carved letters. 'That's your favorite animal, isn't it?"

Janeway felt almost ill with the revelation. Q was right. By appearing to her as a human, and taking her places like dusty way stations and antebellum mansions, he had undercut the sheer wonder that she would of necessity feel toward beings so much more advanced. The thought that the fantastic gateways of the fabled Iconians, so magnificent and still so incomprehensible and awe-inspiring, were little more than child's toys to the Q was both frightening and humbling.

"q," called Q. The boy looked up. "Come here for a moment." Obediently the boy ran toward the porch, Fluffy/Barkley at his heels. "Show your aunt Kathy your block trick."

Little q made a face. "Aw, come on, Dad, that's baby stuff."

"I know, I know. But it wasn't such baby stuff a while ago, was it?"

The boy hung his head. "No," he admitted. Janeway was alert. What had happened?

"Now, show her your block trick, that's a good q." The boy plopped down on the slatted white boards of the porch. Rolling his eyes, he assembled the blocks - there were seven of them now, Janeway noticed - to form a single word: GATEWAY.

The hairs at the back of her neck prickled. Right in front of her, an Iconian gateway sprang up. She recognized its beveled interior, like the edge of a mirror, and saw in front of her not blackness, but the bridge of her own ship. Chakotay was seated in her chair, leaning forward, hands clasped. He looked worried and anxious. This was another reason she had not immediately recognized the gateway on the planet to be of Iconian design, when Fluffy/Barkley had first ambled into her life. An Iconian gateway, at least as far as she understood, showed what was on the other side, as it did now with this view of Voyager's bridge. The gateway on the planet which opened into the Q Continuum had, both times, revealed nothing. Q had not wanted her to know what she'd be stepping into.

Typical.

"Now put the toys away," Q instructed. Little q disassembled the blocks and the gateway disappeared. He looked up questioningly at his father, who nodded. The child grinned and bounded back down the steps, to return to playing with his canine friend.

"I'm not sure I understand," said Janeway, forcing herself to sound calm and in control when she felt anything but. "Your son created these gateways?"

"Only the one. As he told you himself, it's baby stuff. He's moved on to other things now." Q beamed. "Bright little fellow."

"But the Iconian gateways existed hundreds of thousands of years ago. The technology to operate them has vanished."

"Very, very few things truly vanish, Kathy," said Q, and for once she could tell he was being quite serious. "More often, they're simply lost or forgotten. Sometimes, others come along and find them."

"So who activated the gateways?"

He rolled his eyes. "Must you know everything? You're worse than q. Why this, why what, where's my pet, who activated all the gateways. A little mystery is good for the soul. Besides, I'm not the only one who has the answer to that. The next time you chat with your little Starfleet friends, you might ask them." He waggled his eyebrows in a meaningful fashion.

Janeway smiled. "All right. I will. They probably will actually answer any questions I might have."

Q clutched melodramatically at his chest. "You wound me, madam. I thought I did answer most of your questions. All the ones I'm allowed to, anyway." "I have more."

He sighed. "But of course you do." Janeway didn't speak at once. She watched the young q child romping happily with the brief-lived creature on the lawn, and felt a pang.

"Huffy won't live very long," she said softly. "Your son is going to get quite the lesson in loss, Q."

"I know, believe me." He looked suddenly haunted. "You've no conception of how often it's happened to me." He turned and beamed at her, chasing away the shadows that had lurked in his eyes. "And yet, I continue to care for you silly mortals."

"What happened with the one gateway? The one you said little q made?"

"Oh, that. Well, he was playing with his blocks, as I said. He'd already outgrown them, but he still liked traveling places and hasn't quite mastered this yet." Q swooped his hands in a flourish. Janeway braced herself for whatever might happen, but nothing did. Apparently, Q was just doing a "for instance." "So he and Fluffy, as you call him - " "We also call him Barkley." Q stared. "As in that oaf Reginald Barclay?" Janeway nodded, feeling a smile curve her lips. "Now that," said Q, "is truly painful. As I was saying, he and Fluffy would go off exploring together. Once, Fluffy ran through a gateway and wouldn't come home. Little q kept looking for him, but his skills aren't yet mature. He's not allowed to leave the Continuum unsupervised yet, so he asked me to find his pet. I told him mat since he was the one who carelessly misplaced Fluffy, he was the one who had to find Fluffy. It was time for him to learn responsibility."

"Why Q," said Janeway, only partially teasing, "I'm so proud of you."

Q beamed. "So am I. Little q left the gateway open in case Fluffy wanted to come home. Of course, Fluffy was in no real danger. His natural life is short enough as it is. I watched over him, making sure he was all right." He looked at Janeway out of the corner of his eye and an impish grin started to curve his full lips. "I knew he was in very good hands."

"You keep tempting me with puppies," said Janeway. "This time it worked. I'll miss him."

A thought occurred to her. "You said that neither you nor your son was responsible for all the Iconian gateways opening. But it wouldn't make sense that so many of them would open in the same area."

Now Q did look uncomfortable. Alert, Janeway fixed him with her gaze.

"Well," said Q, squirming a little, "I may have slightly ... modified ... where they opened, yes."

"To what end?"

"For their own good." He looked at her. "Who better to help lost little lambs than someone who's been lost herself for a while?"

She softened, and felt sorrow wash over her at the loss of life and, in the end, the loss of hope with the vanished gateways. "I think your trust was misplaced."

"Oh, I don't." He nodded toward the lawn. "Look how well Fluffy came through the ordeal. And think about the ludka and the Nenlar. They might have destroyed one another, and instead - oh, wait. You don't know about that yet."

"The Nenlar? They weren't killed?" Janeway sat up straight in her chair, hope flooding through her.

Q waved a hand. "All in good time, be patient, Kathy.

And the V'enah and the Todanians. It took an extreme situation in order to force Arkathi to show his true colors, and for that feisty Marisha to get herself together enough to throw off the shackles of slavery. Do you think that would have happened if they hadn't been separated from their homework!? Not a chance! Not to mention the Ones Who Will Not Be Named." He sniffed a little. "Pompous term. / know their name. They've been around for quite some time and I have never seem them interact so deeply with another species. It was quite touching to see, really." Janeway didn't respond. All she could think of were the failures. They were so tragic, they loomed large in her imagination. Especially the thought of the Kuluuk, knowing the last emotion they experienced was fear caused by someone they ought to have been able to trust. "You did more good than harm, Kathy," said Q in a surprisingly gentle voice. "As you always do. And you took very good care of my son's beloved pet." He was suddenly serious. "I'd like to do something to thank you for that. Name your favor."

Janeway didn't have to think twice. "Send the others home," she said. 'They've only been away a brief while. They've been through so much; they deserve to get home to their loved ones as quickly as possible."

"Well, that's easy enough for me to do," said Q. He leaned over toward her and said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, "But can't I tempt their team leader into the same journey?"

Smiling, Janeway leaned over her own chair arm in return until their faces were almost touching.

"We've been down this road before," she said. "I'll take no favors from you, Q. Who knows what strings they'll have attached to them?"

Q looked offended, but she pressed on quickly. "We've come so far, we mortals. On just our own courage and ingenuity and good, old-fashioned hope. You yourself know that we're in contact with Starfleet, and mat doesn't look like that's going to stop. I want us to get home on our own, and I think we're going to do it. Don't take that victory from us, Q. Not when we've worked so hard, come so far."

Q said nothing.

"Besides," she added, looking at him intently, "I've got a feeling that we were meant to be here, somehow. That this was the journey my crew and I were supposed to be on, even though we didn't know it. Look at how many people we have helped, the good we have done. You yourself steered little lost lambs to us for help and guidance. Don't you, who know so much, agree that Voyager has a purpose being here in the Delta Quadrant all these years?"

"Ah, ah," remonstrated Q with a twinkle in his eye. "That would be telling."

Janeway's smile broadened. She had her answer.

Suddenly little q was standing beside her. He cradled Fluffy/Barkley in his arms. "I have something for you. Your ball rolled into our yard."

Suddenly Janeway was holding the small probe she had tossed through the gateway, what seemed like an eternity ago. She couldn't help but smile as she turned the small orb over in her hands.

"Thank you for finding my dog for me, Aunt Kathy, and for bringing him safely home."

The last four words made her eyes sting. Gently, Janeway reached out and patted Barkley/Fluffy's furry head for the last time.

"You're welcome. He's a good dog. And I know he missed you, q."

She took a long, searching look at her godson. Considering who his parents were, he had an interesting lack of arrogance about him. The boy, if such he could truly be called, had an open, sweet face. The smile was genuine, and the love in his eyes for the innocent, mortal creature was palpable.

She gazed a final time at her surroundings. Q had brought her to a dusty, stagnant way station, and a war-torn battlefield. She liked this view of the Continuum, a nurturing place with images of serenity and comfort, much better. If this was the direction in which the Q were truly headed, then there might be a whole new age of enlightenment for the galaxy.

"The galaxy? Pshaw," said Q, reading her thoughts again. "Try the universe. Or three or four of them." But his arrogant boast was tempered by a look of real affection in his bright, sparkling brown eyes. "Farewell, my wild, sweet Kathy. We'll meet again."

Janeway found herself standing outside the gateway, once again on the tranquil, uninhabited class-M planet. Even as she turned to see if she could glimpse the Continuum through the open door, it disappeared.

"Captain? Were you unsuccessful?" Tuvok's voice had more than a touch of concern in it.

She took a deep breath and mentally returned to the here and now. "On the contrary, Tuvok. Janeway to Chakotay."

"Captain?" Chakotay's voice sounded puzzled. "What happened? Were you somehow unable to get through the gateway?"

"I've come and gone," she replied.

"But you just... never mind. So, what was on the other side?"

Janeway debated telling him, then decided to keep this trip to the Continuum to herself. It really didn't involve the rest of the crew, and sometimes, silence was the best option.

"Fluffy's home." She gave Tuvok a mysterious smile. 'Tuvok and I are ready to beam up, Commander. And I have some good news. I think the other ships in the caravan are going home."

Chapter 3

For a maddening second, Janeway wondered if she really had beamed back aboard her own vessel, or if Q was still playing tricks. She dismissed the thought, smiled briefly at Ensign Campbell, and headed straight for the bridge. She felt an odd sense of urgency. Now that she knew positive action was indeed to be taken - provided Q held to his end of the bargain - she was impatient to proceed.

Chakotay looked up when she entered, and she could tell that he was burning with curiosity. He'd just have to deal with it.

"Harry, open a channel."

"Ready, Captain."

Settling into her chair, Janeway couldn't keep the pleasure out of her voice as she spoke. "This is Captain Kathryn Janeway. All of us were prepared to stay here and make this place our new home. But I am very pleased to report that this is now not the only choice I can offer you. Although all the gateways through which you traversed have now closed, if all goes according to plan, every one of you now has the option of returning home."

Chakotay stared at her, and in the depths of his dark eyes, she saw the question: Us, too?

Smiling sadly, she shook her head and continued, absorbing the disappointment as yet another burden that she had to bear in order to do what she knew, deep in her bones, to be the truly right thing. "How that will be accomplished is ..." Her voice trailed off. Her eyes widened as there on the screen, a huge, blazing ball of fire manifested in all its crimson and orange glory. She closed her eyes, then opened him. How Q loved the melodramatic flak. As she watched, the ball seemed to explode. Bright light assaulted her eyes for a moment. When she could see again, there was not one ball of fire, but several - one for each lost ship, save her own. The balls meandered off, each to take its position in front of the different ships.

Trying to keep from laughing, Janeway said, "These... balls of flames will guide you home. You may trust them."

"Captain, we're being hailed," said Kirn. "It's Ellia." "Put her on."

Ellia looked annoyed. "Captain, it's all very well and good for you to tell us that these fiery balls are going to take us home, but how can we be - " She was looking at her controls as she spoke and froze.

"Ellia?" For a long moment, the alien captain did not respond. When she did, it was with a smile.

"Well," she said, "you amaze me. The, er, ball seems to have just downloaded information into our computers that, shall we say, gives me reason to believe that whoever is behind it will indeed take us home. I don't know what you did, but I thank you. Farewell." Then she was gone.

"Another hail, Captain."

"On screen."

The image of Sook filled the viewscreen. He looked calmer and a good deal happier than when she had last seen him, when he had just managed to take control of the Relka and Sinimar Arkathi had escaped to who knew where. "Captain Janeway. It's good to see you again."

"And you, Sook. Should I address you as Commander now?" Janeway asked.

Sook fidgeted. "I suppose so, since I am now the commander. Thank you for your help, both with Arkathi and now somehow managing to find us a way home. I don't know how, but we've just received information that - "

"Makes you trust the fiery ball," smiled Janeway. "You're welcome. What have you done with the V'enah we returned to you? It was our understanding that you would welcome them."

Young Sook was positively grinning now. From offscreen, Janeway heard a familiar voice answer in his stead.

"So he has, Captain."

Sook widened the image and Janeway now saw that Marisha was seated beside him. The former slave's injuries had been completely healed. She now wore a formfitting jumpsuit that was similar in style to that worn by the Voyager crew, but was silver and gold in color. She looked relaxed, calm, in control. When her eyes met Janeway's, Marisha smiled widely. She and Sook exchanged an amused glance.

"Hello, Captain Janeway."

"Marisha. I see you're a man of your word, Commander Sook. Am I to understand that Marisha is now your second-in-command?"

"She is," said Sook. "I could think of no better way to show that I am determined to facilitate equality among both races. She has a lot of learning to do, but as you know, she's more than capable."

Janeway turned her attention to Marisha. "How are your crewmates doing?"

"We are all doing well, thank you." Marisha hesitated. "We are so grateful for all you have done for us - for all of us, Todanians and V'enah alike. All suffered under Arkathi, and now, we are all free. I am so pleased that you have been able to find the others a way home."

"The others? You're not going?"

Marisha shook her close-cropped head. "No."

Slightly worried, Janeway asked, "Is this your decision alone?"

"I know what you are thinking, and no, this is something that we all agreed on."

"You have seen perhaps the worst of our people in Arkathi," said Sook. "But that does not mean that he was the only one of his kind. Back in our home sector, it would be impossible for V'enah and Todanians to interact as we are doing here, on the Relka. We are a small number, Captain. Here, we can act as individuals. But millions of Todanians still own millions of V'enah, and we cannot liberate them on our own."

Disappointment knifed through Janeway. She had hoped mat the reconciled, integrated crew of the Relka could take their lesson back to their worlds.

"But Sook, that's how it always starts," she said softly. "One person with a vision."

Marisha glanced down for a moment. When she looked up again, tears sparkled in her purple eyes.

"You speak truth, Captain Janeway. But what I am about to say is true, too. We have fought our battles, we V'enah and Todanians. We have made peace amongst ourselves. We do not wish to lose that precious beginning, have it trod underneath the careless, brutal feet of those who would espouse the way things have always been. Rest assured, Captain, if I and Sook can come to the conclusion that we have reached, others will, too. For now, though, I am weary of fighting. I want to explore this thing called freedom, to walk on soft... grass?"

She turned to Sook, seeking confirmation of the word. He nodded, smiling.

'To walk on soft grass, and see the open sky. I want that for everyone here, and if we settle on this planet, we can have that. We can form a new society, one in which the old designations have no meaning. We will not be V'enah or Todanians first of all - we will simply be people. And ... we will not be alone."

To Janeway's utter amazement, her bridge was visited a second time by Leader. She felt its thoughts in her head again, and knew that the rest of her bridge crew did as well.

Captain. We will also decline your gracious offer of a way home. This voyage has been a remarkable one for myself and my crew. We have been moved by what we have witnessed here. We have found, some of us to our utmost surprise, that we enjoy interacting with other species. At least on a limited basis. We have a great deal to offer these people, and they have chosen to accept our help.

"What happens when you decide you need a break from them?" asked Chakotay.

Leader turned to "address" him. It is a large sector, and we have the technology to retreat when we need to. We will have the ability to leave and return as we see fit. But we are committed to being therefore the settlers to assist them, when they ask for it.

Janeway could hardly believe what she was hearing. "One thing I had hoped for when we started on this strange journey was that feuding species would put aside their differences and learn to work together. I could not have imagined such a harmonious outcome. In the words of the sailors of old on my planet, I wish you godspeed."

And to you, Captain. I am sorry that you won't be returning home yourself.

Janeway wondered how Leader could have known that, then relaxed. It was hard to keep anything from a telepath. More than likely, Leader also knew about Q, and was choosing to respect her silence. "We'll get home, one day," she reassured it. He nodded, bowed, and then his image slowly faded. "Captain," said Marisha, "there is one to whom I would like to say a personal good-bye, if I may."

Janeway knew who that someone was. "Of course. You may transport over here at once."

Unexpectedly, Marisha shook her head. "No. Thank you. I would simply like to speak to her."

"Harry, route Marisha to Astrometrics." She turned to face die screen. "Best of luck with this brave new world you're creating, Marisha. No one deserves peace more than you and your crew." "Thank you, Captain."

"Hello, Seven."

The unexpected voice startled Seven. She turned to see Marisha on the small viewscreen. She didn't know what to say.

"Marisha," she replied at length.

"I've just finished talking with your captain." Marisha told Seven of the decision to stay on the planet. Seven agreed with the logic of the decision, but was surprised to hear that the Ones Who Will Not Be Named had also offered to stay and assist them. When Marisha had finished, she hesitated. "Seven, I wanted to thank you."

Seven frowned. "I did very little."

"That's not true. It was one thing to hear whispers of an uprising, a promise of freedom, from me. The V'enah were used to that. It was quite another thing for them to meet a member of another species who agreed with me. Who could see clearly the injustice being done, without having her vision being clouded."

Seven thought about it. "I do see your point. I am gratified that I was able to be of assistance. Was there anything else you wanted?"

Even as she spoke the words, hearing them cold, crisp, and precise in her own ears, she wished she dared speak what she really felt. She wanted to thank Marisha too, for the gift the V'enah woman had given her. It had felt good to be passionate about something, to want to fight for a cause that was so obviously the right one. The sensation Seven felt inside was an exquisite, heady one. She understood now why revolutionaries were so often willing to give their lives for what they believed in. Somehow, the cost seemed infinitesimal compared to what was at stake.

She was glad Marisha had not had to perform such drastic action, however. She longed to say how much Marisha had meant to her, even though they had known one another for such a brief time. Her mind went back to the first time they had met, when Marisha had tossed aside the posture of a submissive slave like an old coat, lifting her head and meeting Seven's gaze with a fire Seven had never before encountered but to which she responded immediately. Something had ripped through Seven at that moment, and she would never be the same. Seven of Nine felt again that sensation of righteous anger sweeping through her like a tide, tempered now by the knowledge that that goal, that dream of freedom, had been achieved.

How quickly Marisha had learned. She was intelligent and compassionate. She and the enlightened Sook would make a fine leader of this blended group of adventurers.

Marisha searched her gaze, seemed about to speak, then merely shook her head.

"No, I suppose there isn't. Good-bye, Seven." She extended a slender hand to terminate the conversation. "Wait," Seven said, urgency flooding her voice. Marisha glanced up sharply. "Marisha ... it is not logical, but it is true ... I feel a connection with you."

Her face softened. "I feel it too, Seven. As if we were somehow kin, though that cannot be possible."

"There is a kinship that transcends blood" said Seven, knowing deep in her heart that the words were true. "We have that kinship. The common bond of an unjust imprisonment and a painful liberation."

"I wish you could come with us," Marisha blurted. For the briefest instant, Seven considered it. She knew Janeway would let her go, if Seven truly felt this was where she wanted to be. But she could not leave Voyager. She belonged here now. It was home.

"I cannot," she said, regretfully. "Nor can you come I with us."

Sadly, Marisha shook her dark head. "We need to plant our feet somewhere solid. Most of the V'enah have never seen the sky, or walked on soil. Including me. I want that, Seven. I can't tell you how much."

"You don't have to," said Seven. She could see it in the other woman's eyes. "I wish you good luck," she said more formally, standing straight. Withdrawing the connection.

"Thank you. And you as well. I hope you find your home soon, as we have found ours. Good-bye, Seven. Sister."

Then Seven was looking at a blank screen. She was glad that Marisha had terminated the conversation, because she did not want the other woman to see the tears that suddenly, unexpectedly, welled in Seven of Nine's blue eyes.

Chapter 4

Most of the other ships had long gone, but a few wished to make formal good-byes. The Lamorians in particular had a long, drawn-out ceremony involving Commander Chakotay. He asked for, and was granted, permission to retire to his quarters to complete the farewell ritual. Janeway had no desire to have her bridge viewscreen taken up for what could conceivably be hours while the Lamorians dotted every I and crossed every T.

While she waited for him to return, she received a transmission from Kelmar. Kim put it onscreen.

"It's good to see you, Kelmar. I'm pleased your ship survived the last battle against Arkathi."

"I understand he was never captured or killed," said Kelmar. "A pity. He was against you from the beginning, Captain. We were alert to his treacherous nature early on, when he contacted me and tried to play the two of us against one another."

This revelation disturbed Janeway. "I wish you had told me earlier, Kelmar. The Kuluuk might not have had to die."

Kelmar did not seem disturbed by her comment. "You were aware of his nature even without my alerting you to it, Captain. Nothing I could have said would have accomplished anything to help the unfortunate Kuluuk. A man is not a criminal until he has committed a crime. And you must remember, we were not too certain of you early on in our travels, either. You had befriended the Nenlar, who had cause to hate us."

He was smiling, as if he was pleased about something. Janeway hoped she didn't know what it was. "I hope you are not taking pleasure in their deaths," she said.

Kelmar laughed aloud. "Hardly," he said, "as they are not dead." He motioned, and both Ara and Torar came into Janeway's vision.

She gaped. "You're alive! Thank goodness! What happened?"

"Commander Kelmar transported us aboard the Nivvika in the very nick of time, putting his own ship at risk," said Torar. "A truly noble gesture, considering that he knew who we were all along."

Janeway's confusion must have shown on her face, for the Nenlar and Kelmar all suddenly laughed. "Remember I told you that there were terrorists among the Nenlar?" said Kelmar. "Ara and Torar are close to the top of that list."

"What?" exclaimed Janeway. "You two are terrorists?"

"Were," said Ara. "Never again. And with any luck, soon there will be no such thing as Nenlar terrorists."

"We are going to return to Nenlar space," said Kelmar. "There's a chance it might be dangerous, but when you have two of the highest-ranking members of the Nenlar terrorist groups vouching for you, you feel a bit safer."

Genuinely shocked, Janeway stared at Ara and Torar. "What happened to your Nenlar timidity?"

"It is still there," Ara reassured her. "We have to battle with it every day."

"I never imagined you two would be the terrorists Kelmar spoke of," said Janeway.

"If we and Kelmar can return to Nenlar space together," said Torar, "we can perhaps teach the rest of my people that there is nothing to fear anymore from the ludka. I know it is difficult for you to comprehend, Captain, but we do not enjoy terrorist activities. It goes against everything in Nenlar nature. We did it only because we truly believed that we had no alternative. I know the key people in the organization well, and if they can be convinced that there is nothing to hate about the ludka, we will all be only too happy to turn our attention to peaceful, less frightening pursuits."

Janeway shook her head. It was almost inconceivable to her, but she had served in Starfleet long enough to know that not every species - in fact, very few - thought about and reacted to things the way humans did. She wanted to believe Ara and Torar, but they had lied to her, and the ludka, already.

"Kelmar, I feel compelled to point out that you are one ship, heading into Nenlar space. You'll be quite vulnerable. And while I would love to trust Ara and Torar, they have misrepresented themselves before."

"Although Kelmar knew who we were, it was we who chose to reveal our identities first. We did not need to reveal ourselves at all, Captain," Torar pointed out. "Nor did the ludka need to risk themselves to come to our aid. The fact that they placed hundreds of ludka lives in jeopardy in order to save two Nenlar lives was not lost upon us. It will not be lost upon my people, either. We fought to prevent wrongs. We will not continue to harm people who have expressed such a willingness to befriend us."

"The past is the past." Janeway was aware that she was gaping at Kelmar. He threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Oh, Captain, hearts will not be changed overnight. I know that. And I'm certain that even Torar and Ara will clash with us from time to time. But that is so insignificant, compared with the riches peace has to offer. I'm willing to risk it. Thank you, Captain. We wish you the best of luck on your own journey home."

The Nivvika terminated the signal, and Janeway watched the huge ludka vessel follow the receding ball of fire.

Only one ship now remained. "Hail them," she told Kirn.

The ugly, mottled visage of the Hirogen Alpha filled the screen. Janeway took a deep breath, determined to try one last time.

"Alpha, I would like to take this opportunity to once again urge you to utilize our holographic technology. I know you understand the benefits, and - "

"Yes," said the Alpha, completely unexpectedly. "If you will transport it over, we will welcome it"

Janeway and Chakotay exchanged pleased glances. "Kim, get on it. Alpha, within a few moments you'll be in receipt of the technology. May I ask why this sudden change of heart?"

"It was pathetically easy for prey to frame us," grumbled the Alpha. "Our reputation may strike fear into the hearts of prey, but it also a liability. I had not realized we were so ... predictable. Had it not been for your ability to look more deeply into the situation, I am certain that we would have been killed. I have no wish to die for something I did not do, Captain. Perhaps if we learn to use this holographic technology for our hunts, we will not be so easy a target for others' hatred."

She could see it materialize in the far corner of the viewscreen. The Alpha glanced back, then returned his attention to Janeway.

"The transport of your holographic technology was successful," he said. "We thank you for it."

"I hope it will prove useful, and that you have many fine hunts with it," said Janeway.

The Alpha inclined his head. "As I said, we also owe you thanks for coming to our defense when the rest of the caravan would have enjoyed opening fire upon us."

"We believe in serving justice and in clearing the innocent," said Janeway. "I'm only sorry that Sinimar Arkathi escaped without having to account for his actions."

The Alpha shrugged. "It is of no importance to us. We will soon be in our own space. Again, thank you."

Janeway settled into her chair and watched the Hirogen ship disappear as it leaped into warp. The turbolift door hissed open and Chakotay entered.

"The Lamorians are gone," he said.

"You sound tired," she observed.

He smiled slightly. "I am. I enjoy ceremony as much as the next person, but even I would go insane if I had to live in that culture. How did the rest of our farewells go?"

"Fine, I hope. I'd like to believe that the Nenlar and the ludka are truly about to launch a new era of peace," 'They all seemed like decent people. Let's think positively."

She nodded. "Bridge to engineering. Status?"

"Everything's back to normal, Captain. Once the gateways had stopped draining our power, it's as if it had never happened. We're ready to head back into No Man's Land."

Janeway sighed. Their troubles were far from over. They were back where they had started, back to navigating, alone, a treacherous part of space in which - "Astrometrics to bridge." Seven's voice broke Janeway's dark musings.

"Go ahead, Seven. What's the next challenge? Asteroid belt? Black hole?"

"That's why I'm contacting you," said Seven, and there was puzzlement - and irritation at that puzzlement - in her voice. "There are no more challenges."

Janeway sat upright. "Explain."

"The route which we charted several days ago is now completely clear. It is normal space ahead for as far as our sensors can determine. We could proceed safely at warp eight, according to my calculations."

"I don't understand," said Janeway. "I saw what you showed us. Four asteroid belts, as I recall. Singularities, red giants, gravity waves ..."

"Captain," and now there was irritation in that smooth voice, "I know precisely what you saw, because I charted it. I was not incorrect. My readings were completely accurate. However, I repeat: None of the obstacles we had anticipated traversing is present. Nothing."

"Some stellar phenomena are mobile," said Chakotay, his voice hesitant in the shocked silence that followed Seven's report.

"Not red giants. Not singularities," said Janeway. And then she understood.

Q.

She wouldn't let him send them home, but he obviously had wanted to find some way of thanking her for returning his child's adored pet. So, if he could not finish this strange odyssey for them, he had at least cleared their path. It would certainly be a safer voyage now, and a shorter one. Silently, she thanked him.

And in her head, she heard an answering: You're most welcome, Kathy.

"Captain?" Chakotay was looking at her, concerned.

She smiled then, an easy, relaxed, heartfelt smile such as she had not indulged in since they had learned about No Man's Land.

"I say, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth," said Janeway. "Mr. Paris, plot us a new course with Seven's updated data. Straight as the crow flies. Let's shave a little time off this journey, shall we?"

Paris, too, looked at her with a confused expression in his blue eyes. Then he shrugged, grinned, and said, "Looks like we got a break for once," then turned back to the conn.

"Something happened," stated Chakotay. He leaned in toward her. "Didn't it?"

Grinning, she, too, leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "Yes. Something did."

Then, taking a playful enjoyment in Chakotay's confusion, she reclined in her chair. She was going to enjoy the next several days, which promised to be uneventful.

Q? she thought.

Yes, Kathy?

You really ought to put a collar on that animal.

***

The Alpha stood in front of the viewscreen, his eyes on the peculiar fiery ball that Captain Janeway had told them would guide them home. Thus far, he had no reason to question her or the orb itself, which had told them things that had convinced him that it was to be trusted. Shortly after they had parted company with the human captain, they and their vessel had undergone a strange shimmering sensation, during which light-years had been traversed. According to their databanks, they were well on course for home and should arrive within a few hours.

It had been a bizarre encounter, with its share of difficult moments. Yet, as always, the Hirogen had emerged with honor and victory. They had kept their word to the prey, and while he had no problem acknowledging the role Janeway and her vessel had played in showing the Hirogen innocence, the outcome had never been in any real doubt as far as the Alpha was concerned.

Who in their right minds would have believed for a moment that the noble and proud Hirogen, master hunters, would stoop to slaughtering prey that collapsed and died of fright? The very concept was ludicrous. And even if the prey had decided otherwise, more of them would have died than Hirogen, if had come down to it.

Fortunately, it had not. The Alpha loved his life as much as any living creature, and while it would have been no shame to lose it in pursuit of prey, there was nothing to be gained in throwing it away either.

His gaze flickered from the stars to the piece of equipment Janeway had given him. He had let her think that she had convinced him of the rightness of this path, the path of nonkilling killing. It was simply easier, and the more she believed that she had tamed the Hirogen, the less carefully she would look at them when they left. So he had accepted the holographic technology she offered, had nodded at her smile of pleasure. And then he had had it beamed aboard and placed down without a second thought.

He would not use it to create substitute prey. No one in his crew could use it for that pathetic purpose. They would examine it, and might find other uses for it. He mused for a moment, realizing that this would be a superior way to set up an ambush for living prey. Perhaps Janeway had indeed given them something to add to the thrill of the hunt, though not in the least the way she had expected.

The Alpha turned completely around and gazed at the prize, the prize that had been snatched from space in that brief moment when all eyes had been on the rainbow-hued gateways, and none on a tiny escaping vessel.

Sinimar Arkathi hung from chains fastened about his wrists and ankles. He had put up quite a fight when they had beamed him aboard, attacking two fully armed Hirogen and fleeing through the ship for an astonishing twenty minutes before the Alpha himself had corralled him and defeated him with his bare hands. He was greatly pleased.

But now Arkathi was quiet, except for the occasional moan. The Gamma Hirogen stood stiffly at attention, awaiting his Alpha's orders. The Alpha strode up to the prisoner, grabbed the ugly head in one big hand, and turned Arkathi's face to his.

"You were worthy prey," he stated. "You contrived a scheme that was nothing short of brilliant to ensure that the Hirogen would be blamed instead of you. With a single plot, you exonerated yourself, and diverted suspicion to an enemy you knew was a true threat. If you had picked a species other than the gutless Kuluuk, you might have gotten away with your scheme. But even the foolish prey know of the mighty Hirogen, know that we would never stoop to such pathetic prey. The relic of a Kuluuk would be nothing to us."

At first, Arkathi's eyes seemed dead, empty, without focus. The Alpha tasted disappointment. He had hoped that this prey would delight him to the very end. But as the Alpha spoke, Arkathi came back to life. Understanding stirred in those eyes, and then, most satisfactorily, fear.

He nodded in approval, and continued. "You erred, and that was your downfall. You underestimated us. I dare say that you are not underestimating us at the moment."

Arkathi shook his head wildly. "Please," he began, "you may have the rest of the crew. But let me go."

The Alpha stared, then broke into loud laughter. "And amusing, too. Ah, Arkathi. It has been a glorious hunt. And the sweet irony is that what we will do with you would be considered a justice by the other prey. What a tale we will have to tell when we encounter other Hirogen. And you will be the evidence that the tale is true."

He glanced over at the waiting, eager Beta, and nodded.

Arkathi began to scream.



















******
NEW FRONTIER
DEATH AFTER LIFE
Peter David

Mackenzie Calhoun, captain of the Excalibur, was so cold that it took his body long minutes to realize that he was once again in warmth.

It didn't happen immediately, or all at once. Instead it occurred in stages. First his fingers and toes, frozen nearly to frostbite stage, began to flex. Then his lungs, which had been so chilled that Calhoun had practically forgotten what it was like to breathe without a thousand needles jabbing in his chest, began to expand to their normal size. There was pain at first when they did, but that started to subside. He gave out a series of violent coughs that racked his body, and it was only then that his brain processed the information that the rest of his body was providing him.

He was so dazed, so confounded, that he had to make the effort to reorder events in his mind so that he could recall how he'd come to this pass.

The cold... the cold was so overwhelming that, for what seemed an endless period of time, he couldn't think of anything beyond that.

There had been cold, and blistering winds that would have flayed the skin from his body if he'd been out there much longer. Cold, and bodies... two bodies...

Yes. The Iconians. A male, and a female, both named Smyt. Both dead. Lying there, faceup in the snow, mere feet away from the great gateway. And words... words etched in the snow by the male, just before he died, carved in the snow with a hand so frozen and useless that it was not much more than an iced club of meat. The words had been: Giant Lied. What the hell did that mean? What giant? What had he lied about? Why had the male Iconian felt so strongly about this that he had used his final moments of life to report this transgression?

The Iconians... grozit, they had... they had caused trouble... so much trouble, for two races... for himself... for Shelby...

Shelby...

Calhoun lay there, flat on his back, arms and legs splayed, trying to put together the pieces of his body and the pieces of his life, the ground hard and gritty beneath him, the heat of an unknown sun pounding down upon him, his extremities starting to tingle with the resurgence of blood circulating to them. And that was when he remembered Shelby.

Elizabeth Paula Shelby, captain of the good ship Trident, who had been swept away along with him to the frozen world that had - for a time, at least - promised to be their final resting place. She had been there... with another man. Yes, yes, it was starting to come back to him. A man named Ebozay, leader of a people called... called...

what? The...

"Markanians." The word was barely a whisper between cracked and bleeding lips, and the voice was hardly recognizable as his own.

Indeed, he almost thought it was someone else for a moment before he realized with vague dismay that, yes, it was he who had spoken.

Yes, that was right. Ebozay of the Markanians. He had wound up on the wasted, frozen world along with Shelby. Then they had fallen into a crevasse, and Shelby survived, but Ebozay didn't. Simple as that.

"Shelby" was the next word Calhoun managed to get out, obviously one that was nearer and dearer to his heart than "Markanians" had been.

He said it again, a bit louder this time, and had no idea whether anyone was going to respond. It was at that point that he realized he was blind.

No... no, not blind. But his eyes were closed, and absurd as it sounded, he didn't have the strength to open them. He was trembling, his body seizing up, and he coughed once more. Shelby... Shelby had been unconscious in his arms. He had cradled her, like a groom delicately transporting his bride over the threshold on their wedding night, but there had been nothing remotely romantic about it. She had been unconscious, freezing in his arms, injured from her fall and the frostbite, and he had held her as if he could will his own body heat into her in order to save her.

It hadn't worked. Naturally it hadn't worked; it was a ridiculous notion.

And yet that was all he could think of to do, as exposed and relatively naked to the elements as they were, with the snow and wind pounding at them as if angry that they had the temerity not to roll over and die instantly upon being faced with their predicament.

Calhoun had spat out curse after curse, cried out against the unfairness of their circumstances, had simply refused to believe that it was going to end there, on some nameless ice world who-knew-where.

Certainly after everything they'd been through, that couldn't be anything approaching an equitable finale for their lives.

"It's... not fair," Calhoun grunted.

And a voice from nearby, rough and hard and disinterested in hearing any sort of griping of any sort, said, "Life isn't fair. Deal with it."

It had been so long since he had heard that voice that, at first, he didn't recognize it, except in the way that one does when one thinks, Damn, that voice is familiar, I should really know it. And then it came to him, roared toward him with the ferocity of a star exploding in fiery nova.

"Father... ?" he whispered, and that was it, the shock was too much, because Mackenzie Calhoun realized that he was dead, that was all, just dead, because his murdered father was speaking to him, and he'd never really made it through the planet of ice at all. It had all been some sort of cruel joke, and at that moment, he and Elizabeth were lying on the planet's surface becoming crusted over with sleet and snow. And at that dismal image, that final miserable end that had been inflicted upon them... the mighty, fighting heart of Mackenzie Calhoun gave out. It wasn't for himself so much; Calhoun had no fear of death. In many respects, he couldn't quite believe that he'd lived as long as he had. No, the despair that broke him was the thought that he had let down Shelby. That he had carried his wife in his arms, whispered to her frozen ear that he would make things better, that he would save them somehow, and he'd failed. He'd let her down.

Even as he was half sitting up, the physical and mental stress all caught up with him at once, and Calhoun fell back without ever having opened his eyes. He struck his head hard on the barren and crusty ground beneath him, but never felt it.

And so died Mackenzie Calhoun, without ever having a chance to see the sun set.

Mackenzie Calhoun, captain of the Excalibur, was so cold that it took his body long minutes to realize that he was once again in warmth.

It didn't happen immediately, or all at once. Instead it occurred in stages. First his fingers and toes, frozen nearly to frostbite stage, began to flex. Then his lungs, which had been so chilled that Calhoun had practically forgotten what it was like to breathe without a thousand needles jabbing in his chest, began to expand to their normal size. There was pain at first when they did, but that began to subside. He gave out a series of violent coughs that racked his body, and it was only then that his brain processed the information that the rest of his body was providing him.

He was so dazed, so confounded, that he had to make the effort to reorder events in his mind so that he could recall how he'd come to this pass.

The cold... the cold was so overwhelming that, for what seemed an endless period of time, he couldn't think of anything beyond that.

There had been cold, and blistering winds that would have flayed the skin from his body if he'd been out there much longer. Cold, and bodies... two bodies...

Calhoun lay there, flat on his back, arms and legs splayed, trying to put together the pieces of his body and the pieces of his life, the ground hard and gritty beneath him, the heat of an unknown sun pounding down upon him, his extremities starting to tingle with the resurgence of blood circulating to them. And that was when he remembered Shelby.

"Eppy... " he whispered, his concern for her pushing away anything else that could possibly be going through his mind. "Eppy," he said, revolted by how weak and whispery his voice sounded.

It was at that point that he realized he was blind.

No... no, not blind. But his eyes were closed, and absurd as it sounded, he didn't have the strength to open them. He was trembling, his body seizing up, and he coughed once more. For a moment he wanted to surrender to despair, to dwell upon how unfair all of this was. But then he thought, Unfair? Unfair? And who ever claimed life was fair in the first place? Certainly not Calhoun. Certainly not his father, the man from whom he'd learned so much. The man who had died, broken in body but not in spirit by soldiers representing an oppressive race whom young Calhoun had eventually driven off his world. If he were here right now, Calhoun realized, he'd be telling his son to stop lying about and dwelling upon his unfair lot in life. He was still alive, after all, and that was all that was important. Now get up.

The voice of his own, which so echoed that of his father, chided him yet again, and said even more sternly, Get up! Your wife needs you. On your feet, damn you, if you be a man...

Why was he thinking about his father? It had been years since he had dwelt on him... so long, in fact, that he would have thought he'd forgotten the very sound of the man's voice. But for some reason, there it was, clear as anything in his head, as if he'd heard it just yesterday.

Oddest feeling of deja vu... no... more than that... as if he'd already experienced all of it during some sort of... of odd dream...

The air of his surroundings was warm in his chest as he drew in great lungfuls of it. It was the breath of life; he'd never been so fundamentally grateful for the simple act of breathing. Slowly he sat up, his back stiff, the circulation only now hesitantly returning to his feet, his arms. He let out a low groan, felt the dampness of his clothes sticking to him as the ice and snow that had coated them melted. It was a most uncomfortable sensation.

He opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the brightness of the sun. He put up an arm and winced at the motion, feeling a stiffness in the joint that made him wonder whether he'd injured the arm in its socket. But his only vocal acknowledgment of the pain was a low, annoyed growl, even as he continued to shield his eyes against the sun.

There was more pain, racing down his back, and in his elbows and knees, but he was beginning not to mind it so much. It was, after all, a reminder that he was alive.

"Eppy," he said again, and there she was, miraculously, sitting up a few feet away from him on the parched ground. She looked as utterly disheveled as he imagined he did, with her uniform just as wet, and her strawberry blond hair hanging down in sodden ringlets. But the way she was looking at him, with those eyes that seemed to own his entire soul, spoke of both gratitude and appreciation of the purely miraculous, because obviously she had never expected to see him again. She had probably never looked quite as awful in her entire life, and she had never looked quite as good to Calhoun as she did at that moment. When she smiled at him, it lit up her entire face.

"Hey, Mac," she got out, and her voice sounded as cracked and strained as did his. But none of that mattered, none of it at all...

Because he wasn't looking at her. He was looking through her, around her. For all the attention he was paying her, she might as well not have been there at all. Apparently she was aware of it, for her face fell and her lips thinned as she reflexively shoved her hair out of her face. "Mac," she said, making no effort to keep the annoyed disapproval out of her voice and failing spectacularly. "Mac... I'm right here."

Calhoun still wasn't listening. Instead he was getting to his feet, and astoundingly all the pain, all the hurt, all the stress that his body had been through was instantly forgotten. His legs were strong and firm again, blood pumping through them as if they were the legs of a twenty-year-old. And although there was a look of utter incredulity upon his face, there was also calm certainty, as if he was convinced that what he was looking upon couldn't possibly be there... but if it was, it wasn't going to daunt him. As if, upon seeing this, he could handle pretty much anything.

"Mac," she said again, but this time her tone of voice had changed, for clearly she was aware that not only was it odd that they were alive, but odder still that her environment had changed so radically. It only made sense, Calhoun realized; she had not, after all, been conscious when they went through the gateway. The last thing she had known was that they were upon a nameless ice world with death imminent. "Mac... Mac, what's wrong? Where are we?" She glanced over her shoulder and an instant later she was squinting as well. "God, it's bright here!" "And dry," he said.

"Where... are we?" she asked in wonderment. She had staggered to her feet, and was pulling on the bottom of her uniform shirt, wringing it out as best she could. Enough water to boil up a nice cup of tea poured out of the cloth as she twisted it. "It... seems familiar... but I... I'm not sure... " "You've been here... but you haven't been here. Neither have I." "What... ?"

In the near distance, Calhoun studied the castle-like structures that dotted the horizon. The towers were tall, powerfully built, gleaming Defiantly in the scorching sun... so strong, so new, that Calhoun didn't know whether to laugh or cry. They were not freestanding; instead they had been carved right out of cliffs of solid rock. Calhoun had looked upon similar structures in his youth, but they had always been silent and empty... a mute testimony to more ancient times when such fortresses provided great measures of security. Back before invaders from another world had shown up with mighty weapons that were capable of reducing such places to shattered shadows of their former selves. Never had Calhoun looked upon such a fortress - "keeps," they were called - in such pristine condition. Not only that, but even at this distance he could see people moving through it, walking the parapets, going from one carved entrance to the next with confidence and casual athleticism. It was like watching history come to life. Along the bottom ridge of the fortress wall was an array of tents, private accommodations for some of the privileged higher-ups.

It took him a moment to realize that Shelby was speaking to him, and he focused his attention on her with effort. "What did you say, Eppy... ?" "Mac... where are we?" she asked with genuine concern. He saw how she was looking at him, as if worried that he'd somehow taken leave of his senses... or, at the very least, lost track of his priorities.

"Xenex." He couldn't quite believe it until he actually said it. It was as if the spoken name of the place lent it reality that it didn't have moments before.

"Xenex," she repeated tonelessly. "Your homeworld. Xenex."

He nodded. "I... think so, yes." "How the hell did we get to Xenex?" "A gateway," he said. "There was a huge one on the ice world... much bigger than either of those transportable devices that the Iconians had. It was activated, and I took us through there to here... " " _Here' being Xenex." She adopted a professional, clinical attitude, sizing up the sky, the sun. "It... could be," she said slowly. "I was only there the one time, but - " "It is, Eppy, trust me. I was there a hell of a lot longer than one time," Calhoun told her. He stayed rooted to the spot, unwilling to move, worried in some absurd fashion that if he did, what he was seeing would simply vanish like a passing soap bubble. His nostrils flared slightly, and he frowned. He looked for some hint of smoke or damage or signs of battle from the Keep, but there was nothing, which certainly seemed at odds with what his other senses were telling him.

He was so focused on his environment that he started slightly when Shelby stepped right in front of him. "Mac," she said firmly, "what's happening? I know you. I know your body language better than I do my own. You're tense... " "We just stepped through a gateway onto Xenex, Eppy. Isn't that enough reason for tension?"

It was a sign of how dire their situation was that Shelby didn't tell him to dispense with the annoying nickname of "Eppy" that he favored.

"There's even more going on here than that," she said. "It's as if you're in full battle mode. Like you're detecting an immediate threat.

What's going on? I have a right to know, a right to be as prepared as you." "You couldn't possibly be," he said, and then instantly regretted the harshness of his phrasing.

Shelby, however, did not appear to take offense. Instead she simply inclined her head slightly, and said, "If you mean I can't be the fighter you are, considering your background, fine, point taken. But my mind's as sharp as yours, Mac, and information will help me as much as it will you."

He drew in a deep breath of air to confirm that which he'd already surmised. "There's been fighting," he said.

"How do you know? I don't see any sign of it." "Nor do I," he admitted. "But... I can smell it." "What do you smell?"

His instinct was to protect her from the situation, but it was an instinct that he had to override. He knew she deserved better than to be coddled and sheltered, and besides, if he was right, she was going to find out sooner or later anyway. "Blood. There's blood in the air.

Blood and death." "Really? What does that smell like?"

He was annoyed by the flippancy in her voice. "It smells like chicken. What do you think it smells like?" "I don't know, Mac!" she said with a frustrated wave of her arms. "I never noticed blood having a particular scent, and death is more concept to me than something definable by one's nose."

He took a step toward her, looking down at her, and he felt a looming darkness behind his eyes. "That, Eppy, is because you've never been up to your elbows in it." "Screw you, Calhoun," she shot back. She faced him, her hands on her hips. "Maybe I wasn't a teenage warlord, hacking my way through corpses stacked five feet high, but I had a starship and crew dying around me when I fought the Borg, so don't tell me what I know and don't know, all right?" "Fair enough," he said mildly. "In that case, the smell in the air should be slightly familiar to you."

She took a deep breath, then admitted slowly, "It is. Slightly." "Come on." "Where?"

He pointed to the Keep. "There." "Why there?"

Shrugging, Calhoun asked, "Do you have a better idea?" "Good point," she said.

They started walking. Somewhere along the way, Calhoun reached over and took Shelby's hand. It felt warm and comforting, and not only that, but he couldn't believe how quickly and thoroughly he'd recovered from near death. All the discomfort was forgotten, the paralysis gone from his feet and fingers. Even more remarkable was Shelby's recovery. It had seemed to Calhoun that she'd been perhaps a few heartbeats away from death, and yet now here she was, as hale and hearty as he was, walking at a brisk distance-eating stride that easily matched his.

They crossed the plain, approaching the mountainous area where the Keep was ensconced. Little clouds of dust were kicked up under their feet, and the dirt crunched beneath their boot soles. "The sun's setting," he said abruptly.

She blinked, apparently surprised by the gravity of his pronouncement.

"So? Suns do that. At least once a day, as I recall."

But Calhoun shook his head, racking his brain, trying to remember.

"There's... more to it, though. I... remember the sun starting to set... I think... didn't see it through, though. And... I know I didn't I see it rise... so how... ?" "I don't know, Mac. I don't know why a gateway would drop us on Xenex, I don't know why I'm feeling so completely recovered in such a short period of time... "

So she had noticed...

". . . but what I do know," and she squeezed his hand, "is that I'm with you. And that's the most important thing. Together we can handle just about anything."

He smiled at that. The vote of confidence seemed ever-so-slightly nave on her part, but he certainly wasn't going to say that. Instead he appreciated the sentiment for what it was.

Calhoun was about to reply to her when a sudden explosion tore the air.

It froze Shelby and Calhoun in their tracks and they looked ahead to the Keep, eyes wide, as one of the lower sections suddenly erupted in flames. People were running, screaming, shouting defiance. Another section of the Keep exploded, and people fell off the parapets, arms pinwheeling in futility as if they were hoping they could grab handholds from the very air.

"Come on!" shouted Calhoun, yanking on Shelby's hand.

She stayed where she was, looking at him incredulously. "You want to head toward that?!" she demanded. "You're crazy!" "We have to!" he told her.

"Forget it!" she said. "We're not budging from - !"

Calhoun heard it, smelled it before he actually saw it: a giant, flaming mass of burning slag, descending from overhead, a misfire from a catapult that was falling well short of its target - namely the Keep. It was, however, descending right toward the two Starfleet officers, and it was too large, nowhere to run, and even as Calhoun yanked on Shelby's arm to try and get clear of it, he knew in his heart that it was too late.

The slag struck them, crushing their bodies and obliterating them, leaving no trace that they had ever been there.

And so died Mackenzie Calhoun and Elizabeth Shelby, without ever having a chance to see the sun set.

". . . but what I do know," and she squeezed his hand, "is that I'm with you. And that's the most important thing. Together we can handle just about anything."

He smiled at that. The vote of confidence seemed ever-so-slightly nave on her part, but he certainly wasn't going to say that. Instead he appreciated the sentiment for what it was.

Calhoun was about to reply to her when a sudden explosion tore the air.

It froze Shelby and Calhoun in their tracks and they looked ahead to the Keep, eyes wide, as one of the lower sections suddenly erupted in flame. People were running, screaming, shouting defiance. Another section of the Keep exploded, and people fell off the parapets, arms pinwheeling in futility as if they were hoping they could grab handholds from the very air.

"Come on!" shouted Calhoun, yanking on Shelby's hand.

She stayed where she was, looking at him incredulously. "You want to head toward that?!" she demanded. "You're crazy!" "We have to!" he told her.

Shelby knew beyond any question that it was madness. Despite the fact that Calhoun insisted this was Xenex, there was still some vague doubt in her mind. But if there was one thing she wasn't doubting, it was that running toward some major battle was the height of folly. Far better to turn around and put as much distance between themselves and it as possible.

But even as that thought went through her mind, something told her that it was the wrong move. That they were in an insane situation, and it would be far better to surrender to that insanity and just... just go along with it, even though it didn't seem to make much sense.

"All right, fine!" she said, and allowed Calhoun to haul her forward.

Abruptly the air behind them was superheated, and seconds later Shelby was knocked off her feet by the impact of some sort of flaming mass of... she had no idea what. All she did know was that it had crashed to the ground right where they'd been standing.

Her blood thudded in her temples as she realized just how close a call that had been, but Calhoun gave her no time to dwell on it. "Let's go!" he said, yanking on her arm once more, and Shelby had no choice but to follow.

Death. Death in the air. Yes, she could smell it now, just as Calhoun had been saying yesterday - "Yesterday?" The word hung in her mind even as it tumbled out of her mouth for no reason she could determine.

Calhoun glanced at her, clearly not understanding what she was referring to. "What about it?" "Nothing. Nothing." She didn't fully comprehend herself what had prompted her to say that, and she certainly didn't have the time to dwell upon it. "That was... that was just a close call, that's all." "I was thinking the same thing," he said dryly. "Come on."

They pounded across the plains, and Shelby was amazed at how easily she was keeping up with Calhoun. She didn't think he was running particularly slowly, but nevertheless she was pacing him with no difficulty. He wasn't even pulling on her arm anymore since she was able to maintain an equal speed with him. Calhoun obviously was becoming aware of it as he cast an appraising glance in her direction, even as they kept moving.

"Why are we running... toward the site... of the battle?" she shouted over the sounds of explosions as her arms pumped furiously.

"Because it's better than being out in the open! And the Keep is returning fire! See?"

And he was right. From the upper reaches, a catapult-like device had appeared, and they were dispatching giant flaming wads of whatever at their still-unseen aggressors. Men and women were crawling along the upper reaches of the Keep like so many spiders, and what had at first seemed like disordered panic to Shelby now came across as a clearly organized response to the assault.

There were outcroppings of rock ringing the outer edge of the Keep, only a few feet high. "These aren't enough to keep anyone out!"

Shelby said.

"It's enough to prevent wheeled war vehicles from drawing too close," Calhoun responded, even as he clambered up the ridge. Shelby immediately followed suit. "That's why it was so useful in the old days. In the new days, when we were attacked by flying ships and such, well... " He let his voice trail off.

"You sound... almost nostalgic... for ground combat," she grunted as she hauled herself over, scraping herself rather thoroughly as she did so.

"When a man's trying to kill you, you should be able to look him in the eye." "How sweet."

They tumbled up and over, Shelby throwing her arms over her head to shield it on the roll down. She bounded to her feet, feeling more invigorated, more alive than she'd ever been. It was as if the danger that surrounded her had flipped some sort of switch within her brain, making her savor all the more every breath she took in the face of danger.

"Come - !" Calhoun started to say, but with a sharp gesture she silenced him and snapped, "If you say _Come on' to me one more time, I break your neck."

He laughed at that, but it seemed to her a laugh of sheer joy, as if he was thrilled to be sharing this... this demented escapade with her.

She had no real idea what the hell was going on, or whether they were really in Xenex's past somehow, or any of it. But the one thing she did know, beyond any doubt, was that she was absolutely loving every minute of it. Was this what it was like, she wondered, to see the world through the eyes of Mackenzie Calhoun? To savor danger, to thrive on personal risk? It frightened her a little, but only a little. The rest of it made her nearly giddy over the jeopardy.

They ran toward the Keep, and although a couple of the flaming masses of whatever-the-hell-they-were landed near them, nothing came as close as that earlier one had. They were drawing within close range of the defenders in the upper reaches of the Keep, and the defenders were pointing at them now, shouting to one another. For an instant Shelby was extremely concerned. What if these people took Calhoun to be an enemy and opened fire on him?

And Calhoun was slowing down, looking at the defenders in wonderment.

"Mac... Mac, what is it?" Shelby asked, shaking his arm when she got no immediate response. "Mac... ?" "It... can't be... " he breathed.

"Mac... ?"

Suddenly there was a howl of fury behind them, a hundred voices shouting as one, and Shelby spun just in time to see a horde of Xenexians pouring over the ridge that they had just climbed over. They were armed to the teeth, swords in their hands, rage in their eyes, charging full-bore toward the Keep. Their armor was of the most primitive sort, brown and black leathers that would turn away only the most glancing of blows. But they were heavily muscled, with bristling beards and wild purple eyes like Mac's. There were women as well, appearing no less vicious than the men, although their hair was shorn near to baldness.

Their collective goal was clear: to assail the Keep. The defenders of the Keep responded in kind, cascading down the wall toward their attackers.

Xenexians... both sides... thought Shelby in confusion, remembering that Calhoun had once told her that - although certainly there had been disagreements, disputes, fragmentations (usually along family lines) - throughout the course of his world, there had never been any sort of civil war among his people. But what else could one possibly call this? No quarter being asked, none given, as two sides fueled by murderous rage pounded toward one another.

"Mac! We've gotta get out of here!" shouted Shelby, but even as she said it she realized there was nowhere to go. Furthermore, she doubted at that moment that Calhoun had even heard her. The two sides were converging, with Shelby and Calhoun right in the middle, and there was no escape.

Calhoun didn't even try.

Instead, with a roar as loud and primal as anything torn from the throats of the attackers, Calhoun charged the men coming in behind them. As Shelby watched, stunned, Calhoun dropped to his hands and knees at the last second, and one of the foremost attackers slammed into him, upending, feet flying high over his head. He hit the ground directly in front of Calhoun, and with a roar Calhoun was upon him.

Calhoun grabbed his head with both hands, twisted once, and snapped his neck.

My God... so easily...

For years, Shelby had always known that deep inside - perhaps not so deep at that - Calhoun was a warrior born, a savage, cloaked in the appearance of a civilized man. She had convinced herself that, over the years, Calhoun had become more comfortable with that civility.

She now realized, though, that it had been the thinnest of veneers, for he had tossed it aside in a heartbeat. Moreover, when he had done so, she was sure that it had been with a sense of relief on his part. My God... he reverted so, so easily...

Calhoun was not taking the time to dwell upon matters of civilized and uncivilized behavior. "Behind me!" he screamed at Shelby, and this time there was no hesitation as she darted behind. He had already grabbed up the sword of his fallen opponent, and howling a battle cry in a voice barely recognizable as his, Calhoun fought back. There was no artistry to his tactics, no style, no elegant form as one would see in fencing. This was nothing short of mere butchery as Calhoun hacked and slashed like a bladed windmill.

Everything seemed to be moving around her in a hazy, dreamlike manner. In moments Calhoun was covered in blood, as was she. Their clothes were soaked through with it, and she thought at first that it belonged solely to other people, but then she saw cuts and slashes piling up on Calhoun. There were too many swords, too many men, and however many he managed to hack away from him, more came. She wanted to scream Enough! Enough! But none would have heard her, or cared.

At the last second, she saw that someone had worked his way behind Calhoun, and was coming at them. She lashed out with a side kick, and felt the satisfying crunch of bone and ligaments as the kick connected perfectly with his knee. He went down, writhing, clutching at his leg, and Shelby tried to pick up his sword, but it might as well have weighed half a ton. She couldn't budge it. Instead she settled for snatching a dagger off his belt, wielding it as best she could, slashing away as others came near. But they were laughing at her derisively, sneering at the dagger, almost daring her to come at them.

Then she heard a scream, and the tip of a blade brushed against her back, causing her to jump away. That was when she realized, with a deep horror, that the blade had actually come right through Calhoun's body, driven through from the other side.

She whirled just as Calhoun fell against her, coughing up blood.

"Eppy," he managed to croak out as she sank to her knees, cradling him.

She saw the massive redness spreading across his chest, and she knew that he was dying even as she said, "It's all right... you'll be okay... you're going to be fine... " He looked up at her and it was hard to tell whether he was annoyed at her pathetic attempts to lie, or amused because she was so wretchedly bad at it.

Then she felt a pinch at her back, a pain, and suddenly it felt worse, and that was when she saw a blade protruding from between her breasts.

Just missed the heart... that was lucky, she thought, amazingly lucid even as her upper body jerked when the blade was yanked clear. She felt her lungs start to fill with fluid, felt the world blurring around her, and - although she was sure she was imagining it - heard the sounds of battle receding. For some reason she thought about when she was seven and rode a pony for the first time. Then she'd had ice cream until she'd gotten sick. That was a good day. A lot better than this one.

She wasn't imagining it. The fighting had stopped. Instead everyone seemed to be grouped around, staring at the two of them with interest, as if surprised to see them. Calhoun was returning the stare, and his mouth moved for some moments before he finally managed to get out the strangest words: "You're all dead... "

At first she thought he meant it literally. That, even in his dying moments, Calhoun was threatening them with a fearful vengeance that he would take upon them. Then he coughed, and said again, "You're all dead... how can you be here... when you're all dead... ?" and that was certainly enough to confuse the hell out of her.

Then the crowd of warriors seemed to separate, making way for someone. He was a burly man, with a strong chin evident even though he had a beard, and wild black hair tinged with gray. Aside from some glistening metal armbands, he was naked from the waist up, his torso rippling with power, but scars, also. Deep, livid, angry scars that looked as if they'd just been made yesterday, but not by swords, no.

They were too blunt, too rounded. Whip marks, perhaps, or some kind of rod...

Her chest was on fire, and she realized with a distant sort of interest that the pain had been increasing for some time. They were all staring down at her impassively now, and as her lifeblood mingled with that of Calhoun, she managed to say, "You... you murdering bastards...

why... why... ?"

The burly man, the one she took to be their leader, chuckled at her pain, which angered her all the more. He sounded condescending until he spoke, at which point he sounded... familiar.

“He knows why," he growled, pointing a sword at Calhoun. "Don't you, son?"

Calhoun, his face horribly sallow and pasty, managed a nod.

But Shelby didn't understand at all. All she knew at that moment was that her one wish was not to die in ignorance.

"Welcome," said Calhoun's father, "to Kaz'hera."

Shelby didn't get her wish.

The last thing she saw, just before she died, was the sun setting. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and she hoped that Calhoun, at least, had had a chance to see it as well.

Calhoun awoke to sunlight on his face. It wasn't direct sunlight; rather, it was filtered through the cloth of a tent. Calhoun wondered where in the world a tent had come from, and then he remembered that there had been tents lining the bottom of the Keep. The ground was bumpy beneath him, although he was lying on some rough-hewn blankets which provided at least some measure of cushion. Nearby outside, he heard swords clanging, and for a moment he thought that there was another battle in the offing. But then he realized that it was just two people, and there was a distinct absence of shouting or panicked running about. So it was probably some sort of training session or private lesson.

The tent flaps were pushed aside, allowing more sunlight to flood in, and Calhoun blinked against it. His father's frame filled the door.

"It's a fine, Xenexian sun. Never used to bother you. Have you gone soft?" he asked, his voice slightly challenging.

Calhoun didn't respond at first. Instead he stood slowly, unsteady on his legs, but determined not to fall over. Even though the evidence of his own eyes was right before him, he still couldn't help but ask, in a tone of utter disbelief, "Father... ?"

Gr'zy of Calhoun, father of M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, sized up his son and did not seem to be especially approving of what he saw. "Look at you," he said in annoyance, stepping forward and gripping Calhoun by the chin, turning his face from side to side. "You call this a beard?" "I... I haven't been growing it for that long, sir," Calhoun managed to say.

"Well... it will have to do, I suppose. And your muscles!" As if sizing up an unworthy slab of meat, Gr'zy squeezed Calhoun's biceps and shook his head. "Nothing to them! By this age, they should be hard as rock by now! Too busy surrounding yourself with weapons and security men to stay as fit as you should be! Well? What do you have to say for yourself!" he fairly thundered.

"I... I'm sorry, sir," said Calhoun.

"Sorry! You're sorry! Well... " and then Gr'zy's face broke in a wide smile. "It will have to do, then! Hah!" And he smacked Calhoun on the back so hard that Calhoun was almost positive Gr'zy had broken his back.

Calhoun had always wondered, in the back of his mind, whether in the intervening years since his father had died - beaten to death by Danteri soldiers - Calhoun had somehow built his father up in his recollections. He remembered Gr'zy as being big, powerful, indomitable.

It was a pleasure to see that his recollections had not been misleading. That Gr'zy was everything Calhoun recalled him to be.

"You lasted long enough to see a sunset!" Gr'zy told him approvingly, taking a step back. His voice was so boisterous as to be deafening, and his breath smelled like burnt animal flesh, since Gr'zy usually preferred his meat thoroughly charred. "That's good! That's good!

And that, as you know, entitles you to an eternity of sunrises!" "Father, I... " Suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, Calhoun took a step toward Gr'zy, his arms wide. But immediately his father retreated, his face darkening. "Father, what... ?" "Are you insane?" his father demanded.

"What? I don't... " "Look at you," and this time there was no jest or gentle jibe in his father's voice. "About to embrace me? Me? Has this Federation of yours made you softer than I thought?"

For a moment, Calhoun felt anger bubbling within him, but he suppressed it. "No, sir," he said firmly.

The clanging of swords outside was getting faster and faster. Gr'zy ignored it. "Good. Because this is Kaz'hera, my son. Such... delicate emotions are inappropriate here. Softness of body and spirit are not rewarded, as you well know. For that matter," and he took a step toward Calhoun, his voice low and confidential, "I am concerned about the female you came with." "Shelby?" "If that is her name, aye. The simple fact is that she may not fit in here, M'k'n'zy. She may not fit in here at all." "I... I don't understand. She's a warrior at heart, Father... you just have to see that - "

Suddenly from outside, Calhoun heard metal slide against metal, and an abrupt female shriek which Calhoun recognized instantly.

"Eppy!" he shouted, and immediately pushed past his father.

The blinding brilliance of the sun didn't bother him. Instead he skidded to a halt and focused, to his horror, on the body of Elizabeth Shelby. She was lying flat, her arms and legs flopping about like a stringless puppet, her head to the side with a face of permanent surprise etched into it. There was a sword lying near her, having just slipped out of her lifeless hand. Standing over her was a burly master at arms, gripping a sword still dripping with blood. He was looking down at Shelby with mild frustration and, even as her blood pooled around her, turned to Calhoun and said - with amused annoyance in his voice - "Slow learner, but she'll get the hang of it."

Calhoun did not hesitate. He strode quickly across the ground to Shelby. He gave her no outward sign of affection, did not kneel over her, shut her sightless eyes, cry out, beat his chest, rend his garment, or in any other way, mourn her. Instead he simply picked up her fallen sword, turned it around, and ran himself through with it.

"You lasted long enough to see a sunset!" Gr'zy told him approvingly, taking a step back. His voice was so boisterous as to be deafening, and his breath smelled like burnt animal flesh, since Gr'zy usually preferred his meat thoroughly charred. "That's good! That's good!

And that, as you know, entitles you to an eternity of sunrises!" "Father, I... " Suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, Calhoun took a step toward Gr'zy, his arms wide. But immediately his father retreated, his face darkening. "Father, what... ?" "Are you insane?" his father demanded.

"What? I don't... " "Look at you," and this time there was no jest or gentle jibe in his father's voice. "About to embrace me? Me? Has this Federation of yours made you softer than I thought?"

For a moment, Calhoun felt anger bubbling within him, but he suppressed it. "No, sir," he said firmly.

The clanging of swords outside was getting faster and faster. Gr'zy ignored it. For some reason, though, it caught Calhoun's attention. He wasn't sure why, but he was quite positive that it was... important somehow. "Good," said Gr'zy. "Because this is Kaz'hera, my son.

Such... delicate emotions are inappropriate here. Softness of body and spirit are not rewarded, as you well know. For that matter," and he took a step toward Calhoun, his voice low and confidential, "I am concerned about the female you came with." "Shelby?" He hadn't been thinking about Shelby for the past moments, but now that her name was mentioned, it hit him with such force that he wondered why she wasn't uppermost in his mind.

"If that is her name, aye. The simple fact is that she may not fit in here, M'k'n'zy. She may not fit in here at all." "I... I don't understand. She - "

All at once Calhoun stopped talking. And he wasn't sure why, but he suddenly knew, beyond any question, as sure as he had ever known anything, that Shelby was in mortal danger. With a cry of warning - although he didn't know what he was warning against - Calhoun charged toward the tent flap just as a high-pitched scream came from outside the tent.

Calhoun dashed outside... and skidded to a halt.

Shelby was standing there with a bloody sword clenched in her hands and a look of pure fury on her face. She was breathing hard, and was covered with sweat. Facing her was the master-at-arms, minus one of those arms. It was lying on the ground next to him, the hand still clutching its sword, and blood was pouring from the ruined arm.

"Then again," said Calhoun's father appraisingly, "perhaps she'll fit right in."

Shelby's wolfish grin of pleasure lasted for as long as it took to fully register upon her what had just happened. Then, slowly, her eyes widened as she focused upon the master-at-arms. He had dropped to his knees and was rather comically, and absurdly, trying to reattach his fallen arm by shoving it against the shoulder from which it had been severed. He was having about as much success with the endeavor as one would expect. The only thing he was managing to accomplish was to amuse the other Xenexians who were pointing and laughing at his hapless antics. Shelby gasped, unsure of what to say or do, at which point Calhoun walked to her quickly and pulled her away. The laughter of the Xenexians followed them as Calhoun distanced himself from them. Within moments they had left the encampment behind.

Shelby's face was turning the color of paste, and her eyes were wide with confusion and horror. "Mac... Mac, what's happening, what's... " "We're in Kaz'hera," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Of course!" she said as if that explained everything. "We're in Kaz'hera! I mean, up until now, I was confused because I was operating under the mistaken belief that we were in Tuscaloosa, but it turns out we're in Kaz'hera - !" "Eppy... "

She whirled and gripped him by the shoulders with such force that he was sure he was going to have a permanent imprint of her fingernails in his flesh. "Where the hell is Kaz'hera!" "Eppy... " he started again.

"Why did I wake up in some tent, only to have some bruiser drag me out into the morning air and start giving me sword lessons?! And why, when I chopped his arm off like it was a piece of goddamn mutton, was I happy about it?!?" She was trembling with agitation.

"Where... what is... how... " "Are you going to let me tell you?" "No!" she said, trembling, and then she put her hands to her face, breathing in deeply to steady herself. "Okay... go... tell. Now.

Hurry. Before I crack up." "All right." He let out a slow breath, tried to figure out the best way to explain what was essentially inexplicable. "Does the name _Valhalla' mean anything to you?" "Uhm... " She ran her fingers through her hair. "It's, uh... a starship.

Excelsior-class. Named after a famous American Revolution battle centuries ago, I think... " "What? What're you... ? No!" he moaned. "Eppy, that's the Valley Forge, for crying out loud. I'm talking about Valhalla, the literary reference... " "Dammit, Mac, I'm a captain, not a librarian! How am I supposed to... wait... wait... " She frowned, racking her brain. "It's, uhm... that place. Norse mythology... " "Right... "

She was flipping her hand around as if trying to swat an annoying insect. "Where the warrior women lived... the Valkyries... and they'd come and bring fallen warriors to this place, this hall of dead heroes, and that was Valhalla... " "Exactly, yes. Well, the, uhm," he cleared his throat, "the interesting thing about myths, Eppy, is how entirely different civilizations, even worlds, have different versions of the same thing. Flood myths, for instance, are prevalent in many - "

She looked around at the forbidding landscape, cutting him off before he could continue. "Are you telling me we're in the Xenexian version of Valhalla?" "More or less, yes."

She took that in for a moment, and then threw her arms wide as if blocking a football pass and cried out, "Are you insane?!" "I don't think so," he said, trying to sound reasonable.

"Mac, the gateways take people through space and, occasionally, time!

They don't transport you to mythical places! Places like... " "Tuscaloosa?" he suggested.

She moaned. "No, that's a real place," she said, sagging back against a boulder.

"Really? Where?" "Arizona, or maybe Alabama... some damned state. I don't remember." "The point is, Eppy, that this place is Kaz'hera. The big guy who came out of the tent I was in... that's my father."

She was silent for a moment when he told her that. Then, very softly, she said, "Mac... I know your losing your father at a young age was traumatic for you... but... " "But what? What are you implying? That I'm imagining it? I'm having a dream, and you're in it with me?" "Believe it or not, Mac," she said, folding her arms, "I find that easier to believe than what you're suggesting." "Eppy... Kaz'hera is where Xenexian heroes, cut down in battle, go to die. When you first arrive," he said, as if reciting a beloved bedtime story, "you have to survive to see your first sunset in Kaz'hera. If you don't, you keep going back to the point where you left off. And once you've done that, you awaken every morning to a day of warfare and battle. And it doesn't matter if you get hurt, or if you die, because come the sunset, the day ends and the next morning you wake up and it's a new day. And the only thing you remember from the day before is anything that you've learned that's of immediate use. Otherwise you continually, blissfully spend every day for the rest of eternity engaged in pleasant and endless mayhem." "I see. I see." She smiled in a way that looked, to Calhoun, like it was just shy of patronizing. "And why - just out of curiosity - did all those men attack you? I mean, you were their warlord once upon a time, right? Of at least some of them, I mean. And you obtained freedom for their world. So one would think they'd have some loyalty to you." "Taking a guess," he said ruefully, scratching his chin, "they're probably carrying grudges. I mean, yes, I led Xenex to freedom, ultimately. But I also led a lot of men to their deaths. They may take pride in the manner of their death, but no one is going to be enthused about the actuality of dying. After all, that means they didn't get to enjoy the fruits of their labor. I recognized a good number of the men there, in that crowd. They looked angry with me. So I suppose they took the opportunity to avenge themselves on me. But I doubt they'll carry grudges. Carrying a grudge for eternity is simply too much work."

Having said that, he waited for her reaction, and found it to be exactly what he suspected it was going to be: an amused shaking of her head. She was dismissing it out of hand. He supposed he couldn't entirely blame her. "Mac, it's ridiculous. We can't be someplace that's not real." "I agree with you. Which leads us to one conclusion... "

She stared at him, the amused smile slowly vanishing from her face.

"You're saying that this... this... " "Kaz'hera." "This Kaz'hera... that it's real." "As real as Tuscaloosa." "And... we're dead, is what you're saying." "I'm not sure about that one," he admitted. "I mean, it's possible that we simply froze to death... but if that's the case, then I'm not sure why you'd be here, since you're not Xenexian. So far more likely that we came through the gateway - " "Straight to the eternal playground of your youth. And what's next, Mac? Hmmm?" She put her hands on her hips and gave him a Defiant look. "Maybe we'll find our way back to the gateway, jump through, and find ourselves in heaven, face-to-face with God." "Is that what this is about, Eppy?" he demanded. "You have trouble believing in higher powers, and as a consequence, all this is too much for you to cope with?" "I cope with being your wife, Calhoun. That's enough coping for one lifetime."

He stepped in close to her and said tightly, "How about an eternity of lifetimes, Eppy? Because that's what we've got here. And you can spend eternity arguing about it, and refusing to accept what's right before you... or you can start taking things on faith."

And he stomped away, so incensed over Shelby's refusal to accept what he was telling her that he didn't notice the freshly dug ambush pit until it was a millisecond too late. As he plunged, with the jagged, sharpened stones rushing to meet him, he cursed Eppy with his dying breath and wondered how many times he'd made that curse...

"Is that what this is about, Eppy?" he demanded. "You have trouble believing in higher powers, and as a consequence, all this is too much for you to cope with?" "I cope with being your wife, Calhoun. That's enough coping for one lifetime."

He stepped in close to her and said tightly, "How about an eternity of lifetimes, Eppy? Because that's what we've got here. And you can spend eternity arguing about it, and refusing to accept what's right before you... or you can start taking things on faith."

He started to stomp away, and at that moment, Shelby felt a sudden warning in her head. She had no idea why, no clue as to what could or would happen, but it was enough to make her cry out, as if his life depended on it, "Mac!"

He stopped, but remained with his back to her. She walked quickly to him, boots crunching against the dry ground, and she wondered if it ever rained in paradise. Taking him by the elbow, she turned him around to face her. "What's going on here, Mac?" "What do you mean, _What's going on here'?" he said, looking and sounding defensive. "I've already explained the - " "No," she shook her head. "I mean what's going on here, with you.

I've never seen you like this."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "I don't know what you mean - " "Yes, you do, Mac." She took a deep breath. "Actually... I don't think you have to tell me. I think I know what's going through your mind." "Do you?"

In the distance she saw the Xenexians going through training maneuvers.

For all she knew, another wave of opponents - she couldn't call them "enemies," really - would come charging from across the way at any time. And why not? That's what it was all about, after all, wasn't it? Endless strife? Endless battle? She let out the breath she'd taken and told him, "I think you want to stay." "That's ridiculous." "No. No, it's not. I think it's damned attractive to you. No rules, because they don't matter. What you do by the book one day, you throw out the next day, and none of it makes any difference for as long as the sun rises and sets. But this place, Mac... this place... it can't be.

There's nothing that says the gateways can actually take us to... to otherworldly spheres. We're having a... a mutual delusion or something, trapped in some sort of other-dimensional limbo perhaps. It's a spacial equivalent of a holodeck. There have been cases, documented cases, of sections of space where the mind makes reality out of fantasy... " "Why are you doing this?" he demanded, and she saw that he was getting angry, really angry. "Why is it so damned impossible for you to believe? I've been hearing stories of Kaz'hera, believed in it, since as... as early as I can remember... " "And I heard about the Hundred Acre Woods, Mac, but I'm not going in search of Winnie-the-Pooh. This, all of this... it's not real. It's what we said before, a sort of... of mutual delusion. But it's not real... " "It's as real as we want it to be," said Calhoun forcefully. Then his eyes widened as he realized, "Xyon... " "Your son? What about him?" "I... I thought he was dead. But I haven't seen Xyon here.

Maybe... maybe he's alive. Maybe... "

She took him by the shoulders and said firmly, "Mac... we have to leave."

He looked at her Defiantly. "If this is being formed by our mutual delusion, why is it only someplace that I'm familiar with?" he demanded.

"Why aren't we in whatever you picture as heaven?"

And with all the sincerity that she was capable of mustering, she said, "Because I believe in you more than I believe in anything in this world... or the next. But now," and her voice dropped to barely a whisper, filled with urgency and pleading, "you've got to believe in me... or, at the very least, believe me when I tell you that I'm leaving here. This place isn't for me. It's not for you, either. You've grown beyond this. You know that in your heart." "Grown beyond it? What are you talking about?" "Mac... think. Think about where we just came from, how we got here." He was looking at her blankly, and she thought, Oh, my God, he really doesn't remember... he's got amnesia or something. It's this place, it's done it to him. Speaking faster, she said, "Two races, the Aerons and the Markanians, who were engaged in a centuries-long battle. Battling over their own version of paradise, a planet called Sinqay, and their battle of mutual extermination was aided by two Iconians, each with their own gateway devices. We all wound up on Sinqay, only to discover the planet was a desolate wasteland thanks to generations of fighting that had gone on previously... " "Yes," Calhoun said briskly, "and then both Smyts turned on their gateways, and it created some sort of force whirlpool that sucked us into the ice planet, where that gigantic gateway was waiting for us, and why are you telling me all this when I already know it?" "Oh." She felt a bit stupid for a moment. "I... I thought you'd, uhm... forgotten." "How could I forget?" he asked, as if she'd lost her mind. "It didn't happen last century." "You're missing the point, Mac!" "Well, what the hell was the point?!" "The point is that you can't stay here!" "Because you say it's not real, and so I'd be wasting my time," he said, and there was such bitterness and anger in his voice that she was taken aback by it. "Because it's something that you can't believe in, and therefore there's something wrong with me for contemplating - even for a moment - embracing it. Because you have trouble believing in anything greater than yourself, and since that's the case, you'd deny me the opportunity as well."

She stepped away from him and, because she couldn't look him in the eye, looked around at the vast plain instead. Rocks and craggy areas nearby them, and the endless vista of... of nothingness. In the distance she could hear the shouts and laughter of the Xenexians in the Keep, and even as far away as she was, she was able to pick up words here and there, all of them in anticipation of the next battle, and the one after that, and the one after that. Xenexian paradise.

Death without permanence, the thrill of battle without the threat of long-term damage.

"Maybe you're right," she said softly. "Maybe... I'm afraid to believe in the reality of this place... because then it implies that other things... things I'm not... comfortable with... might also be real... "

He looked at her with confusion. "Why... _not comfortable'?" "Because, Mac," sighed Shelby, "things like heaven... or angels... or God... these are things that are, by definition, unknowable.

I don't... accept... the concept of _unknowable.' Anything that is... I should be able to explore. To touch. To face. It's right in the Starfleet credo, Mac. If it exists... I want to be able to boldly go there, even if no one has before. I don't want anyone, or anything, putting up signs and saying, _This far and no further.' If mankind can't discover it, learn from it... what's the point of it?"

To her surprise, he laughed gently at that. "Humanity is a very egocentric species," he observed.

"Well, I guess we haven't come all that far from a time when we believed the sun orbited us." She'd been leaning against another rock, and she pushed off it and stood in front of Calhoun, taking one hand in each of hers. Not for the first time, she noticed how rough his hands were, and the corded strength in each of his fingers. "Mac... what I was saying before about the Aerons and Markanians... I was trying to make you realize that endless fighting is a useless way to spend one's life. It doesn't matter whether you're Markanian or Xenexian.

Even if this is all real... even if we're in Xenexian Valhalla... you deserve better than this. Useless remains useless, and it's a tremendous waste of the man you've become and the man you could be!

Okay? Do you get that now, Mac? Do you get what I'm saying?" His face was inscrutable. She could get no read off him at all, and she knew it was time to draw the line. "Tell me now, because whether you get it or not, I'm leaving." "Leaving? Leaving for what?" he asked skeptically. "Even if we manage to retrace our steps, even if we find the gateway... all it'll do is put us right back out onto the ice world." "Maybe we'll be rescued." "Not a lot of time to be rescued in, Eppy. More likely we'll die." "Well then," she shrugged, "maybe I'll get to explore the whole heaven thing after all."

For a long, long moment he was silent, and in that moment, she was absolutely positive that she had lost him. That she was going to wander around, on her own, trying to find - perhaps unto eternity - the gateway. Hell, the damned thing probably wouldn't even be open.

He wasn't moving. Well... that was that.

She stood on her toes, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and she wasn't sure what prompted her to say it, but she whispered, "Godspeed" into his ear. Then she turned and started to walk away, and found - to her surprise - that she was praying for Mac to come with her.

From behind her, he called, "You're asking me to give up everything I believe in, in order to be with you. And if we go back and we die together... I'd likely wind up back here, and you would be... wherever... "

She stopped, turned and smiled. "I guess that's what _till death do us part' is all about, isn't it, Mac?"

They faced each other then, a seeming gulf between them, and she wondered whether they'd ever faced each other like this before.

Whether they were, in fact, replaying a moment over and over and over again, coming this far together and no further.

Calhoun let out a heavy sigh, then, and it seemed to Shelby at that moment that a very, very small part of him died just a little bit when he did so.

" _Till death do us part,' " he agreed, and walked toward her. And with a cry of joy that was slightly choked, Shelby ran to him and threw herself into his arms, holding him so tightly that she found it hard to believe, at that moment, that there had ever been a time when they weren't embracing one another.

That was when, from behind them, a gruff voice growled, "Is this what you've come to, then?"

They turned and Gr'zy was standing there, the mustache under his nose bristling, his purple eyes dark and furious as the sea. His hand was twitching near the great sword that hung from his hip, but he did not draw it. "Is this what you've come to?" his father said again. "A chance to be with me... to be with your own kind... and you throw it all away to run off with... " He could barely get the word out. ". . . her? You would place love above the glory of battle? Have you no priorities?" "I have mine, you have yours," said Calhoun. Shelby had no idea what that pronouncement was costing him, but he said it with conviction and certainty. His mind was made up, and for that she felt abundant relief, because there was nothing in the universe more stubborn, more determined, and more implacable than a Mackenzie Calhoun with his mind made up.

"You're no son of mine," said his father angrily, turning away.

"No son of yours?" Calhoun repeated the phrase with obvious incredulity.

But when he spoke, it was not in a pleading or whining tone, the voice of a child imploring a parent for approval. It was the voice of a man who knew his mind, knew in his heart that he was right, and was setting the record straight for someone too dense to see it. "Everything I did, I did in your memory. Every Danteri bastard I cut down with my sword, I did so avenging your death. I freed a planet on your behalf and if that isn't good enough to earn your approval in the afterlife, then to hell with you."

Gr'zy took a step toward him, drawing a hand back as if ready to belt his son across the face. Calhoun made no move to stop it; merely stood there, his chin upturned, as if expecting it. Gr'zy froze like that for a long moment, and then turned without another word and strode away.

A feather-light hand on his arm, Shelby whispered, "Mac... are you okay?"

He looked at her and, for just a moment, there was infinite pain in his eyes, and then - just like that - it was gone, masked. "I'm fine," he said. "Let's get out of here."

They moved quickly across the plains, no words exchanged between them. Calhoun led the way, scanning the ground, looking for signs of where they'd been, tracking, using his expertise, missing nothing.

"This way," he said firmly. "I'm reasonably certain that if we follow this path, tracking these clods of dirt, and the chipped-away bits of... " "Or we could just head for the gateway," she said, her eyes wide, clearly unable to believe her luck as she pointed ahead of them. And there, sure enough, was a glowing in the air. It was a distance away, but it was unmistakable: the gateway.

Suddenly the ground below them began to rumble, and for a moment they both thought that the gateway was about to explode. But then they realized what it was: an army in pursuit. They looked behind themselves to see a horde of angry warriors coming after them, shouting Calhoun's name, shouting fury that he was expressing such disdain for their paradise that he was actually daring to try and leave it.

And the gateway... the gateway was fading. Whether they'd come through an hour or an age ago, it was impossible to tell, but whatever it was, it was running out. The gateway was about to cycle shut, and they'd be trapped in Kaz'hera forever.

"Run!" shouted Calhoun, and they tried, but within moments they were overrun, and even though they fought back, they were cut to pieces, and the ground ran red with their blood.

***

Suddenly the ground below them began to rumble, and for a moment they both thought that the gateway was about to explode. But then they realized what it was: an army in pursuit. They looked behind themselves to see a horde of angry warriors coming after them, shouting Calhoun's name, shouting fury that he was expressing such disdain for their paradise that he was actually daring to try and leave it.

And the gateway... the gateway was fading. Whether they'd come through an hour or an age ago, it was impossible to tell, but whatever it was, it was running out. The gateway was about to cycle shut, and they'd be trapped in Kaz'hera forever.

"Run!" shouted Calhoun, and they tried, but within moments they were overrun, and Calhoun tried to fight a delaying action while Shelby ran, but they were cut to pieces, and the ground ran red with their blood.

Suddenly the ground below them began to rumble, and for a moment they both thought that the gateway was about to explode. But then they realized what it was: an army in pursuit. They looked behind themselves to see a horde of angry warriors coming after them, shouting Calhoun's name, shouting fury that he was expressing such disdain for their paradise that he was actually daring to try and leave it.

And the gateway... the gateway was fading. Whether they'd come through an hour or an age ago, it was impossible to tell, but whatever it was, it was running out. The gateway was about to cycle shut, and they'd be trapped in Kaz'hera forever.

"Run!" shouted Calhoun, and they tried, but within moments they were overrun, and although Calhoun marveled at Shelby's display of sword prowess, they were cut to pieces, and the ground ran red with their blood.

Suddenly the ground below them began to rumble, and for a moment they both thought that the gateway was about to explode. But then they realized what it was: an army in pursuit. They looked behind themselves to see a horde of angry warriors coming after them, shouting Calhoun's name, shouting fury that he was expressing such disdain for their paradise that he was actually daring to try and leave it.

And the gateway... the gateway was fading. Whether they'd come through an hour or an age ago, it was impossible to tell, but whatever it was, it was running out. The gateway was about to cycle shut, and they'd be trapped in Kaz'hera forever.

"Run!" shouted Calhoun, and they tried, but within moments they were surrounded, and that was when a roar like a shattering planet filled the air, and there was a clang of swords, and Calhoun could actually hear bodies being sliced apart.

Unstoppable, Gr'zy cut a path to Calhoun and Shelby, and the others fell back, confused and angry and regrouping, their hesitation lasting only moments. But it was moments enough for a ragged Calhoun to look up at the dark face of his father and say, "I thought you said I wasn't a son of yours."

Gr'zy grumbled, "Yes, well... I realized that sometimes you're more your mother's son. And I loved her dearly. But she was no warrior.

I miss her terribly... as much as I'll miss you. Go." "Father, I - !" "Go, damn you!" he shouted, and shoved Calhoun as hard as he could. Shelby caught him and they ran, and it was an incredible thing to see. The warriors tried to get past Gr'zy, tried to pursue his son, and it should have been impossible to hold them back, as impossible as a single sand bag keeping back the ocean tide. But Gr'zy was everywhere, as was his sword, and no man passed as Calhoun and Shelby sprinted the remaining distance. Calhoun gripped Shelby's hand as tightly as he could, and together they leaped through the gateway. And the last thing he heard his father cry out was, "This has been a good day!"

And the sun set on Kaz'hera.

Just as before, the transition was instantaneous, except this time it was far more brutal. One moment they were bathed in warmth, and the next the wind and ice were hammering them with the force of a thousand nails.

Calhoun went down, Shelby tumbling on top of him. Almost instantly he was losing feeling in his face, in his hands and feet, and even taking a single breath was agony for him. He clutched Shelby to him, and when he looked at her his heart sank in dismay. While in Kaz'hera, she had healed. But here, back in this marvelous "real world" to which she'd been so anxious to return, she was as banged up and bruised as before they'd gone through the gateway.

There was no place to run to, no place for them to take shelter.

Calhoun thought it was a miracle that their hearts hadn't simply stopped from the shock of going from one extreme to another, but then he thought better of it. After all, what kind of miracle was it when all it did was spare them a quick death in exchange for a slower and more agonizing one?

Then he looked down at Shelby, who was gazing up at him, unable to move, barely able to speak, and he understood. It was a miracle because it was giving them a few last moments together, and any time that they were together was miraculous.

As the wind screamed above them, trying to drown out anything they might have said to one another, Calhoun leaned in close to her, put his lips right up against her ears. "Till death do us part," whispered Calhoun. She nodded mutely, and then they kissed passionately, holding each other close, icing over, the gateway silent behind them...

And then there was a roar near them, and in his near-death delirium, Calhoun wondered whether Valkyries were descending from Valhalla.

They were, after all, freezing to death, and that was certainly evocative of the icy climes that the Norsemen hailed from...

He managed to barely roll over just then, and saw with distant astonishment that a long-range shuttlecraft was approaching.

What do Valkyries need with a shuttlecraft? Calhoun wondered, right before he passed out.

When Shelby opened her eyes, she saw Calhoun smiling down at her, felt the distinctly unglacial warmth around her, and for just a moment she thought, You bastard... you brought us back through the gateway... we're back in your idea of paradise... here we go again...

And then a familiar voice, brisk with efficiency, said, "Step aside, please, Captain." Calhoun did so, and then Dr. Selar was standing over her, guiding a medical tricorder along her and nodding approvingly.

"Full circulation has been restored. However, I would advise that you not - "

Shelby immediately sat up. An instant later the world spun around her and she flopped back. The only thing that prevented her from cracking her head badly was Calhoun's arm catching her as she fell.

" - sit up too quickly," the Vulcan doctor finished acidly.

It was at that point that Shelby realized they were in a shuttlecraft.

She looked up at Calhoun in confusion, her face a question.

Easily reading her mind, Calhoun took her hand and said, "Back on Sinqay, our respective science officers managed to re-create the energy field that hauled us through to the ice world. Once they did that, they sent a shuttlecraft through after us." "But... but how will we... get back from here? Back through the energy field?" "No." It was Dr. Selar who spoke up. "We tried. But the field is rather unique in that it appears to be only one way." "Then... how - ?" "No need to worry," Calhoun assured her. "McHenry's helming the shuttlecraft. He has us pegged as three days out of Thallonian space."

That was immediately enough to assuage Shelby's worries. Mark McHenry may have struck her as one of the odder crewmen on the Excalibur, but if there was one thing that was certain, it was that his ability to know where he was anywhere in the galaxy was unerring, even uncanny.

If he said it was going to take them three days to get back home from wherever the ice world had been, then that was quite simply that.

"You were very fortunate," said Selar.

"You mean that you showed up when you did?" asked Calhoun.

"That too. But I was referring to the fact that I am your doctor." And with that, she headed toward the front of the craft, leaving Shelby and Calhoun alone in the rear section.

She squeezed his hand tightly. "Any regrets?" whispered Shelby.

He smiled and said, "I'll tell you after I'm dead."

And for a moment, just a brief moment... she thought that she saw pain and a longing for something he now knew he could never have, or never be happy with. But then, just like that, it was gone once more.











































******
STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION
THE OTHER SIDE
Robert Greenberger


Prologue

Deanna Troi, carefully cupping her mug of hot chocolate, curled her feet underneath her legs and stared at the viewscreen in the captain's quarters. She disliked the decor and would have preferred to let the Marco Polo's real captain keep his space, but he was far from his starship and she was in temporary command. She had grown accustomed to making snap decisions and thought she was doing an adequate job, especially when her Sabre-class vessel had been bombarded by enemy fire.

The counselor-turned-commander had grown fond of her adopted crew and thought they performed well, especially since, like her, they had been thrown together with little warning. She missed the ones that had been dispatched for what Will Riker called "extended babysitting," but they were doing their duty. As she was doing her own.

What Deanna truly came to discover about command, though, was that when being the one in charge, you quite often had to wait for the crew to perform their tasks before you could issue your next orders. And the waiting was more dangerous than Romulan disrupter fire.

"Any change, Will?" she asked the image on the viewscreen.

Riker, looking like he had not slept in a day, shook his head. He was speaking from his personal quarters on the Enterprise, just a few hundred kilometers away but seeming like he was in another quadrant.

"Nothing at all," he replied. "The captain's been gone for six hours now without a word."

She sipped at her chocolate, hoping its magical restorative powers would keep her alert for the next shift, which began in less than fifteen minutes. "And Doral?"

"Still sitting in his guest quarters, looking at images of his remaining ships. When power failed on one, we had to help evacuate the crew to other ships nearby. They're down to forty-eight and it's getting a little cramped for them."

"The odds improve, don't they?" "Our sixteen against their forty-eight is still three-to-one odds. Wouldn't expect that to stay the same the way things are going." Riker seemed to be busying himself onscreen but she couldn't figure out what it was.

Finally she asked, "What are you doing, Will?" "Oh, just working on a new recipe," he admitted with a grin.

"Well," she said with a warm smile, "practice makes perfect."

Just talking to him made her feel better and kept the harsh reality of their situation just a little further away. "What's to become of the Petraw?" she asked, turning back to the immediate problem.

"Their drive to expand their reach means getting them home during their lifetime is impossible," he replied. "Doral can't even say for certain if the Petraw Empire even exists anymore. They remain close to the galactic center, way beyond any portion of space any of us have ever explored. Desan told me there's been no evidence of the Petraw in their Empire."

"Has the Glory restored power yet?" The Romulan warbird had been seriously injured when they first found the Petraw ships.

Riker shook his head again, an uncertain expression on his face. "She won't admit to it, but Data thinks he pierced their shielding enough to determine the quantum-singularity drive has been ruptured beyond repair. I've got him working on emergency evacuation plans since I doubt they would all fit on the Jarok."

"Captain Brisbayne tells me much the same about Mercury. He's taking it very hard, losing his first command," Troi added. "I think he hoped to retire without ever losing a ship or getting in a serious firefight."

"Given the Borg and the Dominion War, he's a rarity among Starfleet captains," Riker said. "Geordi's dispatched his alpha team to help with repairs so we've got hope."

Troi sipped in a silence for a moment, wondering what progress was being made by their own captain, who stepped through the Iconian gateway found aboard Doral's lead Petraw vessel. Six hours with no knowing what he found on the other side. His orders had been strict: no one was to follow him through.

Chapter 1

Picard emerged from the gateway into a forest that sang with birdcalls and swarmed with large insects. A short distance from his position, he saw the building first glimpsed from the engineering deck of the lead Petraw vessel. It was a gleaming domed building and now before him, he saw red and orange filigree at the dome's a base and watched it snake up toward the top. The oval dome itself was a cobalt blue, shining wetly in what he presumed to be the late-afternoon sun.

Sweat had already begun to trickle down his neck and he realized how warm it was, too warm to be pleasant and humid enough to indicate it had recently rained. Picard considered himself fortunate he missed the shower as he opened his tricorder. With some alarm, the captain found the instrument dead. His right hand reached for his phaser and saw that it, too, registered no power. This was not the first time he had I arrived to find technology dampened, but he had hoped to be better prepared for what was to come.

With greater caution, Picard began walking around the dome, looking for sentries or even an accessway. There was little doubt he needed to get inside and speak with the people - the ones he hoped were the one true Iconian people. No one had seen them in over two hundred millennia and no pictures of them were found on any of the worlds that had direct links to the Iconian culture. It was one of the more intriguing mysteries about them.

His boots beat down wild flowers, thick ropy grass strands, and even fallen twigs. The rain helped moisten everything so it kept his movements quiet. To his practiced eye, Picard noted that everything outside the domed structure was left to its natural state. The air seemed pure so the dome gave off no harmful emissions. It also made no sound; there was not even a hint of a power current.

After twenty minutes, Picard estimated he had managed his way around a third of the dome. Nothing had changed although the sun had dried out more of the surroundings and wild animal calls could be heard. He guessed they had come out from their hiding spots. The captain wished it would be cooler since the sun was that much lower, but it was not to be.

"Captain Picard?"

He whirled about, instinctively reaching for the useless weapon, surprised someone managed to get this close to him. The captain looked up, for the figure measured at least seven and a half feet tall. She was a willowy figure, not much in the way of musculature, but it was a decidedly female form. Bipedal, she seemed to be not that different from the many humanoid variations he had encountered over his journeys. She wore a dark maroon dress that reached the tops of her covered feet, and the material was embroidered with filigree similar to the dome. There was a jeweled headpiece atop her long, red hair, which extended far down her back. He could not guess her age but the smooth face implied youth. She also had a scarlet tattoo of some design, from cheekbone to jawbone, on the right side only.

"I am Jean-Luc Picard," he finally replied.

"Welcome to our world," she said. Her voice was soft and gentle although it also sounded slightly distracted. She remained still as Picard studied her without trying to seem rude about it "Do you know why I have come?"

"Of course, we have been studying your activity." She didn't seem interested in saying more and also seemed content with remaining in place, hands clasped before her.

"Can you help me?"

Sunlight caught her dark eyes and made them twinkle a bit, which added merriment to the emotionless expression. Without answering, she turned and raised her left arm, revealing a plate of metal covering the forearm. It must have sent a signal, since a panel set within the base of the structure opened, one he would never have found given its engineering. The space within was well lit but the captain could not discern what was inside. The woman turned and began walking with a steady gait and he presumed he was to follow. Once Picard began moving, he noted that she made less sound than he did and that he could see her small footprints faintly amid the flora and fauna.

The moment Picard passed the threshold, the door began to seal itself and he caught the modulated, cooler air, for which he was thankful. She did not pause and continued down the corridor, which was devoid of decoration and was mostly silver and metallic. Again, he heard no noise and without markings, was fairly convinced he would be lost once he got deeper within the complex.

They walked on in silence for several minutes and Picard kept his counsel, studying her movements, caught up in the thrill of the moment. After all, he had studied die Iconians for many years, was considered Starfleet's expert on the long-gone race, and here was a chance to see them in all their glory. At least he hoped it was glory, since that would mean their culture was preserved, which in turn might let him solve the problem back home.

She finally turned left, going down a similar corridor, but after less than a minute extended her left arm once more and a door opened. Everything seemed well maintained given the utter silence of the mechanics.

The room he found himself in was immense, with a gigantic viewscreen directly before him. On the screen was the gateway found on Doral's flagship; he could see a Klingon sentry keeping guard. No one else was in sight. To his right was a bank of color-coded computer controls that seemed similar to the ones he found on Iconia some years earlier. To his left were long benches, and seated on them were five others, two more women and three men, all in similar maroon clothing. The cuts were different, as were the jeweled headpieces that all five wore atop their heads. Each also had tattoos of similar design, but theirs were purple, to her red.

"Captain Picard, you have arrived here when we sought to stay apart from galactic society," a woman on the bench said. Her voice was deeper than her colleague's, he noted.

"If you are truly the Iconians, then you know it is your technology we seek to control, to stop what others have begun," Picard explained.

"It has not been in use in a very long time," one of the men said.

"Impressive, is it not?" the woman beside him asked.

The first woman turned to him, her eyes showing concern. "What has gone wrong? The gateways function."

Picard cleared his throat and succinctly explained how the Petraw found the technology and sought to sell it to further their personal goal of extending their empire. They knew enough to turn on the entire network but not how to shut it down or even program direction. As a result, the unchecked access had resulted in widespread trouble, even loss of life.

"You have a bright people," the woman said. "We have studied you since the first gateway was activated in many hundreds of years. Your response has been, in the past, to blow up our technology."

The captain inwardly winced at the realization. The first gateway that had been discovered, on a Kalandan outpost a century ago, was destroyed by Spock on the Enterprise. The gateways found on Iconia, Alexandra's Planet, and Vandros IV had all been destroyed as well, by Picard, Elias Vaughn, and Benjamin Sisko, respectively. He could see their point.

"If you have studied us" he replied, "then you know such destruction is a last choice. We would much rather simply turn them off, preserving your legacy."

"Yes, we have seen that," one of the men said. He couldn't tell which since they seemed remarkably similar in appearance. At best, the cut of clothing was the only major difference he could tell. Men and women alike kept their hair long, tied neatly behind their heads.

"When the first gateway was used by these Petraw," the woman closest to Picard said, "it activated an alarm here. We had no idea what it meant - it has been so long since the last such alert - but we finally figured out that it meant our equipment was in use. Our leader at the time had to consult the computer records to find out what the alarm signified and what we were to do."

"We were formed," the final man on the bench said. He stood and gestured to the six Iconians in the room. "We are the Sentries, gathered when our equipment is in use. Our laws say we are to monitor the use, record the species that employ the gateways, and watch."

"Watch for what?" Picard asked.

"Watch for incursion," the man replied. "We left your space to be on our own, to pursue new interests and not to be bothered."

Picard frowned at the answer. The Iconians built their empire, invented technology far beyond their peers, and just walked away from it all? What could they be building now?

"The use of the entire network was something none of us had witnessed before," a woman said. "We were intrigued to see what would happen, all you people flitting here and there like insects drawn to nectar."

"Ships, peoples, things, it all moved back and forth with no one harnessing the equipment to its fullest potential," the woman beside her said.

"You've just watched people steal, people die?"

Picard was incredulous and found an anger building within him he wanted to avoid. The last thing he wanted was to be mad at the people he had longed to meet.

"Our laws say we are to watch, remain vigilant in case we were threatened," a man said. "We obey our laws here."

Picard approached them and no one moved. He glanced at the viewscreen and saw nothing had changed there either.

"I am sworn to protect my people and I need your help to do that. I need to know how to shut down the entire network."

The five seated Iconians looked from one to another, either silently communing or totally lost Picard prayed it wasn't the latter. He noted they looked to the woman to his right, who shifted her feet.

"The laws are vague about helping other species," she admitted.

"Are you six speaking for your people?" the captain demanded.

"We have very little need for governance," she said. "As it is, there have been gaps in the information flow. I think we can help you. While I should not speak for the others, I have personally been intrigued by how you and your ships help more than hurt."

The others remained silent and still, not agreeing or disagreeing with the opinion. Picard had expected something different from these people and wanted to keep his disappointment private.

"If I shut down the gateways, won't that enable you to return to your ... studies?"

"Yes it would," one man said, almost with glee.

"Then help me, please," he said.

The woman walked over to the console of controls, flipped four cobalt-blue buttons, and waited. Information streamed across a panel and she read for a moment, activated a control, and read some more. She seemed to be seeking information and while she did so, everyone, even Picard, remained quiet. There was an aloofness to these people that disturbed him. He was certain these six had never spoken to an off-worlder and his presence probably made them nervous or annoyed. He could not be sure at all.

"The computer records show we do not have the control mechanism here," she said matter-of-factly.

Picard was stunned but kept his silence. He wanted to force her to speak, to provide more information. After several tense moments, she began again.

"It seems our ancestors left the controlling device on the last world we visited before settling here. I wonder why." She paused, thoughtful, then continued. "The records refer to a Master Resonator, but I can access no details. We can send you to that world to seek the device."

Now she fell silent and the captain absorbed the disheartening news. He had come a great way to seek these people and they seemed far from enlightened, far from human in their interactions. Maybe they were closer to the title "demons of air and darkness" than he ever wanted to admit.

"Do the records say what I am to do with the device?"

She shook her head, but one of the other women spoke up. "The gateways are attuned to one another, so I have believed that the Resonator can be inserted into any control panel and close down the entire system."

Picard nodded at the logic behind having an emergency cutoff switch; the principle made sense. "And once I find the Master Resonator, how do I return to my ship?"

"Through a gateway, of course," said the standing woman. It seemed such a simple answer, really, and her look betrayed her surprise at the question. Picard once more felt anger at the situation.

"Why did you leave our region?"

The woman looked at Picard blankly and she turned to the others. A man stood, the one with the largest tattoo on his face. He spoke up to cover the distance. "Our presence threatened to tamper with the natural order on too many worlds. Such changes were not always welcome ones, as I understand it. A change of heart, a change of government... something made our people stop and reconsider our presence. As a result, we migrated across space, until we reached here. Since then, we have abandoned contact with other people, concentrating on studying realms our gateways could not reach."

In his mind's eye, Picard recalled the devastation he found on Iconia, and Data's analysis that the planet had been attacked. He wondered if these descendants knew of the attack and might actually not have had a choice but to leave. The notion of other realms also caught his attention. Could they have meant time and space - piercing the dimensions and centuries? The mind boggled at the notion of such power - especially in the hands of a people that did not display any moral compass.

"We are merely sentries, Captain Picard," the woman said. "We watch and protect our people. You have a charter that obligates you to protect others. I find that admirable and will help you find the item you need. But after that, we will once again merely watch."

The man spoke up again. "If you can, Captain, please do not destroy the remaining gateways. Our history has shown that our people have changed their minds now and then. I would hate to deprive us of the option of coming home."

Picard looked at them and realized that they were out of their element. Nothing prepared them for first contact, nothing taught them what to do on the day another race stepped foot on their planet. However great the Iconians were two hundred thousand years in the past, these people were far removed from them. Whatever realities they studied kept them from the one they lived in and they were clueless how to act.

His anger dissipated and all he felt was pity.

"I cannot waste time," Picard said. "If I am to seek this Master Resonator, then send me."

One of the other men rose and walked to the console. He labored over the controls, constantly consulting the screen, as if he were being fed directions. They seemed not to know their own equipment and tools, Picard noted.

Minutes ticked by and everyone remained in now uncomfortable silence. Finally, the man seemed done and turned back to the group. "I have found the world. Captain, I am not sure I speak for all, but for myself, I wish you luck. I, too, do not want to see these gateways destroyed. It might be nice to visit new-found ... friends."

At least one of the others seemed embarrassed by the sentiment and one remained stonily silent, but the others nodded in agreement A gateway formed in the room, with no apparent generating device. Merely a rip in reality, large enough for one man to enter - just like the gateway on Iconia that Picard had used a decade earlier. There was one location in sight: a lush, green world, not dissimilar to the one they stood on.

Picard nodded toward the Iconians, not sure of what to say. Of all the meetings he dreamed about, this was not among them. The thrill of meeting these idols was muted by the reality and it was a disappointment. And a lesson to be learned about idol worship.

Without a backward glance, Picard once more stepped into the gateway.

Chapter 2

"Message from Admiral Ross," Data said.

"On screen."

"Commander Riker, have we heard from the captain?" Clearly Ross was anxious for some good news.

"Not at all, sir." Riker wished for word from his friend, too, but at least was closer to the action. He could busy himself with monitoring forty-eight potentially lethal ships and maintaining a fragile alliance where the now long-gone Gorn had already betrayed them once.

"Damn" was all the admiral would say. After all, he remained on Earth and could merely absorb reports from the fleet, most of which were of a catastrophic nature. All in all, Riker was glad to be on the Enterprise.

"How go things back home," Riker asked, knowing full well that it would not be pleasant.

"We've achieved a holding action, which is better than being deluged," Ross admitted. While not quite a victory, it was the first positive news in too many hours. "We have some news from Deep Space 9. The Orions are officially out of the bidding, at least, and they managed to successfully evacuate Europa Nova. Unfortunately, it looks like Colonel Kira may have been lost."

Riker winced. He had only met the Bajoran woman a few times, but he'd been impressed with what he saw. The commander also knew that Ross had great respect for her.

"We're still waiting for word from the Excalibur and the Trident, but I can't get them to tell me everything."

"Captain Calhoun is known for his unorthodox methods," Riker said dryly.

"That's just it. I'm beginning to think that neither Calhoun nor Shelby are aboard their respective ships, but I can't get them to tell me where they are."

A moment was all it took for the realization to hit the first officer. "You think they entered a gateway and are lost, don't you?"

Ross's silence confirmed the worst for Riker. Before either could speak, Lieutenant Vale interrupted. "There's a message from Desan coming in on the other channel."

"Back to your duty, Commander," Ross said, and the screen blinked once and his hangdog look was replaced by the more attractive visage of the Romulan commander.

"How can I help you, Commander?" Riker asked, leaning back in the command chair. It would never be comfortable, he realized. Not with his friend missing in action.

"Why are we rigging a simultaneous connection among all the Petraw vessels?"

Riker blinked. She looked unhappy about the matter and he matched her mood. It wasn't something he had assigned.

"News to me," Riker began, when he heard the turbolift doors slide open. Before he could turn around, the heavy footsteps were a clear signal.

"Are we not to be consulted?" thundered Captain Grekor, leader of the Klingon delegation.

"Listen to me, both of you, I didn't order anything of the sort and we're going to take a moment and figure this out. Commander, tell me what you know."

"We received a Starfleet communique informing us to participate in rigging all forty-eight ships with a single link, to remain on an open channel. The message gave us an hour to comply."

Riker nodded and looked at the very unhappy Grekor, who nodded in agreement with the message. His stance showed he was pretty angry, feet firmly planted deep into the bridge's carpet, arms crossed before his chest, which rose and fell quickly.

"Lieutenant, did we issue such a order?"

Vale scanned one end of the tactical station to the other before responding. Of course, she found nothing.

"Raise Captain Brisbayne, please," Riker said, trying to sound polite, but betraying the anger in his tone.

Carter Brisbayne, captain of the wounded starship Mercury, appeared on the screen after a matter of moments. He seemed restless, like everyone else, and he had every right to be. On approaching the Petraw ships, they took heavy fire and were left limping in space, possibly irreparable.

"Did you issue an order, Captain?"

He stiffened at Riker's tone, and directed himself at the camera. "God damn right I did, Commander," he replied.

"Captain Picard left me in command of this group, Captain, and with all due respect, I ask that you honor those wishes."

"You can have this 'fleet,' but we are not going to get caught with our pants down."

Riker shifted in the chair, as it seemed to get more uncomfortable by the minute. "Explain."

"By maintaining an open link, we can avoid sabotage and surprise," the older captain said. "If just one thing goes amiss on one ship, we all know immediately - or if one ship cuts the signal, we can spot the problem. I'm not one for waiting."

Riker stroked his stubbly chin and saw that the explanation, while sensible, did not mollify the Klingon. He couldn't easily let Brisbayne off the hook.

"Everyone is here voluntarily, Captain," Riker said evenly. "We do not hand out orders while at yellow alert. If you want to make further useful suggestions, we must all be consulted. Riker out."

The first officer rose to address Grekor, who remained immobile. It was a good sign that he came alone; there would be no "honor" to defend before his own crew. Riker had the advantage but didn't feel the need to press it.

"He acted on his own authority, but the thinking is sound. I suggest we complete the task, backing up the crew we have on the Petraw ships. Such a breach of protocol won't happen again, Captain. You have my word on it."

The rotund Klingon nodded and finally moved, turning to head back to the lift. "I will hold you to it, Commander."

"As will I," Desan added, cutting the signal.

Once the Klingon left the bridge, Riker settled down once more and felt a fresh ache in his shoulders.

***

The good news was there was no dampening field on the verdant planet. The bad news was nothing technological was showing up on the screen. Picard completed several full-circle turns before shutting down the tricorder and pocketing it.

There were plenty of life signs. The planet was teeming with humanoid life, birds, animals, and insects. No electronic signals were detected, no radio communications, nothing to imply anything more than primitive development. As a result, Picard was faced with the full impact of noninterference directives. He had to some-bow find the device, which failed to register in the vicinity of the gateway, and do so in a manner that prevented the culture he was to find from being altered.

He believed in the Prime Directive, absolutely. It was just coming into play at a damned inconvenient time.

Picard exhaled for a moment, clearing his mind and preparing to plot a course of action. As he inhaled, and concentrated, he detected the faint aroma of cooking meat. First, it told him there were intelligent people nearby, which was a start. Second, it provided a direction. Finally, it triggered a rumble in his stomach, reminding him that he needed to find food for himself or he would jeopardize the mission by starving to death. He set out from the cluster of trees he had been standing in, which provided comfortable shade. Like the new Iconian homeworld, this planet promised plenty of sunshine and warmth, perhaps too warm for his full uniform. He unzipped the jacket to let the cooler air caress his body.

A well-worn path from the trees indicated that people used this area. It made sense that there would be an encampment of some sort nearby. He noted that the planet must have had lighter gravity than Earth, as each step seemed to carry him farther than expected. Noting the size and shape of the trees and plants, he was proven correct, mentally filing the information away.

His trail led him to the forest's edge, which opened up to a small village. There were thatched homes, made from sturdy thin wood. Each structure seemed tall and wide, probably two stories, and they were clustered in a traditional block pattern, with all paths leading to a central square. He concluded that there was no chance of finding the Resonator without dealing with some of the planet's inhabitants, so he had to start somewhere.

And the cooking food smelled so good.

Before entering the village, Picard stopped to study the people, withdrawing the tricorder once more to take comparative readings. Like the Iconians, they were tall, thin folk. Their skin was copper-colored, darkened by the sun. Each wore what appeared to be cured animal skins for clothing and all carried walking sticks topped with ornate carvings. Around their waists were thick, wide belts that seemed to have pockets bulging with ... well, he could not tell from the distance. The men seemed to all sport shaggy beards while every woman he spotted had hair pulled back in a ponytail. The sheer uniformity of their appearance was remarkable to the captain.

The tricorder also told him one important detail: the food being cooked was safe for a human to eat.

One of the men caught a glimpse of Picard and shouted out a cry of some sort. Seven other men rushed to his side and they looked at Picard, alone and feeling naked on the path. He hoped the Universal Translator would unlock their language quickly, but of course it needed a sample to work with. Wisely, he chose to stand his ground rather than appear threatening to the men. The last thing he wanted was to be clubbed to death by a mob.

With long strides, the men hurried toward the captain, who remained in place, knowing full well that he was likely to be poked and prodded, tested before anyone let down their guard. He could smell the men before they arrived, dirty and smoky, but that made sense given their apparent lifestyle. None made threatening moves, which pleased him. As they got closer, they began spreading out, and within moments the eight men who stared with wide-eyed wonder circled Picard.

The one who'd spotted him nodded to the others and they all reached to a pocket in the rear of their belts. All removed what was remarkably a weapon of sophisticated design. Picard could see the refined metal in their hands, recognizing the pistol design despite the men holding the weapons at right angles to the proper manner. It seemed more ceremonial than anything else, but not taking chances, Picard raised his hands to shoulder height. To his surprise, the men imitated the move.

Picard next lowered his arms and once again, men imitated the move. Before he could try something else, the men once more held out the weapons at the silly angle. Picard slowly reached for his phaser and, adjusting it to imitate then- handling of the pistols, held out the phaser, turning in a slow circle so all the men could see the action. They made comprehending noises but it didn't sound like language. He thought back on his training and spoke out. His first word was "hello." They all stared at him.

After a moment, the men tried to repeat the word and failed miserably. Once again, Picard said "hello" and they tried to repeat the sound, improving on the second chance. They began to look expectantly at the captain, who was hoping they would say something to him next. Instead, the silence grew, so he tried again. Holstering the phaser, Picard pointed to himself and said his last name.

The men pointed to themselves and repeated the word. They seemed remarkably pleased with their progress.

One man, though, turned to another and said something that was clearly in a language. Picard made minute steps toward them, hoping it didn't appear as a threat. Instead, he was trying to make certain the translator picked up the words to begin processing. Another two began to whisper and before long, everyone was whispering, so all the captain heard was gibberish.

Finally, one of the men said loudly, "Hello!" The captain looked directly at him and smiled. The others took turns calling out the name and he responded to each in kind. It might not have been translating according to the manual, but they were making progress.

The circle broke and the leader gestured toward the village, shouting his name while one of the others bellowed back, "Hello!" The nine moved toward the buildings as more curious men and women filled the center, where the meat had continued to cook. Along the way, Picard tried to catch snippets of conversation back and forth and hoped the translations would start soon. Very soon.

On his way toward the center, he took time to notice the decorations on the buildings and he came to realize each home had some piece of sophisticated technology as a door hanging, more decorative than anything else. Clearly, there had been a superior civilization on this planet, but something had happened, and, darkly, he fretted over the Iconians' role in the planet's past.

Children stood before their parents and looked in amazement at Picard, who was shorter and stockier than these people. Some gestured to one another and patted their heads, clearly remarking on his bald scalp compared with their thick manes. The men and women commingled, sharing comments and unashamedly staring at the newcomer.

"... smarhsgehb . .. funny-looking ..."

Finally, the translator began working and he smirked at the timing involved. People looked up in amazement as they heard the electronic device at work.

"Greetings," the captain said, a smile on his face. He tried to look as friendly as possible. "I am Picard and I have come from a long way away."

The man he presumed to be the village leader came toward him, a huge grin on his face. "Picard! We welcome you!"

"It has taken me a little time to learn your language, but I am now able to speak with you all," the captain explained.

"Excellent. I am Hamish, elder of the village."

"I have come from far away seeking a special item. A very old item."

Hamish, definitely among the older ones in the village as witnessed by the almost white hair, looked thoughtful. He reached once more behind his back and withdrew the weapon. "Something like this perhaps?"

Picard shook his head. "No, Hamish. I cannot tell you what it is, but I do know it is a singular item while it seems all your men have that."

He shook his head and laughed, a deep-throated laugh, which was pleasing to the ear. "No worry, Picard. We all have these because they were given to us by our fathers. It is our symbol of welcome and while yours is different, it clearly is similar. I see yours looks newer and cleaner. We have lost count of the generations these have remained in the village."

"Why do you seek this object?" asked a woman from his right side.

"I have many people in trouble at home, and ones wiser than I tell me it will help." Not at all a lie and boiled down enough to be clear to these pleasant folk.

"Wiser than you?" This from a young girl, behind Hamish.

"My daughter Hemma," he said by way of introduction.

"Yes, Hemma," Picard replied. "I knew no other way to help my people than to ask for the help of those who built the item I seek. It is the way of my people, to ask for help when we must. We in turn offer help to those who ask."

"Picard, are you from the west?"

The captain stared at the old man. Truthfully, his path led west, but he was not of the west and he couldn't begin to imagine what the question implied. His answer could turn them against him if his words were chosen poorly.

"My travels have taken me in all directions," he answered a moment later.

Hamish laughed once more and stepped closer to Picard, who noticed the stench of dried sweat. "As I expected. Young Gods on their ordeal must have traveled the world to gain their granita." Picard couldn't even begin to imagine what a granita implied but being called a young god set off internal warning bells. He'd been mistaken for a god once before by a low-tech culture, and it was not an experience he was eager to relive - for his sake, or for the sake of these good people.

Several other old men approached Hamish and they clustered, whispering back and forth. Picard took the opportunity to study more of the village and its inhabitants. Everyone seemed healthy, well fed, and protected. However they developed, he knew his presence must not change that status quo. He seemed not to frighten the children, which pleased him. While he might be uncomfortable around them, he never wanted to chase them away. Many stayed close to adults, family members most likely, and just studied him, as he studied them. A few smiled, while most kept their opinions to themselves.

"Picard," Hamish called, regaining the captain's attention. "If you seek things closer to our ceremonial welcome tools, then we think you must travel to the City. It is but three days' walk from here, and must be part of your path. It is filled with many unknown things and it may hold your heart's desire."

Poetic, he mused, but accurate. There was nothing he wanted more than to find the Resonator and return to the Enterprise. He sniffed and then realized there was one more thing he desired: dinner.

"Very well," he said. "I shall start at sunrise if you would be so kind as to provide me with directions."

Hamish smiled and began walking toward the fire. The other men followed and slowly the other members of the village began to head for the center. Most talked and laughed among themselves, and Picard seemed uncertain of what he might have missed.

"Come, Picard," he called as he stopped before the huge pit, where some animal roasted on a spit. "Even gods must eat, eh? You'll eat and sleep and eat once more, then begin the final part of your journey."

With that, the elder turned to the fire, grabbed a long metallic item, and poked roughly at the meat. It hissed as juices dribbled from the scored carcass into the flames. Children had gathered up plates that seemed formed from day. along with short, wide cups. They walked past the fire and to long tables, setting places as they passed. A few sang a song he was too far away to translate but he found the melody pleasing.

Three men hefted the meat off the fire and carried it to a small hut, where the meat was swiftly carved and placed on a large earthen slab, the color of rust. They, too, joked among themselves, ignoring Picard, who just watched.

Finally, a girl left her mother's side and walked over to the captain and looked up at him. He estimated her age to be five or six, but she was already tall compared with human children. Her hair was past her shoulders but nowhere near as long as the mature women in the group. Unlike the women, her belt was not stuffed with tools but with a round plastic item and some bright stones. With a hand gesture, she indicated he was to follow her and happily he did. There was no awe in her, as if young gods visited the villages regularly. He wouldn't ask her, not before they ate, and he wasn't sure if he should. This might be one of those times ignorance was bliss and there was less likelihood of crossing the Prime Directive.

She led him to the smallest of the tables, where the older women already sat. He was placed between two whose hair had long since stopped shining in the sun but showed age. They seemed pleased to have him with them, so he smiled and nodded to them all.

"Picard is it?" the woman to his right asked.

"Yes," he answered.