He nodded, then thumbed the phaser to “disintegrate,” and fired once. The beam struck her and, in a haze of light, she discorporated.

  Moke looked with wonder at the phaser, and then to Calhoun. He pointed to the weapon and said, “Is she in there now?”

  Calhoun suppressed the urge to laugh. This was, after all, a sad moment, not one that suggested levity, no matter how unintentionally funny the boy’s question had been. “No, Moke . . . she’s not in here. She’s . . .” He paused and then said, “She’s with Kolk’r now.”

  He mulled this over and said nothing. Calhoun hoped that he would understand, although the truth was that Calhoun was much older than Moke and there were still quite a few things that he himself didn’t understand . . . and quite likely never would. Then, tentatively, and even a little fearfully, Moke asked, “Are you going to use that . . . to send me to be with Kolk’r and Ma, too?”

  Calhoun couldn’t help but think it was the saddest question he had ever heard anyone pose in his entire life. He shook his head. “No, Moke. No, hopefully it’s going to be a long, long time before you go visit with, uhm . . . Kolk’r.”

  “So what’s going to happen to me?”

  “Well . . .” Calhoun took a deep breath. “I figured you would come with me. I’ll take you home. My home.”

  Moke looked skyward. “Is it . . . up there?” When Calhoun nodded, Moke asked, “Is it scary?”

  “It can be,” Calhoun said honestly. “But then again, there’s scary things everywhere. And it can be very exciting as well. I think you’ll like it.”

  For a very, very long time, Moke stared at him . . . so long that Calhoun started to wonder if something was wrong. And finally, Moke said to him, “Are you my father?”

  And Calhoun gave the only response that he could:

  “I am now.”

  He considered that a moment, and then nodded. “Can I call you ‘Dad’?” he asked.

  “If you would like to. Would you like to?” Moke nodded. “All right. That would be fine.”

  “Dad . . . ?”

  “Yes, Moke.”

  “Did you love Ma?”

  He smiled sadly. “I could have, given time . . . and different circumstances. Yes, I could have loved her very much. But I do love someone . . . who is very much like her. Come. I’ll take you to meet her.”

  And moments later, the runabout lifted off the surface of Yakaba, never to return, while the stray atoms of Moke’s mother flitted about, forever a part of the atmosphere that she had once joyfully manipulated.

  EXCALIBUR

  THE OFFICIAL TRANSFER of the captaincy of the Exeter from Shelby to Garbeck went smoothly enough. On the bridge of that ship, Shelby said—as the rest of the crew looked on—“I’m officially turning her over to you, Captain. Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” replied Garbeck and—in one of the very, very few instances in Starfleet where it was still customary—she saluted. Shelby snapped off a sharp return of the salute, which was fairly impressive, considering how rarely she made one. Then Shelby went down to the transporter room, where Ensign Chris Kennedy waited to beam her over to her new command.

  When she arrived on Excalibur, they were all waiting for her.

  There, in the main reception hall, the entire crew had assembled. Burgoyne and Selar were there, and to Shelby’s complete astonishment, their infant son, Xyon, was already standing and clutching his mother’s pant leg. Burgoyne was looking on proudly. Soleta was also there, looking a bit more—haggard, somehow, although Shelby might have been imagining it. Zak Kebron was there, and Shelby had forgotten how incredibly massive the Brikar was. Nearby was Mark McHenry, engaged in a relaxed chat with Robin Lefler. Again, it might have been Shelby’s imagination, but she felt as if Kebron was—every so often—casting suspicious glances in McHenry’s direction. She had no idea why that would be the case, though. Morgan Lefler was there as well, chatting with Jean-Luc Picard and Admiral Jellico. Picard was just staring at her, in what could only be considered polite frustration, as if he knew her from someplace but couldn’t quite figure out where that might be. Also present were Si Cwan and Kalinda. Apparently, Lefler had it pegged exactly right. They had found out, and they had come on their own. She watched as Si Cwan walked straight up to Kebron. The two of them had historically had very little patience with one another, but this time, when Cwan tapped his heart and head in sequence and bowed slightly—a traditional Thallonian greeting of respect—Kebron actually returned the gesture in as polite a manner as he could. It almost gave Shelby hope for the future.

  A future . . . without Calhoun.

  God, she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.

  “You’re not.”

  She turned and saw Kat Mueller standing there, hands draped behind her back. Mueller, former head of the Excalibur’s night-side, was a statuesque German woman with a gravely humorous attitude and a fencing scar that somehow, comfortingly, reminded Shelby of Mac.

  “I’m not what?” inquired Shelby.

  “Not making a mistake.”

  Shelby blinked in surprise. “How the hell did you know I was thinking that?”

  “That’s my job as first officer of the Excalibur.To know what you’re thinking, and then tell you when you’re wrong.”

  “How about when I’m right?”

  “If you need me to tell you that, you’ve no business being captain.”

  Shelby grinned. “You know what, Kat? I think making you my first officer is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

  “You see? You don’t need me to tell you you’re right about that.”

  Picard approached Shelby then and said softly, “I don’t mean to intrude on a captain’s privilege, Captain Shelby . . . but we might want to consider moving to the bridge to begin the actual ceremony.”

  “An excellent idea, Captain.”

  “And, if I may say so . . . I still believe you’re making a mistake,” Picard informed her. “If anyone is to speak on behalf of Calhoun and dedicate this ship to him and his spirt, it should be you.”

  “Perhaps. But you’ve got the better speaking voice.”

  Picard smiled. “How can I argue with that?”

  On the way up to the bridge, walking the halls, Shelby saw familiar face after familiar face. Each person smiled and greeted her with a respectful, pleasant, “Captain.” She sighed inwardly and couldn’t get away from thinking, If only Mac had lived to see this.

  Shelby was the first to step out of the turbolift. She looked around the bridge in wonder. Even though she had never set foot on it before, somehow—amazingly—she felt as if she’d come home. The others stepped out behind her, or came in a subsequent lift. Even though she had been speaking to all of them downstairs, she still greeted them by name. Finally, when they were all assembled, she said, “Well . . . here we are again.” This drew a polite laugh, and then she continued, “It’s good to see you all. Very good. The last time we were together, we were in a bar, where I was busy telling you that doing what we’re about to do was an extremely bad idea . . . because we couldn’t possibly re-create the atmosphere and sense of family that Mackenzie Calhoun created for this vessel. Since then, well . . . it’s been a busy few months for me. And for Lieutenant Lefler, as I’m sure you’ve all heard by now.” There were nods from all around. “And I’m sure the rest of you have likewise had very busy, interesting, and even exciting experiences in the intervening months.”

  The other members of the command crew looked around at one another.

  “Nope. Been pretty quiet,” said Burgoyne.

  “Nothing extraordinary,” affirmed Doctor Selar.

  Soleta, her face a mask, said, “It was . . . actually quite dull.”

  “I don’t even remember what I did,” said McHenry.

  “I slept,” Kebron said.

  Slowly, she looked around at them, and then said, “Well . . . I’m sure that you could all remember if you put your minds to it. But right now, I think we’d . . . like to work on remembering something—or should I say, someone—else. Captain Picard?”

  “Well . . . Captain Shelby,” Picard smiled affably, straightening his jacket as he stepped to the center of the bridge. He placed his hands on the back of the command chair. “I thought you were doing fine, to be honest, but if you really want me to speak, well . . . who am I to refuse a fellow captain’s request?” He cleared his throat.

  “I suppose Captain Shelby asked me to speak . . . to handle the dedication . . . because I ‘discovered’ Mackenzie Calhoun, as it were. I would like to tell you that I knew he was destined for greatness in Starfleet the first time I saw him, but that would be far from the truth. What I saw was a young, raw, untrained talent. What I sensed . . . what I hoped . . . was that he would go places, given the opportunities. And he did.

  “But the thing that was most remarkable about Mac . . . as we liked to call him . . . was not simply that he was given opportunities, but he also took them. And not just took them, either. He practically grabbed them between his teeth and held onto them, savoring every opportunity as if it was his last.

  “There are so many positive things to say about Mac. To speak of his bravery . . . his innovation . . . his leadership . . . his grace under pressure . . . his ability to make us think, to question, and even . . . dare I say it . . . to get under our skin from time to time.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Shelby, and there was gentle laughter, but she felt her eyes misting up, and she quickly wiped it away.

  “There was so much that he wanted to accomplish, and it is nothing short of tragic that his life was cut short the way it was. But the manner in which he died . . . was the manner in which he lived. Sacrificing himself, saving his crew, putting consideration for everyone else ahead of himself. And attaining superhuman achievement in doing so. In five minutes . . . five minutes . . . he managed to get the entire crew into escape pods. It’s phenomenal, almost supernatural.”

  Shelby noticed, out of the corner of her eye, McHenry shifting his feet, looking slightly uncomfortable. She wondered if he needed new boots.

  “The point is . . . where Mackenzie Calhoun was concerned, nothing was impossible. And it is that spirit of daring . . . of determination . . . of a willingness to defy all odds to get the job done . . . that we dedicate this ship, this fine crew . . . and this command.”

  There was a round of applause from everyone there as Picard, standing behind the command chair, swiveled it around to face Shelby, so that she could take her seat.

  And then the door to the captain’s ready room hissed open. Shelby’s back was to it, but she saw the look of pure shock in Picard’s eyes, and before she could turn, she heard a familiar voice say in a slow drawl . . .

  “All right, Picard. Take your damned hands off my chair.”

  CALHOUN

  MOKE RUBBED HIS EYES as he emerged from the sleeping area in the back of the runabout. He didn’t even give the stars out the viewport a glance. Calhoun considered this a bit amusing. When they had first launched, the boy had been practically glued to the front viewport, amazed at the sights, gasping at the view. “So many,” he’d kept whispering. Seeing the glories of outer space through the eyes of a child served to remind Calhoun of just how truly wondrous a place the void could be.

  But by this point in the journey back to Federation space, Moke had become so accustomed to the view that he barely noticed it anymore. Grozit, the kid’s adaptable, Calhoun thought.

  What Moke did notice was a small twinkle of excitement in Calhoun’s eye. “What’s happened, Dad?” he asked.

  “How do you know something’s ‘happened’?”

  “I don’t, for sure. But you just kinda look . . . I dunno . . . like you heard something funny.”

  “Amazingly perceptive for one so young,” Calhoun admitted. “Moke . . . remember how I said that, before I came to your world . . . I lived in another place . . .”

  “A ship. Like this one, only much, much bigger,” Moke said quickly. The lad was quick, Calhoun had to give him that. He had been uncertain about trying to explain the world—the universe— in which he resided to a boy who came from a planet that had little to no concept of such things. But the boy had comprehended everything Calhoun had told him, or at least had been able to distill it to enough of an essence that he could follow and accept it.

  “Yes, that’s right. And do you remember the ship’s name?”

  “Excalber . . .”

  “Close. Ex-cal-uh-bur,” he said, one syllable at a time, and Moke mouthed each with him.

  “And the Ex . . . calibur blowed up . . . ?”

  “Oh, yes. It blowed up rather impressively. The thing is, Moke, I’ve just picked up over general news broadcasts on the ether . . . they’ve built a new one. Or, at least, they’ve taken a ship that they were close to completing already and given it the name of my ship. And here’s the great thing: They’re going to be officially christening it in a Starfleet drydock in about two days.”

  “Why is that a great thing?”

  “Because,” Calhoun said with puckish satisfaction, “I think it would only be polite of me to stop by and say hello.”

  “But you said that everybody thought you were dead.”

  “That’s right,” nodded Calhoun. A glint of wicked amusement shone in his purple eyes. “Remind me, Moke, when we have a free moment, to give you a copy of a story written many, many years ago. It’s called Tom Sawyer . . .”

  EXCALIBUR

  “I KNEW IT!” SAID JELLICO in wonderment.

  Shelby felt as if the muscles had gone dead in her legs. Her gaze was riveted on the man who was standing in the door of the ready room. He had a scraggly beard reaching around the edges of his chin, there were a few more streaks of gray in his hair, and his skin was darker than she remembered. He wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform, but instead some sort of . . . of getup that looked more appropriate to a primitive society. Most bizarre of all, there was a small boy standing behind him, dressed in similar garb.

  He couldn’t be here . . . looking like that . . . in this place, at this time . . . it simply wasn’t possible . . .

  Except, there he was . . .

  No one said anything after Jellico’s stunned outburst. Every eye was on Shelby, who was as shocked as anyone else. Slowly she walked toward him, amazed that she was able to get her legs to function at all. She drew to within a foot of him, afraid to say anything, afraid of breaking the moment, afraid of it all popping like a soap bubble.

  He spoke to her.

  “Marry me,” he said.

  She drew back a fist and hit him so hard in the face that it almost knocked him off his feet. He staggered against the door frame, holding his chin in surprise.

  “Who the hell are you,” she demanded irately, “and what have you done with Mackenzie Calhoun?!?” She stared at the boy behind him, and pointed. “And who the hell is that?!”

  Intimidated but undaunted, the boy said quietly, “I’m Moke. I’m his son.”

  Dead silence. Finally, it was Kebron who spoke.

  “Busy six months,” he said.

  There had been questions, of course, dozens of questions, flying at him from all sides. There had been medical probes and careful examinations. He had been subjected to a truth scan, and even more questions, and finally . . . finally . . .

  It came down to the two of them.

  Calhoun and Shelby, in sickbay, of all places, while he pulled on his shirt after what had seemed the umpteenth examination. He had that same damned smile on his face, undimmed by all that had happened. “Do you like the beard?” he asked, stroking it.

  She stared at him. Just stared at him.

  “Do I take that as a no?”

  “You’re here.” She said it in wonderment. “You’re . . . really here.”

  “Yes. I really am.”

  “How the hell did you get into the ready room? How did you get aboard the ship at all, and get all the way up there, all without anyone seeing you?”

  “A stolen ship with a personal transporter and a rather innovative disguise program to deceive sensors. I’ve already turned it over to Starfleet R&D. They were most interested in it, as you can well imagine.”

  She was shaking her head. “You couldn’t let me do it, could you? Couldn’t let me take over the Excalibur. After all the resistance to the idea, after all the complaining about coming back . . . you still had to be in charge of this ship.”

  “What can I say? Picard was right. It gets in your blood.”

  “It’s my ship now.”

  “I want it back,” he said simply.

  She laughed at that. “And what am I supposed to do? Go back to being first officer, after being a captain? Take a step back in rank?”

  “Is that what you’re concerned about?” Calhoun, who was usually the most unflappable of men, looked and sounded surprised. “Your career?”

  “I don’t know, Mac! I mean . . . I’d barely adjusted to you being dead, and you’re back! And you’re asking me to marry you! How the hell am I supposed to react to that?”

  “I can’t tell you how to react. I can only ask you.”

  “You just asked me to be dramatic.”

  “No. I asked you because I almost died . . . and because I spent the past months with a good, honest, and loving woman, and an entire life that I could have embraced wholeheartedly, but didn’t, because all I could think about was you. And because I’ve come to the realization that dying doesn’t particularly frighten me. I’ve lived with death, seen so much of it, that it holds no terror for me. I won’t embrace it, but I won’t fear it. But the only thing I’m afraid of is living without making a commitment to you for everyone to see. So that everyone—including you and I—know that, wherever we go, whatever happens . . . we’ll have each other to come back to. You see, Eppy? That’s all it’ll take. We just have to make a solemn promise always to come back to each other, and if we do that, we can live forever, because neither of us would break a solemn promise.”