Reap the Whirlwind

One by one he had freed the Kollotaan from the First Conduit, diminishing its power, sapping the Shedai of strength. Only one of the Kollotaan remained in thrall, twitching and flailing weakly in the machine’s dark fires.

The Wanderer hurled herself into another attack. All her strength, all her anger, she made into a thrust of pure will, hoping to inflict enough damage to merit the Apostate’s notice.

He deflected her with a thought. His will was unstoppable, diabolical in its mastery, and freighted with the weight of ancient grudges beyond her ken.

Be still, whelp, he taunted. The great work will not be disrupted by one such as you.

Though her essence lay crushed and broken before him, she could not relent. You have betrayed us. Betrayed our Second Age.

She jabbed at him with the very core of her being.

He rebuffed her casually. A noncorporeal avatar of his deepest, most primitive aggressive energies thrashed her into meek submission. Unlike her own dwindling reserves of power, his seemed limitless.

Why? she pleaded, unable to comprehend his actions. The Telinaruul ca

As his attention turned fully upon her, she felt the truly awesome nature of his power, which for the first time in aeons was unsuppressed by the Maker. Paralyzed before him, all she could do was listen.

I counseled a clean end to our reign. Destroy the Conduits, I implored you all—unmake the First World, extinguish all our fires and go quietly into the final night. None of you listened. So obsessed with retaining power, none of you asked if you still had the right to wield it. You couldn’t see that power is just like matter—an illusion.

Hues of regret and mourning colored his thought-line. Even we ca

Sickly greenish contempt radiated between her words. Perhaps you are ready to die, ancient one. I am not. Will you condemn me to oblivion at your side?

He drew her attention to the First Conduit by making it glow with a gentle throb of power. One path remains open, he explained. In a moment I will release this creature back to his own kind, and the road will be closed. You must choose: Stay and continue your futile attempts at retribution…or flee and live.

She did not trust him. The Maker had warned all the Shedai for aeons that the Apostate was a deceiver. If he closed the Conduit cha

Now it was his turn to reply with utter contempt and disdain. I was ancient before you had essence. I was Serrataal before you had form. You are unworthy of my wrath.

The First Conduit hummed with the muted Song of the Shedai. Trapped within, its lone Voice cried out for death or freedom.

Choose, he adjured her.

She shed the last vestiges of her corporeal avatar and prepared her essence for the transit. At the threshold of departure, she dared to ask him one final time, Why?

He answered in placid hues and without malice. In the begi

With bitter resignation, the Wanderer projected herself through the First Conduit and tripped across a wrinkle in space-time to safety—and exile.

The Rocinante climbed back into orbit under the guidance of its guest copilot, Clark Terrell of the Sagittarius. Qui

“How are Tim and Vanessa?” asked Terrell.

Qui

“Either that or the Klingons are jamming us,” Terrell said.

Shaking his head to dismiss the notion, Qui

His ship lurched to a sudden halt. Inertia pi

The ship-to-ship cha

Qui

“The Klingons have locked a tractor beam onto the Rocinante,” Sorak reported from his jury-rigged console.

Captain Nassir hung his head with disappointment. He had hoped that the capture of his own vessel might distract the Klingons long enough to permit the small tramp freighter to escape. Apparently, the Klingons had made important strides in sensor-jamming, enough to catch Mr. Qui

The bridge portal slid open with a soft hiss. Razka entered with an open satchel slung across his torso and resting at his left hip. As soon as he was inside the door, he handed a phaser and a spare power cell to Sorak, who accepted them and checked the weapon’s settings. “The top-deck crew is armed and ready to repel boarders, Captain,” Razka said.

“Very good, Chief,” Nassir said, nodding his thanks as Razka handed him a phaser. As the Saurian scout continued around the bridge handing out weapons, Nassir asked McLellan, “Status of the Klingon ship?”

McLellan checked her console. “Still reeling us in, sir,” she said, pocketing the phaser that Razka handed to her. “Their shields are still up.”

“Not that it matters,” Nassir said. “We overloaded our phasers fending off the Shedai.” A hopeful thought occurred to him. “Any chance the Rocinante’s armed?”

The slender brunette shook her head. “No, sir.”

Xiong received his phaser as zh’Firro set hers on her lap. Having finished dispersing sidearms to the crew, Razka closed his satchel and drew a fearsome-looking knife from a sheath on his belt. He tested its gleaming edge with one delicate, bulbous green fingertip. “Ready to give the Klingons a warm welcome, Captain.”

Nassir checked his own phaser and verified that it was set for heavy stun. The use of a higher, potentially lethal setting was u

He swallowed hard. The dryness in his throat was painful, and nervousness stirred up the acid in his gut. Never too old to be scared, the middle-aged Deltan mused. He tightened his grip on his phaser and prepared to face the inevitable.