Tarik woke up surrounded by blinding white light. This must be the afterlife. At least it's not fire and brimstone!
You are very much alive, Tarik. We saved you at the point of death.
"Where...where am I?"
You are in the realm of the Preservers. You have been Chosen.
"Chosen for what?"
To join us. You also shall be one of our Guardians. Your strength of character throughout your life, your willingness to show mercy to your enemy, and your willingness to sacrifice your life for others demonstrates that you are worthy of the duty and the honor.
"The bomb..."
The people of Mullura are safe from outside threat. Life continues on Mullura.
Tarik stopped for a moment. Was this the prophecy Kassia received?
The prophecy of your wife is valid. This is what she was bound from telling you. You are needed by the Preservers.
"To be a Guardian. What exactly am I guarding?"
Another image appeared. It was an entity Tarik had seen earlier -- last Christmas, in fact.
"Welcome, friend!" the entity Tarik had last seen as Santa Claus said. He looked the same, but sounded nothing at all like the Earth legend. There was nothing jolly about this old man. "You're just in time!"
"For what?"
"To join us! I am a Guardian, as are you now. We seek out the very best of every race and, when their situation grows hopeless, we elevate them. From there they take on those forces with which mortal beings are incapable of dealing."
Tarik thought briefly to the time Kalimar had attacked the station. "Yes, him too," Santa told him. "Our numbers haven't been large enough to confront him directly just yet, but we are building our strength. Were it not for us guiding the actions of mortals, he and his kind would have enslaved the galaxy long ago."
"How do I know you're really the good guys?"
"For that, you must rely upon faith."
"So are you gods?"
Santa laughed. "Oh, we're nowhere near that level. We have our own gods -- the ones we started with in our previous lives usually. Think of us more as a higher stage of evolution. Some races are evolving faster than others. We get humans and Bajorans regularly, Vulcans less so -- conservative lot, they are. You're the first Romulan we've seen in a very long time, but there have been others. Not too many Klingons yet, but their day is coming."
A truly evil entity would have tried to convince me of its godhood at this point. "So what do I need to do?" Tarik asked. "How about my family?"
"Your family will continue to prosper. There will be sadness, then hope. Tiyanna will not marry Vanderkamp, as was feared -- that timeline split off the moment she became capable of out-of-body travel. Instead, she'll have a very good man for a husband. In fact, you already know him:"
An image appeared out of thin air: a grown Tiyanna wearing a white toga and standing with an older version of Charles Beckham. Kassia, looking a little older, stood behind them.
Well I'll be damned! "Beckham looks up to you as a father, the one he never really had. He never could tell you because that would be beyond the bounds of military decorum. As for Tiyanna, she knew he was the one when she sensed his mental energy. They aren't all that far apart in age, relatively speaking, and her great lifespan makes that even less important. Your grandchildren -- and there will be many -- are in good hands."
"And Kassia?"
"In time, her heart will heal, and she will find someone new. But you will always hold her heart like no other. The man she marries when she does remarry will understand and treat her with the compassion she deserves. Your son by her will have a strong but loving father -- your grandfather will also still be with them for many years to come."
"My son?"
"You'll have to see for yourself. He has yet to quicken in the womb. We can only prophesy about those currently living, not those yet to be born. The outstanding men and women you've drawn to your inner circle in life will ensure that he has a proper moral and ethical grounding."
"So I'll be able to observe them? To see how they're doing?"
"You can, but will you want to? Tarik, I watched my wife grow old and die centuries ago, as if it weren't painful enough to watch her take another husband after my departure. I watched my children grow, and have children, and then grandchildren, and then so many generations passed that even my name was forgotten. If you're strong enough, by all means go ahead. But don't say I didn't try to spare you -- and them -- the pain. Kassia and Tiyanna are stronger than most. They know what lies beyond. And they know you're always with them. For your sake and theirs, try to let that be enough."
Tarik thought for a moment. He'd always wanted his parents with him, but he realized that even had Keron not killed them they would have died eventually. Accidents, disease, simple old age claims everyone. If his time in the mortal realm was complete, so be it. The disease would have claimed me in another year or so anyway. If I have to leave, I'd rather leave this way than as an invalid unable to remember anything.
"So, what do I need to do?"
Santa reached into his bag and produced a ring. It was a silver ring with a green insignia on it: a circle between two lines. "You will wear this ring at all times. With it you can create anything you need, but you must recharge daily here in Sidespace. Ever hear people ask how I was able to carry all those toys? The sack's a prop: this is how!" he said, showing Tarik his own ring. "You now have the ability to move through space and time at will. Your strength, dexterity, and intelligence have improved by two orders of magnitude. You can alter your appearance at need and you can speak and understand all languages instantly through telepathy. Kassia was part of this too: your relationship with her conditioned your mind for the task. I don't think I need to tell you what to do with this device; your training in your previous life should suffice.
"There are over a million of us; if your life signals drop below a certain point the nearest Preserver will arrive to assist you. Likewise, if another Preserver's life signals drop below that point, and you're in proximity, you'll also be called. Occasionally we'll all be called for a major disturbance. How does someone capable of stopping an entity like Q or Kalimar always manage to be in position? Simple: we orchestrate it behind the scenes. You'll be doing that, too. Creating circumstances that draw people together. Why did Kassia and Troy's shuttle arrive at Starbase 901 instead of continuing on? We did that, because you were there. Why did you show up at the exact concentration camp where Tiyanna was held? We made sure your ship was the one in the vicinity.
"It's all about arranging circumstances, putting suggestions in people's minds, and so forth. We aren't angels, although when people talk about 'guardian angels' they often mean us. I'm not sure what the real angels think of that, but I'd like to think they like all the help they can get."
Tarik took the ring and put it on the hand opposite his wedding ring. The ring shrunk to fit his finger. "You're not invulnerable. You can still be injured or killed and if you die, there's nothing even we can do about it. So if you're so inclined, start getting a lot closer to your maker," Santa informed him.
"So I have the ring and I know what I can do. What should I do first?"
"Find these two men." Santa handed him a list.
"I assume this is the 'nice' list?" Tarik said with a wink.
Santa laughed with his traditional belly laugh. "That's the spirit! You need a sense of humor in this job! Yes, this is the 'nice' list. Only a few dozen names on it -- we want to break you in easy."
The first name on the list was Nick Cutter. Tarik remembed him vaguely as a Starfleet captain who'd disappeared under mysterious circumstances more than a hundred years earlier. Now I know why, he thought dryly. The second name surprised him.
"Johnny Chee... I know this guy! He's an old friend of mine. He and I are -- were -- in the Corps together!"
"And so you shall serve together again. Get going now! We can move through space and time but we don't control either! When you get them here, we're going to deal with a race called the Krel. I think your wife has a score or two to settle with them..."
"We have a report of an intruder in a shop on Valdaro Street," a Mulluran Civil Police officer told Cody Yellowhorse. "Probably a simple burglary, but you should be with us."
Cody holstered his phaser pistol and headed out with the cop. He was amazed at just how boring police work could be, even in a city as chaotic as the Mulluran capital had become. Even a call like this was a welcome diversion.
The police ground transport pulled up outside the shop. It appeared to be a secondhand clothing store, and the intruder alarm was on. The two Mulluran cops stepped out of the transport with their stun sticks drawn. They were visibly upset at not having a ranged weapon, but all of those were in allied custody for the time being. Cody follwed them, his phaser drawn.
The door had been forced, and a shadow could be seen moving in the back. "Police, halt!" the Mulluran cop shouted.
The figure drew something and pointed. Cody fired a stun beam at him, dropping him.
The two Mullurans rushed forward and dragged the man to his feet before shackling him. "Rember what you're supposed to say these days," Cody admonished them.
The more senior of the cops sighed as he drew a card from his pocket. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you..."
Cody smiled as they ran through the litany. "Yes, yes, I'm aware of all that!"
That's strange... that's not a Mulluran accent! They led the burglar out of the shop and under the street lights. Cody took a careful look. "We've been after this man for years! Gentlemen, thank you for your help. Dr. Bakar Mikori, you're under arrest on an outstanding warrant from the United Federation of Planets, and for a charge of burglary under the Mulluran Justice Code. You will have ample opportunity to contest extradition to Federation territory."
"Take me! Please!" Mikori begged. Cody slapped a transponder on Mikori. "Yellowhorse to Ronin, I have a prisoner wanted on an outstanding Federation warrant for beam-up." The two men vanished.
The Mulluran cops looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders.
Lieutenant Commander Paul Deveraux stood on the bridge of the Swarvan privateer 'Satyr' with his wife and co-commander, Hecate. "Incoming message for Commander Deveraux," a crewwoman announced.
"Ah, yes, let eet through!" Admiral Wallace appeared on the viewscreen. He was not pleased.
"Admiral! What eez eet? What 'ave Ah done wrong thees time??"
[I wanted to let you know that Tarik was killed this afternoon. A rogue G'kra commander fired a nova bomb at the Mulluran homeworld. Tarik died trying to save the planet.]
"Mon Dieu..." Deveraux became very quiet. "'Ow about Kassia? An' Tiyanna?"
[They're being notified as we speak. I wish we could be there for them.]
"So do Ah, mon amis." It was the first time Paul could remember calling Wallace his friend.
[You were closest to them. And you'll have the most opportunity to stay in contact with them. Try to keep an eye on things if you can.]
"But of course..."
[I did have another announcement, and I know it's a rather inopportune time, but I thought I'd let you know that you've been approved to command the USS Hawking, a science vessel due to be commissioned in the next six months with the express purpose of exploring the galactic core. A promotion to Commander comes with that. Congratulations, Paul. I know we've had our differences, but you've more than made up for any trouble you've ever caused. And at a time like this, it's important to put old differences aside. I know Tarik would have wanted that.]
"I appreciate that. I know I'm no peach to get along with either. If I may, for my staff, I'd like to make a request for a specific officer."
[Of course. As the captain of your own ship that's always your right.]
"The science officer aboard the Ronin, Lieutenant Commander Wang. He's a good man, and his astrophysics background will be helpful for the Hawking's mission. If you could make the brevet rank permanent, I'd like him as my executive officer."
[He's a bit young for the post, isn't he?]
"Weren't we all at one time? Besides, the Hawking isn't that big a ship, and he's already been a department head. I think he'll grow into the job."
[I'll notify his commanding officer. Stay in touch, Paul. Wallace out.]
Beckham got the news of Tarik's death just as his transport left the Mulluran home system. He'd known that the general had been ill for some time but he expected that Tarik would be alive for at least another year. Still, though, the suddenness of the event struck him like few others in his life.
He'd been too young to remember his birth father, who'd died in the mines. But he remembered his adoptive father... did he ever! It's time we took care of some business, dear Father...
Even after more than two years from home Beckham still remembered it all too well. It was always the easiest flat to spot on the block. Just listen for the screaming. And tonight was no different.
He knocked on the door. No chimes on a planet as poor as New Belfast! The door was flung open. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" a voice bellowed. The man was dirty, fat, and quite drunk.
"Father, don't you remember me? Or did you forget after having drunk all my scholarship money?"
"You! You little piece of shit! What gives you the right to--" the man stopped, and looked over his adoptive son. Charles had grown five centimeters in the interim, added fifteen kilos of muscle, and a whole lot of attitude.
"Oh, so that's how it is, eh? You went off, got yourself a fancy uniform, and think you're a big man! Well, I'll tell you what you can do--" the man made a grab for him. Charles countered, grabbing his stepfather's wrist and twisting it upward. Then he swept the man's feet out from under him. As the old drunk lay stunned on the floor, Charles planted his boot straight into the man's gut.
That didn't stop the drunk. Too drunk to know better... as usual. He got up bellowing at the top of his lungs. Charles delivered a side-thrust kick to his solar plexus, knocking him backwards.
He looked back toward the kitchen, saw his mother and two siblings cowering. "Mother, Jenny, Walter... it's Charlie. I'm home!"
The three of them rushed to Charles. "We're leaving. I've got enough money to get us passage to Earth."
"You're not going to take them away from me! They belong to me!" the drunk yelled as he tried to rush Charles again. Charles grabbed him by the throat and put him in a headlock.
"This guy giving you trouble, Bookworm?" a familiar voice asked.
"Nothing I can't handle, Damon, but thanks! If you could get my family to the spaceport I'd appreciate it!"
Damon took Charles' mother and siblings with him. Then another voice: "Beckman! Don't you know that engaging in drunken brawls is unbecoming of an officer? That'll never fly in the Academy!"
"What the hell am I supposed to do, Benson?"
"Let your top sergeant deal with it!" The huge mutant stepped into the room, grabbed the drunk by the shirt, and threw him from the living room into the kitchen. "The cops will be by later with Mr. Beckham to collect the family's belongings. You will stand out of the way or I'll be back!"
Still another voice, this one with a decidedly Russian accent. "You men -- I am ashamed of you brawling with civilians like this. Bozhe moi! You act like nikulturny peasants fighting in the streets! Come with me at once!"
"Yes, Major Degataryev," both Beckham and Benson chorused at once, sounding for all the world like unruly schoolchildren. The tall Russian strode into the room, looked at the now barely-conscious drunk. "Disgusting," he said, spitting in the man's face as he turned away.
Tarik smiled as he returned to Sidespace, his little excursion finished for the time being. Perhaps this new assignment has something to it...
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