Kebron nodded. At least, he gave what approximated a nod for a Brikar, namely bending slightly at the waist as if he were bowing in deference.

“And the Beings appear to be gathering there in force?” asked Burgoyne. “As part of some sort of new, grand plan by the Danteri to form an alliance of Being worshippers?”

Again Kebron nodded/bowed.

“Well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” said Calhoun, tilting back in his chair. “Zak ... are you positive?”

“I answered that.”

“Yes, I know. I’d like to know the source, though. Because Captain Shelby has not informed me of this.”

“No reason she should, Captain,” Burgoyne pointed out. “No more so than any other starship would keep every other ship up-to-date about its activities. If she received word directly from Starfleet, she’s under no obligation to file a flight plan with you.”

“You’re saying it’s none of my business.”

“No. You’re saying that.” S/he paused and then added, “I’m just thinking it.”

Calhoun looked back to Kebron. “Source, Mr. Kebron?”

“Ensign Janos,” Kebron said after a moment’s hesitation. “Felt I should know.”

“Hmmm,” said Calhoun. “Well, he’s certainly a dependable enough man ... or being, I’m never entirely sure what to think of him as, actually.” He scratched his smooth chin thoughtfully, missing the beard that he had shaved clean by popular request. With nothing of substance to do in drydock, the crew had amused itself during copious downtime by taking polls. The only thing the crew of the Excaliburseemed to agree on, nearly to one hundred percent accord, was that he should lose the beard. Calhoun had acquiesced, and a party had been held in his honor. It had been a damned good party and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten quite as drunk. But he was still nostalgic for the whiskers. “How did he find out?”

“He keeps his ear to the ground,” said Kebron.

Burgoyne nodded. “That would certainly explain his odd posture.”

“All right,” Calhoun said. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Kebron.”

Kebron was not one for words or sentiment. He tended to speak directly when he chose to speak at all, and he was not much for expressing sentiments of any sort. The matter-of-fact dismissal in Calhoun’s tone would normally be more than enough excuse for Kebron to depart, since face-to-face discussions and conferences were not his favorite thing. So Calhoun was duly surprised when Kebron moved toward him and rested his massive hands on the edge of Calhoun’s desk. In Calhoun’s imagination, the entire ship actually tipped slightly in Kebron’s direction due to the shift in weight.

“When I first started serving under you, Captain, I had very little patience with you,” Kebron said. “Frankly, I didn’t think much of you.”

Burgoyne and Calhoun exchange bewildered looks. “I think, for form’s sake, one generally prefaces a comment like that with ‘Permission to speak freely,’ ” Calhoun observed. “I invariably grant it, but it’s the thought that counts.”

As if Calhoun hadn’t even spoken, Kebron continued, “That’s changed over time. I’ve come to believe you to be a just individual. What those ... creatures,” and he said the word with more loathing and contained fury than either of them had ever heard from him, “did to this ship ... it must not be countenanced. We must find them. We must make them pay. You will make them pay for what they did to us, won’t you, Captain.” It was not exactly a line drawn in the sand, defying Calhoun to ignore the sentiment under pain of personal retribution. But neither was it posed as a question. Kebron wanted to know right then, right there.

Calhoun’s instinct, based upon protocol alone, was to inform Kebron that he had stepped way over the bounds of personal conduct. Even though Calhoun was extremely elastic in how he allowed his subordinates to address him, there were still rules and limits, and Zak Kebron had clearly exceeded them. He could dress him down, confine him to quarters, put him on report, even stick him in the brig if he was so inclined. Although, truthfully, the spectacle of security guards trying to haul Kebron to the brig if the powerful Brikar was disinclined to cooperate was not a particularly appealing image.

But Calhoun saw the fervency, the anger in Kebron’s eyes. The truth was, Calhoun had always thought that one of Kebron’s few weaknesses was the utter dispassion he brought to all his duties. His blasй nature often made it seem as if he didn’t care whether he did his job or not, although he invariably did it better than anyone else could. So Calhoun was reluctant to do anything that might extinguish these first buds of genuine passion for his work that might be blooming in Kebron.

As a consequence, Calhoun opted to walk a fine line. “On the record, Mr. Kebron,” said Calhoun, although it wasn’t as if he was actually keeping a record of the meeting, “I am not enthused with the manner in which you just addressed me. Another captain would have busted you back to ensign because of it. So keep that in mind. Off the record,” and slowly he nodded, “we’ll get the bastards. No one does that to my crew and my ship. No one. Not even the gods themselves. In this case, whom the gods themselves tried to destroy, they didn’t just make mad; they made fighting mad.”

“Good,” said Kebron with that approximation of a nod, and then he turned and walked out of the ready room.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Burgoyne demanded the moment Kebron was out of the ready room.

“I don’t know. He was never one for fervent discourse.” He tapped his fingers idly on the desk. “Talk to Soleta. She’s known him the longest. Perhaps she can shed some light on this. Oh ...” he added, with a smile. “Dr. Selar informed me of Soleta’s little stunt in sickbay. Officially, I’m required to disapprove of her actions. Unofficially, please convey to her my sentiment that her attempted mind-meld with McHenry took a lot of guts, and I admire her for it. According to Selar, Soleta actually managed to ... come into contact with him somehow. That single action has given us the first real cause for hope since this entire, hideous affair began. Tell her ... I appreciate it. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Burgoyne, obviously amused. Then s/he grew serious again. “About Kebron ... about what you said to him ... about the gods making us fighting mad?”

Calhoun rose, smoothing his shirt. “I remember what I said, Burgy.” His sword from his days as a Xenexian warlord was hanging, as always, from its place of honor on the wall. He took it down, removed a soft cloth from his desk, and proceeded to polish the gleaming blade. “We’ve been laid up for weeks, Burgy. Last thing I heard was three days to finish everything up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that ironclad?”

“Pardon?” asked Burgoyne.

“Whatever needs to be done, can it be done in transit? On the way to, say, Danter.”

Burgoyne was clearly considering all that needed to be attended to. Then, thoughtfully, s/he nodded. “It’s possible, Captain. I wouldn’t advise it.”

“I wasn’t looking for advice, Burgy. Just a simple yes or no.”

“Yes,” Burgoyne said briskly.

“Good. Inform Chief Mitchell down in engineering to fire up the engines. We’re taking her out for a spin.”

“For a spin, sir?” said Burgoyne with a look of caution in hir face. “Or for vengeance?”

Calhoun was halfway around the desk when Burgoyne spoke, but he paused and leaned against the side. “You disapprove?” he asked, folding his arms.

“It is not for me to approve or disapprove.”

“You disagree.”

“Captain, I had a firsthand view of the threat the Beings pose,” said Burgoyne reasonably. “Believe me, if they had one great heart, I would rip it out and personally devour it.”

“Your sentiments are appreciated, if not your cuisine choices.”