“Whatever he was ... that’s the bastard who damned near killed me,” Si Cwan told him.

“Indeed,” said Spock, looking back at the pictures. “Fascinating. And what prevented him from doing so.”

“Kalinda managed to—”

One of the supplicants, the father, turned abruptly and, putting his finger to his lips, spat out an annoyed “Shhh!”

Si Cwan was reasonably certain that he could break the father’s arms and legs without exerting much strength. But he restrained himself, and was rather pleased that he was able to do so. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Kalinda managed to get her hands on his weapon ... that,” and he pointed at the short scythelike blade that Anubis could be seen holding in his hand. “And she threatened him with it. He didn’t seem especially anxious to attack her while she held it.”

“Indeed,” said Spock, cocking an eyebrow curiously. “That could be of extreme significance.”

“Or it could be that he simply had no desire to destroy a lesser being.”

The voice had come from behind them. The father of the worshipping group, irritated at the newcomer making no effort to keep his voice down, turned his scowl toward the person who had just spoken. Upon seeing the speaker, however, the father’s eyes went wide and he immediately prostrated himself upon the ground, practically groveling. His family took one look where he’d been looking and did likewise.

The newcomer was clad in Egyptian garb, with wing-like ornaments that ran the length of either arm, festooned with a mixture of black and white feathers. His face was quite handsome, and his eyes were a deep, glistening yellow. He had a slender nose and angular face, and his skin was a healthy olive brown. Something similar to a crown was perched atop his head.

“Greetings, Soleta,” he said.

“Thoth.” She glanced at Spock and Si Cwan. “Gentlemen ... this is Thoth. Egyptian god of writing, mathematics, law ...”

“And truth,” he reminded her softly. “Let us not forget truth.”

Si Cwan saw a subtle shift in Soleta’s expression, as if something had been brought up that made her most uncomfortable. Thoth, for his part, was looking at the supplicants groveling upon the floor. He reached out with one sandaled foot and prodded the father in the side. “Rise. Your prayers have been heard, and they will be answered. Anubis has assured me of such. Now you may depart. And tell others to remain outside for a brief time, if you’d be so kind.”

They hastily exited, bowing and scraping as they did so. Thoth watched them go, his mouth drawn in a thin line, looking as if he felt sorry for them. Then he turned back to Soleta and the faint disdain radiantly became a smile. “It is good to see you again, Soleta.”

“A friend of yours?” asked a skeptical Si Cwan.

“ ‘Friend’ might be overstating it. Thoth, this is Ambassadors Si Cwan and Spock.”

Thoth barely acknowledged Si Cwan’s presence, his attention instead focused upon the stately Vulcan ambassador. “I know you of old, I believe,” he said.

“We have not met.”

“No. But Apollo made the acquaintance of you, and what he knew, we all know. A tragic figure, Apollo was.”

“Perhaps between his assaults upon us and his kidnapping of our officers, we were not in the proper position to appreciate the tragedy of his situation,” Spock replied.

Thoth eyed him a moment and then said, “Hunh. And I take it that you, on some level, object to this world, despite its serenity.”

“ ‘Object’ is too strong a word. ‘Have reservations’ would be the more proper sentiment. You see, Thoth, I have had some little experience with worlds signing away their growth, development, and independence in exchange either for protection by false deities ... or else for spores or some other element that seems to present a paradise, but for a hidden price.”

“And you see us as false deities with a hidden price. How tragic, Ambassador. And how little you know of us.” He looked back to Soleta. “Our time together was cut short, Soleta. There are other things that need to be said.”

“Then you can say them here,” Si Cwan told him.

“Yes. I can,” agreed Thoth with an amiability that nevertheless hinted at someone who was not only accustomed to getting his way, but powerful enough to make certain he did. “However, I think it best for all concerned if they are said elsewhere.”

“Apollo followed much the same pattern,” Spock reminded him. “A neutral observer might take note that his story ended, as you say, tragically.”

Thoth’s smile widened, although the outward amusement wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Why, Ambassador ... are you warning me? Threatening me?”

“No. Merely noting that those who do not listen to history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Perhaps. But that has little bearing to one who actually ishistory. Besides ... you called us secretive. Far be it from me not to live up to expectations. Soleta ... let us go and discuss matters.”

Si Cwan was about to say something, to protest, but it made no difference. One moment, Soleta and Thoth were there, and the next—with a sound like a popping soap bubble—they were both gone.

IV.

In the main receiving room of his spacious residence, Lodec rose from his couch and spread wide his arms as Calhoun and Kebron strode in, having just been announced by one of Lodec’s servants.

“My friends, it is good to see you again,” he said in such a way that he really, truly made it sound like he was pleased to see them. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Calhoun evenly.

“Sit. Sit, please.”

He gestured toward a large, comfortable-looking chair. Calhoun’s impulse was to stay exactly where he was, but he yielded to the trappings of polite society and seated himself. Lodec sat opposite him.

“I was true to my word,” he said. “Were you at all impeded in your inspection of Danter? Is it not all that I said, and more besides?”

“It’s very peaceful,” said Calhoun. “I’d hardly recognize it.”

“Indeed. To be candid, Captain,” and he leaned forward a bit as if speaking with an intimate and old friend, “I think upon what we once were, and I am appalled. But look at all that we have accomplished! And if the galaxy were united in the cause ...”

“We remain unclear as to what that ‘cause’ might be.”

“Why ... to worship the Beings, of course,” said Lodec, for whom it apparently seemed the most obvious concept in the world. “To benefit from their radiance, to ...”

“I want a sample of this ambrosia,” Calhoun said. “Something I can take back to my ship, to study, to ...”

Lodec politely shook his head. He looked almost grief-stricken as he said, “My apologies, Captain, but ... I am afraid that’s not possible. You are neither ready nor—and I regret I must say it—deserving.”

“I see. And you are?” he asked humorlessly.

“Well, obviously.”

“Obvious to you, perhaps,” said Calhoun, his voice tightening. “Now I’ll tell you what’s obvious to me. It’s obvious that you’re going to provide me with this ‘ambroisa’ so I can make a thorough report to Starfleet. Furthermore, I want Artemis, and whatever difficulties might be involved in that are of no interest to me.”

In a way, Calhoun was hearing his own voice from a distance. He heard the flatness of it, the mercilessness. Even to his own ear, he sounded as if he were spoiling for a fight. For a moment, the concerns of Shelby came back to him. She had been so convinced that the history between Calhoun and the Danteri in general, and between he and Lodec in particular, was going to make it impossible for him to do his job in a dispassionate manner.

He hadn’t cared what she’d said. He hadn’t listened to her. Now the cold, detached part of his brain which never left him—the one that served to analyze a situation in an unemotional way no matter how dire the circumstance, and had thus enabled him to survive any number of to-the-death battles—was telling him that Shelby might very well have been right.