“All phasers firing!” shouted Kebron, and the Excaliburcut loose at the trireme. The phasers cut into the ship and the vessel skidded around, shaken. The Beings were visible upon the ship’s deck and they could be seen falling about, utterly shaken.

“No doubts!”

The phasers fired again.

“No uncertainties!”

And again, hammering down.

“No defeat!”

The trireme spun in space, lurching wildly from side to side, as if the invisible winds that propelled it had turned against it entirely.

III.

In Calhoun’s quarters, Moke ignored the rocking of the ship. Instead his entire attention was focused on the bearded man before him. He seemed more robust than before, and told Moke that it was because “the battle was joined,” which Moke didn’t understand, and that the Old Father could now “fully concentrate on the business at hand,” which Moke also didn’t understand.

But of all the things that eluded Moke’s comprehension, the whys and wherefores of the bearded man’s turnaround in ability to communicate was the least of them. He had more pressing problems on his mind.

“Why her?” he asked. “Why my mom? Why—?”

“Because,” said the Old Father, smiling benevolently, “in all my travels, in all the galaxy ... I saw her, and was struck by beauty as I’d never seen. Beauty of face. Of form. And of spirit. Pure.”

“Did you love her?”

His great head slowly nodded. “Yes.”

“Why ...” He felt his eyes misting up, and he wiped the tears away. “Why didn’t you stay with us?”

“I couldn’t. I would have liked to ... but it wasn’t possible.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes, Moke,” said the Old Father gently, “you have to take certain things on faith. The truth of it is ... gods make lousy fathers for the most part. But I was watching over you ...”

“If you were watching over us,” said Moke, “then why did you let Mom get killed?”

The Old Father sighed heavily at that. “Sometimes, Moke ... mortals do foolish things. It would be nice if the gods could stop them from doing it ... but then mortals would never learn. Unfortunately, because of that, sometimes very good people die.”

“I know. But I taught them,” Moke said, his eyes glistening once more, but this time there was cold anger and even relishing of what had happened that fateful day. “I taught them. I hurt them. Badly.”

“Yes,” nodded the Old Father. “You did. Using the power you got from me. That was a gift I was able to give to you. I would have liked to do more ... but all of us, Moke, all of us ... mortal or immortal ... we do exactly and precisely just as much as we can, and no more than that. It’s sad but it’s true.”

“Did you bring Mac to me? To our world? Did he land there because of you?”

“Yes,” said the Old Father without hesitation.

And Moke realized that he had no idea whether Woden was lying or not ... and made the conscious choice, at that point, not to care.

“Thank you,” he said. “And ... thank you for making Mom happy ... even if it was only for a little while. She needed it.”

“You’re welcome,” said the Old Father. “And Moke ... I need something, too.”

“What is it?” asked Moke, eyebrow raised.

IV.

In sickbay, Mark McHenry screamed.

It was a sound that caught every med tech completely off guard, and a number of them let out similar startled cries as McHenry, who had been lying immobile, in a twilight state between life and death, sat up on the table and gave a startled shriek. Then he coughed violently as air flooded back into his lungs and he fell back.

Dr. Selar, the only person in sickbay who kept her wits about her, ran to McHenry’s side and started shouting for stimulants to be pumped into him. The ship continued to rock under the battle that was ongoing in space, but Selar was only concerned with the fight for a man’s life that had suddenly reignited in sickbay.

And then his eyes snapped open, and he looked at empty space in front of him, and his voice croaked as he said to nothingness, “Yes ... I believe in you ...”

V.

“Yes, I forgive you,” said Moke to the bearded man who stood before him in Calhoun’s quarters. “And I believe in you.”

And suddenly Moke cried out, thrown back like a puppet yanked by a string, and energy seemed to spiral out of him.

VI.

And suddenly McHenry cried out, thrown back like a puppet yanked by a string, and energy seemed to spiral out of him.

VII.

“Captain,” Morgan suddenly said, “something is happening. Some sort of rift is opening in front of us. Readings similar to a wormhole, but with major variances.”

“Are the Beings causing it?” demanded Calhoun, sitting forward in his chair.

“I believe it unlikely,” Spock said. “Particularly since it appears to be affecting them far more than it is us.”

The Vulcan was right. Ahead of them in space, a whirling vortex of energy had opened up and seemed focused on the trireme. The focus on the screen zoomed in on the Beings, and they were running about, looking panicked. Calhoun was able to make out Anubis, and he was shaking his head violently, seemingly petrified by the energy whorl.

“Get me some specifics!” shouted Calhoun. “What are we facing here?”

“All readings off the scales,” called out Burgoyne.

“We have gotto get bigger scales,” muttered Kebron.

Some of the beings actually tried to leap out of the trireme, and they were the first to be hauled, kicking and screaming in the silence of space, toward the vortex. The ancient sailing ship shook violently, began to splinter, and then with a rending and tearing of wood-that-wasn’t-wood, the ship tore in half. The rear spiraled into the energy whirlpool, and more of the Beings fell in that direction as well. Then the prow of the trireme followed, tumbling, and they could just make out Anubis clutching on for dear life, and then there was a release and discharge of energy so blinding that the screen shut off for a moment to preserve the eyesight of anyone watching.

VIII.

In sickbay, Mark McHenry—still with the horrific scars and burns that couldn’t be healed—sat fully up once more and swung his legs off the med-lab table.

“Lieutenant, lie down immediately! That’s an order!” snapped Selar.

He paid no attention, shoving her aside and stumbling forward, lurching wildly and grabbing for support.

And suddenly everyone in sickbay saw him.

An old man, older than seemed possible, with a vast white beard and one eye, who wore his years around him like; a great cloak that was weighing him down for one, final time.

He sagged forward, and McHenry put his arms out and, much to McHenry’s shock, caught him.

“Did it,” whispered the Old Father. “As ... their power drained ... mine grew ... used the spark of divine ... in you and Moke ... broke free ... did it ... can’t ... can’t anymore ...”

“Rest,” McHenry urged through cracked lips. “Rest now.”

“Oh, I will,” and the Old Father had a twinkle in his eye. “For good. Your turn now. Yours or Moke’s ... but I’m thinking ... yours ... let him grow up some ... and ... and Mark ... get the job done ... as I know you can ...”

And slowly the Old Father began to dissolve.

And Mark McHenry felt him seeping into every pore, every atom of his being. Felt a glow suffusing him, and power and knowledge, and of course, everything made so much more sense now. ...

The med techs stepped back as the glow spread further and further, seeming to creep into every corner of the sickbay. Dr. Selar didn’t even think to call for a security team. For all her Vulcan training, she was watching with as much open wonderment as the most emotional human. She felt an unaccustomed wetness on her face and realized it was tears. Quickly, shamed, she wiped them away.