The Epilogue: Chapter Five

The Last Debt

Malcolm Reed

Well, that went about as well as could be expected.

I was pleasantly surprised and undeniably relieved that Captain Kelby didn't come charging down here desperate for word on the whereabouts and wellbeing of his friends and mentor. Then again, Trip did mention that we'd all underestimated him, so maybe I shouldn't be so surprised.

He does come to see me off when they remove me from the station, as does Major Cole, but all I get is a grave nod and a respectful salute from each of them. The nods, I return, with a wry half-smile. As my hands are still bound, I cannot return the salutes.

I'm transferred to the shuttle with the appropriate care, and provided with a very comfortable seat for the duration of the flight. If I'm now secured by both wrists to the arms of it, that's no more than a perfectly sensible precaution, and care is taken to see that the restraints are as comfortable as they are effective. I was offered water, which I accepted, and food (sandwiches), which I declined.

Apart from the two pilots (one of them being Admiral Philip Georgiou, whose presence at the helm shocks the hell out of all of us and probably terrifies his co-pilot), the only other people in the shuttle are two guards, who don't appear to expect me to present any serious threat, and General Vaja, who was apparently instructed to come along only at the last minute because he appeared a bit startled and flustered when he boarded. The three of them are properly attentive, but they don't watch my every movement.

The flight to Earth takes just over an hour. The seat has a high, padded back, which allows me to rest my head and close my eyes. I feel perfectly relaxed, though the half-doze into which I fall comes to an end as slight turbulence warns me we're entering the thermosphere.

No doubt the point of entry has been calculated to bring the craft in neatly to wherever it's going to land. I don't know where this is, and the glimpses I get through the window tell me nothing. Still, it's good to finally see the blue and green of my home world again; I was never other than grateful for the sanctuary we were offered on Vulcan, but Humans evolved on this lush planet and my particular ancestral part of it is still notorious for its damp and changeful climate. I certainly won't see it again, but I'll be 'there or thereabouts', and that's a comforting thing.

The shuttle continues its downward travel, and suddenly breaks through a patch of cloud into brilliant sunlight. This continues for so long that it tells me we're almost certainly over a desert, and the hope that's lain all-but unacknowledged inside me springs into astounding life.

The craft dips lower. Now I can glimpse stretches of red cliff flashing by, and it's all I can do not to brace against my restraints in my anxiety to know whether I'm right or wrong. I could ask, but for some ridiculous reason it feels as though to put my dream into words would make it vulnerable.

The engine begins to throttle back. Our speed has slowed appreciably. One wing dips, and the window gives me a momentary view of a long spur of bare rock that seems familiar... Is it, or am I finally giving in to wishful thinking?

Do Austin Burnell and I understand one another as well as I hope and believe we do?

A moment later the shuttle adjusts course again, and the tilt of the floor says we're coming in to land. It's clearly a small landing zone, as the pilot balances the craft as delicately as a bee landing on a marguerite in Mother's back garden.

The landing is achieved successfully, and we can all breathe again.

Then the door opens, and the bright morning light of the Sonoran Desert floods in until moments later it's partially blocked by the still-sturdy figure of Emperor Austin Burnell.

Everyone in the shuttlepod who can drops to one knee and bows their head. Being still handcuffed to the chair, I can't really follow suit, but I try to look a bit respectful. After all, this is the top dog we're seeing here – the one who legitimately is the Emperor, rather than some unregenerate little shit pulling the strings from behind the scenes, along with his two partners in crime.

He pauses in front of me, and at a gesture one of the guards hands him the electronic key to my handcuffs, which he unfastens. What with one thing and another I'm not as quick about getting to my feet as I used to be, so he helps me up, and we stand breast to breast, arms around each other. He was always much bigger built than me, but now his strength makes me painfully aware of how frail I've become.

No words are necessary. After a moment or two he releases me, and we walk down the ramp into the bright sunshine. A number of people are assembled, all of whom are Pack, bareheaded in respect despite the growing heat and brilliance.

My eyes sting a bit as I look around. Grandmother's shack really is a ruin now; the nearest wall has collapsed, and the planks are probably rotted through with the activities of wood-ants.

You can see the village from here. Silently the Emperor hands me a pair of binoculars, and I swing them across the houses. The whole place seems to be in better repair than it was last time I passed this way, and there even seems to be a new structure going up in the general vicinity of the dilapidated little church. The section of the main street that I can see has more pedestrian traffic than I would have expected, and I even see a very battered-looking flitter parked up beside Sam Dwyer's garage. I doubt the little hamlet was ever what one would call thriving, even in its heyday, but clearly life is improving for most of the residents.

The Bernthals' cantina has a bit of a garden tacked onto the back of it, and there's a pretty young woman pegging out washing on the line there – fresh, stylish-but-simple garments rather than the grey rags I would have expected from the struggling little family I visited there years ago. 'God will provide,' András had told me then. I still can't wrap my head around God, but someone sure has provided. I wonder briefly just how wealthy Grandmother was and whether she left anything to the village or to specific individuals there.

Elisheva's hair (I'm sure now that it's Elisheva) blows out blonde on the hot desert wind, and I stare at her until she turns around and walks into the house, pausing at the steps to bend forward and chuck a fat, furry grey and white cat under the chin. It can't be one of Beans's descendants because, being spayed, she hadn't any, but it's often been said that cats have nine lives. In my twilight years, I've become a bit more disposed to entertaining the idea of the possibility of an afterlife, so, while I'd still have to say no if pressed for a definite answer, perhaps I can allow myself to imagine that my old, much-loved Beans (it's still a ridiculous name!) is here in spirit providing my daughter the same affection and comfort she gave me when I needed it most. After her mistress passes through the door, the cat then looks directly at me, the timing making it seem almost as if she'd read my thoughts, even at this distance. She gives a long, slow blink, raises her chin, turns in a circle and walks sinuously into the house. The last I see of her is a twitch of her fluffy tail.

Georgiou is standing beside me. "You needn't worry for the young lady's safety, sir," he says, low-voiced, and trusting, I'm sure, that the Emperor will forgive this small sign of respect in deference to my thinning grey hair and slightly stooped posture. I know he's telling me my daughter's under his care. I'm glad of that, because he was always loyal.

My sight isn't so clear now, for one reason or another, but I blink enough clarity as I turn around to see the long mound of stones. A few plants that have rooted in among them have been reverently removed and set to one side, their roots carefully covered in wet burlap sacking; they'll be replanted afterwards, when the stones have been replaced, and no doubt tended until they thrive again. Burnell was never ungenerous, and he'll give me everything I want in return for this coronation which I denied him when it was due.

I turn away. The Emperor is standing in the centre of a semi-circle of his Pack officers. Georgiou moves over to join them, and as he does, all of them – except Burnell himself, of course – offer me the salute to the Head of the Pack.

I return it gravely, and then walk forward to stand in front of the Emperor.

Though it still says nothing about his prowess to take the life of an old man who is giving himself up willingly, it says a lot about his accomplishments and my opinion of him that I've gone to all the effort to come home and surrender myself. It's not the kind of victory the Pack was trained to expect, but maybe it's the kind that will suit them better in the new future Austin is shaping. It's a willing, voluntary passing of the torch of Power from one who has held it to one who has earned it.

When the end is all there is, it matters.

I unbutton my shirt and tug it down a bit. The heat has started a prickle of sweat between my shoulder blades, and it feels good to have the wind drying it. As Burnell circles around behind me, his arms going around my chest, I roll my aching shoulders for the last time and settle my hands over his, feeling the brush of his breath against my neck. In front of us the semi-circle of the Pack moves closer, eyes wide and bright, jaws slightly parted, hackles stiff with anticipation.

Thus it was, is now, and ever shall be. I close my eyes, and drop my head to the side.

–LIZ–!

The End

I want to thank my co-writer, LoyaulteMeLie, for making this series of stories possible. The Pack was entirely her invention, and I have been very fortunate and grateful that she has allowed me to play with her ideas these past few years. If you have enjoyed the MU version of Pack Malcolm, you should check out Prime U version in her series Jag and Shadow.