particular position at this particular height.
Unfortunately the ship was still a significant distance away. More than he thought he could reasonably jump.
A door irised open in the side of the ship and he watched as Brethren came dropping out of the ship like fleas from a newly bathed dog.
For all the difficulties that were part of this admittedly problematic plan, this was actually the most challenging: to see whether the Xenexians would do as he had instructed them.
They had not been thrilled about the prospect of running from a face-to-face battle. With the enemy right there, directly in front of them, the Xenexians wanted to turn from the strategy they’d been following of hit-and-run, guerrilla tactics and get into a straight-on mêlée. When Calhoun had told them that, no, he wanted them to hide one more time, they had initially balked at the notion. He’d had to use all of his considerable force of will to convince them that they were to obey his orders. But until he actually saw them do as he had instructed, he didn’t know for sure if they would.
None of it was going to matter, though, if he wasn’t able to get to the ship.
The entrance was right there, right in front of him, but by his quick calculations, it was a good twenty feet beyond the edge of the cliff. The ship didn’t look like it was going to draw closer, and the door could shut at any moment.
There was no time to wait for any other opportunites to present themselves.
Calhoun bolted from behind the spire and ran as fast as he could. His legs scissoring, his arms pumping, he dashed along the “runway,” building up as much speed as possible. He kicked up dust as he went, some of it blowing into his face, and he squinted against it. He was trying to calculate exactly when to jump and then realized that he was going to second-guess himself, hesitate at just the wrong moment and possibly send himself plummeting to his death far below.
Instead he turned himself entirely over to his instincts, trusting them to guide him as they always had.
He hit the edge of the cliff and catapulted himself through the air, his body outstretched as if he were performing a racing dive into a pool. He had promised himself he wouldn’t look down and yet he couldn’t help himself. He glanced downward for half a heartbeat and was pleased to see the Xenexians scattering like leaves before a stiff breeze. Then he looked up and time seemed to be slowing to a crawl as the door in front of him started to iris closed. From within he had a quick glimpse of a D’myurj that he suspected was the self-proclaimed Visionary, and though it was hard to tell, he thought there was a look of surprise on the Visionary’s face.
And then Calhoun was hurtling through the entryway, pulling his legs in to get them clear of the door. It slid noiselessly shut behind him, and he hit the deck and rolled, coming up with his phaser drawn.
The D’myurj was running.
That was a good sign. It meant that he was physically there.
Which further meant that Calhoun could kill him.
No. Don’t kill him. You might be able to make use of him. He could provide you information. Whatever you do, don’t kill him.
He took a split second to thumb the energy output on the phaser from “kill” to “stun” and leveled the weapon.
During that split second, the D’myurj, in a crackle of energy, vanished.
“Grozit!” snarled Calhoun. He realized that the Visionary must have had some sort of emergency transport device on himself, and it had required a few moments to fully power up. That brief time it took to reset his phaser had allowed the D’myurj to escape to some unknown location.
You should have killed him.
There was no time for recriminations. Calhoun charged out of the landing bay section, completely unfamiliar with the layout of the vessel, but moving as quickly as he could through it in hopes of getting the drop on anyone else who might be left behind.
Without slowing, he charged through a hatchway into what seemed, to him, like the command center. And suddenly the deep-seated sense that always warned him of danger kicked in and, without even thinking about it, he ducked.
It wasn’t fast enough. A Brethren soldier was standing off to the left, and he swung a gloved hand that caught Calhoun on the side of the head.