about, trying to determine what in the hell had just happened. The onboard sensory devices that enabled them to see were filled with confusing and conflicting information, and for the briefest of periods, the Brethren were effectively blind.
It was all the time that the Xenexians needed.
There were no screams or battle cries this time. Silent as night shadows came the Xenexians, moving in with quick, effortless efficiency. Their long knives and swords flashed. They wore coverings over their eyes to shield them from the dirt that hung in the air, and they targeted the Brethren with the sort of glee that only a warrior race in the throes of slaughter can know. The moment the Xenexians joined the battle, the blasts from on high immediately ceased. The field was clear for them to do whatever was necessary to take down their opponents.
They approached their task with gusto.
The Brethren fought back as best they could, and they did indeed manage to take some of the Xenexians with them, mostly through pure luck from the random placement of blasts that occasionally found targets. For the most part, though, that one damned vent in their armor undid them as swords and daggers plunged in with merciless efficiency.
Long minutes later, it was all over but the shouting, and the shouting came from triumphant Xenexians in full-throated roars of celebration. And the shout was the same name, over and over again: Not the name “M’k’n’zy,” but instead, “Calhoun! Calhoun!” In this way were they singing not only the praises of the man who had led them, but the territory on Xenex that had birthed them and succored them and given them a sense of national pride.
The doors that had previously discharged the Brethren army irised open and there was a brief pause in the cheers, one of apprehension since they had no idea whether even more Brethren were about to come pouring out. Instead the doors revealed their savior, their god of gods, Mackenzie Calhoun, framed in the entranceway. This brought the cheers up even louder. Indeed, one man among them started bleeding out his ears because the roars were so deafening.
Calhoun allowed them their huzzahs for some time, waiting for the enthusiasm to spend itself. When it didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon, he spread his arms as a signal that they should quiet down and, in short order, they did so, waiting for his next words.
“My good friends,” he said, “whether we wish to acknowledge it as truth or not, the fact is that my presence has brought hardship down upon you. Your loyalty has never been questioned, nor your bravery or determination. Now, however, is the time for me to take my leave of you.”
This immediately prompted some shouts of protest, and Calhoun could not help but smile at that. The Xenexians were born warriors, and he was starting to realize that their determination to protect him had been prompted by more than just loyalty. For some of them—hell, maybe for all of them—he had been a means to an end, and the end was that they really, truly loved a good battle and they hadn’t had one in quite some time.
But he could not continue to serve as an excuse for war. The stakes were far higher than any of his people realized.
He managed to silence them again and continued: “The fact is, my brothers in war, that my presence here continues to endanger all Xenex. I know, I know,” he went on before they could mount challenging battle cries, defying the entirety of the known universe to show up and attack them, “you are undeterred by that truth. Nevertheless, it would be irresponsible to the world that I know, and the people that I love, to remain here any longer than necessary. With me gone, the invaders will have no reason to continue their attacks. It is the best way to proceed, and all of us know that, whether we wish to admit it or not.”
“Take us with you!” came one shout, and then another, “Let us continue to battle at your side!” Soon they were all making similar declarations of devotion and determination, and it took Calhoun quite some time to bring down the volume yet again.
“What awaits me in the depths of space,” Calhoun said, “is my battle, not yours. Your place is here, not out there. Tend to yourselves, tend to your families. Elect yourselves a new leader—one who will, ideally, fulfill your needs even half