IN A HIGH TOWER in the ruined city, Sulu and Demora looked down and watched the hordes coming toward them.
In the mid-distance was the wreckage of the Galileo. The vessel had, unbeknownst to Sulu (not that it would have made a lot of difference) taken a partial hit from one of the phaser blasts. Systems damage had played havoc with both the Galileo's power and guidance systems. Consequently Sulu had barely been able to hold the vessel together to make it to the surface. The crash had been rough, although they had at least been able to walk away, or limp away, from the landing, thus making it a good one. Unfortunately, the subspace radio on board the shuttle had been one of the first things to suffer when the systems went down, so they couldn't even call for help.
And things had worsened, for geysering upward from below had been the clone army. Every single one as bestial, as savage as the clone of Demora had been. While floating in the sensory-deprivation liquid of their tanks, they had been helpless. Now, though, they were out … they were maniacal … and they were looking for someone or something upon which to vent their savagery. And the only things that had suited the bill were Sulu and Demora.
So they had run. They had run as far and as fast as they could, trying to keep one step ahead of the howling hordes. They made it to the city finally, and come to an unfortunate discovery.
The city was built on the edge of a cliff.
Sulu appreciated the fact that, strategically, it was a fairly sharp place to put a city. Attackers couldn't possibly come at you from the rear. Unfortunately it also meant there was nowhere else to go, and as the army of clones, numbering somewhere around five hundred strong, converged, Sulu and his daughter sought refuge.
They had climbed higher, higher, barely speaking a word, conserving their strength. Finally they could go no farther. They huddled in the highest tower, watching the swarm below. The clones rampaged through the city, looking for their victims. Their shrieks were animalistic, bordering on insane.
Demora drew closer to her father, peering down. They appeared to be in something similar to a bell tower, except there was no bell around. It opened on all sides, although there were pillars that provided support for the roof. They were hundreds of feet in the air. If they were lucky, the swarm would never find them. Somehow, though, they weren't feeling lucky.
"Was I … like that?" Demora asked, flinching as she heard the shrieking below. Once they'd staked themselves out in the tower, he'd taken the time to fill her in—as quickly as he could—about what had happened.
"It wasn't you, remember?" he said, putting an arm around her.
She looked at him wonderingly. "But you didn't know that."
"No."
"You thought I was dead."
He felt his eyes start to become hot, all the tears he'd been suppressing beginning to flow from him. Yet now they were tears of joy, of relief … at least for the moment, however brief it might be. Determinedly, he wiped them away. "Yes …" he whispered, "I thought you were dead."
"But you came out here anyway. Risked your career, your life … for nothing. For not even a hope."
"I … felt you. In my head. I couldn't sleep at night. I felt like you were calling me." He paused. "On the amusement-park planet … the equipment there could read your thoughts. The equipment here was related to that. Maybe because of … of who we are … you were able to reach me somehow." He shook his head. "Either that … or something within me just refused to accept it. I had to know. I had to know why you were taken from me."
She could hear them coming closer, and she closed her eyes as if that would eliminate the sound. "And now we're both going to die."
"I was dying without you. Dying with you would be preferable."
She turned to look at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Oh … God," she moaned. "That's … that's so sappy." And then she hugged him so tightly that he thought his ribs would break. In a low voice, she said, "Dad … this is a bad time to tell you … but … but it's going to be the only chance I have, I think, and I want everything to be square. . . ."
He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "What is it, honey?"
"I really hated you."
He blinked. "I wasn't sure what I was expecting you to say, but somehow that wasn't it."
She forced herself to look away from him, feeling ashamed. "I hated you for what you did for me. For staying on Earth so you could be with me, rather than being in space where you belong. And then, just when I got used to that guilt, you started heading out again. And I should have been happy for you, except all I was was angry at you because I felt abandoned. And when I went to the Academy, part of the reason I went was to please you … except in the meantime all the resentment I'd had toward you began to build and build because I was keeping it all bottled inside me … and I began hating myself because I was pursuing a career in order to impress you. You have no idea what it's like to feel so many things, and to be ashamed of all of them."
He lowered his head. "I wish I could say that," he said, his voice hoarse.
"What?"
He looked at her. "I … I resented you. I did, I admit it. Because I wanted to have it all. I wanted to be there for you, for my child … and I felt as if I wanted my life back. And the older you got, and the more you reminded me of your mother, and the more I resented her for doing this to the both of us. I was … I was much colder to you than I should have been. I kept you distant, particularly later on when you needed me most. I spoke of honor and principles … as if love didn't figure in at all. There's so much more I should have done. Everyone wants to be a perfect parent, and no one has a clue how. And I had less than most."
"You did the best you could have."
"Maybe … but I didn't do the best I should have. I wish I could go back … take the Excelsior, slingshot around the sun, go back in time … and talk sense into myself."
"Do you think you'd listen?"
He sighed. "Probably not."
They were silent for a moment, close to each other.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly.
"So am I. More, because I don't have the excuse of youth to fall back on."
Then Demora reached into the pocket of the jacket. "Here," she said. "I yanked this off Taine while we were fighting. I guess … maybe you should have it."
It was the jade locket. He took it from her gently, studied it. In the rapidly dwindling light that filtered through the purple sky, the locket still managed to glitter with a light of its own.
"Very old-fashioned," he said.
"Mother could be that way."
He flipped the catch and it opened. There was a tiny picture, just as in the style of centuries ago.
It was of Sulu.
He stared at it. "This is the picture in my service record," he said. "How did your mother get a copy?"
"She was very resourceful," said Demora.
He closed the locket and started to hand it back to her. "You should keep this."
"No, Dad. I want you to have it."
"She was your mother. You should …"
And Demora started to laugh. He frowned at her. "What's so funny?" he demanded.
"We're arguing over who's going to keep a locket, totally ignoring the fact that we're probably both going to be dead soon! I mean, aren't there far more meaningful things we can argue about in the short time we have left?"
Sulu stared at her for a long moment … and then began to laugh. He had a very odd sort of laugh when he really cut loose. It sounded like an engine trying to rev up … a repeated "Uh! Uh! Uh!" On the rare occasions when he allowed himself to laugh like that, Demora would invariably imitate it … making him laugh all the more. Which was exactly what happened.
As barely human creatures scavenged the city, looking for something to kill, their intended prey sat hundreds of feet above and laughed.