by Peter David
“That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?” He seemed rather amused by her expression. He leaned toward her and said, “Robin, I may seem distracted all the time. I may seem in my own little world. But I’m not stupid. I know what you want to know. What’s it like? What’s s/he like? Right?”
Lefler squirmed slightly, suddenly feeling that she should be elsewhere. Anywhere else, in fact, which was odd considering she usually was the most frank and open of people. She made vague gestures in the direction of Ops and said, “I, uh … I should really get back to—”
But he put a firm hand on her wrist, and she was surprised at the forcefulness of it. The cheery manner never left his face, but there was strength in his grip that seemed at odds with the lackadaisical demeanor. “S/he’s amazing, Robin,” McHenry told her. “Very free, very open with hir body. Very eager to please, and also eager to be pleasured. The fact that s/he is both male and female probably adds to hir expertise, because s/he knows what men like and what women like. S/he sees life, love, and sex from all angles.”
“That’s … uhm …” Lefler found herself completely tongue-tied. She’d always considered herself something of a free spirit, a “party girl” who was open to all manner of experimentation. “And, you’re, uh … you’re not distracted by the, uhm …”
“The what?”
“The, uh … hir … male aspect? That doesn’t, you know … give you navigational difficulties?”
“Not especially. It’s nice to have someone who knows what a man wants.”
“Oh? And what does a man want?” Lefler said challengingly.
McHenry looked her straight in the eyes. “If I tell you,” he said, “will you be sure to jot that down so it can be in the next newsletter.”
They laughed together at that point, and then Lefler said, “Lefler’s Law number fifty-two: Never underestimate a man’s ability to make you laugh.”
“Laughing at a man is okay,” McHenry said. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “Unless, of course, you’re pointing while you’re doing it. Laughing and pointing … bad combination.”
Lefler laughed more loudly at that. She took care, however, not to point.
And then she said, very softly, “Do you love hir?”
“Love?” For the first time, McHenry looked uncomfortable. “We … haven’t discussed that.”
“Why not? Don’t you think that’s important?”
“To some people, yes. Not to me. I’m not interested in falling in love. I’m not sure how Burgy feels about it; I haven’t asked hir.”
“Why aren’t you interested in falling in love, Mark?”
He stared at her. “Tried it once. It didn’t take.”
“Didn’t take? Why not? I mean, if you don’t want to tell me …”
McHenry seemed to stare off into space for a time. This was not atypical for him, but there was a different feel to it this time. “Mark?” she prodded gently. “Why didn’t it take?”
He returned his gaze to her and smiled a sad little smile.
“She tried to kill me,” he said.
Lefler’s jaw dropped, and she tried to find a way to frame a follow-up question. But then from behind her she heard Shelby’s voice. “Lieutenant, is there a problem? Something I should know about?”
Lefler stood up, smoothing the front of her uniform. “No, sir,” she said briskly, all business. “Just consulting with Mister McHenry on some crosschecks.”
Shelby nodded, apparently satisfied, but there was clear curiosity in her eyes. Lefler quickly crossed back to her station and sat. Several times for the rest of the shift, she glanced in McHenry’s direction. Not once, in all that time, did he meet her gaze again.
Doctor Selar had taken a brief break, returning to her quarters to get some rest. She lay on her bed, able to feel the slow percolating of her hormones within her. She knew that the Pon Farr would be back in full phase before very long. However, she didn’t wish to deal with it immediately. She knew that the ship was on a mission, heading for the world called Zondar. She knew that the captain was some sort of focal point for these people, and he had to keep his mind clear and focused. It would have been irresponsible for her, she felt, to pull Calhoun into the world of the Vulcan mating ritual at this particular moment in time. She had warned him of how all-consuming the interest in sex became once the Vulcan and her selected mate were in the throes of Pon Farr, but the fact that he had joked about it led her to believe that he did not fully grasp the reality of the situation. Since she herself knew what was to be expected, therefore, she felt the onus was upon her to try and act in as responsible and intelligent a manner as possible.
She decided to meditate a bit, to give her mind and body some time to calm down. However, a chime sounded at the door in the midst of her musings, disrupting her, throwing her off-balance. She had been reclining, but now she pulled herself to sitting, her legs securely folded. “Come,” she said.
The door slid open, and to her surprise she saw Burgoyne 172 standing there.
“Doctor,” s/he said, nodding hir head slightly in acknowledgment. “They said you were here in your quarters. It’s nice to see that they spoke truly.”
“Yes. I came here for the purpose of being alone.”
“Ah. I see,” said Burgoyne, stepping in so that the door slid shut behind hir.
“I do not think you truly do see,” Selar pointed out, “considering the fact that you have entered my quarters, thereby precluding my being alone.” She hesitated. “If there is a matter that you wish to discuss, Lieutenant Commander, then kindly do so and be done with it.”
“I was just interested in …” S/he cleared hir throat. “I just wanted to congratulate you.”
“I see. And why would that be?”
“Because of you and the captain,” Burgoyne said. S/he felt a little odd that s/he had to explain it to Selar. Didn’t she know the details of her own affairs? “It is my understanding that you and he are … involved.”
“Very delicately put,” Selar said with an ever-so-slight hint of surprise. “That is unusual, to say the least. You are not generally known for your delicacy. Rather, bluntness seems to be your stock in trade.”
“You seem to be someone who prefers delicacy. I just …” S/he seemed to have trouble phrasing what was on hir mind.
“You just what?” prodded Selar, curious in spite of herself to see where the conversation was going.
“I just wish you had been honest with me.”
“Honest?” Selar was far too controlled or thoroughgoing a Vulcan to allow outright astonishment to creep onto her face. Nonetheless, her surprise was evident if one knew where to look. “I have not lied to you, Lieutenant Commander.”
“You asked me to leave you alone, without telling me why,” Burgoyne said with ill-concealed annoyance. “Had you simply informed me of your involvement with Captain Calhoun, I could have avoided potentially making a fool of myself. Instead I pursued you, spoke to you of gentle relations, told you that I felt we were destined to be together … and all that time, you had an understanding with the captain.”
Selar could have corrected hir, of course. Her relationship with the captain was, after all, a fairly recent development. It had purely been Burgoyne’s misinterpretation, a mistaken assumption that Selar and the captain were involved with one another at the time that Burgoyne was making advances upon Selar.
Selar’s discouragement of Burgoyne had had nothing whatsoever to do with the captain. She had simply found the Hermat so brazen, so aggressive, so over-the-top, that her gut reaction had been to keep Burgoyne at more than arm’s length. And when Selar’s position had softened, she had seen Burgoyne arm-in-arm with McHenry. At that point, Selar saw little reason to try and pursue Burgoyne in return. She did have her pride, after all. Something about her didn’t want to give Burgoyne the opportunity to stand there with hir smirk and say, “Ah, now you want me.” Nor did she want to feel like an also-ran to McHenry.
But Selar, who just
wanted Burgoyne out of her quarters already, saw no reason not to take advantage of Burgoyne’s perception. She had no desire to lie outright. It cut against her Vulcan grain. But she saw no harm in selective revelation of the truth.
“We have an understanding, yes.”
“And may I ask what that understanding is?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You may ask. But no answer will be forthcoming, since I owe you no explanations and since it is none of your business.”
“Had a feeling you’d say that,” s/he said ruefully. “I suppose, on some level, I agree. But you and I, Selar, we operate on a different level.”
“Lieutenant Commander, you operate on a different level,” Selar replied tartly. “I operate on the level of one who wishes to keep her private affairs private, despite all the best efforts of this ship’s personnel to make it the business of the entire crew complement. I would ask you to respect that privacy.”
“I do,” sighed Burgoyne. “Believe it or not, I do.” Burgoyne strode across the room to her and hunkered down opposite her. S/he smiled, displaying hir canines. “Selar, believe it or not, I wish you all happiness.”
“Do you,” Selar said, her voice inflectionless.
“Yes, I do. I want the best for you, and if you feel the captain represents the best … well, truthfully, I’d be hard-pressed to disagree. He is quite a man. And you are quite a woman.”
“And you, Burgoyne,” Selar said with attempted diplomacy, “are quite a …” Then she hesitated and finished with a mental shrug, “A person.”
“I appreciate that. And I want you to know something: I still feel a connection to you, even though you obviously do not share it.”
I do. But you are completely wrong for me, went through Selar’s mind unbidden. Her face, however, remained inscrutable. “I do not …” She found it hard to say. She licked her lips, which were suddenly extremely dry, and continued, “I do not wish to cause you any pain.”
Burgoyne waved off the notion. “Don’t worry about that. I’m fairly resilient; takes a lot more than that to hurt me. But I want you to understand something.” S/he took one of Selar’s hands in both of hir own. Hir long fingers intertwined with Selar’s. “I will always feel the attachment to you, whether you want it or not. Whether you like it or not. I will never do anything to cause you harm, and you will always be under my protection.”
“I appreciate the sentiment that you—ow!” Selar was startled as she felt an abrupt prick of pain in the top of her hand. She pulled the hand away from Burgoyne’s grip to find a small bit of green blood welling up on the top. There was a minute scratch there, and Selar looked up at Burgoyne. Despite her Vulcan training, surprise registered on her face as she saw a trickle of green blood on Burgoyne’s fingernails. Selar had never really noticed before, but Burgoyne’s nails were rather long, almost conical.
Burgoyne brought hir right hand up to hir face and daintily licked the blood off with hir tongue.
“What are you doing?” demanded Selar, rather put off by the entire business.
“Consecrating my promise to you,” replied Burgoyne. The green liquid was already gone from hir right fingers. There was a small spot of the Vulcan’s blood on Burgoyne’s left hand as well; Burgoyne brought that up to hir nose and passed it under, hir nostrils flaring slightly, and then s/he licked that clean as well. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”
“To be blunt, you did. And I would prefer that you do not puncture, wound, or lacerate any other parts of my body unless you have been granted specific permission for that activity.” She shook her head. “It is my desire to, at the very least, be able to tolerate you, Burgoyne. You are not making that simple, and such stunts as these do not endear you to me.”
“They may someday,” said Burgoyne, and then, with a lazy wink, s/he walked out of Selar’s quarters, leaving the doctor shaking her head.
XI
THE EXCITEMENT HAD SPREAD throughout Zondar as the Excalibur drew closer. Statues were being erected to Him. However, since descriptions of Him varied tremendously, one statue would look very different from another. That really didn’t matter, though. It was, truly, the thought that counted.
Festivals were held. Parades were staged. There was a general air of euphoria upon the entire world. And, most importantly of all, the Eenza and the Unglza did not launch into immediate battles whenever any members of the two groups happened to run into each other. The cease-fire was in force, of course, but that was only part of it. The cease-fire, after all, was imposed from above by the respective ruling bodies of the Eenza and the Unglza. The true desire to get on with one another, however, had to come from the people themselves. And that seemed to be exactly what was happening. The people seemed to be viewing each other with a new eye, as if trying to contemplate what it would be like to be able to live side-by-side with their “enemies.” And the speculation itself did not seem so intimidating once they were faced with the prospect. They began to envision a new age for Zondar, one in which they did not perpetually have to watch their backs against attacks from rival groups. An age where the Eenza and the Unglza would actually be able to work together, perhaps to develop something greater than either of them could accomplish on their own.
These possibilities were being discussed in all sectors of Zondar, including in the home of Ramed. There, Talila bustled about with tremendous excitement as Ramed watched her go about her business with a paternal sort of smile. “You are a one-woman hive of activity, Talila,” he said, amusement in his voice.
She was unable to avoid saying what she had sworn she wouldn’t say. “Am I going to meet Him, husband?”
“Him? You mean the Savior?”
“Is there any other ‘Him’ worth discussing these days on Zondar?” she asked reasonably, and he had to admit that she had a valid point. “At the convocation. Am I going to meet Him?”
He paused a moment before answering, as if preparing to discuss something that he knew was going to be very unpleasant. “You will not be attending the convocation, my wife.”
She gaped at him, not quite willing to believe what she had just heard. “I am not going to come with you? But … but I have already prepared—and Rab! I told Rab that he would be coming as well! Husband! You are one of the foremost speakers of the Eenza! It cannot be that you—”
“This is my decision, Talila,” he said flatly. “I must be focused on the matter at hand. I cannot be distracted by—”
“Distracted!” She made no attempt to keep the bitterness from her voice. “After all these years together, after all my time as your helpmate, aiding you wherever and whenever I could … is that all I am to you in the final analysis? A distraction?”
“That is not how I meant to …” He sighed and put his hands on her shoulders, but she pulled away from him. He stood behind her, looking saddened. “My wife, there are things I must accomplish at the convocation. Difficult, involved matters. I must be able to devote myself solely to the work that must be done for the purpose of saving Zondar. I cannot act in the capacity as husband, as father. I simply cannot. Talila,” he said, not without compassion, “you have trusted me all these years. Trust me in this. If you never trust me in any other matter again, trust me on this. I know what I am doing.”
Slowly, with clear frustration, she nodded. Obedience to her husband was ingrained as to be second nature, so she found that he couldn’t quite help herself. But she was not happy about it. “I feel,” she said softly, “as if you are being selfish, Ramed. Or perhaps you are simply embarrassed to have me as a mate.”
“Embarrassed!” he said in surprise.
“I am not as wise as you. Not as learned. Perhaps you are ashamed to have me meet the Savior of Zondar. You feel that I am not good enough, or will reflect poorly on you.”
Again he took her by the shoulders to turn her around, and this time she did not resist. “Your assumption could not be farther from the truth,” he said firmly. “You must trust me on that as well. No Zondarian could be
prouder of his mate than I.”
He embraced her then, and she held him tight. And as he held her, he could not help but wonder if he was ever going to see her again.
* * *
The exact location of the convocation had been hotly debated, and had been solved in a rather unique manner. There had been no question that the convocation should be held in a temple, but naturally both the Unglza and the Eenza were at odds over whose it should be. With time ticking down and no immediate consensus apparent, an intriguing idea was suggested and immediately adopted. A special temple would be built that would represent the first co-venture between the two groups. Contractors, architects, builders had all assembled their workforces and thrown the temple together in what was not only record time for Zondar, but possibly for the entire sector of space. It was nothing fancy; more utilitarian than anything else. There wasn’t time to do something with a lot of flourishes. It was spherical to represent the entirety of the world of Zondar, and two large hands were intertwined on the front—one presumably Eenza, the other Unglza.
At the appointed time, as the Excalibur moved into orbit around Zondar, the assemblage began. Killick was there, as was Ramed, of course. From the eastern territories arrived the Clans of Sulimin the Planner, Arbora the Unseen, and Freenaux the Undesirable (who showed up despite popular demand to the contrary). From the northern plains came the offshoot group of the Unglza known only as the Dissuaders, an arbitrarily negative group who intended to spend much—if not all—of the convocation trying to convince everyone else that they were wasting their time. From the western tropical region came Maro the Questioner, Quinzix the Unforgiving, Tulaman the Misbegotten, and Vonce of the Many Fortunes. All of them converged on the eastern territory where the Savior was to arrive.
The Zondarians were not entirely sure just how the Savior was actually going to show up. There were rumors that He possessed transmat technology that far outstripped anything existing on Zondar. There were other rumors that He was, quite simply, a being of magic, who could come and go wherever and whenever He pleased. Walls were as nothing to Him, distances merely something to be traversed in an eye blink through force of will alone.
