by Peter David
In essence, Calhoun had beaten him to the punch.
Tapinza had been just about to stand up, just about to say virtually the same words as had emerged from Calhoun’s mouth. He was going to claim paternity of Moke, give Rheela an out. Enable her to stay, to ally herself with, arguably, the most powerful man in town. Everyone was going to benefit from it, and if Rheela knew what was good for her, she would go along.
There was always the possibility that she would deny it, of course. If she did so, she would be tossing away a perfectly good gambit on his part, and that would be her decision to make. If she denied it, Tapinza would simply recant. “I was trying to help a woman so fallen that she seemed to need the help desperately,” he would have said. This would naturally have gotten approval and support from everyone. It would have made him look generous, and her like the little ingrate that she was.
On the other hand, if she went along with his endeavor, then he would, in one stroke, have what he had been seeking to obtain. And then …
Then would come the possibilities.
For Tapinza, ever the man of vision, was seeing far beyond the relatively unimportant city of Narrin. He saw vast potential for great farms, massive growth areas producing food by the cartload, food readily generated thanks to the generous rainfall that Rheela would be able to provide him.
But even more than that … it would all be overseen by Tapinza, and doled out according to who was most willing to pay for it.
Ohhh … the possibilities, the endless possibilities.
Except that this … this idiot Calhoun had opened his big mouth.
Rheela had not yet erased the shocked look from her face. Calhoun, for his part, had stepped away from the wall and was coming toward her with slow, relaxed strides. “It’s ridiculous to keep hiding it,” he told her. “I want to do right by you … and by Moke.” The boy was looking up at him with eyes the size of saucers.
And still Rheela said nothing. “You—” was all she managed to get out.
He put his hands on her arms. “You want to do right by Moke … don’t you?” he asked.
The babble of voices was tapering off into silence. Everyone was looking at Rheela, hanging on a silence that seemed endless.
Then she let out a sigh that sounded like an exhausted, yet relaxed, gust of relief. “Of course I do,” she said. At which point, Calhoun took her in his arms and kissed her.
And that was more than enough to set off another chorus of cheers. There was also, Tapinza couldn’t help but notice, a rather vocal minority expressing out and out disbelief, scoffing noises that indicated just how preposterous and absurdly timed was this claim by Calhoun.
Loudest of all, predictably, was the Maestress. “Come now!” she said. “Are we to believe that you are who you claim you are?”
Calhoun looked at her with a puzzled expression. “I was unaware, Maestress, that this town requires proof of parentage in all instances. Do you? Does every person in this room who purports to be the parent of a child who calls them father know, before Kolk’r and all, that they are unquestionably the true father?” He surveyed the room with a stare that was almost fearsome. “All cities have their secrets, things they would rather keep hidden. I would not suggest, Maestress, that you advocate pulling them all into the light. I do not know how much support you would muster for that endeavor.”
The Maestress was about to reply, but then she saw the faces of those around her. The open nervousness, the clear evidence that no one wanted to even open that door, much less walk through it.
Brilliant, thought Tapinza grimly. He plays upon their darkest fears like a master musician. The odds are that everyone here is exactly what they appear to be, no more and no less. But he hasthem so off balance that they don’t know what to say, or even what to think.
“In that case,” said Calhoun, “I do not see where you have the right to single out Rheela or myself for close questioning. That field of examination is too dangerous to withstand evenhanded application … wouldn’t you say, Praestor?” He deliberately ignored the Maestress, instead focusing on the nominal leader of the community.
Praestor Milo harrumphed loudly once, and then said in a strident voice, “Well … if the Majister has admitted to his … involvement … in the matter of Rheela and her son, then I hardly see where we have the right to say otherwise.”
For one moment, Maester Tapinza thought that seeking Rheela’s cooperation in the production of rain was going to be unnecessary, since the Maestress looked as if she was ready to summon a pure thunderstorm herself. She was about ready to eat thunder and excrete lightning, no question. But then Maestress Cawfiel reined herself in, and said nothing aside from, “Best of luck … to you both. To all three of you …”
“When did this happen?” Spangler suddenly asked. He was in full journalism mode. “How did it? How did the two of you meet?”
“That is no one’s business,” Calhoun told him.
“Yes, but the people want to know—”
“It’s good to want things,” Calhoun replied, smiling faintly.
“This has been a very busy meeting,” the Praestor called out. “The time is getting late and, frankly, my friends, I’m exhausted. If there are no objections, I would like to call this meeting adjourned.”
Tapinza wanted to voice half a dozen objections, starting with, I hate Calhoun, but, wisely, he kept his council. “This meeting is declared adjourned then,” said the Praestor cheerfully, banging the gavel once.
Calhoun reached over and draped an arm around Rheela’s shoulder. “Come, dear,” he said gently. “Let’s go to … home. We can speak more there.” And he guided her out the door toward the street.
Naturally, Tapinza was out the back door and around to the front before anyone else had come close to exiting the hall. When he drew within range of Calhoun, he slowed, not wanting to run up to him like some sort of breathless fool. But he knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to inform Calhoun that he had made a very serious blunder. Maester Tapinza was not someone that he desired to trifle with. He had thought, at the very least, that Calhoun would eventually be someone he would be able to deal with. But if Calhoun was determined to make their relationship an adversarial one, that was fine with Tapinza. Not for the first time did he consider the possibility of Calhoun as an enemy, and the conclusion he reached the second time was no different than the first: He could handle a dozen like Calhoun with no trouble.
“Calhoun,” he said sharply as Calhoun, Rheela, and Moke walked out into the street. Two luukabs were tied to posts nearby, and that’s where they were heading. Calhoun did not appear to hear him, or if he did, he didn’t care. “Calhoun,” he repeated, making it clear that he was not going to be ignored.
“He’s my dad!” Moke said excitedly. He was holding Calhoun’s hand so tightly that he was cutting the circulation off. “Did you hear? Did you hear, Maester?”
“Yes, I heard,” he said with an oily pleasantness. “Calhoun, we need to talk—”
“I disagree,” Calhoun said coolly.
“I am on the council, you are Majister, and you will answer to me.” And, in saying that, he grabbed Calhoun by the wrist.
He didn’t remember much after that.
All he knew was that time had abruptly passed, and he heard his name being murmured very distantly. Everything was extremely dark around him, and he wondered what had happened to the moonlight that had been flooding the town on this, a full moon night. Then he started to be able to sort out one voice from another, recognizing them individually, and finally he realized the reason it was so dark was because his eyes were closed. Slowly, he opened them, and discovered the missing moonlight, right where it was supposed to be. Concerned faces all around him were looking down.
“He’s not dead!” said the Praestor, and there were relieved sighs from all around … except from Howzer the mortician, who seemed faintly disappointed. “Maester, we were very concerned about you! What happened?”
; Several townspeople were already helping him off the ground. His legs were unsteady, and the world skewed around him at an odd angle as he tried to compose himself. “What … happened?” he echoed.
“We found you out here like this,” said Spangler with great excitement, seeing a potential story for his newspaper. When one put out the news for a relatively small city such as Narrin, one tended to look for excitement wherever one could find it. “Who did this? Was it the new Majister?”
“Did what?” His thoughts were still swimming around … but then, slowly, they began to coalesce. What further sharpened his memory was the sudden stabbing pain originating from somewhere around his right jaw. He touched it, and moaned as he felt the lump that was most likely accompanied by an impressive black and blue mark. That was when Tapinza realized that he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the notion of being totally candid. He had his pride, after all. As near as he could tell, Calhoun had dropped him with precisely one punch, and that was not something Tapinza was especially anxious to broadcast. “Oh … this. No, no … this must have happened when I fell.”
“Fell?” The people clustered around him in a small knot, looked collectively confused. “What caused you to fall, Maester?” asked Milos.
“I … don’t know. A touch of illness, perhaps. I was feeling dizzy in the meeting hall. That’s why I rushed out; I was hoping that some fresh air would do me good.” He forced a ragged grin. “Apparently, not enough good. As for the Majister, why … I believe he had already ridden off by the time I came out.” The last words were painful to get out, his jaw swelling up all the more.
“At least you’re not hurt worse because of your … accident,” said the Maestress. But it was abundantly clear, from her tone of voice, that she knew really what had occurred. She simply chose not to comment on it. For that, she had his undying appreciation, although he wished that their other little conspiracy had gone better. The truly ironic thing was, they had been working at cross-purposes, and she hadn’t even known it. It had been Tapinza who had suggested the creation of the Standards and Decency Act, knowing that the Maestress would leap at the idea. Granted, she’d had no idea that he was then going to endeavor to step in and present himself as Moke’s father, but that was all right. If she was angry at him, well …
No one lived forever. Not even Maestress Cawfiel.
But the entire matter had been rendered moot. Just thinking about it caused his stomach to churn in fury, even as the townspeople standing around helped him up. He thanked them, dusted himself off, and then abruptly had to lean on a few of them as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Yes, Calhoun had definitely done quite a job on him. And it was not something that Tapinza had any intention of forgetting, ever. There was no question in his mind that he was going to pay back Mackenzie Calhoun for this insulting, abusive treatment. Pay him back a hundredfold, no matter what it took. And if Rheela and Moke got in his way, well … they would have to pay as well.
GARBECK
“DEUCES AND ONE-EYED JACKS WILD,” said Garbeck. “A pair or better to open.”
She glanced around the table with a grim look of satisfaction. As first officer, her influence over who was brought aboard the Exeter as part of the crew had been limited. She had, however, had sufficient influence to bring her favorite poker buddies along with her, and their weekly games had been the highlight of her term of service thus far.
Lieutenant Tim Lamb from geoscience made his customary face of disgust, the one he always made when Garbeck would announce some sort of flourish to a hand. “My God,” he moaned, “can you just play poker like a man?”
“Sure. Can you?” Garbeck teased back without heat. Lamb stuck his tongue out at her.
Engineer’s Mate First Class Kate Clark, on Garbeck’s behalf, stuck her own tongue out right back at Lamb. “What’s the matter? Too many rules to keep straight in that receding-hairline head of yours?”
“I’m not losing hair,” he said archly. “I’m gaining face.”
“Like we haven’t heard that line a hundred times before,” muttered Ensign Charles Carroll from special services. Next to him, weapons officer Kyle Jutkiewicz was studying his cards as if they contained clues to the whereabouts of the Holy Grail. “What’s the matter, Lamb? Worried about being led to the slaughter?”
“Talk about lines heard a hundred times,” Lamb riposted.
“Could we please remember why we’re all here?” asked Garbeck.
“To enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company?” Clark chirped in a cheerleaderish manner.
This drew guffaws and snorts of disbelief from the others. “I think the commander meant it was to play cards, not bicker,” said Carroll.
“Right,” said Jutkiewicz, still not taking his eyes off his cards. “If I wanted to bicker, I’d hang out with my girlfriend.”
“That bodes well for that relationship,” noted Lamb.
“Nobody asked you, Lambchop,” retorted Jutkiewicz in a sufficiently cranky tone that Garbeck was led to believe Jutkiewicz hadn’t been entirely kidding about the girlfriend reference.
Play proceeded briskly, with Garbeck raking in a fairly significant pot for the hand. In a few minutes, Lamb was shuffling the cards. “Okay,” he said grimly. “Man’s poker this time. None of this “Deuces wild” or “Jacks wild,” or “All face cards painted in red except those with hearts on them are wild” stuff. Five card stud, straight up, down and dirty.”
“Can something be both straight up and down and dirty?” wondered Clark.
This drew snickering from the card players up until the moment that Shelby burst in without ringing the chime or even knocking. The others, except for Garbeck, looked up at her in surprise. Garbeck’s face remained impassive.
“Gentlemen, lady … if you’ll excuse us,” Shelby said tightly. “I’d like to have a few private words with Commander Garbeck.”
The players didn’t hesitate, since it was quite clear that Shelby was not in the mood to countenance any sort of back talk or questions. Within thirty seconds, Shelby and Garbeck were alone in the lounge.
“Can I help you, Captain?” asked Garbeck.
“I believe you can,” replied Shelby. She began a slow circle of the room, her hands draped behind her. “You can explain to me the communiqué I received from Admiral Jellico today. Are you going to admit that you know what it’s about? Or are we going to spend the next few minutes verbally fencing over it?”
“I was always taught in the Academy that one should not assume things,” Garbeck said cautiously. “However, in this instance, I think it a safe assumption to conclude that it’s in reference to the report I filed.”
“That’s exactly right. The report you filed.” She stopped so that she was across the table from Garbeck, and she leaned forward, resting her knuckles on the tabletop. “There are a number of things I could say at the moment, Number One. One of them, obviously, would be that if you have a problem with me, then you come to me and we talk about it. Another would be that I would like to think you have some loyalty toward me as your commanding officer, and that I consider it a personal betrayal that you opted to file an unflattering description of my activities with the Makkusians with Admiral Jellico.”
“My report was entirely within Starfleet protocol—” Garbeck began.
But Shelby raised a finger to her lips, silencing her. “But,” she continued when Garbeck lapsed back into silence, “I’m not going to say any of those things. I don’t have to. Because I can tell you exactly what happened. The Admiral brought you into his office. He told you how excellent you’d be for the post of first officer. He told you stories about Captain Calhoun, no doubt, and how unreliable he’d been … and how he’d no doubt had a very negative influence on me. That there was a danger I’d be unreliable as well, and, because of that, he’d want someone like you whom he could count on. Someone in the second chair who’d not only be able to keep me in line, but would be able to report back to him about everything that I had done that might be c
onsidered out of line with standard operating procedure.
“And if you were cooperative and helpful, then you could rest assured that Jellico would use his considerable influence to make certain you were duly rewarded. Perhaps you’d even be given your own captaincy, because you’re bright enough and ambitious enough, and you’re exactly the type of officer that Starfleet wants to see in the captain’s chair. How am I doing so far, Number One? Am I close?”
Garbeck was not able to keep the surprise from her face. “Very much, yes. May I ask—?”
“How I knew?” She laughed curtly. “Because I had a very similar meeting with him before I started on with Calhoun. I was in your exact position, Garbeck. And you know what? I told the Admiral to go screw himself.”
“Really. And how did he take to that?”
“He took to it so well that he took it upon himself to undermine the loyalties of my first officer.”
Garbeck looked down and shook her head. “My loyalties are not in question in any way, Captain.”
“Really? Considering you filed a report that stated my decisions were undercutting the morale of the command staff—”
“Might I note, Captain,” Garbeck said stiffly, “that I was not alone in that opinion. The command staff signed off on that report.”
“Yes, so I noticed. All of them … except Dr. Kosa.”
Garbeck laughed softly to herself. “Yes, well … Dr. Kosa demurred. He just said something about ‘no respect’ and walked away.” Then she looked back up at her commanding officer, standing there, her face a combination of rage, hurt, and annoyance. “Captain … my loyalty is to something bigger than any one person. It’s to Starfleet. Look … to be honest—”
“A refreshing change.”
Garbeck ignored the jibe. “Admiral Jellico is not my favorite officer, either, all right? But he is an admiral. He does outrank me. He raised issues in regards to you, and I felt it was necessary to listen to what he was saying and act in accordance with his wishes.”
