by Peter David
“In any event,” he continued softly, “if I did it badly … I’m sorry. If you do not wish me to extend friendship to the boy, I won’t. You’re his mother, after all. And no, I cannot promise I’ll stay around. In fact, I can promise that I won’t. People come and go in life, Rheela. I’ve learned that much. No matter how much you want them to remain with you … you can lose them with no warning at all. There is much to be commended in long-term planning, but there is also something to be said for leaving yourself open to the vulnerabilities of the moment. I’m happy to offer the boy … and you … what I can. I hope that’s going to be enough. If it’s not … tell me now.”
She knew, beyond any question, that he meant it. If she told him to depart right then and there, he would go, without a moment’s hesitation. And wouldn’t her life be ever so much simpler if that were to occur. She merely had to give the word …
“That … won’t be necessary,” she said.
He frowned. “What won’t? Offering you what I can—?”
“No, no. Leaving, I mean. You don’t …” She suddenly felt a slight choking in her voice. “You don’t have to leave. If you don’t want to. As long as you don’t give Moke any more false impressions,” she added quickly. “No more making him think that you’re his father, even for an instant. All right?”
“All right,” he said agreeably. “Anything else?”
“No. No, that … ahem… that covers it, I think.”
“Good.” He nodded and said again, “Good.”
And as he turned to walk away, Rheela suddenly spoke up with urgency. “Calhoun …”
“Yes?” He didn’t turn back to her.
In a voice so soft she herself could barely hear it, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Even with his back to her, she could tell he was smiling. “See? That wasn’t so difficult,” he said, with a gently chiding tone.
She lay there in the bed and listened to his feet padding away, and this time when her inner voice spoke, it was saying with open admiration, You know … he’s not so bad … did you see that chest? Not huge muscles, but what there is is great quality. Sinewy.
“Shut up!” she shouted at herself as she pulled the pillow over her head and fell into a very uncomfortable sleep.
HAUMAN & SHELBY
THERE HAD NEVER BEEN A TIME in his life when he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, supposed to be, and supposed to accomplish. The fact that there was no uncertainty in his life had become so normal for him that he had simply learned to take it for granted.
Leadership of the Makkusians was hereditary. Hauman had been born and groomed to become leader, much as his father before him, and grandmother before him. He had been schooled in the ways of peace and neutrality, been fully indoctrinated in the laws and history of his people. Leadership held no fear for him, because he was as comfortable with the concept itself as he was with his own body, his own breathing.
He had never questioned any decisions he had made, knowing that they were for the best. In his hands lay the future of his people, and he held that future comfortably and easily.
But now things were different. Very, very different.
“Base betrayers,” he muttered to himself as he paced the gleaming floor of his inner sanctum with long, quick strides. His forebears had trod the same ground, but he was certain that they had never faced the sort of situation that was presenting itself to him. Their portraits lined the walls of his sanctum, and he could feel the weight of their eyes and criticism upon him, waiting to hear what decision he was going to render.
In truth, he had already rendered his decision. It was simply a matter of giving the orders. But when he had learned that theExeter had returned to the area after a month’s time, he considered that to be something of a sign. Before he headed down the final path, he knew that he had to inform Shelby of the circumstances that had brought them to it. It was not something that he was particularly looking forward to, but neither was he going to flinch from it.
It had been an uneasy time for Shelby.
The good thing was that the missions that they’d been encountering since their departure from Makkus had been relatively mundane. Star-charting, observation of assorted astronomical phenomena, an emergency transport of needed medical supplies to a colony in distress. In short, things that anyone could have handled. Hell, that guy who was the gardener at the Academy—what’s his name, Boothby—could have been seated in the main chair and captained his way through it all with minimal training.
The bad thing was that she was feeling ill at ease. There had been no further blowups or difficulties comparable to the Makkus incident, but she still felt as if her own people were carefully scrutinizing her. She supposed, in a way, that it was the height of irony. After all, she had handpicked them for their fidelity to rules and regulations. But in so doing, she had created a sort of ad hoc board of judgment, so versed and certain of the essential rightness of all things regulatory, that they scrutinized all her efforts with scrupulous precision. Basically, she had been hoist on her own petard, a phrase that she had heard on occasion, and which had a certain resonance to it. It probably would have had even more had she ever bothered to find out what a “petard” was.
She kept telling herself that this was a positive thing, this dynamic between the crew and her. That it kept her “honest.” Because (she reasoned) let’s face it: The time that she had spent with Calhoun might indeed have had much more of a negative impact on her than she would have possibly wanted to admit.
It might be (again she hated to admit it) that there was something to be said for the attitude of Garbeck and the others. And the fact was that Garbeck’s approach to Jellico was really the more correct one. Shelby had allowed her reactions to be colored by the fact that she had a personal history with Calhoun, and had felt that relationship was being exploited by Jellico for the purpose of monitoring Calhoun, rather than her rightfully earning her place on the Excalibur by dint of accomplishment. Alexandra Garbeck, however, was under no such constraints, carried with her no such baggage. She was simply doing her duty as she saw fit. Once the hurt and anger had faded, Shelby could see that more clearly—and even wondered whether, given the same circumstances and minus the aspect of the personal relationship—she would wind up doing the exact same thing.
But still …
In her heart, she knew that what she had done in order to help the Makkusians was correct. She knew that Calhoun would have been the first to pat her on the back and say, “Nice job, Eppy.” More than that, though … the old crew would have been nodding in approval. There would have been Lefler, grinning at Shelby’s cleverness, and Soleta and Burgoyne would have teamed up to get the job done without signing off on a subsequent report chastising her, and Kebron—well, he wouldn’t have said anything, really, he’d have just stood there, but even so—
And McHenry, why, he’d probably be dozing, but, at the same time, ready to come to full wakefulness at the slightest hint of trouble, in that way he had which bordered on the paranormal. At first it had driven her completely crazy, but now she had become accustomed to watching MacGibbon—one half of McMac—seated at conn, always alert, ever vigilant. It should have been comforting, reassuring. Instead it was … well, a little boring, really.
The crew of the Excalibur had driven her nuts. The day shift, and the night shift as well. They had shared their commanding officer’s knack for eccentricity, and because of that, had gotten on Shelby’s nerves. At least, she’d thought they had. Now, though … dammit … she missed them.
She could practically hear Calhoun’s voice in her head, saying, Typical woman … never knowing what you want and don’t want. Taking umbrage, irrationally, at the comment she had manufactured for herself, she started to argue with the simulacrum of Calhoun that resided inside her head. She cut it short, though. She had enough problems.
The business on Makkus remained a major sore spot, and nothing would have suited Shelby better than to have it end in a p
ositive manner. Her gut feeling was that Hauman was going to see the light and realize that he could have it all. That he and his people could be part of the Federation while, at the same time, maintaining the integrity of their personal philosophies. Why not? After all, if the Klingons could belong to the UFP and still be the aggressive, warlike race they’d always been, why would the Makkusians be poorly served in a similar alliance, simply because they believed in neutrality?
When they had made their initial approach to Makkus, however, and Shelby had desired to speak to him, he had seemed tense and distracted. As opposed to the first time she had encountered him, when he had posed what came across as a pleasant invitation, this time he practically ordered her to come down. It made her uneasy. It also made Garbeck uneasy. As a result, she volunteered to head planetside in lieu of Shelby in the event that there was trouble. Shelby, however, would not hear of it. “I’m the one who dealt with him before,” she said, “and I’m going to see this through.”
Garbeck nodded without protest, which was something of a relief to Shelby. However, the first officer insisted on increasing the security guards. So, when Shelby went down, with her was not only security head Kahn, but assistant chief Wagner and a third security officer named Allison Lee—a strapping young woman who looked like she could probably break both Wagner and Kahn in half without even trying.
Hauman’s gaze flickered over the trio of guards, and there was grim amusement in his eyes. “More protection than before, Captain. Do you believe that we pose a threat?”
“Simply being cautious, Hauman. We live in hazardous times. Unfortunately, when we don’t have official bonds of alliance, it’s difficult to know whom we can trust.”
“Sometimes, Captain, even such bonds do not provide us with that basis of trust. Sometimes … those we trust … can turn out to be our greatest betrayers.”
Shelby did not like the sound of where this was going. Neither, obviously, did the security guards. She noticed that Wagner’s hand was subtly poised over his holstered phaser. The women were not being quite that overt, but they looked ready for trouble just the same.
“Are you saying … that you feel we have betrayed you in some way?” Shelby asked cautiously, aware that the answer to that question might demand a quick, self-defensive reaction.
But Hauman simply frowned at them for a moment, clearly not understanding what she was referring to. Then his face cleared. “Ah. No wonder you have adopted this … this defensive posture,” he said, indicating Shelby and those accompanying her. “You thought that my people had an issue with you. No … no, my friends,” and he seemed almost relieved to clear it up. “No, you have done nothing to earn anything except our eternal gratitude for your aid.”
“Then … what are you referring to, if I may ask?”
Hauman took a deep breath, as if readying himself to make a personally devastating confession. “Corinder,” he said.
“Corinder.” For a moment the name meant nothing to Shelby, but then it came back to her. “The next planet over in the system. Your neighbors.”
“Yes. Corinder. But they have not been … ‘neighborly.’ ”
“I’m not quite following you,” she admitted.
He laughed bitterly. “I cannot say I blame you for not ‘following.’ I can scarcely believe it myself. After all this time …”
“All what time?” She exchanged looks with her guards, who were obviously as befuddled as she. “Hauman …”
But his anger was already swelling, as if the mere act of discussing it was enough to drive him to bubbling fury. “They underestimated us. They thought our scientists would not be able to figure it out. That we would not learn of their betrayal. You, who are relative strangers to us, saved us from a pernicious threat introduced by those whom we considered longtime allies.”
“I’m still not—” Then she stopped, realizing, her eyes wide. “Wait … are you saying that the Corinderians were somehow responsible for—”
He nodded in affirmation. “The disease carried by the insects, yes. We discovered signs of actual genetic tampering in the specimens we managed to capture. Tampering that infected the insects with a disease that had ravaged Corinder more than two centuries ago. In the spirit of sharing, they decided to give the disease—in a more heavily mutated form—to us, with the insects acting as carriers.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. And I have to tell you, Captain … we are incensed.”
He was not simply spouting off. He was fairly trembling with barely suppressed rage. Shelby couldn’t quite believe it. This was the man who had been the epitome of peace earlier, the advocate of neutrality. “Hauman,” she said firmly, “I can tell you right now that choosing a course of action when you are this angry is never a good thing to do. You have to think rationally before you—”
But he wasn’t even listening to her. Instead, he had started pacing again. His fists kept clenching and unclenching, as if he was envisioning what it would be like to have the collective throats of the Corinderians between his fingers. “We had thought that they were like-minded,” he was saying, and it seemed as if he was speaking more to himself than to her. “We had thought that we shared philosophies, beliefs, a respect for a system of thought that guaranteed peaceful coexistence for all. Such, however, is clearly not the case. They tried to annihilate us, through dark and pernicious means. And you knew!”
“We did not know!” Shelby said immediately.
Again he shook his head. “My apologies. My anger makes me choose my words poorly. I did not mean that you knew of their duplicity. I meant that you knew there were these types of people out there. People plotting our downfall, people who did not care in the least for promises or allegiances or commonality. People who want only what they want, when they want it, and do not care in the least whom they hurt or destroy or kill. That is the type of … of creature that inhabits Corinder.”
“But why? Why would they do such a thing?”
“We can only surmise at this point, but we think we have a fairly reasonable idea. Corinder, you see, is massively overcrowded. You have not been there, have you?” When she shook her head, he smiled grimly. “You would be well-advised not to bother. You can barely turn around there, people are so packed in. Housing shortages, food shortages. They have no self-control, the Corinderians. They multiply like … what are those creatures? Small, furry …”
“Rabbits?”
“Tribbles,” he corrected himself. “We have endeavored to provide what you would call humanitarian aid. We have offered of our services what we can, but the people of Corinder have always been most prideful. They claimed they neither wanted nor needed our help, although they always did so in a polite manner.” He laughed ruefully. “Obviously, they have chosen to be polite no longer. They have chosen instead to try and eliminate us. By wiping out our population, they would then be able to take up residence on this world. That was what provided the beginnings of our suspicions about the insects, you see. We are very similar in biological makeup to the Corinderians, and yet our scientists discovered that the disease the insects were carrying would not have the slightest impact on Corinderian DNA. That made our scientists think that perhaps the illness was more manufactured than it was a natural outgrowth. One thing led to another in their findings, and ultimately we tracked the problem back to its source: those bastards on Corinder. Well,” and he smiled in a way that was not reflected in any other part of his face, “if overpopulation is what the Corinderians are concerned about, then we will be more than happy to help them solve that problem.”
“You … can’t mean what I think you mean …”
“What else is there for it?” he demanded. “They tried to obliterate us. They came at us with a sword. What would you have us do?”
“Beat it into a plowshare, as you did with all your other weapons.”
“Not all,” he said darkly.
She did not like the sound of that. “You’re saying … you’re ready to g
o to war over this.”
“Of course we are,” he said matter-of-factly. “What other choice do we have? What other avenue is there for us to pursue? None. None at all. If they are inclined to try and destroy us, we have no choice but to do the same to them before they are able to do it to us.”
“That’s not true,” spoke up Allison Lee, and then she immediately looked down. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”
“No, it’s all right, Lee. Say what’s on your mind.”
She looked up, encouraged by her captain’s words. “Hauman, sir,” she said, “my family goes way back in military history … all the way back to Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, one of the founders of my native country. And I can tell you that the alternative to war is always peace, and that peace is, more often than not, made. The only question is whether that peace comes before or after people spend years killing each other. But if more people respected and practiced the art of compromise before wars started rather than after, billions of lives lost throughout the centuries could have been spared.”
“An excellent philosophy, Miss,” said Hauman grimly. “We had an excellent philosophy, too. One that spoke of peace and neutrality. But we have learned that such philosophies pale in comparison to people who have the will and the dedication to annihilate their neighbors without cause, without pity, without mercy. That is the mentality that we are dealing with here. And we have you to thank, Captain,” and he turned to Shelby, “for showing us the way.”
“Me?” she said in surprise.
He nodded. “You have made us realize that one has to be willing to look beyond immediate philosophies. You have made us realize that we must consider … the big picture.” She winced when he said that, but he continued. “I think it very likely that we will wind up joining your Federation, for the truth of just how dangerous a galaxy we live in has been underscored for us. But first … first we will dispatch our enemies.”
