by Peter David
The Judiciary was silent for some moments after Milos stopped talking. He was tilted back in his chair, his eyes gazing at the ceiling as if he was going to find his decision written there in letters three feet high. Then he moved his chair forward, his gaze seeming capable of dissecting Milos to his core.
“Is this,” he said slowly, “the only case of significance you have to bring before me?”
Something in his voice alerted Rheela—and, to varying degrees, those around her—that there was a problem. Milos, however, looked confusedly blank. “Yes, sir,” he replied.
The Circuit Judiciary made a contemptuous snorting noise, as if the matter that he had been called upon to decide was not remotely worth his time or consideration. He had a large book open before him, presumably one of law. He slammed it closed with a thud that made everyone in the room, except Calhoun, jump slightly. “Then you have wasted my time,” he growled. “The defendant is free to go.”
The cry of outrage was deafening, everyone shouting at once … once again, everyone except Calhoun, who was simply shaking his head slightly from side to side. Kusack was grinning broadly, obviously pleased with the result.
Milos’ voice managed to tower above everyone else’s. “Sir!” he cried out. “This man … he murdered a man, Turkin, who played with him in a game of cards … and his brothers killed our beloved Majister … !”
“We speak of matters of life and death here, Praestor. If Kusack were responsible for a murder, such an act carries penalties that have a definite air of finality about them. So certainty is required. What you have told me here does not begin to approach that certainty.” Voices began to rise once more in protest, but the Judiciary outshouted them. “In regards to the death of Majister Fairax … well, I regret it as much as you. He was a decent and honorable man. But Kusack was merely present at that incident. No one is claiming that he himself pulled the trigger. In fact, he was behind gaol bars at the time. You have tried to paint him as some sort of accomplice, but your description of the events simply do not fit the requirements of law that define an accomplice.” When he spoke of law, his fingers caressed the book with cool satisfaction. “As for this Turkin fellow … where are your witnesses? The other cardplayers, for example …”
“Two of them were Kusack’s own brothers,” admitted the Praestor. “Two others were … well … hired guns. They were not permanent residents of the city and have moved on …”
“And the remaining witness was the arresting officer himself, Majister Fairax, who is now, regrettably, deceased,” said the Judiciary. “If you had brought Kusack’s brothers to me and they had admitted to their brother’s act, that would carry weight. Yet they are not here, nor has your present Majister made any effort to hunt them down.”
There was a dead silence, almost challenging. Calhoun said quietly, “I am one person. I cannot cover the entirety of the planet single-handedly. If I had a squadron of men at my disposal, I would not know which direction to send them in pursuit. If I had some form of instantaneous communication with other towns …”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was chortling from around him. “ ‘Instantaneous communication’?” said the Judiciary incredulously. “What sort?”
Calhoun shrugged slightly. “You could string wires—cables—between cities. Communicate in that way.”
The chortling turned into outright derisive laughter. The Judiciary looked at the Praestor as if to say, This is the madman you’ve installed as the agent of law in this city? “The transmission of voices over wires or cables,” the Judiciary said patiently, “is physically impossible.”
“Far be it from me,” Calhoun said with a faintly mocking tone, “to challenge one whose scientific knowledge so outstrips my own.”
The Judiciary heard the challenge in Calhoun’s voice, but chose to ignore him. Instead, he rose from behind the table, tucking the book under his arm. “With the witnesses either unavailable or dead, we have only secondhand information on which to base the prosecution of this man. It is insufficient. Why are you still here, Kusack? I have told you you are free to go. Go.”
With a triumphant whoop that pierced the sudden stillness of the meetinghouse, Kusack bounded out the door. His laughter floated behind him.
The Maestress was now on her feet, and she pointed a bony and wavering hand at the Judiciary. “A grave miscarriage of justice has occurred here today, sir,” she told him. For once, Rheela found herself in agreement with the little wretch.
“I do not adjudicate in matters of justice, Maestress … only law,” the Judiciary informed her. “Now, if there is nothing else …”
“There is, actually,” Calhoun said. He had risen as well, and he had a satchel slung over his shoulder. “A child’s toy. I devised it for a young man of my acquaintance. I was hoping you could help me test it.”
The Judiciary stared uncomprehendingly at Calhoun. “What … ?” he managed to get out.
Calhoun was not affording him the slightest bit of attention. Instead, he was busy pulling out two cups, joined by a string affixed at the base of each. He proferred one of the cups to the Judiciary and said, “If you wouldn’t mind … ?”
The Judiciary slowly took the cup, turning it over and over in his hand, as if trying to figure out what trick was hidden within.
“Now, back up,” Calhoun said pleasantly, “until the string draws taut.”
The Judiciary looked around in confusion, saw the blank stares of those around him. Caught up in the moment, he walked backward until the string between the two cups was tight.
“Now, hold it to your ear,” Calhoun told him.
Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Judiciary nevertheless held the cup to his ear. Calhoun then whispered something into his cup so softly that no one could hear what he had said.
But the Judiciary’s eyes widened, and his face went pale with shock as the cup slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. Whatever Calhoun had said, the Judiciary had obviously heard it. And whatever he had heard apparently wasn’t very calming or flattering. Clutching his book of law tightly to him, he pivoted on his heel and bolted out the door, nearly stumbling as he did so.
Everyone was staring at Calhoun as he calmly picked up the fallen cup and placed the makeshift device back into his satchel. Then he glanced around at the other townspeople once more before walking out of the meeting hall. The silence extended for long moments after his departure, and then the Praestor loudly cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “I suppose that you can all return to your homes. There’s nothing more to see h—”
“Wait!” Rheela was on her feet, her mouth moving before she even realized she was going to speak. “Wait … what about the duel? This … this Krut person! What are we going to do to help him—?”
There were blank stares from all around her. One would have thought she was speaking in a foreign language.
“Do?” It was the Maestress who had spoken, her voice dripping with derision.
“It is a personal matter,” Milos said. “We all heard it …”
“Personal matter! He is our Majister! Our defender of law!” Every eye was upon her, judging her, and she could practically feel the contempt radiating from them. But she ignored it, pushing on, determined. “You stood here and witnessed a man go free who was partly to blame for the death of our previous Majister, a man beloved by all. Will you stand by and see another good man be killed while trying to do what’s right?”
“Will we sacrifice ourselves to save him?” Spangler called from the back.
“Why shouldn’t we?” she replied with grim amusement. “After all, Spangler … wouldn’t that make a better story? That’s all you’re interested in, anyway: stories. Not about affecting the outcome; just about standing by and watching it all happen. And then you tell other people about it in your newspaper, so they can shake their heads and talk about what a dangerous place the world is, and aren’t they fortunate to have avoided any such unpleasantness themselves. Well, yo
u should not be avoiding this upcoming ‘unpleasantness’! You should be getting your hands dirty trying to stop it! You all should!”
“Perhaps,” the Maestress said coolly, “we should vote on it.”
Immediately there were shouts of “Yes! Let’s vote!”
The vote was fairly quickly attended to. After all, when only one person raises her hand to vote “Aye,” an exact count of the “Nays” isn’t really all that necessary.
* * *
It was extremely quiet around the dinner table that evening. Over the past weeks, as they had become increasingly comfortable with one another, there had been something that had been extremely rare around the household: laughter. They had basked in each other’s company, and for what had seemed all too brief a time, Rheela had occasionally entertained fantasies of what it would be like if it could be this way always.
But this evening, it was different. Silence lay shrouded around them, and finally Rheela put down her utensils a bit too loudly. The loud clink of the utensils naturally got Calhoun’s and Moke’s full attention.
“I’m tired of everyone trying not to make eye contact with each other,” she said. She looked from one to the other, her gaze settling on Calhoun. “Is he really that fast? This Krut? As fast as Moke told me?”
“He’s very fast,” Calhoun admitted.
“Faster than you?”
“I don’t know. I think so, yes.”
“How can you just sit there and make such a calm assessment of it?”
“No matter how fast or how skilled a person is, there’s always going to be someone who’s faster or more skilled,” Calhoun said, also putting down his eating utensils. The food lay largely untouched on his plate. “There’s no point in getting upset about it.”
“There is if it means your death!”
“I’d rather die fighting than of old age,” said Calhoun thoughtfully. “But don’t worry. I’ve no intention of dying tomorrow.”
“But you think he’s a faster draw than you.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re going to die!”
He started to reply, but then caught Moke’s expression out the corner of his eye. He spoke in a low tone, even though the boy could easily hear it. “You’re upsetting the boy.”
Why shouldn’t he be upset along with me! Rheela wanted to howl. But she literally bit her tongue. Instead, she got up from the table so forcefully that she banged her knees on the underside of it, sending some of the food tumbling. Reflexively, she started to reach for it, but then caught herself and turned and dashed out into the unseasonably cool evening air. She heard voices floating behind her, heard Moke saying, “Why is she so upset? He’s not going to kill you, is he?” and Calhoun, damn him, saying, “No, of course not. I’ll be fine.” Her fury grew upon hearing that, because she didn’t want him lying to the boy. But what, really, was he supposed to say? “Yes, son, he’s going to kill me. You’re talking to a dead man.”
The tears welled up in her eyes, and then he was behind her, a hand resting on her shoulder. She whirled and held him tightly, and marveled at how solid his body was. She knew at that moment just how much she wanted him.
“We’ll run away,” she whispered.
Her voice must have been muffled against him, but he was still able to hear her well enough. “Run away?”
She pulled her face away from him and nodded fervently. “We can. We can do it. You, me, Moke … we’ll pack up, steal away into the night …”
“Wouldn’t do any good,” he said. “I know the type of ‘man’ Krut is. Now that he knows I’m here, he’ll track me down. And then he’ll try to kill not only me, but also you and Moke. Besides … I was never much for running.”
“And how are you for dying?” she demanded bitterly. She was crying again. She hated that, hated the crying. She had thought herself all cried-out years ago … back when the stranger had left. The stranger who had put Moke into her body and departed as mysteriously as he had come. “Have a lot of experience dying, do you?”
“Dying, yes. Never quite gotten to ‘dead.’ But I’ve done the dying part enough not to be intimidated by it.”
“Well, I am. I am incredibly intimidated by it, and I don’t want to lose you! I don’t want you to go away!”
He took her firmly by the shoulders and the scar on his tanned cheek was bright crimson against it. “You knew I would go away, sooner or later. I’ve never been anything other than honest with you about that. I’m just—”
“Passing through, I know, I know. But it’s not fair! I don’t want you passing through! I want you to stay here, and grow old with me, and Moke, and there’s no violence, no hatred …”
“It sounds wonderful. It does. But I—”
She kissed him then. She gave him no choice, really. Her lips were hungry against his, as if she was trying to draw strength directly through the contact. Her face was slick with tears, and she didn’t know where to put her hands, on the back of his head or on his back. They just roamed aimlessly over his body….
And then she released him. She looked deeply into those purple eyes that she felt she could swim in endlessly, and she whispered, “She must be quite a woman … this whoever-it-is you’re thinking of when I hold you. The one I’m not.” She paused, and then said softly, “I’m not stupid, you know. Somehow I always knew you were from …” She glanced heavenward. “From up there. Like Kolk’r, descended from on high …”
“I’m no deity, I assure you,” he said with a faint smile. But there were no pretensions between them either, no pretending that he was simply a native of Yakaba who just looked odd. The pleasant fiction that allowed the more mundane, more foolish members of her race to get through the day in the serene belief that they were the premiere creatures of the galaxy.
“And she’s from out there, isn’t she? Wherever you come from, that’s where she is, too.”
“Yes.”
“And she holds your heart.”
“Yes. I didn’t realize how much until I was truly faced with the prospect of never seeing her again.”
“I envy her. Envy her a great deal. And … you might never see her again.”
“That’s possible,” he admitted.
“Yet you would be loyal to her, even though you might never see her again.”
“I wasn’t thinking about being loyal to her,” admitted Calhoun. “But I’ve found that I can’t be … disloyal.”
She looked down. “Do me one favor, Calhoun.”
“Anything that I possibly can.”
“Don’t … stay here tonight. Because I think this may be your last night on this world, and knowing that you were down the hall, and I could not go to you, could not touch you or love you … I don’t think I could stand that. I think that would be very cruel, and I very much doubt you have any desire to be cruel to me.”
He nodded slightly. “As you wish.”
He tipped his hat to her, and then walked slowly toward his luukab. She said nothing as he approached it, but simply stood there, her legs trembling, feeling as if she was going to collapse from grief any moment. But she refused to do so. She was determined to stay on her own two feet and not give in to weakness. And as he climbed atop the luukab, she called to him, “I won’t come into the city tomorrow. I won’t be there to watch you die.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said without turning to look at her. “I wouldn’t come to watch me die either.”
And on that, their last night together, he rode off into the darkness.
LEFLER
ROBIN LEFLER, FORMERLY OF THE starship Excalibur, stopped dead in her tracks in the lobby of the El Dorado resort and rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t quite believe who she saw coming toward her.
“Commander?!?” In terms of disbelief, she also couldn’t quite comprehend why she sounded, and felt, so overjoyed to see the first officer of the Excalibur coming toward her. And, even more astounding than that, Shelby actually seemed pleased to see her. Lefler had always h
ad the opinion that Shelby felt a bit impatient with her. As if somehow Lefler wasn’t measuring up to what Shelby felt an officer should be. Then her fingers flew to her lips in chagrin. “Oh, I’m sorry! Captain, I should be saying, right?”
“We’ll let it go this time,” Shelby said with mock gravity as she took Lefler’s hand in her own and shook it warmly. “It’s good to see you, Robin.”
“You, too, Captain. You’re looking good. Command suits you, I think.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. It’s been …” She gave a small smile, and Robin might have imagined it, but there seemed to be pain in the smile. “It’s been an interesting few months. The first month or so was the hardest.”
“Why? What happened the first month?”
“Oh, the usual … averted a war, condemned some people to death. Standard stuff.” She tried to sound jesting about it, but it certainly didn’t come out that way. Realizing that dwelling on it might not be the best tack to take, Lefler quickly—and wisely—changed the subject.
“Are you here on Risa for shore leave?”
“Actually, no.” They sauntered over to a nicely cushioned couch situated near a splashing waterfall. Shelby glanced at the waterfall and chuckled.
“I know, I know, it’s a bit much,” said Robin. “But believe it or not, you get used to it. So,” and they sat on the couch, “if not shore leave, why are you here?”
“Well, there’s a ceremony coming up that you’ve been invited to, but you haven’t been responding to Starfleet communiqués about it.”
“Ohhh,” moaned Lefler. “I’m so sorry about that. We had some, uhm … unpleasantness here on Risa. Major … unpleasantness. It knocked out systems for quite a while. In fact, we’re still doing repair work on it. This entire lobby,” and she indicated the space around them, “was nothing short of a disaster area. Took ages to get it back into shape. In any event, our communications grid has been spotty. A lot of transmissions have been lost. But hey … at least I knew to inform Starfleet of where I was heading off to, so they’d know to send you here. I assume that’s what happened.”
