by Peter David
“I know the place.”
Robin blinked. “You do?”
“Robin, I’ve gotten around quite a bit in my extended life, as you know. You’d be amazed at how few things I haven’t seen. And, believe it or not, Risa happens to be one of them. Besides, you’re judging it purely from the advertisements. There’s other things there.”
“Like what?”
“Archaeological digs, for one thing. I understand that some people go there for a vacation and spend the entire time rooting about in old ruins.”
“Really?” Robin felt some stirring of interest.
“Really.”
“Huh . . . you know . . . it could be kind of interesting at that.” Robin stroked her chin thoughtfully. “We could camp out.”
“We could, absolutely.”
“Rough it.”
“Roughing it would be very exciting,” Morgan agreed.
“The two of us, spending our days by ourselves, digging around in ruins, scrounging about, seeing what we can find, maybe uncovering some great secret of an ancient civilization.” Robin’s enthusiasm was beginning to build. Not only did she start walking back and forth across the room, at one point she actually walked right across the bed. “And at night, the two of us in a tent, talking about all kinds of things, with nothing to distract us. No crowds, no loud noise, no red alert signals. No running around like our lives depended on it.”
“We could do all that,” Morgan told her.
“Mother, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Robin told her. She started rummaging around in her drawers. “I’ll have to bring stuff that’s durable, since we’ll be excavating. I’ve still got some dig tools in the other room, so that will help.”
“And bring a nice dress or two.”
That stopped Robin cold. “A nice dress? For excavating?”
“There’s never an excuse for not looking our best.”
Slowly, Robin fixed a level and not-particularly-inviting stare on Morgan. “Mother . . . you already booked us a room at El Dorado, didn’t you?”
“Have you seen the things they have there?” Morgan asked by way of defending herself. “Swimming pools. Beaches—”
“Mother!”
“Nine restaurants featuring cuisine from all over the galaxy—real cuisine, prepared from scratch. Not things manufactured by replicators.”
Robin noticed that her mother had started putting her clothes into the suitcase again. She promptly began yanking them out once more. “Mother, what about camping? About the dig? You said we would—”
“Ah-ah,” Morgan corrected her. “I said we ‘could.’ That’s not the same thing as saying we would. We ‘could’ flap our arms and fly to Venus, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
“Mother!” she fairly howled in exasperation. “Be reasonable!”
“You be reasonable! They also have an art museum on Risa, not to mention rides and attractions . . .”
“Oh, yes, rides.” Robin rolled her eyes. “Climb on a shuttle and experience a simulation that puts you right in the middle of a black hole, or plunges you into the heart of a sun. As if anyone could survive experiences like that.”
“Well, no one could, Robin. That’s somewhat the point.”
“Mother . . . I was onboard a starship when we dove straight toward a sun while trying to shake a Redeemer ship that was trying to blow us out of space. How is some ‘ride’ supposed to approximate that?”
“Because it’s fun, Robin! Fighting for your life isn’t fun. Experiencing danger firsthand when it’s not really dangerous at all, that can be fun.” She saw the disapproving look on her daughter’s face and sighed heavily. “Robin . . . think about it. Does it really matter where we go, as long as we’re going to be spending time together? Really? In the final analysis?”
“I suppose not,” Robin admitted.
“Then why not have it be someplace that’s lavish? Someplace I’m really going to enjoy?”
“What about me? Doesn’t it matter if I’m going to enjoy it or not?”
“You will enjoy it, if you’ll just relax long enough to get that stick out of your—”
“But—!”
“Exactly.”
“No, I was starting to say, ‘But you’re not hearing me! You’re not listening to what I’m saying!’ ”
“Actually, I think it’s more a case of I’m not listening to what you aren’t saying.”
Robin totally lost track of the conversation. “I’m not following,” she admitted.
“This is about Si Cwan.”
“What?”
“You’re concerned because Risa also has a reputation for being very romantic, and you’re resistant to the notion that you might become involved with someone.”
“Hey, I was the one who suggested Argelius II!”
“Hedonism and romance are two entirely different things.”
Robin clapped her hands to her ears. “Mother, we are not having this conversation.”
“One of us is. The other just isn’t listening to it.”
“I’m not resisting the Risa suggestion because I’m afraid of having a romantic fling! And there’s nothing to ‘get over’ as far as Si Cwan is concerned, because nothing ever happened! What is it that I’m afraid of, exactly? That I might run into another man and have nothing happen all over again?”
“I don’t know what you’re afraid of, Robin.”
“I’m not afraid of anything!”
“Then let’s go to Risa!”
“Fine!” Robin practically exploded. “We’ll go to Risa, all right? We’ll go to damned Risa!” She started hauling clothes back out of the drawers and stuffing them into the suitcase. She made no effort to fold them or arrange them in any sort of neat or reusable fashion. She just shoved them in pell-mell. “We’ll go, and we’ll stay at the damned resort, and eat at the damned restaurants, and I’ll fall in love with half the damned men in the place. Are you happy?”
“Well, I’d be happier with less use of the word ‘damn,’ if it’s all the same to you.”
Robin stabbed a finger at her. “You are driving me insane.”
“That’s what mothers are for,” Morgan reminded her sweetly. Then she scowled as Robin grabbed up another blouse. “Not that one. It makes you look fat.”
“I’ll wear it over my head. That way I’ll look like the fathead that I am.”
“Wonderful idea, Robin. You’ll be keeping the men away with a stick if you do that.”
Robin moaned as she continued to pack, and wondered whether it was too late to call the weather bureau and ask for a lightning strike directed squarely at her skull. Or her mother’s. She couldn’t quite decide.
BURGOYNE
TANZI 419 LOOKED UP from hir desk and was most surprised to see Burgoyne 172 standing in the doorway. S/he rose, putting aside the material s/he’d been working on, and gestured toward the chair opposite hir desk. “Burgoyne! It is good to see you! I was not expecting it—”
“You are an accomplished liar, as always, Tanzi,” Burgoyne said with surprising affability, considering the sentiment. “You must have known I would show up. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days.” Just to show off, s/he covered the distance between the door and the chair with a single bound, landing squarely in the chair and crouching on it. “Amazing how you always have something else to do. Things here in the Hermat Embassy that busy?”
“Oh, you can’t even begin to believe it,” Tanzi said. S/he flashed that ready smile that had seen hir through so many difficult situations. Hir hair was long and silver, and s/he carried hirself with a dignity that existed mostly within hir own head. “First, we had an incident with—”
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Burgoyne interrupted, displaying absolutely no interest in Tanzi’s incident or anything else having to do with life around the Hermat Embassy. Outside the window the classic spires of the New York skyline glistened in the day’s scheduled sunlight. “There’s been a bit of an inc
ident involving . . . well . . .”
“Your son.”
Burgoyne blinked in amazement. Tanzi’s expression had changed, going from pleasant to all business. “I assume that’s what you’re here to discuss.”
“Well . . . yes,” said Burgoyne, making no effort to keep the surprise from hir face. “I didn’t know you knew about him.”
“ ‘Him.’ ” Tanzi shook hir head and laughed softly. “Who would have thought I’d ever hear that word coming from your mouth, Burgoyne, in regards to your own flesh and blood. Then again, you always were something of a rebel, weren’t you? An upstart.”
“You engaged in enough acts of rebellion at my side, Tanzi, and don’t you pretend you didn’t,” Burgoyne said, pointing at hir. There was still a cordial pleasantness in hir voice, but something else as well. A warning: vague, but there nevertheless. “We’ve known each other too long, go back too far, to start playing games with one another.”
“True. So true,” admitted Tanzi.
“She told you, didn’t she? Selar. She was in contact with you,” Burgoyne guessed.
Tanzi nodded. “Not . . . her, precisely. Her brother. He’s in the Vulcan dipcorps . . .”
“The what?”
“Diplomatic corps,” Tanzi said by way of clarification. S/he leaned back in hir chair and, looking so at ease that it served to make Burgoyne feel a lack of ease, s/he put hir feet on hir desk. “Told me all the details . . . at least, as much as he felt was appropriate to share. The child was conceived during some sort of . . . mating ritual?”
“Something like that,” Burgoyne admitted.
“Would you care to tell me about it?”
“Actually . . . I think not. I don’t feel it’s my place to tell. Vulcans tend to be somewhat reticent in discussing such things.”
“How interesting,” said Tanzi with clear amusement. “You’re all worried about people’s feelings all of a sudden.”
“It’s hardly ‘all of a sudden,’ Tanzi, and I can’t say I’m enthusiastic about your attitude.”
Tanzi did not appear to be particularly concerned about whether Burgoyne was enthused or not. Instead, s/he was consulting files that s/he was calling up on hir computer screen. “From my reading of this,” s/he continued, “Selar was not exactly in her right mind when this mating urge seized her. In some respects, you took advantage of her to satisfy your own interests and curiosities.”
“I did no such thing!” Burgoyne said, hir face becoming flushed with anger. Then s/he quickly reined hirself in, all too aware that losing hir temper at this point would not do hir the slightest bit of good. “Tanzi, it wasn’t like that, I swear,” s/he said. “We developed a sort of bond between us. Not only that, but the ‘mating ritual,’ as you call it, strengthened that bond. It caused us to . . . well . . . commune with each other, in a way—”
“Ahhh.” Tanzi seemed thoughtful. “So you’re saying that the Vulcan mental capacities might very well have robbed you of your judgment.”
“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Burgoyne was feeling more frustrated by the moment.
“Let’s just say that, however it happened, a child was conceived and born. Correct?”
“Correct.” Burgoyne was simply relieved to be past the questionable circumstances under which s/he and Selar had joined with one another.
“And now Doctor Selar has taken the child—or at least is en route—to Vulcan, where it is her intention to raise the child in the Vulcan way.”
Burgoyne bobbed hir head. “That is my belief. And, since that was conveyed to you by her brother, it would appear that’s exactly right.”
Tanzi sat back, interlacing hir fingers. “And what, precisely, do you expect the Hermat Directorate to do about it? Or me, as I am attached to the embassy?”
“I want you to go back to the Directorate and present my case to whomever it should be presented to,” Burgoyne said eagerly. “She should not be allowed to get away with this. I want my rights as the father enforced.”
“And why, precisely, would the Directorate help you in such an endeavor?”
At first Burgoyne wasn’t entirely certain s/he had heard the question correctly. “I’m sorry, did you say . . . why?” When Tanzi nodded, a dumbfounded Burgoyne finally managed to say, “Because this is a Hermat child! A Hermat national! What Selar has done is the equivalent of kidnapping!”
“It is kidnapping only if someone is being transported against their will,” Tanzi said patiently. “Furthermore, since she is the child’s mother, naturally she is within her rights to take the child anywhere she chooses. Besides, Burgoyne, you are proceeding from a false assumption.”
“And what would that be?” Burgoyne demanded.
Tanzi actually looked sympathetic, although whether s/he genuinely was or was simply putting on a good act Burgoyne could not determine. “That the child in question is even remotely under Hermat jurisdiction. All the evidence I’ve managed to garner points out that he is not, starting with the very fact that we can refer to him as ‘he.’ ”
“Tanzi—
Tanzi spoke right over hir. “The simple truth, as you should already know, is that the Directorate does not recognize half-breeds as Hermat citizens, deserving of protection under Hermat law. One is either Hermat or one is not. The essence of who we are is that we are both male and female. We contain the physical and spiritual essence of both. To possess only half those attributes is to be something other than what we are.”
“There is precedent,” Burgoyne said. “I checked. Some years ago, one of the Elders spawned a child out of the race, with a human. He was given status as a Hermat citizen—”
“You speak of Lebroq, and yes, that occurred. But the circumstances were different, starting with the fact that Lebroq was, in that instance, the human equivalent of the mother, not the father. Furthermore, Lebroq was indeed an Elder, and highly placed in our society . . .”
“And I’m not? Is that it? A parent is a parent, irrespective of which half of the biological contribution s/he falls on . . .”
“Perhaps in theory, Burgoyne. But the fact is that some parents are more equal than others. And let us be candid with one another, Burgoyne. You have not earned yourself any friends with your behavior.”
“Behavior.” Burgoyne felt an anger building behind hir eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know precisely what it means,” replied Tanzi. S/he was looking less sympathetic with each passing moment. “How many times have you spoken out against the Directorate, Burgoyne? How many times have you held up our ways, our philosophies, as something to be lampooned? What words did you use to describe the Hermat teachings? Let me think . . . oh, yes. ‘Stodgy.’ ‘Boring.’ How did you describe the Directorate? ‘An assemblage of dreary drones, leeching the gods-given sense of joy and tactile sensation from our very being.’ ”
“That’s completely out of context.”
“Oh, really? And what was the context, Burgoyne?”
“Well . . . I was . . .” Burgoyne cleared hir throat. “I was speaking of . . . of dreary drones in general, not just the Directorate.”
“Mm-hmm.” Despite hirself, Tanzi smiled ruefully. “Burgoyne, we were playmates together. Students together. I can’t find it in me to judge you too harshly, or even to really judge you at all. But there are others who feel quite differently, and even if you had some sort of position that was truly tenable under Hermat law, they wouldn’t be inclined to go to any effort for you. As it is, they’re not going to extend themselves at all. You’ve simply made too many enemies, offended too many people with your outspoken criticisms of the status quo.”
“And because of that my child is to be punished?”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Tanzi laughed curtly. “Your child is hardly being punished. Your child is going to be raised among one of the most intelligent, most sophisticated races in the entire Federation. There is nothing that you have told me that even begins to indicate the
child will be abused or mistreated in any way. The only thing that’s being upset here, Burgoyne, is your vanity.”
“Vanity!”
“Yes, vanity. You want the opportunity to raise a child in a culture that he is clearly not a part of.”
“He’s not Vulcan. Despite his outward appearance, he never will be, and he’ll never fit in there. My every instinct tells me that.”
“Unfortunately, Burgoyne, I’m afraid that simply doesn’t carry very much weight. Slon has already spoken with me, I have spoken with representatives of the Directorate, and the decisions have already been made. The course is clear. If you want to go to the Directorate and fervently express what your instincts are telling you, then naturally you are entitled to do so. I can tell you right now, though, that not only will you be wasting your time, but you’re also just going to embarrass yourself. Is that what you want?”
“What I want is the support of my own people as I try to retain some sort of relevance to my son’s life.”
“Burgoyne.” Tanzi reached over and took hir hand. “For your own sake . . . for your sanity . . . let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“It will destroy you if you let it.”
“I can’t, I said.”
Tanzi let out a heavy sigh. “Then you proceed on your own. I’m sorry, Burgoyne. But that’s simply the way it’s going to be.”
Burgoyne rose from the chair. Tanzi remained seated. “I don’t believe you’re sorry. I don’t believe you’re sorry at all.”
“What you believe, in this instance, really doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, that’s becoming increasingly clear. Well, you know what, Tanzi? This isn’t over. It isn’t even close to over.” Burgoyne turned on hir heel and headed for the door.
“When it is over,” Tanzi suggested, “call me. Maybe we can get together for dinner or . . . something.”
Burgoyne turned and looked at hir incredulously, trying to determine whether the suggestiveness in Tanzi’s voice was hir imagination.
Obviously it wasn’t, because Tanzi shrugged hir slim shoulders. “It has been a while, Burgoyne. Perhaps some ‘quality time’ spent with one of your own race would help realign you along the proper course.”
