Star Trek - NF - 11 - Restoration

by Restoration(lit)

  Rheela also cast a glance in Calhoun's direction. She saw that he wasn't talking with anyone, but merely walking along the edges of the room. He seemed to be surveying the area, looking for any possible trouble spots. Residents of the town were glanc-ing toward him in a manner that they no doubt considered to be surreptitious. In point of fact, it was nothing of the kind, because if Rheela could see them engaging in such foolish behavior, Cal-houn most likely could as well. However, he had a tendency-or perhaps the simple politeness-to look pointedly in the other di-rection from anyone who was looking at him. Thus did he give

  them the impression that they were spying on him with impunity when, in fact, he was fully aware of every moment that they were watching. It was almost like a game, and he played it extremely well.

  There was a banging of a gavel from up front, and people scur-ried to their respective seats. The Praestor was gaveling the meeting to order. Moke, upon hearing the meeting getting ready to start, looked around for his mother, caught sight of her, and headed to-ward her. She smiled approvingly as he slid into the seat next to her. Tapinza kept his distance. This struck her as being a good thing.

  "Fellow citizens," called Praestor Milos once all of the normal chatter had died down, "I thank you all for coming to our town meeting. These meetings are the single most vital part of keeping our town running smoothly and for the benefit of all-"

  "-its citizens!" A number of voices were chiming in from all around, and this set off a round of good-natured laughter. The Praestor was renowned for saying, in essence, the same speech over and over again at the beginning of every town meeting. Even the Praestor laughed in mild self-rebuke. "I suppose I should re-ally get a new opening statement, eh?" There were nods from throughout the room.

  He rose from behind the table, and Rheela found her gaze drawn to the people sitting behind it. It was the usual town coun-cil-die Praestor, the Maestress, and the mortician and the news-paper editor. The fifth seat was empty, however. Previously, Majister Fairax had filled it, and the sad and vacant state of the chair was a silent reminder of the loss that had been thrust upon them. Rheela cursed herself for being so out of touch; services had already been held for Fairax, his body disposed of by fire, as was the custom. It wasn't as if she lived that far away, and yet it seemed as if a chasm separated her from the town.

  She wondered if Calhoun was going to be installed as the fifth member of the council. It seemed extremely unlikely; Fairax had only taken the position after he'd been there for three years, upon the unexpected demise of Old Man Binner. Would the council re-

  ally suggest installing Calhoun, who was such a new arrival to the city, and with a background that was-at best-a question mark? "I am reluctant to begin our meeting on a somber note," said Milos, "but this is the first one we are having after the passing of our dear and wise Majister, Fairax. I think it would be respectful to have a moment of silence in memory of a good man who was cut down doing his job-defending the people of this community."

  All heads were properly lowered, and a silence fell upon the meeting hall. After a brief time had passed, the Praestor said, "All right... that's the first thing. The second thing is, the town coun-cil, in emergency session, has decided to install a replacement for the late Fairax: Mackenzie Calhoun."

  Now that subterfuge and hidden glances could be set aside, all eyes turned openly and unabashedly toward Calhoun. He nodded in acknowledgment of the scrutiny, even tipping his wide-brimmed hat slightly with a faintly amused air.

  "What do we know about him?" asked the Widow Att from across the room. "We don't know anything. He could be anyone. He doesn't look like anyone from around here." There were a few nodding heads, but most people seemed to be playing their emo-tions close to the vest. They didn't seem inclined to openly com-mit their feelings on the matter.

  "I'm from up north," Calhoun said.

  "That doesn't tell us anything," the Widow Att pointed out.

  "It tells you I'm not from down south."

  There was some faint laughter, but the Widow Att simply scowled all the more fiercely.

  "We respect your concerns, Att," Praestor Milos said smoothly. "However-"

  "We had to make a decision, fast," Spangler, the newspaper ed-itor, spoke up. "Naming Calhoun the new Majister was the deci-sion we chose to make. Given the circumstances, it seemed the best one at the time. However, we are no longer faced with an emergency. This matter can now be put to the entirety of the town. We are, after all, only the town council, not the town dictator. The

  permanent installation is a matter for the entire town to decide. Calhoun... do you have anything to say?"

  'Depends," Calhoun said slowly.

  "On what?"

  "If the vote is yes... then no, I've nothing to say. If the vote is no... then I'll say 'Good-bye.' "

  There were uneasy looks around the room. "Is that your entire statement on the matter?" Howzer, the mortician, said with a touch of annoyance.

  "Pretty much, except to say that whichever of you decides to take over the position, well," and he smiled broadly, "I hope you don't get shot."

  Rheela put a hand to her mouth to cover her broad smile. She could see the suddenly nervous expressions of everyone around her. In short order, a simple hand vote indicated that an over-whelming majority of the people attending thought that keeping Calhoun employed as the Majister was just a terrific idea.

  "So ordered. Majister Calhoun, welcome aboard. Do you have any opening or official statement you'd like to make to the good people of Narrin?"

  He smiled, bobbed his head and said, "I'll do my best while I'm here... but I'm just passing through. Keep your heads down and, with any luck, none of you will get blasted. By me, at any rate."

  Rheela bit her lip so as not to laugh out loud. The "good people of Narrin" looked at each other with clear uncertainty that they had done the right thing, but it was too late to go back now.

  The meeting then proceeded, with discussion on a variety of other topics. There were times when Rheela found it difficult to stay awake, but she knew as a responsible citizen that it was her obligation, at the very least, to make a pretense of paying atten-tion. She found her gaze drawn time and again to Calhoun, though. He had taken up a position in one corner of the room that seemed to suit him, and she realized that, from that one spot, he could see every corner of the place with equal facility. He was leaning back against the wall, looking very relaxed and apparently

  not expecting trouble at all. But she watched as his gaze swept the room, consistently and steadily. No, he might not have been ex-pecting trouble... but he was anticipating it, so that he would not be caught unawares. It made her wonder if there was any reason to expect trouble at the meeting, but ultimately she decided that he was just being cautious. It was incredibly ironic. She still knew next to nothing about him, aside from the fact that he'd tried to kill her. And yet, inexplicably, she felt safer with him around than without him.

  It was everything she could do to throw off such sentimentally nonsensical thoughts. The last thing she wanted to do was depend on someone else in order to feel safe. The only one she could count on not to abandon her or Moke was herself. And she could never, ever, lose sight of that fact.

  "That," the Praestor announced eventually, "takes care of old business. Now... on to new business. Not to be too unfeeling on a painful subject, but it's obvious that we need to replace Majister Fairax on the town council. Now, we of the council have thought long and hard about this, trying to come up with an individual whom we feel has given a great deal to the community, and pre-sumably has more to give in the future. And after developing a very short list of names, we would like to present to all of you the individual whom we feel would be the most appropriate to place on the council. This is subject, naturally, to your vote, but we are hoping that our recommendation will provide sufficient sway, or-at the very least-quell any concerns you might have."

  "Who are we talking about here?' inquired Ronk, an impatient and per
petually cranky dirt farmer from the southern district.

  "I am speaking of none other than the right honorable Maester Tapinza."

  There was a round of genuinely enthusiastic applause in response to that, but Rheela shook her head in disbelief. Was every-one truly blind to the fact that there was something... unappetiz-ing about him? Granted, he had never said or done anything truly threatening. She didn't like his point of view, trying to profit off the

  Kolk'r-given ability she wielded. That alone, though, didn't auto-matically mean that there was something wrong with him.

  Even so, though... even so... she felt nothing but great un-ease every time his name was mentioned. But all she was seeing around her were nods of approval.

  Tapinza was standing, nodding and waving to the people. He cleared his throat and said, "My good Mends... as much as I ap-preciate this warm ovation, there are rules for a reason. Things should be done according to those rules whenever possible. If those rules call for a vote, then I must insist that such a vote be held."

  "Well said, Maester, well said," Milos beamed. "I think a sim-ple show of hands will do. All those in favor of Maester Tapinza being appointed to the town council..."

  Rheela saw hands all around her going into the air. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to sit on her own hands and send a statement-however futile it might be-that she still did not ap-prove of the man. But then, much to her own annoyance, she raised her hand, falling into line with everyone else.

  "There, then!" Milos said cheerfully, not even bothering to ask for "no" votes, since the show of hands had been overwhelmingly supportive of the question before them. 'That's settled. Welcome to the council, Maester," and he shook hands warmly with Tapinza while another polite round of applause rippled through the meet-ing hall.

  "Now, then," continued Milos, "is there any new business?"

  And he looked straight at the Maestress.

  This alone was enough to set off an alarm in Rheela's head. She had no idea why, but, nevertheless, she sensed that what was about to happen-whatever that might be-wasn't going to be good, dearly, the Maestress had something very specific in mind, because the Praestor was apparently expecting it. She was getting the distinct impression that there was going to be some sort of ambush... and that there wasn't a thing she was going to be able to do about it.

  Sure enough, the Maestress rose from behind the table. It seemed as if the others in the room visibly shrank when she did

  so. It was hard for Rheela to understand, even after all this time, the hold that Maestress Cawfiel seemed to have over so many of them. Then again, perhaps it wasn't that difficult to understand. Cawfiel had been part of the town for longer than anyone could remember. The general sentiment seemed to be that she had been there, literally, forever. She predated everyone, including Praestor Milos, who was one of the oldest men in the city. Virtually every-one in the meeting hall, when they had been children, had quaked in fear of the Maestress. One would have thought that, once they grew up, adulthood would have attended to childhood fears. But time had not lessened the strength of the influence she had upon them. If anything, it had graven it in stone.

  When she spoke, it was with a low voice that was just above a whisper, so that everyone was forced to strain in order to hear her. From a psychological point of view, that was very clever on her part. In effect, it brought them to her. "As many of you know," she said, "I am very concerned over the behavior I saw in this city not all that long ago. The gallivanting, the mindless celebration. It does not bode well for the long-term health of our city. You do all see that, I hope."

  Rheela didn't know firsthand what she was talking about, but she could certainly take a guess. The rain she had brought to the people a few days ago had been desperately needed, and there had probably been "gallivanting" in the streets when the skies had un-leashed their liquid sustenance. She wished she could have been there, as it must have been quite a sight to see.

  There was visible tension throughout the room. And then the Maestress... smiled. Rheela couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not, although, if she had to guess, she would have opted for "not."

  "But I have been giving the matter some thought... and I want you to know that I am not angry. I hold no grudges. I simply want what's best for you. As the spiritual mother of this community, I embrace each and every one of you," and she held her arms wide symbolically.

  Immediately, relief swept through the crowd. The residents of Narrin reciprocated, likewise holding open their arms and sym-bolically welcoming her gesture. For her part, Rheela found her-self looking toward Calhoun to see what his reaction was. His face remained inscrutable. There did seem to be, though, a hint of cold amusement in his eyes. Then again, Rheela couldn't be sure; she might have been imagining it.

  The Maestress lowered her arms, and the others followed suit. Rheela saw, though, that the Praestor was making no effort to step in or act as if that was all the Maestress had to say on the matter. That being the case, the odds were that the Maestress was, in fact, going to say more. Rheela still felt uneasy.

  "I think," the Maestress, predictably, continued, "that part of the problem is that I have not presented you with sufficient guidelines. As a result, I've constantly been in the position of having to scold you after the fact. But that is inefficient and- worse-unfair to you. So I think it would be much better for all concerned if the rules were made clear. Made clear... and ac-cepted by all of you. A sort of contract, if you will, between us."

  " 'Us' being what?" It was Ronk, once again, who had asked. He added, "And what kind of 'contract' are you talking about?"

  " 'Us' refers to the people of this town... and the council, its appointed representatives and guides in all matters having to do with orderly life here in Narrin. And as for the contract, why... that's a very good question, Ronk, and one that is easily answered."

  She turned and nodded to Spangler. He got up from behind the table, carrying the stack of papers that had been on his lap. He went along the rows of people, handing out stacks and indicating that they should be passed down. As he did so, Maestress Cawfiel explained, "We call it the Standards and Decency Act. I, of course, dislike such words as 'act.' But that's our way of letting you know that it is coming through the council, rather than at the whim or will of any one individual. Moreover, what makes it a

  contract is that it will be entered into willingly. Read it over. You will see that it is ultimately just and fair."

  Rheela skimmed it over. She hated to admit it-it even fright-ened her slightly-but most of what she was reading didn't seem all that bad. It preached moderation in all things, respect for au-thority, treating others in the same manner that you yourself wished to be treated.

  She was three-quarters of the way down the single page of the document when she stopped cold. The passage leaped out at her like a dagger.

  "No people of questionable moral virtue shall be tolerated on or about or anywhere within proximity of the city, as they set a poor example and will lead others down the road to depravity. These types of people shall include, but not be limited to, abusers of chil-dren... abusive partners..." The list went on, and most of them seemed reasonable, except her eye had skipped to the end."... and parents of children with questionable or unknown background."

  She heard muttering, rumbling that sounded like voices of dis-content. But, for the most part, she also heard comments of ap-proval. The vast majority of those surrounding her seemed to appreciate having everything spelled out for them.

  "You see?" the Maestress said. "It's not unreasonable. Cer-tainly nothing that anyone who wants the best for this town would have any objections t-"

  It took everything Rheela had to muster up her nerve, because she was quite certain of the response she was going to get. Never-theless, she got to her feet and said, "Excuse me."

  The Maestress hadn't been looking in her direction, but she did so now. Very slowly, her gaze fastened on Rheela, and her thin lips stretched a
cross her face. But it was a smile that displayed utter confidence in herself and in the moment. "Yes, Rheela?"

  "I have to believe, Maestress-with all respect-that one of the stipulations put forward here is aimed specifically at me."

  "Not at all, Rheela," the Maestress replied coolly. "The 'stipu-lations,' as you call them, are designed only to provid a life of pu-

  rity of spirit for all concerned. That is not aimed at you. It's aimed at providing what's best for all."

  The Praestor spoke up, sounding vaguely patronizing. "I assure you, Rheela, that when the rules of decency were being drawn up, your name was not mentioned. Nor was anyone's. We took aim at no single lifestyle, but instead, what will simply be best for every-one."

  Ronk reared to his feet. The fact that he was arguing came as no surprise; Ronk had a tendency to disagree with everyone about everything. It was what he enjoyed doing. Nevertheless, this time, his stated concerns actually had relevance to Rheela. "I know 'zactly what Rheela's referrin' to. It's this part here, about un-known children and such. How's it gonna be best for everyone if she's driven away because of that?"