Star Trek - NF - 11 - Restoration

by Restoration(lit)

  "Moke, that's not the poi-"

  He acted as if she hadn't even spoken. "We help people! You keep telling me, we're here because you want to help! Because you gotta help! Because the whole reason you make rain is that you have to help other people! A whole town of people! And when one guy tries to help us, you get all mean at him and tell him not to! Why does everybody get help except us!"

  "Moke... please... it's... it's difficult to understand, I know..."

  "Lots of stuff is, Ma! But you can always explain it to me! So explain this! Please! I wanna understand, I really wanna. Can you explain it?"

  Rheela, feeling utterly helpless, looked from Moke to Calhoun and back again. The three of them had come to a halt there on the plain, with the moon high in the sky. The farmhouse was not far off, and Rheela seemed to consider the situation for a long mo-ment. Then, very quietly, she said, "Moke... the Majister and I need to talk. In private. Why don't you," and she slid off the luukab, "ride the rest of the way? When you get home, get into bed, and I'll come in and talk with you."

  "Will Calhoun come and talk with me, too?"

  She licked her lips, which suddenly felt quite dry. "I'm not sure. We'll see."

  "I hate 'we'll see,' " he said stubbornly, but he did as his mother told him. Once she had dismounted, he dug his heels into the luukab's side, shouting, "Yah! Yah!" in that high, childish voice. His urging had zero impact on the luukab, which continued its slow, measured tread toward the home-stead.

  "He's a good kid," said Calhoun. "He deserves-"

  "Don't start," Rheela said sharply, waving a finger at Calhoun. Then she hesitated, gathering her thoughts. She began to walk in a small circle, her arms draped behind her. Calhoun, who might have been carved from stone for all the emotion he was display-ing, simply sat and watched her. "Don't act as if it had anything at all to do with Moke."

  "It didn't?" He sounded politely confused. Apparently she had broached a concept that was utterly foreign to him.

  "No. It didn't. This was entirely, and only, about you."

  "It was?"

  "Yes. You wanted to show how in control of the situation you were. Or that you could be in control if you wanted to. So you just

  shoved yourself into the middle of everything, and you only made it worse-"

  "How did I make it worse?"

  "You confused Moke!"

  "He's a child. Life is confusing when you're a child," said Cal-houn. Then he added, with a hint of a smile, "Of course, it's just as confusing when you're an adult. The problem is, as a child you can look to adults for answers. As an adult-"

  "You can look to the gods," Rheela pointed out.

  "That's something of a one-way conversation, I've found," Cal-houn said.

  "We're getting offtrack. You decided to stand up and thrust yourself into this situation out of a sense of self-aggrandizement. That's all."

  "Why do you assume that?" he asked. "You don't know me well enough, I think, to decide on my motives."

  "I do know you well enough. I know your type."

  "Do you?" Amusement sparkled in his eyes. She noticed, not for the first time, that he actually looked slightly attractive when he regarded her that way. But then she quickly brushed the thought from her mind.

  "Yes. I do. Swaggering would-be heroes who think they're ca-pable of running people's lives for them. Never listening to what the people themselves have to say."

  "I'm listening right now. You don't seem to be talking, beyond scolding me. That's all right, though. Believe it or not, I'm used to it"

  "Don't you get it?" she demanded, her fists balled. "It's not fair!"

  He appeared genuinely puzzled. "What's not?"

  "You said it yourself! There you were, having barely gotten through telling me that you're just passing through... and sud-denly you turn around and attach yourself to our lives!"

  "I'm not attached," Calhoun said. For the first time he actually sounded a bit defensive. "Nothing I said has changed. I am just

  passing through. But when I do move on, at least the people of the town will 'know' who Moke's father is, and you'll-"

  "Have respectability?"

  "Yes."

  "Wonderful. Respectability for something that isn't true! Don't you see, Calhoun? I've been here for years, helping these people, and I haven't earned an iota of the respect abruptly accorded me when you-a stranger-suddenly insert yourself into my life!"

  "So it would appear that, to you, it's not about your son either. It's about your own ego."

  "No! You're twisting it!" She waved her hands about in flustered motions. "You're taking everything that I say and turning it around!"

  He sighed. "I hear that a lot. I think I know a woman you'd get along with quite well."

  "If she ean stand to be around you for more than five minutes, she's a very impressive woman."

  "I tend to agree."

  She rubbed her eyes tiredTy. "This is getting us nowhere. You refuse to acknowledge that you did anything wrong-"

  "And you refuse to say "thank you,' " he replied.

  "I should thank you?"

  "I think so, yes."

  "Even though I feel what you did was completely wrong."

  "Absolutely."

  At that, she actually had to laugh. 'Tell me, Calhoun... what color is the sky in your world?"

  He got that far-distant look in his eyes again. "Depends. Red, most times. But it has been known to change, depending on at-mospheric conditions."

  They stood there, facing each other across a greater gulf than ei-ther of them could possibly cross with words. Then, with a weary shake of her head, she said, "Do you have anyplace else to stay?"

  "There's a small room in the gaol."

  "And you stay there to keep an eye on your prisoners?"

  'The Praestor was good enough to appoint rotating guards to

  the gaol, so I wouldn't have to do it single-handedly. Actually, I..." he shrugged slightly, "somewhat insisted that he do so."

  "But otherwise, you have nothing."

  "No. Nothing." He didn't sound especially sorry for himself. It was simply a statement of fact

  She shook her head. "I'm going to regret this, I know it... but no one should have to call a gaol home. We have a spare room in the house. I use it mostly for storage, but we can clean some of it out, make space for you."

  'Thank you."

  For some reason, she was annoyed by the fact that that was all he said. "Aren't you going to ask why?"

  He shrugged. "No. Is that a problem?"

  "Aren't you wondering?"

  "I would question," he said thoughtfully, "why an enemy would do something for me. I would not wonder about the motivations of someone that I considered a friend. I don't quite see the point."

  "And that's how you think I should view you."

  "How you view me is your choice." He paused, and then added, "I wouldn't want you to have another chance to think I was con-trolling."

  They had been walking toward the homestead, but she stopped and turned to face him. He waited patiently. There was something about him that seemed to say that, given the circumstances, he could wait forever for something to happen. For just a moment- the briefest of moments-she had a sudden mental picture of Cal-houn, wild and free and savage in aspect, crouched and waiting in hiding for some animal to come near him. An animal that he was going to leap upon and bring down with his bare hands, teeth and possibly a knife, if he required it. And she could see him just wait-ing, for however long it took. Even when he was motionless, even when he was simply waiting for her to speak, he seemed to crackle with energy and a faint menace.

  Which, for some utterly perverse reason, she found somewhat attractive.

  She shook that last thought from her mind and said, 'Tell me one thing, Calhoun. What's going to happen to Moke... when you leave?"

  "Happen?" He frowned, not understanding.

  "You've told him you're not his father. But that's not going to stop him from attaching
himself to you. And when you leave, how difficult do you think it's going to be for him?"

  "If that's what you're concerned about, why are you inviting me to stay with you?"

  "Because if I don't, all he's going to do is ask about you. You've set things in motion, Calhoun, that neither of us can stop. In the end, all we can do is make the best decisions we can and pray we're making the right ones."

  "You see?" he said. "We have something in common after all."

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  Moke had been fairly bubbling over with excitement when she told him that Calhoun would be staying there. He had done as she told him and gone to bed, but upon learning the news he started bouncing around with such enthusiasm that she was worried he was going to break the bed. She tried to calm him, to no avail, and in involuntary desperation, she glanced at Cal-houn.. "Lie down, Moke," Calhoun said in a voice of command.

  Moke promptly lay down. She couldn't quite believe it. Rheela didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry, and decided to opt for the former, because it was going to make her life a lot easier at this time of night.

  Calhoun had spent a few minutes helping her clear out the back room, and had thanked her for her efforts. In many ways, she still couldn't quite believe she was taking the risk. This man had once tried to strangle her while she was wide-awake. Who knew what he would do to her when she was asleep? You're crazy, you're crazy, she kept telling herself, but she knew that it was too late.

  She'd made the choice, and now she was going to have to live with it. At least, she hoped she was going to live with it

  You know nothing about him. Her inner voice kept saying that, and yet she felt as if-when she looked him in the eyes-she knew everything about him. Everything... and nothing. She saw pain in those eyes, pain as endless as the skies, but also the strength to endure the circumstances that had inflicted that pain on him. His face was a literal roadmap of all that he had endured. The places he had been were not clear, but the paths getting there were certainly evident enough.

  He could kill you in your sleep... killMoke... kill...

  She saw a shadow on the wall and sat up abruptly, the bed-clothes falling away from her naked body. Quickly, she covered herself, squinting in the dim candlelight from the hall. He was standing there, in the open doorway. She cursed herself inwardly, having gotten into the habit of leaving the door open. It made for a more pleasant breeze, and it also meant that she could tear Moke if he cried out in the night.

  Calhoun was standing there. He was barechested and barefoot, and the thin blanket that had been on his bed was wrapped around his middle. Rheela was positive that her heart had stopped.

  She tried to whisper, "What do you want?" but her throat was constricted. She had never felt such fear.

  "I've been thinking about what you said," Calhoun said softly. He hadn't moved from the door, had made no effort to enter the room. '"There may be... an element of truth in it. But it really was about the boy. I... saw a child in pain. I had to help. I couldn't..." He shook his head. "I couldn't... not help."

  "Let me guess," she said, fright edging sarcasm into her voice. "You had your own son, and you were never there for him. You feel guilty over him. And now you're trying to make up for it by being there for my son when you weren't for your own."

  There was a long silence, and then, very softly, he said, "Some-thing like that."

  She felt instant remorse. Here she had made what was basically

  a flip remark, intended as no more than a cutting jibe... and had inadvertently zeroed in on what was apparently a very sore point with him. For one moment she wondered if he was fabricating his response in order to gain sympathy, or something like that. Even in the dim light, though, she could see a brief slip of an expres-sion, which masked a world of hurt. And then, just like that, it was gone.

  "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 plan-ning, 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 impres-sions," 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 whis-pered, "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 ac-complish. The fact that there was no uncertainty in his life had be-come 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 be-fore 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 peo-ple, 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 gleam-ing floor of his inner sanctum with long, quick strides. His fore-bears 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 the Ex-eter 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 par-ticularly 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 encoun-tering since their departure from Makkus had been relatively munda
ne. 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 die 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 scru-tinizing 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 tightness 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.