Calhoun said nothing. He seemed to know that this odd green man was going to talk whether Calhoun spoke or not, and so Cal-houn kept silent. Moke instantly intuited why. The more he al-lowed the green man to talk, the more the green man might say something that Calhoun could use against him.
Why against him?
Because the green man was an enemy. If Moke had ever been
sure of anything, he was sure of that. This strange green man was going to try and hurt Calhoun.
"You," Calhoun finally said, "are obviously not from around 'these parts.' Why are you here?"
"My own reasons."
"And what would your 'own reasons' be?" asked Calhoun.
"My own. They need not concern you."
"I can guess," Calhoun said, with slight irony in his voice. "What is your name?"
"Krut," said the green man.
"Krat... I suspect you are here because of some sort of reward being offered. Some promise of remuneration. May I safely assume that you came here in a..." He paused, glanced at the wide eyes of the people around him, and then said cautiously,"... a vehicle."
There seemed to be something akin to amusement in Knit's eyes. "A safe assumption."
"Whatever you are being paid or offered... I can promise to pay you a great deal more, if you give me transport in your vehicle."
"Would, for you, that it were that simple. Mackenzie Calhoun. Mac," the green man continued. "Finally, a full name to put to the shortened one... and the scar. Oh, she told me all about the scar."
"She?" Calhoun's single-word utterance was in a carefully neu-tral tone.
"Tell me... does the name 'Zina' sound at all familiar to you?" he asked.
Calhoun frowned slightly. Clearly, he recalled it, but he couldn't quite recollect from where. Then it obviously came back to him.
"Yessss," said the green man approvingly. "I see that it does. She spoke of the Xenexian named 'Mac.' The one with the scar that ran the length of one side of his face. The man who killed Krassus. You remember Krassus, too, I take it."
Calhoun nodded ever so slightly.
"I'm sure you thought nothing of killing him. Just another Orion. Just another victim for a mad-dog killer."
"If I were a mad-dog killer, Zina would not have been alive to
spread my name and description," Calhoun pointed out quietly. It did not seem as if he really thought what he said was going to make any difference, but, nevertheless, he obviously felt con-strained to point it out. "And you came here because of me?"
"I came here for my own reasons. Discovering you were who you were was simply a bonus."
At which point, Praestor Milos-who had apparently witnessed the entire exchange-asked what was easily the most unnecessary question of the day. "Majister... do you two know each other?" It was such an absurd query that neither Calhoun nor the green man deigned to answer it.
"What was Krassus to you?" asked Calhoun.
"He was like unto a brother to me. He was a business part-ner... a scholar... a great man... his one drawback being a less-than-deft handling of fiscal resources."
"He died owing you money," Calhoun guessed.
"Exactly so." Krut sounded slightly mournful over the admis-sion. "A sizable sum. He was on his way to meet me and make restitution... except he became caught up in a card game with you. A card game at which you cheated. When he discovered your duplicity, you killed him."
"If I say that's not what happened, will it make any difference?"
"None."
Calhoun gave a small shrug. Clearly that answered that question.
"You have cost me money and inconvenience, Calhoun. Resti-tution must be made. If that is paid for in your blood, so be it. You might indeed have been able to buy me off... but no longer. This is a personal matter. So," and he smiled in what he probably imag-ined was an amiable fashion. It merely served to make chills run up and down Moke's spine. "Tell me, Calhoun... what do you think is worse? The moment of death... or the anticipation of the moment of death?"
"I've never given it much thought," said Calhoun.
"Well, you are in luck," Krut said, "because I'm going to give you the opportunity to anticipate it."
And just like that, just that quickly, Knit's hand was in motion, moving toward the large-handled weapon he had hanging from his hip.
Calhoun reflexively moved for his own gun, and there were shrieks from the patrons of the tavern, who threw themselves this way and that in order to try and get out of range. But before any-one managed to do so, Krut's gun was already in his hand and lev-eled right at Calhoun's chest. Calhoun's weapon had not even cleared the holster, was not even fully drawn.
Krut's gun didn't waver so much as a centimeter as utter quiet draped over the tavern like a funeral shroud. "Fingers off your gun, Majister," he said calmly, and Calhoun did exactly as he was told. It was obvious to everyone in the tavern that Mackenzie Cal-houn was staring death in the face. If he was at all intimidated, if he feared death in the least, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, he wasn't looking at the weapon at all. Instead, he was staring squarely into Krut's eyes, as if trying to get a measure of Krut as an individual, as to just how likely the green man was to squeeze the trigger and blast Calhoun's innards all over the wall.
"Impressively quick, wouldn't you say?" Krut asked cheerfully. "Observe." He slid the gun into his holster and then pulled it out again, the movement such a blur that it seemed as if the weapon literally leaped from the holster into his hand of its own accord. "One more time?"
"You've made your point," Calhoun said quietly. "Are you going to shoot now?"
"Cut you down with no warning, as you did Krassus?" Krut looked almost disappointed at the notion. "No, no... this is where we get to discover which is worse, Calhoun. The moment of death... or the anticipation. You will have the rest of this day, this evening, and much of tomorrow morning to think about what's going to happen. And at noon tomorrow, you will meet me out on the street, and there we will have a little duel. At which point, I will draw my weapon, far faster than you will be able to pull out yours, and shoot you down." He smiled, clearly taken
with the mental image. "I will send you to the afterlife, where you and Krassus will be able to continue your disagreements through-out eternity. You could, of course, go on the run. If you do that, rest assured I will hunt you down, kill you, take your head and bring it here to display, so that all the residents of this little city that you wish to protect will know their protector for the coward that he is. I trust we understand each other."
"Perfectly," said Calhoun.
"Until tomorrow, then," said Krut. He bowed slightly and then exited the tavern, keeping his gun leveled on Calhoun, backing up so that his eyes never left him. Calhoun kept a level gaze fixed upon him, even staring at the door long after Krut had departed through it.
"You sure tricked him, Majister!" Moke said, breaking the si-lence that followed.
There were puzzled looks at the boy from all around. He looked at the confused adults, not remotely understanding why they were failing to grasp the obvious. "The Majister drew his gun slow so that the green man would think the Majister wasn't as quick! But tomorrow, you're going to see something! Right, Majister?"
His voice was filled with boundless enthusiasm... which was curbed slightly when Calhoun, even though saying, "Right," al-lowed something to peer through his eyes that Moke recognized instantly, and which froze his thoughts. That something peering through was concern. Genuine concern.
The green man was faster. Much faster.
And the lawman known as Mackenzie Calhoun clearly didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with it.
GARBECK & SHELBY
it was some hours later, long after the two fleets had returned to their respective worlds, when Shelby found Garbeck, exactly where she thought she was going to find her: down in the Ten-For-ward Lounge. Just walking into the place reminded Shelby of the fact that, on the Excalibur, many people referred to the equivalent spot a
s the Team Room; a name picked up from the old space pro-gram. It was a term that, for some reason, Calhoun had preferred.
Garbeck was staring at the empty glass, looking rather dismal as she did so. Shelby sat down at the table without being invited. "So, how drunk are you?" she inquired.
"Depends. Are my eyes open?" asked Garbeck thickly.
"Yes."
"Then the answer to your question is, 'Not enough.' " She sig-naled for the waitress to bring over another shot of whatever the hell she was having. Since she was off duty, Shelby didn't feel the need to remonstrate with her for straying from the more accepted synthehol. The waitress brought the drink, but rather than ask what it was, Shelby picked it up before Garbeck could down it Garbeck didn't appear to have enough energy left to complain; she just stared blankly at Shelby, as if the captain had suddenly appeared in a burst of light, like a member of the Q continuum.
Shelby sniffed the drink and gasped. "My God! What did they do, drain this from a warp core? You could power a starship with this."
"Private stock." She snapped her fingers to gain the waitress' attention and, once she had it, made a tilting motion with her arm that signaled she wanted an entire bottle brought to the table. The waitress complied, bringing a bottle about half-filled with the po-tent liquor.
Shelby read the label. "Big Bang?" Garbeck nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, and she almost slammed her head cm the table before Shelby caught her by the shoulder to prevent her from doing so. "Where'd you get this stuff? Romulan space?"
"Pocatello, Idaho "
"I hear they're very similar." She put the bottle down gingerly, not wanting to jostle the contents lest she accidentally cause the thing to explode somehow. "Thank you for interceding, by the way, when that scientist endeavored to rearrange my face."
"Not a problem," Garbeck told her. She was trying to lean on her elbow, but it was wobbling viciously. She tried to solve the problem by steadying the table, which actually hadn't been moving at all.
"Just out of curiosity," Shelby said, encompassing both Gar-beck and the bottle with a gesture, "may I ask... why?"
"Because you're my captain. I figured it was in my job descrip-tion somewhere..."
"No, I meant, why are you crawling inside a bottle?"
"I resent that characterization, Captain," Garbeck said in a very arch tone. "I am not crawling. Babies crawl. I am an adult. Adults walk. I am walking inside a bottle."
She rolled her eyes. "Garbeck..."
"The whole way," Garbeck said suddenly, and she leaned for-ward, clutching the bottleneck s if it were the sole object that was preventing her from falling and thudding her chin on the tabletop. "The whole way, down to the transporter, they begged me. Begged me and begged me and begged me. Begged begged begged beg-"
"I get the picture, Garbeck," Shelby interrupted her. "They begged. And you found that upsetting."
"Of course I found it upsetting! Wouldn't you?"
"Yes. But if I had found it upsetting... wouldn't you then think that I was deficient somehow in terms of personal strength?"
Garbeck didn't answer immediately. As a matter of fact, she didn't answer at all. She simply stared off into space, and for a long moment Shelby thought she had fallen asleep. She leaned for-ward, put her fingers in front of Garbeck's face, and snapped them a couple of times. This, apparently, was enough to rouse Garbeck back to full concentration, and she looked a bit accusingly at Shelby, as if annoyed that Shelby had dared to disturb her rest.
Shelby ordered, and got, some synthehol for herself. She felt like keeping her faculties focused.
"I should have been stronger," Garbeck said suddenly, and there was something in the increasing strength in her voice that caught Shelby's attention. "I knew what I was doing was right... what you were having me do was right. You had no choice, really. And they did do what they were accused of doing. They're not denying that... well, they are, but it's a bit too late. The problem is that their leader... and Shuffer's brother... is not being held to account for his actions."
"Unless you count for the fact that he basically had to give up his own brother."
"I don't know that we count that at all. For all we know, they never got along. He might have been glad to see his brother de-part." Garbeck shook her head in disgust. "I should be... im-mune to it, wouldn't you think? But I'm not, apparently. I'm furious over the fact that the Ferghut is getting away with this."
"The Ferghut isn't exactly 'getting away' with anything," Shelby reminded her. "His world is still being crushed by over-population. And the Makkusians are no doubt watching every sin-gle move, trust having been replaced by vigilance." She took a sip of her drink, but then put it down, preferring to nurse it. Garbeck, on the other hand, simply threw back another shot.
"I have a hollow leg," Garbeck told her, but considering the way Garbeck was going through the bottle, Shelby had a sneaking sus-picion that everything from the neck down was, in fact, hollow. It seemed the only way she could possibly contain that much liquor.
'Tell me," Shelby said abruptly, as if she were changing sub-jects. "What if we encountered a world that had a newly minted, planet-wide disaster. And let's say that I suggested to you that we slingshot back through time, go to a point before the disaster, and head it off. What would you say to me?"
Garbeck didn't even have to give it a moment's thought. "I would say that if you attempted to utilize the Exeter in such a bla-tantly inappropriate manner, against all temporal regulations of Starfleet, then I would personally do everything I could to relieve you of command." Then she blinked in surprise, and actually looked pleased with herself. "How about that! That sounded like the old me! I was getting worried!"
"Yes, that was certainly a close one," Shelby said dryly. "And once upon a time... I would have, one hundred percent, had the exact same reaction. But when it actually happened, well..." She shrugged
Garbeck looked at her in amazement, even through the drunken haze hanging over her. "When it... happened? You mean, you... ?" And then she realized. "Calhoun."
"Thaaaat's right," said Shelby. "If he'd tried it when I first came on as his second-in-command, I would have been all over the ship trying to get everyone and his brother to help me stop him from doing something completely insane."
"But when he did do it... ? Did you... ?"
"Stop him?" She laughed softly. "In a lot of ways, Garbeck, Calhoun was more like a force of nature than a starship captain. Trying to stop him was like trying to throw yourself in the path of a tidal wave. Most of the time, you just wound up looking all wet."
Garbeck regarded her commander with quiet amusement. "And you want to be like that, don't you?"
"My, my. The drink is making you remarkably insightful today."
"It's so much more exciting to be a force of nature than to be a regulation-bound pencil pusher, right, Captain?"
"I never particularly thought about it in those terms."
"Maybe not consciously. But unconsciously..."
"I think the unconscious gets an unfair rap," remarked Shelby. "It takes more blame for negative outcomes than God."
"It's true, isn't it, though? Someone like Calhoun, he's more ex-citing to watch in action than a captain who does everything right."
"Right? Is that what it comes down to, Garbeck? Right and wrong?" She shook her head. "What are rules, in the end? They're things people come up with to guide them through those things that they know. The problem with space exploration is that, over and over again, you come up against those things that you don't know. That no one knows, or has any experience with."
"And because of that, rules should go out the window? Izzat what you're saying, Captain Shebly?"
Shelby smiled. "Shelby. It's Shelby."
"Where?" Garbeck turned and looked over her shoulder.
"No, I mean..." She waved it off. "Never mind."
But Garbeck fought through the confusion in her addled brain and realized. "Oh. I said 'Shebly.' Sorry." She licked her lips.
"I think my tongue's swollen to twice its normal size."
"In some situations, that could make you very popular," said Shelby with wry amusement.
"The point is," Garbeck said with renewed emphasis, thumping her hand on the table, "Without rules, we're... we're all Cal-houns. Running around, doing whatever the hell we want. It's an-archy. It's chaos. It's not a smoothly run organization at all, and most of all... there's no sense of responsibility. No one would have to answer to anyone else. Actions must have consequences."
"I agree."
Star Trek - NF - 11 - Restoration Page 29
