Star Trek - NF - 05 - Martyr

by Martyr(Lit)

  "But I'm happy for you! Can't you see that? I'm just pleased you're not lonely!"

  "Lonely?" She gazed at hir with what seemed a distracted air. "Do not dismiss the concept of loneliness, Burgoyne. There is much to be said for it. There is much comfort that one can take in it. Once one adjusts to loneliness, one can never be hurt again. Yes, indeed... loneliness is underrated."

  "I can think of no worse, or depressing state, than loneliness," Burgoyne replied. "It can be all-consuming. It can and will destroy you. I can think of no sadder state."

  "And that," Selar said softly, "is why you will do whatever you can to avoid it.

  Cast about for bed-mates, flirt shamelessly, do whatever it takes to make certain that you are not alone. I pity you, Burgoyne."

  Burgoyne's face clouded. "Save your pity for someone who needs it. I'm happy.

  Happy. You understand? Happier than you will ever be."

  "As opposed to loneliness, happiness is overrated."

  Selar left her drink behind as she headed out of the team room, Burgoyne calling after her, "It's been great talking to you, too!"

  S/he plopped down into the chair Selar had just occupied, still feeling her warmth from the seat cushion. Burgoyne shook hir head. "Women," s/he sighed.

  McHenry had entered the team room, and now he spotted Burgoyne by hirself. He strolled over to hir, reversed the chair and straddled it. "You look lonely,

  Burgy."

  "You look off-duty, Mark."

  "I am."

  "You doing anything?"

  "Well," McHenry told hir, "I'm reading a quantum physics review article."

  "What?" Burgoyne looked at McHenry's empty hands, then over hir own shoulder to see if there was something visible behind hir. "What are you talking about?"

  "I have a photographic memory," McHenry told hir. "Some new articles came through the ether this morning, but I didn't have time to sit down and read them. So I kind of glanced at them and just made mental snapshots. Now I'm pulling them out and reading them while we talk. Although if you find that distracting, I can stop."

  "No, it's quite all right. About how much of your brain functions does that occupy?"

  "Maybe thirty percent."

  "I see," Burgoyne said thoughtfully. "And tell me, Mark," and hir small tongue strayed across hir distended canines, "how much of your brain function does sex require?"

  "Fifty, maybe fifty-five percent."

  "So what do you do with the remaining fifteen percent?"

  "Overflow space," McHenry told hir. "In case some of the rest of it gets used up unexpectedly quickly."

  "Well, I have an idea," Burgoyne told him. "Why don't we go back to my place and see if we can fill up the unoccupied space, okay?"

  "Sounds like a good deal to me," McHenry grinned.

  And later, when they were together, their clothes strewn about the floor,

  McHenry moving atop hir with easy grace, Burgoyne's fingers traced the curve of

  McHenry's upper ear, and s/he inadvertently whispered the name "Selar."

  Fortunately, McHenry was engrossed in a particularly riveting footnote in the article and so didn't hear.

  And in the meantime, several decks away, Selar tossed in her sleep and dreamt of a tongue gently caressing canine teeth...

  Calhoun was sound asleep when he heard the buzzing of his room bell. From long habit, he snapped to full wakefulness. Calhoun had never been one for waking up slowly. Why give an opponent an opportunity to stick a sword between your ribs while you're busy rubbing the sleep from your eyes?

  "Who is it?" he called, no trace of grogginess in his voice. He had already stepped from his bed and pulled on his robe.

  "Shelby," came the reply.

  "Shelby," he muttered. "How did I know. Lights. Come in."

  The room lights flared on as the door slid open, and Shelby entered. She looked as if she hadn't been.to bed yet, and had a great deal on her mind.

  "Let me guess," he said, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "You've suddenly realized that faster-than-light travel is an impossibility, and we should

  head home immediately before someone realizes and we all get in trouble."

  "I can't agree with the decisions you've made lately," she said, the words coming out all in a rush.

  "None of them? I mean, I was thinking about changing the part in my hair.

  Perhaps now I'd better reconsider it."

  "I think this Messiah business is fraught with danger."

  "Fraught? Eppy, it's"-he glanced at a chronometer-"it's oh-one-thirty hours.

  It's the wrong time of night to use words like 'fraught.'"

  "I don't want you to be flip with me."

  "Neither do I. I'd rather be flipping with my pillow, but you seem to have precluded that." He dropped down onto the bed. "Eppy, I thought we had this settled..."

  "I've been thinking about it-"

  "Obviously."

  "And I think we have to set them straight, right at the beginning. Tell them no, tell them this Savior business is pure fiction on their part."

  "How do we know that?" Calhoun replied.

  "How do we know? Mac, you're not their Savior!"

  "No man knows his destiny, Eppy. Perhaps I am. Perhaps their predictions got it right. If that's the case, then I'd be violating the Prime Directive by refusing to fulfill that destiny, since I'm already a part of their culture rather than something on the outside interfering with it. In any event, we'll see when we get there. Now if there's nothing else, don't let the door hit you on the way out." He pulled the blanket over himself, even though he had his robe on, and tried to find escape in the pillow.

  "There's also the matter of Doctor Selar."

  "Grozit. Here we go." He sat back up, stared at her for a moment, and then stood with his hands placed

  firmly on his hips. "You know what your problem is? You're jealous."

  "Jealous! Oh, get over yourself, Mac."

  "I'm over me, but you sure as hell aren't. Why should you care whether I become

  Selar's lover or not?"

  "Because there's questions of protocol! And because she's not thinking clearly!"

  "She seemed quite lucid when she came in and asked me."

  "She said herself that the Pon Farr can affect the way she thinks, affect her perceptions. I think that's the case here."

  "Why? Because no woman in her right mind would consider me a suitable father?"

  "And what about that?" she challenged him. "What's going to happen when she has the child, huh? Is she going to remain aboard the Excalibur? We're not set up for families the way other vessels are."

  "I suppose we'll face that situation when we come to it," replied Calhoun.

  "There are always possibilities."

  "And are you going to participate in the raising of the child? Or are you going to walk away from this one, too."

  Calhoun's brow darkened. "That was uncalled for."

  "Well maybe something is called for, just to get you to think about some of the things you're doing! To think about the damage you might inflict on Selar, or on the people of Zondar!"

  "I'm providing a woman with relief for a medical condition, and I'm giving a race of people a shot at freedom. That sounds pretty laudable to me."

  "Oh, Mackenzie Calhoun, the selfless martyr," retorted Shelby. "Admit it. This all appeals to your ego. The educated woman who picks you as the main stud

  on the ship, the race of people who think you're the second coming of God. It inflates your ego."

  "No," said Calhoun, raising his voice slightly. "The only thing I'm getting any ego gratification from is the knowledge that you are so totally jealous of Selar and me that you're willing to come in here and make a complete jackass of yourself rather than stand by and watch me become involved with another woman."

  "You have no idea what you're talking about." She threw her hands up. "I tried.

  God knows, I tried. I tried to make you see the error of your way
s. I tried to make you realize the danger in what you're doing. If you don't want to listen to me, fine. If you want to risk exacerbating situations under the delusion that you're making them better, that is likewise fine. I don't care. I don't care anymore. I really, really-"

  "Don't care. Yes, I get the picture." He tried to put his hands on her shoulders but she pushed them away. "Eppy, I know that look in your eyes. The sleep-deprived look. Once you leave here, you're going to go back to your quarters, and you're going to fall asleep, and when you wake up in the morning you're going to hit yourself in the side of the head and say, Oh God, what an idiot I made of myself last night."

  "You just dream on, Calhoun."

  "The moment you leave, that is precisely what I intend to do."

  With an annoyed huff, Shelby turned and stomped out of the room, leaving an amused Calhoun behind shaking his head and wondering just what exactly he'd gotten himself into by taking command of this vessel.

  "I've seen more stable nuthouses," he said as he flopped back into bed. "I bet

  Picard never had these problems."

  IX.

  THE HOME OF RAMED, as was typical for a Zondarian home, was heavily fortified.

  One never knew when there might be stray missiles flying, or when pieces of hurtling shrapnel would suddenly present a danger to life and limb. Nor was anyone there desirous of any intruders. The wandering packs of Unglza raiders were well known to all of the Eenza, and anyone who had the wherewithal to protect his family did not scrimp in the least little bit.

  Most of the furniture was heavily curved, symbolizing the Zondarian belief that all was eternal. That what began had no end, and vice versa. Furthermore, most of it was bolted to the floor, so that vibrations from nearby explosions would not send them tumbling all over the place.

  It was early in the morning, and Ramed's wife, Talila, had already prepared breakfast for herself and their young son, Rab. For the first time in a long time, she had moved about the house without the perpetual cringing in her shoulders, an involuntary spasm that

  haunted her most of her waking hours as she prepared herself for the sound of another shell dropping or another bomb exploding in the middle to near distance.

  There was a cease-fire throughout Zondar, and thus far it seemed to have taken hold. It was as if the entire planet was awaiting the coming of the Savior.

  Talila felt so close to the actual event, particularly because it was her husband who was part of the inner circle. He who had studied the sacred writings of Ontear and Suti, probably with greater detail and scrutiny than virtually anyone else on the planet. When he had told her of the possible coming of the

  Savior, she had been unable to find words. Instead she had simply begun to cry, tears of joy pouring down her face so effusively that she couldn't begin to control them. Nor was she interested in trying.

  Since Ramed had joined with Killick of the Unglza (whom she did not particularly trust, but Ramed seemed tolerant enough of him) to go to the Savior and convince

  Him to come to Zondar and fulfill His destiny, Talila had not known what to do with herself. Little Rab had asked every day since his father's departure when he would be coming back, and she had never known what to tell him. "A few days,"

  Ramed had told her, but who truly knew what that constituted?

  Talila had just cleared the breakfast dishes away, and was now preparing to teach Rab his morning lessons. Like most children in their particular sphere,

  Rab was home taught. It was not an unreasonable course of action. Both Talila and Ramed were, naturally, highly educated. And it saved Rab from having to make that potentially treacherous journey to school every morning. Instead she kept him safe and sound in their home, teaching him the wisdom of the Zondarians while protecting him from the foolishness of those very same peoples.

  She heard Rab cry out, and immediately a chill cut through her. A woman in her situation automatically assumed the worst when hearing her child sound a cry of alarm, and she immediately went to the main foyer...

  There to find Rab wrapped around the leg of his father.

  Talila went to him quickly and embraced him with all the fierceness that her small frame commanded. "It seems as if you have been away for ages!" she said.

  "I feel the same," he said, stroking the back of his wife's gleaming head. "It is good to see you, wife. Were there any... problems in my absence?"

  The pause before the word was painfully significant. It was his understated way of inquiring as to whether there had been any threats to the safety of his wife or son.

  "None, Ramed," she was happy to reply. "The cease-fire remains in force. It is as if our whole world is... is holding its breath. Tell me," and her eyes widened, "tell me what... He was like."

  "He?" For a moment, Ramed didn't understand what she meant, and then, of course, he did. "The Savior."

  "You saw Him, father?" asked Rab.

  "Yes," and he embraced both wife and son. "Yes. I did."

  "Did He have a... glow about Him?" Talila asked. "Did power crackle from His eyes? Did He perform any miracles for you?"

  "He was... different than I expected."

  "Different? How so?"

  "He had power about Him. It was a quiet power, however. Almost an... an aura.

  A sense of command, of inner strength."

  "As if He wanted to keep His true power hidden?"

  "That could be," he agreed. "Yes, that would definitely be one way to look at it." He strode thoughtfully around his living room. "As if mere mortals such as ourselves should not-would not even want to- look at Him in display of His full glory. It might be too much for us."

  "Did He know that He was destined to be our Savior?" she asked.

  "No. No, it was completely a surprise to Him." He shrugged. "All of us have our places in the grand scheme, my wife. Sometimes we are aware of them, and sometimes we are not. Nonetheless we fulfill our purpose."

  "I suppose you are correct. It's so amazing," she breathed. "To think that this would happen within our lifetime. Is He with you? Has He returned with you?"

  "He is on His way," Ramed assured her. "We raced ahead to make preparations."

  Talila turned to Rab and knelt down to face him. "I want you to begin keeping a journal, my dear. You are young yet, and the events might not be as clear to your recollection when you're older. So you should be able to look back at your words of this age as a sort of tunnel back through time."

  "Yes, mother," Rab said agreeably. "Will you help me start it?"

  "Of course. Let me just spend some time with your father first-"

  "But I want to start it now," Rab protested. It was not an atypical reaction for a child. An idea that had not even occurred to him mere moments before had suddenly become the single most important thing in his world.

  Ramed put a gentle hand on his wife's shoulder. "It's all right, wife," he said gently. "Be happy that

  the boy has embraced the notion. I need a short time to myself to collect my thoughts anyway. I shall be in my study for a bit."

  "As you wish, husband." She brought his knuckles to her lips and smiled at him affectionately. She touched his face and whispered, "I have never been more proud of you."

  He smiled in response as she went off with Rab to help him set up his journal.

  But then the smile faded as he retreated into his study.

  He knew that Talila would not have entered it in his absence. She respected his privacy; indeed, she might even have been a little afraid of the room. Talila was a sweet woman, a good wife, a superb mother. But she was not the scholar or philosopher that Ramed was. When Ramed and the others in his clan would gather to discuss various fine points of Eenza law, or go over the predictions of

  Ontear and Suti to see how they applied to the modern world, she was a bit intimidated by it all. She would stand on the outskirts of the group, dart in and out of the room and pick up snatches of conversation, but she did not pretend to understand any of it. Nor did she
have need to, really. She was married to a great man. In truth, that alone was really enough for her.

  But because of the slight intimidation factor, she kept her distance from such places as Ramed's study. For any number of reasons, he found that preferable, although it was not as if he had ever given her explicit instructions not to enter. It was simply an unspoken understanding between them.