Star Trek - NF - 10 - Excalibur 2 - Renaissance

by Renaissance(Lit)

  You felt-as illogical as it may sound-that by surrendering to pas- sion, by giving up control, you were being punished by the traumatic loss of your mate."

  "I see," she said stiffly.

  "If you do not wish to continue this discussion-"

  "No, no. I find it... fascinating."

  "You find yourself now in a similar position regarding your child. You wish to be able to control every aspect of his life-to shield him from all hurt, to plan out every aspect of his development, of his future. Yet you have come to realize that such is not possible, while at the same time thinking that that is all you have to offer him. That it is an all-or-nothing proposition. If you cannot control him or the world that he is to live in, then there is nothing at all that you can do for him. You have set yourself a goal that is unattainable, and because you now know it to be unattainable, you would cease the endeavor entirely rather than simply set new goals."

  "And what do I have to offer him, realistically?" Selar asked. She was leaning against the diagnostic bed, trying to look comfortable when, in fact, she had never been more ill-at-ease. "All I will ever be to him is a symbol of what he can never be: truly Vulcan. Is that not what your father was to you? Was that not the core of the rift between the two of you? You would look upon him and see the Vulcan that you would never be... and he would see in you the human you would always be, no matter how closely you might follow our teachings."

  The faintest hint of a smile touched the edges of Spock's mouth. "So... you did discern a few things from the mind-meld."

  "It could not be helped."

  "Indeed not. The rift between my father and I had less to do with my biological heritage than it did my career choice."

  "Did it? Or was your career choice predicated on the concept that you could never do what your father did... because you could never be what he was?"

  The faint smile faded. There was silence for a time, and Selar felt uncomfortably guilty, which annoyed her. Naturally, she allowed neither to show.

  "Everyone," Spock said softly, "makes mistakes. To make them from ignorance... is unfortunate. To make them with full knowledge is illogical."

  "And that is what you think I am doing?"

  "Selar... one should never ask more of oneself than one is fully capable of giving. Do you feel that you have given everything possible in this instance?

  That you have done your best?"

  She looked down, looked deep into her own heart, which had just been shredded and revealed with such facility during the mind-meld. "Perhaps... not," she admitted after a long silence. "But what would you suggest? Go to Burgoyne and inform hir that I have changed my mind again? How much trauma am I supposed to visit upon hir... and him?"

  "Burgoyne... is another subject entirely."

  "Burgoyne usually is."

  "The truth is," Spock said slowly, "that you love hir."

  "No," was her immediate response, but she said it without her customary conviction.

  Spock was not the least bit deterred by the denial. "The bond that was formed between the two of you is genuine. If it were not, you would not be so daunted by it. The thing is, most of your attraction is self-referential. That is, you are struck by hir dedication to you, hir passion for you. Hir determination. Hir bravery. Hir strength of character. The problem is that you do not believe that you have anything to offer back. Your con- cerns are less about hir and more about yourself. You do not think yourself capable of it... and, of course, you are afraid of it because of what happened before. 'Loss' is not an abstract term for you. You do not wish to risk further hurt."

  "Let us say... for sake of argument... that you are correct What possible advice could you offer to address that concern?"

  "I could offer what was possibly the best advice on the subject ever given me."

  "And that would be?"

  Once again, that hint of a smile came to him, as if his thoughts were a hundred miles... or perhaps a hundred years away. As if he was genuinely hearing someone else's voice in his head when he spoke.

  " 'Risk,' " he said," 'is our business.'"

  "Our 'business'?" Selar didn't understand. "This is not business, Ambassador.

  This is life."

  "The lives we lead are the most important business with which we have to deal," he said. "If I can impart anything to you, let it be that. You must live your life, Selar, and not live in fear of it. If you committed yourself to your patients with as little confidence as you do yourself, you would have the highest mortality rate in the history of medical practice."

  There was a sound from the outer room, the patient reception area. Spock drew himself up and said, "It would be best if I left now."

  "Ambassador... I thank you for your efforts, but I..." She hesitated and then realized that it would be best to simply come out and say it. "I have not been the least convinced by anything that you have said."

  "Yes. You have been."

  She couldn't quite believe that she had heard him properly. "No... I haven't," she said. "And I am not going to reinsert myself into Xyon's life."

  "Yes. You will."

  "And I am not going back to Burgoyne to try to make a life with hir."

  "Yes. You are."

  She shook her head in disbelief. "And what," she demanded, "makes you so certain, and me so wrong?"

  "Experience," he said. That being all the explanation he felt he needed, he left the examination room-and a thoroughly perplexed Selar-behind.

  THE DINNER PARTY

  THE SHAKESPEARE TAVERN was even more raucous, if such was possible, than it had been the time that Rafe, Nik, Morgan, and Robin had first assembled there.

  People were laughing, chatting, and having a great old time. Around the table, the four vacationers were likewise relaxing and soaking in the atmosphere.

  Drinks were in front of them, appetizers had been ordered, and there really was no reason to assume that the evening was going to be anything other than splendid.

  "So you're going to be extending your stay? That's great!" said Nik.

  "Well, it was Mother's idea."

  "I didn't hear you voicing any strenuous objections, dear. Then again, I'm assuming that you've found something here to engage your interest, right?" She winked lazily in Nik's direction.

  "It was a good idea, all right?" Robin admitted, her cheeks coloring slightly.

  Obviously desiring to change the subject as quickly as possible, she continued,

  "Nik, Rafe... perhaps you gentlemen and Mother and I could spend the day together tomorrow. The whole day. You know, there's other areas of Risa that we haven't even touched. We could get on a shuttle, or-"

  "Actually, we've already got plans for tomorrow," Rafe said apologetically.

  "Nothing we can cancel. A shame, really. We would have liked to do as you suggest, but, well..." He shrugged.

  "That's very much a shame," Morgan said. "It sounded like it would have been a marvelous idea. But... it's not as if you're leaving Risa for good, right?"

  "Of course not," Rafe assured her.

  But Morgan was watching his eyes very carefully. "You're not leaving?" she said again.

  He laughed softly. "Morgan, you did hear me the first time, I assume? No. No,

  I'm not leaving. Nor is Nik. To be honest, we're perfectly happy to extend our own stay for as long as you're going to be here."

  "How nice," she said, her lips thinning. Her eyes were still locked on his.

  'Tell me, Rafe... what do you think of Montgomery Scott?"

  "The engineering fellow?" Nik spoke up. "Good heavens, why get into discussing him, of all people?"

  "Absent friends," said Morgan.

  Robin was looking at her mother strangely. There was something going on, and she wasn't exactly sure what it was. "Mother... ?"

  "I'll save you time, Rafe. As you know, Scotty seems to be not around. The thing is, Mr. Quincy's office has no track of where either of them might be. I checked. It doesn't seem right that they would sim
ply disappear."

  "No, it doesn't," Rafe said earnestly. "I share your concern."

  "Do you." Morgan's face was now a mask, unreadable.

  "Mother... what's going on here?" said Robin slowly, beginning to draw conclusions that she wasn't happy about. "You're not saying-"

  "Anything. I'm not saying anything," Morgan replied coolly. "I'm simply asking, that's all. You see... when someone's been around for a while-as I have-one tends to take very little on face value. One tends to overthink. Sometimes that can be a hindrance... sometimes a help."

  The Klingon and human Shakespeare were having their scheduled argument. No one at the table was looking at them. Instead, their attention was fully upon

  Morgan.

  "Where's Scotty, Rafe? Where's Mr. Quincy?" Morgan's tone was very even, and very frosty.

  "Morgan, as much as I adore the way you gaze into my eyes, I can't say I appreciate the insinuation," Rafe replied. There was just a hint of warning in his voice.

  "I can understand that, Rafe," she said sympathetically. "But here's something you can appreciate: The eyes are the mirrors to one's soul. And, interestingly, when someone lies, there's frequently some dilation in the pupils."

  "Of a microscopic variety," he countered. "Something that can't be detected with the naked eye."

  "Ohhh, you'd be amazed what I can and cannot detect," Morgan said.

  "Robin, could you give me some idea why your mother feels the need to insult my father?" There was a hardness to Nik's voice that Robin had never heard before.

  "I don't think she's insulting him... exactly," she said uncertainly.

  "Then what would you call it?"

  'I'm not sure. Mother... ?"

  "Where... is he... ?" Morgan said. There was no longer any pretense of sociability in her voice.

  "You know, Morgan, I'm beginning to wonder if this evening was altogether a good idea," said Rafe. "Especially if that is the attitude you're going to take."

  From the other side of the room, there was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn, the rasp of metal coming out of its scabbard. They paid it no mind, caught up as they were in the tension that was now at the table. It was probably just going to be another encounter between the Klingon and human Shakespeare, and when you'd seen that once, you'd pretty much seen it all you needed to.

  Suddenly, however, their attention was caught by the alarmed voice of one of the waiters, who called, "Sir! Sir! That's the property of the tavern! Put that down before you hurt yoursel-" And if that hadn't been enough to pull then: focus away from one another, certainly the sound of a fist impacting with the waiter's face would have done it.

  Robin turned, looked, and was thunderstruck as she saw who had entered the tavern. Morgan reacted with open amazement as well. Rafe and Nik, on the other hand, looked very icily at the newcomers.

  "Si Cwan!" Robin cried out. "Kalinda!"

  For, indeed, it was the two Thallonians, the only sur- viving members of the once-sprawling empire's royal family. It was Si Cwan who had pulled the sword from the wall, and he was standing perfectly still in the middle of the room, Kalinda at his shoulder. Both of them had fierce expressions on their faces, looking as if they were giving their full concentration to containing their anger.

  "Sir! Put it down, right now!" shouted a man that Robin could only take to be on the security staff. He was a couple of feet away, and in the midst of pulling a weapon from the inside of his jacket.

  Si Cwan, looking as if he had all the time in the world, lashed out with his foot. He struck the security man just under the chin, snapping his head back and sending him unconscious to the floor.

  Customers cried out in panic, starting to get to their feet with the clear intention of bolting from the restaurant. But Si Cwan, in a voice that had been used to issue commands to armies, shouted effortlessly above the din, "No one move!" Amazingly, everyone froze where they were. Then Si Cwan extended his arm and pointed the sword straight at Rafe.

  Slowly, Rafe stood, facing Si Cwan from across the room. "That was a good move,

  Cwan. You haven't lost a second off your speed. If anything, you're faster."

  "Fast enough to take you," Cwan said harshly.

  Rafe smiled patronizingly. "Not quite that fast"

  "Cwan... what the hell is going on?" said Robin. She and Morgan had now risen from their seats, each taking several steps away from the table. Nik had likewise risen, but had gone to his father's side. "Where did you come from?

  What's Rafe done-?"

  "His name isn't 'Rafe,' " Si Cwan said, never taking his eyes off his target. "Kalinda and I have been chasing down lead after lead, following a path of destruction that this man has left behind. His name is

  Olivan. Sientor Olivan. He killed my old teacher, Jereme. And now..." He drew a steady breath. "Now I'm going to kill him."

  BURGOYNE & XYON

  BURGOYNE CAME UP from the bottom of the lake, taking a deep breath of the fresh, warm air and glancing in the direction of the shoreline, where Xyon had been romping around. He had been mere only a moment ago...

  ... and now he wasn't.

  "Xyon!" Burgoyne called. S/he wasn't concerned just yet; s/he was all too aware just how capable hir son was in terms of handling himself, but, nevertheless, his absence was reason for pause. "Xyon!" s/he called again.

  Suddenly there was a little splash of water, and Xyon's head popped up a few feet away from Burgoyne's. Xyon grinned gleefully, his eyes wide, as his arms and legs pumped furiously to keep him afloat.

  "Well, hello!" laughed Burgoyne, and s/he glided toward him. "Look who's taken to water so... swimmingly." S/he took Xyon in hir hands and glided him to the right, then left, and then back again. Xyon giggled, the water splashing around him, and then he slapped it a few times with his palms, delighting in the droplets that splattered around.

  The time that had passed since Xyon had come to him had been nothing short of idyllic. It was something to see, the way he was developing. The speed was not unusual for a Hermat, of course, but seeing it in a child with a Vulcan cast was nothing short of amazing. More and more, Burgoyne was beginning to see the wisdom of Selar's decision. At first, s/he had wondered whether Selar wasn't simply washing her hands of the entire situation as soon as the first problem had presented itself to her. But now Burgoyne was perceiving what Selar had seen all too readily: Despite his exterior, Xyon was far more Hermat than had originally been thought. There were the Vulcan ears and eyebrows, certainly, but the Hermat fangs were starting to come in nicely, and his first claws were already developing. If they followed the normal course, they would become brittle, fall off, and the adult version would grow out in short order.

  Selar would simply not have had the emotional tools required to raise the child alone. As one of two loving parents, yes, but not alone. For the briefest of moments, regret flickered through Burgoyne's mind, but s/he quickly discarded it. S/he had promised hirself that s/he simply would not dwell on such depressing things. Selar had made it painfully clear that she did not reciprocate Burgoyne's affections for her, and that was that. In fact, with each passing day, Burgoyne found hirself wondering what s/he had ever seen in her anyway. Of course, when one of those things that s/he'd thought to be attractive did present itself to hir, s/he would quickly dismiss it from hir mind. Instead, hir focus was put en- tirely on Xyon and, yes, everything was developing correctly and expeditiously.

  Everything, except one thing. Xyon displayed the characteristic Hermat exuberance, but he was surprisingly mute. Oh, he made burbling sounds, toyed with syllables. But he had not yet uttered a specific word. It wasn't anything to concern oneself about, but it did bother Burgoyne slightly. Continuing to glide hir son back and forth, Burgoyne said, "Say, 'Daaaaaddy. Daaaaaddy.' "

  Xyon watched hir mouth movements carefully, entranced. He reached out and touched one of Burgoyne's fangs gently and giggled, and then said, "Aaaaaaaaaa."

  The basic sound was there, but still, "Aaaaaaa" was not
a word.

  "Nothing to worry about," Burgoyne said confidently. S/he looked into those gorgeous, round eyes and then couldn't help but add, with just a touch of melancholy, "Still... I wish your mama could see you."

  Xyon tilted his head slightly, as if trying to comprehend what it was that

  Burgoyne was talking about. "Aaaaaaa," he said again.