Star Trek Page 21

  Chapter Eleven

  Now

  “You might as well stand in front of me. I can smell you from here.”

  M’Ress had been holding back, reluctant to approach the brig. The security guards standing on either side gave no indication to Janos that she was anywhere nearby, but his pronouncement reminded her that his senses were easily just as sharp as hers, if not more so.

  But Janos’s wryly sarcastic voice floated to her and she knew there was no point in being paralyzed by indecision. “Am I that pungent?” she asked.

  “I think I might have preferred the term ‘piquant,’ but yes, I suppose you are. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You can come here. It’s okay. I won’t bite.”

  She came around the corner and stood in front of the brig. She gasped when she saw him there, shackled and with the muzzle on him.

  “Quite an ensemble, isn’t it,” said Janos. “I hate it. It clashes with absolutely everything I own.”

  “Oh, Janos,” she moaned. “Oh, look what they’ve done to you. I’m…I’m going to go talk to somebody, I…”

  “No, M’Ress…it’s all right,” he assured her, and she thought he was forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “No, I’d…rather they did this. After what happened earlier, they can’t take any chances. I wouldn’t want them to. I…well, it seems I don’t know my own strength. And by the way, it was extremely brave of you to search me out the way you did. You risked a great deal. I could have…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t like to think about it. The possibilities, the…”

  “You aren’t yourself, Janos.”

  “Well, that’s what it comes down to now, doesn’t it,” he said bitterly. “I’m not exactly sure who or what I am anymore. ‘Greetings, everyone, this is Ensign Janos. Tonight he’ll be a dashing, erudite man-about-town…unless, of course, a bizarre berserker rage seizes him and he rampages around the ship. You just never know what that wacky Janos is going to do next.’”

  “This is all my fault,” she said. “All my fault.”

  The two security guards glanced at each other, looking increasingly uncomfortable. In annoyance, M’Ress said, “If you don’t like what you’re hearing, feel free to leave.”

  “We can’t exactly desert our posts, Lieutenant.”

  “It won’t be deserting. Just…go a little ways down the hall or something. I mean, come on. You know I’m not going to let him out. He tried to kill me last time. Anyway, I don’t know the security codes that have the cuffs in place.”

  The guards exchanged another look, then one of them said grimly, “We’ll be right around the corner. He escapes, Lieutenant, and it’ll be your ass in a sling.”

  “He escapes, and there won’t be enough left of my ass to put in a sling,” she retorted.

  They moved off and M’Ress approached the barrier, but didn’t get too near. Janos noticed it. “You’re keeping your distance,” he said. “That’s probably wise.”

  “Oh, Janos…this is all—”

  “Your fault, yes, so you said. The thing is, M’Ress, it doesn’t matter how many times you say it. That doesn’t make it true.”

  “It doesn’t have to make it true. It is true. Everything that happened, happened because of me. The whole business with Gleau…I had so many opportunities to just…just let it go. Not make an issue of it. If I’d taken any of them, it wouldn’t have spiraled out of control and you wouldn’t be here. You went after Gleau because of me, Janos, and there’s really no denying that, is there?”

  “No,” he sighed. “No, there’s not. But here’s the thing, M’Ress. Sooner or later, I would have gone after somebody. If not Gleau, then someone else.”

  Clearly she didn’t comprehend. “Wh…what are you talking about? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear…that no one is ever what they seem…sometimes not even to themselves.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “That is because I haven’t explained it to you.”

  “Are you going to?”

  Sadly he shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s a long and tortured story and rather personal.”

  “Personal? Janos, we were lovers. It doesn’t get more personal than that.”

  “Of course it does,” he replied. “Lovers betray each other all the time. It’s quite common. But I betrayed myself. That’s far more rare….”

  “Janos…”

  And his voice was suddenly hard-edged, laced with impatience. “M’Ress…what did you come here for? Absolution? Forgiveness? You want me to find the right words to make you feel all better? I’m sorry, I don’t have them. Only you can make you feel better about yourself, about Gleau, about all of it. I can’t do it, and I think it would probably be better if you didn’t come by to see me again. I’d just as soon you not watch me trussed up like a prize steer in any event. It’s humiliating, and I’ve tried to keep a stiff upper lip about it, but there’s only so much even I can withstand. So please run along now.”

  “But I don’t…”

  “Leave!” The word erupted from his throat, and his eyes burned with self-loathing and anger.

  And M’Ress turned quickly and sprinted down the hallway, not looking back.

  Then

  Shelby had never felt as lucky to be alive as she did at that moment, heading out of Bethom’s hidden lair with the entire party intact and only mild bumps and bruises to show for it.

  She was still unclear as to exactly what had happened. Her reasoning mind told her it was impossible that Calhoun had yanked out his sword from the sheath he’d been carrying it in and carved up everything that was attacking them. It made no rational sense. No one should have been able to withstand such an assault. Yet here he was, battered but unbowed, his sword once more safely stowed in its scabbard, which was in turn strapped across his back. She’d originally thought it ridiculous to bring something so primitive along. Now she was giving serious consideration to taking swordsmanship lessons.

  That sword. That same sword that had been used by someone whose name Calhoun never told her. The one that had sliced open his face and nearly killed him. Now it was his, and he was more formidable at dealing death with it than anyone she had ever seen.

  She had lain there in the darkness, struggling to get up, and she’d heard the shrieking and howling as the creatures descended from all directions. At that moment she’d been positive she was going to die, even as she sought for her fallen phaser in the darkness. Then she realized that every one of the vicious monsters of all shapes and sizes was heading for Calhoun. From a purely instinctual point of view, it must have made sense. They had determined that he was the most formidable there, and so sought to take him down en masse while they were at their strongest. It had been a fairly good plan, actually.

  It just hadn’t worked. Instead the result had been an entire room filled with dead animals, and several worse-for-wear Starfleet officers.

  Calhoun had been taciturn when he’d emerged with Bethom, gripping him tightly by the back of the neck like a cat worrying a mouse. Bethom had been surprisingly meek. Pathetically so, in fact. He kept begging that he not be hurt, that he was simply a scientist who was endeavoring to carve his own way into the annals of research, and they didn’t understand, nobody understood. “Nobody ever does,” Kemper had said unsympathetically.

  What had not been expected was the large, white-furred creature that had emerged along with Calhoun. Shelby and the others had been nervous when they got a load of the thing’s great claws and vicious-looking teeth. But then the damned thing spoke to them, assuring them in halting, one-syllable words that he would do them no harm. Having no idea what to make of it, they went along with the insanity of the situation and had the thing tail along.

  Kemper and the others had been impressed by Calhoun’s accomplishments. No one there had any illusions: The third-year cadet had saved the lot of them. Everything had gone wrong and Calhoun, through determination and sheer brute force, had pulled off th
e mission. Now, as they made their way back the way they’d come, Kemper and the more experienced officers were filled with questions. Calhoun brushed them all off casually. They attributed it to misplaced modesty.

  Shelby didn’t think it was that at all, particularly when she saw the briefly pained expression in Calhoun’s eyes that he deftly covered over when they kept talking about what a total lunatic he was in combat.

  Calhoun had spent three years trying to measure up to the concept of an officer and a gentleman as was taught to him at Starfleet Academy. And he knew that an officer and a gentleman didn’t turn into a berserker, even when it was in a situation where lives were at stake. The fact that Calhoun had saved all their lives was secondary to him. He was concerned about the way he had done so, and Shelby suspected that in Calhoun’s own judgment, he had come up short of his own expectations.

  She didn’t know if she was right, nor did she know if he’d admit to it if confronted about it. So she wisely just kept her mouth closed.

  The Ridge Mountain tribe had been so helpful in locating the renegade scientist for the men of the Federation that Kemper had personally assured them they would return to the tribe upon Bethom’s capture so they could see for themselves that the source of their terror was ended. Langdon wasn’t sanguine over the prospect, concerned that the tribe would take justice and/or vengeance into their own hands. Calhoun, however, swore that would not be the case. “I know these people,” he said. “Their strictures against violence are absolute. Despite the fact that he was a menace to them, they would just as soon take one of their own lives as kill him. To them, the sanctity of life is absolute. It doesn’t matter whose life it is.”

  “Nice philosophy,” Langdon said skeptically. Nevertheless, he withdrew his objection, and in less than a day, the ragtag group was trooping into the tribe’s encampment with a frustrated Bethom in tow.

  As pleased as the tribespeople were to see Bethom, it was the white-furred beast that really caused a stir. Especially when he opened his mouth and spoke in his slow, halting fashion.

  Shelby in particular found him fascinating, and talked with Bethom at length about it. This rather annoyed Calhoun, what with Bethom being their prisoner and all. “Look, Mac,” Shelby had replied, “he may have broken laws. He may have tried to kill us. But that doesn’t make Bethom any less of a genius, or this creature of his any less an accomplishment.”

  “And what exactly has he accomplished?” asked Calhoun.

  The tribe had requested—insisted, actually—that the Starfleet group stay for a feast. This didn’t serve as too much of a problem. The long-range shuttle in which they’d arrived was just over the next ridge and thus not too much more of a journey. Kemper and the others were seated closer to the large pit that had been dug where fresh meat was roasting. The women seemed determined to show them a good time, and Kemper, Langdon, Fitzhugh, and Travers were not inclined to deny them the opportunity. Calhoun and Shelby sat farther away from the fire.

  “What has he accomplished?” replied Shelby, surprised that she had to spell it out. “He’s created a creature through genetic manipulation that has the capacity for intelligence on a par with a human’s.”

  “He couldn’t have aimed higher?”

  She slapped at his upper arm in response to the needling. “Seriously, Mac,” she continued as Calhoun rubbed his arm and mock-pouted. “There’s never been a creature like this before.” The creature at that moment was sitting close to the fire, staring at it in wonder. The firelight danced in his small, pink eyes.

  “What exactly did he make it out of?”

  “Several different species of creatures,” she said. “A couple drawn from Earth, one from the planet Neural, one from Rigel, a bit of Caitian. He picked the best, the ones with the most capacity for learning. As near as I can tell, he succeeded. The question is, what happens to him now?”

  Calhoun, however, wasn’t listening to her. He heard a commotion at the far side of the encampment and was immediately on his feet, trying to anticipate what sort of trouble might be coming.

  “Mac? Mac, what is it?” she demanded.

  She saw him stiffen as several new arrivals entered the encampment. Others who were watching stepped back, forming a small semicircle as the newcomers swaggered in. They were dressed in what amounted to colorful rags. Calhoun just stood there, his body poised. To Shelby, it looked like he was ready to pounce on them.

  The foremost of them sauntered forward. He had a sword in his belt, his hand resting comfortably on the pommel. His black hair was long and straggly, his beard was thick as night. He was a head and a half taller than Calhoun, and considerably wider in addition.

  “So. It’s true,” he said, scrutinizing Calhoun as if he were a long lost brother…or perhaps an escaped criminal. “M’k’n’zy of Calhoun has deigned to return to us.”

  “Hello, C’n’daz,” said Calhoun. He glanced at the clearly confused Shelby. “Elizabeth Paula Shelby of Starfleet…this is C’n’daz, one of my lieutenants from the days of the revolution. And this is…” Then he stopped and said, “On further consideration, I hardly think I’d call it ‘deigning.’ For that matter, what are you doing here? When we were fighting the Danteri, you never hesitated to express your total disdain for these people,” and he indicated the tribesmen all around, who were watching with curiosity. “Yet now you come among them?”

  “I have to come here,” replied C’n’daz. “I have to come here because you’re far too busy to come back to Calhoun and spend time with us.”

  “Would I be welcome?” Calhoun asked.

  “Welcome?” He laughed derisively, the others joining in, as if the very suggestion was completely preposterous. “Welcome! My brethren,” and he turned to what Shelby now assumed to be other members of the Calhoun community and continued, “The great and esteemed M’k’n’zy of Calhoun wonders if he would be welcome in our small community. Have you ever heard of such a nonsensical notion? From where could he possibly have gotten such an idea.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Calhoun. “If you say it would be so, then—”

  But C’n’daz hadn’t finished. “Why wouldn’t we welcome the man who brought us to triumph over our enemies…and then abandoned us in our time of need.”

  “Abandoned you?” Calhoun was bristling. “What are you talking about? You didn’t need me.”

  “That was your judgment to make, was it?”

  “Yes! Who else’s?”

  Kemper and the others were slowly approaching, which was possibly the only thing that could make matters worse. “Problem here, Calhoun?”

  “No. No problem,” Calhoun said rigidly. “Just some old friends…who apparently don’t know how to let go.”

  “We didn’t exactly have the chance to let go, did we?” snapped C’n’daz. “You left out of pure selfishness.”

  “Mackenzie Calhoun may be many things,” said Shelby defiantly, “but he’s not selfish.”

  This caused a roar of disbelieving laughter from the Xenexians. “‘Mackenzie’? Is that what you’re calling yourself now? You changed your name?” C’n’daz was incredulous. “You’re that ashamed of us, of your heritage, that you leave your very name behind?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Calhoun told him.

  “Oh, yes, you do,” C’n’daz shot back. His voice cracked briefly, but he caught himself and said with growing intensity, “You walked out on us!”

  “You didn’t need me! You needed politicians and people to set up governments. That was never going to be me.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “It’s my life, dammit!” said Calhoun.

  “I pledged my soul to follow you! We all did!” and there were nods from the men with him. “And you spat on that pledge by abandoning us! All because you didn’t have the courage to stay with us and continue to lead us….”

  “Courage! You question my courage!”

  “Difficult to question something
you don’t have,” said C’n’daz defiantly.

  Calhoun started forward, his fingers curled into fists, his scar burning bright red. And Shelby, feeling as if she was risking her life doing so, nevertheless got between them, throwing her arms out to either side to block him. The thought that she actually could prevent him from advancing was ridiculous, but she had to intervene no matter what the cost. “You can’t do this,” she told him.

  “Out of the way, Elizabeth,” he warned.

  She shook her head. “You can’t be doing things like this. You’re a year away from graduation, and you have to start thinking like a damn Starfleet officer. Not a thug or a street brawler or a gang member. You have to exercise judgment.”

  “Eppy…”

  But she kept right on talking. “You’re going to encounter other beings all the time who try to bait you into fights. Who will try to get you to fly off the handle so you can make a mistake that’s going to serve their ends. You’re going to have to learn to swallow your pride and not get pulled into meaningless battles, because sooner or later the lives of an entire crew are going to depend on you being able to keep your temper in check. Not everything can be settled through force of arms. You have to be able to walk away without feeling like your manhood is on the line every single time. Don’t you see that?”

  She thought he was going to push right past her. Just toss her aside so that he could get at his defiant fellow Xenexian. But then, slowly, the blistering red of the scar began to subside, like a visual thermometer measuring his mood. “Fine,” he said at last, and there was still a cold burning in his eyes, but he had lowered his fists. “Fine.”

  “‘Fine’?” C’n’daz repeated mockingly. “That’s it? The great M’k’n’zy is told what to do by a woman, and he simply nods his head and acquiesces? Not only are you no longer Xenexian, you’re barely even a man.”

  “It’s not going to work, C’n’daz,” Calhoun said. His voice was hollow. It sounded to Shelby as if he were a spirit whispering from a haunted house. “I’m sorry you feel I hurt you. But I had to do what was right for m—”