Martyr

by Peter David

  “But he’s not on Xenex!” pointed out Shelby.

  “True. And I am not on Vulcan. Our specific geographical location, Commander, is irrelevant. We continue to carry our cultures and backgrounds within us, no matter where we are. Mackenzie Calhoun is, to all intents and purposes, the leader of our little tribe here on the Excalibur. I, a widowed female, have asked him to fulfill an obligation that a Xenexian tribal leader routinely fulfills. This is not a question of Starfleet regulations or Federation policy, Commander. It is a question of cultural backgrounds, for both of us. Traditions. As we both know, the honoring of individual cultures and their ways is sacrosanct, even in Star-fleet.”

  Shelby was still working on getting a grip on what Selar had just informed her of. “So … so you’re saying that Xenexian tribal leaders sometimes act as … breeding machines?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “For widows?”

  “Not always just widows. If it is a desire of the family and the young woman in question, tribal leaders will have intercourse with young women who have just reached maturity. The purpose there is not conception, but more of a … a blessing.”

  Shelby’s voice was barely above a whisper, for which Selar was rather appreciative. “A blessing? The tribal leaders have … have sex with adolescent women—”

  “It is considered a great honor, and is always consensual.”

  “Consensual? What girl knows anything about anything when her hormones have just started kicking in, and there’s … there’s”—and she waved a hand in a direction as if she were pointed to an invisible person in the room—“there’s M’k’n’zy of Calhoun, big, broad, and studly. Playboy of western Xenex!”

  “Such traditions are not completely unknown in Earth culture, Commander, although they are not practiced as much anymore. For instance, the—”

  “I don’t care, Doctor,” said Shelby sharply, and then instantly regretted speaking so harshly to Selar. Even though her face maintained that same inscrutability, it was clear that Selar had an air of polite confusion about her. However, she said nothing as Shelby very, very quickly pulled herself together. Then she slapped her thighs briskly and said, “Well, this certainly has been educational, Doctor.”

  “Yes, I have learned a great deal, too, Commander,” said Selar. And as Shelby walked out of her office, Selar murmured, “I have learned that, when I see you coming toward my office, I should leave immediately.”

  V

  BURGOYNE 172, CHIEF ENGINEER of the Starship Excalibur, seemed utterly engrossed in a message from home that was scrolling across the computer screen, and the other members of the engineering department were tiptoeing around so as not to disrupt Burgoyne’s attention. Finally, however, Ensign Ronni Beth had completed an assignment that Burgoyne had assigned her, and felt that delaying the report back to Burgoyne would probably not be a wise thing. So she stepped up behind the Hermat and said tentatively, “Shir?”

  Burgoyne turned and looked up at her with those incredibly dark eyes. “That’s ‘sir.’ Sir, or ‘chief’ since I’m chief of engineering. That would also be acceptable.”

  “Pardon?” said Beth in surprise. “I thought Hermats preferred ‘shir,’ feeling that ‘sir’ was too attached to one particular gender—”

  “We did,” said Burgoyne, tapping the computer screen. “But some new decisions have come down from the Hermat Language Council.”

  “The what?”

  “The Hermat Language Council,” repeated Burgoyne. “It’s an organization that meets annually, composed of various scholars and linguists. They review our language: How we use it ourselves, how others use it, our interactions with other races. They adjust the usage, create new words that the language seems to require, or give approval to words that have worked their way into our own language.”

  “That sounds bizarre,” said Beth. “A whole group just to govern your language?”

  “If it is so ‘bizarre,’ why does the French government of Earth have the same thing?”

  Beth was caught momentarily off guard, but then she shrugged. “Well, they’re French,” she said, as if that was all the explanation required.

  “Oh,” said Burgoyne. “Well, in any event, Starfleet representatives were complaining that we had created our own separate designation. That the fleet had no problem with separate descriptors such as s/he to reflect our bi-gender status, but contended that ‘sir’ was a form of Starfleet direct address and therefore exempt from Hermat requirements. The winning argument, I must admit, pointed out that it was the equivalent of changing the rank to ‘commandher’ so that females would have equal time with the word ‘man’ already included in the title. The Council went back and forth on that one, but finally decided that if we’re going to be part of Starfleet, we should accede to their desires in this matter.”

  Beth leaned forward. “What other decisions have come down?”

  “Well, the big one is that they’ve done away with ‘hish,’” said Burgoyne. “It was decided we didn’t need both ‘hish’ and ‘hir.’ ‘Hish’ was if you wanted to say, ‘S/he bowed hish head.’ ‘Hir’ was for saying, ‘S/he didn’t know what to do with hir.’ But for a long time now, a lot of younger Hermats have been complaining that ‘hish’ is just too damn difficult to say, and that ‘hir’ can fulfill both functions. Apparently the Council agreed.”

  “‘Flutzed?’” Beth’s gaze had wandered farther down the screen.

  “Yes, ‘flutzed.’ Slang term, now made official. It means”—hir long, tapered fingers waved in the air for a moment as s/he tried to come up with an appropriate equivalent—“it means, ‘messed up.’ Not performing as expected due to some sort of error. If you want, we can discuss all the niceties of Hermat language later on. I’ll be generating a memo for all personnel discussing all the pertinent changes. Computer off.” The screen went obediently blank. “For now, I expect that you have a report for me?”

  “Yes, sh—sir. I’ve been monitoring the readouts of the phase generators as they interface with the coils, and, well, it’s still there, Chief.”

  “The energy wave readout?”

  “Yes. I made a recording of it over several one-hour periods. Computer, access file Beth Wave One.”

  The screen promptly flared back to life. “Accessing,” said the computer briskly, and a moment later the distinctive wave pattern appeared on the screen, undulating steadily.

  “But it’s not affecting engine performance,” Burgoyne said thoughtfully, drumming hir fingers on the countertop.

  “No, sir. I believe it was the source of some of the systems botch-ups we had earlier, although we have those under control now. In fact, if anything, it’s improving energy processing.”

  “Look at that,” Burgoyne said in wonderment. The energy readout seemed to turn steadily in a sort of undulating spiral. “It’s almost beautiful to watch.”

  “It is definitely that, Chief.”

  “And my own research into this wave,” continued Burgoyne, “indicates that we can trace its origin point almost to the minute after we passed through that Great Flaming Bird. Ensign,” s/he turned back to Beth and indicated the screen, “do you have any explanation whatsoever as to the current curious status of our energy wave readouts?”

  Beth gave it a long moment’s thought, and then she said with conviction, “I’d say it’s definitely flutzed.”

  Burgoyne laughed softly, displaying hir sharp canine teeth. “Yes. Yes, I’d have to agree. I want you to find what’s causing it, Beth. I want you to make it your top priority. I have my eye on you, Beth. I think you have potential, and it’s fulfilling these types of assignments that gets you ahead.”

  “‘These types of assignments.’ You mean assignments wherein the chief engineer has absolutely no clue as to what’s causing it, and s/he’s looking for some lucky sucker to foist the problem on.”

  “Well done, Beth,” said Burgoyne approvingly. “You see, assignment of blame is an even greater skill than assignment
of duty.”

  “Words to live by, sir.”

  “You’ll likely need people working with you. Submit a list of those who you’ll want on your team so I can clear them from other duties. Although I suggest you may want to leave Christiano’s name off here.”

  “Christiano,” Beth said slowly, feeling her cheeks coloring. “Is there a … uhm … problem with Ensign Christiano, sir?”

  “Not from what I hear,” replied Burgoyne teasingly. “My understanding is that you and he have become quite the couple.”

  “How did you—?”

  “Word gets around a starship quickly, Ensign. We’re a rather enclosed little community.”

  Not one to allow teasing to go entirely in one direction, Beth riposted with, “Well, my understanding is that you and Lieutenant McHenry are quite the couple yourself.”

  “Mark?” Again, Burgoyne laughed, although it was in a slightly different tone. One that seemed to carry a bit of pleasure in it. “Mark is … Mark is charming. A very original thinker. Neither of us sees the relationship going anywhere, really. We’re more friends with fringe benefits, you could say.”

  “Enjoying each other’s company until something better comes along.”

  “That’s it precisely. So,” and hir dark eyes twinkled, “any other gossip you’ve heard about lately?”

  It was very odd for Beth, talking to Burgoyne. She never knew quite what to make of hir. There were times when s/he was surly, brusque, bordering on the dictatorial. But there were other times when Burgoyne seemed in the mood to chat and gossip like … well, like one of the girls.

  “Well, I assume you’ve heard about the captain,” said Beth. “I mean, that’s the big one floating around the ship.”

  “The captain.” Burgoyne seemed intrigued, leaning forward in hir chair as if afraid that a word might slip through the already minimal distance between them. “No, this I hadn’t heard. Smart money is that he and the commander are—”

  But Beth quickly shook her head. “No, not the commander. The captain and the doctor.”

  The smile remained frozen on Burgoyne’s face as s/he said slowly, “Which doctor would that be?”

  “The doctor. Selar.”

  “Captain Calhoun and Doctor Selar.” Burgoyne was having trouble maintaining the smile now. “The … the two of them are … together now?”

  “That’s what I hear. Apparently the doctor is having some sort of Pon Farr problem. Since she’s been talking with the captain, people are speculating that she’s looking to him to solve it. That’s where my money is, at any rate, although there are some who are speculating that actually it’s the doctor and Commander Shelby who—”

  “This is none of our business,” Burgoyne said sharply, all efforts to maintain hir smile now gone. “You have work to do, Ensign, and so do I. I think we’ve spent enough time at this foolishness, don’t you?”

  And Burgoyne turned hir back to her, leaving a puzzled Beth stammering out, “Yes, sir,” and walking quickly away.

  Shelby entered the bridge and saw Calhoun looking over a report that Lefler had just handed him. He was studying it thoughtfully, and she thought she heard him say something about Si Cwan. She nodded, and then he nodded and said, slightly more loudly, “Sounds like a plan. Mister McHenry.”

  “Yes, sir,” McHenry said briskly from the conn.

  “Set us a course at two-two-three mark”—he glanced once more at Lefler’s notes—“mark four.”

  “Aye, sir. Bringing her about.”

  “Warp factor four, Mister McHenry. Kick it.”

  “She’s kicked, sir.”

  Shelby went to her chair next to Calhoun’s, but she did not sit. Instead she half-crouched, with one bent knee in the cushion of the chair, and turned to face Calhoun. “Mind telling me where we’re going, sir?”

  “It is Ambassador Si Cwan’s recommendation that we meet with envoys from a people called the Zondarians,” Calhoun replied. “Apparently they already have people en route. We’re going to be rendezvousing with them within thirty-six hours.”

  “I see.” Shelby turned to Lefler. “The purpose of the meeting?”

  “We’re not sure, Commander,” admitted Lefler, “but we are hoping that it is for the purpose of spearheading a peace initiative that will bring an end to a civil war stretching back nearly a millennium.” She then proceeded to outline, in quick, broad strokes the details behind the rendezvous.

  “Sounds impressive,” said Shelby.

  “Commander, are you planning to stay with us for a while?” Calhoun commented, noting her rather odd stance. “Feel free to sit down.”

  “Actually, I’d like to talk to you a few minutes, Captain, if you have the time. In your ready room, perhaps?”

  He shrugged. “Of course. Lieutenant Soleta,” he called to the science officer, who from her station was busy taking notes from long-range scanners on a collapsing star many parsecs away. She looked up, her eyebrows furrowed. “You have the conn,” he said, as he moved toward the ready room at Shelby’s side.

  Soleta walked around to the command chair and slid into it. From behind her, Security Chief Zak Kebron, the mountainous member of the Brikar, rumbled, “You look entirely too comfortable there.”

  “I could get to like it,” she said, rubbing her hands appreciatively on the armrest.

  “I thought I knew you, Mac. I thought I, of all people—”

  She was briskly pacing his ready room and he watched her go back and forth as if he were observing a tennis game. “Does anyone really know anyone?” he started to reply.

  But she stabbed a finger at him and said angrily, “Don’t you dare. I won’t see you be flip about this. Not this.”

  “And I won’t see you overreact!”

  “Overreact! Mac!” She stopped in her tracks and calmed herself. “Mac, when we first became a couple, I know we agreed that our previous sexual histories weren’t really relevant, and we weren’t going to inquire.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But, jeez, Mac!” she said as she leaned against the table to steady herself, shaking her head in astonishment. “You might have mentioned this at least! You were Xenex’s official sexual surrogate?!”

  “Eppy, why do you care?” he said.

  “You’re doing it again. Calling me by that annoying nickname in hopes that I’ll get distracted. It’s not going to work, Mac. Call me ‘Eppy’ as much as your little heart desires.”

  “All right, then. Eppy, again … why do you care? Our romantic relationship was long ago. Why should you care?”

  “Because it colors what went before, that’s why! Because it’s—oh, I don’t know!” she said in frustration, thudding one fist on the table. “I don’t know why I care. You’re right, I’m being stupid.”

  “You’re being who you are, and saying what you feel. That’s never stupid.”

  She slid into the chair next to him, propping her chin up on her fist. “It’s just that”—and her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear her—“you were … you were very special to me back then, Mac. Our relationship was very special. And finding that your life before me included that facet of it, I … well … it just makes me feel—”

  “A little less special?”

  “Kind of, I guess. And I’m sorry, I don’t care what you say, I am being stupid, because it was a long time ago, and I shouldn’t be letting it upset me. I’ve been through a lot since then, and I shouldn’t really.” She paused, as if her mind was switching tracks, and then she blurted out, “How many?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How many women were there? During your ‘tenure.’”

  “You mean how many women did I service?”

  She winced. “That’s a bit more blunt than I would have liked. I’d have preferred you put it somewhat more delicately.”

  “How many women did I fill with the glorious seed of M’k’n’zy?”

  “Okay. Let’s go back to blunt. How many?”

  “Are you su
re you want to know?”

  “Yes.” With a forced demeanor of casualness, she crossed her legs and steepled her fingers. “I admit, I may regret it, but …”

  “Very well.” He proceeded to murmur to himself, counting off on his fingers, muttering a string of names. Shelby felt her heart sinking. He looked at his hands, and then back to her. “I’m out of fingers. I may have to use the computer to calculate it.”

  “Aw, come on, Mac! Just ballpark it, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. Ballpark, rough number, off the top of my head, and don’t hold me to this now, but it was somewhere around …”

  She braced herself.

  “One.”

  She didn’t even realize that she’d closed her eyes in a grimace until the moment sustained itself, frozen in time, and she became aware that she couldn’t see anything. She opened her eyes and stared at him, to see that he was laughing silently to himself. “One!”

  “Yes.”

  “Just one? Just one woman!”

  “Just the one. Her name was Catrine, and if you must know, she was also the first woman that I ever … serviced … in any capacity. Appropriate, I guess. Someone who fought for his planet’s freedom from his early teens, naturally my first sexual experience would be in the line of duty.”

  “But why only the one?”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Oh, I’m not!” she said very quickly. “I mean, I guess only in the sense that if I were going to be getting myself so upset about something, it’d have been nice if there were something for me really to get upset about. But one? How can I …? Uhm … why just one?”

  “I found at that point that I actually had a preference for swordplay.”

  “Aw, c’mon!”

  “Because I wasn’t the tribal leader, Eppy! You keep overlooking that. I was the warlord; my brother was the actual leader. How many women he was involved with, I could not begin to tell you, and I seriously doubt that you care.”