by Peter David
“She has you to be there for her, and besides, I didn’t ask for her help. For anybody’s help.”
“Well, that’s not the way the world works, Calhoun,” Wexler snapped. “Sometimes you wind up getting help whether you asked for it or not. And then you’re supposed to show gratitude in return. That’s how things operate in worlds other than Xenexian ones.”
“I don’t need to be lectured by you, Wexler.”
“Since you’re not staying around for the lectures of the teachers, I thought I’d take the opportunity.”
“You take an opportunity?” Calhoun dropped his bags to the floor and stepped toward Wexler, his purple eyes burning with cold fury. “I noticed that when others were jumping in to my aid, you were standing to the side. Watching. Doing nothing.”
“That’s right.”
“And that inaction doesn’t seem the least cowardly to you?”
Wexler laughed curtly. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there, Calhoun. You complain when people come to your aid, and you complain when they don’t. Which do you prefer?”
“It wasn’t just me. Elizabeth was in the midst of the melee. You could have helped her.”
“Because I’m her significant other?”
“I would have said ‘lover,’ but yes.”
“Elizabeth is capable of handling herself. She wouldn’t want me to come to her defense,” he said airily. “She’d consider it insulting. An indication that I didn’t think she could take care of her own business.”
“Maybe,” said Calhoun icily. “Or maybe you just didn’t have the guts to get your hands dirty.”
Wexler gave a thin smile. “It always comes down to matters of bravery for you, doesn’t it, Calhoun. Fortunately some of us think with our heads instead of our hubris.”
“And some of us think too much,” said Calhoun. He picked up his bags.
At that moment, the door chime rang. “That will be Betty,” said Wexler. “Come!”
The door slid open. Dean Jellico was standing in the doorway.
Calhoun turned to Wexler. “You just never get tired of being right, do you.”
Jellico nodded in acknowledgment to both of them. “Cadet Wexler,” he said, “my understanding is that you kept your nose clean during this entire ugly business.”
“Yes, sir. Squeaky.”
“Very wise. That shows great restraint.”
“It wasn’t easy, sir.”
“I’m guessing it was,” muttered Calhoun, just loud enough for Wexler, but not Jellico, to hear. Wexler kept a smile on his face but gestured toward Calhoun with his upraised forefinger and middle finger extended. Calhoun didn’t know what that meant, but suspected it couldn’t be good.
The dean of students then turned to Calhoun. His face darkened. “And as for you, Cadet…”
“As you see, I’m prepared to leave,” said Calhoun. “If you can just indicate when the next shuttle will be departing…”
“Mr. Kemper.”
“What about Mr. Kem—?”
The question died on Calhoun’s lips as Kemper entered. He looked more the worse for wear than did Calhoun, which was surprising considering that Calhoun had been under a pile of upperclassmen who were endeavoring to pummel him. He was wearing a crisp, clean uniform, leading Calhoun to believe he’d gone to change it. But his short hair was in disarray, there were some bruises swelling up on either side of his face, and overall he looked like exactly what he was: someone who’d gotten into a fight and come up with the short end of the stick.
Calhoun said nothing. There seemed to be nothing to say. Perhaps Kemper was going to take a swing at him. Calhoun was almost hoping he would…although he wasn’t sure if it was because he believed he deserved it on some level…or because he just wanted one more opportunity to take Kemper apart before he left.
“Mr. Kemper,” Jellico said slowly, “takes full responsibility for the incident.”
“Of course he does,” Calhoun replied. “He started it.”
Wexler was standing near Calhoun, and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. Calhoun looked at it with annoyance, but Wexler paid him no mind. “You don’t understand,” Wexler said.
“Yes, I understand. He says he started it. He did. Now, when is the next shuttle—”
“Sir,” Wexler turned to Jellico, “may I have a moment to confer with my client?”
Jellico stared at Wexler with raised eyebrow, and there may have been the slightest hint of a twitch on the edges of his mouth. Then he said formally, “As you wish, Cadet.”
Wexler pulled Calhoun toward the far side of the room. Calhoun, curious, went willingly…which was fortunate for Wexler, since if Calhoun had been un willing, he wouldn’t have gone anywhere. Speaking in a rush, Wexler told him, “When he says he’s taking full responsibility, it means that you’re being held completely blameless. No action taken against you.”
“What?” Calhoun was having trouble understanding what Wexler was talking about. “How can I be held ‘completely blameless’? It takes two to fight.”
“That’s not the point. We’re not talking about interpersonal dynamics. We’re talking about crime and punishment. Who instigated the crime and who is to be penalized for it. Usually in such instances, people finger each other and penalties are dealt all around. Kemper is saying that only he should be penalized. If the dean accepts that, they’d have no reason to kick you out. You were just defending yourself.”
Calhoun’s eyes narrowed and he regarded Kemper suspiciously. “Why? Why would you do that?”
Kemper looked to Jellico, who nodded. “Because it’s the truth,” said Kemper.
“And why should that compel you?”
“Because he’s a Starfleet officer, Calhoun,” Jellico said. “That’s sufficient reason.”
The upperclassman let out a heavy sigh. “Look…the simple fact is that I let my ego run away with me. I was so busy convincing myself that plebes have to be shown their place…that I forgot to consider that four-year cadets also sometimes need to be shown their place. It didn’t help that you put me down with one punch.”
“I thought it was a ‘lucky punch,’” said Calhoun.
Kemper grimaced. “So did I. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I take a lot of pride in my self-defense skills.”
“Well…you should,” Calhoun said diplomatically. “For a human who’s probably never had to fight for his life, you handled it quite well.”
Wexler laughed softly at that, then saw that neither Jellico nor Kemper was amused, and promptly quieted.
“The thing of it is,” continued Kemper, “I realized I allowed my ego to blind me to just how easily you took me down. And word was all over the Academy. All over. One-Punch Calhoun, meet Glass-Jaw Kemper.”
“You didn’t have your friends with you in order to outnumber me,” Calhoun realized. “You just wanted as many witnesses as possible.”
“Yes. I thought I’d take you down easily the second time out, because I wouldn’t underestimate you twice. It didn’t exactly work out that way. And then things, well…they just spiraled out of control.”
“I would certainly call a melee ‘spiraling out of control,’” agreed Calhoun. “I’m curious: Would your friends have claimed, on your behalf, that I was the one responsible?”
“They would have told the truth,” Jellico said firmly.
But Calhoun was looking at Kemper, and when the latter was certain that Jellico wasn’t noticing, he gave the slightest hint of a nod. Which was exactly what Calhoun thought. “It really doesn’t matter,” Kemper then said. “I’d never have put them in that position.”
Calhoun looked very thoughtful then, and Jellico asked, “Something you wish to say, Cadet?”
“I suppose,” he admitted, “if I had simply done the pushups when Mr. Kemper asked me to, none of this would have happened.”
“True enough,” said Jellico. “As you go through life, Calhoun…not just your career, but life…you’ll find there’s a
ny number of times when you have to weigh immediate inconvenience against long-term benefits. Only you can make those decisions. Sometimes they’ll be difficult, other times…less so.”
“What’s going to happen to Mr. Kemper?” asked Calhoun.
“Appropriate measures will be taken,” Jellico said, “the exact nature of which will remain none of your business, Mr. Calhoun.” He glanced from one to the other. “This might be an appropriate moment, gentlemen, to shake hands.”
Kemper stuck his hand out in that same odd manner that Wexler had first displayed. By this point, however, Calhoun knew what to do, and he took it and shook it firmly.
“I have to know, Calhoun: What would I have to do to learn how to fight the way you do?”
“Know that you’ll win.”
“No one can know that for sure,” Kemper said. “There’s always possibilities, unforeseen—”
“Know that you’ll win.”
Slowly Kemper nodded. “Know that I’ll win. Got it.” He pumped Calhoun’s hand once more. “By the way, just so you know…I still don’t like you very much.”
“I can live with that,” Calhoun assured him.
Kemper nodded, then took two steps back and snapped to attention. Jellico turned on his heel and headed for the door, followed by Kemper. At the door Jellico paused, turned, and said, “I feel safe in saying you’ve used up all your good luck, Calhoun. Another incident like this, I don’t give a damn who started it. Not only will you have your bags packed, but I personally will escort you to the curb. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
The door slid shut behind them, and Wexler shook his head wonderingly. “You are the luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”
“Lucky.” Calhoun snorted. “People keep picking fights with me. I don’t feel especially lucky.”
“You’re lucky that Kemper had enough class to take full responsibility for what happened. Any number of upperclassmen would have been concerned solely about covering their own asses. But Kemper, for all the grief he gave you, believes in the Code of Conduct. He handled himself honorably. You should keep that in mind for the future for yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” demanded Calhoun.
“Nothing. It means nothing.” Wexler put up his hands defensively and cowered in exaggerated fashion. “Don’t hit me.”
Calhoun rolled his eyes.
ii.
As the sun set, Calhoun stood outside the Academy and watched the great glowing orb descend past the Golden Gate Bridge. There was a structure that had stood for hundreds of years. He thought about the remarkably primitive humans who must have constructed it, and marveled that they could have managed it at all.
“What are you doing out here?”
Shelby approached from behind him. He liked the way the sun shone off her blond curls. “Just thinking,” he said.
“Thinking about how lucky you are to still be here?”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s lucky.” He pointed to some words that were engraved above the main entrance. “That’s not your common language. I’ve been trying to understand that. What is it?”
She looked where he indicated and smiled as if what he was asking was charming or cute somehow. “It’s Latin. It reads, ‘Ex astris, scientia.’ It means ‘From the stars, knowledge.’ It’s the motto of Starfleet Academy.”
“What is ‘Latin’?”
“It’s a dead language. No one really speaks it conversationally anymore.”
He made a dismissive sound. “If they’re interested in disseminating knowledge, they should think about sticking to languages people use.”
Shelby chuckled at that. “You’re probably right.” Then she drew nearer to him. His look, his body language, everything about him told her that something was off. “What’s bothering you, Calhoun?”
“What makes you say something is bothering me?”
“The fact that something’s bothering you is what makes me say it. I’m funny that way. I mean, come on!” and she slapped him on the back. “You should be celebrating! Wex told me you were packing up to leave, and all of a sudden, boom! You’re staying!”
“Boom,” he echoed tonelessly.
All attempts at joviality on her part evaporated. With real concern, she drew closer to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Mackenzie…seriously…”
“Seriously?” He shook his head. “All right. Seriously then. I was outnumbered.”
“When?” Then she realized. “Oh. Then. Yes, you were.”
“Fighting all those cadets.”
“Yes.”
“And all those other first-years were just standing there, watching. No one making a move to help me.”
“You didn’t call for help.”
He shrugged. “It never occurred to me.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Or I should say,” he continued, “it never occurred to me until you jumped in…and suddenly the other cadets couldn’t pitch in fast enough.”
“Calhoun, where are you going with this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “They followed you, but not me.”
“And that bothers you.”
“I didn’t think it would.” He paused. “But the more I dwell on it…”
“Then stop dwelling on it.”
He turned to face her. “Is it because you’re a woman?”
Shelby stepped back from him, making no effort to hide her annoyance with him. It was an attitude she would come to adopt very often in the future. “Oh, well, that makes perfect sense. I mean, it’s the only reasonable explanation. That it’s because I’m a woman. Our fellow cadets were suddenly seized with a massive flood of chivalry and had to leap to my rescue.”
“All right. I can accept that.”
“Calhoun!” she said in frustration, her hands flexing as if she wanted to throttle him. “I was being sarcastic!” Then she frowned. “Or ironic. I always get those two mixed up.”
“Ironic,” said Calhoun. “Spoken irony between two parties generally requires that one of the two parties doesn’t realize the speaker isn’t serious. Sarcasm is broader, more easily recognizable, and generally more insulting.”
“Well, thanks ever so for the lesson, Professor I’m-So-Well-Read Calhoun.”
“See, that was sarcasm.”
“Shut up.”
“And that was just rude.”
“Not as rude as automatically assuming that because I’m a female, men had to leap to my aid.”
“I didn’t say they had to. I thought maybe they felt compelled to.”
“Or maybe,” countered Shelby, “they saw me as someone who was more like them. Someone who has a basic respect for the rules, and an appreciation for the history of Starfleet. Someone with whom they had common ground. And because of that, they came to my aid because they felt I was one of them. As opposed to someone who treasures his outsider status, acts in a sullen and belligerent manner when anyone tries to approach him, and clearly thinks that his upbringing of oppression and deprivation makes him eminently more worthy than anyone else here.”
He considered that for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No. I think it’s because you’re a woman.”
She groaned and sat down on the edge of a base of a large statue, her face in her hands. “You are the most frustrating man I’ve ever met.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should really meet more men.”
“Calhoun…”
“Who’s that?” He was looking up at the statue, his face full of curiosity. Shelby craned her neck around to look and see just whose feet she was seated at.
“Zefram Cochrane,” she said. “There’re probably more statues of him on Earth than any other person. He invented warp drive. If it weren’t for him, interstellar travel wouldn’t have been possible.”
“That’s not true.”
“Calhoun,” said Shelby, her eyes wi
de, “you don’t even know who he was! How can you say that?”
“Because if he hadn’t done it, someone else would have. The times arrive for things to happen, and people arise to accomplish those things.”
“So you’re saying accomplishments shouldn’t be celebrated? Commemorated?”
“No,” said Calhoun. “I’m just saying that people find ways. Always.”
“Except when they’re busy packing their bags and getting ready to give up.”
He stared at her, then lowered his gaze to the ground. “Point taken,” he said.
“Tell me, Calhoun: Did it ever occur to you that, just as you weren’t looking for help when those men were pounding on you, I wasn’t looking for help when Kemper was giving me grief? If you’d stayed out of it, the fight would never have broken out.”
“He was giving you grief because of me. I couldn’t allow that.”
“Not everything is about you, Calhoun.”
“Maybe it should be.”
She was taken aback, and was about to tear off the sternest dressing-down she could muster when she saw a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye. She laughed before she even knew she was going to. “Okay, now you’re just screwing with me.”
“A little,” he admitted. “But the truth is…I had to help you. I had no choice.”
“Why? Because it threatened your sense of maleness?”
“Because I had to,” he repeated, and she knew she wasn’t going to get any more of an answer from him than that. It was good enough for Calhoun, and she was never going to manage to shake him from that.
“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll accept that. Provided you accept that maybe, just maybe, there’s an outside chance that you don’t know everything.”
“The reading’s certainly proving that well enough.”
“What do you mean? I thought you were—”
“Comprehending?” He shook his head. “I…suppose I made it sound easier than it is. The truth is, I’m working so hard to catch up I feel as if my head’s going to explode. There are some words I just stare at for what seems like hours and still can’t comprehend. So then I ask the computer to tell me what it means, and the definition is even more confusing.”