by Peter David
"Perhaps. Certainly might have gotten you that promotion you've always wanted."
She blew air impatiently from between her lips as she rose from the table. "Don't bring that up."
"Bring what up?"
"Did you see the promotion list recently? I was scanning it over and did a double take when I saw 'Captain Shelby' commanding the Sutherland. For half a second I thought I'd been promoted and someone forgot to tell me, and then I realized it was someone else. It should have been me, Mac. But instead, I'm still . . ."
"Stuck with me?"
She sighed. "You know, Mac . . . the whole world doesn't have to be about you. That's one of the things you always did that drove me crazy. It's my problem, okay? Not yours."
"It doesn't have to be yours either, if you'd only be happy with what you've got."
"With what I've got?" She leaned her back against the wall, her hands draped behind her, and she looked bleakly at Calhoun. "This Captain Not-Me Shelby is in the thick of things. There's a major push going on with about three quarters of the fleet, and he's smack in the middle. And us, we're . . ."
"Exploring," Calhoun noted. "Last I checked, that's what Starfleet is supposed to be all about. Grozit, Eppy, you know that as well as anyone. Better than most, in fact."
She glanced at him. " 'Grozit'? Reverting to Xen-exian profanity?"
"Xenexian profanity. Sorry. I'll try to watch myself."
"Not on my account, although your command of terran profanity is fairly comprehensive."
"I have an ear for languages."
She half-sat on the edge of the table. "The problem is, Mac, that first and foremost, I'm a tactician. That's my strength, what I was trained for. Analyzing an enemy's weakness, seeing where they can be out-thought or defeated. That sort of thing is where I really come alive, Mac. But here, I feel like . . ."
"Like you're wasting your time?"
She studied him and, to her surprise, she saw something in his eyes that she had thought he really wasn't capable of Hurt. He seemed hurt over the very notion that she would want to be elsewhere or that she could think that her time as first officer of the Excal-ibur was not a worthy test of her skill.
"No," she said softly. "No . . . I don't think that at all. Face it, Mac, you'd be lost without me."
"I don't know if I'd be lost," he replied. "But I'd be far less eager to be found."
She was genuinely touched. It was times like this that reminded her exactly how and why she had become involved with Mackenzie Calhoun in the first place. How they had wound up lovers, engaged to be married, until the relationship had broken down under the weight of their conflicting personalities. "That is so sweet," she said.
He shrugged. "I have my moments."
She found that she was looking at him in a way that
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she hadn't in quite a long time. When she'd signed aboard the Excalibur, it had been for the purpose of more or less riding herd on Calhoun. Of making sure that he toed the line when it came to Starfleet policy. And she had been quite, quite sure that their history together and their past romance would not factor in to their day-to-day interaction. But now . . .
"Do you really feel that way, Mac?" He laughed gently, walked over to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "You want me to be honest, Eppy? When you first came aboard and applied for the job as my first officer, I was relieved to see you. Then, after I agreed to take you on, I decided that I must have been completely crazy to do so. And when we began fighting over protocol and the official Star-fleet view of procedures"
"That's when you were really sorry that I was here?" she said teasingly, although she had a feeling, deep down, that she'd actually put her finger on it.
But he shook his head. "No. That's the point at which I became convinced that taking you on was the absolute right thing to do. You make me think, Eppy." He rapped the side of his head with his knuckles. "It's not always easy to crack through this heavy-duty shielding into my head. I don't always agree with what you say, Eppy. But even when we're disagreeing, I'm still thinking about everything you say. You make me think, and that's not always easy to do." "So you always listen to me, then." "Always," he smiled.
The door to the conference lounge slid open, and standing there was Doctor Selar. She looked utterly composed, her arms folded across her chest. "Captain, may I speak to you in private for a moment?"
"I'll just excuse myself then." Shelby left, smiling to herself. For reasons Calhoun wasn't certain of.
"This is ... a delicate matter to discuss, Captain," Selar said slowly."
"I appreciate that," Calhoun said. "And I think you'll find that there is no matter so delicate that I can't be trusted with it."
"Very well, Captain." She paused a moment, as if steeling herself. And then she said, "It is my desire to have sex with you."
"My . . . apologies, Doctor," Calhoun said slowly. "Did you just say you"
"Desire to have sex with you, yes," she nodded. "There is an explanation, which can be summarized in two words."
"Good taste?" he suggested.
"Pon Fan."
"Ah. Well, that would have been my second guess."
"That is a sort of... of Vulcan mating ritual, isn't it?" Calhoun asked slowly. "I mean, I've heard rumors about it, but Vulcans tend to stay fairly closed-lipped about such things."
"It is considered . . . inappropriate . . . to discuss the matter with outworlders," Selar told her. "However, I feel I have no choice in the matter. Besides, it may be that my role as a clinician makes it . . . easier"she forced the word out"to discuss matters pertaining to a medical situation. It is not a ritual precisely. It is a . . . a drive. An urge that cannot be denied, no matter how much we may desire to do so." She put a finger to her temple, as if to steady herself, and then said more calmly, "We must mate."
"To conceive a child?" asked Calhoun.
"Yes. You see, it could easily be argued that there is no logical reason to have a child. Ever. They are burdensome, they are limiting, they habitually expel bodily fluids out of a variety of orifices at high velocity, and they are extremely time consuming. So,
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she hadn't in quite a long time. When she'd signed aboard the Excalibur, it had been for the purpose of more or less riding herd on Calhoun. Of making sure that he toed the line when it came to Starfleet policy. And she had been quite, quite sure that their history together and their past romance would not factor in to their day-to-day interaction. But now . . .
"Do you really feel that way, Mac?" He laughed gently, walked over to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "You want me to be honest, Eppy? When you first came aboard and applied for the job as my first officer, I was relieved to see you. Then, after I agreed to take you on, I decided that I must have been completely crazy to do so. And
when we began fighting over protocol and the official Star-fleet view of procedures"
"That's when you were really sorry that I was here?" she said teasingly, although she had a feeling, deep down, that she'd actually put her finger on it.
But he shook his head. "No. That's the point at which I became convinced that taking you on was the absolute right thing to do. You make me think, Eppy." He rapped the side of his head with his knuckles. "It's not always easy to crack through this heavy-duty shielding into my head. I don't always agree with what you say, Eppy. But even when we're disagreeing, I'm still thinking about everything you say. You make me think, and that's not always easy to do." "So you always listen to me, then." "Always," he smiled.
The door to the conference lounge slid open, and standing there was Doctor Selar. She looked utterly composed, her arms folded across her chest. "Captain, may I speak to you in private for a moment?"
"I'll just excuse myself then." Shelby left, smiling to herself. For reasons Calhoun wasn't certain of.
"This is ... a delicate matter to discuss, Captain," Selar said slowly."
"I appreciate that," Calhoun said. "And I think you'll find that there is no matter so delicate that I can't be trusted with it."
"Very well, Captain." She paused a moment, as if steeling herself. And then she said, "It is my desire to have sex with you."
"My . . . apologies, Doctor," Calhoun said slowly. "Did you just say you"
"Desire to have sex with you, yes," she nodded. "There is an explanation, which can be summarized in two words."
"Good taste?" he suggested.
"Pon Fan."
"Ah. Well, that would have been my second guess."
"That is a sort of... of Vulcan mating ritual, isn't it?" Calhoun asked slowly. "I mean, I've heard rumors about it, but Vulcans tend to stay fairly closed-lipped about such things."
"It is considered . . . inappropriate . . . to discuss the matter with outworlders," Selar told her. "However, I feel I have no choice in the matter. Besides, it may be that my role as a clinician makes it . . . easier"she forced the word out"to discuss matters pertaining to a medical situation. It is not a ritual precisely. It is a . . . a drive. An urge that cannot be denied, no matter how much we may desire to do so." She put a finger to her temple, as if to steady herself, and then said more calmly, "We must mate."
"To conceive a child?" asked Calhoun.
"Yes. You see, it could easily be argued that there is no logical reason to have a child. Ever. They are burdensome, they are limiting, they habitually expel bodily fluids out of a variety of orifices at high velocity, and they are extremely time consuming. So,
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for a race whose every action is defined by logic, that race wouldby definitionface extinction."
"But to allow the demise of your race just to avoid child-rearing is also illogical," pointed out Calhoun.
"In which case, perpetuation of the species becomes a chore. An obligation. To live with such an onerous situation is also not logical. Therefore our very nature, our bodies, have developed in such a way that logic simply does not enter into the conception of
children."
"Believe me, it's frequently no different on Earth," Calhoun said ruefully. He paused a moment, pulling himself back to the major topic at hand. "But certainly you can't expect the captain"
"I can and do," Selar replied evenly. She looked straight into Calhoun's eyes. "You are the most appropriate individual to handle this matter, Captain. At the moment, my options are extremely limited. The Pon Farr drive is in remission for the time being, so this need not be attended to immediately. But it will resurge again and again each time with greater impetus and a greater need to be satisfied. I am requesting that, upon the next resurgence, when the drive is upon me, you satisfy my genetically driven lust. Will you honor my request, M'k'n'zy of Calhoun?"
"I shall consider it, Doctor," Calhoun told her. "I'm leaning towards 'yes,' but can I have a little time to think about it?"
Despite her Vulcan training, Selar let out a sigh and sagged slightly in visible relief. "I am . . . pleased . . . to hear that. And yes, of course, take all the time you need. Just . . . not too much."
"A request has been made of M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, the man I was," Calhoun said reasonably. "I can't turn that aside. Doctor, if I do agree to it, kindly let me know when and where you will find my . . . ser-
vices . . . required. Several hours notice would be appreciated if that's at all possible."
"I will make every effort to accommodate you, Captain. And I would, in turn, appreciate if we could keep this matter between us."
"Sounds like a plan."
She nodded and, as if the matter were completely settled, she turned to leave to find that at some point in her conversation with the captain, the doors to his office had quietly opened by themselves.
At least half a dozen crewmen were walking past at the time. To say nothing of the fact that her voice apparently carried halfway down the corridor.
Selar visibly winced.
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for a race whose every action is defined by logic, that race wouldby definitionface extinction."
"But to allow the demise of your race just to avoid child-rearing is also illogical," pointed out Calhoun.
"In which case, perpetuation of the species becomes a chore. An obligation. To live with such an onerous situation is also not logical. Therefore our very nature, our bodies, have developed in such a way that logic simply does not enter into the conception of
children."
"Believe me, it's frequently no different on Earth," Calhoun said ruefully. He paused a moment, pulling himself back to the major topic at hand. "But certainly you can't expect the captain"
"I can and do," Selar replied evenly. She looked straight into Calhoun's eyes. "You are the most appropriate individual to handle this matter, Captain. At the moment, my options are extremely limited. The Pon Farr drive is in remission for the time being, so this need not be attended to immediately. But it will resurge again and again each time with greater impetus and a greater need to be satisfied. I am requesting that, upon the next resurgence, when the drive is upon me, you satisfy my genetically driven lust. Will you honor my request, M'k'n'zy of Calhoun?"
"I shall consider it, Doctor," Calhoun told her. "I'm leaning towards 'yes,' but can I have a little time to think about it?"
Despite her Vulcan training, Selar let out a sigh and sagged slightly in visible relief. "I am . . . pleased . . . to hear that. And yes, of course, take all the time you need. Just . . . not too much."
"A request has been made of M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, the man I was," Calhoun said reasonably. "I can't turn that aside. Doctor, if I do agree to it, kindly let me know when and where you will find my . . . ser-
vices . . . required. Several hours
notice would be appreciated if that's at all possible."
"I will make every effort to accommodate you, Captain. And I would, in turn, appreciate if we could keep this matter between us."
"Sounds like a plan."
She nodded and, as if the matter were completely settled, she turned to leave to find that at some point in her conversation with the captain, the doors to his office had quietly opened by themselves.
At least half a dozen crewmen were walking past at the time. To say nothing of the fact that her voice apparently carried halfway down the corridor.
Selar visibly winced.
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WORD WAS BEGINNING to spread.
It was sort of the reverse of a black hole Instead of everything being sucked away into blackness and disappearing, the information was blasting outward in all directions. And it wasn't as if the stories needed to be built upon; the truth itself was so insane that exaggeration was not required.
Nonetheless, matters did tend to build upon themselves, passing on from one world, one system to the next and becoming bigger and more impressive with each one. The Nelkarites, for example, heard of the two giant flaming birds that had smashed apart Thai-Ion and then fought against the Excalibur. The refugees who had settled on Nelkar listened to the stories with unfettered astonishment. By the time word reached the Lemax system, however, and the warring races which inhabited it, the Excalibur had apparently morphed into an even greater flaming bird and faced off against the two fiery beasts which had sprung from the smoldering remains of Thallon.
The Boragi, upon hearing the news that two great flaming birds and one large flaming sheep had fought a pitched battled against an armada of morphing ships from the Federation and led by the Excalibur, wisely choseas they oftentimes didnot to believe any information that came their way, and to take no aggressive action unless it could somehow serve them.
On Naldacor, the residents received word of the Thallonian developments, and burrowed deeper into the subsurface hiding places in their world, concerned that somehow the great flaming cat of which they heard so much might somehow come to seek them out.
Comar, on the outer rim, spread word to Xenex, where the triumph of the former M'k'n'zy of Calhoun over the flock of great flaming birds prompted the creation of a planetary holiday.