Stone and Anvil

by Peter David

  “Shelby?” he called out cautiously. “Wexler?” And then louder and with greater urgency, “Shelby! Wexler!”

  Still nothing, and Calhoun had started toward the water when Wexler suddenly burst from beneath the surface, mouth wide open, desperately gasping for air. Calhoun sprinted toward him. He reached out, grabbed his arm, and hauled him to the shore. For a moment Calhoun thought this might be some sort of prank on Wexler’s part, but one look at the deathly pallor of Wexler’s face disabused him of that notion. Wexler looked haunted, terrified.

  Calhoun’s head whipped around. There was no sign of Shelby.

  “Where’s Elizabeth?” shouted Calhoun, shaking Wexler by the shoulders, suddenly not caring what sort of near-death experience Wexler had just endured. “Where’s Elizabeth?”

  Wexler turned with wide-eyed horror toward the water, and that was all Calhoun needed. He kicked off his boots as he sprinted toward the water. “Get help!” he shouted, sensing that Wexler was so shaken he’d be of no use anyway. Without hesitation, he dove into the water.

  Calhoun’s fear of the water was not forgotten, even in the heat of his concern over Shelby. But he simply didn’t have time to dwell on it. Besides, what he needed to do at that moment was submerge anyway. Swimming was the challenge for him; sinking he could do with no problem.

  He went down like a missile, arms and legs moving in an inelegant but nevertheless effective fashion as he dove. He squinted through the murk, looking for the slightest sign of Shelby without really knowing what it was he was going to see.

  Then he spotted her. She was below him, and thrashing in frantic desperation. Something appeared to have her leg. At first he thought it might be some sort of vegetation, or perhaps she’d caught her foot on an undersea rock formation. But then she was yanked down another six inches, and he knew that something was hauling at her, trying to pull her down into darkness and oblivion. Even from his distance, he could see that her eyes were wide with terror, her cheeks puffed out as whatever air she had in her lungs tried to force its way out.

  With a desperate thrust of his legs, he propelled himself downward. She spotted his movements, realized who it was, and tried to wave him off. Here she was on the brink of death, and instead of reaching toward him as potential salvation, she was concerned about his welfare and was trying to warn him away.

  She was one hell of a woman. Be nice if they survived so he could tell her so.

  Her outstretched hand was only a couple of feet away, and then Calhoun was able to see a dark form below her. Worse, he saw there was a tentacle wrapped around her ankle, pulling on her.

  His impulse was to utter a battle cry, but he instantly realized what an astoundingly bad idea that would be. Instead he kicked down further still, trying to ignore the steady pressure building in his chest. His hands sought out the laser welder and as he reached Shelby’s ankle, the darkness of their surroundings flared to life upon the welder’s activation. It sliced through the tentacle and something below writhed in agony as Shelby floated up and away.

  But she made no effort to swim. She hung limply, and a frantic Calhoun tried to get to her when another tentacle lashed upward and snagged him around the waist. The sudden yanking caused the laser welder to be jerked from his fingers and spiral away.

  Calhoun did not fight against the pull. He realized he’d be wasting precious seconds if he did, and it would likely be futile besides. Instead he thrust down into the murk, toward the creature that was obviously expecting him to resist.

  In an instant he was face-to-face with it, and whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t remotely in accordance with what he had found.

  The creature was built more like a biped than anything that should be at home in the sea. It had, by Calhoun’s admittedly hurried count, four tentacles, two on either side, issuing from the area of its shoulders. It had a triangular head, a mouth pulled back and filled with razor-sharp teeth, dark, pitiless eyes, and skin that looked like dusky leather.

  Calhoun couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then the creature tried to snake another tentacle around Calhoun’s shoulder. Another person might have been paralyzed by impending death, but impending death was when Mackenzie Calhoun did his best work. The fearsome burning in his lungs spurred him on, aided by exercises they’d done in the Academy that involved maneuvering in zero-gravity environments. Rather than surrendering to rising panic, Calhoun drove his fist forward squarely into the creature’s face. He felt something give under the impact, and the creature’s hold loosened on him but didn’t come entirely free. It was all Calhoun needed. He grabbed on to one of the creature’s flailing tentacles, digging in as hard as he could with an iron grip. Even under the water he was able to detect a pained yelp from the thing, and he hauled himself forward and around so that suddenly he was behind the thing. It flailed at him, trying to bring its tentacles to bear, but Calhoun would not be dislodged. Instead he wrapped his legs around the thing’s waist, brought one hand to the side of its head and another underneath. Then, with a grunt (during which he accidentally took a small amount of water into his lungs) he twisted as hard as he could. The corded muscles in his arms tightened, and the creature’s head was twisted three-quarters of the way around. There was a snap that seemed to come from very far away and then the creature sagged in his arms.

  Calhoun wasted no time. He kicked upward, bouncing off the creature’s body as he angled toward the surface. He saw Shelby’s limp body floating there and snagged her with one arm as he desperately paddled for the surface. His lungs were now screaming for release, and he felt a pounding behind his ears that threatened to blow out the front of his face. The surface seemed impossibly far away. For one moment he even panicked and thought he was swimming in the wrong direction, heading not for salvation but instead sinking the both of them down into a watery grave.

  The thundering within his head was everywhere. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel, he was moving through sheer determination, and then his lungs gave out just as his head started to emerge from below. His chest reflexively contracted and he took in water. He started to sink again, but he was paying no attention to himself. Instead he was frantically trying to shove Shelby above the water’s surface. He was giving no thought to the fact that if he didn’t survive, she wouldn’t float on her own. All that was on his desperate mind was Get her above! Get her above!

  And suddenly rough hands were on him and he thought Oh grozit, no! right before voices all around him were shouting, “Here! They’re here!”

  The world spun around him and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back on the shore. Somebody was pushing on his chest and he coughed violently, sending a geyser of murky water exploding outward. He blinked and looked up and saw a female cadet, Clarke, staring at him with her dark hair soaked and the water he’d just vomited up all over her face. “Thanks,” she muttered, drawing an arm across her eyes.

  He wasted no time in apologies. Instead he shoved her aside and staggered forward on his knees, seeing Shelby lying some feet away. Wexler was there, other cadets gathered around, and he was applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to her. She wasn’t moving.

  No…please no went through Calhoun’s mind as he tried to get to her. But he couldn’t seem to make his body function correctly, and instead he flopped forward on his belly like a beached whale.

  And then there was someone older, some man whom Calhoun had not seen, and he was shoving a spray hypo into Shelby’s arm. For a moment there seemed to be no reaction, and then suddenly her body seized up violently and shook, and if the water from Calhoun’s mouth had been a geyser, then Shelby’s was a volcano. It blasted out of her, her eyes wide and buglike, her arms flapping about, her legs seizing up. More water and then more. Calhoun had learned that ninety percent of the human body was fluid; it seemed as if Shelby’s were ninety-nine percent, and all of it was exiting through her mouth.

  She rolled over onto her side, more water pouring out, and then her body shuddered and Wexler
was behind her, a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Betty,” he murmured, and she let out a low cry and clutched his hand, still trembling.

  The man with the hypo stood. Calhoun saw he was wearing a senior Starfleet uniform. He was some sort of medical technician. He should have known: Survival exercise or not, Starfleet was monitoring the proceedings. The moment something went seriously awry, they’d sent in a medical technician to help save the day.

  Calhoun managed to get to his feet. Clarke, still wiping the regurgitated water from her face, nevertheless extended an arm to help him. “You okay?” she asked. “What the hell happened here?”

  He didn’t respond. His entire focus was on Shelby, who in turn was holding tightly on to Wexler. Her chest was heaving rapidly, but she was starting to calm. The med tech said, “You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” Then he looked to Calhoun. “What was down there?”

  Calhoun was watching Shelby and Wexler, who were facing each other but both sitting. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered to Wexler. “Thank you for saving me.”

  There was a dead silence then, and Wexler said softly, “It…wasn’t me. It was Calhoun. He was the one.”

  Slowly full comprehension came to her. “My…God…yes. That was…I saw him…Mac…” She looked up at him. “Mac…I owe you my life…”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Wexler chuckled slightly, even though the situation didn’t seem to call for it. “You have to appreciate a man with no comprehension of modesty.” Then, more seriously, he continued, “Yes…Calhoun, thank you. Forever…everything I have is yours.”

  I’ll take her, thanks, and we’ll call it even, thought Calhoun.

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” Calhoun told him.

  “Cadet, you didn’t answer,” said the med tech. “What was down there?”

  “I’m not sure,” Calhoun said. And even if I told you…I doubt you’d believe me.

  ii.

  The cadets were unusually quiet grouped around the campfire that night. Calhoun was off to one side, as he usually was, when Wexler came over to him and crouched beside him. He didn’t look at Calhoun. Instead he joined him in staring off into space as the cadets read or studied or just looked at the stars they hoped to one day tread among. Every so often, one or a couple of them would steal a glance in Calhoun’s direction. He pretended not to notice.

  “I really meant that, you know,” Wexler told him softly. “About what I have is yours. Almost losing Betty…makes me realize just how meaningless possessions are.”

  “So you’re generously offering me a share of that which you don’t care about?” asked Calhoun.

  Wexler opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Well…yes. I guess so. You know, somehow that sounded so much better in my head than when I said it aloud.”

  Calhoun shrugged.

  “I ran,” Wexler said.

  “You ran to get help.”

  “I ran.”

  “If you hadn’t gone to get help,” Calhoun told him, looking straight at him, “I might well be dead. The people you brought helped rescue us.”

  Wexler didn’t return the gaze. “Y’know, you always have this sort of mental image, imagining how you’ll react, what you’ll be like, when faced with real danger. You never picture yourself scarpering. You’re always the hero of the piece. You. Not some other bloke. But you, Calhoun…you always really are the hero of the bloody piece, aren’t you.”

  “Think what you want,” said Calhoun indifferently. “Me, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Besides, you didn’t hesitate to correct Elizabeth when she thought you were the one who’d saved her.”

  “Ah, but see…that’s the killer.”

  “What is?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t honest because of great, high moral standards. I was honest because everyone there knew damned well what had happened. I couldn’t get away with the lie. But if I could have gotten away with it, I would have. I would have sucked up all the credit, no two ways.”

  “No. You wouldn’t have,” Calhoun said firmly.

  “Calhoun…” Wexler hesitated and said, “You know how they always say, ‘Let the better man win’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well…you’re the better man,” Wexler said. “I know that. I admit it, to you and myself. But I still don’t want you to win.”

  “We’re not in competition for anything, Wex.”

  Shelby emerged from a tent, straightening her hair. She smiled at the two of them, her eyes glistening in the evening light.

  “Yes,” Wexler said to Calhoun out of the side of his mouth. “Yes, we are. And you know it, and I know it.”

  She started over toward them, and Calhoun held his breath. He wondered what she was going to say. He wondered how he was going to react.

  Abruptly there was a crashing in the woods nearby, and Calhoun, Wexler, and the other cadets were immediately on their feet. “Who’s there?” shouted Wexler.

  “At ease,” came Clarke’s wry voice from the darkness. “Just wanted to show you what the tide dragged in.”

  Clarke, grunting, staggered into the light, and Calhoun gaped at what she was hauling with her. It was dried out, and decidedly dead, but it was definitely the creature that Calhoun had struggled to the death with below the water.

  He stepped forward to help Clarke, and together they dragged it toward the center of the encampment. The other cadets gathered around as they dropped it near the fire and studied it. From tip to toe, it measured about eight feet in length.

  “This is a sea creature?” said one of the cadets, a somewhat dyspeptic young man named Lawford. “It’s got humanoid legs. What sort of sea creature walks on two legs?”

  “And has tentacles?” observed Wexler. “It’s damned peculiar. Like some sort of throwback.”

  Calhoun noticed that Shelby had instinctively drawn closer to Wexler. He put an arm around her shoulders as she stared down at the monster in horrified fascination.

  “Thing is,” said Clarke, “if it was a real ‘throwback,’ we’d at least have some familiarity with the species it’s being thrown back to. I don’t recognize this thing at all.”

  “I do,” said Calhoun quietly. All eyes went to him as he continued. “The tentacles are not exactly standard equipment…but that’s a bahoon.”

  “A what?” Wexler asked.

  “A bahoon. I thought that’s what I was up against, but everything happened so fast, and we were under water…. I just didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure. Now I am.”

  “I’m thrilled you’re sure,” said Lawford. “Now would you mind telling the rest of us what a bahoon is?”

  “It’s a creature that roams in some of the more mountainous terrain on Xenex,” he said. “Despite their size and ferocity, they’re more scavengers than anything. Tend to keep to themselves. And they’re bullies besides. If you run into one, a show of determination—or even just making fierce faces—will generally be enough to scare them off. Unless you get one who’s simply gone mad. Then he’s as likely to tear your head off as anything else….”

  “I’ll remember this handy advice the next time I go mountain climbing in Xenex,” said Lawford. “But that’s hardly the point. The main question confronting us is, What the hell is a creature from Xenex doing in the Atlantic Ocean, and how did it acquire tentacles?”

  He was looking so challengingly at Calhoun that it seemed he expected Calhoun might have the answer at his fingertips. Or maybe he was even responsible somehow.

  Rather than rise to the bait, Calhoun simply shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest clue how to answer either of those questions.”

  Lawford looked at him suspiciously, as if Calhoun were trying to trick him somehow. “How did this Xenexian creature wind up on Earth?” he said slowly.

  “He walked. How the hell should I know?”

  Growling in anger, Lawford stepped forward, stabbed a fing
er at Calhoun, and said, “You,” he said warningly, “had better figure it out. You need to find a clue.”

  He pivoted on his foot and stormed off, leaving Calhoun to mutter to Wexler, “Would be nice if he took his own advice.”

  Chapter Seven

  Now

  Mackenzie Calhoun was in shock. Not that he was paralyzed in any way. Still, the news he was being given was almost too overwhelming for him to process.

  He was in the conference lounge of the Excalibur with Zak Kebron, Elizabeth Shelby, and Arex. Slowly he was shaking his head as if sheer disbelief could somehow cause the entire horrific situation simply to go away.

  “He went berserk, you say?” he said again. Shelby nodded. “And tore through your ship? Almost killed M’Ress…and Kebron…?”

  “He didn’t almost kill me,” Kebron politely corrected his captain. “I had a handle on the situation the entire time.”

  “A handle on it?” a skeptical Shelby replied. “Zak, he almost killed you.”

  “He ‘almost’ did no such thing. Lieutenant Arex was there; he will most certainly concur.”

  Arex shifted uncomfortably in his seat, although that might have simply been owing to its not exactly being built to accommodate Triexians. “Although Lieutenant Kebron appeared to have the situation in hand…”

  “Appeared to?” snorted Kebron.

  Not allowing himself to be thrown off track, Arex continued, “…Janos was like a wild thing. There was the distinct possibility that Kebron might not have been able to hold matters together if they had continued. We would have had to kill Janos….”

  “If it came to that…if he weren’t stoppable while I was going three rounds with him,” Kebron told her forcefully, “then I would have made certain personally he didn’t survive to commit any other crimes.”

  “That’s very comforting to hear, Mr. Kebron.” Calhoun was trying to sound diplomatic. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much to address the current situation. So you’re telling me that Janos has no recollection of snapping?”