Stone and Anvil

by Peter David

  If she had asked him five minutes earlier, or five minutes later, the chances were that she would have received an entirely different response. But at the moment she inquired, Calhoun—his mind racked with uncertainty—said with heavy candor, “That we won’t.”

  The truly amazing thing was that he didn’t know how she was going to react to that. He realized even as her body stiffened against his that he’d been a complete idiot. How could he have not known that she would do what she then did: get out of bed with a small grunt of anger, her back to him, striding away from him with her naked backside twitching angrily. If her body had been capable of projecting quills when upset, he would have been pincushioned.

  “Now you’re mad,” he sighed, stating the painfully obvious. “I was just trying to be honest.”

  She whirled to face him, belting a robe around herself. “To hell with your honesty and to hell with you.” She was trembling and then she took a long breath in through her nose and let it out slowly between her lips, a long sustained hiss that made it sound as if she was deflating. Calming herself in this way, she finally was able to say, “Dammit, Mac, you can never leave well enough alone,” in a level tone rather than some annoyingly overemotional manner. “Here we’re having a nice, peaceful morning, for once, and you had to go say something to wreck it. You just had to.”

  “I didn’t know you’d get so upset, Eppy,” he protested.

  She gave him an incredulous look he knew all too well. “How could you not know?” she demanded. “Didn’t you think about the consequences of your actions? Do you ever?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  He didn’t have a truly reasonable response to that, and so said with a weak look that he hoped came across as ingratiating, but no doubt was a bit simpering, “When I remember to.”

  She turned away from him, arms folded. She had let her hair grow out longer because he liked it that way. It cascaded around her shoulders like a strawberry blond waterfall. He wanted to reach out to it, to run his fingers through it. But he knew if he touched her, doubtless she would flinch away from him. What surprised him, however, was that she didn’t simply sound angry. Instead her tone was a combination of frustration, annoyance, and just plain sadness. “God, Mac…how am I supposed to build a future with you when you say things like that? When I’m with you, it feels so right…but then something makes it go wrong.”

  He felt terrible, as if the bottom of his stomach were lurching out of him. He didn’t know what was worse: that he’d felt the way he had, or that he’d been honest about it. But…what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t control the direction of his feelings. He wasn’t an android, an automaton. He was a living, breathing creature who didn’t always say the exact right thing at the exact right time. Did she realize that? Understand that? Grozit, he’d never claimed he was perfect.

  She wanted to build a future with him?

  His mind suddenly reeled back, trying to grasp fully what she had just said. Build a future? With him? But in the past six months, she had made it quite clear that she wasn’t interested in him as a permanent mate. She had insisted it was nothing personal; she claimed she didn’t want to think of any man in that way right now. Her breakup with Wexler truly did suit her long-term plans, although it wasn’t as if she’d maliciously figured it all out. Shelby was many things, but cold-bloodedly manipulative was not one of them. Indeed, it was her coolness to the concept of a long-term relationship that had caused some of Calhoun’s own fire to diminish in that regard. Not that he wanted to say that. It would make it sound as if he were trying to blame her….

  Women were very complicated creatures. He suddenly realized he was running through his head a list of everything he considered preferable to women. It was a long and most impressive imaginary document.

  Realizing that he had spoken precipitously, Calhoun immediately decided to try and institute some damage control. “Come back to bed, Eppy,” he said.

  “To hell with bed!” she snapped at him. At that point, Calhoun would have given anything to be able to roll back time and stop himself from opening his big mouth. “Didn’t you hear me?” she continued angrily. “What about our future? About building tomorrow!”

  Calhoun knew there was nothing he could say. He’d already said too much…and too little. He’d spoken too openly of foolish doubts and concerns, while simultaneously speaking too little of just how much she meant to him. He had no one to blame but himself for his current predicament and her rising ire.

  He sat up in bed. Knowing it would be pointless to try and smooth over what he’d said, he simply decided to approach from a different angle entirely. “Funny thing, Eppy—houses, palaces, starships…they don’t exist unless we build them. But tomorrow? It shows up whether we build it or not. All we can do is build the best today possible—and hope that tomorrow copies it, as it sees fit.” He stretched out a hand to her. “Let’s do what’s right for today…and let the future sort itself out.”

  She stared at his hand, and then at him. Then she seemed to laugh softly to herself and sighed, “You are such an idiot. Do you know that?”

  “Yes. I know. And if I didn’t know, I suspect I’ll always have you to remind me.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, took his hand, and said, “Yes. Always. And I think I know what this is about.”

  “You do?” he said guardedly.

  She nodded, then hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to…?”

  “To tell me what you think? Of course. I always want to know what you think.”

  “All right. I think it’s because you’ve lived such a violent life. And you think, deep down, anyone or anything you love is going to be taken from you violently. So you figure the best thing to do is push it away before that happens.”

  “Oh.” The response seemed small and pathetic, but it was all he could think of to say. “That…well…that…I don’t think that’s the…but…I guess it…makes sense, but…”

  She drew him to her, held him close. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin robe. “Don’t automatically say you agree. Don’t even force yourself to. Just…promise me you’ll think about it. Because the best way to get through life is not just to do things, but to understand why you do them. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And the coming-back-to-bed part?”

  “Yes?”

  She kissed him warmly even as she shrugged off the robe. “Not one of your worst ideas.”

  Chapter Nine

  Now

  i.

  Captains Shelby and Calhoun stood outside the Trident brig, both of them with their arms folded in a stern manner. Dr. Villers was between them, watching the proceedings hawklike, her stare unwavering. Behind them were Soleta, Kebron, and Arex, and Arex looked none too happy, either.

  Inside the brig, Janos could not have had more restraints on him. There physically was no room on his body. Huge electronic clamps ran the length of his arms, his legs. There was a muzzle on his mouth. Not only was the metal of the bonds beyond his capability to break, but if he gave the slightest sign of a struggle, they would automatically hit him with enough of a jolt to take down ten Janoses. At least, that was the theory. Shelby hoped they didn’t have to test it.

  Her greatest concern, however, was reserved for the individual within the brig with Janos. Ambassador Spock was studying Janos thoughtfully, walking back and forth, studying him from one side and then the other as if he were trying to line up a particularly tricky golf putt.

  “Ambassador,” Shelby said apprehensively, “are you certain about this?”

  Spock halted in his preparations and looked at her with an arched eyebrow. “Certain? Within what context?”

  “Are you certain this is a good idea?”

  “All ideas, Captain, seem like good ones at the time they are being undertaken. It is only with the full clarity of hindsight that we determine whether our initial impulses were correct or not.”

  “Terrific
,” muttered Shelby. She turned to Calhoun and said, “If anything happens to him, it’s your fault.”

  “My fault? How is it my fault?”

  “Because Kebron, Soleta, and Janos are all your people, and they’re responsible for talking the ambassador into taking this risk.”

  “The ambassador decided to take ‘this risk’ entirely on his own. Besides,” and he directed the question to Soleta, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “If Janos’s mind proves too strong, Ambassador Spock’s consciousness could be permanently damaged, triggering the onset of assorted neurological diseases and eventual death,” replied Soleta.

  “Oh, that’s just perfect,” said Shelby.

  Spock paused in his preparations to look at the officers standing beyond the boundary of the brig. “I am capable of hearing every word you say, you know. The decision to aid in this matter was mine and mine alone. None are responsible except me.”

  “Well, that’s not precisely true, is it.” It was Janos, speaking in a muffled voice through the restraints upon his mouth. “I’m the one who’s responsible for this. For all of it. Captain Calhoun, perhaps it would best serve all concerned if I were simply turned over to the Selelvians now and be done with it.”

  “Who told you about that?” demanded Calhoun, his eyes narrowing.

  “Keeping a secret on a starship is always an exercise in futility, Captain,” said Janos. “It doesn’t matter how I found out about it. The facts at this point seem incontrovertible. I killed one of their people. They demand justice…or vengeance…or both. It doesn’t matter. They are entitled to it, and in my opinion, it should be given to them.”

  “Your opinion is noted and logged,” said Calhoun.

  “I believe I am prepared,” Spock announced. He was standing to one side of the bound Janos. His eyes were the merest slits, his fingertips barely touching one another. To Shelby, who had taken extensive martial-arts training, he looked for all the world as if he were summoning his “chi,” his inner life force. Perhaps that was exactly what he was doing, and Vulcans simply had another name for it.

  Janos was not looking at him. Every so often, his small pink/red eyes would glance in Spock’s direction before gazing fixedly forward once more. “Now…you’ve done this before, have you?”

  “Yes,” said Spock. He stretched the fingers of either hand and stood directly in front of Janos, hands hovering on either side of Janos’s face.

  “But have you engaged in this ‘meld’ business with a life-form substantially different from your own? Something as pronouncedly non-human as myself?”

  “Are you familiar with the Horta?”

  Janos now looked right into Spock’s eyes. “You melded with one of those? One of those rocklike animals?”

  “The Horta are rocklike animals in the same sense that human beings are meatlike animals,” replied Spock.

  “What was that like? Blending your mind with something that alien?”

  “Merely an extension of my day-to-day existence,” Spock informed him. “Now…if you would be so good as to clear your mind of any extraneous thoughts.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” replied Janos, faintly sarcastic.

  “That will be satisfactory,” Spock said, giving no acknowledgment of Janos’s tone of voice. His fingers brushed against Janos’s white fur, and his fingertips pressed more tightly against his head. Janos’s eyes widened and his breathing became slower, shallower.

  Although Shelby knew it was her imagination, she felt as if the temperature in the area had dropped by at least five degrees, and was continuing to sink. Spock’s gaze had appeared to turn inward, and he was murmuring softly to himself. He seemed to be saying, “Our minds are merging,” and Janos’s mouth moved in synch with Spock’s.

  Long, seemingly endless seconds passed. The murmuring had continued for some time, but eventually had tapered off, and now both Spock and Janos were simply holding their positions, at slight angles to one another. Nothing was being said by either. Janos’s normally narrow eyes were wide, while Spock’s were slits with the barest hint of white within.

  “Is this normal?” Shelby asked Soleta.

  “There’s no such thing as normal when it comes to the Vulcan mind-meld,” Soleta told her. “One experience can be calm, serene…while the next one can be—”

  Suddenly Janos let out a low, challenging growl. So did Spock.

  “—less so,” finished Soleta.

  Spock and Janos continued to snarl in synch, their voices on the rise, building in bestial anger. Spock’s tone was lower, more intense, while Janos sounded far angrier. Janos started to rock, jerking his arms, clearly trying to break free.

  “Why isn’t the charge from the bonds stopping him?” demanded Shelby.

  “Ambassador Spock shut them off,” Soleta said.

  “What?” Shelby and Calhoun chorused.

  Soleta nodded calmly. “The bonds remain secure. It’s simply the jolt that has been removed from the—”

  “That jolt helps prevent him from building up enough strength to break the cuffs!” said Shelby. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I am telling you.”

  “I mean earlier?”

  “You didn’t ask earlier.”

  “Stop screwing around, Soleta,” said an obviously irritated Calhoun. “You should have stopped him and you know it.”

  “If I had, then he might truly be risking death,” Soleta retorted. “The key to a mind-meld is keeping the two minds stable, in synch. If Janos were to flinch or spasm or place any sort of stress upon the cuffs that could be read as an attempt to escape, the subsequent jolt could disrupt the merge and cause a psychic backlash. That could cripple both of them.”

  “If Janos gets loose, there’ll be more crippled than someone’s psyche,” said Calhoun.

  Shelby was about to turn to Arex to instruct him to go in and reactivate the cuffs manually, and suddenly Ambassador Spock, the pride of Vulcan, let out a howl that was as primal as a wolf baying at the moon. His lips pulled back into an animalistic snarl, his shoulders swung back and forth. He wasn’t speaking words, but instead a series of grunts and snarls. Janos was doing much the same. It was as if Shelby was peering back to the dawn of time, watching primitive ancestors celebrating some frightening ritual around a campfire. Janos’s hands, still bound by the thick cuffs, spasmed and tore at empty air, and his screeches were so perfectly in line with Spock’s own that it was like listening to two identical voices at the same time.

  And suddenly Spock yanked free from Janos’s face. Janos slumped back, his eyes still open, the noises from his voice fading to a distant growling. Spock stumbled back ungracefully, banged into the far wall, and sank to the floor. Wide-eyed, he stared down at his own hands as if he expected to see something upon them.

  Shelby had a fairly good idea what that “something” might be.

  “Release…me,” he managed to gasp out.

  “Did you see anything?” Kebron asked urgently.

  “Release me,” Spock said again, his voice no louder than before, but definitely with far greater vehemence and conviction.

  Shelby nodded to Arex, and within moments the Triexian had Spock free from within the brig. Janos made no attempt to break his restraints. Instead he remained where he was, chest heaving, although the gasping for air was slowing.

  “Ambassador, are you all right?” said Shelby.

  Spock managed a nod. “I am…in satisfactory health.” His face looked considerably less green than usual. Shelby wished she knew if that was a good thing or not.

  “We can take you down to sickbay…”

  “That will not be necessary.” Spock had straightened up and was smoothing down the front of his clothing. “I do not require…medical attention.”

  Calhoun turned his attention to the occupant of the cell. “Janos? How about you? Are you all right?”

  Slowly Janos managed to shake his head. “No,” he croaked. “I shall…never be all right…
again.”

  Even before she asked, Shelby knew. She knew it from Janos’s expression and even from the neutral look on Spock’s face.

  “Ensign Janos,” Spock said softly, “now has a much clearer recollection of the events surrounding Lieutenant Commander Gleau’s passing. Do you not, Ensign?”

  “I killed him,” Janos said.

  And then he brought his hands up and, even though they were buried within the sleeves of the cuffs, he began to sob into the area where his palms would have been. He did not, however, have any tear ducts, so no moisture flowed from his eyes. None was needed. His misery and despair were obvious for all to see.

  ii.

  Calhoun and Shelby sat in Shelby’s ready room. Neither of them sat behind the desk, although certainly Shelby would have been entitled to. Instead Shelby was seated facing the desk on the far side, while Calhoun stared out at the stars hanging so close that sometimes it seemed, in Shelby’s imaginings, that she could reach out and scoop them up with her hand. She remembered a time when she was very little, and her father had explained to her that the sun was actually no larger than the palm of his hand. He had sought to confirm this by simply holding his hand up so that it blocked out the sun. Little Elizabeth had been very impressed by this, and had jumped up and down trying to touch the sun.

  “When you’re older you can touch it,” her father had said in that type of mock-consoling voice he so excelled in.

  It had been only a few minutes ago that they had been down in the conference lounge. Ambassador Spock had been there, calmly offering his assessment of the situation to the people who had witnessed his mental bonding with Janos. The one who had seemed the most stunned was Kebron, who looked like someone had kicked him in the face. Not that kicking him in the face would actually have hurt him, but he still bore the look of the walking wounded.

  “The recollection was buried so far down,” Spock told them, “that he was not even aware it was there. If it occurred to him at all, it was in the context of a fleeting dream.”