Stone and Anvil

by Peter David

  “And you’re certain it was genuine? Not a false memory,” Shelby had asked.

  “He’s sure, Captain,” Soleta said.

  “I believe, Lieutenant, I was asking the ambassador.” Shelby sounded none too pleased. “It’s simply that there has been so much discussion and investigation into the incident, I thought perhaps that…”

  “He had imagined it?” Spock inquired. He shook his head. “No. This was a genuine recollection.”

  “Is it possible that someone was controlling his mind?” asked Kebron. “That he recalls it because he knows he did it at some level, but that someone else was manipulating his actions?”

  Shelby was most interested to hear Spock’s reply to that. She knew the “controlling outside force” concept was a pet theory of Kebron’s.

  But Kebron seemed to sink visibly when Spock gave the slightest shake of his head. “Were the actions compelled upon him by another…were his mind not truly his own…I would have viewed the murder through a sort of…prism of the mind. The images would have seemed distant, even refracted. That was not the case here.”

  “You actually witnessed the crime?” asked Arex.

  There was silence then in the room as Spock nodded. His voice was low and gravelly as he said, “He struck with the remorseless ferocity of a hunting beast. There was no mercy in him…and not the slightest spark of human intelligence.”

  “My God,” Shelby said softly.

  “However, from a legal perspective,” the Vulcan continued, “the situation would be…problematic.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, Mr. Kebron,” said Calhoun, “intent is an issue.”

  “Correct,” Spock said. “First and foremost for consideration of a criminal action is mens rea. The state of mind of the accused, indicating culpability. If Ensign Janos were not in his right mind…”

  “Then he’s not guilty of anything,” Kebron said quickly. He almost dared to look relieved. “If he didn’t know right from wrong, he was temporarily insane. Which means…”

  “I am afraid,” Spock said, “that as far as the Selelvians are concerned, it will mean very, very little. I have had a few dealings with them in my time. They can be a most unreasonable race when they are so inclined. And from my understanding, they will not accept a simple notion that Ensign Janos did not know what he was doing and, therefore, should be held blameless.”

  “But…it’s not fair,” Kebron had said.

  And Spock had nodded. “No. It is not. Unfortunately, Lieutenant, it appears I must belatedly inform you…that the universe is not a very fair place.”

  Shelby had adjourned the meeting then, even though Kebron had wanted to keep it going. He wanted answers. He wanted to comprehend how this could have happened. What sort of madness had seized hold of Janos? How could it be that he didn’t remember what he was doing? Why did he do it in the first place? None of it made any sense, no sense at all.

  He had turned to Shelby and Calhoun as if wanting answers.

  They provided him none.

  Instead they headed up to the ready room where they now remained in silence. A silence finally broken by Shelby.

  “Does he know?” she asked.

  “Which ‘he’ are you referring to?” Calhoun replied.

  “Kebron. Although either applies, I guess. But Kebron is who I meant.”

  “Kebron knows the official Starfleet line on Janos. He knows the information in Janos’s file that’s available to all. But he doesn’t know the deep background. It stemmed from a top-secret mission and there was no way to make it part of Janos’s file without violating that confidentiality. So unless Janos told him—and I suspect he didn’t, because Janos isn’t exactly proud of it—then no, he doesn’t know.”

  “But Janos himself knows. You’re sure?”

  “Yes, of course.” Calhoun hesitated. “I think he does. I suppose it’s always possible that he’s blanked out that which he doesn’t wish to recall. The mind is a funny thing, after all.”

  “Oh, yeah. Funny. You can barely contain the hilarity here,” said Shelby. She moaned softly, covering her face with her hands. “Mac, what the hell are we going to do?”

  “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Calhoun replied. “We’re going to stop pretending, that’s what.”

  “I wasn’t pretending, Mac, and neither were you,” she said sharply. “Neither of us knew for sure.”

  “Yes, we did.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was harsh. “We damn well did, you and I, the moment we knew that Janos’s DNA was all over Gleau’s corpse. But in our own way, we were just as much in denial of it as Kebron was. And we had even less excuse, because we knew better. We kept hoping an explanation we preferred would turn up. Well, it hasn’t, Eppy. It’s playing out exactly the way we knew deep down it was going to play out, and now we have to do something.”

  The challenge hung there in the air, and then Shelby said quietly, “And what would you suggest, Mac?”

  “We go to Dr. Bethom.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “It’s not impossible, Eppy,” Calhoun said with growing urgency. “If Janos’s mental acceleration is beginning to break down after all this time, then one of two things is happening. Either Bethom’s process was flawed in some way to start out, or…”

  “Or…Bethom’s causing it somehow.”

  Slowly Calhoun nodded. “Causing it…perhaps to get back at us.”

  “God almighty.”

  “We have to find him,” Calhoun said again, “before it’s too late. Before there’s nothing left of Janos’s mind to scrape back together.”

  “And the Selelvians?” said Shelby.

  “Let them come,” said Calhoun. “Just let them come. And I’ll convince them of the folly of their actions.”

  “What are you saying, Captain?”

  He looked at her, and suddenly she felt as if he were staring at her from across a gulf of years and light-years.

  “Perhaps more than I should be…Captain,” he replied. Then he tapped his combadge, said, “Calhoun to Excalibur. One to beam over,” and just stood there, arms folded, as he dematerialized. To Shelby, the air seemed to hold his shape long after he was gone.

  Then

  As Calhoun approached the office of Dean Jellico, he heard raised voices coming from the other side of the closed door. One he recognized immediately, of course, as Jellico’s. He couldn’t understand what it was that could be getting Jellico so worked up. What did he have to worry about, after all? Everyone at the Academy had heard about Jellico’s promotion to captain. Word was that as soon as the semester ended, Jellico was going to be given command of a starship—the Cairo, most likely—and he was going to be out of here. Given that situation, Jellico should be in a remarkably good mood, since whatever was happening around the Academy was certainly going to be of only passing importance to him.

  The desk in the reception area outside Jellico’s office was empty, and Calhoun paused outside the door, listening. He heard a female voice, and words being bandied about such as “third year” and “risky” and…

  “Xenex.”

  Upon hearing the name of his home planet mentioned, Calhoun felt the world reeling around him.

  It was obvious what was about to happen.

  He was going to be kicked out of the Academy.

  The second year had gone remarkably smoothly, all things considered. But the third year had been rougher. Elizabeth and he had officially become full-time roommates…officially in an unofficial capacity, since Starfleet Academy was still remarkably parochial when it came to such arrangements. The official policy stemmed from the notion that studies and relationships were an uneasy mix, and therefore “couples” were not permitted to room together.

  The rule had been on the books for over a hundred years, and no one had bothered to change it. That was because, by this point in time, no one was bothering to enforce it, either. Academy faculty had more important things to do with their time th
an police the living arrangements of the students. Furthermore, since the simplistic notion of male/female cohabitation being forbidden totally overlooked same-sex couplings, of which there were a number, the faculty had adopted an ages-old policy loosely referred to as “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” The fact that one’s official residence might not be where one left his or her boots every night was of no consequence to any faculty unless, and until, it became of consequence. So the cadets knew enough to keep their private lives to themselves, and everyone peacefully coexisted for the most part.

  With that in mind, Wexler had bid farewell to his roommate Mackenzie Calhoun and a cheerful hello to Elizabeth Shelby’s former roommate, whose personal effects magically migrated into Wexler’s room. Meanwhile Calhoun moved in with Shelby.

  It seemed the ideal arrangement.

  Calhoun had made his permanent home on Earth. The Academy had a special living facility arranged for offworld students who wanted to do precisely what Calhoun was doing: remain on Earth between semesters. That was where Calhoun had stayed during each summer, occasionally visiting Shelby at her parents’ home in Silver Spring, Maryland. Shelby’s parents hadn’t known what to make of Calhoun, but had been polite enough overall, although Shelby’s mother made little secret of the fact that she missed Wexler.

  In all that time, he had not thought about going home to Xenex. Even though it had been just a few years, his existence on that world seemed a lifetime ago. A lifetime belonging to someone else entirely.

  But he had gotten off to a poor start in his third year, overwhelmed by a sudden upsurge in coursework. He had always leaned heavily on Shelby to help him out, but she was likewise burdened, and was having a tough enough time keeping up herself. “This is your third year, Mac,” she’d told him one night with blistering impatience. “Time to stand on your own damned two feet.”

  After that he had not asked her even once for help. This had made for some uneasy evenings of studying, to the point where the silence became so heavy that one or the other of them had gone out and studied elsewhere.

  It had been a mighty struggle for him, and his grades had slipped. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but his professors had been coming down hard on him. Calhoun had felt as if he was having to deal with too much from all sides. On some level, it seemed ridiculous. How could someone who had spent his teen years organizing an eventually successful revolt of independence feel overwhelmed by something as pedestrian as homework?

  But he had been, and now he was in deep, deep trouble because of it. He leaned toward the door, trying to pick up entire sentences while not getting too close lest he cause it to open automatically.

  “He’s simply not ready,” he heard Jellico say.

  “Not ready to be sent back to his homeworld? I disagree,” came the unfamiliar female voice.

  He was right. His grades, his performance had been so subpar that he had been summoned to Jellico’s office to be informed that he was being shipped home.

  “Disgrace.” The word echoed in his head. He had left Xenex with such high hopes, and now he would be returning in disgrace. The great liberator, the great savior of Xenex, had flunked out in the third year of Starfleet Academy. It was unthinkable. Despite his accomplishments, he would be considered some sort of failure. A fool.

  Well, he wouldn’t stand for it. Let them try to send him back. He wouldn’t go. He’d find a way to stay on Earth, or even go somewhere else if that was what it took. But he would not return home a failure. That simply was not an op—

  He whirled suddenly, sensing someone coming in behind him. His fist was cocked even as he looked into the shocked face of Ensign Bialer, Jellico’s aide de camp, who had just returned to his desk. Bialer flinched, obviously convinced that One-Punch Calhoun was about to cave in his face.

  Slowly Calhoun lowered his fist. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

  “It’s all right,” said Bialer, leaning against his desk and catching his breath. “I was wondering what I was going to do to get my heart rate sped up today. Now I know.” He gestured toward the door. “They’re waiting for you. Go on in.”

  “Fine. But I’ll tell you this,” Calhoun said, raising his voice so that he was reasonably sure those inside would hear him, “I’m not going to go quietly!”

  “I believe you,” said Bialer, who looked as if he was still nervous that Calhoun was going to strike him.

  Calhoun strode into Jellico’s office to see that Jellico was staring at him, looking utterly bewildered. There was a woman seated in a chair a few feet to Jellico’s right. She had a weather-beaten look about her, but her eyes snapped with firm intelligence. Her uniform and pips indicated that she held the rank of captain. For no reason that he could articulate, Calhoun liked her instantly. Before Calhoun could say a word, Jellico demanded, “What the hell is your problem, Cadet?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re here to tell me?” replied Calhoun. If they were going to treat him in such a cavalier manner, he saw no reason that he had to be polite in return.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Calhoun,” said Jellico. “Then again, if you ask me, the whole world’s going crazy. Calhoun, meet Captain Alynna Nechayev. Captain, Mackenzie Calhoun, cadet, third year.”

  “A pleasure, Cadet,” said Nechayev. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.” She looked him up and down, openly assessing him. “I thought you’d be taller,” she decided.

  “So did I,” replied Calhoun.

  “Captain Nechayev is attached to the Starfleet Internal Affairs office,” Jellico said. “She handles matters of an unusual or delicate nature.”

  “Ah,” said Calhoun, nodding in grim understanding. “She’s the one you bring in when you have to do something like this, then.”

  Jellico looked at him blankly. “Like what?”

  “Like this. I have to say, Dean Jellico, with all respect…I thought you man enough that you’d want to handle something like this yourself.”

  “Something like this?” Jellico’s faced reddened. “Calhoun, have you completely lost your mind? I have no idea what you’re…Nechayev, do you know what he’s talking about?”

  Nechayev, to Calhoun’s surprise, laughed softly. “Unless I am very much mistaken,” she almost purred, “the cadet is under the impression that he’s in some sort of trouble. Correct, Cadet?”

  “You…” He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “You…mean I’m not?”

  “You may be. But not the type you think. Tell me, Calhoun,” and she rose to her feet, “have you heard of a Dr. Marius Bethom?”

  Calhoun shook his head. “Should I have?”

  “A former teacher of xenobiology here at the Academy, with a particular specialty in the area of xenomorphics.”

  “Oh. Well, my…friend Cadet Shelby probably has. She’s taken a great interest in xenomorphics. The entire study of aliens that are able to change their shape or expedite their own evolution…she finds it fascinating. I’m…not sure why,” he admitted, and then added in confusion, “and why are we discussing this?”

  “What would you rather be discussing?” demanded Jellico. “Your grades?”

  “No,” Calhoun said quickly. “No, that won’t be necessary. You were saying…?” and he shifted his attention back to Nechayev.

  Nechayev made a slow circle of the office as she spoke. “Dr. Bethom’s interests in xenomorphing were all well and good, as long as he stuck with teaching about those things that occurred in nature. But his dismissal from the Academy came as a result of his preaching the positive virtues of practices outlawed by the UFP. Practices such as gene manipulation…cloning…the creation of artificial life-forms.”

  “These are outlawed?” asked Calhoun.

  “And with good reason,” Jellico told him. “Going all the way back to the Eugenics Wars, attempts to set ourselves up as gods and muck with nature have always ended in disaster. We learn from our mistakes, and the ban on such activities as Bethom was advocating is a sound one.”

  “Beth
om was released from his position five years ago,” Nechayev said. “No action was taken beyond that, however. After all, he was simply advocating an outlawed practice, but it wasn’t as if he were undertaking it himself. However, since then…”

  “He started putting his theories to practical applications?”

  Nechayev nodded approvingly. “Correct, Calhoun. Tell me…does this look at all familiar to you?”

  She swiveled around the computer screen on Jellico’s desk so Calhoun could see the image that appeared on it.

  “Of course it does,” he said immediately. “That’s the creature that nearly killed Shelby and me during our survival training two years ago. The one that looked like a bahoon.”

  “The reason it looked like one,” said Nechayev, “is because it was one.”

  “Bahoons don’t have tentacles.”

  “This one did,” said Jellico. “Courtesy of Dr. Bethom.”

  Calhoun stared at it once more and shuddered inwardly. “You’re saying that this Bethom…he had some sort of facility set up around Platonis?”

  “Nearby, yes. We believe he had a large submersible vessel in the vicinity. By moving around, he made himself that much less conspicuous. This creature was either something that escaped, or else he simply released it into the watery environment to see how it would survive. Judging by the way it nearly killed the two of you, I’d have to say it survived quite well.”

  “Have you found him? Arrested him?”

  “No,” said Nechayev, “and that’s where you come in.”

  “I’m coming in?”

  “Yes. You see, Calhoun, we believe that Bethom is no longer on Earth, and has not been for some time. Our intelligence reports place him on Xenex.”

  “Xenex?”

  “Your old homeworld,” she nodded. “We believe he has a hidden base there. We’re going to be sending in a strike team to root him out. I want to know if you’re interested in being a part of it.”

  Calhoun could scarcely believe it. Here he’d thought he was being summoned for dismissal, and instead he was being given an opportunity to embark on some sort of incredible covert mission. “Me?” he said.