Stone and Anvil

by Peter David

  “It’s not going to work, C’n’daz,” Calhoun said. His voice was hollow. It sounded to Shelby as if he were a spirit whispering from a haunted house. “I’m sorry you feel I hurt you. But I had to do what was right for m—”

  And C’n’daz pointed right at Calhoun’s chest and snarled, “I issue a challenge. A blood challenge. Before these witnesses, before the eyes of all present, let it be recorded that a blood challenge has been issued. Do you accept?”

  Shelby wasn’t certain exactly what was going on, but she knew it wasn’t good. This “blood challenge” was obviously some sort of ultimate requirement of Xenexian manhood. It was not something, she suspected, that was issued lightly, nor was it lightly ignored. Calhoun was trembling with suppressed rage, and he took a step toward C’n’daz, who was waiting for him. Shelby kept waiting for Kemper or one of the others to say something, but they were silent. Obviously they wanted to see Calhoun take the man on and likely beat him to a pulp. They’d probably find it entertaining. Men, Shelby snarled to herself.

  Out loud, she said warningly, “Calhoun. This isn’t the way.”

  C’n’daz didn’t even afford her a glance. He simply repeated, slowly and deliberately, “Do you accept?”

  Calhoun’s mouth twisted as he formed the word. “No.”

  There was an audible gasp, not only from C’n’daz’s followers, but even from the tribes people. Considering they were pacifists, this challenge thing must be fairly major to get such a reaction even from them.

  And then C’n’daz turned toward Shelby, and stared at her with as much contempt as anyone had ever displayed. “You,” he said icily, “have destroyed him. I pity him…but I despise you.”

  “Thanks for sharing that,” replied Shelby. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep at night, knowing you despise me.”

  And then C’n’daz suddenly yanked out a knife from his belt, and he threw it at Calhoun’s feet. Calhoun didn’t move a muscle as the blade thudded to the ground just short of his toes.

  “The challenge remains. And you will answer it, or be forever disgraced,” announced C’n’daz. Then he and his associates turned away and headed out. Moments later they had departed the camp, and there was dead silence for a long while. Then, slowly, people went back about their business, but the celebration was rather muted and people kept glancing every so often in Calhoun’s direction. Calhoun, for his part, sat as far away from the campfire as possible now, just staring off into space.

  Shelby approached him at one point and knelt down to face him. “I was proud of you back there,” she told him. “You did the right thing. The Starfleet thing. You—”

  “Eppy,” he interrupted her, not even looking at her. “I would really appreciate it…if you left me alone right now.”

  And a veil of silence descended upon him that was practically palpable. Her heart ached for him and she wanted nothing else but to reach out and comfort him, hold him tightly, make him feel better.

  Instead, wisely, she left him alone in the darkness beyond the fire.

  Chapter Twelve

  Now

  “The Daystrom Institute?”

  Calhoun could scarcely believe it as, on the monitor, Vice-Admiral Nechayev nodded in confirmation. “That’s right,” she affirmed. “Bethom is now working at the Daystrom Institute.”

  He was in his ready room, feeling these days as if he practically lived in the place. He spent so much time in the ready room that he was concerned he might never actually be ready. “The Daystrom Institute,” he echoed.

  “I take it you’re familiar with it.”

  “Of course I am, ma’am,” said Calhoun. “It’s just…I would have thought Bethom was still in custody.”

  “In a sense, he is,” Nechayev said. “Several years ago, he was paroled to the custody of the institute. They felt very strongly that his mind and ideas were salvageable and could be redirected into more constructive pursuits than—”

  “Than illegal genetics and murder?”

  “I wouldn’t have put it quite that bluntly. Then again, I’m not you.”

  “These days,” Calhoun told her, “I’m not even sure I’m me.”

  “Still, blunt or not, that is indeed a fair assessment. Rest assured, Mackenzie, he remains under the closest scrutiny.”

  “Just how close would that be?”

  “He’s monitored around the clock, and he has an implant that physically prevents him from leaving the Daystrom facility where he’s currently in residence.”

  “And that would be?”

  She paused. “That information is confidential, Mackenzie. Dr. Bethom is a very special case. There are those who would seek to take advantage of his rather singular talents. Therefore his current whereabouts are a closely guarded secret, and cannot be entrusted to just anyone.”

  “I understand,” said Calhoun. “So his current whereabouts would be?”

  “Alpha Sigma IX. Oh. Drat,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “You tricked it out of me. Curse you, Mackenzie Calhoun, and your crafty techniques of interrogation. I remain helpless against your genius-level cunning.”

  “As do I against your rapier wit.”

  She smiled at that. “Come on, Calhoun. When are you going to tire of this captaincy phase of your life and return to the activities that give true meaning to your wretched existence?”

  “Namely working for you.”

  “Namely, yes.”

  “Carrying out covert missions and such.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she deadpanned.

  “No, of course you don’t.”

  “Come on now, Mackenzie.” She studied him in that way she had, as if she were mentally breaking him down molecule by molecule and examining each one before tossing it aside and moving on to the next. “With all respect to a great breed of men…there are many who are Starfleet captains. But how many are there who could do the things that you did for me?”

  “Careful, Vice-Admiral,” cautioned Calhoun. “If someone should be eavesdropping, they might totally misinterpret that sentiment.”

  “Now, wouldn’t that be a pleasant change of pace,” she said, grinning. Then the grin faded. “Calhoun…be careful. The Daystrom Institute is a highly connected organization and facility. They’ve many powerful friends in the Federation, and gunboat diplomacy isn’t going to get it done with them. I know this pertains to Janos…”

  “You know that?” asked Calhoun.

  “Of course I do, Mackenzie. You can’t seriously think I’m not aware of everything major that’s going on in Starfleet. Nor do I have to be a genius to know what you’re thinking. I’ve crawled around inside that skull of yours more than anyone except your lovely wife. As a superior officer—a vastly superior officer—I’m telling you, be careful. As a friend, I’m telling you: Be very careful.”

  “I will, ma’am.”

  “If you need a friend, contact me immediately. I may or may not help you depending upon my needs at that moment and the overall security of the Federation.”

  “That’s very comforting, ma’am.”

  “Yes. It is. Nechayev out.”

  He stared at the screen for a long moment after she’d blinked out, and then said, “Morgan.”

  Her face immediately appeared on the computer screen where Nechayev’s had been seconds before. “That’s so much friendlier than ‘computer,’ ” she noted.

  “Good. I’m glad you approve. I need you to raise the Daystrom Institute on Alpha Sigma IX.”

  “The entire institute or any particular individual?”

  “Dr. Marius Bethom.”

  “Friend of yours?”

  “He tried to kill me once.”

  “Haven’t most of your friends?”

  He considered that. “A few,” he admitted. “But then, I have a broad definition of friends. Do it, would you please, Morgan?”

  “Aye, Captain,” she said, and her face vanished.

  At that moment, the chime rang. �
��Come,” called Calhoun.

  The door slid open and Shelby entered, glancing around.

  “Yes, Commander, what can I do for…” He smiled broadly. “Sorry. Old habit.”

  “Very old. So what, are you living here now? Burgy says you hardly show your face on the bridge anymore.”

  “Things have been a bit hectic, that’s all. Dealing with this entire Janos mess. Plus I’m not thrilled going out there and seeing Danter on the viewscreen. Brings back a lot of unfortunate memories.”

  “So leave,” she said, sounding eminently practical about it. “You have other assignments to deal with.”

  “Yes. There’s a civil uprising on Qandis that’s requested Si Cwan’s aid in settling matters. And over on Ultis, the last survivor of an alien world has landed and is currently using his superior powers to try and rule the planet. So that should be exciting.”

  “And yet you’re still here.”

  “And yet I am,” he agreed.

  “Which begs the question…”

  “Why? Because I can’t get enough of my wife, that’s why. Here,” and he patted the top of the desk. “Let’s do it right here, right now. Right on top of this desk.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Never been more so.”

  She stared at him. “You are serious. My God, Mac…what if somebody walked in?”

  “Let them. They can be dazzled by our strategies.”

  “Our what?”

  He was busy reaching to a drawer under his desk, and he pulled out a chess set and placed it atop the desk. “Activate,” he said, and a small holographic display of pieces appeared.

  “Oh,” she said. “You wanted to play chess.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, sure. Why? What else could I have been referring to?”

  “Well, off the top of my head…sex?”

  He snorted. “You women. That’s all you ever think about.”

  At that moment, Morgan’s image appeared on the screen once more. “Captain, I placed your call to…oh. Hello, Captain Shelby. You’re looking well.”

  “Uhm…thank you, Morgan,” said Shelby, appearing extremely disconcerted. “I’m…sorry about your, uh…your loss…”

  “You mean my body? Not that big a deal. I wasn’t doing much of anything with it anyway.”

  “That’s very, uhm…philosophical,” she said, and looked in desperation to Calhoun.

  He suppressed a smile as he said, “Go ahead, Morgan. You were saying?”

  “I placed your call to Alpha Sigma IX.”

  “That was fast.”

  “You’d be amazed how much more efficient such activities can be when you can interface directly with the subspace switching station. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I was unable to get through.”

  “Alpha Sigma IX?” Shelby’s face was a question.

  “The Daystrom Institute. Dr. Marius Bethom,” said Morgan.

  As Shelby reacted with surprise upon hearing the name, Calhoun commented, “Thank you for sharing that, Morgan.”

  “Oh. Was it a secret?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Very well, then,” she said. If she recognized his tone as sarcastic, she chose to ignore it. “In any case, Dr. Bethom was quite explicit that he had no desire to communicate with you until a particular change in climate at an indeterminate point in the future.”

  “Let me guess: When Hell freezes over.”

  “That was it!” Morgan sounded surprised.

  “I was afraid that might be the case. All right, Morgan. Thank you for trying.”

  “Not a problem.” Her face promptly blinked out.

  “Dr. Bethom,” Shelby looked surprised. “Mac, we already had this discussion.”

  “He might be able to help,” said Calhoun. “After all, he did create Janos.”

  “He’s dangerously unstable, Mac.”

  “Who, Janos or Bethom?”

  “At this point, I’d say both. And by the way, what the hell is an unstable geneticist like Bethom doing at the Daystrom Institute?”

  “They’ve taken responsibility for him.”

  “Why?”

  “Good question,” said Calhoun. “I’m seriously thinking of going and finding out. You’d be amazed how much more willing someone is to respond to you when you’re standing two feet away and threatening to break his face.”

  “You can’t go around breaking people’s faces.”

  “When did I say I was going to do that? I simply said I’d threaten to do it. Doesn’t mean I will.”

  “That,” she said, “is a deftly clever distinction. I suggest you brush up on it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Starfleet is the group that chose to parole Dr. Bethom to the Daystrom Institute. And if you go stomping in there in standard bull-in-china-shop form, you’ll have plenty of time to explain your rationale to a court martial board of inquiry.”

  “It won’t be the first time.”

  “It may be the last,” she countered. “And if that happened, what would you do then?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I have prospects. Good ones.”

  “Oh, really,” said Shelby as she made an opening gambit move on the chess set. “Such as?”

  “A job that would allow me to ignore all the rules and beat people up as needed.”

  She considered that as she awaited his move. “That’s more or less what you’re doing now, actually.”

  And he realized she was right.

  Then

  i.

  Jellico and Nechayev stared at the white-furred creature that was exploring every inch of Jellico’s office. “Remarkable,” said Jellico as he watched it at its work. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Or ever will again, is my guess,” said Shelby. She, along with Calhoun and Kemper, was likewise watching the bizarre animal. She smoothed the front of her shirt. It felt good to be back in uniform, and even better to be safely back within the confines of Starfleet Academy.

  “Is he the last of Bethom’s experiments?”

  “As near as we were able to determine,” said Kemper. “We sent a cleanup crew back in after we brought Bethom into custody. They weren’t able to dig up anything else. On the other hand, he kept copious notes. So if anyone were inclined to try and replicate his work…” When he saw the look from Jellico and Nechayev, he shrugged and added, “I was just pointing it out, not advocating it.”

  “Thank you for clarifying that,” Jellico said icily. Then, his face reflecting a bit more concern, he looked at Shelby and Calhoun. “You two are all right? No major problems?”

  “Fairly routine stuff, actually,” said Calhoun. To Shelby, it appeared that he was making eye contact with Jellico but, at the same time, had his mind far away from the current proceedings. “It’s all in our report to Captain Nechayev. She was pretty thorough.”

  “I’m sure it will make gripping bedtime reading,” Jellico said. He looked back at the white-furred creature which, at that moment, was thoroughly absorbed with studying Jellico’s distinguished-service medal. “It’s not going to eat that, is it?” he asked nervously.

  “I doubt it,” said Shelby. “He’ll determine by sense of smell whether it’s edible or not, and I don’t think he’s going to consider metal to be on his diet.”

  “So what’s going to happen to Janos, Captain?” asked Calhoun.

  Nechayev swiveled the chair she was seated in toward Calhoun. “To whom?”

  “Janos.” He indicated the creature.

  “You named him?”

  “He could have killed me…or at the very least, come close. Instead he chose to help me. I certainly think that warrants a name. ‘Janos’ is Xenexian for ‘Great Strength.’ ”

  The recently dubbed Janos bobbed his head in appreciation. “Thank…you,” he said.

  The sounds emerging from his lips caused Jellico to jump several feet straight back. “My God, it talks!”

  “You really didn’t read the debriefi
ng notes very closely, did you, Edward?” Nechayev scolded him.

  “I had a pile of material to go through that…my God,” he said again. “Is it…like a parrot? That it repeats things at random?”

  “Things…at…ran…dom?” said Janos slowly.

  “Ah.” Jellico relaxed a little.

  And then Janos shook his head and said, “No…not…like…that…at…all.”

  Jellico sank into a chair, goggle-eyed. “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “We’ll have to wait to find out about that one, Edward,” Nechayev said diplomatically.

  “No one’s answered my question,” Calhoun said. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I imagine he’ll go to Federation labs and be thoroughly studied for…”

  “The rest of his life?” Calhoun asked Nechayev.

  “Quite possibly.”

  “What would you suggest, Calhoun?” Jellico said. “Arrange to have him adopted by a nice family and eventually enroll him in the Academy?”

  There was no laughter in response to this. Jellico looked around.

  “You know, it’s not a bad idea,” said Shelby.

  “Oh, come on!”

  “She’s right, Edward,” said Nechayev. “It’d be a fascinating chance to observe the phenomenon of nature versus nurture. If it’s stuck in a lab, it’ll never have the opportunity to live anything approximating a normal life.”

  “It’s an animal!”

  “It’s a life-form,” Shelby corrected him. “A new life-form. Aren’t we supposed to be seeking those out?”

  Jellico glared at her. “The idea of putting it into an uncontrolled environment…”

  “Not uncontrolled,” Nechayev said. “We’d obviously be looking for people who are experienced scientists, with specialties in biology. Starfleet personnel, ideally. My office would work closely with them to monitor its progress…”

  “His,” Calhoun corrected. “His progress.”

  “His progress,” Nechayev amended, sounding very formal about it. “And I’m not saying that his eventual enrollment at the Academy is a certainty….”