by Peter David
Robin stared at her. “Do you really want to see Mackenzie Calhoun trying to manage a baby?”
“You’re thinking disaster, huh?”
“At a bare minimum.”
“I suppose.”
“Still—” Shelby paused, thoughtful, and then continued, “there was that time when I thought that Mac was dead. And after that happened, I was just…I was consumed by thoughts of missed opportunities. Of what might have been. I think that’s one of the reasons I was so ready to marry him when it turned out he had survived. I felt that I had been given a reprieve, and I wanted to take advantage of it. So now you’ve got me wondering what it’s going to take to prompt me to have a child. What new disaster am I going to survive so narrowly, or is going to affect my worldview so drastically, that I’m motivated to have a baby?”
Before Robin could respond, there was a chime at the door. “Come,” called Robin.
The door slid open and Doctor Selar was standing there with her medical kit.
“Selar! I was hoping to have a chance to say hello.” Shelby stood and extended her hand. Selar stared down blankly at it and Shelby wiped it on the side of her uniform trousers. “So…did you get your patient settled into our medlab?”
“Yes. Your facility seems adequate.”
“Please, my head will turn with such flattery.”
“It was not intended as flattery.”
Shelby didn’t bother to try to explain that she was being ironic. Irony died on Vulcans the way that humans died on worlds with no oxygen. “Then you succeeded,” she said.
“Good.”
“Anyway, s/he won’t be here long. A medical transport should be along in a—”
“Yes.” She spoke flatly, mechanically. Robin was accustomed to Selar’s total lack of bedside manner, but this was a bit much even for her. Apparently having lost interest in Shelby, assuming she had any in the first place, Selar turned to Robin and said, “I felt it would be wise if I examined both you and your son once more before I depart.”
Well, that explained it. She was simply being thoroughly professional in her demeanor. What some might see as mechanical was probably, as far as Selar was concerned, focused. “Yes, of course.” Robin noticed that Cwansi was no longer nursing, but instead lying in her arms with his eyes mostly closed and a bit of milk dribbling down his chin. “He’s in a milk stupor,” she said in amusement.
“Then now would be a good time. Admiral, if you would excuse us…”
“Yes, of course,” said Shelby, rising. “Actually, I have a date.”
“A date—? Oh. Of course,” Robin said as she fastened her tunic. “With the captain in town…”
“Exactly. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me,” and with a grin she turned and walked out of Lefler’s quarters with what certainly seemed some additional spring in her step.
Selar turned to Robin and said calmly, “Lay the baby down and let us begin the examination.”
iii.
Shelby entered her quarters and Calhoun was already there.
Within moments their uniforms were scattered all over the floor, over furniture, every which way. As they flopped down onto the bed, a tangle of limbs, kissing each other with fierce urgency, Shelby came up for air and said, “I have to ask you…”
“Anything.”
“Have you ever thought about us having a baby?”
“No,” said Calhoun.
She paused only the briefest of moments, said, “Yeah, me neither,” and returned to what she had been doing.
iv.
Selar consulted her medical tricorder and slowly shook her head. “This is not satisfactory.”
“What isn’t?” said Robin. She was suddenly nervous. Was there something wrong with her? Was her body breaking down? My God, what’s going to happen to my baby if he’s an orphan? Oh my God oh my God…
“You appear to have a vitamin deficiency.”
Robin breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s not generally fatal, is it?”
Selar gave her an odd look. “Not generally, no.” She removed a hypo from her medical kit. “A simple shot should correct it.”
“Okay, good.” She extended her arm as Selar applied the hypo. The contents hissed into her system. “Doctor, I just want to thank you again for coming to New Thallon and delivering Cwansi.”
“I was simply doing my job.”
“No, you were doing far more than that. This was above and beyond. This was…” She yawned. “This was more than…” She yawned a second time, then a third, and unaccountably her eyes were getting heavy. She didn’t understand why she was suddenly so tired. Cwansi was, unlike Earth children, already sleeping through the night even though he was only several weeks old. So it wasn’t as if he was keeping her awake. She couldn’t fathom any reason for such overwhelming fatigue—
Then she made the connection between the hypo and her sudden exhaustion.
Robin looked up uncomprehendingly, tried to stand, tried to speak and call out for help, tried to do something, anything. Instead her legs gave out and she collapsed. She hit the floor hard and she heard Selar say, “Do not try to keep standing. You will accomplish nothing and may injure yourself in the process.”
Her throat was tightening. Summoning aid was out of the question; Robin couldn’t even muster enough energy to utilize the voice-activated comm system. Instead all she managed to produce was a single whispered word: “Why?”
“The Vulcan nerve pinch can actually be rather painful for the victim. I sought to spare you that pain. If you cause yourself injury, I will have failed in that endeavor. If you mean ‘why am I taking this step,’ then I will simply tell you that it is because I have no choice.”
Selar reached over to the small, makeshift bed and picked up the sleeping Cwansi, still basking in his milk-induced haze. Robin attempted to get to her feet, but all she managed to do was move forward a few inches. Selar barely gave her a glance, but she was clearly aware of her attempts to get to her. “I must save my son,” said Selar. “I am certain that you can sympathize with my situation. If your son is required to accomplish the goal of saving mine, then so be it. Besides, if you will recall: My son was here first.”
She headed for the door, darkness drawing a curtain over Robin’s eyes. But just before she slipped into oblivion, she heard the bell chime outside her room.
And then she was gone.
v.
She is heading for the door, Cwansi sleeping in her arms, and then freezes as the chime sounds. Robin is lying unconscious on the floor. The room is too small to hide her, nor is there time to do so. Certainly the inevitable noise made by dragging her body around would alert anyone out there.
“Robin? Robin, are you there? It’s Soleta.”
Selar realizes that the best course of action is to do absolutely nothing. There is no reason for her to respond. She can simply stand there without moving.
That is precisely what she does. She remains bolt still. A statue could take immobility lessons from her.
Time seems to crawl by, even though Selar knows precisely how much time has, in fact, passed. The baby whimpers slightly. She looks down in surprise; his eyes are open. He has come out of his stupor and, as impossible as it seems, appears to regard her with some measure of suspicion.
He whimpers again.
She brings her fingers to his shoulder delicately, as if she were picking up a piece of shattered glass from the floor, and squeezes as gently as she can. Cwansi’s eyes roll up into his head and he lapses into unconsciousness that will last for several hours. Then she returns her attention to the door, waiting to see if there is anything further from the other side. Nothing. Soleta must have departed.
She steps toward the door and disengages the lock. It slides open.
Soleta is standing on the other side, her eyes narrowed, her manner suspicious. In the split second it takes for Selar to react, Soleta sees the motionless form of Robin Lefler. Selar takes that instant of reaction to reach out with her free hand as if driving a sp
ear forward, to clamp it onto Soleta’s shoulder.
vi.
Soleta was about to depart, deciding that Robin was somewhere else on the station, or perhaps taking a nap. There was no urgency to her visit; she was just stopping by to touch base.
Then she heard a small, whimpering cry.
To a human it would have been inaudible, but to one with Soleta’s ears, it was audible, and positively plaintive.
Just as quickly as it began, it ceased.
She had no idea what to make of that. Perhaps Robin and her son indeed were asleep inside, and the baby had simply fallen back into slumber after voicing protest over some tiny nightmare it was having. Yet something still seemed wrong to her.
Soleta remained where she was, unsure of what to do. She could have summoned help, but for what purpose? What if there was nothing more ominous than a mother and child napping within? She was supposed to sound an alarm over that?
And then, as she remained frozen with uncertainty, the door slid open and she saw Selar standing there with an unconscious baby in her arms. Just behind her, on the floor, was Robin Lefler, lying still and no more conscious than her son.
They stared at each other for a second, and then Selar tried to apply a Vulcan nerve pinch.
But Soleta was not caught unawares so easily. She blocked the thrust, and Selar was hampered in her movements by the fact that she was holding an insensate child. Soleta knocked her hand aside and, rather than attempting her own nerve pinch, rammed her clenched fist into Selar’s upraised chin. There was nothing elegant in the move, but it was effective nonetheless. Selar staggered back and Soleta entered quickly, pressing the attack.
Selar had no choice. She dropped Cwansi and launched herself at Soleta. It was a mark of Soleta’s insular nature that it never occurred to her to call for help, not for a moment. The door slid shut behind them, although it did not lock, since Selar had removed the seal.
Soleta grabbed Selar’s arms by the wrists. She had no idea what was happening, or why Selar was doing this. All she knew for sure was that Selar was coming at her with a fierceness and implacability that made her feel as if she were seeing the Vulcan doctor for the first time instead of having known her for years and considered her a friend.
Selar’s expression never wavered, so immobile that she might as well have been a machine. She shoved against Soleta, trying to bear down on her, and Soleta pushed back. They stood in the center of the room, strength against strength, and slowly Soleta found herself giving ground. Selar was bending her back, back, and Soleta did the only thing she could think of.
She used the mind meld as a weapon.
Soleta was aware that Selar had serious trepidation about employing the Vulcan telepathic technique. Soleta, on the other hand, had no hesitation about it at all. Whether using it to obtain information or enhance her pleasure with Lucius, she had become remarkably skilled in the technique. She had not, however, made a practice of utilizing it in an offensive capacity.
She did so now, sending her mind into Selar’s like a javelin of light. Selar staggered, and not all her Vulcan training, not all her vaunted restraint or lack of emotion, could stop a look of sheer astonishment from spreading across her face.
Sensing an impending triumph, sensing her advantage, Soleta pressed further, hoping to render her opponent unconscious through sheer force of will…
…and a word leaps out at her, and it is not just a word, but a sensation, a feeling, a knell of doom that reverberates in her skull, and Soleta would not have thought it possible that she could be as stunned by a single word or concept as she is by this one, whispered in academic circles, spoken of as a mere myth or as something that had long been left behind by the race that furnished half her genetic makeup, but there it is, right in front of her, not at all mythic, but real and alive and totally horrifying, like walking into your quarters and discovering that Medusa is standing there waiting to paralyze you with her stare, and in just that way Soleta is paralyzed now, by that one damned word, and she speaks the word aloud, this word that no one of her heritage ever speaks because it runs contrary to everything they are or at least everything they fancy themselves to be…
“Shal’tiar…” she whispers aloud, or in her head, or both, or neither, it is impossible to say.
Selar recoils, and mentally she snarls like a caged animal in a most un-Vulcan-like way, violently reacting to the word. She knows the truth of the word but has no desire to acknowledge it, for she fears the notion in the same deep, primal way that Soleta does.
Soleta presses her advantage, fighting down her terror over the prospect of Shal’tiar, knowing that whatever has led Selar to this state, Soleta may well be the only person on the station—indeed, in the entire quadrant—who is capable of not only understanding what is at stake, but stopping her before—
And suddenly the blow comes from behind; she is completely unprepared for it because her attention has been entirely upon Selar. Soleta tries to turn, to fend off whoever is assaulting her, but she is fighting a two-front war and she is just distracted enough that Selar clamps an iron hand upon her shoulder. She tries to shove Selar away, but it is too late as the nerve pinch shuts down the flow of neurons from her brain to the rest of her body. She goes down, and the last thing she sees is not, in fact, anything actual, but rather the word etched in blackness by her mind, burning like a wildfire in the night…
Shal’tiar…
vii.
It took Selar a few moments to clear her head and realize that she was no longer struggling against Soleta. Granted, she had ultimately taken Soleta down, but she had been operating entirely on instinct. So even though the fight was done, she hadn’t fully grasped that it was finished.
She looked up and saw a male Romulan standing there. He was studying her with a mixture of disbelief and amazement.
“Who are you?” she said, even as she reached down and picked up the sleeping form of Cwansi.
“Lucius. Late of the Romulan Empire, now in allegiance to no one. And you are…?”
“Selar,” and then she paused and said for the first time a truth that she knew was a harsh one to face, but a necessary one. “Late of the Starship Excalibur. What are you doing here?”
“I saw you in the corridor and followed and waited. I would have come in earlier, but I saw my commander enter here.”
“Your commander?” and then she looked down at Soleta’s body. “You betrayed your commander?”
“As, I suspect, have you.”
“A valid point. What is your purpose here?”
“I am here to help you. That is, for the moment, all that you need to know.”
“Do you have a vessel?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can be of help to me. Take me to your ship. Once there, we have one other matter to attend to, and then we can depart.”
“To where?”
“To planet designated AF1963.”
“Why?”
“That,” she said, “is all you need to know.”
He considered that for about a second and then nodded. “I find that acceptable.”
They left as quickly as they could, leaving the motionless bodies of Soleta and Robin Lefler lying on the floor.
viii.
“Bridge to Captain Calhoun.”
Shelby moaned and sat up in bed, Calhoun rolling off her. It was not the Excalibur bridge that was summoning him. His comm badge was still on his jacket, which lay on the floor. It was instead the command center of the space station. “I guess the entire ‘do not disturb’ business was more of a guideline than an order, eh?” he said dryly.
“I told them to leave me alone unless it was an emergency. I forgot to mention you.”
“There’s always a loophole.” In a louder voice, activating the comm system, he said, “Calhoun here, go ahead.”
“This is Lieutenant De Paulo. Sorry if I, um, interrupted anything, sir—”
“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant. I was just goi
ng over fuel consumption reports in my head.” Ignoring the fact that his wife was sticking her tongue out at him, he continued, “What’s up?”
“It’s about that patient you brought into the medlab, sir. The Hermat.”
“What about hir?”
“S/he’s gone.”
Calhoun stepped out of bed, already yanking on his clothing as he said, “When? How?”
“Less than a minute ago, sir. One minute s/he was lying there, then there was the sound of transporter beams, and then s/he was gone.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“But—”
“I said I’ll handle it, Lieutenant. Calhoun out.” He picked up his uniform jacket. Shelby started to ask him what was going on but he was already tapping his comm badge and saying, “Calhoun to Excalibur.”
“Excalibur, Burgoyne here.”
“Burgy, have you had any unauthorized transporter activity over there?”
“Unauthorized?”
“Anything other than the normal flow of people coming and going for shore leave.”
“Nothing that I know of, Captain.”
“I want you to send a security team to sickbay. Find Selar. If she’s not there, find her wherever she is on the ship and hold her for questioning.”
“What?” Clearly Burgy wanted to find out what the hell was going on, but then s/he caught hirself and instead simply said, “Aye, Captain. We’ll get right on it.”
“Mac, what the hell is going on?” said Shelby as Calhoun pulled on his boots. “Why do you think Selar—?”
“Because she’s been obsessed with holding on to that patient.”
“But that still doesn’t…”
She didn’t have the opportunity to complete the sentence because Burgoyne was back on the comm badge with Calhoun. “Sir,” and there was unmistakable worry in Burgoyne’s voice, “Doctor Selar isn’t on the ship.”
“Find out who was the last person to see her—”
Now Shelby was yanking on her uniform even faster than Calhoun was his, and she said quickly, “Shelby to security.”