As a result, in Shakespeare's Tavern, the human and faux Klingon would occasionally face-off against one another and emote in their respective languages. Robin hated to admit it, but the faux Klingon seemed to show far more passion for the Klingon text than the human did for the English.
Nik sat opposite Robin, pouring himself another glass of wine from the bottle that the wench had left on their table. He offered a refill to her, but she put a hand up, indicating that she was satisfied with what she had. He put the bottle down and smiled. "That," he said, "is a lovely dress."
"Oh, this?" She looked down in apparent boredom at the garment she had acquired mere hours ago. It was a blue satin off-the-shoulder ensemble. "Yeah, I almost forgot I packed it. And you don't look so bad yourself."
"Really?" He glanced at his own clothes. "Actually, I only bought this a few hours ago. Didn't have much in the way of stuff with me to impress a young woman. Wasn't really expecting, or looking for, romance."
"Me neither. Not to say that this is romance, what we have here."
"Oh, of course not. Much too soon. It's our first dinner, after all."
"I'm glad we agree on that."
With mischief in his eyes, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Now... we'll have to see how we feel about it after breakfast."
She raised an eyebrow in a mock-scolding manner. "My, my. Aren't we presuming facts not in evidence."
"Oh, my God. You're a lawyer. Check, please!" he said in feigned horror, pretending to look around for the waiter.
She laughed at that. "Actually, since we're angling toward asking about professions... I'm in Starfleet."
"Really?" He looked extremely interested. It was at times such as this that she wished she were capable of looking behind a man's eyes, directly into his mind.
Did he really want to know about her profession? Or was he just pretending to listen while trying to decide what she would look like unclothed? And if the latter... should she be angry? Or flattered?
"Really," she affirmed. "I'm-I was-in charge of ship's operations aboard the
Starship Excalibur."
"Ah. Arthurian references. I'm a bit of a fan of that myself. So, are you on leave from the ship?"
"Actually, the ship is on leave from us. It blew up."
"Oh. I see. I'm... very sorry to hear that. Was anyone killed?"
"Amazingly, only one person. If it weren't for that person, far more would have been. Possibly all of us."
"He sounds very brave. What was his name?"
She looked up, slightly quizzical. "My, my. We're assuming, aren't we? I didn't say it was a 'he.' "
He hesitated only a moment and then smiled. "You have me cold. I'm afraid I was egotistical enough to assume it was a man.
Foolish, I know."
"I shouldn't scold you for it; in this case, it was also accurate enough. His name was Mackenzie Calhoun. He was our captain."
"Well... not to sound cold, but... don't they always say a captain is supposed to go down with his ship? So he would have just been doing his duty."
"I know," she sighed. "I know. But, believe it or not, somehow knowing that doesn't make it any easier." Quickly she forced the melancholy mood from her. It was hardly going to make the evening go any better. She cleared her throat and said, "So... what do you do? For a living, I mean?"
"I'm embarrassed to admit... I work for my father, actually. He's something of an industrialist, with his fingers into dozens of businesses. I run one of them for him: a rescue and salvage operation."
"And that's successful?"
"Oh, incredibly so," he chuckled, as if it should be self-evident, "There's always people in need of our services. And it helps my social life as well."
"Social life? How?"
"Well," he said cheerily, "if a date isn't going well, naturally you want someone who can rescue or salvage it And that would be me." He paused, and then asked cautiously, "Would... my services be needed here?"
She shrugged. "Not so far. Then again, the evening's young. It could go downhill," she snapped her fingers, "just like mat."
"You'll let me know if it does," said Nik amiably.
A throat was cleared near them, and both of them looked up. Robin was fully expecting to see another Elizabethan-clad waiter, but instead it was a well- dressed man who stood before her. He bore a remarkable resemblance to Nik, but was older and more distinguished, with his hair carefully cropped and shaped, and crests of gray on either side. "Am I disturbing you?" he asked.
"Hello, Dad," Nik said, and he was promptly on his feet. He was the same height as his father. "Robin Lefler, may I present my father, Rafe Viola. Dad, this is
Robin Lefler."
"Charmed," he said, and bowed in a very old-world manner. He seemed ever so courtly.
"Pleasure to meet you, too."
"Do you mind if-?" and he gestured to an empty chair.
"By all means, Dad," said Nik, indicating that his father should make himself comfortable. Rafe promptly did so. "Robin is with Starfleet, Dad."
"Really." Rafe had a ready smile, but naturally Robin's metaphorical antennae went up. There was something in the way he said that that sounded a bit... confused. As if he couldn't understand why people from Starfleet would be wasting their tune hanging out in a tourist resort. "How very interesting. Why are you not on a vessel somewhere?"
"There was a... bit of a mishap, Dad," Nik told him, glancing at Robin uneasily.
"It's all right, Nik," she said. "I've had enough time to come to terms with it.
You don't have to tiptoe around it with me."
"Ship destroyed?" Rafe had a very direct way about him. He was a bit like Data, but without the rudimentary charm. Robin found it mildly disconcerting, but nothing she couldn't handle.
"Yes, that's pretty much what happened," she said.
"That's a shame. Waste of material."
She blinked at the apparent cold-bloodedness of that, but Nik told her, "Dad tends to think very much in terms of 'material.' Sometimes I think he's on a first-name basis with every molecule in the galaxy."
Rafe smiled at that, and Robin couldn't help but notice that he had a very appealing smile. "My poor son. Nik constantly has to go about making apologies for me. I freely admit I'm not always the easiest person to take. It certainly requires a good deal of patience."
"Don't be down on yourself, Dad."
"I'm not. Just being self-aware."
"Well, from what Nik tells me, you don't have anything to be concerned about. My understanding is that you've acquired some... company?"
"That's right. Apparently she's running a bit late, because she was supposed to meet us here." Just in speaking of her, his entire aspect seemed to change.
Although the smile had been genuine enough earlier, now his whole face lit up.
"She's quite a woman. Dark, mysterious. Everything she says, you feel that mere's so much she's leaving unsaid. Truly, she's an endless lake of mysteries...."
"Just waiting for the right swimmer, Dad?" asked Nik in a teasing tone.
Robin watched the two of them interact, and couldn't help but be a little jealous. Despite what had sounded like some initial trepidation from Nik regarding his father, she envied what she saw as a solid and relaxed relationship between the two of them. Naturally, she compared it to the relationship she had with her mother, and felt that the latter was somehow... lacking.
"Ah," said Rafe, rising. "Here she is now."
Nik got to his feet as well, and Robin turned and looked in the direction that Rafe was facing. She froze in just that position, incredulous. Approaching them, having likewise frozen in midstep, was an all-too-familiar individual who looked equally surprised.
Robin sighed. "You know... you would think that I would have seen this coming."
Rafe looked from one to the other. "Morgan... Robin... do you two know each other?"
"Only all my life," said Robin.
"And I for not quite that long," Morgan added.
Nik looked puzzled, but Rafe understood immediately. "Mother and daughter," he said. They nodded simultaneously. He turned to his son and said, "Well, Nik, it appears that we have more similar taste in women than we would have thought. At least it saves me having to make introductions." As they sat, he added, "This is actually a pleasant bit of luck for you, Nik. They always say, if you want to see how the daughter's going to look in thirty years, look at the mother. Here's your chance."
"Actually, I have a funny feeling that, in thirty years, Ma's going to be looking better than I will."
"Isn't that a sweet thing for her to say, Morgan?"
"Oh, yes, Rafe... very sweet."
A waiter strode up to them. "Good morrow, lords and ladies. Is your food order to be... or not to be?"
"That is the question," Morgan said readily.
"Perhaps you'd be interested in Italian. See, on this side of the menu, there's the Montague specialties... and on the other side, the Capulets. We wouldn't recommend ordering some from each, though. They don't tend to get along."
"Why am I not surprised?" said Robin.
There was a sudden cry of battle from the middle of the restaurant. The human
Shakespeare was facing off against the Klingon Shakespeare with great ire. "How dare you?" he was shouting.
"What's the problem?" the waiter called over. Robin tried to figure out whether this was simply part of the "show," or whether there was some genuine problem.
The human Shakespeare pointed accusingly at the Klingon. "He caved in my skull!"
"It looks fine from here," said the waiter.
Clearly annoyed, the human Shakespeare held up the shattered remains of a human skull.
"Alas. Poor Yorick," the waiter said mournfully.
"Can we go to a different restaurant?" pleaded Robin.
"Oh, Robin," her mother scolded her. "What happened to your sense of fun?"
"Maybe," Nik suggested, "it deserted her when she fell down a hole and nearly got herself killed."
Morgan turned and looked at her with undisguised interest "You did?"
"Pretty much, yes."
"How very exciting!"
Robin couldn't quite recall the last time she'd seen her mother so enthused. Was that what it took to get a real rise out of her? A risk to life and limb?
"Actually," Robin said, "that's more or less how Nik and I met. He saved my life."
"Well done, Nik!" said Rafe approvingly.
"Tell us all about it, Robin."
But then, before Robin could open her mouth, she spotted someone at the far side of the room, someone whom she had not been expecting to see... and yet, someone whom she had been wondering about from the moment she had had Morgan introduced to her as Rafe's significant other.
Montgomery Scott had just entered, alongside Mr.
Theodore Quincy, the El Dorado manager. Quincy was chatting animatedly, and
Scotty appeared to be listening. But his gaze immediately fastened on Morgan.
His face was, for the most part, unreadable, but Robin could swear that the edges of his mustache drooped ever so slightly. It was obvious to Robin that he was... annoyed? Hurt? He was definitely feeling something, but it was hard to tell what. Just as quickly as he had noticed Morgan and fixed his gaze on her, he looked away, shifting his attention once more to whatever it was that Quincy was going on about. They were shown to a table and spent the rest of the evening there. Every so often, Robin would steal glances over there to see if he was looking Morgan's way. But either he was far too crafty to be noticed, or he simply wasn't paying her any mind.
The only time that Morgan and Robin had to chat privately was when they opted to use the restroom. The moment they were alone, Robin said to her mother, "I thought you were involved with Scotty."
" 'Involved'? Robin, that's a very strong word, particularly considering this is simply a vacation."
"You went dancing with him!"
"No... I never said that. Scotty and I just talked, and then he turned in early.
I went dancing with Rafe. Oh, don't look at me like that, Robin. I'm... having fun."
"Fun. Did you see the way Scotty looked at you when he spotted you sitting there with Rafe?"
"I hadn't noticed."
"Yes, you did."
"All right, I noticed. But what would you have me do, Robin? I ran into Rafe at one of the casinos, and he seemed charming, debonair. He seemed interested in talking about me."
"Really. And what was Scotty interested in talking about?"
"Engines. Machinery. Computer systems. He appreciates me for my mind, and considers me knowledgeable enough to be able to keep up with him. He told me how nice it is to be able to talk to an older woman who actually cares about the same things he cares about."
"Well, that sounds..." Her voice trailed off.
"I hope the word 'romantic' wasn't the one you were searching for, because I can tell you with utter conviction that it's anything but that."
"But he was so... sweet."
"Fine. You date him."
"I've got Nik."
"Have you?" She arched an eyebrow. "Just how much have you 'got' him? Have you and he-?"
"Mother!" Robin once again found herself astounded at the direction the conversation was going. "For heaven's sake! This is our first date!"
"I thought," said Morgan, washing her hands, "that you met when he saved your life."
"That wasn't a dating thing, though! That was a... a saving my life thing. So this is really our first date. And I'm sorry, but I just... well, I mean,
Mother, I shouldn't have to explain it beyond that. It's only a first date."
"Don't sell a first date short, Robin," said Morgan, drying her hands.
"What do you mean by that?"
Morgan smiled enigmatically. "Where do you think you came from?" Shaking the last bit of moisture off her hands, she walked out of the restroom.
"That was more than I needed to know," said Robin.
THE JUDGE
THE INTERVENING WEEKS between Burgoyne's arrival and the actual time of judgment were not easy for Selar.
She endeavored to pursue her normal life's activities without any outward-or even inner-acknowledgment of what was going on. She was made aware, through intermediaries, that Burgoyne had filed the appeal, gone through various sources, and made a direct challenge for hir rights as the parent. It was a rather unusual situation for the Judgment Council to be confronted with and, naturally, being Vulcans, they approached it in a methodical, particular and-ultimately-logical manner. Such things, of course, took time.
Selar kept waiting for Burgoyne to show up again at her doorstep, to see the child once more. She was somewhat surprised, however, to receive a message early on in the process from hir. It was simple, succinct, and to the point: Burgoyne had no desire to cre- ate a series of confrontational situations. S/he felt it would serve no one, and was content to let the process unfold in the standard and accepted manner. S/he wished to make it clear that in no way did it indicate a diminishment of hir interest in Xyon... or, in a way, even in Selar herself. "Perhaps this will be an instance," Burgoyne concluded, "in which absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"I would not count on that," Selar said, but naturally there was no response, since the message was simply a recording. Selar shut the recording off and prepared to delete it from her computer files... and then, for no reason that she could really discern, elected to keep it. She told herself that perhaps, at some point in the future, it could be used as some sort of evidence. This, of course, did not explain why, every so often, she felt the urge to play the recording and just watch Burgoyne speak. It was an annoying thing for her to do, and she couldn't understand why she did it... even as she did it.
She only saw Burgoyne once during the intervening weeks. As Selar was rounding a corner one day, on her way home, she spotted Burgoyne emerging from a library.
S/he didn't spot Selar, being apparently lost in thought. Se
lar intended to go on her way once Burgoyne was gone, but instead found her feet directing her-almost as if by their own accord-to the library. There she asked the curator what it was that Burgoyne was looking into.
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