Star Trek - NF - 10 - Excalibur 2 - Renaissance

by Renaissance(Lit)

  "Scotty, to be honest, I wasn't really intending to look for romance."

  "Don't lie t'me, Morgan," he said, sounding a bit scolding. "Ye can lie t'others, and even t'yerself. But never t'me."

  "Sorry," she apologized, and meant it. If there was one thing that this fellow seemed to have in abundance, it was pride.

  "It's just that... well... ah hadn't really been lookin' for romance muhself.

  Not that there haven't been opportunities, ye understand. After all, ah am loaded with charisma," he said modestly.

  "That goes without saying."

  "Aye, but ah thought ah would say it anyway. Women have come through here, and don't think ah'm not aware when they're givin' me the once, twice and even three times over. But at muh age, ah tend t'be more interested in what's above a woman's neck, not below it."

  "But romance doesn't have to be solely a matter of what's 'below the neck,'

  Scotty. Although, please, don't misunderstand: Our time together has been wonderfully engaging. I mean, the chat about phase coil replication alone was enough to keep my head whirling for hours."

  "Are ye makin' fun of me, now?"

  "No, I'm quite serious. It's just that... well... sometimes..." She smiled.

  "Sometimes a woman is more interested in looking at the stars than discussing how to navigate them. You see?"

  "Aye."

  They were silent for a time, and then Scotty said, "He's coming."

  From the way that he'd said "he," Morgan knew instantly to whom he was referring. She turned and, sure enough, there was Rafe heading toward them. No longer in bathing attire, he was still dressed casually, and he looked rather amused that Morgan was talking with the engineer.

  "Well, well," he called over to them. "Nik was otherwise occupied, so I thought

  I'd come back and pick up where we left off... and here Mr. Scott has already picked up where I left off."

  "Just chattin'. Ye needn't worry," Scotty said diplomatically.

  "Oh, I wasn't worried at all." He drew up so that he was alongside them, without making any attempt to step between the two of them. "I wasn't aware that your duties ever really took you out of your personalized bar, Mr. Scott."

  "Ah, muh 'duties' are fairly loosely defined," Scotty assured him. "Ah can come and go as ah please. The management here is quite accommodatin'. Probably comes from muh not needin' th' work."

  "And yet you choose to remain here. Interesting. And you feel fulfilled?" asked

  Rafe.

  Scotty eyed him with obvious suspicion. "The way ye just said that... makes it sound as if ye had somethin' else in mind."

  "Yes, Rafe, I must admit it sounded that way to me, too." The gaze of Morgan's dark eyes played over him.

  Rafe did not seem the least nonplussed. "Very simple. I have a rather large business endeavor. And from everything I've heard and read, Mr. Scott, you are a rather talented individual. My company could use a man like you. We're doing work on computer systems that make the work of UFP scientists-even those at the

  Daystrom Institute-look primitive in comparison. Although I admit, of course, that Daystrom was a genius, back in the day-"

  "Really. Poor fellow was comin' apart at the seams, last ah saw 'im."

  Rafe appeared momentarily startled, and then smiled politely. "Yes. Of course.

  Foolish of me. You do tend to go back quite some time, don't you?"

  "Aye, that's right. Ah do."

  Rafe studied Scotty a moment more and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Mr.

  Scott... I think you have something to say to me. Am I wrong?"

  Before Scotty could reply, Morgan put up her hands, one against each of them.

  "Gentlemen... I don't think this discussion is going to get anyone anywhere."

  "Ah was just thinkin' the same thing. If ye will excuse me... ah believe ah've said everything ah can, or should, say on the matter. And ah have other guests to attend to." He bowed graciously to Morgan, taking her hand suavely and kissing her on the knuckles. But she saw that his gaze was focused not on her, but on Rafe. Oh, yes, Scotty was making it abundantly clear that he had serious reservations about Rafe Viola.

  Were they founded? Morgan didn't think so. The piece of information Scotty was missing in all of this was that Morgan had lived quite a few lifetimes, and was not remotely what one would term "naive." She knew her way around the universe, and had met all types. Scotty might fancy himself the worldly-wise type, honor-bound to watch out for the delicate sensibilities of less experienced females. But that didn't make his perception of things correct, and since Morgan knew that, she could respond accordingly to his stated paranoia. Simply put, she knew better than he did. She knew it, and he didn't. Based on that alone, there was no reason she should accord any great weight to his concerns... at least, not to the extent that it outweighed her own judgment.

  Scotty thought himself hi a better position to judge than Morgan was. Morgan knew better. Of course she wasn't going to tell Scotty that she knew better, or why. There were some things she just didn't feel the need to share.

  Still...

  Rafe looked to her, clear puzzlement in his eyes as he watched Scotty walk away.

  "Would you mind telling me what that was all about?" he asked.

  "Nothing extraordinary. He talked. I listened."

  "And what did you two talk about?"

  "About how nosy you are."

  He laughed at that... but there was just the slightest hint, Morgan thought, that he didn't find it the least bit funny. But then the momentary doubt was gone, replaced by her endless confidence that she knew exactly what she was doing.

  SELAR & BURGOYNE

  "You CANNOT BE SERIOUS," Giniv said, standing to one side with Selar. She kept casting glances in Burgoyne's direction. S/he was standing at the far end of the judgment grounds, engaging in a series of stretching exercises. Slon was speaking to hir in what were clearly low and urgent tones, but it was difficult to see whether Burgoyne was paying any attention to him at all. "You are not going to fight hir."

  "I do not see a good deal of choice being presented me," Selar replied. She was no more sanguine about the notion than Giniv. "But the alternative is that I hand my child over to hir. You do not seriously expect me to do so."

  "It did occur to me."

  Selar looked at her with barely contained surprise. "It... occurred to you? How could it?"

  "You do not seem the type to fight, Selar, but you seem even less the type to mother," Giniv said reasonably. "Given these two observations, it seemed reasonable to-"

  "I am not giving up my child."

  "You make it sound a matter of pride."

  "It is, to some degree," Selar said thoughtfully.

  "One would have thought it far more appropriate to be a matter of love."

  Selar frowned at her. "What would you have of me, Giniv? Burgoyne has sought refuge in the old ways. I cannot deny them, nor can you. I will simply have to... attend to this." She let out a steady breath. "There is one fortunate aspect of this, at least. Unlike a challenge at pon farr, it is not a battle to the death."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Yes," nodded Selar. "Even in the ancient times, no advantage was seen in the death of one parent or the other... to say nothing of risking the death of both.

  The losing parent was expected to abide by the decision made by force of arms

  ... and, hopefully, contribute in some way to his or her child's future. At least, that is how T'Pau explained it to us just now when we spoke privately of the matter."

  "I see. So you are saying that no one has ever died in this mad endeavor?"

  Selar hesitated and then said, "Not... precisely. There have been a few instances. Bad falls, mistimed blows to the head. It is not an exact science."

  "Selar!"

  "I have no choice," she said tightly. "Burgoyne is not walking away from this matter. I cannot. It is settled. The traditional weapons are being brought from the city. Ideally, within a
few minutes, the matter will be settled."

  "Or you will be dead."

  Selar nodded. "That would settle it."

  Slon cast a glance in his sister's direction, saw her in conference with Giniv, and then turned back to Burgoyne. "When I steered you to the Vulcan archives," he told Burgoyne, "it was simply to enable you to familiarize yourself with

  Vulcan law and tradition on the matter," he said. "I did not anticipate that you would embark on such an obscure path."

  Burgoyne stretched, catlike, extending each finger of both hands individually.

  Each one seemed to grow an inch as s/he did so. "That is the interesting thing about me. I tend to do the unexpected."

  "This is not a game, Burgoyne."

  '1 hope I don't appear to think it is."

  "No. But you do not seem to fully appreciate the consequences of your actions.

  Weaponry is unpredictable, and this is not some choreographed or rehearsed bit of business. One or the other of you could die."

  Burgoyne did not answer immediately. Instead, s/he was busy stretching one of hir legs back and over. There was a faint cracking of bone, a small sigh of relief from Burgoyne, and then s/he started working on the other leg. "I would venture to guess that we will both die," s/he said. "You will, too, I'd wager.

  Although frankly, I'm having my doubts about that T'Pau. She looks like she'll outlive us all. Instead, the planet might crack apart and she'll still be going about her business."

  "I certainly hope you are having fun hi this matter, Burgoyne, but I am most certainly not."

  "That's no surprise. I don't think Vulcans would know how to have fun if-"

  "Burgoyne." Slon's tone was sharper than he had intended. He steadied himself and said, "I am asking you to call this off."

  "No."

  "This is not a logical course."

  "No, it's not. It is totally illogical," said Burgoyne, ceasing hir warm-ups and stretching exercise. "But I'm not the one who came up with it. Your people did.

  And they came up with it at a time when your entire race was, frankly, a lot more interesting. No offense."

  "I could not take offense," Slon said reasonably.

  "No, you couldn't, could you? Just another one of the things that makes Vulcans, occasionally, rather boring." S/he regarded Slon with open curiosity. "Do you really, truly think that Xyon-that any child with my blood in him-could conceivably be happy here? Here on this world where joy, love, anger-all the things that give life its meaning, its juice-are actively discouraged?"

  "It is not about matters of blood. It is about matters of breeding. To that end, yes, I believe that Xyon could indeed know happiness here."

  "I disagree. And do you know why? Because I think your whole damned race has completely lost touch with the notion of what happiness is. The closest you come to being happy is when you're not feeling happy... or unhappy... or anything.

  You strive for nothingness."

  "We strive for balance."

  "Same thing."

  "No. It is not You do not understand us, Burgoyne."

  Burgoyne nodded. "I can easily believe that."

  "You think us emotionless, passionless, heartless. We are not. There are members of religious orders on other worlds who take oaths of celibacy, as do the

  Deltans when they are offworld. This does not render them in- capable of passions. It simply means that they contain them, bottle them. But the passions are there nevertheless, and should be neither ignored nor discounted."

  "I used to believe that. But when Selar cold-bloodedly walked off with my son, I decided I was wrong. No one who had any feelings, even contained, could have done such a thing."

  "You are wrong, but not in the way you think."

  "What are you saying?" asked Burgoyne.

  "I am saying," Slon told hir patiently, "that if you thrust Selar into a position where she must fight on her own behalf, or on behalf of her child-"

  "Our child."

  "-that you may get more than you bargained for. If you mistake her apparent lack of passion for actual absence of passion... you could get yourself killed."

  "Are you saying that I should be afraid?" Burgoyne said with a smile.

  The smile faded from hir face when Slon said, with absolute seriousness, "I know

  I am."

  Selar and Burgoyne faced each other, with T'Pau in the middle. She was no longer standing upon the elevated rock, but was instead on the ground, looking at one and then the other. Even though she was shorter than either of them, she seemed to loom over them.

  "Combat will begin with the lirpax," she intoned. "If both survive... it will continue with the ahn-soon."

  "Survive?" Giniv spoke up. "This is not supposed to be a battle to the death."

  "If all matters went as they were supposed to," T'Pau replied, "we would not have this situation."

  The Vulcans bearing the traditional bells shook them, and the tinkling floated over the area. As they did so, two stepped forward, each bearing fearsome-looking weapons. They walked forward in matched strides, and laid them at the feet of Burgoyne and Selar, respectively.

  It was a staff, about three feet long. Selar picked it up, hefted it experimentally. At one end was a large bludgeon, padded but still formidable. At the other end was a curved blade, but there was no cutting edge on it It had been blunted, although it was still intimidating enough; one could seriously injure another if it was used with enough force.

  This was the lirpax, a modified version of an even more devastating weapon called a lirpa, which Selar had only seen in museums. An actual lirpa's edge was razor-sharp, and there was no padding on the bludgeon. The lirpax was designed to stop and stun; the lirpa was created to kill.

  She saw that Burgoyne was hefting hirs experimentally, sweeping it through the air. S/he twirled it around a few times, swung it back and forth.

  And then s/he tossed it aside. It clattered across the polished ground and rolled to a stop at the far end.

  T'Pau looked at the discarded weapon, and then turned her flinty gaze on

  Burgoyne. "Is your lirpax inadequate in some way?" she inquired.

  "I don't like the weight of it," said Burgoyne. S/he bowed slightly. "No offense. I know, I know... you can't take any offense."

  "You wish another brought?"

  "No. I'll be fine without it."

  Selar's eyes narrowed. "What do you think you are doing, Burgoyne? What do you hope to prove? If you wish to provoke sympathy-"

  "That would be an error on my part; yes, I'm quite cognizant of that. I know what I'm doing," Burgoyne said easily. S/he was reaching down and removing hir boots.

  "Is there some purpose to this?" asked T'Pau.

  "Just trying to be comfortable." Hir boots removed, hir toes stretched individually in much the same way that hir fingers had. S/he took a few steps back and forth, balancing on the balls of hir feet.

  "It is obvious why you are doing this," said Selar.

  "Is it? Enlighten me."

  "So that, when you lose, you will be able to claim that it was because you did not wield a weapon."

  "I wield my body and my mind. Those are two weapons right there. Overdependence on weapons outside of those tend to make me sloppy. I can't afford sloppiness right now."

  "If this is your choice, it will be honored," T'Pau said.

  Selar could not quite keep the irked tone from her voice. "What of my choice," she said, "not to battle an unarmed opponent?"

  "If thee chooses not to battle... then thee forfeits," T'Pau said.

  "Then I do not really have a choice."

  "No," affirmed T'Pau.

  For a moment, Selar considered tossing her own weapon aside, to show that two could play at that game. Then she saw Burgoyne extend hir fingers, saw the claws on the ends of each finger, and decided that that plan of action might not be such a good one. She gripped the lirpax more tightly and set herself.

  T'Pau stepped away, clearing herself from the area of
combat. She looked stonily from one to the other, and then she barked an order for them to begin.

  Selar approached cautiously, learning the wielding of the lirpax as she went. The entire business had an air of unreality to it. She felt as if she were dreaming, her consciousness thrust into a primitive ancestor. She swung the lirpax cautiously this way and that, learning what it took to maneuver the weapon without losing control of it If she kept it too close to her body, that would allow Burgoyne to get within striking distance. If she swung it too far, she risked overbalancing and allowing it to fly out of her grip.