by Peter David
“Amazing,” Calhoun said, gesturing around at the spaceport where they’d landed. “None of this was here years ago. Now look how built up it is.”
“Built up” was hardly the phrase Shelby would have used. It was one of the smallest spaceports she’d ever been to, with exactly two landing fields as opposed to the typical nine or ten, and no conveniences for the transporting of luggage. But Calhoun seemed impressed by it, and she had to suppose that, for him, it was impressive. He had, after all, walked this world when he was little more than a savage fighting for his world’s freedom, and even a simple glass of water was considered an amenity. So she supposed it was all relative.
Calhoun obtained a land skimmer to take them the fairly short distance to his home territory of Calhoun, the location that had provided him the last name he’d adopted for his career in Starfleet. “Mackenzie Calhoun” was a much easier name for non-Xenexians to say than his given name of M’k’n’zy of Calhoun.
Upon arriving in Calhoun, he was greeted boisterously by other Xenexians, who spoke at him in their rapid-fire native tongue. They’d received advance word of Calhoun’s survival when he’d previously been believed dead, so naturally there were joyous greetings from all. The Universal Translator handled it all for Shelby, of course, but she was nevertheless struck by how raunchy and racy virtually all of the Xenexian expressions were. “You look well!” for instance, was literally translated as “I wager your genitals have not shrunk!” It wasn’t enough to bring a flush of embarrassment to Shelby’s cheeks, but it was sufficient to throw her slightly off her stride. Nor did any of the Xenexians make the slightest pretense of doing anything other than openly sizing her up. They looked her up and down as if assessing a potential racehorse, and they were quite vocal in their appraisals. Some dismissed her as “too stringy,” which made it sound like they were considering whether she’d make a good meal. Others, however, nodded approvingly, and made candid comments about which parts of her anatomy were the most pleasing.
In short, the Xenexians displayed a total lack of tact. So much so, in fact, that it gave her a new, fuller appreciation for all the strides that Calhoun had made in his time with Starfleet. Her husband might have been a maverick with little regard for rules and regulations, but at least he didn’t meet women and say, “Your hips seem more than adequate for child-bearing.”
D’ndai, Calhoun’s brother, was not on Xenex, a discovery that disappointed and frustrated Calhoun. D’ndai was ostensibly in important meetings on Danter and couldn’t get away. “He’s there so much, one would almost think he was becoming Danteri,” grumbled more than one of the Xenexians, who looked to D’ndai for leadership. From Calhoun’s grim expression, it seemed to Shelby that possible problems for D’ndai might be arising in the near future if these attitudes among his people continued.
Finally, Calhoun turned to her and said, “This way.” Cutting through the throng, shaking hands, assuring them that he’d take the time to continue conversations later, he led her across the city. The buildings were all very simple, built low to the ground, and although Calhoun kept commenting on how living conditions on Xenex had improved, it still looked terribly primitive to her. But Shelby was, first and foremost, a Starfleet officer, and she refused to sit in judgment on the Xenexians.
“Here,” Calhoun said finally when they stopped in front of one particular house. It was smaller than the others, and the exterior was covered with various symbols and signs that Shelby couldn’t begin to comprehend. Calhoun saw the way she was looking at them, and said by way of explanation, “They’re prayer symbols, asking the gods for strength, wisdom, and guidance.”
“Ah,” said Shelby. “Well, they’re very nice. Very striking. Is this the residence of the shaman…?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “B’ndri. He has been the shaman here since I was very young. He seemed ancient to me even then, so I can’t even begin to guess how he’ll look now. But he was always supportive of me, particularly when I took on the responsibilities of warlord. If he hadn’t been behind me, I doubt I would have gotten the confidence of the people…or perhaps even had confidence in myself.”
“I find it hard to picture you without confidence in yourself,” Shelby said with a grin.
Calhoun returned the grin, and then knocked on the edge of the front door. There was silence from within for a moment, and then a gravelly voice said, “Come, M’k’n’zy.”
Shelby and Calhoun exchanged glances. “How did he know?” she asked.
He shrugged. “He just does.” Then he led the way in and she followed, feeling a bit tentative and mentally assuring herself there was no need for her to be that way. She had met any number of planetary dignitaries under a vast array of circumstances. Granted, this had a certain personal involvement, but nevertheless, it shouldn’t be anything she couldn’t handle.
The moment she entered the small house, she started wondering if she was wrong.
There was exactly one room in the place, and the man she presumed to be the shaman was seated directly in the middle of it. He was wearing long blue robes, with a gray beard dangling from the point of his chin, and his lighter gray hair splayed around his head as if it had exploded there instead of growing upon it in orderly fashion. His eyebrows were so thick that it was difficult to see his eyes beneath them. He was seated cross-legged upon the floor, his hands resting upon his knees. The room itself was devoid of furnishings. If he had possessions, Shelby couldn’t see where they were.
Calhoun bowed deeply to him, and Shelby immediately imitated. “I bring greetings, B’ndri,” said Calhoun. “It has been a long time.”
“Too long, M’k’n’zy,” replied B’ndri, “so long that I have come to believe you have forgotten your roots.” The problem was, he wasn’t looking at Calhoun. He was looking at Shelby.
“Never, B’ndri,” Calhoun said.
“You say never. Yet you do not even call yourself M’k’n’zy anymore, do you?” Still he was focused on Shelby. It was disconcerting.
“It was painful to hear offworlders pronounce it,” said Calhoun lightly, clearly trying to bring some levity to the proceedings. Unsurprisingly, B’ndri didn’t so much as crack a smile. Calhoun cleared his throat loudly and said, “B’ndri, it is with the greatest supplication that I present you my mate, Elizabeth Paula Shelby. Elizabeth, this is the honorable B’ndri.”
To play it safe, she bowed again. “A great honor indeed, sir,” she said.
He looked her up and down, and then finally stared at Calhoun. “This is one of those who has weakened you.”
“What?” said Shelby.
“What?” echoed Calhoun, shaking his head. “Honored one, no. She has been a source of strength, not weakness. I’ve learned much from her…”
“And I from him,” Shelby quickly added. “That’s why we’re so good for each other. We shore up each other’s weaknesses…”
“The world you represent is the only weakness that M’k’n’zy has had to contend with,” B’ndri told her. “He was a great man, a great leader, before he left here.”
“And I still am,” Calhoun said flatly. She could see that he was becoming more irritated with each passing moment. “Honored one, with all the respect in the world…you seem ready to pass judgment on me, and on Elizabeth, so quickly…yet you hardly know us….”
“That,” B’ndri said, “is precisely the point, M’k’n’zy. Once, you were someone I knew. Someone I knew better than he knew himself. I look at you now…and it is as if the M’k’n’zy I knew is gone. As if his warrior heart has been cut out.”
Calhoun looked visibly staggered at that, and it was more than Shelby could take. She kept her voice neutral, polite, but there was undeniable iron in it as well. “Again, with all respect, sir…you’re wrong.”
“Eppy,” Calhoun tried to say.
But she’d started talking and wouldn’t back off. “This man, whether you call him M’k’n’zy or Mackenzie, has more of a warrior heart than anyone I’ve ever met
. It’s what has gotten him through all of the challenges he’s had to face, be it adjusting to the world of Starfleet or facing down death itself. He never gives up, never stops believing in himself. It’s the thing that most attracts me to him.”
“Indeed. You are attracted to it…because you yourself do not possess it?”
Shelby was thunderstruck that he would say such a thing, but it was Calhoun who immediately responded. “No, B’ndri. Not at all. Elizabeth has just as strong and determined a heart as me. I couldn’t love her, marry her, if she did not.”
“So I am to take your choosing to wed this woman as sufficient proof that she is what you say she is. That she is a fit mate?” asked B’ndri. “I am to substitute your judgment for my own? Have you grown so far from our ways, M’k’n’zy, that that is what you would expect of me?”
And Shelby saw the darkening of the scar on Calhoun’s face. She knew what it meant, knew that his temper was starting to become inflamed. Obviously he had come into this situation with a set of expectations as to how it would go, and what he was getting instead was so far away from those expectations that he was having trouble keeping himself in check. “B’ndri,” Calhoun said with exaggerated attempt at self-control, “your support, your blessing…means a great deal to me. But Elizabeth means the world to me, and if you’re unable to—”
“Wait,” Shelby interrupted, and Calhoun looked at her curiously. She reached over, put a hand on his arm, and said softly, “Don’t try to diminish what this means to you. I know you. I can see it in your eyes, in your face. Let me try to make this right.”
“But…”
“Please.” And before he could say anything else, she turned to B’ndri and said, “What would I have to do?”
“Do?” said B’ndri, challenge in his voice.
“You spoke of substituting Mac’s…M’k’n’zy’s,” she said, stumbling over the pronunciation as best she could, “judgment for your own. But you can’t make a judgment based on nothing. There must be something, some sort of procedure. Questions you can ask, traditions. I know cultures such as yours. They’re always steeped in traditions.”
“Eppy, you don’t know what you’re saying,” Calhoun told her.
“She speaks accurately enough for one who doesn’t know,” B’ndri observed, and that comment bolstered her confidence.
“All right, then,” Shelby said. “You’re the shaman. The wise man. If there are any procedures, any official ways to test worthiness, you would know them.”
“I would,” he said, “and there are.”
“Eppy, for the love of God, this isn’t necessary….”
“Yes, it is,” she told him. “The shaman claims he knows you better than you know yourself. Well, to some degree, I do, too. You’re willing to walk away from this on my behalf, but I know you. It took a lot for you to admit to me that this meant a great deal to you in the first place. Try to diminish it now, and that will only make its absence worse. I won’t be responsible for that.”
“Eppy, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Well, maybe I have to prove something to myself,” she said. “You came a long way to be a part of my world, Mac. Maybe, before we embark on our wedded life together, I should try to come a little way toward being part of yours.” She turned back to the shaman. “I’m sure there’s some sort of official words, but let me just say it this way: I desire your blessing on our union, and I desire for you to conduct a ceremony that will join us, in the eyes of the gods of Xenex, as mates. Whatever I need do to prove to you I’m worthy of this blessing, tell me and I’ll do.”
“Very well,” said the shaman. “The tests will begin immediately.”
“Grozit, no,” Calhoun immediately said, and turned to Shelby. “Eppy, listen to me. You don’t understand. This is an ancient series of rituals that we almost never do anymore. You won’t be able to handle it. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. It’s not right that—”
Shelby bristled at that. “What do you mean, ‘won’t be able to handle it’? I’m a Starfleet officer, Mac, and I’m also your wife. Don’t underestimate me, and don’t underestimate what I can handle.”
“The rituals will take three days,” said the shaman.
“See?” Calhoun said quickly. “Three days. We’re supposed to be on Risa by tomorrow morning….”
“Then Risa will wait,” Shelby said firmly. “Mac…you came back from the dead for me. I can do this for you. And don’t you dare, ever, tell me there’s something I can’t handle. It’s insulting.”
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
“I can take care of myself,” said Shelby.
They were given temporary quarters, and Shelby was marched off for the first of the trials.
Calhoun sat there and waited, worrying. He sat there as the sun crawled across the Xenexian sky and, ever so slowly, set.
Finally he heard footsteps at the door and rose.
Shelby entered. Her face was streaked with dirt. Half of one of her eyebrows was burned off. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes were bloodshot. Her left nostril was caked with blood.
“Eppy,” Calhoun said softly, and started toward her.
She put up a hand and whispered, “Piece of cake. No problem.”
“Eppy, let’s just get out of here. This is—”
“Remember survival training?” she asked, her voice still a whisper.
“This…doesn’t even come close to that. It’s…it’s nice to know…I can still handle it. Don’t worry about it. Just…help me get…my clothes off…wash me down…maybe…we can even make the night…interesting.”
He did as she asked. And once her clothes were off and he’d washed the soil and dirt from her, she promptly fell asleep, curled up naked against him. He held her close, shaking his head. “You’re crazy,” he said quietly, and resolved to get her out of there first thing next morning.
When he woke up, she was already gone. She’d left behind a note that said, “Don’t you even think about interfering.”
The day passed slowly. Calhoun thought he was going to go out of his mind with worry.
When the sun set, Shelby staggered in. She was limping. Her other eyebrow was completely gone. She had small red bumps all over her skin. “What the hell…?”
“Insect bites,” she said, her voice hoarse. She held up a tube. “They…gave me this for them. Clear ’em right up….”
“Eppy, this is insane! The hell with the shaman! The hell with all of them! We’re leaving right now!”
“The only way I’m leaving,” she told him, surprising strength in her voice, “is if you pick me up and carry me out of here.”
“Not a problem,” said Calhoun.
He reached for her, and she promptly backed up, even though her legs were wavering. She leaned against the wall to shore herself up. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Well, those are the words that every husband wants to hear during his honeymoon,” he said. “Elizabeth, what are you trying to prove here? That you can be as stubborn and pigheaded as me? Okay. Fine. You’ve proven it. Now let’s go.”
“You know what, Calhoun,” she rasped out. “Sometimes not everything in the galaxy is about you. Sometimes things get to be about me.”
“I got you into this, Eppy! How in the name of all that’s holy is this possibly about you?”
“Because maybe I want to prove something to myself instead of you.”
“And what would that be?” he demanded, fists on his hips.
“You showed up, years ago, at the Academy. This…this…” she gestured helplessly. “This guy. This barbarian. There, I said it. Barbarian. And you went and proved that you could be as good as anybody we had at the Academy. Better. Well, maybe what I need to prove is that I can come into your world and prove that I can be as good as any Xenexian woman.”
“But you can’t!” and he immediately regretted saying it as he saw her expression. Quickly he tried to repair the damage. “Eppy…it’s
a different environment. A different culture. Xenexian women…particularly in the ancient times that spawned these tests…they were bred from birth to withstand all manner of challenges, physical and mental, that simply aren’t part of your world. It’s ludicrous to expect you to make up for that gap in upbringing simply out of sheer willpower. It’s too grotesquely unfair to you. It’s not a proper test of the type of woman you are.”
“I disagree. I think it’s exactly the type of test I need…and maybe the type you need as well.”
“I don’t need a…”
She gripped him by the shoulder and said intensely, “Bull. You do. Admit it. You think you’re superior to me. That your culture, your upbringing are superior to mine.”
“I thought you said not everything in the galaxy is about me.”
“I lied. Happy? Admit it.”
“No. I don’t feel that way.”
“Yes, you do. You always have. You think you know better than me about everything. About how to live. About how to think. About rules, about conduct, about…”
“Eppy!” He was stunned by the vehemence in her voice. “If you feel this way about me, if you’re so convinced I think so little of you, why the hell did you marry me in the first place? Maybe this was a huge mistake!”
“Maybe it was,” she said.
They stood there for a long moment, and she started to tremble. He thought she was going to cry, and he reached for her. But she brought her arms up and brushed him away. He stepped back and she fought for control, finally achieving it.
She held up the cream.
“Would you rub this on me, please?” she asked.