Star Trek

  “No club to the head?” she murmured. “I’m impressed.”

  ii.

  They made love on the bear rug, with the fire crackling nearby and Calhoun displaying near inexhaustible enthusiasm. And as they lay next to each other, curled up within the fur (which Shelby was beginning to suspect wasn’t synthetic at all) there was a part of Shelby that believed if she never did anything else again in her life, she would die happy. She knew it was an absurd sentiment to have. There was so much more she wanted to do, so many accomplishments that awaited her.

  She thought of Wexler and had never been more grateful to him in her life.

  “You know,” Calhoun said in her ear, startling her since she didn’t know he was awake, “according to ancient Xenexian custom, we’re engaged now.”

  “Really,” she said playfully. “Is that the same Xenexian custom that had you challenging Wex for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But we’re not on Xenex.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Not at the moment,” he said, wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger.

  “And are we engaged?”

  He lowered his hand and fixed his eyes upon her. “Do you want to be?” he asked gently.

  She was surprised by how briefly she had to consider that answer. “No,” she said. Then she added, “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you lying?” she asked suspiciously.

  “No.” Then he half-smiled. “Maybe. Tell you what. Let’s discuss it in six months.”

  “It’s a date,” she said, and snuggled closer to him.

  Chapter Eight

  Now

  “No.”

  Zak Kebron sat opposite Soleta in the Trident’s Ten-Forward. Her face was a study in mute determination. Kebron had the sinking feeling that he was more or less beaten before he’d even gotten started, but he knew he had to press onward. “You’re Janos’s only hope,” he insisted. “He’s passed every bioscan that we can throw at him. Either he did not commit the crime, or it’s buried so deep that nothing known to modern technology can get at it. If it’s the former, then, despite his rampage, a grave injustice is going to be done. If it’s the latter, then we have to—”

  “No,” she repeated. She had a glass of synthehol in front of her and she was staring at it resolutely.

  “I’m asking you as a friend.”

  “No.”

  “As chief of security in the midst of a murder investiga—”

  “No.”

  He paused, and then said firmly, “I could ask Captain Calhoun to order you to do it.”

  She looked up at him, her hard gaze piercing even his tough hide. “You’re going to ask Captain Calhoun to order me to perform a mind-meld with Janos? You would do that to me? You’d dare? You’d have the nerve to sit there and call on friendship and, when that doesn’t work, prove the depth of your friendship by threatening to have me forced to—”

  “It wasn’t a threat, Soleta.”

  “It damned well was a threat!” she practically exploded, slamming an open hand on the table, jostling the half-drained bottle of synthehol that sat between them. The outburst brought the attention of everyone in the place to them until Kebron’s glare prompted them to become very involved once more in whatever they’d just been doing.

  Kebron realized that whatever confidence he’d had that discussing the matter in a public venue would keep a lid on feelings was obviously misplaced. “It wasn’t intended as a threat,” he amended. “If it came across that way, I apologize.”

  “Oh, you apologize,” she snorted.

  “Yes. I do. I was just trying to show you how strongly I feel about this.”

  She gave a short, bitter laugh. She’d never sounded less Vulcan than she did at that moment. “You are some piece of work, Kebron. You really are. I come over here to the Trident for twenty-four hours’ personal leave, and you follow me over. You invite me here to the lounge, tell me you want to buy me a drink. And then you dump this on me.”

  “Soleta, it’s not as if you haven’t used your mind-meld capabilities before. And great good has always come from it.”

  “God,” she shook her head. “You are so clueless. You truly are. You have no idea, no…”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “You wouldn’t understand…”

  “Explain it anyway.”

  She started to get up from the table. His every instinct was to rise as well, to try and block her way, but he fought the impulse because he knew it was going to bring him into direct conflict with her instinct. And her instinct right now was to get away from him. If he endeavored to battle it, all it would do would be to harden her even more. So he stayed right where he was.

  Soleta strode halfway to the door, then slowed, then stopped. Her shoulders sagged, and she turned around and returned to the table, flopping back into the seat opposite him. Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief even as, on the exterior, he remained as inscrutable as ever.

  “Every time,” she said, “that I’ve melded with someone, it’s sapped me. Left me feeling drained, exposed. Someone truly skilled in the mind-meld is able to block that. No matter how much they blend minds with another, they still preserve their core, their true sense of self and identity. They keep it…I don’t know, hidden away where nothing can touch it. I don’t have the training or sophistication for that. So I just throw myself into it. It’s the only way I can accomplish it, to utterly commit myself.”

  “Such dedication is commendable.”

  “Such foolhardiness is idiotic,” she corrected him tartly. “And now…now of all times…”

  “What do you mean, ‘of all times…’” Then slow comprehension began to dawn. “Oh. You are…referring to the recent business with the Beings…”

  “Yes. That,” she said, her tone dour. “In case you didn’t notice, that ambrosia of theirs robbed me of my personality. Made me into their willing worshiper, their…”

  “Their what?”

  Her mouth snapped closed and brought a veil of detachment across herself to shut down the pain briefly reflected in her eyes. “Kebron…picture my sense of self as…I don’t know…a blanket. After what happened to me, after all I’ve been through, that blanket is now shredded and filled with holes. It will recover, I assure you of that. But it will take time. Time for the blanket to…to heal.”

  “Blankets don’t actually heal, since they’re not sentient or alive in any—”

  “Quiet.”

  “Okay.”

  “To be mended, then,” she continued. “And during that time, the blanket has to be protected. Folded up, tucked away in a drawer, and no one or nothing comes near it. And you’re coming to me and saying, Soleta, I want you to take this blanket and throw it on top of someone else. Someone who is, by all evidence, capable of such berserker behavior that he could shred the remains of this blanket beyond any possible hope of retrieval. Do you understand what I’m saying now?”

  “I think so,” he said slowly. “You’re saying that if you went into Janos’s mind, you’d be putting your own mind at grave risk.”

  “Zak…if he turned on me mentally…if by delving into his conscious or subconscious, I unleashed a savage aspect of his mind and then came into conflict with it…with my lowered defenses, he could psychically tear me to bits. I’d just…” Her chin began to tremble. The prospect of seeing her cry was horrifying to Kebron. “I’d just…there’d be nothing left of me. I’d just be a vegetable, I’d…”

  He reached across the table and put one massive hand atop both of hers. The contact seemed to steady her and she looked at him, her eyes limpid and no longer fierce. “Zak…please…” she whispered.

  “I am a terrible friend,” said Zak Kebron. “I should never have been so selfish as to ask you to do such a thing against your will. I’m truly sorry.”

  The edges of her mouth twitched upward. “No…you’re a good friend. In this case, you we
re trying to be a friend to Janos. You were caught between loyalties.”

  “I’d never really have asked Captain Calhoun to order you.”

  “Yes, you would have.”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But he never would have done it.”

  “He might have. At which point I’d have resigned my commission, and he’d have had no authority over me, so that would have been that.”

  “I’m relieved it didn’t come to that.”

  “I’m not sure I am.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She waved it off as she shook her head. “Nothing. It’s meaningless. Forget I said anything.”

  “All right.” He felt it was the wisest course to do as she requested.

  “And…I’m sorry, Zak. I really am. I feel like I’m letting you down.”

  “Don’t concern yourself. It was a long shot anyway. I had to do something.” He sighed heavily, which, once again, sounded frighteningly similar to an earthquake rumbling in the distance. “I was foolish to undertake this. I’m friends with the accused murderer. I haven’t been able to approach this investigation in anything remotely resembling a neutral fashion.”

  “What’s done is done,” Soleta said, sounding much more like her normal self.

  He pondered the situation. “I could go to Dr. Selar, ask her if she would be willing…but no.” He cut off the notion before it went anywhere. “No, she’s even more reserved and distant than you. I doubt she would perform a mind-meld with Janos…”

  “I think you’re correct,” she agreed. “At the most, I could see Selar engaging in a meld if it were of medical necessity, and even then she would be reluctant. This is in the context of a murder investigation. I just don’t see her…”

  Kebron glanced over at her as her voice trailed off. “What?” When she didn’t reply immediately, he repeated, “What?”

  “You never asked the reason I came here. To the Trident.”

  “I simply assumed you were visiting friends or acquaintances here.”

  “Well…you were right about that. But I came to visit a specific friend-or-acquaintance for a specific reason.”

  “That being?”

  “I more or less told you already,” she said. “After the ambrosia and the business with the Beings, I was mentally off balance. I couldn’t find any sort of peaceful, calm center. Such a mental state can be crippling. If allowed to continue, it would have wound up affecting my work, my off-duty time…my entire life, really. So I wanted to talk to someone who has a great deal of experience with everything from losing control of one’s faculties to encounters with creatures such as the Beings. Fortunately enough, he was right here on the Trident, just finishing up some sort of talks with the Tholians. He took the time to meet with me, to speak with me at length. Gave me some simple exercises to perform, designed to help restore balance.”

  “Have they worked?”

  “They are working…or they were until you came here and put my equanimity out of joint.”

  “There are only so many ways, Soleta, that I can apologize.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she assured him. “That’s not the reason I’m bringing this up. The thing is, if anyone is capable of probing the depths of Janos’s mind, it’d be the person I came here to talk to.”

  “And he wouldn’t be afraid to do it?”

  With a lopsided smile that looked completely out of place on her, Soleta said, “Truthfully…I don’t think he’s afraid of anything.”

  Then

  Calhoun couldn’t believe how quickly the six months had flown past.

  He lay next to Shelby in her quarters, and reflected on the fact that it had actually all worked out for the best. Shelby had a stunning roommate named Leanne Gold. They had found much to commiserate on, since both of them had younger siblings who were intent to get into Starfleet at the earliest opportunity, and were wildly annoying besides. (Hardly a day went by when Leanne didn’t comment about the latest correspondence from her annoying kid brother, Mickey, who seemed to delight in pushing all the buttons that annoyed Leanne when they were both much younger.) Calhoun considered the whole thing rather juvenile, but the upside was that Leanne had had her eye on Wexler for quite some time. As soon as Shelby confirmed that she and Wex had gone bust, Leanne made a serious pass, which was promptly and gratefully completed. It had all been so damned civilized that they’d actually become a friendly foursome, forming a study group, socializing, and generally solidifying the relationship that might have deteriorated still further considering the circumstances.

  Calhoun’s breathing was returning slowly to normal, and Shelby was curled up next to him, one bare leg draped across his. The sex had been spectacular, as always. He was drifting back to sleep, bathed in warmth, and then she pushed gently on his chest. “Get up,” she said.

  There was something about the way she said it, something about her voice, that triggered a recollection. He knew the words she was going to utter before she did so.

  “Get up, sleepyhead,” she said, not noticing that he was mouthing the words along with her.

  Get up, Mac, we have things to do….

  She nudged him once more, playfully. “Get up, Mac. We have things to do.” Which was certainly true enough. They had the day off, and were planning upon a number of relaxing and fun diversions in San Francisco.

  Except his mind was as far away from those things as could possibly be. Instead he was back in the desert of Xenex, and he was dying, and there she was, his vision. A vision that had been a guidepost to him. A touchstone for the journey that he had undertaken that had led him so far away from his native world.

  He had reached that point. He had found her, had found this moment.

  And…

  …now what?

  The question in his mind left a chill in him that he was most surprised to discover. What was that supposed to mean, now what? Now…there was her. There was Elizabeth Paula Shelby.

  He had tried calling her “Betty,” since that was the affectionate name that Wexler had used. But she had reacted rather violently to that, and he had quickly set it aside. So more often than not, he simply addressed her as “Elizabeth.”

  Except when he was either feeling affectionate or just wanted to throw her off her stride a bit. Then he would call her “Eppy,” an abbreviated form of the initials forming “Elizabeth Paula.” Depending upon her mood, she would smile at it or be annoyed by it. To Calhoun it didn’t matter particularly how she felt. He called her what he felt like calling her.

  That vision he’d had in the desert…it had given him hints of what was to come. Picard had been there, as had Shelby, and Picard had shown up twice. One vision, of Picard, had already come true; another was from a period later in his life. And Shelby…

  He’d seen nothing further of her beyond this moment.

  What if…

  What if this was as good as it got? What if this was all they were destined to have?

  Mackenzie Calhoun was unaccustomed to uncertainty. Throughout his life, he had always known exactly what he wanted, and gone about getting it in as direct and straightforward a manner as he could. And his view of his relationship with Shelby, and where they were going, had likewise seemed clear.

  Now, though, he felt hesitation creeping into the hidden recesses of his mind. What if he had seen up to this moment and no further because they were not truly meant to be together? The truth was that he had indeed thought of her as his fiancée from the moment they’d first coupled. That was the Xenexian way. Part of him had bridled against the fact that Shelby didn’t feel likewise, or at least said she didn’t.

  But he might be wrong. It had happened, once or twice before, that he’d been wrong. So it wasn’t without precedent.

  And because uncertainty was such a foreign aspect of life to Mackenzie Calhoun, he fought against it with all his might. He had to know precisely what he was doing, exactly what was going to happen, every step of the way. He wanted, needed to have con
trol over that which was to come, as unreasonable a goal as that was.

  He had been so positive that he and Shelby would be together forever. But through the crack of hesitation that had opened in the dam of his mind, second-guessing now came flooding through. It washed through him, poured through every aspect of him, and just like that—just like that—everything that he’d ever concluded with conviction about himself and Shelby was thrown into mental disarray.

  None of this showed in his demeanor.

  No one would have been able to tell just by looking at him that he was adrift in a sea of incertitude. To any observer, he was simply smiling fixedly at Shelby in precisely the same way he had been before.

  But Shelby wasn’t just any observer.

  He could see in her eyes that she knew something was up. She focused on him intently.

  “What are you thinking, Mac?” she asked.

  He felt defensive, which was yet another unusual sensation for him. “How can you tell I’m ‘thinking’ anything?”

  “Your eyes spin counterclockwise,” she said with such gravity that for a moment he thought she meant it. Then she smiled and tapped the side of his head. “C’mon…what’s going through that Xenexian brain of yours?”

  He wanted to lie to her. But he had never done so…certainly not about anything of importance. And he didn’t want to start now. Still, he himself wasn’t entirely certain of what was going through his head, or what conclusions he was rushing toward. Proceeding delicately, he said, “I’m thinking about us. Wondering if we’re going to make it as a couple.”

  “Really,” she said lightly. She nestled up against him, resting a hand on his chest. Probably she thought it was some sort of game. She figured she knew the answer even as she asked, “And what’s your conclusion?”

  If she had asked him five minutes earlier, or five minutes later, the chances were that she would have received an entirely different response. But at the moment she inquired, Calhoun—his mind racked with uncertainty—said with heavy candor, “That we won’t.”