Star Trek New Frontier 09 Excalibur 01 Requiem

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PREVIOUSLY

STAR TREK NEW FRONTIER...

THE NORMAL LOW-LEVEL BUZZ of conversation on the bridge tapered off as Captain Calhoun

stepped out from the rurbolift.

He had missed an entire shift, which was unprecedented for him. Everyone understood, however, and no

one knew quite what to say to him when he did reappear.

He went to his command chair, took his seat, and when he looked around at the respectfully silent crew,

a smile played across his lips. It was a sad smile, but a smile just the same.

"Captain," began Shelby.

"Commander... it's all right," he interrupted. "All of you ... really ... it's all right. The important thing ... the

thing I'm not going to lose sight of ... is that he went out like a warrior."

There were nods from all around.

"It was very . . . Xenexian of him, believe it or not. The notion of dying in one's bed is anathema to my

people. To die in combat, on the other hand, is very much to be desired ... and to die in combat while

saving others is the highest, most noble passing that anyone could wish for. I will miss him . . . and regret

the time that we did not spend together, and the time we will not have . . . but the bottom line is, he died

heroically. All of us ... should only be so fortunate as to have that opportunity," said Mackenzie Calhoun,

five minutes before the Excalibur blew up....

POST MORTEMS...

"I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE the ship blew up."

Mark McHenry had shown up exactly at the appointed time, which was rather surprising to Elizabeth

Paula Shelby. She would have been willing to bet that if anyone had shown up late, it was going to be

McHenry. The former navigator of the former Starship Excalibur, despite his nearly supernatural ability to

know precisely where he was in the galaxy at any given moment (with or without instrumentation), still

seemed like a rather unstable individual to Shelby. She had grown accustomed to him, at best, but never

truly comfortable. If there was any member of her crew that she suspected would "flake out" at some

point, it was McHenry.

Her crew.

Mentally she corrected herself. No, it wasn't her crew anymore, was it. They were just. . . people. Peo-

ple getting together at a San Francisco bar that was a popular hangout for Starfleet personnel. Puckishly

named for the Starfleet oath, the bar-Strange New Worlds (its motto "Explore Us!")-had been around

for as long as anyone could remember. The only bar with a longer-standing reputation than Strange New

Worlds was the Captain's Table, and that was considered more of a popular myth than anything else.

"Worlds," as it was known for short, was copiously decorated with assorted Starfleet paraphernalia.

There were dedication plaques salvaged from ships that had been decommissioned or destroyed,

ornaments acquired from worlds throughout the Federation. There was a fascinating wall which had

nothing but bladed weapons from dozens of primitive worlds, each of them gleaming behind glass, time

having done nothing to diminish their capacity for destruction. There were pictures of various Starfleet

captains and notables, many of them signed by the subjects. In short, Strange New Worlds radiated

years, decades of tradition.

Shelby was paying no attention to any of it.

The command crew (former crew, dammit!) had agreed that there would be a get-together, a post

mortem. Robin Lefler had been the organizer, which was certainly consistent for her. No one was more

of a go-getter than Ensign Lefler. Shelby had been the last one to agree to come, and even when she had

agreed she had done so reluctantly. In retrospect, as she sat across the table from McHenry, waiting for

the others, she decided that she had behaved poorly. She should have been spearheading the assembling

of the crew, not trying to avoid it. She should have presented a cheerful face, she should have been more

supportive, she should have been ... been something other man what she was.

"Commander?"

McHenry was looking at her curiously, snapping his fingers in her face. She blinked in surprise and

focused on him. "Commander?" he said again.

"What's the problem, McHenry?"

"Well," he said reasonably, "it's just that I've been talking for a while now, and I noticed you weren't

contributing much to the conversation. And then it occurred to me that maybe I was just hogging it, so I

shut up so that you could jump in. Except there was a staggering lack of it. Jumping in, I mean. You just

sort of sat there and stared off into ..."

"Space?" she asked, her lips spreading into a mirthless smile. "Well... space is my business, isn't it."

"Is it?" inquired McHenry.

It seemed an odd thing for him to say, and she wanted to pursue it, but then someone else approached

the table. It was Robin Lefler-without her mother, Morgan, in tow. Shelby was a bit grateful for that,

because Morgan made her nervous. She hated to admit that, even to herself (certainly she had not said it

to anyone else). But the simple truth was that Morgan Primus was still a woman whom Shelby couldn't

get a feeling for. She had exotic features and an air about her that made her seem as if she were partly

removed from the time in which she lived.

As for Robin, she could not have been more of a contrast to her mother. She had a perpetually open face

that seemed incapable of any sort of guile. Small wonder that she was the most abysmal poker player on

the ship...

Not was, dammit. Had been the most abysmal poker player on the ship.

The unexpected, automatic scolding caused Shelby

to pause in her musings before continuing on the path down which they were taking her. Yes, Robin had

indeed been atrocious at cards, unable to conceal glee when holding a good hand, equally unable to hide

her disappointment when the cards did not fall in her favor. Morgan was a walking question; Robin was a

walking punch line.

"Hello, Ensign," she said. "Where's your mother? I thought you two were virtually joined at the hip these

days."

But Robin was smiling as if Shelby hadn't spoken. "I'm afraid I don't answer to that anymore."

"Answer to what . . . ?" said Shelby in confusion, and then she noticed the additional pip on her collar.

"Lieutenant! Now, are we sure this time?"

"I had it confirmed three ways from Sunday," Lefler told her. There was an empty chair between

McHenry and Shelby, and Lefler was leaning on it. "I wasn't subjecting myself to that kind of

embarrassment again."

Lefler had had good reason to be embarrassed. A computer glitch had misreported Lefler as having

received a promotion to lieutenant, and she'd been quite enamored of the promotion until the error had

been turned up and the rank correction made. Lefler had not been pleased about being "busted" back to

ensign, and so she was justifiably proud that this time it was one hundred percent legitimate. "They told

me that you were partly responsible for getting me the bump up, Commander."

Shelby shrugged but couldn't quite erase the smile. "You deserved it, Lieutenant."

"I love it," Lefler told her. "No more having to put up with the old low-rank crap duties. As a lieutenant,

I'll have-"

"Brand new, higher-ranked crap duties," McHenry informed her, sounding somewhat more amused than

he would have wanted to let on.

"Shove off, McHenry," Lefler said without heat. "You're just worried I'm going to be breathing down

your neck."

"Your breathing down my neck would be the most excitement I've had since Burgy and I broke up,"

McHenry sighed regretfully.

Lefler swung the chair out and was about to sit when suddenly Shelby put a hand on the seat and said

softly, "No. That's Mac's chair."

McHenry and Lefler exchanged glances, and then Lefler said quietly, "Of course. I'm sorry." She stepped

around the table and sat at another, unclaimed seat

"So ... as I was saying . . . where's your mother?" asked Shelby. There had been a brief flash of anxiety

when she'd warned Lefler away from the chair reserved for Captain Mackenzie Calhoun, but now that

the moment was past, so was Shelby's concern.

"She's researching vacation sites. There'll be some time before we're reassigned, and she suggested it

might be nice if we could get away together somewhere, just mother and daughter. Work on the

relationship without the pressure of day-to-day starship life on us."

"Well, good thing the ship blew up then. There's a pressure reliever for you."

If McHenry had been fishing for a laugh, his hook came back spectacularly bereft of results. The women

just stared at him, and Shelby's face was darkening as if a cloud were draping itself over her. "It was just

a joke," he said.

"Oh. Was that what it was? It was certainly wearing

a cunning disguise," Shelby said with no trace of amusement.

McHenry mumbled something that very vaguely sounded like "Sony ." Shelby hesitated and then decided

that it would be wisest not to pursue it.

Other crew members were now strolling in. There was Soleta, the erstwhile science officer, poised and

elegant as her Vulcan heritage dictated. And here came Burgoyne 172, the Hermat who had helped

conceive the child being cradled in the arms of Chief Medical Officer Selar. It was almost amusing to

watch her. The Vulcan doctor was trying to hold her newborn offspring in such a way that it seemed as if

the infant was only of passing interest to her. But the looks she would give the child, the sudden and swift

reactions to the smallest instance of the baby's discomfort, were more than enough to convince any

onlooker of just who was in charge of the relationship Mother or child? Yes, definitely no contest. The

child...

The child...

Just what was it again.

When Shelby had first inquired, it had been the common, offhand inquiry one always makes. Boy or girl?

The problem was, when one was dealing with an offspring whose mother was a Vulcan, and whose

father was a dual-sexed "Hermat" named Burgoyne, the usually harmless question suddenly became a

loaded one. Selar had said, "Boy," and they'd gone on to state that they'd named the boy "Xyon," after

Mackenzie Cal-houn's late son. Nevertheless, there'd been something about the way that Selar had said

it. It seemed to Shelby that she wasn't answering in a matter-of-fact way, as she did with pretty much

every other question. Instead she had spoken quickly, as if wanting to terminate the conversation as

quickly as possible. As if...

... as if the entire discussion was uncomfortable for her.

Burgoyne started to sit in the empty seat next to Shelby, but she put a hand quickly down. "Mac's chair,"

she said.

Selar cast a slightly puzzled look at Burgoyne, but then little Xyon whimpered slightly for attention and

Selar looked to him instead. "Of course. Foolish of me" was all Burgoyne said before she moved to

another chair on the far side of the table.

A waitress began taking drink orders, and the officers started making small talk with one another. It

seemed so odd to Shelby, so labored. On the Excalibur, there was always something to discuss. There

was some circumstance involving the ship, some situation that they were mired in ... any of a hundred

distractions, big and small, that formed the basis for conversation, relationships, and social intercourse of

all types. It all seemed to build up from the commonality forced by the late, lamented starship.

There was a slight, repetitious vibration from the floor beneath her feet, which was enough to signal

Shelby that Zak Kebron was coming. The others felt it, too, but it didn't slow down their conversation.

Soleta seemed most interested in little Xyon. Outwardly she was treating the child almost as a matter of

scientific curiosity, but Shelby suspected that Soleta was wondering how and when the Vulcan mating

urge, Pon farr, would affect her. Burgoyne was engaged in an animated conversation with McHenry.

Now, that was certainly an odd thing to see. McHenry and Burgoyne had been involved before

circumstances had brought Burgy and Selar together. Shelby liked to believe that she had seen much of

what the galaxy had to offer and that

nothing fazed her, but still ... a relationship that jumped both species and gender was a new one even for

her experience.

"Commander? You okay?" It was Lefler, leaning forward and speaking to Shelby. Her tone was soft, but

nevertheless there was something in it that promptly caught the attention of the others at the table.

Suddenly all eyes were focused on Shelby, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, disliking being

subjected to sudden scrutiny.

"I'm fine," she said with the irritable tone of someone whose attitude didn't match her words.

"Good." It was the deep, basso voice of Kebron. The massive security officer was standing directly

behind Shelby, taking in the assemblage with his level gaze. He glanced at the empty chair next to Shelby.

"Reserved for the captain?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Of course" was all he said. He moved to another section of the table and looked disapprovingly at the

narrowness of the chairs. He pulled two together and sat, looking less than comfortable but obviously

resolving to deal with it with his customary stoicism. The waitress came back over upon seeing the new

customer, which was understandable; Kebron was somewhat hard to miss. "You're a Brikar, right?" she

said. "I've heard Brikars are sort of like rock people. Is that true?"

"No."

When he said nothing further, the waitress shrugged slightly and held up her order padd. "What can I get

you?"

"Magma."

McHenry covered his mouth to hide a snicker. Shelby rolled her eyes.

"You want magma." The waitress did not appear amused. "We don't serve magma."

"I had it here last time."

"When was the last time you were here?"

"The Mesozoic era."

Now Burgoyne was laughing as well. Selar and So-leta simply looked at each other with the air of those

who did not suffer fools gladly.

The waitress blew air impatiently between her lips and, tilting her head slightly, asked, "Can we just, you

know . . . forget I ever said anything about 'rock people'?"

"Gladly. Scotch."

"On the rocks," McHenry put in.

Kebron fired him a sidelong glance. "Don't push it."

As the waitress, shaking her head, walked away, Lefler looked back to Shelby. "Commander . . . maybe

you should really talk about it. Maybe," and she glanced at the others, "maybe we all should. About the

destruction of the Excalibur. About how it happened. About..."

"You've missed your calling," Burgoyne said wryly. "You should be a ship's counselor."

"My mother's said that, too," Lefler admitted with a laugh. "She told me she'd be so proud to have a

ship's counselor for a daughter."

"Lieutenant . . . Robin," Shelby said, placing a friendly hand on Lefler's, "I know you're just trying to help.

And maybe there's something to be said for what you're suggesting. But the simple truth is this We've

been reliving it, all of us, for the past few weeks. Board of inquiries up one side and down the other,

poring over every detail again and again. Every minute of the ship's last five minutes of life, everything that

all

of us did, and endlessly being asked-and asking ourselves-whether there was anything else we could

have done, any other way we could have handled it. I don't know about you, but I am .. ." She drummed

her fingers on the table. "I am tired. I am so tired of second-guessing myself. That's what these inquiries

do to you. They don't just try to answer the questions that the board has. They start raising all sorts of

questions in your own head, to the point where you don't know which end is up, what's right and what's

wrong."

"You did nothing wrong."

It was a new arrival who had spoken. They looked up and saw that Ambassador Si Cwan had come up

behind them. His advent was quite the contrary of Kebron's. Whereas Kebron had telegraphed his

coming with every step, the erstwhile crew of the Excalibur hadn't noticed the Thallonian until he was

right up behind them. Whether it was because they were so engrossed in discussion, or because Si Cwan

just had a preternatural knack for entering a room unseen, Shelby couldn't be sure. Standing next to him

was his younger sister, Kalinda. The change that she had undergone had been quite something to see as

far as Shelby was concerned. She had first come aboard the Excalibur confused, out of place, unsure of

something as fundamental as her own identity. Now, however, she had a regal and confident bearing that

was nearly on par with that of her brother. However, there was still a slight twinkle of mischievous-ness

in her eye that Shelby found amusingly appealing.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Ambassador," she said. "Please, take a seat."

He glanced at the one next to Shelby but said nothing, as if he intuited its purpose. Instead he and

Kalinda took up chairs at the far end of the table.

"What I was saying," continued Shelby, "is that we've all gone over those last, depressing minutes so

many times . . . that, frankly, I'm sick to death of post mortems. I suspect we all are." There were

concurring nods from around the table from everyone except Kebron, who didn't really have a neck that

permitted nodding, so he tilted his upper torso slightly.

"Therefore, I suggest we make an agreement For our mutual sanity, none of us ever discusses the

destruction of the Excalibur again. We all know what happened. There's no need to belabor it ad

infinitum, ad nauseam. So let's just not talk about it. No recriminations, no second-guessing, no finger

pointing ... because that's what any talks about it would invariably devolve into. And I know this group.

We won't all be blaming each other."

"No. We'll be blaming ourselves," said Lefler. Again there were nods.

"So we're agreed?"

There were choruses of affirmation from around the table, and Shelby let out a relieved sigh. "Good.

Good, I'm glad. And I think that's a decision that Mac would approve... of..."

"Would have approved of," Selar corrected.

Everyone looked at her, and she looked at the scowls focused upon her. "It is simply proper grammar,"

she said coolly. "It is proper, after all, to speak of someone in the past tense when they are ..."

"Selar," Burgoyne stopped her softly. "Not now."

At that moment, someone from an adjoining table came over and rested a hand on the empty chair next

to Shelby. "Excuse me, we could use another chair ... is someone using this-"

"No," said Shelby.

"Oh, good," and he started to pull away the chair.

And it was Kebron who rumbled, "Move that chair, lose the arm."

The officer froze where he was and looked around at the stony faces at the table. He released the chair

and said with obvious annoyance, "Boy, you people are touchy." He went in search of another chair as

Shelby gently slid the chair back into place.

"You didn't have to do that, Zak," said Shelby.

"I know."

"I'm glad you did."

"I know."

Th ey stared at the empty chair for a time longer, and then Shelby raised her glass. 'To Mackenzie

Calhoun ... the best damned captain in the fleet"

"Short. To the point Indisputable. I approve," said Si Cwan, lifting his glass, and the others joined as well.

They clinked glasses and drank in silence.

"So... what now?"

It had been Lefler who had asked, but it was really on the minds of all the people at the table. Finally it

was Shelby who spoke as she said, "Well, Lieutenant . . . Lieutenant, I say again, just in case you can't

get enough of hearing that," she added with a faint smile, "you know the regs on that as well as anyone."

"I know that part," Lefler said.

"I don't," said Kalinda, looking around in confusion. "Would somebody mind explaining it to me?"

"When a ship has been lost-although exceptions are sometimes made in times of war-there's a prescribed

'cooldown' period for the senior staff," explained Soleta. "The thinking is that the loss of a vessel is a

traumatic event, and officers need time to cope and come to terms."

"What nonsense," said Si Cwan with a snort. "If one has experienced a setback, the best thing to do is

throw yourself right back into the same situation. That way you can-"

"Die faster?" asked Kebron.

Si Cwan ignored him. "If one has time to dwell on the circumstances that have brought one to an

unfortunate pass, such thoughts can hamper one's effectiveness. The more time you have to think about it,

the more you're liable to second-guess yourself."

"There's something to be said for that," admitted Shelby.

"Which is why," Selar spoke up, "you have requested immediate reassignment and a waiver of the waiting

period."

Shelby looked up at her in obvious surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I did not know it," Selar replied. "Until you confirmed it just now, that is."

"Vulcans " growled Shelby.

The others looked at her with interest. "You asked for a waiver? Really, Commander?" asked Lefler.

"Well, there's special circumstances ..."

"A ship," McHenry said immediately. "You're angling for command. That's it, isn't it."

"Well..."

"Come on," Lefler prompted. "You're among friends, Commander."

The word, for some reason, thudded in Shelby's head. Friends. Was that what she was among, truly?

She wanted to open up to them, tell them what was on her mind. And yet...

And yet...

"The truth is," she said, pushing her doubts aside,

"I've gotten word through the grapevine that Captain Hodgkiss of the Exeter is being bumped upstairs in

Starfleet, and his command is coming open. I'm putting my bid in now, and as near as I can tell, I'm the

front-runner."

"That's great!" Lefler said. "You really think you have a good shot?"

Shelby nodded.

"If you'd like," offered McHenry, "I can put in a good word for you."

"As can I," Si Cwan added.

Kebron made a rude noise. "Recommendations from you two? She'll be busted in rank within the week."

"You know," Si Cwan said, "I like you better when you're saying almost nothing."

McHenry leaned forward and said, "What about us?"

Shelby felt a stirring of dread in the pit of her stomach. "You?"

"Are you bringing us along? As your new command crew? Keep us together?"

It was the question that Shelby had been dreading, and she had absolutely no answer at the ready

because she still hadn't managed to sort out her feelings on the matter. When she spoke, her mouth was

open and talking and she had no idea what words were going to come out until she heard them. "As

much as I can see Si Cwan's point regarding getting right back into the saddle ... there's something to be

said for the cooldown period. Particularly considering the circumstances that we were in. Exploring a

territory with virtually no Federation backup, a single ship trying to lend aid to, and pull together, an entire

sector of space? It was one hell of an assignment and, frankly, I'm amazed that we ..." She paused,

looked at the empty chair, and then

amended quietly, "... that as many of us ... survived it as we did ... and for as long. Since Starfleet is

extending you the time off, I'd suggest you take it. Don't be like me; I'm angling for the assignment against

Starfleet counselors' orders. Besides, I..."

"Besides . . . you what?" said Burgoyne. S/he had one elegantly tapered eyebrow raised. "There's

something else you want to say, isn't there."

"Maybe she hates us," suggested McHenry.

"No! No, Mark, that's absurd," she said defensively. "You don't think that. I hope none of you thinks

that. But the problem is that there are already some extremely capable command people in place on the

Exeter. It's not exactly fair to shunt them aside, no matter what my personal preferences are. Would any

of you be comfortable with my just walking in and dismissing the command crew there out of hand?

Well? Would you?"

There was a thoughtful silence around the table.

"I have no problem with that," McHenry said.

"Me neither," said Lefler.

"Seems logical," said Soleta.

"I would if I were you," Si Cwan told her.

"Let's just kill them," rumbled Kebron, which drew laughter from the others.

Shelby felt her heart sink. It was going to be tougher than she'd anticipated. "It's just that... well... what's

the best way to put this?" She scratched her chin thoughtfully. "The crew that we had-the sensibilities, the

style, the mix of personalities-was unique. I've served aboard a variety of starships and I've never seen

one quite like it And I can't help but think that this particular mix of personalities worked as well as it did

because of Mac." She was relieved to see that there was slow nodding from around her. "Mac created

some-

thing very special aboard the Excalibur. Something that wasn't exactly regulation, but not exactly

anarchic, either. And it worked because of him. And I'm . . . not sure that it would work without him.

You see what I'm saying?"

"You're saying it'd be like trying to make an award-winning cake batter without eggs," said Lefler.

"Yes!" Shelby slapped the table in affirmation. "Yes, that's exactly it. One of the key ingredients would be

missing, and because of that, the cake wouldn't rise."

"Actually, eggs do not cause the cake to rise," Soleta said immediately. "That happens because of-"

"We're getting off track here," Shelby said quickly. "The point is, Mackenzie Calhoun was what made it

work. I'm . . . not him. And that's not an easy admission to make because, to be perfectly honest, for a

time there I felt as if I was infinitely superior to him. More qualified, a better leader. But in the time I was

with him, I came to appreciate him for the truly great captain that he was. If I tried to be just like him ...

I'd fall short. And you people would suffer because of it. It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to you."

Once again there was a considered silence at the table. Shelby was sure she could hear her heart

thudding against her ribs.

It was Selar who broke the silence. "She is correct."

"You agree with the commander, Selar?" asked Bur-goyne.

"That would be implicit in 'She is correct,' yes," Selar said with lacerating sarcasm. "To maintain the

previous crew would be to maintain the ghost of Mackenzie Calhoun at all times. We would be trying to

re-create that which can not be re-created. Furthermore, consciously or unconsciously, we would be

holding Commander

Shelby up against Captain Calhoun in all matters. Even if we did not intend to do so ... even if we said

nothing to give her cause to think that we are ... the commander would very likely wonder if we were

consistently measuring her against Captain Calhoun."

"But didn't she run that risk as second-in-command of the Excalibur?" inquired Soleta. Shelby was

amused to watch the exchange; they were acting as if she were no longer seated at the table. "She was

stylistically different during those periods, but there were no difficulties."

"She was always seen as a temporary replacement," Selar replied briskly. "Even if any of us did disagree

with anything she did, there was always the knowledge that Captain Calhoun would be returning shortly.

But now..."

"We'd be stuck with her," said McHenry, and suddenly he turned to Shelby, looking a bit chagrined.

"Sorry. No offense meant."

"None taken," Shelby said, although she wasn't entirely sure about that

"I'd miss you all terribly, though," said Lefler.

"People come and go," Burgoyne said with a small shrug. "It is the nature of the life that we have chosen.

You can't really avoid it."

"I suppose," sighed Lefler.

"I, myself, do not mind at all the notion of time off. It will allow me to return to Vulcan," Selar said. She

glanced down at Xyon with that air of faint, distant fascination, as if she could not believe it possible that

the infant was in her arms. "There are certain .. . avenues to be pursued to prepare Xyon for his future,

and I must-"

"We must."

Burgoyne's correction was quiet but firm, and Shelby felt an immediate edginess entering the

proceedings. She had a very strong suspicion that they were all seeing a definite hint of a discussion that

had already been held between Burgoyne and Selar.

Sure enough, Selar leaned forward and said in a low voice, which was still easily heard by everyone else

at the table, "We have discussed this already."

"No, we have not. Because a real discussion doesn't consist of you telling me what will be, period, end of

conversation."

"Is there a problem?" asked Shelby delicately.

"No," Selar and Burgoyne both said immediately.

And I thought Vulcans didn't lie, thought Shelby, but naturally she said nothing. "Oh, good. And I'm sure

if there were a problem, the two of you would be able to work it out since, of course, there is the child to

consider."

"I assure you, Commander," said Selar with as testy a tone as she ever adopted, "that my child's-"

"Our child's."

"-welfare," she continued, ignoring Burgoyne's interruption, "is of the greatest importance."

"And what about you, Si Cwan?" asked Shelby, suddenly feeling that it would be best if she steered the

conversation in a different directi on. "You and Kalinda. You're not part of Starfleet. Will you return to

Sector 221-G?"

Kalinda looked in confusion at her brother. "Return to what... ?"

He glanced at Kalinda and smiled. It was something that the imperious Thallonian, as red-hued as most

of his race, didn't do all that often. Shelby realized that he had a rather attractive smile, and she also

noticed that

Robin Lefler seemed just a bit entranced by it. "Sector 221-G is how they refer to Thallonian space. You

studied star charts, little sister; I'd have thought you'd have noticed that."

"Forgive my lapses, Cwan," she said with amused sarcasm. "I was trying to assimilate a lot at one time."

"Could you use a word other than 'assimilate'?" requested Shelby.

"Oh. Uhm... okay," said Kalinda uncertainly, not at all understanding Shelby's reaction but obviously not

wanting to give offense. "I was trying to ... absorb ... a lot at one time?"

Shelby nodded in approval.

Si Cwan, making no effort to explain Shelby's reaction to his sister, instead said to Shelby, 'To be honest,

I am not certain. Without the backing of a starship or similar impressive vessel, my endeavors to pull

together the fractured worlds of our former empire would be doomed. My other great incentive for

returning to my home space would have been to find Kally ... except she is right here," and he indicated

her. "So I am left wondering what the purpose would be. I find that I am left somewhat at loose ends.

There is not much call for a former ruler whose entire empire fell apart and whose homeworld was

shattered from within by a gigantic flaming legendary bird."

"On the upside," said McHenry cheerfully, "if there is call for a former ruler whose entire empire fell apart

and whose homeworld was shattered from within by a gigantic flaming legendary bird, then you're

probably the front-runner for the job."

"I will take great comfort in that, McHenry. The thought will keep me warm on many a cold night."

"You do have a knack for defusing a situation,"

Shelby said. "People tend to listen to you. You have a great deal of..."

"Charisma?" suggested Lefler, not taking her eyes off Si Cwan.

"I was going to say 'presence,' but that's certainly another acceptable word," said Shelby. "The point is,

the title of 'Ambassador' was given you purely as a courtesy. A means of describing just what the hell it

was you were doing on the ship. But if you were actually to join the Federation diplomatic corps, you

could be tremendously effective."

Kalinda laughed at that in a tone that immediately caught Shelby's attention, and not in a positive way.

"You seem to think that's funny, Kalinda."

She leaned forward and said, "What you are suggesting-if I'm understanding you correctly-is that Si

Cwan go around to different worlds and represent the viewpoints and agendas of the Federation."

"Well, essentially, that's what it would entail."

And she laughed again. "Si Cwan represents only Si Cwan. I fear very little good would come from what

you're suggesting."

"Is that the case, Cwan?" asked Lefler.

Si Cwan smiled. "I fear my sister knows me all too well. I had no difficulty representing the Thallonian

point of view because it was my own. If I were to take up a post with the Federation, however, it will

inevitably require me to fight the good fight on behalf of something that I do not truly believe in. Not only

would I be a hindrance, but also in that sort of situation I might even prove something of a danger. No ...

no, I am afraid that I will have to search elsewhere for finding a new purpose in the galaxy."

Kebron looked around with faint impatience, having

finished his drink some minutes ago and not having seen the waitress since. "Perhaps you could work

here. They're apparently short on help."

"Thank you for your suggestion, Kebron," said Si Cwan, controlling his mirth with relative ease. "And

what will you do during your 'downtime.' A shame paper is a thing of the past in your society; you could

serve as a weight for stacks of it."

"I have my plans," he said vaguely.

"And they would be-?"

"Mine."

They all knew better than to try and pursue that line of conversation. "Well, the truth is, my mother will be

thrilled," said Lefler. "She said she wouldn't mind having some nice time off. And she also said that she

thought it would be a good chance to reestablish mother/daughter bonds. For us to get to really, truly get

to understand each other."

"Do you think she's right?" asked Shelby.

Lefler shrugged. "Who ever knows what's going through that woman's head?" She turned to McHenry.

"What about you, Mark?"

"I don't know what's going through her head."

"No, I mean what are you going to do? In the off time?"

"Oh." He spread his hands wide and said, "I'm just going to be a bum. Not do anything of consequence.

Not think about anything."

"Is that possible for you?" asked Soleta. "Your mind always seems to be moving, whether you want it to

or not. I've known you for nearly two decades and I don't believe you're capable of not thinking about

anything."

"Thanks, I'm flattered ... I guess. Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "I'll catch up on cartoons."

"On what?" Soleta looked at him blankly. There were puzzled expressions on the part of just about

everyone else.

"Cartoons. Ensign Janos showed some to me. He managed to find some ancient holovids, some transfers

that were done. Drawings that are given a semblance of life via slight variance of drawings in-"

"I know technically what they are, McHenry," said Shelby. "I'm just not sure how and why they'd be of

interest."

"I like to think about the universe, Commander," McHenry said with a wry grin. "Think about how it all

fits together. But a cartoon universe opens up a whole new world of possibilities. The laws of physics

don't seem to be terribly involved. Is it because they exist in a world of chaos ... or is it that there are

indeed laws, but they're different ones? And if one believes in those laws, can they be applied to the real

world? Are laws and rules physical absolutes ... or are they all in the mind? It's an intriguing notion to

pursue, don't you think?" When Shelby stared at him blankly, he turned to Soleta. "Don't you think so,

Soleta?"

"No," she said.

He looked at her with pity. "And you call yourself a scientist. So what are you going to do that's so

wonderful, then?"

"I will be going home," said Soleta. "It is the fifth anniversary of my mother's passing. I think it would be

best if I were with my father at this time."

There were murmurs of sympathy from around the table. Soleta inclined her head slightly. "Your

condolences are appreciated, although not particularly essential. I have long since come to terms with her

death. My

being with my father will simply be a matter of courtesy."

"Vulcans are very fortunate," said Shelby. "That you can compartmentalize that way. Just... decide to

move on and do so. Humans aren't quite that tidy. We can't control how long we mourn."

"Yes, you can. You simply choose not to," said Soleta.

Shelby looked at her curiously. "You're telling me that you can just . . . decide when to stop missing

someone? You're saying that you can simply decide that you won't miss . . . him," and she indicated the

empty chair with a tilt of her head. "Just take that initiative, make that call. Decide that today you will

mourn, tomorrow you won't? You can really do that?"

"You sound surprised, Commander," Selar stepped in. "You must comprehend relative perceptions of

such matters. To us, our ability to do just as you describe is not at all difficult to understand. What is

difficult to understand is why you cannot do the same. Mourning is not like a disease that must be treated

and has a life of its own. You do it until you decide not to, and then you move on."

"It's not quite as easy as that," Shelby said quietly.

"Yes. Actually, it is."

And suddenly Shelby felt a hot flash of temper as she looked at the Vulcan doctor's complacent

expression. Her infant had fallen asleep in her arms and looked serene and peaceful, and for some reason

the sight in its entirety angered Shelby tremendously.

'Tell me, then, Doctor, precisely how long you chose to mourn your husband? Was that a conscious,

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