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Jerel Courtland cleared his throat pointedly as the last member of team entered the Drake’s briefing room. “Now that we’re finally all here…”
“Terribly sorry, sir,” Noel DelMonde apologized stiffly, then grumbled as he made his way to the seat Dylan Paine was eagerly reserving for him. “Though it is the middle o' the damned night fo' some o' us…”
The Equian frowned. “If this mission is going to prove to be too much of an inconvenience for you, Mr. DelMonde…”
“No, sir, Mr. Courtland, sir,” the engineer replied in a tone completely bleached of anything that could be identified as sarcasm. “It is not. Sir, I consider it an honor an' privilege to be included in somet'ing other than catalogin' the Drake’s extensive collection o' spare parts an' keepin' the ship’s toilets flushin'.”
Only a few weeks had passed since Del had sent his very ill-judged letter to Jilla Majiir. The rift between him and Sulu was still wide and unhealed. No longer shielded by his captain, the hapless engineer found himself not only at odds with his old friend, but with most of the senior staff – who he discovered were quite frustrated with him… and had been so for some time… and were now out to get even… and had their captain’s every blessing to do so.
“Furthermore, sir,” DelMonde continued as formally as hard and bitter experience of the last few weeks had taught him to do. “I recognize that I am clearly in th' wrong in this present case an' it is I, sir, who must apologize to each an' every one o' you fo' any bother resultin' from the…” The engineer consulted the chronometer in front of him and gave a deep, I-just-can’t-win sigh.. “three minute an' thirty-seven second delay I have caused. I am terribly, terribly, terribly sorry.”
“Courtland…” Sulu gave a pre-emptive shake of his head to his First Officer and motioned permission for his yeoman to deliver a cup of coffee to the engineer. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Yes, sir.” The Equian deferred to his commander. He gestured towards a blue-green planet displayed on the briefing room’s display. “As I was saying, this is Sagron IV, designated planet Sagis by the inhabitants, recently granted full protectorate status by the Federation. Approximately six hundred years ago it was the home planet of the Calumbri Emperium. Some of you may be familiar with artwork from this race….?”
“Oh, I am,” Lian Rendell said, blinking in surprise as she recognized a display of artifacts that flashed on the screen in front of her. “There was a craze for their jewelry on Andor about ten years ago. Very rare.”
“At their peak,” Courtland continued, as more planetary scenes lit the displays, “this civilization achieved space travel, did some inter-system travel, colonized a moon and a nearby planet, but were devastated by a global scale war that included chemical attacks which mutated life forms, decimated the population, and left parts of some continents uninhabitable for generations.”
“Good jewelers,” Rendell confided to DelMonde, who was seated at her left. “Not smart….” Then as another slide seemed to trigger a memory, she exclaimed, “Oh, this is a terrible place! Wall-to-wall monsters….”
Courtland gave a nicker of satisfaction. “It is rumored to have been an old HTE protectorate.”
Rendell crossed her arms and frowned at a slide of a creature that looked somewhat like a pterodactyl. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
Sulu tilted his head to one side. “What would you call it?”
“A place where traders land, grab some jewelry and try to get out before too many of their crew are eaten by giant mutated lizard monsters,” the Haven answered flatly, then tapped her ear. “Uh… Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“I think I’m getting a call from Sickbay,” the doctor said, rising.
“Chicken,” DelMonde accused.
“Better a live chicken than dead mutated lizard monster food,” the Haven retorted practically.
“Sit down, Lian,” the captain ordered. “Go on, Jerel.”
“Actually…” The Equian allowed himself a small smile. “Monster fighting is at the heart of what we’re being called to do.”
Dylan Paine grinned. “All right!”
“Approximately every seventy-five years, a type of algae based creature forms mega-colonies and attacks the western coastline of the continent of Gilanga. Historically, the inhabitants have employed two-man battle-droids like this…” All screens filled with pictures of an impressive specimen of armor-plated vaguely-humanoid shaped fighting machine. “… that date from the Calumbri Emperium to combat these colony creatures.”
“Pretty badass…” the Cajun had to admit, “…sir.”
“Unfortunately within the last century, the institutional chain of knowledge of the surviving warrior class has been broken. They no longer know how to operate this weaponry.”
“Our assignment,” Sulu said, taking up the tale, “is to figure out how to operate these droids and re-introduce that knowledge into this culture.”
“Sir,” Paine interrupted. “Won’t phasers work as well on an algae colony?”
“Sir,” Beth Arista demanded, sounding more than a little outraged, “should we go in and label life forms as 'monsters' and revive an ancient tech to kill them simply because they have been mutated through no fault of their own?”
“Yes,” Sulu answered pointing at Paine, “phasers probably will work on these life forms, but -- no, we are not going to engage in thoughtless, large scale bio-extermination. So, yes, Beth, while our pilots and engineer teams work to help recover this weaponry tech for honestly what are primarily socio-cultural reasons, Life Science is going to be running a parallel project to investigate sentience, conduct species relocation, erect geo-segregation structures where necessary, promote improved interspecies communication where possible, and start to reverse environmental toxicity.
“…And generally do all the do-goodery?” Lian Rendell concluded.
“Where and when we can, Lian,” Sulu affirmed with a smile. “All right. You’ll each be acting as point person for your section for this project. Mr. Courtland has prepared a packet detailing more of the specifics of your assignment and will be meeting with each of you individually to address questions before we all meet again as a group… Jerel, let’s see if we can move our next meeting to a time a little more convenient for our representative from the Third Watch.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That would be much appreciated, Captain, sir,” DelMonde said, without ever looking directly at him.
Sulu turned to his First Officer. “If you have nothing else to add?”
“That’s it for me.” The Equian rose and nodded to his officers. “We stand dismissed.”
“Mr. DelMonde,” Sulu said before Dylan Paine could claim the engineer. “Would you mind staying for a minute?”
“No, sir, Captain, sir.” The Cajun’s tone was once more impressively formal and dramatically non-dramatic as he resumed his seat with a flourish. “I would be entirely thrilled to do, sir. I am completely at your disposal.”
Dylan Paine, however, was utterly crestfallen to be so quickly robbed of this opportunity to be once more in the presence of his paramour and had to be guided out of the room with a series of subtle little pushes from Lian Rendell.
Once the last of his officers had finally filed out, the captain of the Drake crossed his arms sourly. “'Yes’ would have been sufficient.”
“Oh, none o' that was fo' you,” the Cajun assured him, propping his feet up on one of the chairs his fellow officers had vacated.
Sulu’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“No. I a li'l behind on my 'yes, sir/no, sir' quota fo' the week wit' Courtland.” The engineer mimed dribbling a basketball. “I saw a chance t' score a quick three pointer 'fore the buzzer an' went for it.”
“Did you?” his captain asked, unimpressed.
“One-handed from half-court.”
“Nothing but net?”
“You gotta know it,” the Cajun confirmed with a smile, then wagged a reproving finger. “But you know, if you wanna get back in the game, you could jus' get over yourself an' call off all this damned nonsense.”
Sulu crossed his arms. “I thought you were a big boy who didn’t need me to protect you.”
“You will notice that I ain’t in here t' cry on your damned shoulder,” DelMonde retorted defiantly. “By the way, why the hell am I in here?”
“I got a letter from Jilla this morning,” his captain informed him unsmilingly.
The engineer closed his eyes. “Oh, shit.”
“You never apologized to her.”
“Motherfu…” DelMonde groaned as he un-propped his feet and sat up miserably.
“She apologized to you…”
Despite having boasted about not crying, the engineer’s voice quavered a little as he buried his head in his hands and said, “Oh, Sweet Mary…”
“She was actually talking about how much better she felt after she apologized to you…” Sulu continued heatedly.
“Jesus, Kam,” the Cajun said, though his head was buried in his hands in such a way that muffled his voice a great deal. “When you gonna let this go?”
“When are you gonna apologize?”
“Is that it? Is that what it gonna take?” the engineer demanded exasperatedly. “Well, hell, do you want it in prose? Poetry? Martian trochaic blank verse?”
An icy silence settled between them.
Another big thing that was keeping Sulu furious with him was Del’s insulting insistence that he was somehow unnecessarily prolonging the conflict between them by continually moving the goalposts for an honorable surrender just out of the Cajun’s reach. Del was 100% wrong this time. He needed to wake up to that fact. That 'touchy samurai pride' bit was bullshit. It always had been. This was not about him. It was about Jilla. Period. Del was wrong. Period. And he didn’t need Jeremy Paget to come straighten any of this out. Period. Everyone needed to quit telling him how he was handling this wrong; admit that they were wrong; and then this would be over. Period.
“Well, since it’s just a damned game to you, forget it,” he said coldly. “Just keep on having fun scoring your three-pointers.”
“Yes, sir, Captain, sir,” the Cajun replied in kind, as he rose. “Now if it not too much trouble, I do need t' wake up in 'bout four hours an' get back to lickin' your First Officer’s hoofs…”
“Are you sleeping with my yeoman?” Sulu asked, abruptly remembering the other bullet point he needed to cover in this conference.
“Why?” DelMonde asked wearily. “You gonna have Courtland make me fill out a requisition form for her? ‘Cause I tell you, son, I have found out that there not not'ing so precious in my life that I not able t' live wit'out it rather than fill out another damned requisition form…”
Sulu tilted his head. “So she’s precious to you?”
“No,” the Cajun answered flatly. “‘Cept in that she one o' the few individuals on this ship that not turned into an enthusiastic member o' the Let’s Punish th' Shit Out o' Noel DelMonde Society.”
Sulu smiled nastily. “Well, you could just get over yourself and put an end to that nonsense, you know.”
The engineer rolled his black eyes unappreciatively. “If you are completely done, Captain, sir…”
“Have you told Paine?”
“'Bout what?”
“That you’re sleeping with Zoe.”
“Hell-to-the-no,” the Cajun answered adamantly then held up three fingers to enumerate his reasons. “A) It none o' his business – an' incidentally, precious little o' yours, B) I not need to be drownin' in a flood o' desperate puppy tears an' C) I am already hip deep in more ignorant bullshit drama than I can manage 'cause of some dumb shit t'ing I popped off an' said to th' wife o' one o' my old friends.”
There was a pause during which Sulu had some time to reflect on how much that last statement made it sound like Del actually did know he was wrong and was actually sorry.
“So I not got room fo' no more in between polishin' th' handrails in Engineering on th' hoot-owl shift an' fillin' out requisition forms fo' more requisition forms fo' Mr. Courtland,” the engineer continued. “An' how the hell you find out 'bout it anyway?”
“Beth Arista told me that Zoe’s cabinmate said the two of you were together.”
“Oh, heard it through the grapevine, huh?”
“The roommate says you have Zoe mesmerized.”
The engineer frowned. “That a funny way to put it.”
Sulu nodded. “I thought so.”
There had been an unsavory incident between DelMonde and Elif early in his tenure on the Drake in which the distraught and psychically out-of-control tel-empath had forced an emotional response from yeoman.
The engineer looked as perturbed at the thought that there might be a repetition of this occurrence as Sulu was. “What make her say that?”
“Zoe comes in zoned-out, with only a fuzzy memory of what the two of you have done.”
Del shrugged. “We just drinkin' an' screwin'. It not like I quizzin' her on th' early Hapsburg Empire or not'ing. They not all that much to recall… Maybe she jus' a li'l more tired an' drunk than her friend used to seein' her.”
“Is that all?” Sulu felt obligated to press, although the engineer’s body language now and when he’d been in the yeoman’s presence wasn’t sending off any danger signals.
The Cajun crossed his arms and made a face. “I know it hard to believe an' I am pretty damned unpopular on this ship, but I not yet down so low that I have t' trick women into gettin' into bed wit' me, Kam.”
“Okay. That’s what I wanted to hear.” Sulu mustered a lukewarm smile as he gathered up his briefing tapes and deactivated his monitor. “Keep up the rail polishing, the form filling and if I get a sufficiently glowing review of the apology you’re going to compose – who knows? -- your life here may start to improve dramatically.”
“Yeah.” The Cajun gave a long resigned sigh, and said in a tone that sounded several steps below an enthusiastic promise, “If that comes to pass, who knows? Stranger t'ings have happened, non?”
As Del exited the briefing room, he braced himself for the inevitable assault. He was only able to get about thirty feet down the mercifully empty corridor before it came.
“Look, cher,” he growled, struggling to extract himself from the flying bundle of Dylan Paine-ness that suddenly sprang towards him. “I know I call you a puppy, but you a grown-ass man. You not need to be jumpin' on me like you some Labrador retriever.”
“It’s been so long,” the young man sighed between trying to smoother him with kisses.
“It gonna be a damn sight longer if you not lay off slobberin' on me,” the engineer threatened, determinedly unwrapping what seemed to be a profusion of arms sprouting from the ensign.
“Don’t say that,” Paine begged, his blue-blue eyes glistening. “Please. Don’t say that. I feel like I’m dying…”
As always, the depth of the young man’s almost miserable devotion to him softened DelMonde’s heart a little. “Calm yourself, chiot,” he ordered, giving the ensign’s face a rough pat.
“I can’t stand it another minute.” Paine took advantage of this abatement of discouragement to go in for another kiss and then to whisper in his ear. “I don’t have to be back on the Bridge for another twenty.”
Del sighed and pushed him back. “I gotta get back to sleep. I was already up half th' night finishin' reports fo' Courtland and I gotta be right back on it again in jus' a few hours. He an' Mazar on me like ugly on a Tellerite’s Mother-in-Law an' not showin' any signs o' lettin' up no time soon.”
It was, the engineer had discovered, a particularly unfortunate time in the history of the good ship U.S.S. Drake to get on the wrong side of her senior officers. The bad old days with bad old Captain Vol Hels were still in living memory with these folks. Although their current captain was no martinet and did not approve of rigorous disciplinary standards that teetered on the edge of the cruel and petty, it was still written into their DNA. They still weren’t quite used to people getting away with talking back… and they were well versed in all the thousands of painful ways to make you sorry you had if it looked like you needed a lesson in shutting the hell up. And with even Good Captain Sulu mad at him, it was obvious to everyone that the Drake’s Shut the Hell Up School for Wayward Cajuns needed to be Open for Business in his particular case...
Paine shook his head mournfully as if following these thoughts. “You have to make things up with the captain.”
“I know,” Del could not deny. He sighed and gave the ensign’s face another pat. “This all gonna blow over, cher. You not worry 'bout it.”
“So…” Dylan gave a tentative smile without a lot of conviction behind it. “Your talk with the captain went well?”
“Uh…” The Cajun cast a rueful glance at the closed briefing room door behind him. “Mais, t'ings not gonna be blowin' over today…”
The bad blood between them had come close to smoothing over more than a half-dozen times already. Several times… yes, he’d said the wrong thing and blown it. However, more often than not, someone had sent Sulu a well-meaning message offering to mediate between the two of them or suggesting it was time to move on from the incident and ripped the wound wide open again. Hell, Jilla herself had done it three times already by writing to say that she was completely over the whole thing… which somehow always managed to enrage the holy shit out of Kam… well, honestly, because it always brought up that sore point that she’d apologized to Del instead of it going the other way around… which, yeah, was stupid and shit. And maybe he should just sit down and write a damned apology… because, God knows, he was sorry as all hell… but what if it came out seeming all fake and stupid and like he was just doing it to get out of getting his ass beat on a daily basis? Although that did not seem like the worst thing in the world at the moment..
His friends kept writing because he was not answering their missives because he didn’t want to act like he was begging for sympathy…. Because, yes, he’d screwed up and this shit was all his fault. But at the same time, if they asked, “So how is your life?” there was no other honest answer than “My life is shit.” So he didn’t write. So they kept writing Kam… which kept stirring the damned pot… until he wrote that damned apology… which he didn’t know how to write now… and he didn’t know would actually fix anything if he did… ‘cause it wasn’t gonna go back in time and make Jilla not apologize to him for something that he should have apologized to her for in the first place…
“Del.” The puppy gently stroked his throbbing temples. “You’ve got to make things right with the captain.”
DelMonde took in a deep breath. “I know.”
“Look, I don’t want to offend you…” Paine massaged his neck muscles encouragingly. “But, when you apologize and you don’t mean it, even people who aren’t sensitives can tell. And it makes things worse. Just apologize… and mean it.”
“Yeah. That a good point.” The engineer smiled ruefully as he unwrapped the ensign’s arms from around him and backed towards the turbo ‘lift. “I gonna go write that one down.”
“Del,” Paine called after him plaintively.
The Cajun turned impatiently. “What?”
His blue eyes raked over the engineer like azure searchlights. “Is there..” he asked tremulously, “Is there…s-s-someone else?
“Mon petit chiot,” DelMonde promised adamantly as he hit the call button. “There is not now, nor ever will be someone who fills exactly your spot in my life.”
As the lift doors closed between them, the Cajun could see a shadow crossing the ensign’s bright smile as he belatedly realized this might not be precisely the sort of answer he wanted to that question.
Just as he hoped would not happen, Lian Rendell was waiting for him when the lift doors opened with her arms crossed. “How stupid are you?”
DelMonde sighed deeply. “There any hope in hell I can get away wit' an answer of' 'very' an' jus' toddle off to my bed?”
The Haven fell into step next to him. “Considering how true that is and how low the chance of you listening to me is, that would be the most practical for both of us, wouldn’t it?”
The Cajun rolled his eyes. “I guess Miss Beth Arista is out soundin' the alarm 'bout me turnin' li'l Zoe into my personal sex zombie…”
“If 'zombies' are exceptional vague and forgetful mind thralls, then yes.”
“No, that not exactly what a zombie is,” the engineer replied giving an evil look at a bystander who showed an unfortunate hint of interest in this unusual turn of conversation as they passed. “An' no, I jus' a dumb ol’ telepath. If anyt'ing should be abundantly apparent t' ever'one on this ship in the past month an' a half, it should be that I not able t' do a damn thing t change th' way folks feel 'bout me. When they hate me, I not able to mind-zap ‘em into bein' ass over tea-kettles in love. We done been all through that.”
“Yes, we have been all through the topic of mind-zapping,” Rendell said pointedly. “With Zoe. Which circles us back to the question of how big of an idiot are you?”
After the unfortunate incident in the Rec Room, Beth Arista -- who was the type of person who had the Rights of Sentient Beings tattooed on the insides of her eyelids for quick reference – had gotten worked up into such a tizzy about things that it eventually necessitated that all parties involved had to be hauled down to Lian Rendell’s office for a very awkward conversation in which it was established that yes, well before that event took place, Zoe Elif had decided – in a kind of off-handed and non-binding way -- she was attracted to him. There were even a couple gal-pals called in who – much to everyone’s acute mortification – attested to rueful comments she’d made about what a damned shame it was that a cute guy like him had chosen to be in “the galaxy’s most Paine-ful relationship” and that he was “too into himself to see past the end of his nose” and notice a girl like her. It was adjudicated, therefore, that the passions that he abruptly inflamed into a raging inferno were pre-existing rather than sentiment unethically manufactured for his own gratification.
However the gathering did make it abundantly clear to the engineer that this whole “inflaming” business was some downright dodgy bullshit in their considered opinion and Tara Ryan would be taking a fire-hose to his ass if they saw any more of it.
“It all consensual as hell, Li,” the engineer assured the doctor, anxious to avoid a repeat of such a session. “I solid promise you. I mean, damn. Sometimes of a night, all she say to me is 'Yes, Del.'”
The Haven’s eyes narrowed as she stopped and tilted her head to one side. “And that doesn’t strike you as strange?”
“It strike me as pretty damn nice right now,” the Cajun retorted. “Not like I hearin' that anywhere else… An' go ahead an' say, 'Who fault is that?' ‘Cause it my fault. I know. Ever'body know it. Hell, if I ask Zoe 'Cher, is all this shit my fault?' even she gonna say, 'Yes, Del' to that.”
Rendell crossed her arms. “Neat trick,” she congratulated him mercilessly.
The engineer sighed and shook his head. “The problem wit' tricks is that the trickster always know it a trick. An' even if I could trick somebody into sayin' what I wanna hear, after a while it not gonna be no more satisfyin' to me than if I cover up my right hand wit' my sock an' make it say, 'Oh, Del, you jus' the cutest, smartest, ol' t'ing, you!'”
“So,” she persisted unsmilingly. “How’s that working out?”
“Don’t be makin' light o' my relationship wit' Mr. Footsie, Doctor,” the Cajun requested ironically, setting off down the hall again. “He an' I actually very close, y'know.”
“And Zoe?” “If she come to me, she come of her own free will…” The Cajun stopped and made a broad gesture of exasperation. “Oh, Jesus, Li… You got me talkin' like I turnin' into some kinda vampire…”
In his mind, he could see the Haven’s thoughts turn to beings with moonlight pale skin and dark, velvet-black, glittering eyes, their lips curved into sensual smiles…
“Sometimes, Cajun,” Rendell said, shaking her head before she turned away. “I don’t know what you’re turning into.”
Just as he hoped would happen, Zoe Elif was waiting for him when the doors of his cabin opened. DelMonde sighed with a weariness that went straight to his bones as she handed him a large glass of bourbon and they exchanged a quick kiss. “Hey, girl.”
“I’ve only got twenty minutes before I have to be back on the Bridge.” As her pale brown eyes searched his face, they started to get that faraway look they always got when she was around him. “But I got the feeling you might want me?”
He nodded and downed a head-clearing shot of bourbon. “I do.”
Their second kiss was longer and more intricate… but not so much so that he bothered to put down his glass. It hit him forcefully that maybe he was taking her for granted like everybody was saying. Hell, they barely talked to each other…
“So…” he said a little guiltily as they broke off long enough for him to take a much-needed second swallow. “How your day been?”
“Fine,” she replied blandly. She watched him sip bourbon silently for several moments before finally coming up with, “How about yours?”
“Shitty,” he admitted. “Really shitty… An' it not actually even 'day' yet.”
“Oh,” she replied in her sweet, faraway sort of way before coming to him for another kiss – not unsympathetic, but not all that engaged in the here and now.
It was one of the little things about the relationship they’d fallen into that would be hard to explain to other folks…. Miss Zoe Elif was just not much of one for conversation.
He leaned in and whispered into her ear as if to keep the command hidden from the half-dozen busy-bodies he was now sure were going to be trying to keep an eye on them. “Undress.”
“Yes, Del.”
“Lian…” Sulu found his Chief Medical officer deep in thought, staring at the stars streaming past the viewport on the back wall of her office. A flagon of good Orion wine stood unopened on one side of her desk and a steaming cup of black coffee sat near her elbow. “About Sagron IV…”
“Oh,” She blinked at him and then smiled and gestured for him to sit down. “And I thought we were going to talk about DelMonde.”
The captain cleared his throat firmly. “About Sagron IV…”
“I’ve never been there,” the Haven said, changing gears easily as she poured him a cup of coffee. “But I’ve heard it’s lovely if you can avoid being eaten.”
“About Sagron IV being an HTE protectorate…” he clarified pointedly.
Rendell shook her head with a charming smile. “Surely you don’t expect me to have that entire list memorized...”
“I’m actually more interested in going a little further back in their history,” the captain said accepting the coffee gratefully. “The Calumbri Emperium was remarkable for the swiftness of their rise as well as the rapidity of their downfall.”
“Oh?” the doctor replied with careful neutrality. “How prodigious of them.”
“Almost as if they were getting some outside help from a more advanced civilization,” Sulu said, propping his elbows on her desk.
“Really?” Rendell poured herself a half-glass of wine. “How little faith you have in the poor things.”
“You heard the list of miracles Star Fleet expects us to accomplish on Sagron?”
“Just an average workday for the brightest young captain in the Fleet.” The Haven raised her glass in an ironic toast then quietly advised. “If you want to stop getting these ridiculously difficult missions, quit overachieving.”
“They’re not giving us enough time to get even a quarter of the things they want accomplished done,” Sulu agreed. “However, if we had nice trail of breadcrumbs to follow… For example, if we knew to look for traces of Haven tech in the ancient Calumbri Emperium artifacts...”
“Captain…” Rendell put down her wine glass with a sigh. “You are getting perilously close to asking me a question that were I to confirm, deny, or even sit here remaining silent with a pained look on my face will put me in violation of what Haven legal experts call 'The Grand Proprietary Information Clause.' Now, I am quite devoted to you, but…”
“I understand.” Sulu smiled as he set down his coffee cup. “And can attest to anyone who asks that I have drawn my own conclusions with no aid. Thank you, Lian.”
Rendell looked up at her captain as he started to rise. “I thought we were going to talk about DelMonde.”
Sulu paused, took a deep breath, then resolutely resumed his seat. “Yes, we should.… So, you’ve heard about Zoe from…”
“Beth Arista,” they said in unison.
Rendell made a gesture to indicate that he could fast-forward through this portion of the narrative. “… told me…”
“Something strange,” they took up the tale together again.
“… is going on there,” the Haven sped him along again.
After a thoughtful pause both of them concluded, “I don’t like it.”
“That was weird,” Lian commented on their spontaneous choral speaking. “But I’m glad to see we’re on the same page.”
After a moment of checking to see that he was going to be allowed to enunciate by himself the captain said, “I talked to him.”
“So did I,” Rendell admitted. “But I’m not going to do that echo thing with you any more. I’ll just nod.”
“There were no new red flags in the conversation…” Memory soured the captain’s expression. “Well, not in that part of the conversation, but still….” Sulu drew in a deep breath and rose. “Well, let’s keep our eyes on that situation.”
Again, the Haven’s eyes followed him stubbornly.
“I thought we were going to talk about DelMonde,” she said with calm insistence.
“Li...” He shook his head. “Lian. I just don’t…”
“Not about you,” the Haven assured him, “or your wife, but about DelMonde and what’s going in that gorgeous, idiotic, curiously overstuffed head of his.”
When Sulu had to smile a little at this description, the doctor gestured at the seat opposite her.
“Please, indulge me,” she requested firmly. “He worries me. He’s under stress. I do not wish to pry. I do not wish to interfere. I simply want to better understand the nature of that stress.”
“Fine,” the captain relented reluctantly.
“So…” The Haven fortified them both with more another serving of the beverage of their choice before asking. “Why won’t he apologize?”
Sulu shrugged diffidently. “You’ve already got it. He’s an idiot.”
“Oh, yes,” Rendell granted. “You know it. I know it. Even he knows it. Were I to ask, I’m sure he would tell me in that charmingly nearly unintelligible manner of his, 'Cher, I an idiot.' He is an arrogant, imprudent idiot… But he’s not stupid. And I get the feeling… he’s made some attempts…? Bad attempts that failed? Badly?”
“Yeah, we had a couple of his usual 'joke' apologies,” Sulu admitted tightly. “But that bullshit is not gonna fly this time.”
“That sort of approach would be in character for him.” The doctor nodded. “He is an arrogant ass.”
The captain crossed his arms, feeling the familiar rage start to claim him. “Yes.”
The Haven tapped the side of her glass thoughtfully. “And humor would be a face-saving technique…”
“And bullshit…” Sulu said through his clenched teeth.
The doctor’s eyes flicked towards him, coolly taking in the change in his manner. "And you aren't going to tolerate that any more?"
“Hell, no.” The captain shook his head. “Not this time. He hurt the shit out of her.”
“And humor would be risky on her as well,” Rendell observed thoughtfully. “Indiians are more jolly than Vulcans, but their sense of humor is sometimes even more difficult to navigate…”
“Oh, none of that was for her.” The captain laughed humorlessly. “He hasn't apologized to her.”
“Oh?”
“No! She’s not even mad at him. Can you believe that?” His laugh grew wilder as he added incredulity to it. “She’s forgiven him. He hurt the living shit out of her – and this is not the first time – and she apologized to him.” The captain’s form trembled with emotion. “Jesus…! Buddha….! Shit….!!! That damned arrogant conceited bastard! She forgave him just like that!” He snapped his fingers violently. “Can you believe it?”
Rendell took in a deep breath. “Not to gloss over a complex interpersonal situation with a gross generalization about an entire species,” she replied calmly, “but yeah, Indiians will do that sort of thing. It’s part of their culture and religion… you know, the Divine Acceptance of Aema and that sort of malarkey – if you’ll forgive the blasphemy from an alien non-believer. Of course, it spins out differently for Havens than for Humans, but Indiians do that kind of thing not realizing that forgiving someone who doesn’t feel like they deserve forgiveness can end up… well, for someone of my species, undeserved forgiveness can create an unintended burden, a crushing sense of obligation. For a Human, seeing someone else take on what you know should be your guilt can wind up being pretty painful.”
“Lian...” The captain’s black eyes suddenly glittered with unshed tears. His voice choked off as he swallowed convulsively. Overcome, he rose and abruptly exited.
The Haven turned back to the passing stars and raised both eyebrows in surprise at what she’d witnessed. “And I thought we were going to talk about DelMonde…”