"Mac, that sword laid your face open. It almost killed you. I'd hoped you'd outgrow the need to hold on to such things."
"It reminds me of the importance of keeping my guard up. As does this," and he tapped the scar. Then he turned in his chair to face her for the first time. "I can't say I'm surprised to see you, Commander."
"We're being formal, are we, Mac?"
"Yes."
Without missing a beat, she said, "Very well. Captain, I hope you will excuse my unannounced appearance, but I wish to discuss a matter of some urgency."
"You want to apply for the position of first officer."
"That is correct." She noticed her own picture staring out from the computer screen. Calhoun was reading up on her latest stats. "Since you are already in the process of reviewing my service rec—"
"Jellico told me not to use you."
She shook her head slightly as if trying to clear water from her ears. "Pardon?"
"I received a communiqué from Admiral Jellico. He told me you would be applying, and that he could not, in good conscience, recommend you for the post."
"I see." Shelby had assumed that Jellico would be backing her up. All right . . . if he wasn't going to, then fine. Calhoun couldn't possibly be aware of all the dynamics involved in—
"I assume one of two scenarios to be the case," said Calhoun, tilting his chair slightly back. "Either Jellico wanted you to spy on me, and you told him to go to hell, so that in a fit of pique he's trying to block the assignment. Or else he's hoping that you will, at the very least, make my life miserable . . . and by telling me not to use you, he hoped to employ a sort of reverse psychology. Like in the old Earth story you once mentioned to me, about the rabbit begging not to be thrown into the briar patch, he figured that by telling me not to use you, I would then turn around and do so." He gazed at her blandly. "How would you assess the situation, Commander?"
She did everything she could to fight down her astonishment. For a moment she felt as if she were clutching on to a roller coaster, and couldn't quite understand why the sensation had a familiar feeling to it. Then she realized: She'd of tentimes felt like that during her relationship with Calhoun. Why am I letting myself in for this again? I must be insane!Those were the thoughts that went through her head. All she said, however, was "I would . . . concur with your assessment, Captain."
"Good."
She cleared her throat. "Captain," she began, "there are some things you should know. . . ."
"I don't need to hear it, Commander."
"Sir, with all respect, I believe you do. My record has been exemplary, I have served as first officer on the Excalibur,on the Enterprise,on the—"
"I said I don't need to hear it."
"I'm the right person for this job and, to be blunt, I'm the right person for yourjob, but at the very least I can provide a valuable—"
"Commander," he said, his voice icy.
"If you'll just listen to me—!"
"Eppy, will you shut the hell up!"
Her back stiffened. "Yes, sir."
"Much obliged, Eppy."
"However, I should point out that if I am not addressing you by your first name, it would likewise be appropriate if you were not to call me by that . . . annoying . . . nickname."
"Elizabeth Paul. E.P. Eppy."
"I remember the derivation, sir. I would just appreciate your not employing it."
"You didn't used to consider it annoying. You thought it affectionate."
"No, it always annoyed me. I was just reticent about saying so because of our . . . involvement . . . at the time."
He gave her a skeptical look. "You? Reticent?" He sighed and turned his back to her, swiveling his chair so that he was gazing out at the narrow sliver of starscape which was visible through the sides of drydock. "It was good seeing you again, Commander."
"And you, Captain. And I guess I should say . . . putting aside our history . . . that I wish you the best of luck in the reassumption of your career."
"I appreciate that. Where's your stuff?"
She stared in confusion at the back of his chair. "Stuff?"
"Possessions. Equipment. Gear. Did you bring it with you or are you sending for it? Don't tell me you're going to waste time going back for it."
"I don't understand . . ."
He sighed. "Commander, we have to be out of here in forty-eight hours. I need to know if we're going to be required to sit around and wait for you to retrieve your gear, or whether you can be ready to go by the time we're prepared to shove off."
"Are you saying you want me aboard the Excalibur?"
"Yes, that it what I am saying."
"In what capacity?"
He turned to face her with a disbelieving expression. "Chief cook and bottle washer. Good God, Shelby, are you going to make me spell it out for you?"
"I think so, yes, sir."
"Very well." He stood and extended a hand. "Congratulations, Commander. You are the new first officer of the Excalibur,presuming you still want the job."
"Yes, I still want the job." She shook his hand firmly, but then a cloud crossed her face. "We might face a problem, however."
"That being—?"
"Well, the paperwork for my appointment has to be run past Admiral Jellico. If he was genuinely trying to block me because of—for whatever reason—that could be a problem. Procedures do have to be followed, reports must be made, and—"
"Shelby, I cannot put sufficient emphasis on this: I don't give a damn about reports and following procedure. The decision is mine, and the decision is made."
"Very well, sir."
She paused, as if wanting to say something else, and it was fairly obvious to Calhoun. "Well? Something else on your mind, Commander?"
"Captain." She shifted uncomfortably in place. "Our relationship . . . it was a long time ago. I'm over you. Way over you. I need to know if you're over me. I need to know if you took me on because of our past involvement."
"No, Commander. I took you on in spite of it. Dismissed."
"I just wanted to say—"
"Dismissed."
She nodded curtly, satisfied with the response, and walked out of the ready room. Calhoun turned back to his viewing port and stared out.
There had been any number of times when there had been people who thought he was crazy. The Danteri, for one, when he had led his people in revolt against them, thrusting himself into one dangerous situation after another with an abandon that many mistook for recklessness.
There had been fellow Starfleet cadets who were openly horrified, and secretly amused, by Calhoun's willingness to go toe-to-toe with the most formidable professors at the Academy, never hesitating to voice his opinion, never backing down if he was convinced that he was right.
In his sojourn on the Grissomhe had learned the game of poker and quickly established a reputation as being capable of bluffing his way through any hand. Once they'd even brought in an empath as a ringer, and even the empath hadn't been able to get a bead on him.
The chances he had taken in subsequent years while performing the missions that Nechayev had liked to refer to as his "little adventures" on her behalf . . . well, Nechayev herself had said she thought he was out of his mind on more than one occasion, although that never stopped her from tapping him or his "peculiar skills" (as she termed them) whenever she needed something low-key handled.