"Is that a fact," said Selar noncommittally.
"Yes." Burgoyne swirled hish drink around in the glass. "Tell me, Doctor . . . are you among them?"
"Not at all. I find youdisturbing." Burgoyne's smile displayed hish fangs. "I'll take that as a compliment," s/he said.
"As you wish."
"So anyway, the Terran offered me some of what he was drinking, and I tried it, and I swear to you I thought that it was going to peel the skin off the inside of my throat. I quickly realized that he was right: The stuff they've gotten us accustomed to in Starfleet is nothing compared to genuine Earth alcohol. Hell, even Hermat beverages pale in comparison to," and s/he rubbed the glass affectionately, "good ol' Scots whiskey. He told me if I had any intention of being a genuine engineer, that I should be able to drink him under the table. So I matched him drink for drink."
"And did you succeed? In drinking him under the table, I mean."
"Are you kidding?" Burgoyne laughed. "The last thing I remember was his smiling face turning at about a forty-five-degree angle . . . or at least that's what it seemed like before I hit the floor. But before that happened, I really let him have it."
"'Have it'?"
"I told him that I thought he was being gutless. That he was sitting in this pub hiding from the rest of the galaxy, when he could be out accomplishing amazing things. That he might be telling himself that he was being nostalgic, but in fact he was just being gutless," and s/he tapped one long finger on the table three times to emphasize the last three words. Then s/he winced slightly and said, "At least I think that's what I told him. It got a little fuzzy there at the end. When I came to, I was in a back room at the pub with all sorts of debauchery and perversity going on all around me. Reminded me of home, actually. And I found that he'd left me something: a bottle of Scotch, and a message scribbled on the label of the bottle. And the message was exactly two words long: He'd written, 'You're right.'"
" 'You're right.' That was the message in its entirety."
"The whole thing, yes. Never saw him again, but I can only assume that he decided to get back out to where he belonged."
"And where would that be?"
"Damned if I know." Burgoyne leaned forward. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Doctor?"
"Oh. Well. . . not really, no. I had simply assumed that this was a long and fairly pointless narrative. Why? Is there something to this story beyond that?"
"What I'm saying, Selar, is that we shouldn't be afraid to try new things. We Hermats have our . . . unusual anatomical quirks. But—"
She put up a hand. "Lieutenant Commander . . ."
"An unwieldy title. I prefer Burgoyne from you."
"Very well. Commander Burgoyne . . . despite a valiant endeavor, this conversation is not proceeding in substantially different fashion than our previous one. I am not interested in you."
"Yes, you are. You simply don't know it yet."
"May I ask how you have come to this intriguing, albeit it entirely erroneous, conclusion?"
"All right. . . but only if you promise to keep it between us."
She pushed the drink of Scotch several inches away from her as she said, "I assure you, Chief Burgoyne . . . nothing will give me greater personal satisfaction than knowing that this conversation will go no further than this table."
S/he leaned forward conspiratorially and gestured that Selar should get closer to hir. With a soft sigh, Selar did as Burgoyne indicated, and the Hermat said in such a low voice that even the acute hearing of the Vulcan could barely hear hir:
"Pheromones," whispered Burgoyne.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Pheromones. Hermats can detect an elevated pheromone level in most races. It's a gift. It cues us to rising sexual interest and excitement."
"I see. And you're detecting an elevated pheromone level in me."
"That is precisely right," Burgoyne said with such confidence that even the unflappable Selar felt a bit disconcerted. "You're becoming sexually excited. . . more so when you're with me, I like to think, although that may simply be wishful thinking on my part. I have always been something of a romantic."
"Commander . . . I am certain that you are quite good at your job . . ."
"I am."
"But you are unfamiliar with Vulcan biology. It is . . ." And then she caught herself, surprise flooding through her mind. She had been about to discuss such delicate and personal matters as with an off worlder. What was she thinking? Why was she having trouble prioritizing? ". . . it is impossible that I would be interested in you, in any event."
"Impossible why?"
"I cannot go into it."
Burgoyne leaned forward with a look of genuine curiosity on hish face. "Why can't you go into it?"
"I cannot," Selar said, her voice rising a bit more than she would have thought appropriate. The volume of her response didn't quite penetrate.
"Look, at the very least, I'd like to be your friend. If there's some problem that—"
And Selar was suddenly on her feet, and her response was a roar of fury. " I said I cannot go into it! What part of 'cannot' did you not comprehend?!"
The silence was instantaneous throughout the Team Room. Selar had managed, with no effort at all, to focus all attention in the room on herself. It was hardly a position that she desired to be in. Slowly her gaze surveyed the Team Room. Fighting to recapture her normal tone of voice, she asked, "May I assume you have something of greater importance on your minds than me?"
The crewmen needed no further urging to return to their respective conversations, although there were assorted quick glances in Selar's direction.
Automatically she put her hand to the underside of her throat. Her pulse was racing. The sounds of the room suddenly seemed magnified. Her temper had flared with Burgoyne, and although s/he might be one of the more irritating individuals that Selar had ever met, s/he was hardly enough to warrant the Vulcan tossing aside years of training and indulging in an emotional outburst.
"I have to go," she said, exerting her magnificent control over herself.
All flirtation, all smugness, was gone from Burgoyne. Instead s/he took Selar's hand firmly in hish own. Selar tried halfheartedly to pull clear, but Burgoyne's grip was surprisingly strong. Belatedly Selar remembered that Hermats had physical strength approximately two and a half times Earth norm. "Selar . . . if nothing else, we're fellow officers. If a fellow officer is in trouble, I'll do everything I can to alleviate that trouble. Whatever is wrong with you, I want to help."
"I do not need help. I merely need to be left alone. Thank you." And she exited as quickly as she could from the Team Room. This left everyone staring in confusion at Burgoyne. Burgoyne, for hish part, merely raised a glass. "May the Great Bird of the Galaxy roost on your planets," s/he said to the collective Team Room. S/he finished off the contents of hish glass and then, with a shrug, s/he reached over, picked up Selar's glass, and knocked that back, too.