The ship is only a memory, but the drama unfolds....
The U.S.S. Excalibur has been obliterated. Its captain, Mackenzie Calhoun is gone. Now the surviving crew members are dispersed throughout the galaxy, seeking to forge new lives in the wake of the Excalibur's destruction. For Dr. Selar, the ship's former medical officer, that means facing a very personal crisis.
Following the birth of her child, the Vulcan doctor returned to her homeworld, determined to raise the child exclusively in the way of logic. But the child's father, the Hermat Lieutenant Commander Burgoyne, has hir own views regarding their offspring's future, and s/he intends to fight for hir paternal rights, even if it means appealing to the highest authorities of two worlds!
Elsewhere in the Alpha Quadrant, Lieutenant Robin Lefler and her enigmatic mother travel to the pleasure planet Risa where they encounter a genuine Starfleet legend....
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Pocket Books/Star Trek
August 27, 2000
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Excerpt from Renaissance by Peter David
Chapter One: Burgoyne & Selar
Selar stared at the desert in the middle of Burgoyne's living room, then looked in astonishment at the Hermat. She held their child close to her, looked as if she wanted to say something, said nothing, and instead looked back at the desert.
"Too much?" inquired Burgoyne solicitously.
Cautiously Selar walked the perimeter of the red desert sands. She felt heat radiating from the sands. A heat lamp above gave a fair approximation of a desert sun. "This," she said slowly, "is insane."
Burgoyne looked rather surprised. "I don't know why you would say that."
"Why I would say that?" The Vulcan doctor had walked around the desert and wound up back next to Burgoyne. The infant, Xyon, cooed blissfully. "Burgoyne...there is a desert...in the living room. Why is there a desert in the living room?"
"Not enough space in the den."
"That is not the point," Selar said with forced patience.
"Yes, I suspected it wasn't," Burgoyne admitted. "You don't like it?"
"That is also not the point. It has nothing to do with like or dislike. The question is why you felt a need to construct a replica of a desert in a room normally reserved for matters of socialization."
"I do not recall asking you to construct such a thing."
"Yes, I know you didn't ask. I was doing it to try to make you feel at home."
Selar let out a long, patient, and -- ultimately -- emotionless sigh. "Burgoyne," she said finally, "we need to talk."
"All right," Burgoyne said reasonably. S/he went to a chest of drawers and pulled out a couple of large blankets. This action puzzled Selar somewhat, but things were quickly made clear when Burgoyne spread the blankets out on the sand and dropped down onto one of them. S/he patted the other one, indicating that Selar should take a seat next to hir. Selar was sorely tempted to remain standing, but decided that matters would be simpler if she just humored the Hermat for a while. So she sat on the blanket that was a few inches away from Burgoyne.
Burgoyne looked quite ready to listen to anything that Selar was prepared to say. "Go ahead," s/he prompted.
"Burgoyne," she said slowly, "first, I should acknowledge the efforts to which you have gone. Obviously, you are aware that my native Vulcan is somewhat arid and desert-like in many places. Unlike the other Starfleet personnel who are taking advantage of the cooling-off period, you have chosen not to reside in San Francisco, in proximity to the Academy. Instead, you have obtained this lovely residence here in Nevada, on a stretch of territory that is not unlike Vulcan."
"I wanted to make you comfortable."
"I know. Your attention to my comfort and to any desires that I either might have, or that you think I might have, has been very..." She cast about in her mind for the right word. "Flattering," she finally settled on. "And I have been willing to accommodate your endeavors because...frankly, I had not developed a workable strategy to the contrary. However -- "
"However what?" s/he prompted. "You can tell me anything, Selar. You know that."
"No. I do not know that," Selar replied. "There are many things that I cannot tell you because it is a waste of time. There are things that you do not wish to hear, and, therefore, you tend not to hear them."
"What sort of things? I'm listening now."
"Burgoyne..." She drew a deep breath. "I do not love you."
"Yes, you do," Burgoyne said cheerily.
Selar let the breath out, shaking her head. "You see?"
"Yes, I do see. I see that you're afraid -- "
"No. I am not afraid." She rose and walked around the interior desert, shaking her head in a combination of frustration and amusement. "I am Vulcan. I am logical. I am able to put the reasonable aspects of a relationship ahead of any foolish emotional entanglements. And, logically, it is utterly unreasonable to think that any long-term relationship between us could work."
"Excuse me, Selar," Burgoyne said, indicating the child who was happily burbling on the blanket, "but we already have a long term commitment, and that's him. He's as much my child as he is yours."
Selar was silent.
"I said, 'He's as much -- '"
"I heard you, Burgoyne," she said softly. "My hearing is quite acute, as I am sure you are aware."
Burgoyne leaned back against the nearest wall, watching Selar with open confusion. "Are you disagreeing?" s/he asked. There was something in hir tone that seemed vaguely warning.
"The child has Vulcan ears, and the face is of a generally Vulcan cast. As for his reproductive system..."
"He is singularly male. Yes, I know."
She raised an eyebrow. "You say that with a hint of regret."
Burgoyne's lips thinned. "You keep talking about how you know nothing about emotions, Selar. About how above them you are. So, if it's all the same to you, don't start attributing emotions to how I say things, considering you claim to be unfamiliar with them."
"Very well," she said. "The point is...your genetic contribution seems minimal to nonexistent."
"I'm still his father."
"And for that, you will always have my gratitude. But -- "
"Gratitude," Burgoyne interrupted her, snorting disdainfully. "You know, Selar, I'm starting to wonder if you know the meaning of the word."
"Gratitude. Noun. An appreciative awareness or -- "
"That's not what I mean and you know it!" It seemed as if Burgoyne's meticulously crafted control was starting to erode. Selar couldn't help but think that if Burgoyne was in some sort of "competition" to see who could keep themselves reserved longer, s/he didn't have a prayer. S/he was pacing furiously.
Still sitting on the floor, Xyon's attention was now caught by hir, and he watched hir as s/he moved back and forth.
"How much more do I have to be there for you? I was there for you when you were in the grip of pon farr. I was there for you, for emotional support, during your pregnancy. I saved your life -- "
"Burgoyne, I know that -- "
"Saved your life!" s/he shouted over her. "I was so linked into your mind that I fought monsters and kept you alive so that you could give birth to our son in a hostile environment -- "
"Technically, it was a single monster, not plural."
"I care. We might as well be precise."
Burgoyne covered hir face with hir hands. "Selar...does it matter whether it was one monster, two, or twenty? The point is, you owe me your life, and the life of Xyon."
"I am very well aware of that," Selar said reasonably. "But what did you expect of me, Burgoyne? Did you believe that I would come to love you because of those things?"
"I believed that, at the very least, you wouldn't reject me out of hand."
"It is not out of hand. It is..."
"What? What is it?"
Selar looked away. "Burgoyne...you want me to give something of which I am not capable."
"I don't believe that," Burgoyne said firmly. "I don't believe that you're incapable of love. Incapable of acknowledging that you are capable, perhaps, but that's as far as I'll take it." S/he shook hir head in exasperation. "You know what? I'm starting to wonder why I even bother."
"As am I," Selar said reasonably. "What did you think was going to happen here, Burgoyne?" She steadied herself. "It is my fault. You see, Burgoyne...I was operating out of gratitude. Believe it or not," she added dryly.
"Let's just say I'm skeptical," Burgoyne said, but s/he sounded uncertain.
"I agreed to come out here, to reside with you in this domicile, because I believed that you were...entitled in some way. That, after everything you had been through in connection with me and this child -- "
"Yes. Xyon." She frowned. "I know his name."
"That may be, but you never say it. You just say, 'this child.' You should refer to him by his name. It's as if you're trying to distance yourself even now."
"I am trying to do nothing of the kind. The point is, Burgoyne, that you had gone to a great deal of effort to create a safe and nurturing environment for both my child -- "
"Our child," Burgoyne immediately corrected.
"Our child...and me," Selar continued. "And I have resided here for eleven days, thirteen hours and fifty-seven minutes. I have given you time to get to know your child -- "
This time Selar took longer to make the correction. An observer might have concluded that the unflappable Vulcan was becoming just the least bit annoyed. "Our child," she said slowly. "But I believe that I have falsely given you the impression that this could possibly attain some sort of long-term status, when such is not the case."
"Would you like to know," Burgoyne said, "what I consider not to be the case?"
"I suspect you will tell me whether I desire to know or not."
"Absolutely true." Burgoyne took a steadying breath. "I thought I could walk away, Selar. I thought I could accommodate your biological need, provide you with a child, and then turn away and leave him or her in your hands. And I suppose I also thought that we would have time to sort things out. After all, we were going to be continuing to serve on the same ship. Neither of us was going anywhere. So you could say that a false sense of security set in. Well, we're not on a ship together, and if we're going to raise this child as a couple -- "
"Burgoyne." Even Selar's endless patience was waning "We are not a couple. We are not going to raise this child together. I am his mother."
"And I am his father."
"But according to Vulcan law, my interests in the child hold sway."
"Ah," said Burgoyne. S/he had stopped pacing, and was now facing Selar in a rather challenging pose. "So now we get down to it."
"Get down to what?"
"You feel that you're more important to Xyon's future than I am. You're intending to cut me out of all interest in his development and growth."
"For you to be 'cut out,'" Selar said, with what she felt to be fairly reasonable consideration, "you would have had to be 'cut in' in the first place. You have not been. It has always been my intention to be this child's primary parent."
"Why?" Selar blinked at the question.
"Yes. Why?" S/he gestured toward Xyon, who -- it seemed to Selar -- was actually beginning to look a little concerned, as if aware that his parents were having a disagreement. "You keep telling me how incapable you are of love. What kind of a mother are you going to be if you can't even love your child?"
"A Vulcan mother. One who will teach Xyon about his heritage and raise him in the Vulcan way, as per Vulcan law."
"Well, you know what?" Burgoyne said defiantly. "We Hermats have a few laws of our own. That child right there is as much Hermat as he is Vulcan, no matter what the biological tests might say right now."
"I think," she told him, "that if you do some serious study into the matter, instead of confining your awareness on the topic to emotional outbursts, you will find that not to be the case. Vulcan genes tend to dominate. This is true in Vulcan/Human pairings, and is true as well in this union. Burgoyne, I think it would be best if you were reasonable."
"I am being reasonable. Xyon's entitled to know of his Hermat heritage."
"But he needs to be raised as a Vulcan."
Burgoyne actually looked concerned. "What are you saying?"
"I am saying that it is my intention to return with Xyon to Vulcan, to reside there, and to raise him as a Vulcan. He will be taught the orderly discipline of logic, he will be -- "
"He will be my son, with no opportunity to truly grasp his heritage."
"His heritage?" She shook her head and actually looked amused, or as close to that as she came. "Burgoyne, this is foolishness. The fact that he is your son flatly contradicts that he could even have a heritage. Hermats do not have sons, or daughters. All of you are mixed genders."
"We prefer the term 'blend.'"
"Blend. If that is your phrase of choice, fine. The point is, your calling him your son precludes the very claim to Hermat upbringing that you bandy about. If he has one heritage, then he is not Hermat."
"You don't understand his potential."
"Potential? To what are you referring?"
Burgoyne looked left and right, as if s/he were about to impart some great, secret knowledge. In a lowered voice, s/he said, "There is a prophecy...a Hermat prophecy, going back centuries. A prophecy that says there will come a child...a child who is Hermat, but not of Hermat...a child with pointed ears and alien head, but of Hermat heart. One who will unite the fractious Hermat population and guide us forward into a golden age. And that prophesied child...could very well be our son."
Selar was stunned. She looked from the baby back to Burgoyne. "Is any of that true?" she inquired.
Burgoyne opened hir mouth to continue the boasts, then sighed and sagged, like a deflated balloon. "No. It's all lies," s/he admitted. "But it sounded good, didn't it?"
Selar's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Sometimes, Burgoyne, I have no idea what to think of you."
"Then think of this," Burgoyne told her. "You said these past eleven days were so that I could get to know the child. Eleven days? Eleven days, Selar? The truth is that people spend a lifetime getting to know their children, and even at the end of that, they can still be as much of a mystery as they were at the beginning. The sad thing is that you don't understand that. The fortunate thing is that I do. The child needs both of us, Selar. Both of us. It is only...logical."
"But I do not love you, Burgoyne," she said firmly. "I feel as close to you as..."
"You'll allow yourself to be?"
She frowned slightly at that. "This is accomplishing nothing, Burgoyne."
Burgoyne seemed about to argue further, but then s/he sighed, looking fatigued. "You know...you're probably right. I admit that. But I will do so only if you admit that perhaps we've hit a stalemate simply because we're going back and forth over the same ground. That perhaps tomorrow might bring fresher views and new insights."
"I do not know that I agree," said Selar, "but I concur that it is possible. You are suggesting that we 'sleep on it,' as they say."
"As they say," agreed Burgoyne readily.
"Very well, Burgoyne. I owe you much, I admit that. So I certainly owe you a night's consideration. Let us consider matters tomorrow."
Burgoyne bobbed hir head...and then reached toward Selar with hir right hand, the first two fingers extended. Selar was a bit surprised, but hid it with practiced ease. She hesitated a moment, and then extended the first two fingers of her own right hand. Their fingers touched, caressed each other gently in the Vulcan custom that served as an open display of affection.
"There," smiled Burgoyne, hir pointed teeth slightly exposed. "That wasn't so horrible now, was it? The world didn't come to an end. Maybe there is hope for us, Selar. What do you think?"
"There are always...possibilities," Selar said diplomatically.
Dreams tumbled about in Burgoyne's head, images that s/he could not determine, nor did s/he wish to. They were too upsetting in nature, and were best left for another time.
S/he awoke and sat up in hir bed, then glanced at the chronometer. But that simply verified what s/he knew instinctively: it was the middle of the night. S/he had no idea why...but suddenly s/he wanted Selar. There was no rhyme, no "logic" to it. It wasn't as if Selar would be interested. And even if she was, it was insane to think that an act of passion in the middle of the night could settle the differences between them.
"Then again, at least it would be a start," Burgoyne murmured to hirself. With that thought in mind, s/he padded out of hir bedroom and down the hall to where Selar slept. The door, s/he was pleased to see, was unlocked. That might be considered a very good sign.
S/he stepped quietly into the room, allowing hir catlike eyes to adjust to the dimness, and padded over to the bed. S/he knelt down upon it...and, instantly, the absence of warmth indicated to hir that the bed was empty.
This did not immediately concern hir. S/he reasoned that the baby must have stirred, cried for his mother. Hermat parents tended to keep their children in the room with them during the early days. Selar had not felt it necessary: with those impressive ears of hers, there was no way Selar would not hear him should he stir in the night. So Selar was undoubtedly in the adjoining room, tending to little Xyon's needs.
That was what Burgoyne kept telling hirself, right up to the point where s/he entered the baby's room and found that empty as well.
They're in another room. They're outside for a walk. These and other explanations tumbled about in Burgoyne's head as s/he went from one room to the next, and to the next, still fighting down a combination of anger and panic. But as s/he moved through the house, s/he went faster and faster until -- by the time s/he was inspecting the exterior in the last, flagging hope that Selar and Xyon would be out there -- s/he was practically sprinting.
S/he bolted to the outside. The desert air was surprisingly sharp in hir lungs as s/he bounded around the perimeter of the house. By now s/he was moving on all fours, balancing the spring in hir powerful legs with hir knuckles. S/he moved away from the house, hir nostrils flaring, trying to catch a scent in the air. And s/he picked one up. No...there were three. There was Selar, and Xyon...and there was the faint, burning whiff of ozone that told hir a small ship had come.
Come and gone.
Gone...with Selar and hir son.
Burgoyne crouched, looking at the blood-red full moon that hung in the sky, and then s/he threw back hir head and let out a scream that sent small animals scurrying. A scream that carried across the desolation of the peaceful night desert, and seemed to go on until morning.