“All right. Dismissed.”

Everyone except Shelby began to rise, and she said, “Captain ... a moment of your time? To discuss logistics.”

Calhoun nodded, and the others filed out. Shelby watched sadly as Burgoyne limped away with hir leg in a massive brace. The brace was humming softly, resetting the bones even as s/he walked. Still, considering the fluidity with which Burgoyne customarily moved, it was a depressing thing to witness. On the other hand, at least s/he was still alive.

Calhoun sat again once they were alone, his fingers interlaced, his face grim. “I didn’t get a chance,” he said, “to formally thank you for your timely—”

“Fine, glad to help, now what do you think you’re doing?” demanded Shelby.

He stared at her blankly. “What?”

“What. Do you think. You’re doing?”

“Are you questioning my command decisions, Captain?” It sounded as if he didn’t know whether to be amused or angry, and settled for a combination of both.

“No, I’m questioning your sanity,” she said, and rose to come around the table to him. “Mac, you can’t do it. You can’t make the kinds of repairs this ship needs out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“You said you would provide whatever was required ...”

“That’s right,” she said, “and right now what’s required is some common sense. Your crew doesn’t need to try and stitch the Excaliburback together against such odds when it’s not necessary.”

“I don’t think I need to be lectured by you, Eppy, as to what my crew needs or doesn’t need, particularly since you’re no longer a member of this crew.”

She blinked in surprise. “And what is thatsupposed to mean? What, are you now saying you resent me for getting my own command? Is that where this is going?”

“No, what I resent is having you second-guess me ...”

“And what I resent is seeing one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known thinking with his wounded pride instead of his head!”

“This has nothing to do with my pride.”

“Mac, it has everythingto do with your pride,” she said, her voice a bit softer but still firm. She half sat on the table, facing him. “You absolutely despise the idea of limping back in to a starbase seeking help, because the truth is that you think you’re better and smarter than the entirety of Starfleet and you see it as some great loss of face, admitting you need help from the fleet. It’s ridiculous. Starfleet is a resource, and it’s madness not to take advantage of that resource.”

Calhoun said nothing; simply stared into space. Shelby knew that look all too well. He was going to say something; he was just going to take his own sweet time saying it.

When he did, it was with a long, frustrated sigh. “I got my ass kicked, Eppy.”

“I wouldn’t say that ...”

“No?” He looked up at her.

“No. Well ... not to your face.”

It was intended to provoke a smile from him. It didn’t succeed. Instead he drummed his fingertips on the table. “I’ve had setbacks, Eppy. Don’t think that I haven’t. Going all the way back to my warlord days on Xenex ... it’s not like I won every battle. But this was ... this was different. When I was fighting to free Xenex from the Danteri, my fellow Xenexians came to me of their own free will, and we were battling for a common cause. Here, though ... most of the people on this vessel were assigned. They’re doing a job, and trusting me to keep them safe so they can do it. I let them down.”

“You did the best you could.”

“You know better, Eppy,” he said chidingly. “I’ve never settled for ‘the best I could.’ That’s a way of finding an excuse for not getting the job done.”

“Not always. And no one thinks the less of you.”

“I do.”

“Well, now you’re just getting into self-pity.”

His eyes flashed with temper, which she was actually happy to see since it seemed more like the fiery Calhoun she was used to. “Have you ever known me to feel sorry for myself?”

“No. That’s why I’d rather not start now.”

For a moment, the old scar that lined the right side of his face flared a bright red ... and then just as quickly subsided. “I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself,” he said softly, sounding just ever so slightly like a recalcitrant child. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn’t help but smile.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she pointed out, “it took no less than gods to kick the ass of the great Mackenzie Calhoun.”

He rose from his chair to look her eye-to-eye. “They weren’t gods,” he replied. “They may be many things ... energy beings, creatures of incalculable power ... but they aren’t gods. That much I know. And if they aren’t gods, I can find a way to kill them.”

“Mac ...”

“They die, Eppy.”

“Mac... ”

“Eppy,” and his voice became low and angry, but the anger wasn’t directed at her. It was instead focused on the entities out there, somewhere in the void. “Eppy, I sat in my ready room and talked to Mark McHenry, and he told me these ... Beings ... are not to be trusted. In the privacy of that room, he expressed an opinion, nothing more. And he died for it, and Morgan died for it, and other good people died for it. These creatures don’t walk away from that. I don’t care if they’re some advanced species. I don’t care that they claim they can present us with some sort of ‘golden age.’ I don’t want to study them, or understand their point of view, or try to comprehend their alien thought process. I don’t care that our mandate is to seek out new life and new civilizations, because we sought out that new life, and it wasn’t civilized, and it killed us, and I’m going to kill it back. And don’t you for a moment think you’re going to talk me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t even begin to try,” she sighed. “On the plus side, I suppose this beats you feeling sorry for yourself. I do feel constrained to point out, though, that if you have any intention of taking on these individuals, you’re going to want your ship at her best. Not held together with spit and baling wire. You’re going to have to make some choices in terms of your priorities.”

Before Calhoun could reply, the door chimed. “Come,” called Calhoun.

Chief Engineer Mitchell entered, looking slightly apologetic as he did so. He had a padd tucked under one arm.

“That was fast,” said Calhoun.

“I figured getting you at least a partial list to start might be a good idea, sir,” said Mitchell. He sounded very tentative. That was quite a departure from Mitchell’s normal convivial and wryly sarcastic attitude.

“Smart thinking, Chief.” He took the padd from Mitchell and studied the specs on it carefully. His eyebrows knit and he shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Mitchell,” he said finally.

Mitchell looked utterly crestfallen, and even Shelby was surprised at Calhoun’s cavalier dismissal of the work done so far. “I ... beg your pardon, sir?”

“Well, I should hope you would. Look at this. The amount of work that will be required to get this ship back into fighting shape, and you’re trying to figure out ways to do it while we’re sitting here in the middle of space. It’s absurd. Obviously we’re going to have to get to a starbase and have this attended to. I would think ... what?” He looked to Shelby with an innocent expression. “Starbase 27? I think that would work. Don’t you?”

“I think Starbase 27 would probably suit your needs, yes.”

Mitchell’s face became a mask of deadpan. “Perhaps the Tridentcould tow us there.”

“That’s a clever notion, Mitchell,” said Calhoun, his face no more expressive than Mitchell’s. “I wish I’d thought of it.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I suspect you will.” He turned to leave, paused, turned back, and said with mock seriousness, “I just want you to know, Captain, that it’s moments like this that remind me why it is that you’re my role model. Brilliant idea, going to Starbase 27.”