NF 11 - Excalibur 3 - Restoration (c) by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2011-01-02T08:00:33.756000+00:00

CALHOUN

CALHOUN COULD SCARCELY BELIEVE IT.

He had been walking here, there, and everywhere throughout the area whenever he had moments free, trying to trace what direction he had come from. Seeking out, with what seemed growing futility, the crash site where his shuttle was piled up. And now he’d found it . . . thanks to the guidance of a small boy who had had no clue at all that Calhoun was looking for it. In short, thanks to Moke, he had lucked onto what he’d been searching for all this time.

“This way, Calhoun! Now that way, Calhoun!” Moke had been barking orders as Calhoun steered the sailskipper, trying to keep up with the vagaries of the wind while, at the same time, adhering to the rapid-fire directions Moke shouted out to him. Every time he’d angle the sailskipper this way or that way, Moke would howl with laughter. It was nice to see the boy enjoying himself.

And it forced him to dwell, however briefly—and unwillingly—on all the years he had missed in the growth of his own son, Xyon. The son that he had rediscovered, only to lose him shortly thereafter.

He chided himself mentally. There was simply no point to berating himself or dwelling in “might-have-beens.” Such second-guessing had never been his style, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. Things were what they were, and second-guessing himself wasn’t any way to live his life. He’d made his decisions, and he had lived with them.

Yet here was this boy . . . this boy . . .

He could make up for Xyon . . . maybe just a little . . . if he . . .

If he what? Stayed? Denied what he was?

Except . . . what was he, really? Was he a Starfleet captain? Or was that merely a crafted façade that covered the fact that this life, wild and free and open, suited him far more? There was Rheela, whom he knew was attracted to him, and the boy, Moke . . . well, he was just hungry for a father figure. Any father figure, it seemed, which really wasn’t all that flattering to Calhoun. Even so, what else could one expect of a child so young and desperate for attention?

Nevertheless, the sensation of the bridge beneath his feet, the hissing of the door from the captain’s ready room when he strode out to his post, the array of stars that hurtled by a starship cruising the spaceways . . .

And Shelby. Elizabeth Paula Shelby. At night, when his keen hearing told him that Rheela was right down the hall, breathing steadily and very likely amenable to whatever he might fancy, there would be Shelby in his mind’s eye. If Xyon was the son who had slipped through his fingers, so, too, had Shelby been the fiancée who had eluded him. Or he had eluded her. It had been more of a mutual elusiveness, it seemed, neither of them ready, neither of them willing to give of themselves in the way that marriage truly required.

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