Текст книги "Summon the Thunder"

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

15

Looking across sickbay in the dimmed light, Anthony Leone could only shake his head.

I like to stay busy, sure, but…comeon.

He took little comfort in the lame attempt at sardonic observation, and in fact he felt a bit guilty that he might even think such a thing given the current circumstances. Forcing away the errant thought, Leone walked to the nearest diagnostic bed, one of four in the Endeavour’s intensive-care unit of sickbay—each of which was occupied—to better study the readings on the patient status panel overlooking Ensign Karen LaMartina. The young woman had suffered upper-body burns and a concussion when a circuit panel blew out in the second round of strikes against the starship.

When she arrived in sickbay across the shoulder of a burly engineer, Leone noticed that her rescuer had taken a bit of a beating himself from the same explosion. Rather than hang around to have his own wounds examined, the engineer instead remained only long enough to offer a hasty report of what happened before dashing off, full of adrenaline and the desire to resume his duties so long as he was able. Leone had yet to see him return, which made the physician wonder whether the man truly was more able to perform than he appeared or had instead collapsed somewhere in the bowels of the ship.

And that’s just one of five thousand things going on aboard this ship right now, none of which I have a damned clue about.The thought only fueled his already mounting frustration as he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on the one thing of which he was most aware at the moment: the number of casualties crowding his sickbay.

Before him, LaMartina wrestled in obvious discomfort from her injuries. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on her arm. “Pain?” he asked, and the young ensign nodded. Leone reached for a hypospray that had already been positioned nearby by Dr. Bruce Griffin, his ever-prepared assistant CMO. Adjusting the dosage on the hypospray, Leone pressed the device to LaMartina’s neck and injected the analgesic, the medication entering her bloodstream on the heels of the hypospray’s compressed hiss. He saw the sedative’s effects begin to take hold immediately, with his patient’s eyes fluttering and her facial features beginning to relax.

Weakly, she reached out to touch his arm. “I’ve been…sleepy….”

“It’s the medication, Ensign,” Leone said, his short-sleeved tunic allowing him to feel the clammy touch of her fingers on his bare skin. “You’ll be fine.”

“Wait,” LaMartina said, tightening her grip around his slender forearm. “I thought I heard…did you say…the captain was killed?”

Leone’s own throat tightened a bit as it did every time he bore bad news to a member of the crew, patient or not. “I’m sorry, Karen,” he spoke softly. “Yes, Captain Zhao is dead.”

He watched as the woman pressed her eyes closed and sighed deeply. Leone never was one to couch his words in circumstances such as these; he knew it really did not soften the news of someone’s death by coming up with some euphemism. Captain Zhao had not passed away. He had not merely left behind this mortal plane in order to enter another realm of existence. He had died. Attempting to dull or deflect such a grievous tragedy in large, flowing vocabulary, Leone had learned, never succeeded in making death any less painful or worrisome to those still living.

“But, we’re going to be okay,” he said after a moment, reminding himself with a small amount of irritation that his priorities now remained not with the dead but with the living. “ You’regoing to be okay.” He patted her hand before placing it at her side. “Rest now, and I’ll be back in a bit.”

Looking up, he saw Dr. Griffin regarding him from the foot of LaMartina’s bed, the younger man’s expression one of concern. Sensing this was not a conversation he wanted held in front of his patients, Leone directed his assistant to his office. He fell more than sat down in the seat behind his cluttered, disorganized desk, waiting for the door to hiss shut before looking to his colleague and friend.

“Something wrong, Doctor?”

“Well, I was just wondering,” Griffin said as he ran his hand through his sandy brown hair, “if you’ve heard anything about what happened back at Erilon.”

Leone released an exhausted sigh. “Maybe you were on break or something, but I’ve had my hands full the last couple of hours. Wanna enlighten me?”

Obviously put off by Leone’s remark, Griffin clasped his hands before him. “I’m only bringing it up because, to hear some people tell it, the captain might not be dead.”

Frowning, Leone allowed a scowl to darken his features. “Really? And what makes them say that?”

“The word is that Commander Khatami just left him behind when she pulled up and ran,” Griffin said, his eyes growing wider as he offered the unpleasant notion. “He could still be fighting it out against…well, whatever happened down there.”

Leone knit his brow and made a fist with his right hand while cupping it in his left. He admitted to himself that he would have given a limb right then and there for a full report of just what actually occurred back at the encampment, but he could trust only what little information he did have, along with his gut instinct when it came to Khatami as he had known her for these past couple of years. “And you…buy into that account of events, Doctor?”

“Dr. Leone, I’m only saying…”

“And I’m only saying that you have an opportunity to put a lid on whatever rumor mill you seem to be tapped into,” Leone said, leaning forward in his chair and adding an edge to his voice that made Griffin straighten his posture. “From what I’ve been told by people who were actually down on the planet, whatever it was that tore through the base and our landing party did so quickly and aggressively. There’s no reason to believe that anyone survived.” At least, that was according to what little information Lieutenant Xiong was able to articulate before Leone escorted the Starfleet archaeologist to his temporary quarters and sedated him.

Well, that,he thought, and the gaping hole where that Denobulan’s chest, lungs, and spine used to be.

“If you and your party of conspiracy theorists need proof of what they were up against,” Leone said, actual anger now beginning to lace his words, “I can arrange a tour of the stasis chamber. We can get all of this sorted out right now.”

To his credit, Griffin meekly shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Doctor. I didn’t…I didn’t have that other information at my disposal.”

“Ah,” Leone said. “So, tell me, just how did youdo on your battery of command examinations at Starfleet Academy? You know, that Kobayashi-whatever-the-hell-it-is test?”

“I never took those courses or that test,” Griffin said, embarrassment and his own ire beginning to color his features. “You know I only undertook Starfleet medical training.”

Leone placed his hands flat atop his desk and pushed himself to his feet. “Well, then,” he said, glaring at the other doctor, “until you do, maybe you and your fellow gossipers can keep your damn second-guessing of command decisions to yourself. Got that?”

“Very clearly, sir,” Griffin said crisply and nodding his head vigorously.

Holding his stare for an additional moment, Leone finally relaxed and allowed himself to return to his seat. “There’s a lot more to healing a ship, Doctor, than just patching up its crew. Attend to that, and we’ll all be better off,” he said, reaching for the data slate lying atop the chaos that was his desk. “Now, unless there’s anything else, I have a report to finish.”

Griffin turned and left without another word, and Leone watched the young physician wander back into sickbay, then turn and look back over his shoulder for a moment before returning his attention to his patients. The chief medical officer narrowed his eyes as he watched Griffin work before shaking his head and turning to regard the data slate in his hand.

Didn’t take long for the natives to get restless,Leone thought as he reviewed his final list of crew casualties. Damn, this is gonna be a long trip home for all of us.

Poking at reconstituted corned-beef hash, Stephen Klisiewicz decided, did nothing to imbue it with additional flavor.

And it was not merely the food before him that seemed drained of its essence, he thought. Looking around the Endeavour’s mess hall, every aspect of the environment seemed lifeless and dry to him. Crew members moved slowly, as though walking with leaden weights draped invisibly around their necks. Aside from the omnipresent hum of the ship’s engines, chairs scraping against deck plates and the occasional grinding of cutlery against dishes offered the only audible backdrop. What few conversations actually did take place at surrounding tables seemed muted in tone and abbreviated in conduct, as if people were exchanging only the barest information necessary to keep working.

Much more than just Captain Zhao died this morning,Klisiewicz decided, and it shows.

He had come straight to the mess hall more as a mechanical response than anything else. After the Endeavour’s departure from Erilon—and after Commander Khatami left the bridge—Klisiewicz had spent the remainder of his shift at the science station, halfheartedly running diagnostic checks of the starship’s computer core and data systems and quietly absorbing the pall that had settled on the bridge crew. Although Neelakanta had moved from his seat at the helm into the command chair, Klisiewicz felt that it was Mog who had lent more of a commanding air to the situation, calling across the bridge for updated condition reports and coordinating repair efforts from his engineering console. The burly Tellarite also found time to move from station to station and engage members of the bridge crew in personal conversation, a move Klisiewicz felt had done some good in restoring a measure of his own morale—maybe everyone’s—as Endeavourmade its fastest possible speed back to Starbase 47.

When an officer he did not recognize relieved him from his post, Klisiewicz simply left, his parting glance at Mog unreturned as the engineer focused on a computer readout. Halfway to his quarters, a growling in the pit of his stomach diverted him to the mess hall. Still, even though he had skipped breakfast, that hunger seemed to have been a miscue, as he found himself toying with his hash while the events of the past few hours unreeled in a continual loop in his mind.

Was I the right one for the job today? Did I really do enough? Could I at least have been fast—

“Ensign Klisiewicz?”

A flash of yellow in front of him snapped Klisiewicz from his reverie, and he looked up to see Lieutenant McCormack standing across the table from him and holding a meal tray. The navigator’s face was framed in strawberry-blond hair and her smile was tentative, one he had never glimpsed during their time together on the bridge. At that moment, however, even a hint of something friendly was a welcome bit of comfort.

“Lieutenant!” he said, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

“Please,” she replied in a quiet voice seemingly pitched lower than her petite frame might have suggested. “I’m Marielise. I figure at this point, we’re past just ranks.”

Happy to take her up on the offer, Klisiewicz rose from his seat. “I’m Stephen, then,” he said as he pulled a chair out for her. “Please, sit down.”

McCormack set the tray on the table and lowered herself into the proffered chair, casting a wary eye toward his tray while plucking a napkin from atop her own to reveal her selection: a cold salad of chicken, apples, and nuts on a bed of greens. He found himself a little embarrassed, somehow wanting to offer a defense for his meager meal, and a little anxious about her motives for seeking out his company in the mess. She offered no immediate answers, choosing instead to eat in the same silence as the diners around them.

“How do you find an appetite?” Klisiewicz asked, embarrassed at the question even as the words left his mouth. Frowning, he added, “I mean, you know, after everything that’s happened.”

Shrugging, McCormack moved greens and small bits of chicken around on her plate. “To be honest, I’m not really that hungry. I found myself here after my shift ended, without even realizing it.” She offered a small smile. “Habit, I guess. Besides, I figure I’m not exactly helping anyone if I don’t eat. The last thing you want is Dr. Leone chasing after you because you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Though he nodded in understanding, Klisiewicz felt less than inspired by the lieutenant’s observations. Instead, he opted to poke some more at his hash.

“So,” McCormack said after a few moments and after she had consumed half her salad, “was that really your first time in combat?”

Guess she cuts right to the heart of things,he thought as he felt his shoulders slump. “Was it that obvious?” he asked.

“Not at all,” the lieutenant replied. “I only ask because I thought I heard someone mention it. I was surprised, actually.”

He felt buoyed. “You were?”

McCormack nodded as she took another bite of her salad. Klisiewicz hung on her affirmation, and kept hanging as she chewed bite after bite, seemingly disinterested in pursuing the conversation. Still, for some reason, Klisiewicz did not find the silence awkward. Aside from the obvious fact that McCormack was very attractive, he found her presence a calming one. Oddly enough, he even felt some of his own appetite returning, and finally took the first bite of his own meal.

They carried on wordlessly for the rest of their meal until McCormack dropped her fork onto her now empty plate and wiped her mouth with her napkin. Rising from her seat, she looked at him and offered another smile, though this one was broader and more lively than when she had first arrived. “It was nice getting to know you, Stephen,” she said.

Getting toknow me?Klisiewicz almost choked on his hash. “Likewise,” he said around a tentative mouthful of food. “Maybe I’ll see you next time?”

McCormack nodded once in agreement as she picked up her tray, pausing long enough to hold his gaze. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “you’re a good guy to have on the bridge during a fight.”

And with that, Lieutenant Marielise McCormack spun on her heel and was gone, leaving a baffled Klisiewicz to watch her as she disappeared through the door leading to the corridor. It was not until several moments had passed, with him trying to assess his enigmatic dining partner, that he realized he had finished his meal and that he felt better than he had in several hours.

Wow.

Space had never felt colder for Atish Khatami than it did at this moment.

In the stillness of her quarters, she sat upright in a tall-backed seat behind her desk. The desk was unadorned except for a standard tabletop viewer, which bathed her face in a soft glow of light as she stared unwaveringly toward its screen and into the faces depicted upon it, those of Commodore Diego Reyes and Lieutenant Commander T’Prynn.

Khatami figured that if she looked straight into their faces, then maybe she could keep on blinking back any stray tears that she still could not manage to suppress. So far, through her whole report on the incident at Erilon, she had managed to do so. She believed she had held herself together on an even par with Reyes himself, which given her experience with the base commander’s reserved demeanor was saying something.

Khatami knew better than to hold her disposition up for comparison against T’Prynn’s.

“ Have you interviewed Mr. Xiong?”the Vulcan intelligence officer asked flatly from the other side of the screen.

“Not beyond the basics of what I just told you,” Khatami said, ignoring the dull ache in her bruised jaw. “Dr. Leone ordered that he be allowed to rest before he is debriefed.”

“ There’s no need for you to speak to him, Commander,” Reyes said, almost too quickly. “ We’ll just do it again here, anyway. Let him rest and maybe work up his written report.”

“Yes, Commodore,” Khatami replied, nodding in understanding.

“ Now, as for theEndeavour,” Reyes said, “ your chief engineer has already transmitted a complete list of the outstanding repairs and needed replacement components. We’ll be ready for you as soon as you get home.” Leaning forward, the commodore knitted his fingers together and tapped his thumbs, looking down at his hands a moment before releasing a sigh. “ Commander, I’m going to need your people prepared to ship out as soon as we can get you ready, and you know my people work fast. I’m going to need theEndeavour back at Erilon as soon as possible, to investigate…what happened there.”

I know what happened there, and I didn’t want to leave in the first place.

Khatami nodded again. “Understood,” she said, refusing to give in to the burning in her eyes. If she had learned anything during her brief tenure assigned to Starbase 47, it was that the station’s mission paused for little, even tragedy.

As if satisfied with the report, at least for the moment, Reyes nodded. “ Commander, Captain Zhao was an exemplary leader, and I have no doubt the others who gave their lives today were equally capable,”he said, the tone of his voice softening. “ You have my deepest sympathies for your losses. Reyes out.”

“Thank you, sir,” Khatami whispered to the now darkened screen as she finally allowed the fresh tears to come forth.

I left them behind.

The words had been whips, mentally flogging herself during these past hours. They showed no signs of letting up, and Khatami did not want them to stop.

I left them. But he would have left them, too, even me. Or would he…?

Her tortured silence was jarred by the sound of her quarters door chime. Quickly blotting the tears from her eyes, she drew what she hoped was a calming breath. “Come in.”

The door slid aside to reveal a somewhat hesitant-looking Dr. Leone, holding a data slate in one hand and a medical pouch in the other. He shuffled a bit as he grimaced from one side of his mouth. “Commander,” he said after an awkward pause.

“Tony,” she said, allowing a bit of relief to seep into her voice. Leone, at least, was unlikely to require too much of her in a decision-making capacity, a role she admitted she was most uncomfortable assuming at this moment. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” the doctor said, “you haven’t checked in to sickbay yet, and I’m told you need to.” He stepped into her quarter, allowing the door to close behind him. “So, how are you?”

Khatami rubbed two fingers along the line of her jaw. “Better,” she said, not altogether lying. “At least, I don’t think it’s broken.”

Leone nodded, reaching into his medical kit and producing a scanner. He cradled the device in his fingers as she leaned closer, and Khatami imagined a prickly sensation beneath her skin as she watched the scanner hover a hairsbreadth over her cheek and jawline while Leone moved it slowly up and back. After a few moments, he consulted its readings.

“Wow,” Leone said. “That’s gonna hurt awhile.”

Khatami leaned back, not feeling very relieved by the assessment. “Is that your informed medical opinion, Doctor?”

“Absolutely,” he said in all seriousness as he traded the scanner for a hypospray. “But it’s not fractured. This’ll help.”

No sooner did Leone inject the contents of the hypospray into her shoulder than Khatami felt its analgesic effects begin to soothe the throbbing ache she had endured these past hours. Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the welcome relief.

“That ought to do the trick,” he said after a moment, returning the scanner to his medical kit before extracting a green computer data cartridge. He moved across the room to Khatami’s personal food slot. “A colleague once told me something about doing my job when it comes to the senior staff,” he said as he inserted the data card and pressed a pair of control buttons set into the bulkhead above the slot. “Something about knowing when to be a physician and when to be a bartender.”

He turned to face her, now carrying a small tray that bore two iced drinks in short, square glasses. Crossing the room to her desk, he set the tray down, and a wafting scent of alcohol teased Khatami’s nostrils. Despite herself, she could not help but smile for the first time in what felt like forever.

“You know I don’t drink, Tony.”

Leone shrugged. “Exactly my point,” he said, snatching one of the glasses and downing its contents in a single slug. “The guy didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Some people just shouldn’t be on starships, you know?”

She laughed as she watched him exchange glasses, almost forgetting the pain in her jaw as he sipped from the second drink. “I’m beginning to think so, yes.”

Leone nodded, then froze as if only then realizing his words carried the great likelihood of landing completely albeit unintentionally wrong. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “You gotta throw me a bit of a lifeline here, Atish,” he said, still looking pained. “This isn’t my thing, you know?” Shaking his head, he took another, larger sip from his drink. “Dammit, we need some sort of psychiatrist out here full time or something.” He froze again but this time recovered more quickly. “Not that you need a psychiatrist,” he clarified before looking away and swearing one of his preferred, earthier oaths.

Khatami reached across her desk and put her hand on his arm. “Your effort is not going unappreciated, Doctor.”

“Yeah, sure,” Leone said, his head bobbing quickly in a birdlike nod. “I mean, uh, thanks, Commander.” He quaffed at his glass again, draining his contents. “Now, I suggest you try to get some rest,” Leone instructed as he packed away his medical pouch. Looking to her, he added, “If you’d like to talk, you know, later…” he added, still fidgeting a bit.

“I know where to find you,” Khatami replied, putting sincerity in her voice more for his benefit than for hers. Still, as she spoke the words, the idea of talking to Leone didn’t seem all that unpalatable.

He nodded, offering what on him appeared to be a pained grin before crossing her quarters toward the door, which slid open at his approach. “For what it’s worth, Atish,” he said and paused to secure her attention, “your place is right here on Endeavour.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Khatami said, feeling a little warmth return to her spirit. Leone held her gaze for a moment more before stepping out of her quarters, leaving her to stare blankly at the door as it slid closed.

Sitting alone, she let the brief reprieve from her anguish comfort her, hoping that it would keep the cold loneliness of space from returning to her, at least for a time.