Текст книги "The Red King "

Автор книги: Michael Martin

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Three

His dewclaws clicking on the uncarpeted portions of the deck as he made his way through sickbay, Dr. Shenti Yisec Eres Ree was feeling the weight of fatigue. Because of their carnivore heritage, Pahkwa-thanh tended toward relatively brief bursts of activity following their feedings, punctuated by several hours of dormancy. But in pursuing his medical duties—namely, dealing with all the major and minor injuries caused by both the skirmish at Romulus and Titan’s rough crossing into what was evidently a distant region of space—Ree had been awake and active continuously for nearly three duty shifts. His eyelids were nictitating more often than usual, but he had not yet been able to secure sufficient time away from sickbay to get any significant quantity of food or rest.

And eat and rest he would. But not before he had finished making his rounds. Looking across the main sickbay area, Ree saw Nurse Ogawa and Nurse Kershu, the three-armed Edosian, both of whom were attending to Titan’s Reman guest. All three turned their heads toward Ree as he approached.

“Doctor,” said Mekrikuk, nodding in greeting. The Reman, a political prisoner who had been rescued from Vikr’l Prison along with Tuvok, was sitting on the edge of the biobed. He was no longer under restraints, as Commander Troi had recommended, contrary to Ree’s ever-cautious instincts. Ree had to admit, though, that Troi’s assessment of Mekrikuk had been correct; he had caused no trouble whatsoever, merely engaging the medical staff in conversation and asking innumerable questions. Though Mekrikuk’s massive, heavily muscled form was wrapped in a blue hospital gown, the roadmap of old scars that covered his chest—doubtless the legacy of past battles, some fought against the Dominion, others in opposition to his Romulan rulers—remained starkly visible.

“It occurs to me that I have yet to thank you properly for saving my life,” Mekrikuk said in a surprisingly gentle tenor voice.

Removing his medical tricorder from his belt, Ree displayed his formidable array of teeth. “Nonsense, Mr. Mekrikuk. My first responsibility is the preservation of life.” He ran a brief scan, comparing the results to the readings he saw displayed over the biobed. Fixing his gaze back upon his patient, he said, “I must say, you have remarkable recuperative powers.”

Mekrikuk smiled, revealing his own sharp dentition. “That may be the only reason I have endured these many years, Doctor. When do you think I might be released from your infirmary?”

Ree resumed looking at his tricorder. “A few days at most.” And what then?he thought, recalling that Mekrikuk had already made a formal request for political asylum so as not to be returned to captivity at the hands of the Romulans. He knew that the captain would have to hold a hearing, whenever circumstances permitted. But since there was no place to drop Mekrikuk off afterward, would the Reman become a permanent passenger aboard Titan? Or a member of the crew?

Ree was thankful then that such matters fell outside his purview.

Bidding his patient a polite farewell, Ree crossed sickbay to one of the other biobed alcoves. He noticed that Ogawa had fallen into step beside him as Ranul Keru’s pale, still form came into view. Lieutenant T’Lirin, a female Vulcan security officer, sat ramrod-straight in a chair at Keru’s bedside. Though her facial expression was as impassive as that of any Vulcan, Ree got the impression that she was holding a personal grief vigil for her fallen superior officer.

T’Lirin nodded a silent acknowledgment at Ree and Ogawa as they approached Keru’s side. The Vulcan woman then quietly withdrew.

“Is there any good news on Commander Keru?” Ree asked Ogawa quietly, even though he could see the biobed readings—all of which indicated coma—as well as she could.

Ogawa frowned and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Doctor. There’s been no change.”

Ree nodded sadly, reminding himself that Keru’s condition had at least not declined any further. There was no reason to despair, at least not yet. The tall, bearded Trill breathed shallowly, as though he was merely asleep. The facial contusions and scrapes he had received during the battle over Romulus were healing, but Ree could see that underneath his eyelids, Keru’s eyes were motionless.

Not sleeping. Elsewhere.

Backing out of the biobed alcove, Ree headed toward the isolation room. Along the way, he passed the biobed of Lieutenant Feren Denken, the Matalinian security officer who had lost his right arm during the raid on Vikr’l Prison. Denken was sleeping, and Ree saw the man’s bandaged stump lying atop the blanket. Denken had made it known that his culture’s philosophical beliefs forbade him from accepting any kind of artificial body part, meaning that for all intents and purposes, his career in security was likely over. Ree knew that it wasn’t his place to question such decisions, even if he didn’t understand or agree with them. Of course, Denken’s injury would be far easier forme to endure,he thought. Pahkwa-thanh limbs regenerate on their own.

Leaving Ogawa to tend to the comatose Trill, Ree moved on toward the OB/GYN room. Although Pahkwa-thanh biology supported no human-compatible pathogens, he nevertheless donned a sterile gown before entering the chamber’s bio-isolation field. He saw Axel Bolaji, the father of the premature infant Dr. Onnta had delivered some thirty hours earlier, dozing in a chair to the right of the biobed. Shuttle pilot Olivia Bolaji was sitting up on the biobed, gazing into the mobile incubator unit in which her tiny, dark-skinned child lay sleeping.

As alien as humans and humanoids were to him, Ree had no trouble recognizing the fatigue etched in her dark brown face—as well as the anxiety that creased her forehead.

Olivia offered him a tired smile. “Hello, Doctor.” She trained her gaze back on the tiny, still form contained within the plasteel barrier. “How is my son?”

Ree paused to examine the readouts attached to the incubator. For such a premature child—his birth had occurred approximately seventeen weeks early—the youngling already seemed to be thriving beyond Ree’s conservative expectations.

“You appear to have little cause for worry, Ensign. In fact, in a few weeks’ time, you may even be able to begin administering little Totyarguil’s feedings yourself.”

“Alyssa has already shown me how to work the feeding tube.”

“You misunderstand me, Ensign. I was referring to mammalian autotrophic feeding.” Ever since he had first read about it as a young pre-Healer, the strangeness of this uniquely mammalian trait had always utterly fascinated him.

The ensign blinked several times, apparently confused by his terminology. “You’re talking about breast-feeding.”

“Of course,” Ree said, dipping his head forward rapidly and repeatedly in what he had learned was an affirmative gesture. “It’s really the best thing for him, nutritionally and emotionally. I would greatly appreciate being permitted to observe, once you begin—I am contemplating writing a paper on the practice for one of the medical journals on my homeworld.”

Her response took a moment to arrive, but sounded cheerful enough when it finally did. “Oh. Good. Great. Well, we can discuss that later.”

Ree chuckled in appreciation. “I would be particularly interested in witnessing your mammalian feeding behaviors once the little carnivore’s teeth begin coming in.”

As he spoke, Ree took a medical tricorder from its place on a nearby shelf and scanned the child more thoroughly than the incubator’s sensors could manage. The readings scrolled down the screen, but he had to refresh it and read them again; his eyes were becoming dry and tired.

“I’ve confirmed that his biosigns are strong indeed,” Ree said. “With the exception of size and weight variances attributable to his premature birth. Totyarguil seems to be responding well to the lung– and skin-tissue stimulation treatments Dr. Onnta has been administering.”

Olivia’s face beamed with happiness. “Thank you, Doctor. Axel will be relieved to hear that as well.”

Ree pointed one of his long, clawed fingers over to the sleeping conn officer. He regarded the man’s blissfully closed eyes with a faint sense of envy. “I suggest you let him rest now and give him the good news later.”

He turned to leave, and then turned back. “Dr. Onnta will be in to check in on you in a few hours. I must go get some rest of my own.” After paying my respects to Commander Ledrah.

As Olivia waved to him quietly, Ree turned again to leave. He fully intended to sleep soon, but first he had to get some food. He wasn’t entirely joking when he had told Captain Riker recently that the sight of small mammals tended to make him hungry. In another context, on his home planet, a warm-blooded creature about the size of Totyarguil Bolaji would have made for a nice predormancy interval snack.

It’s probably best that I keep that to myself, though,Ree thought, wishing his patients well, and dreading the sad ceremony that was to come.

Every detail must be perfect.

K’chak’!’op turned her head segment upside down, and used one of the six tentacles that protruded from the right side of her head to tap the instrument panel. They left a slightly moist smudge behind on the display.

The holodeck shimmered into life, and a placid scene from the world of Tiburon took form. Nidani Ledrah had hailed from the north quadrant, a land that was in a perpetual twilight for half the Tiburoni year due to the planet’s extreme axial tilt. According to K’chak’!’op’s research, the area was largely devoid of modern technology and large cities; its tribes lived in small, independent settlements. The native Tiburon did not mix with the Suliban settlers or the Vanoben, who had arrived more recently.

K’chak’!’op clicked her mouth pincers together several times, vocally reminding herself that the caves nearby would have featured rust-colored rocks, not the dusty orange ones that she had just programmed. Her tentacles moved fluidly as she altered the scene.

Her four eyes swiveled independently, looking for other flaws. Some of the others had offered to help her to program the tableau—much about Tiburon was missing from the main computer’s files—but Melora Pazlar was otherwise occupied at present and K’chak’!’op didn’t trust the male engineers. She understood that most alien species had evolved differently than the Pak’shree, but some prejudices were hard to let go.

Pak’shree were born neuter, became male at puberty, and transitioned to female at full maturity. Males were only concerned with fighting for the right to reproduction with the older, fertile adult females. K’chak’!’op had always struggled to take males of any species seriously and to trust their abilities; she would never admit it to anyone, but even Captain Riker worried her at times.

K’chak’!’op moved down the knoll, feeling the gray, featherlike grass brushing pleasurably against her six legs. She had enough time to take in the beauty of her program before the others arrived. Once they did, she would retreat to one of the caves. She would rather have stayed in her nest, away from the rest of the crew—most of whom seemed small and awkward to her—but the captain had requested that everyone who wasn’t on shift attend.

Besides, Ledrah was one of the few people aboard Titanthat K’chak’!’op had actually cared for. And now she was gone, too.

In the last minutes before the others arrived, K’chak’!’op began to stridulate her mouthparts and wave her tentacles, lifting her front segment up vertically until it had nearly reached its full three-meter length.

Then, she sang a song of loss to her departed friend.

Riker cleared his throat and stepped to the dais, which was flanked by Admiral Akaar and Commander Tuvok, both looking appropriately somber and dignified in their dress uniforms. Riker felt the cool wind moving through his own dress jacket, though the goose bumps on his skin weren’t the result of the ambient temperature.

Assembled in front of him before the pristine backdrop of a Tiburonian hillside was the majority of the crew of Titan.Only about a hundred were working on ship repairs, maintenance, systems monitoring, or other tasks. The other two-hundred and fifty or so had gathered here.

It was an awesome sight, regardless of the reason it had come to be. Here, all at once, he could see the wide array of people and species that he commanded. Although bipedal humanoids comprised a significant proportion of his crew, the number and variegation of nonhumans was high, especially among the science and technical officers.

Dr. Cethente stood next to Cadet Orilly Malar, the Irriol exobiologist. Cethente reminded Riker of a tall, delicate tribal carving he had seen during his childhood in Valdez, the Syrath astrophysicist’s spindly, arachnid legs seeming absurdly fragile, while the quadrupedal Malar was solid-looking and armored. Next to them were Dr. Bralik, the Ferengi geologist, and Kekil, the Chelon biologist. Nearby stood Dr. Ree and Dr. Ra-Havreii; the former was as stock-still as an exhibit in a natural-history museum, while the latter, eyes downcast, seemed unaware of the swelling crowd behind him.

Riker scanned further and saw so many others with so much diversity reflected in their bodies, their experiences, and their personalities. Whether Skorr or Vulcan, Cardassian or human, Arkenite or S’ti’ach, each of them brought something utterly unique to Titan.

“We are gathered here today to honor our friend and comrade, Lieutenant Commander Nidani Ostiquin Ledrah,” Riker said, projecting his deep voice toward the back of the room. He knew he was echoing the words that Captain Picard had said at Tasha Yar’s memorial service so long ago; the words that countless captains had likely said in countless services across countless years.

“The landscape around you reflects the home of Nidani, where she was born thirty-two years ago. Most from her tribe were antitechnological, preferring instead to live a simpler life, relying upon the land. But Nidani had different dreams. She wanted to explore the skies above her.

“She eventually enrolled at Starfleet Academy and achieved her dream. Graduating with honors, she accepted a post as an engineer on the U.S.S. Zapata,where she was stationed for five years. Assignments to the U.S.S. Hathawayand the Lakotafollowed, before she requested to join the crew of Titan.She told me once she’d fallen in love with the Luna-class design, and adored the idea of a crew as varied as ours.”

Standing in the front row, Ra-Havreii suddenly looked up at him, his eyes filled with pain. Almost immediately, the new chief engineer set his gaze downward again.

Riker resumed: “Some of you are billeted in special customized quarters designed by Nidani and her engineering team. You no doubt got to know her as a funny and friendly woman who truly cared about your well-being.” Riker knew that Chaka, the insectile Pak’shree computer specialist, was likely observing the ceremony from one of the simulated hillside caves; her den, Ensign Aili Lavena’s water-filled accommodations, and Melora Pazlar’s vertical micro-g quarters were some of the more impressive feats of Ledrah’s ingenuity.

“As we face the future aboard Titan,this crew has been robbed of further interaction with Nidani. And yet, her influence, her spirit, remains everywhere within these bulkheads. The place she strove to make a home for all of us is infused with her dedication, her passion, and her love.

“For those who wish to partake, Nidani will now become a part of us as well.”

He gestured to Vale, who stepped forward with an elaborately decorated container. Everyone on the ship had been notified of this Tiburon funereal custom, and he expected that most would choose notto participate. Ledrah had been cremated within six hours of her death, and her ashes had been pulverized to a fine dust. Still, despite the fact that the ashes were sterile, he doubted many of the crew would actually choose to ingest their comrade, though it was the highest honor one could pay a fallen Tiburon.

Riker glanced at Deanna, then accepted a tiny vial which Vale had removed from the container. Removing its stopper, he lifted it toward the twilight sky.

“Jancarik terme ikkos preen,Nidani Ostiquin Ledrah,” he said, in Tiburoni. “You live within us forever, Nidani Ostiquin Ledrah,” he repeated in Standard.

Then, he poured the tiny amount of powder out of the vial and onto his tongue. It was flavorless. He held it there for a moment, and swallowed.

Deanna stepped forward next, taking a vial from Vale, and hoisting it aloft.

Through eyes that brimmed with tears, Riker saw others—many others—from the crew begin to step forward behind his wife. He saw that Ra-Havreii, looking haggard and haunted, was the first in line. Even Chaka was exiting one of the caves to take a place in the queue.

He closed his eyes and wondered how many other such ceremonies he would have to preside over in the coming years, as Titancontinued its voyages.

And as the voices of his crew washed over him, calling to the memory of Ledrah, he held fast to the hope that occasions such as this would be few and far between.

As she entered the quarters she shared with her husband, Deanna Troi immediately noticed that the lights were low. Will’s dress tunic lay on the table, but she didn’t pick it up.

Imzadi?She reached out with her mind, not hearing anything from the other rooms.

“In here, Deanna,” Will said, his low voice coming from the bathroom.

She turned the corner and looked in at him. He was leaning on the washbasin, staring into the mirror. He had changed into his regular duty tunic, but hadn’t closed the front of it yet.

“Are you all right, Will?”

He continued staring into the mirror. “Yeah. I just prepared a message for Nidani’s family. When we get back to Federation space, I’ll send it.”

She felt a pang of guilt. “I haven’t been here for you much since the attack,” Troi said, stepping into the smaller room and reaching out her hand to brush Will’s ear.

He smiled wanly. “It’s not your fault. The crew needs you andit needs me. Duty comes first, especially during a crisis.”

But duty can always be tempered with the love we share,Troi thought, joining her mind to her husband’s. If we take the time do so.

He didn’t respond at first, but slowly closed his eyes. Finally, he turned toward her.

“A few weeks ago, when we were in the stellar cartography lab, I told you that this ship was our chance to recover some of the wonder we lost over the last decade serving on the Enterprise.Our chance to explore what lay beyond. And yet, our first mission is filled with warring Romulans and Remans, space battles, a prison break, and death. What’s changed?”

Troi turned her head and looked at Will’s reflection in the mirror, training her dark eyes on his. “I won’t deny your feelings—and my feelings as well—of disappointment that Titan’s launch will be forever remembered because of what happened over the last week. But show me a starship that hasn’t been drawn into some kind of conflict, or run into some unforeseen impacts when dealing with new lives and new civilizations, or had to deal with bizarre consequences when faced with spatial anomalies…and I’ll show you a starship that only exists in some Academy textbook.

“Here we are in uncharted space, about to encounter gods only know what or who. This is the very definition of Titan’s mission. We may be about to reconnect with humanity’s long-lost offshoot. We may save lives or be forced into battle to save our own. We’ll learn and grow along the way, and more importantly, we’ll explore.You and I and this crew with all its unique differences.

“We’ll explore, together.”

Riker straightened his posture and turned, enfolding Troi into his arms. She felt his beard atop her head, smelled the scent that he gave off when he was worried. But his embrace was strong, and she returned it.

I love you,Imzadi, he thought.

And I love you, Will.

Troi knew that their embrace would end. Duty would call. But for now, their fragment of the universe was utterly at peace.

Darkness.

Warmth.

Fear.

Concern.

Love.

Near silence, except for the noises and things at the edges of consciousness that threatened to wake him.

He wanted to sleep like this forever. But he feared that the red in which he floated would not permit it.