Текст книги "The Red King "

Автор книги: Michael Martin

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Chapter Four

STARDATE 26795.2 (18 OCTOBER 2349)

“W hen have you known Flenrol ever to give up searching for anything?” Captain Akaar asked, grinning. “He is the most anal-retentive Bolian I have ever encountered. Perhaps that is why he makes such an excellent XO.”

Tuvok moved a hand across his brow, wiping the sweat away. “I do not believe that even he will be able to find us here, Captain. Our communicators are inhibited by the local geomagnetism. Additionally, this system is littered with four-hundred and thirty-six other satellite planetoids, each of which contains a sufficiently metallic core to generate magnetic fields capable of confusing theWyoming ’s sensors. Logic dictates that in the time it will take Commander Flenrol to find us, we will have perished either from the heat or from thirst and starvation.”

“I enjoy the way you always manage to find the bright side in every crisis situation, Tuvok,” Akaar said, grinning. “It is what makes you the best possible company when roasting to death on a Neltedian planetoid.”

It had been four days since they had last been inside the shuttlecraftAuraciem . The small vessel had become Akaar’s favorite during the weeks since Starfleet Command had promoted him from exec and acting captain to the permanent commander of theU.S.S. Wyoming following the untimely death of its longtime CO, the volatile Captain Karl Broadnax.

Akaar and Tuvok had embarked on what was actually supposed to have been a fairly routine mission of exploration into the Neltedian system—until an unexpected and unusually intense solar flare had fried theAuraciem ’s shields, her propulsion and guidance systems, and had bled away most of her power.

After flying the dying shuttle into the relative protection of one of the planetoid’s powerful magnetic fields, Tuvok had barely managed to get enough power to the transporters in time to beam them out of the shuttle before it crashed. Then, what should have been half a day’s trek across the unknown world’s barren wastes became a torturous four-day climb through the ravines and crevices of the sunbaked sphere. Though the sere, pitiless environment was technically M-Class—which Tuvok had called remarkable, considering the planetoid’s relatively small size—the plant life here was clearly being sustained by resources located far underground; the spire-like trees had somehow managed to contribute enough oxygen and nitrogen to make the arid atmosphere barely breathable, but evidently did not support any large fauna. And they seemed to provide precious little protection against the system’s roiling, merciless sun. Worse yet, the hard, rocky ground made whatever subterranean water the trees were using effectively inaccessible, especially since the planetoid’s geomagnetism had evidently cooked their one hand phaser.

By the time they finally reached the wreckage of the shuttle, both men were dehydrated, sunburned, and very nearly in a state of hallucination. Akaar was amazed and thankful to discover that several of the shuttle’s aft compartments had been relatively unharmed by the crash, giving them some emergency supplies, two sheltering tents, and a small amount of water and foodstuffs.

Despite his obvious hunger, Tuvok had offered his portion to Akaar, but Akaar would have none of it. He finally had to order Tuvok to eat before the often-maddening Vulcan would ingest any sustenance other than sips of water.

Now, with some small measure of food and fluid in his large frame, Akaar felt fatigue gripping him. “I will try to sleep until nightfall,” he said, gesturing toward his shelter.

“Sir, you must be aware that this planetoid is tidally locked to the second planet in the system. Therefore there is no night on this—” Tuvok stopped, apparently realizing from Akaar’s weary grin that the captain was engaging in a small jest.

“I will be in my own tent, meditating,” Tuvok said finally.

Akaar watched his friend turn away, and then entered the relative cool of the tent—relative in that it wasn’t plus-sixty-five degrees Celsius as it was under the outside sun.

Perhaps during our time here, my old friend will finally learn the value of humor , he thought as he lay down on the remnants of upholstery they had salvaged from one of the shuttle chairs that hadn’t been too badly burned.

It seemed an impossible task. But so, too, had escaping from the plunging shuttle.

DAY 6—STARDATE 26798.9 (19 OCTOBER 2349)

In the state ofeiihu, experienced only by Vulcans during deep meditation, Tuvok didn’t exactly dream of his family and his past, though he imagined that the visions he saw and interacted with were probably not unlike the dreams experienced by other species. It was here that he best remembered the flawless beauty of T’Pel, his wife of forty-five years. He cherished the memory of her dancing in the gracefulkorl’na that her mother had made for her, and that she had worn for him when they both had experienced their first throes ofPon farr.

He remembered, too, his five-year-old daughter Asil and his three older sons, Sek, Varik, and Eliath. He recalled the somber way each of them had stared at him as he taught them the fundamental principles of Vulcancthia that he had learned so painstakingly throughout his life. Unlike fathers of other Vulcan children, however, he had access to knowledge that came from far past the mountains of L-Langon, or even the ancient, bloodstone-covered halls of ShiKahr. He had experienced the galaxy beyond for nine years, first as a cadet at Starfleet Academy, then as a junior science officer aboard theU.S.S. Excelsior .

But he had left that ship—and Starfleet—dissatisfied with the perplexingly emotional manner in which Captain Sulu and the other humans he encountered had made their decisions.

Still, his five years aboardExcelsior had given him a wealth of stories and wonders to share with his children. And it had also been enough to bring him two close friends—friends with whom he had become at least as intimate as any he had ever acquired back home on Vulcan—in the deposed Capellan teer Leonard James Akaar and the Halkan outcast, Lojur. After Tuvok had resigned his Starfleet commission in 2298, Lojur had come to Vulcan with him in the hopes of learning to control his decidedly un-Halkan propensity for violence; restless and frustrated after half a Vulcan year, the Halkan had returned to Starfleet to seek his answers.

The absence of constant interaction with either of his outworld friends, to Tuvok’s great surprise, gave him the greatest sense of loss he had ever experienced.

Tuvok had not been able to explain to his wife and children why he had chosen to return to Starfleet earlier this year; he wasn’t even certain he could explain it to himself. Perhaps it had been his nigh-mystical desert encounter with thea’kweth —the Underlier, or repository of all knowledge, from Vulcan’s most ancient myths—or perhaps it was simply a gradual accumulation of what humans sometimes called “wanderlust.” Whatever the reason, it almost seemed that a part of his verykatra had gone missing while he had been home on Vulcan, and that it only rejoined him when he journeyed into space.

He had been reinstated to Starfleet as an ensign, and was given minor assignments, until an old friend asked for Tuvok to transfer to his ship; Akaar was now the first officer of theU.S.S. Wyoming , and had urged his captain to take on Tuvok as a member of his crew.

While the posting seemed a blessing at first, Tuvok soon grew to disapprove of Commander Akaar’s superior officer, the abrasive and confrontational Captain Karl Broadnax. At least Captain Sulu had allowed Tuvok to speak his mind when he found particular actions or commands to be illogical; Broadnax had practically cashiered him back out of Starfleet the first time that Tuvok had dared question one of his decisions.

Thus it was that Tuvok was “loaned” for a brief time to theU.S.S. Stargazer , under the command of Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He might have asked to return to that ship, had not Broadnax made a particularly egregious error in judgment and allowed his temper to get the better of him in a ramshackle bar on Farius Prime. Even though complete Starfleet and civilian investigations were undertaken, no one had ever determined precisely which local underworld denizen—or which gang of lowlifes, judging from the condition of the remains—had ended the captain’s contentious existence.

After Akaar was promoted to captain of theWyoming , he had requested that Tuvok remain aboard as his science officer. Although Tuvok knew that Akaar tried not to show any overt favoritism to his old friend—which Tuvok assumed explained why Akaar had not promoted him beyond the rank of ensign—Tuvok still felt little camaraderie with his other crewmates. Rather than dwell on their illogical and delusional jealousies, he pushed himself harder and focused his energies more than ever before on his work. He even began an exhaustive study of battle tactics and security protocols on the side.

But most of the tactical skills he had learned in the short time since coming back aboard theWyoming were useless here, on Planetoid 437. There was nothing to defend against, other than the heat, the thirst, and the hunger. There were no animals or sentient aliens or anything living other than the imposing trees that were spiked into the cracked and otherwise barren ground.

A hot breeze pushed through the shelter, momentarily stirring Tuvok from his meditative trance and his memories. Rather than let it bring him completely out of his contemplative state, he incorporated the feeling into his mind, matching it to recollections of his second trip into the desert as a child, when he had run away from home after his petsehlat , Wari, had been killed. Inconsolable when his parents told him that Wari did not have akatra , he had embarked on the ritual oftal’oth , making his way over the desiccated wasteland of Vulcan’s Forge, and across the jagged mountains that marked its eastern boundary.

The winds that pushed against him during that trip were just as broiling and powerful as those here now. The difference was that then he’d had a mission to purge himself of emotion, to feel nothing except dispassionate, irrefutable logic. He had returned after four months away from home, having realized that goal, if only temporarily.

Now, however, he had no objective save basic survival. And of somehow keeping his captain—his friend—alive as well.

But no matter how he tried to distract his mind with memories and ruminations, Tuvok knew that his chances of success were almost nonexistent.

And yet some suppressed part of his consciousness was being warmed in an entirely different way…by the dim yet still-visible light of hope.

DAY 9—STARDATE 26806.7 (22 OCTOBER 2349)

Tuvok heard Akaar’s scream, but he couldn’t tell immediately where the sound had come from. He pushed at the rocks around him, glad that the baked sandstone was crumbling and loose rather than hard and impacted. That was probably the only reason he had been able to dig his way out of the avalanche of rocks that had covered him after the ground had collapsed beneath them both. The only way Tuvok had been able to distinguish up from down was by feeling the rocks sliding downward as he pushed them away.

Desperate because of their nearly depleted supplies, he and Akaar had embarked on an attempt to find water and sustenance earlier that day. They found a crevasse only four feet across, but which went down for at least a hundred meters or more. Perhaps more importantly, one of the planetoid’s curious trees grew near the edge of it, and they could see what appeared to be parts of its root system further down, near a ledge.

Wedging themselves against the side, they had climbed down, inch by agonizing inch, toward the ledge. Akaar had reached it first, and had begun scooping soil away from the roots, which appeared to be oddly brittle and unyielding. The soil was clumpy and slightly damp, however, indicative of the presence of underground moisture.

Tuvok had just moved onto the ledge when the lip of it crumbled way, sending him tumbling down into the ravine. He wasn’t sure how far he had fallen, but he knew that the plug of soil and debris that supported him now was likely just a temporary clog; he needed to get out of there, immediately.

Moving as little as possible, even though the dusty air made him want to cough and vomit, he felt for the sides of the crevasse, then pushed against both sides, his feet on one and his hands on the other. He rolled his body around so that he was facing downward, allowing the debris that was still tumbling down—and that which had already collected on his body—to fall away into the planetoid’s interior. Slowly, he began making the climb back up to the surface, his undernourished muscles screaming in agony.

He heard Akaar bellow again, from above him, though he couldn’t tell if his cry was intended to find Tuvok, or to express pain.

“I am here, Captain,” he called out with as much volume as his desiccated throat could manage, although through the dust that caked his mouth he wasn’t certain if he could have been heard two meters away, much less the twenty meters he estimated that he had fallen.

Eventually, he crawled his way back up to what was left of the ledge. There he saw Akaar, whose face was contorted in pain.

“Captain, we need to return to higher ground. It isn’t safe for us down here.”

Akaar grimaced. “You will have to help me, Tuvok.” He held out his hands, one clutching the other, and then opened them. A bleeding gash had been torn through his right hand, showing tendon and bone. And a large volume of bright red blood.

“How did this happen?”

Akaar looked back over toward the recessed area and the portion of the exposed root system. Tuvok saw blood spattered on several of the roots.

“They are just as sharp and unyielding down here as the trees are up there,” Akaar said, his voice tremulous with pain. “I grabbed for one when the ledge gave way and ended up running my hand completely through.”

Tuvok felt his muscles aching and trembling as he held himself taut. “I will help you get back to the top, Captain. We will climb out together. You must hold onto my torso as best you can.”

“You cannot support both my weight and your own,” Akaar said, protesting. “We will both fall to our deaths.”

Tuvok took a sterner tone than he normally did with anyone other than recalcitrant children. “Leonard, Vulcans possess much greater strength than do most other humanoids—even Capellans. I will be able to get us back to the surface. But time spent arguing is a waste of my admittedly depleted energies.”

Akaar nodded, either persuaded by Tuvok’s logic or unable to argue further because of his pain. Gingerly, he reached out and wrapped his thick arms around Tuvok’s midsection. Tuvok felt him jockeying with his hands, probably to have his good hand hold the wrist of the injured one.

“Are you prepared?” Tuvok asked, trying to keep his croaking voice steady.

“As prepared as I can ever be,” Akaar said.

Tuvok began to climb, immediately feeling the larger man’s weight as it trebled his own. He concentrated on breathing deeply, attempting to channel every erg of energy in his body into his arms and legs. He moved one arm up, then the other, then a leg. A fourth movement, and he felt the entire weight of Akaar on him; his captain was free of the ledge.

As he began the excruciating climb back to the surface, Tuvok attempted to clear his mind of everything save his goal. The more overheated his body became, the closer he knew he was to the top.

As he climbed, his mind wandered. He felt as though his body was becoming heavier, as though whatever internal gravimetric aberrations allowed this improbably small worldlet to maintain a Class-M atmosphere—a super-dense core? he wondered—had chosen him and Akaar for special torment. It was as if the planetoid itself wanted to draw them both downward to their deaths.

Foolish. Illogical.

He began to imagine instead that he was back at the outskirts of Vulcan’s Forge, intent on completing the time-honoredtal’oth survival ritual.

His mind raced, despite all of his mental disciplines. By the seventh time he had replayed the entiretal’oth rite in his mind, he saw the bright light above, and knew that they had almost reached the top.

And the desolation that lay above. In which they would both surely die.

DAY 12—STARDATE 26815.4 (25 OCTOBER 2349)

As closely as Akaar could estimate, they had been on the planetoid for nearly twelve standard days.Twelve standard days of nightless, sunbaked hell , the Capellan thought.

Their rations were exhausted save for a final liter or so of water, and there had been no sign of rescue. When he was lucid and not feverish from the injury to his hand, Akaar admired the calm that Tuvok exuded. The Vulcan still seemed to disbelieve that they would ever be found, but at least he had stopped arguing the point with his superior officer.

Mostly, they sat as immobile as possible in their shelters, emerging only every now and then to speak to each other briefly, lest the heat and fatigue overtake them. By now, Akaar knew every detail about Tuvok’s life that the Vulcan was willing to share. And Akaar had shared his own long backlog of personal memories of his lifelong off-world exile with his mother, the Regent Eleen.

As they watched each other gradually withering and dying, they came to know one another better than most friends ever could or ever would. But that knowledge had prompted Akaar to make a difficult decision.

Tuvok was refusing to drink much of the water, deferring to Akaar, whose injury, the ensign felt, gave him priority for the precious liquid. And yet, of the two of them, Akaar felt Tuvok had more to offer the universe should he survive than did he. The Vulcan had a wife, and children, and a longer lifespan to share with them. Akaar had only his mother, the woman who, acting through friendly Capellan intermediaries, was endlessly building his tomb on their homeworld; it was not a sign that she wanted him to die, but rather a monument to remind everyone concerned that, deposed or not,he was the rightful high teer of the Ten Tribes of Capella.

As Tuvok slept, Akaar put his plan into motion. He had saved some scraps of fabric from the shuttle’s wreckage, as well as a razor-sharp shard of splintered duraplast. Now, he opened the dressing on his hand, wincing at the pain. Picking a particularly bruised area, he drove the shard in far enough to draw blood.

Holding a large scrap of fabric steady, he began to write hisvriloxince , the last testament he would leave behind. He wrote to his mother, to Keel and his confederates who had conspired to keep him from the teership, to those he had served with in Starfleet, to those he had captained, and to those for whom he held a special place of friendship in his heart. He explained that his final act ofw’lash’nogot was not the action of a coward, but rather a way for him to allow Tuvok to survive for a few days more, under the assumption that help would arrive in time to save his friend.

He had already explainedw’lash’nogot to Tuvok in one of their many conversations about death and the afterlife. The ritual suicide was one of the most holy of the Capellan customs, reserved as the highest honor one could perform for another; to die for one’s loved one or friend was a sacrifice beyond words, the ultimate expression of love and loyalty. Tuvok had listened intently then, but did not comment, nor offer any stories of comparable Vulcan rituals.

The Capellan concept of afterlife was different than that of any other culture that Akaar had ever encountered. Rather than believing that their souls or spirits or memories would live on, the Capellans believed that theemotions they felt upon death would live on. Thus, those who died filled with rage would fuel the anger that the living might feel for decades to come. Those at peace or in love would bring happiness for generations past them. The actual memory of the dead person and his or her life were the reasons that so many monuments to the dead existed on their world; they were the only tangible markers that someone who was no more had ever been.

Akaar finished his note, then exited his tent, squinting into the bright, eternal light. He could hear Tuvok’s labored breathing inside the shelter, a sure sign that even his great strength was declining quickly. He placed the note, and the remaining water, near the opening of Tuvok’s tent.

Returning to his own shelter, Akaar sat, cleared his mind, and slowed his breathing. He closed his eyes and began moving his lips in a silent chant as old as the High Teers of antiquity. He could feel the pace of his heartbeat slowing as the ritual took him steadily downward in a deathward spiral. Soon, death would be irrevocable. This would all be over, and all pain and deprivation would be behind him forever. He opened his eyes for a moment and noted that his vision had already begun to gray around the edges.

With a little luck, his friend and colleague could stretch what resources remained after his passing, thus ensuring Tuvok’s survival—at least until such time as rescue finally arrived. Within minutes, he would be gone, and his emotions, his love and loyalty and courage, would be released into the universe. He prayed that it would strengthen his friend as much as their residual food and water would.

He opened his eyes again. The sunlight brightening his shelter was steadily dimming, and he viewed the interior of his tent as though through a narrow tube.

He focused on the memories of joy he held, of his mother, his crew, his friends.

On courage.

After Ledrah’s memorial, Tuvok had filed out of the holodeck with the rest of the crew, then retired to his quarters for quiet, but ultimately fruitless, meditation, ending as it had in an onslaught of memory, all of which he recognized—but not all of which was his.

He rose from the mat on the floor, snuffed the candles he had left burning, and brought the lights up to half-illumination.

He hadn’t thought about the crash-landing in the Neltedian system—the incident that had essentially ended his friendship with Akaar—for years. At least, not until after he had seen his old friend and colleague again in Titan’s transporter room right after the escape from Vikr’l Prison.

Following that surprising reunion, Tuvok had begun to think that Akaar had finally put his old resentments behind him. Now, however, Tuvok understood that his apparent initial rapprochement with the admiral had merely been the result of the exigent circumstances arising from Tuvok’s hair’s-breadth rescue.

Why am I having such vivid recollections of the Neltedian planetoid?he wondered as he began exchanging his black robe for a standard duty uniform. Perhaps the reason was merely Akaar’s presence aboard Titan.

Or maybe it is because Akaar, too, is plagued by those memories.Thanks to the unexpectedly strong telepathic bond he and Mekrikuk had forged during their imprisonment together, Tuvok was inclined at least to see this as a possibility.

And, perhaps, to consider that the time might have come to bury the past, once and for all.

“Computer, where is Admiral Akaar?”

Approximately four minutes later, Tuvok stood in a nearly empty corridor on deck five. He touched the controls to the door chime.

“Come,”answered a deep voice from the keypad on the wall.

The door hissed open and Admiral Leonard James Akaar stood in the open doorway. Gone was the dress uniform tunic he had worn hours earlier at Ledrah’s memorial service, but the sleep-rumpled red uniform shirt he still wore, opened at the sternum, as well as the dark pigmentation surrounding Akaar’s eyes, testified to the restless night his old friend had spent thus far, and the troubled state of his psyche.

“Commander,” Akaar said. “The hour is late.”

“But perhaps it is not too late for either of us, Admiral,” Tuvok answered. “We need to talk.”

Akaar smiled thinly but without any evident humor. “Then perhaps you had better come inside.” He stepped back from the doorway and gestured toward the interior of the wide VIP quarters he occupied.

“Sit. Be comfortable,” Akaar said, taking a seat on a sofa after the door had closed, ensuring their privacy.

Tuvok took a seat near the far wall. “It is time for us to set our differences aside.”

Akaar regarded him impassively for several moments before replying. “Why now, Commander? Do you anticipate that we will be forced to share one another’s company for an extended period?”

“Given some of my previous experiences,” Tuvok said, raising an eyebrow. “I must acknowledge that as a distinct possibility.”

The huge Capellan chuckled, a great rumbling sound that reminded Tuvok of better times. “It must be getting tiresome for you, constantly being catapulted thousands of light-years from Federation space.”

“That is something of an understatement,” Tuvok admitted drily. “After three such events, I have begun to wonder if my presence aboard a starship should be considered a warning to its crew.” His former friend’s laughter gave Tuvok hope that their old enmities might finally be laid to rest.

A look of something that resembled sadness crossed Akaar’s weathered features. “I tried to save your life, Tuvok.”

“And I will always appreciate that, Leonard.”

Akaar’s eyes narrowed. “Can you explain how denying a Capellan warrior his honorable death constitutes ‘appreciation’?”

Tuvok had rehearsed this conversation for years. Despite that, he found it difficult to govern his rising anger. “Perhaps. If you can explain how ritual suicide is an action befitting a Starfleet captain.”

Akaar rose, his eyes blazing as they had just before Tuvok’s abrupt transfer off the Wyomingall those years ago. The rapprochement the Vulcan had hoped for had suddenly become as remote as his home planet. “Leave now,” the Capellan said. “While you still can.”

Tuvok slowly rose. With as much dignity as he could muster, he nodded, turned, and withdrew back into the corridor.

DAY 12—STARDATE 26815.4 (25 OCTOBER 2349)

Tuvok pounded his hands onto the chest of his captain with as much force as he could muster, then pulled the other man’s mouth open and breathed into the Capellan’s still, supine body yet again.

He didn’t know how long it had been since Akaar had attempted suicide, since Tuvok had awakened only a minute earlier, and had found the note outside his tent.

Akaar’s skin was cold, and he had no pulse, but Tuvok continued breathing into him, willing his old friend back to life. How could this have happened? There were no apparent physical causes; Akaar’s body bore no mark save those this planetoid had already inflicted upon them both.

Another minute passed.How long has it been now? Another ten breaths, another five chest compressions.

And nothing.

Tuvok put his arm behind his friend’s neck and pulled his rag-clad torso up to him, cradling him close. Acting on equal parts desperation and instinct, he extended the fingers of his left hand and placed them against Akaar’s temple.

He spoke directly into the essence of his dying friend.My mind to your mind. Deliberately constructed barriers lay in his way. Tuvok’s will crashed right through them, though he knew that the intensely private Akaar would not approve of the intrusion. Tuvok did not care; he would not permit Akaar to die if there was anything he could do to prevent it.

Tuvok’s will encountered that of Akaar, which sat in the center of a cyclone of honor, love, and loyalty. Tuvok realized then why his friend’s imminent death had left no physical marks on him: it had come as a result of some form of self-induced biofeedback. A ritual, psionic suicide?

He also saw that the proximity of death had blunted Akaar’s usual ferocious determination to carry out his decisions. Akaar’s fading consciousness drifted aimlessly, spiraling ever downward toward final oblivion. Therefore the Capellan was unable to put up a fight when Tuvok’s mind reached out, gasping Akaar, straining to drag him back from the abyss the way a drowning man might be pulled out of Vulcan’s Eastern Sea.

The mind-meld abruptly dissolved, and Tuvok found himself sprawled across the hard ground beneath Akaar’s tent. He turned his head and saw that Akaar lay beside him, utterly still.

Failure.I have failed to save my friend. And he killed himself because of me.

Despite every bit of Vulcan training he’d had, and every iota of power he had used to block his emotions, Tuvok was overcome. His bellow to the sky was followed by tears of shock, of shame, and of sacrifice.

Then came the anger.

Tuvok turned his back on Akaar’s body, stood, and exited the shelter.

Another wail passed his lips unbidden, and the loss poured down his cheeks. But as his anguish echoed across the desert landscape, he heard something behind him.

A cough.

Then another.

Whirling, he tore open Akaar’s tent and saw his dead friend raise his hand to his throat, his motions shaky and tentative.

Tuvok knelt beside him, his grief turned to a smile that he would never have recognized on his own face.

“Leonard?”

Slowly, Akaar opened his eyes. They were intensely bloodshot, and this gave his glare a strange, ruddy cast.

Minutes later—or was it hours?—Akaar finally spoke.

“Why did you stop me?” It was barely more than a whisper.

“Because it wasn’t your time to die,” Tuvok said.

“I had decided that it was.”

“You were wrong,” Tuvok said. “They will find us. We will be rescued. We will have many years to continue our friendship.”

Akaar stared at him in silence, blinking once, then twice, then a third time.

“No,” he said, finally. “You disrupted thew’lash’nogot . You have dishonored me. You have betrayed our friendship.”

Akaar turned on his side, away from Tuvok. The Vulcan sat still, unable to respond.

Though he wanted to, Tuvok would not leave Akaar’s side for the next day. No matter the cost to their friendship or himself, he would not allow his captain to die.