Watching me carefully, the security guard hit the wall comm unit. "Security to Sickbay," she said. "Dr. McCoy to deck 2, location A-3. Out." She looked meaningfully at the other guard, an Andorian male, and spoke to me in the tone of voice one might use to calm a distraught child who just happened to be holding a Klingon qutluch. "Commander, would you take a seat over there, please?" She motioned towards a chair that was positioned against the far wall. "Dr. McCoy will be here in a moment to speak with you."
I sat down with a feeling of relief. The odd sense of detachment was still present, but a reactive exhaustion was slowly setting in despite my determination to stay alert. I watched the plomeek soup congealing on the wall. The guards' eyes seemed to be fixed alternately on me and on the shards of glass that covered the floor.
Presently the door opened, and McCoy entered. As if following a script, he looked at me, at the wall, at the broken glass, at the guards, and back at me, his eyes wide. Then, for a moment, we all gazed at the wall at the same time, as though the streaky patterns of soup were a work of art. Now this really is turning into a farce, I thought. How unfortunate that I can't appreciate the humor of the situation.
Although he knew perfectly well that I recognized him from his despicable charade on Eidolon, he said, "Commander, I'm Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer of this ship." I didn't reply. At home, courtesy would have dictated that I reciprocate by introducing myself, but I was far from home. He glanced over at the wall. "Well, I see that you share the crew's opinion of Enterprise cuisine." He smiled, clearly expecting me to smile in return. I disappointed him. He tried again. "Plomeek soup in particular seems to inspire strong reactions." What was he talking about? I couldn't be bothered to ask. We looked at each other. Did he expect me to engage in the kind of banal small talk that humans seemed to thrive on?
Suddenly I was weary beyond belief, and wanted nothing more than to be left alone again until the inevitable interrogation should begin. "Doctor, if you have something to say to me, please get on with it. If you're concerned about the damage to the cabin, I apologize. If you think I need medical attention, I assure you that's not the case. What is it that you want?"
He looked again at the fragments of glass on the floor, then at the two security guards. Of course--it was obvious. He thought that the broken glass could easily have been turned into a weapon-- a weapon that could be directed at someone on Enterprise, or at myself. I nearly laughed. He had no idea that if I had wished to commit murder or suicide it would already be a done thing. I wouldn't still be sitting here watching the laborious progress of his reasoning.
He took a new approach. "Commander, I'd planned to discuss this with you later, but since I'm here ... No doubt you're aware that by the terms of the Altair accord we must ask you to undergo a physical examination to ensure that you're not suffering from any chronic or acute medical condition that requires treatment." His tone was decidedly more formal. "Will you come to Sickbay tomorrow so that we can do the exam?" What he didn't say was that the examination records were also intended to be used as a baseline reference to prevent my subsequently alleging that I had been injured or tortured during my capture. Capture, I thought, remembering how I had ended up on this ship. Well, that's one word for it.
"I appreciate your courtesy in suggesting that I have a choice," I said.
He ignored my sarcasm. "I'll send someone to escort you at oh-nine hundred, if that's all right with you. In the meantime, I'll see to it that you're moved to new quarters." He wrinkled his nose and smiled at me again. "This room reeks of plomeek soup."
The Andorian followed McCoy out the door; the human guard stood silent and motionless at parade rest, facing me but gazing into the middle distance. I didn't care. I didn't want to engage in conversation with her any more than with McCoy. I rested my head on the back of the chair, closed my eyes, and tried to think.
By now Tal should have taken Eidolon about one-quarter of the way to the homeworld, as nearly as I could estimate; my time sense didn't seem to be functioning very accurately, and I couldn't guess how far the Enterprise had traveled since it left Romulan space. I was certain that Tal wouldn't have stopped at any outlying stations to report what had happened. He would need time to compose the coded transmission to send to High Command, and time to prepare himself to appear in person to explain why his commander had been so insanely, criminally negligent as to permit the thieving Enterprise to make away unscathed with the technology that represented fifty years' effort, the lifework of hundreds of scientists, and the contents of countless civil treasuries--the technology that might have been a turning point for our worlds, that would have permitted us finally to allocate our resources to non-military expenditures, finally to give our people a chance to experience the prosperity that so much of the galaxy already enjoyed.
Most of all, he would need to prepare himself to lose his career and his honor. He would be stripped of his rank and posted to some demeaning and dangerous assignment--if he didn't arrange to take his own life first, for Tal was nothing if not a traditionalist.
That my own life was forfeit was a given. I knew that High Command would assume, correctly, that I would not commit ritual suicide while I was being held by the Federation. I was guilty of malfeasance so extreme as to amount to willful negligence, and there would be no chance to spare my family and crew any part of this disgrace. Paradoxically, to take the honorable path of suicide--a path I was not entitled to walk--would have compounded my dishonor, if that was even possible. As soon as I was repatriated I would be taken home to the capital and then to the Senate chambers to hear my sentence of execution read aloud in the presence of Tal, my crew, and my family. Of course I would be accorded the Right of Statement, invited to say what threat or weapon had made me relinquish the device that was to be the salvation of our worlds. But hubris was neither of those things, though it had led to my destruction as surely as any mind-sifter or disruptor would have.
I must have sighed aloud, for I opened my eyes to see the security guard watching me intently. Just then the door opened. The guard moved to one side, revealing McCoy standing there, still smiling. I had a sudden strong impulse to fly at him and twist his neck around, breaking it neatly, just to hear that satisfying snap. I suppressed it.
"Your new quarters are ready, Commander. If you'll follow me?"
* * *
Our little party of four proceeded down the corridor and into the turbolift. McCoy chatted to me as if we were out for an evening stroll in the public gardens. "I've spoken with the captain, and he wants to meet with you tomorrow after we've completed the exam," he said. "He's aware that you might, um, have some questions for him. I'm guessing that we'll take you to Starbase Four, because that's the nearest station of any size. That should take about four Standard days, I think, but Captain Kirk can confirm that ..." He was unstoppable. I tried to block him out, but with little success. "... And you can ask these two for anything you need, because they're here to serve and protect." He turned and grinned at the guards as the lift door opened.
They actually laughed. "Our mandate, Doctor," said the Andorian.
McCoy stopped in front of a door and touched the entry plate with his palm. "This cabin is temporary. After your exam we'll see about moving you. This was sort of the best we could do on short notice."
As soon as I looked inside I realized that McCoy could dissemble as well as anyone else. It was immediately clear what kind of a "cabin" this was. Unlike the other quarters, it had no collection of exotic curios, no upholstered sofa and chairs. The computer monitor was mounted flush into the wall, and its keypad was bolted to the bottom of its frame. The chairs were made of extruded neovinyl, and they too were immovable. The walls were covered in a smooth spongy-looking fabric that probably served an acoustical as well as a protective function. There was no decoration in the room except for a still life of Rigelian poppies painted directly on the wall covering, and there was no food dispenser. True, this wasn't a prison cell, but it was a cell nevertheless: a cell for someone who was mentally unstable, who had to be kept from damaging herself and from making weapons with materials that might be too conveniently to hand. I guessed that my performance with the plomeek soup had earned me my new accommodation in more ways than one. Well, who cared? I must have been mad to have let this whole situation arise in the first place, so why should I balk at being treated that way? At least there was a sleeping alcove in the room, and right now I just wanted to lie down and attain unconsciousness as quickly as possible.
McCoy rubbed his hands together. He seemed at a loss for something to say. I obliged him: "These quarters will do nicely, Doctor." Our eyes met; he saw that I understood why I was in this room. He had the grace to look embarrassed.
"Good, good. Well ... I'll see you tomorrow morning. If you need anything--" He nodded at the guards.
This time I wasn't going to miss my chance. "There is something I would like to ask. Can you show me how to adjust the enviro controls? This room is very cold, and as you can see I didn't bring any extra clothing with me." I hoped he couldn't hear the fatigue in my voice.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Sure. I should have remembered that. Thought I'd checked everything." He walked over to the utility console and tapped the keypad. "There, that ought to do it. I've set it for thirty degrees Celsius. If you want it any warmer, just hold down the thermometer icon"--whatever that was--"and hit the key with the arrow pointing upward. Goodnight, Commander."
I sighed. What was the point in being hostile to him? Thus far, I had been treated with much more civility than he would have been if our positions were reversed. "Goodnight, Doctor," I said. "And thank you."
Unsmiling now, he regarded me with something like concern in his eyes. "You're welcome. Rest well." He gestured to the guards to follow him, and the three of them left me alone at last.
* * *
I was almost asleep on my feet. The alcove at the other end of the room contained a single bed, a small bedside table with an attached reading light, and another of the stationary chairs. I waved the light on, then sat down on the bed and took off my jewelry. I touched my ring gently. It was crafted from the soft silver of Lys, a Romulan colony world, and worked into an elaborate design. Tal had given it to me the first moment we were alone on the day I took command of Eidolon. "Wear it in honor, Commander," he had said, his voice solemn and his eyes alight. He'd emphasized the last word ever so slightly.
"You honor me," I had answered softly, holding out my hand so that he could see the effect. "It's exquisite."
There, in the temporary privacy of the wardroom that adjoined the bridge, and for the last time, he had caressed my hand and then my lips with his paired fingers. The touch spoke of memories and endings and beginnings, and of the shining future that we would now share on this Fleet flagship, our ship ...
My eyes stung with unshed tears. Tal, my friend since childhood, once my lover, now my trusted colleague--Tal, who had risked his life for me so often, as I had risked mine for him--this was the future I had won for us: disgrace, dishonor, death.
The tears spilled over at last as I lay back on the bed. I wept for Tal. I wept for my crew, the two hundred men and women who would be dispersed to the ends of the Empire--or who would follow me in death, as they had followed me in battle. I wept for my family; all their influence would never extricate them from the consequences of this disaster. And I wept for myself, for the shameful pride and desire that had rendered me so blind that I couldn't see through an insultingly transparent deception. Above all I wept for the people of the Romulan worlds, though they wouldn't have thanked me for my tears. I had stolen their future from them as surely as I had stolen Tal's and my crew's.
* * *
I must have cried myself to sleep. I awoke sometime in the middle of the ship's night. The cove lighting in the ceiling had dimmed completely; a nightlight glowed from the fresher. I was thirsty, and I needed to use the toilet. I should have been desperately hungry, since I'd eaten almost nothing at dinner, which now seemed a lifetime away. But I wasn't, and that strange feeling of calm detachment was with me again.
The fresher was decently equipped. A container of Altair water stood on the shelf below the mirror; I broke the seal and drank the contents without taking a breath. The toilet and basin were similar to the facilities on Eidolon, so there were no surprises when I used them. But the shower--I couldn't believe my eyes: it had water controls as well as sonics.
In view of my situation, the temptation was frivolous and irrational--and completely irresistible. When had I last taken a water shower? It had to have been nearly a year ago, when we were on leave in the Cingula system. As far as I knew, no craft in the Romulan fleet, except for a few medical ships, had even one water shower. I stared at the controls as if they were an alien life form. Well, why not?
I set the dial to water and watched in amazement as the spray materialized immediately. I tested the temperature with my hand; when the water was so hot that clouds of steam billowed up and began to fog the mirror, I unsealed the seam of my dress, stepped out of my underclothes, and climbed carefully into the shower.
The feel of the falling water was blissful, indescribable. Soap dispensers were embedded in the tiled enclosure, and I made lavish use of the fragrant shampoo and gels. I must have stayed there for half an hour, until my skin began to wrinkle and I was feeling weak from the heat. Reluctantly I switched the dial and let the sonic waves dry most of the water from my body while I cleaned my teeth with the dental attachment.
I stepped out of the shower enclosure, straight onto the discarded garments that I'd dropped on the floor. I didn't want to put them on, but there wasn't a cycler in these quarters and I had nothing else. I opened the door to the wall cabinet, hoping to find a towel. Arranged on a shelf in a neat pile were flat, film-wrapped packages of what appeared to be clothing.
I tore open the wrappings and found a black syncot camisole and briefs, probably regulation, a high-necked, long-sleeved jumpsuit of the same soft material, and a pair of cloth shoes of the kind frequently issued to hospital patients. McCoy, I thought, with a tiny twinge of gratitude. I dressed quickly and ran my fingers through my hair to arrange it as neatly as I could; there wasn't a comb or brush to be found anywhere. I stuffed my own clothing down the disposal chute. I didn't want to see it again.
My mind was clear; the time for grief and guilt had either passed or not yet truly arrived. Regardless of what lay in store for me on Romulus, my duty here on Enterprise was no different from what it had been on Eidolon: to protect the Empire's interests with my life and to lead my crew honorably and well. And if Adiv and Lem were all that was left of my crew, I would nevertheless see to it that I discharged that duty conscientiously.
The barest glimmer of an idea began to take shape at the back of my mind. There might be a way ... I paced the length of the cabin, thinking, thinking. I thought about the many frustrating years our researchers had spent designing and testing version after version of the cloaking device. I thought about the likely state of the Federation's reverse-engineering capabilities, and whether such complex and difficult work could be carried out aboard a starship. And I thought about Adiv and Lem.
Finally I walked over to the door. It slid open, surprising the security guard who stood outside. This one was a very tall, very young human male; the other two must have gone off duty some time ago. "May I help you, Commander?" he asked.
"Yes. I would like some hot tea, any kind, unsweetened, some bread, and a serving of whatever fruit you have available. Can you arrange that?"
"Yes, ma'am." He didn't blink an eye at being asked to obtain my breakfast in what was, for him, the middle of the night. I guessed that his orders had been specific.
When the food arrived a few minutes later, I was sitting at the computer. The menu seemed to offer only recreational programs and a news digest, but anything was better than nothing. I ate my breakfast slowly as I read a treatise on Martian hydroponic-gardening techniques, an incomprehensible review of the latest holovids from an entertainment colony in orbit around Epulae Minor, and a report of a demonstration against the use of capital punishment on some remote world that wanted to apply for Federation membership. The cove lighting was brightening very gradually, signaling the beginning of another ship's day. I felt that I was ready to meet it.
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.