The wall chrono in my cabin read 0857 when my escort arrived. The woman was Terran, tall and light-haired; her eyes were as blue as her uniform.
"Good morning, Commander," she said. "I'm Lieutenant Chapel, Dr. McCoy's head nurse." What could a head nurse be, I wondered. My Standard vocabulary wasn't up to this. She was probably a healer like McCoy, but lower in the hierarchy, since she'd been sent to fetch me. "I believe he told you about the physical exam? By the terms of the Altair accord--"
"I'm aware of the provisions of the accord." For a moment I was tempted to refuse on principle to go with her, if only to test the consequences, but I knew that I had better save my resistance for a time when it would matter. "I will accompany you."
Just as McCoy had done last night, she kept up a steady stream of chatter while we walked to Sickbay. Were these humans unable ever to close their mouths? Surely they must exhaust themselves at some point ...
"And I'm glad to see that the jumpsuit is the right size," she was saying. "I had to guess at programming the cycler, because I wasn't sure how tall you were. I made a few changes to Nyota's--Lieutenant Uhura's--code, and it seems to be fine."
That got my attention. "You provided this clothing for me?"
"Dr. McCoy told me that you'd beamed aboard unexpectedly. When we found out that your ship was out of range and it was likely that you'd be here for a while, I just thought of how I'd feel in the same position. I knew I'd want a change of clothes if I ..." Her voice trailed off when she realized that I had stopped walking and was staring at her.
"I 'beamed aboard unexpectedly'? My ship was 'out of range'? That's putting much too nice a face on it, Lieutenant. Don't you understand that your espionage mission was successful, and that I'm a prisoner of the Federation?" That I'm your enemy? Why were these people, who had betrayed me without a second thought, now treating me as if I were a welcome visitor?
"Yes, of course." She frowned. "I know a bit about what happened, from the general message on the ship's net. I don't know the details. Captain Kirk's formal reports to Starfleet aren't posted." She glanced at me as we walked on. "But I thought that anyone, Romulan, Terran, whatever, who came aboard as you did would probably need some things. Especially since you weren't confined to the brig, because if you'd been sent there you would have had clothing issued to you automatically. And I wasn't sure whether Dr. McCoy would think of it."
I tried to envision a Romulan officer's looking after the personal comfort of a Federation prisoner. I gave up. What could I do but respond in kind? "The clothing was appreciated," I said. "Perhaps you will show me how to program the cycler--if I'm relocated to a room that has one."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Commander. Your accommodation last night was temporary. It was just that when you threw that bowl of soup at the wall ..." She hesitated, as if she were thinking of something else. "They didn't want to take any chances that you might--injure yourself accidentally."
"Nicely put, Lieutenant. But as I've said, it merely slipped from my grasp."
She shook her head, but there was a trace of amusement in her voice: "Here we are, Commander. Sickbay."
* * *
I knew that envy was an unproductive emotion, and in fact it was one that I experienced infrequently. But when I saw Enterprise's sickbay ... It appeared to be as well equipped as any station-based hospital I'd ever seen. I thought bitterly of the injuries that might have been repaired, the lives that might have been saved, if Eidolon had had these facilities. But our Klingon-designed battlecruisers charted an extreme energy-consumption curve, and all support services, including Sickbay, were maintained at the minimum viable level to ensure that propulsion and weapons systems were at maximum strength. In practice, this translated to exactly four diagnostic beds, four surgical tables, one tissue-regeneration lab, one bioanalysis lab, and five stasis units, all to serve two hundred people: and this on a ship that was engaged in combat more often than in exploration. I estimated that all of Eidolon's medical and lab equipment would occupy no more than one-third of Enterprise's sickbay. The thought formed before I could stop it: I wish Nalla and Vanek could see this! But the two healers, who had come with me to Eidolon when I took command, were parsecs away, and I wasn't likely to see them again ... There was no reason to continue that line of thinking. I tried to focus on Chapel's voice.
"So if you'll wait here, Commander, Dr. McCoy and Dr. M'Benga will be right with you. They're just completing some lab work."
She had barely finished speaking when McCoy entered, accompanied by another Terran man. "Ah, good morning, Commander. This is my colleague, Dr. M'Benga. He's a specialist in Vulcan--well, I guess I should say 'vulcanoid'--medicine. He'll be conducting this examination."
I wanted to shout, I'm not Vulcan, you ignorant fool! But that was a topic of discussion I didn't care to open, and I had a feeling he would seize the opportunity if I offered it.
M'Benga looked at me with frank curiosity. "Commander. I've completed the workups on your officers." He consulted his padd. "We're waiting for the readouts of the exams, but both of them appear to be in good health. Of course, we've had to extrapolate a bit from an existing database to establish hypothetical norms ... well, we can talk about that later. Would you lie down there, please?" He indicated the nearest diagnostic unit. "The first scan I want to run--"
I held up my hand to stop his nattering. "I'm relieved to hear that my officers are well, though I'd prefer to confirm that for myself. I want to see them."
"I'm sure you do. But I'm sorry, I can't authorize it. You'll have to speak to Captain Kirk. I think you'll meet with him after you leave here. Isn't that right, Len?"
"Right. The captain said he'd like to have a word with you before eleven hundred, so we'd better get a move on."
Have a word with you. Trust a human to find a euphemism for an unpalatable truth. I was sure that what he really meant to say was interrogate you, with all the unpleasantness that the term implied. But this was far from the first time that I'd had to confront an enemy who thought he could get information from me, and I knew how to prepare myself. In the meantime, however, I would have to face the prodding and prying of these so-called healers, who plainly were concerned only with obtaining as much information about Romulan physiology as possible from their captive specimens. Well, let them take what they could get with scans and sampling. There was no way they could quantify or analyze Romulan tradition, Romulan honor, or Romulan will, and without knowledge of those they would have no knowledge at all.
I was thankful that the examination was noninvasive and that no one told me to remove my clothing, for the sickbay was as cold as every other place on the ship. I lay silent on the diagnostic table, staring at the ceiling, as the humans, wielding their hypos and waving their tricorders and scanners over me, described, commented on, and speculated about my body and all its characteristics. I reminded myself--futilely, as usual--that anger was a waste of precious energy in virtually every circumstance except battle, and tried to dissociate. From time to time one of them would ask a question about this or that healed fracture or scar tissue or disease antibody. I answered selectively, emphasizing the wounds I'd received in victorious combat and minimizing my childhood illnesses. Our allies the Klingons had few redeeming qualities, but they did know something about psychological intimidation, and I'd learned helpful lessons from them. If I could do anything to instill fear or respect in these humans, I would. Who knew when either of those responses might be useful to me?
The comments and questions went on and on, until finally the examination was over. M'Benga and Chapel left Sickbay carrying tricorders and stacks of data solids. I sat up, waiting for McCoy to tell me what was to happen next.
"Let's move into my office, Commander. I need to ask you some further questions." He led me into a little cubicle and removed some printouts from a chair in front of his cluttered desk. "Please sit down. Would you care for some hot tea? I'm afraid you might be chilly."
In truth, my hands and feet were like ice. "Tea would be welcome. This ship is very cold. Don't any of your crew members complain?"
"Some of 'em do." He slipped a card into a slot below the office food dispenser. "But we're a mostly human crew, so the hot-blooded folks have to wear extra clothing. The comfort of the many, you know."
I didn't know, but I took his point. He opened the dispenser and removed two mugs of tea. He handed one to me, and I took a tentative sip. It smelled like perfume and tasted like flowers. "What kind of tea is this?"
"Myrobalan. It's similar to Terran jasmine tea, and it's flavored with flower petals. I like it. It's better for me to drink tea than coffee during the workday. Too much caffeine makes me twitchy."
I couldn't recall ever hearing those words before. "Forgive me, Doctor, but I have difficulty with your language. 'Coffee'? 'Caffeine'? Are they beverages?" About twitchy I wasn't willing even to guess.
He nodded. "Coffee is a hot drink made from the roasted seed of a tropical plant. Caffeine is the alkaloid that gives it its kick--that is, it acts as a stimulant."
"I see. My people drink something similar--it's called senf. It helps us stay awake, or wake up, as the case may be. I think it's mildly addictive, because I find that I crave it in the morning."
"Yeah, that sounds like coffee, all right." He leaned back in his chair and drank his tea, apparently in no hurry to begin asking his questions. How had we come to be having a civil conversation? I sat up straighter; I would have to be on my guard ... I sought a memory: McCoy on Eidolon, seemingly frightened and angry, kneeling next to Kirk's body, looking up at me as I stood there in the doorway to the security cell. The captain is dead!
Liar! The memory gave me the strength I needed to resist his ingratiating manner. "You said you intended to ask me some questions." I made my voice as coldly formal as I could. It was clear that he'd noticed the change in my tone; I had an odd notion that he'd been following my thoughts.
He folded his hands on the desk. "That's correct. Earlier this morning, when we examined your officers, they, ah, declined to give us their names. We need to know who they are so that the Federation authorities can identify them to your government." He paused. "We need to know your name too, Commander."
So. Evidently my betrayer had drawn the line at this act of treachery: he hadn't revealed my name. I thought I could be excused for feeling no particular gratitude for his restraint. "You may identify me as the commander of the imperial flagship," I told McCoy. "You may identify the hostages you are holding as the assistant navigator and the operations chief of the imperial flagship. That will be sufficient for the purposes of both our governments." I was determined that Eidolon's name would never be spoken in contempt or derision by my enemies; that would have been worse than hearing them speak our personal names. And by now the Romulan government knew exactly who was being held by the Federation, and why. No doubt my family's name already was being vilified by my enemies--those of the domestic variety--while McCoy and I sat here drinking tea.
He expelled a breath of frustration, or perhaps of disappointment. "All right, Commander. But I hope you'll reconsider. In our experience, the exchange of names can be a first step towards mutual understanding. We've encountered other races who practice rituals of secrecy associated with naming, but they've all seen fit to share at least their family or house names with us--as our friends."
His presumption angered me. "I hope you're not naive enough, or stupid enough, to suggest that you and I, or your people and mine, are likely to become friends." I weighted the word with infinite contempt. "You'll be lucky indeed if the Romulan fleet isn't massing at the border of the Neutral Zone as we speak. In case you hadn't noticed, Doctor, you and your shipmates have committed an act of war!"
At least I had the satisfaction of seeing a troubled expression cross his face. Perhaps that thought had already occurred to him. Perhaps he might not entirely approve of what his captain and first officer had done. Then a sudden intuition struck me. Had he even known of their plan? Could McCoy truly have believed that Kirk was insane and that Spock had defected? Certainly his fear and distress had seemed genuine when he first boarded Eidolon ... And if McCoy hadn't known exactly what was going on, had the other senior officers or any of the crew? Just how covert had this mission been, and who had really planned it? Its sheer reckless audacity seemed out of character for the Federation--but perhaps not for Starfleet? Or for Kirk, acting alone? Most interesting. I would need time to consider the implications ...
I brought my attention back to McCoy, who looked grim. "That's as may be, Commander," he said. "I'll leave that matter to the politicians and the diplomats. I don't pretend to be either one." He rose and went to open his office door. "It's nearly eleven hundred, and you're due to see the captain. When you're through, they'll bring you back here." He turned to face me. "I've already told the captain that I approve of your moving back to your original quarters. There isn't any reason for me not to approve, is there?"
Not very subtle, these humans. "No, Doctor. I give you my word. No one will be in danger, including myself."
That seemed to convince him. It wouldn't have convinced me. Or, considering my recent and unprecedented display of credulity, maybe it would have. "Good," he said. "I was pretty sure last night was an aberration. Let's leave it at that." He ushered me out of Sickbay.
He was silent during our brief trip in the turbolift. For no reason I could explain, I found myself wishing that he would babble on as he had done the night before. Just as I was considering initiating an exchange, we arrived at our destination. "This way, Commander," he said. "The briefing room is through that door."
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.