Unable to resist teasing the younger man a bit and anxious for some levity to lighten his momentarily darkened mood, Okagawa said, “Late night, Ensign?”
Anderson shook his head. “Long day that continued well into the night, sir. In fact, do I get to count today as part of yesterday, or do clocks just explode when you try to cram that many hours into them?”
“Feel free to avail yourself of your bunk as soon as Mr. al-Khaled says you’re done,” Okagawa replied. “It’s a long trip back to Vanguard, and I imagine everyone will be trying to catch up on missed sleep.” The crew had been working almost around the clock for two weeks, and he knew the strain was beginning to show. He had already fielded al-Khaled’s request for shore leave on behalf of the entire ship’s complement once the Lovellreturned to Starbase 47.
“Understood with utter exhaustion, Captain,” Anderson said, emphasizing his retort with a mock salute before turning to leave.
Turning back to Travers, Okagawa extended his hand. “Commodore, thank you for the hospitality. It’s too bad all of our hosts don’t have your manners.”
Travers laughed as he took the proffered hand and shook it. “If you like, I can come up with a few more things for your people to fix. I might even be able to keep you here for Saturday’s big cook-out.”
Patting his midsection, Okagawa replied, “A few more meals like what you’ve been feeding us these past couple of weeks, and I’ll have to put my entire crew on a diet.”
14
Pennington entered the reception area of Starbase 47’s hospital, only to find it empty. Even Jennifer Braun, the attractive young woman who acted as a receptionist and with whom he sometimes flirted, was nowhere to be seen. No one sat at the reception desk, and no one waited in the patient area to be seen by one of the station’s medical staff. The place seemed abandoned.
Can’t say I blame them,he thought, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of antiseptic cleanser that seemed imbued in the DNA of any medical facility. “Hello?” he called out in a voice only an octave or so higher than a normal conversational tone, his words carrying down the short passageway, which he knew from his previous visits led to offices, patient wards, and labs.
A door opened at the far end of the corridor, and Pennington watched as Braun emerged, her soft footsteps echoing in the hallway. Seeing him, she smiled as she moved toward her desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Pennington,” she said, “It’s nice to see you again.”
The journalist nodded. “A pleasure to see you again as well, my dear.” He offered his most charming smile. “I hope they’re not working you too hard today.”
“I was helping Dr. M’Benga,” Braun replied, lowering herself into the chair behind the desk. “He’s with T’Prynn, of course.”
“Of course.” The doctor seemed to have spent every waking moment—and perhaps more than a few not-so-waking moments—overseeing his Vulcan patient from the first moments after she had suffered whatever event had affected her. Nodding in the direction of the patient-care wards, Pennington asked, “Is everything all right? Has there been some change in her condition?” He had come to visit T’Prynn on several occasions during the past weeks, only to find her in almost exactly the same position of repose as when he had last seen her.
He noted how Braun paused before replying. “There’s been no change, but Dr. M’Benga is preparing for a new course of treatment. I should probably leave it to him to say anything else about that.”
“I understand completely,” Pennington offered. He was not family or even a close friend. Neither Braun nor M’Benga was obligated to tell him anything, though the doctor had at least been considerate enough to update him on T’Prynn’s condition every few days, the details of which had not changed since her initial collapse. “Thank you, Jennifer,” he said, turning to head toward the patient ward where he knew T’Prynn was receiving care.
“You can thank me by taking me to dinner sometime,” Braun said from behind him, and when he paused to look over his shoulder, he saw the inviting smile on the young woman’s face. She bobbed her eyebrows, and Pennington could not resist returning the smile.
“I’ll do that,” he said, nodding to her before turning and resuming his walk down the hallway.
He entered Isolation Ward 4 expecting to confront the same scene that had greeted him on his previous visits: T’Prynn lying unmoving in her bed, the medical equipment arrayed around her tirelessly monitoring her condition, and some piece of music from M’Benga’s private collection piped through the room’s intercom system. Instead, he found the doctor supervising what looked like preparations for moving T’Prynn and the plethora of monitoring devices that had become her entire world these past weeks. Around the stricken Vulcan’s bed, three nurses—two men and one woman—were loading some of the equipment onto antigrav transport carriers. To one side sat a stretcher, apparently waiting for T’Prynn to be transferred to it.
Looking up at Pennington’s approach, M’Benga nodded in formal greeting. “Mr. Pennington, I apologize for not notifying you personally, but I’m afraid I can’t allow any visitation today.” He looked tired, standing a bit stoop-shouldered and with dark circles under his eyes. It was easy to discern that the prolonged strain of overseeing T’Prynn’s care—regardless of any progress or lack thereof—was beginning to take its toll on the young doctor.
Frowning as he watched the team of nurses working over T’Prynn and the bedside equipment, Pennington asked, “Is something wrong?”
M’Benga shook his head, his attention divided between Pennington and the data slate in his hand. “No. In fact, there’s been no change at all in her condition, which is why I’ve opted to try a different approach to her treatment.” He paused, using the stylus in his right hand to jot a note. “I’m preparing to transport her to Vulcan.”
His eyes widening at this news, Pennington asked, “Really?”
“Yes,” M’Benga replied. “I’ve done all I can for her, so I’ve gotten permission to take her there, where I hope one of their doctors can help me.” He shook his head, casting his eyes toward the floor as though ashamed to have to say what came next. “Whatever’s happened to her, it’s beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with, even during my internship on Vulcan.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too badly, mate,” Pennington offered. “It takes a good man to know when he needs to ask for help. Lord knows I might have fared better if I’d done that myself once or twice.” Nodding toward T’Prynn, he asked, “When do you leave?”
“Fourteen hundred hours,” the doctor replied. “Commander Cooper’s authorized my using one of the station’s long-range personnel transports, which I’m having outfitted to support this equipment. Between that and various other supplies, there should be just enough room left over for me and a few books to read.”
From the pocket of his jacket, Pennington took out the object he had been carrying around with him since purchasing it two days earlier. It was sheathed in a piece of beige material similar to canvas, which he unwrapped to reveal a palm-sized disc of polished bronze, upon which was engraved an elaborate geometric design. Its edge was engraved with a string of what Pennington had learned were Vulcan glyphs. Offering it to M’Benga, he asked, “Do you think there might be room for this?”
The doctor looked down at the object in Pennington’s hand, his eyebrows arching with interest. “A mandala.”
Pennington nodded. “I bought it from a Vulcan vendor in Stars Landing. According to him, it’s supposed to help with meditation or something.”
“More or less,” M’Benga said. “You focus on it to help quiet your mind and your emotions, removing barriers or distractions that might prevent you from concentrating on the reception and application of logic.”