“Nogura’s not buying it, either, if that makes you feel any better,” Desai said after a moment, “but there’s not a lot he can do. With tempers running hot at the negotiating table, the Klingons are looking for any excuse to unleash open hostilities. The fact that they’re not going to get their chance at you isn’t making them want to play any nicer.”
Reyes nodded. “I know.” The Klingons’ calls for his extradition were inconsequential. Every day brought closer the specter of war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. He had seen his share of combat against Klingons during his career, and it was not something he relished seeing again, but he particularly did not welcome the idea of seeing it from within a prison cell.
Glancing to the chronometer on his desk, he noted the lateness of the hour—or the earliness, depending on one’s point of view. It was 0230 hours. They would be coming for him soon, he knew. The prospect of a lengthy passage to Earth was not something he had looked forward to during the best of times; that he now would make that trip as a prisoner made the notion almost unbearable to contemplate. “I don’t suppose they could just put me to sleep for the entire trip, could they?”
It had taken only three days for a ship to become available for the journey. In this case, it was to be the U.S.S. Nowlan,a Starfleet Antares-class transport configured for ferrying passengers rather than cargo. With a maximum speed of warp five, the voyage would take nearly three months, though Reyes knew the ship was equipped with enough amenities to make the trip bearable. He already had been assured that he would be allowed full use of the transport’s recreational facilities. After all, he would be the vessel’s only passenger, and what else were they going to do with him?
Turning from the food slot, Reyes found Desai standing before him, a sad, resigned expression darkening her delicate features. Her eyes had begun to water as she reached for him and pulled him to her. “It’s almost time.”
“I know,” Reyes replied, stroking her hair with one hand as she buried her head against his chest. He rested his chin on her head, and they stood like that for a moment before he said, “Rana, I don’t think I ever thanked you.”
Raising her head so that she could see his eyes, Desai regarded him with a small smile that Reyes could tell was forced. “Thank Admiral Moratino. She’s the one who approved the conjugal visit.”
Her words had the desired effect, and Reyes laughed despite his heavy heart. “I’ll be sure to do that.” The admiral had approved his request for a single overnight guest on his last night before boarding the transport to Earth. Indeed, Moratino had been more than generous with regard to his situation while he waited for the ship that would take him to prison. He had wondered about that for a time, but she had not offered any reasons. Rather than spend any more time questioning the leniency she had shown, Reyes chose to focus on sharing this last evening with Rana, the first such opportunity they had enjoyed in months. Though an understandable pall weighed over them, they had managed to keep it at bay for a few hours.
“I guess this means our secret’s finally out,” Desai said, placing her hand on his chest.
Reyes released another dry chuckle. “I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but along with the price the Klingons have on my head that cat’s been out of the bag for a while. If you don’t believe me, ask Tim Pennington whenever he gets back.” After a moment, he moved his hand beneath her chin, raising it with his finger. “What I meant was that I never thanked you for standing by me, for going to the mat for me andwith me. You had the rule book and duty on your side, and still you were there for me.”
“I did my duty by defending you,” Desai countered. “Right or wrong, I wanted to make sure you had your say.” She tapped his chest with one finger. “I suppose it didn’t hurt that I’m in love with you, you idiot.”
“It’s always something,” Reyes replied.
Desai’s expression fell, and a single tear dropped from her left eye, beginning a slow descent down her cheek. “What am I going to do without you, Diego?”
Reyes wiped away the tear with his thumb and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’m not leaving you, Rana.” He drew a deep breath. “And who knows? You might be able to get my sentence reduced on appeal, or I can get an early release for good conduct. Either way, I’m hoping you’ll be waiting for me when it’s over.”
“I’ll be here,” she said, her voice soft and sounding as though it might break under the strain of fighting to keep her emotions in check. She tightened her arms around him once more, and they remained in that embrace, enjoying the moment and each other. Then the sound of the door chime intruded on the comforting silence.
“Come,” Reyes said, loosing his hold on Desai.
The door slid open to reveal one of the security guards stationed outside his quarters. She stepped aside, allowing entry for Dr. Fisher, who strode into the room dressed in his regular-duty uniform despite the hour. In his right hand, he carried what looked like four old-fashioned bound paper books.
“I heard you weren’t accepting visitors,” Fisher said, “but I figured you’d make one or two exceptions.”
Reyes nodded, offering a slight smile. “Jetanien already beat you here, back around dinnertime.” He had passed on his request to Admiral Nogura and Commander Cooper declining all visitors. As far as he was concerned, he was now a distraction to the starbase’s complement and mission, and the sooner he was away from here, the sooner the men and women he had once commanded could return their full focus to their jobs and the difficult missions Starfleet would continue to give them.
Eyeing Fisher’s uniform before glancing to Desai, he said, “I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious.” His hands moved to smooth nonexistent wrinkles from the dull gray jumpsuit he had been given to wear—standard attire for a prisoner being transported.
“At least it’s not orange,” Fisher said. His eyes moved to Desai. “Good evening, Rana.” Then he frowned. “Or is it good morning?”
Desai shrugged as she crossed her arms. “Neither, really.”
Nodding in understanding, Fisher held up the books and offered them to Reyes. “Some light reading to help pass the time.”
His eyes narrowing in mock suspicion, Reyes replied, “Be-ware doctors bearing gifts.” He took the proffered tomes, holding them gently and running his fingers over their smooth leather covers. “They’re beautiful, Zeke.”
“Not first editions or anything,” Fisher said. “I had the quartermaster make them up. I know you prefer real books to data cards, and I didn’t know what kind of access to a data terminal you might have, anyway. Besides, these’ll look better on your shelf.”
Opening the largest of the books, Reyes closed his eyes and took in the musty smell of what should be centuries-old paper but that he knew had only recently been created. How did they do that so convincingly? Closing the volume, he turned it and its companions so that he could read the titles embossed on their spines. “The Count of Monte Cristo? Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption? Sunrise on Zeta Minor?”The first he had read as a boy in school long ago, whereas he had never heard of the other two, comparatively shorter works.
“They’re about prison breaks,” Fisher explained.
Desai added, “Those might prove educational.”
Chuckling at the gallows humor, Reyes eyed the fourth book. “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich?”
“He spends ten years in prison, too,” Fisher replied, “but I figure you’ll have it a hell of a lot easier than he did.”
“I sure hope so,” Reyes said as he crossed the room to where a small black bag sat on his dining table. The bag contained the very few personal effects he would be allowed to carry with him, including—among other things—a collection of photographs and a few books from his own library. The rest of his belongings would be packed and transferred to one of the station’s cargo stores until he provided a final destination for them. He had packed no clothing or personal-hygiene items, as all of that would be provided for him aboard ship as well as upon his arrival at the penal settlement. “Your taste in gifts is about as good as my fashion sense.” He moved back to where his friends stood and patted Fisher on his arm. “Thanks, Zeke. I mean it.”