“I needed something big enough to hide the hacksaw blade,” the doctor retorted. Then his expression softened, and he reached out to grip Reyes’s shoulder. “Now, listen to me, Diego. I know you did what you thought you had to do, and who knows? Maybe some sense will get knocked into people’s heads as a result. Until that happens, you’re not alone, do you understand me? You’ve got friends.”
Reyes smiled again. “I know,” he said before the door chime sounded again. “Come,” he called out.
When the door opened this time, it was to admit Lieutenant Beyer and Ensign Tseng, the pair of security guards posted in the corridor. Beyer regarded Reyes with an apologetic expression clouding her fair features.
“I’m sorry, Comm—I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “It’s time to go.”
Nodding, Reyes replied, “Okay.” By mutual agreement, Desai would remain here, rather than accompany him to the hangar bay. He reached for Fisher, drawing his longtime friend into a firm embrace, a gesture shared by brothers and comrades in arms who had lived long enough to see far too much and come through it all because of the uncommon bond linking them.
“Take care of Rana for me, would you?” he asked as they stepped apart.
Fisher’s own expression had grown somber. “You got it.”
Turning to Desai, Reyes saw the tears that now flowed without restraint, streaming down her face. Without a word, she moved to him, gripping him in her arms and pressing her lips to his. Reyes was terrified to move even the slightest bit, for fear that his own emotions would force themselves to the surface and overwhelm him. They stood like that for several moments, neither willing to move, until Reyes heard a subtle, polite throat-clearing sound from Beyer.
“Sir.”
Looking to where the lieutenant stood, her face communicating her fervent desire to be anywhere and doing anything else, Reyes said, “I know.” Feeling the lump grow larger in his throat, he crossed the room and took his bag from the dining table. He wiped a tear from his eye before returning to Desai and the others. To Beyer, he said, “All right, Lieutenant. I’m ready.”
Beyer offered a formal nod. “As you requested, we’ve cleared a route to the hangar deck that’ll be free of spectators. We’ll get you to the Nowlanwithout fuss.”
“I appreciate that, Lieutenant.” It had been a personal request, one that did not have to be granted, but he had suspected that it would be honored when he learned that Beyer had volunteered to stand the final watch before Reyes’s transfer to the transport vessel.
Flanked by the guards, he made his way to the door of his quarters, preparing to exit them for the final time. Then he heard Desai call out from behind him.
“This isn’t over, Diego,” she said. Turning to face her, Reyes saw the sadness in her eyes, now coupled with new determination. “We’ve still got the appeals process. I’m already starting on that, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”
Taking one last look at her, burning her face into his memory, Reyes offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
“You’ll know where I’ll be.”
46
For reasons he could not understand, Pennington was nervous.
“What the bloody hell’s wrong with me?” he asked as he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. “The last time I felt like this, I was picking up my prom date and meeting her father for the first time.”
“Did the father like you?” M’Benga asked, standing next to him as the pair waited outside the door to T’Prynn’s room.
Pennington shook his head. “Not one damned bit.”
“An excellent judge of character, it turns out.”
The pair exchanged amused glances, and Pennington tipped a finger to the side of his head in salute.
He and M’Benga had formed a casual friendship during the weeks they had spent here, thanks to both men’s easygoing natures. Pennington had learned that the doctor’s reserved demeanor housed a sharp wit and an almost encyclopedic knowledge of literature and history, allowing him to pepper his sarcastic remarks with references so arcane as to force the journalist to the nearest computer terminal in order to keep up.
The sound of the door’s bolt being slid aside echoed in the hallway, and Pennington and M’Benga composed themselves as it opened to reveal T’Nel.
“T’Prynn is ready to see you now,” the Vulcan said, opening the door wider and moving to one side, allowing the men to step into the room before she left, closing the door behind her.
Seated in a straight-backed chair near the window was T’Prynn. She wore a simple sleeping robe, and a thick, ornately decorated blanket had been laid across her lap, covering her from her waist to her feet. Her dark hair had been pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and her hands were clasped in front of her. With a typically Vulcan stoic expression, her alert eyes studied both men from head to toe as they stood before her. Pennington realized for the first time that her cheeks had sunken, if only slightly, evidence of the weight she had lost, even though her metabolism and other body functions had slowed during her coma to the bare minimum necessary to sustain her. She looked exhausted, and Pennington also noted the slight, irregular facial tic in her right cheek, even though she faced them at an angle, her right side somewhat obscured from direct view.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
“Mr. Pennington,” T’Prynn replied, her voice somewhat raspy. “Dr. M’Benga. It is agreeable to see you both. Doctor, I’ve been told of the care and treatment you provided me throughout my incapacitation, not only on the station but during the journey from there to Vulcan. You have my sincere thanks.”
M’Benga nodded. “I was just doing my job, Commander.”
“I’m told, Mr. Pennington, that you also took an interest in my condition. I must admit that I am at a loss to understand this.”
“You’re welcome,” replied the journalist, offering a smile. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that at the time, you looked as if you could use a friend.” He felt his stomach lurch as he considered the woman before him, the architect of his professional downfall. As temporary as that expulsion might have been, it had arguably marked the lowest point in his life, surpassing even the ending of his marriage or the loss of his lover, Oriana D’Amato.
Now that she was here, there was much that he wanted to say, but this did not feel like the appropriate time. He thought he might try to visit her later in the day, or perhaps tomorrow, if she felt up to having visitors.
T’Prynn seemed to process that, then nodded as the tic made another appearance. “Very well. You also have my thanks.”
“How are you feeling?” M’Benga asked.
“Weak,” the Vulcan replied. “Except for a persistent headache, I am experiencing no pain. Healer Sobon tells me that there are a number of neurological issues that must be addressed before I can be declared fully recovered.” She unclasped her hands, and Pennington noted that her right hand remained limp in her lap as she raised her left hand to gesture toward her legs. “I retain all of my cognitive functions and senses, but I am unable to walk, though I possess all nerve sensation. I am only able to effect limited movement with my right arm, and you have already observed the minor muscle spasms in my face.”
M’Benga crossed his arms. “These are residual effects of the coma, I take it?”
Nodding, T’Prynn replied, “Indeed. Healer Sobon has told me that my brain essentially went into a form of hibernation, as a means of protecting higher functions from permanent damage caused by the neurological imbalance triggered by the coma. Once the Dashaya-Ni’Varwas complete, my brain slowly began to restore that functionality, but its progress is slowed because of the intensity of the meld and the effort required to remove Sten’s katra.Sobon is confident that I will be fully recovered in a few weeks, perhaps a month.”