“Just turnin’ over a new leaf, that’s all,” Quinn said.
They dodged around a loose knot of Starfleet personnel walking in the opposite direction. Quinn caught his reflection in one of the massive, wall-sized transparent aluminum observation windows that looked out on the main docking bay. Embarrassed by his own profile, he tried to suck in his gut, but the effort of holding it in for more than a few seconds was too difficult. Letting it go with a huff of breath, he resolved, Have to do somethin’ about that one of these days.
Pennington smirked at him. “Little trouble there?”
“Shut up,” he replied with his own crooked grin.
“Just kidding, mate,” Pennington said. “If this is the new you, it’s got my vote—for the smell factor, if nothing else.”
Shaking his head, Quinn replied, “Friends like you are the reason most people don’t bother with self-improvement.”
They neared the bay four gangway, which had just been opened by a chief petty officer. Through another observation window, Quinn noticed that the Sagittarius, docked at the end of the gangway, was already being swarmed over by a repair crew from Vanguard. Bright yellow work pods hovered beneath its main saucer, starting sorely needed hull repairs.
Captain Nassir was the first one to emerge from the gangway portal, followed by a slender, dark-haired woman and Theriault, the woman Quinn had pulled out of the water with Pennington. Nassir turned his head and saw Quinn and Pennington, and immediately he threw wide his arms and called out, “The men of the hour!”
More of his crew exited the gangway as he strode over to greet the two civilians. He put out his hand to Quinn, who took it in a firm handshake. Nassir smiled and said, “An honor to meet you face-to-face, Captain.”
“Most folks just call me Quinn.”
Nassir nodded. “Whatever you like is fine by me, sir.” He released Quinn’s hand and shook Pennington’s. “Mr. Pennington, it’s a pleasure. Ensign Theriault’s told me quite a bit about your heroics on Jinoteur.”
The reporter smiled. “I thought I panicked,” he said, “but I’ll take her word for it.”
Letting go of Pennington’s hand, Nassir asked him and Quinn, “What’s next for you gents?”
Quinn shrugged. “Scare up another job and get back to work, I guess.” Hooking his thumb in Pennington’s direction, he added, “I reckon he probably has a few stories to file.”
“No doubt,” Nassir said.
Behind the Starfleet captain, a trio of medical personnel from Vanguard Hospital approached the gangway entrance with a stretcher. Pennington noticed the medics as well and asked, “Is Commander Terrell all right, sir?”
“He will be,” Nassir said. “We fixed him up well enough to get him home, but he’ll need a few days of intensive care before he’s back on his feet.”
Quinn nodded. “Send him our best wishes, Captain. We’re both pulling for him.”
“He’ll be glad to hear that, thank you.” Nassir tilted his head back toward a nearby turbolift. “If either of you would like to join me and my crew in Manón’s for a celebratory drink, consider yourselves invited. First round’s on me.”
Pennington and Quinn traded quizzical glances. Quinn looked back at Nassir and asked, “Are you sure we’d be welcome there?”
“Absolutely,” Nassir said. “You put yourselves on the line out there. You gents are heroes; I won’t forget it.” Brightening his expression, he added, “So how ’bout that drink?”
Quinn was about to accept, but then he caught Pennington’s sidelong glare and remembered why he had sobered up in the first place. “Maybe just an Altair water,” Quinn said, and Pennington signaled his approval with a subtle nod. Nassir indicated with a sweep of his arm that they should follow him to a nearby bank of turbolifts. As they started across the broad thoroughfare, Quinn glimpsed T’Prynn standing like a statue in the middle of the massive corridor, watching him.
Catching Pennington’s shoulder and backpedaling, Quinn said, “Captain, we’ll catch up with you in a few minutes. I just remembered an appointment I have to keep first.” Pennington shot a confused look at Quinn and followed his stare to T’Prynn.
Nassir looked back, noticing T’Prynn as well. “All right, then,” he said. “Good luck with that. See you upstairs.” Wise enough to extricate himself while he had the opportunity, Nassir slipped into a turbolift just before its doors closed.
T’Prynn tilted her head toward a recessed seating area off the main passageway, in front of an observation window. The focus of her gaze made it clear that she only wished to speak with Quinn. He nodded his understanding to her and whispered to Pennington, “Still got that recorder gizmo?”
“Yeah,” Pennington said. “Why?”
“You might want to fire it up on the sly,” Quinn said. “Just in case she kills me in public or something. Might make a hell of a scoop for you.”
Pennington casually stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. A moment later the tip of the recording device poked out over the edge of the pocket. “It’s running,” he said, and pointed with his chin toward a nook on the other side of the thoroughfare. “I’ll be over there.” He strolled away, leaving Quinn to go and face T’Prynn alone.
When Quinn reached her moments later, she stood with her back to him, facing into the docking bay. He sidled up next to her and pressed his back against the window. “Howdy.”
She didn’t look at him as she spoke. “You’ve done us a great service, Mr. Quinn. Thank you.”
“Glad to help,” he said. “But could you lay off me for a few weeks? I lost a lotta money on this trip, and I need to get back to work. I got debts to pay.”
“No,” she said, “you don’t.”
Expecting another of her patented manipulations, he bristled at the coldness of her tone. “Run that by me again?”
T’Prynn turned to face him. “You have no debts, Mr. Quinn. I’ve settled your accounts.”
“What? For this trip, you mean?” “All of them.”
He was still struggling to figure out what devious angle she was working against him. “You’re saying you bought up all my markers? Now I owe everything to you?”
“No, Mr. Quinn. Your debts are settled. They no longer exist. You owe nothing to Ganz, or to Starfleet, or to me.”
The moment was all too surreal for him to grasp. “You think Ganz’ll just let me off the hook? I didn’t even owe him money—I owed him work and favors. How’d you pay that off?”
“The details are not important.” She dropped her smoky-sweet voice to a warm hush and looked him in the eye. “If you wish to continue assisting Starfleet Intelligence, we will be grateful for your help. If you decide to keep on working for Ganz, that’s up to you. The key detail here is that you are not obligated to do either. Put simply, Mr. Quinn…you’re free.”
Quinn was convinced that he had misheard her, because it had sounded as if she had just told him that he was free.
He tried to ask if she was kidding, but he realized as he started speaking that she probably couldn’t hear him over the explosion in the main docking bay.
Pennington observed Quinn’s meeting with T’Prynn from across the thoroughfare. He was close enough that he could monitor them visually with his portable recorder but not close enough to pick up what they were saying.
His attention was fixed on the Vulcan woman, with a focus so acute that he worried it bordered on obsessive. The deception that she had perpetrated on him a few months earlier, to trick him into filing an easily falsified report about the destruction of the U.S.S. Bombay, still rankled him. When he had confronted her about it, she had insinuated that she knew enough about his private life to blackmail him. By that point, however, her ploy had already wrought so much damage to his personal life and his professional credibility that he’d had nothing left to lose.