Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [18]
“The blue marker dot on the upper left of your emergency grid, ensign. Push it upward.” “Blue dot… oh. Got it-I hear the fan now. That’s better.. :’ Fresh air, siphoned from outside. Not warm, though. In fact, the incoming air was frigid. But air was air and it cleared his head.
At the very least, he’d be captured now. Maybe tortured. Maybe killed. Would it be better to get killed fight now, here on this mountain?
A crawling aneurysm of mortal fear moved through his brain, infecting his body until he was cold and shuddering. He felt it working on him even as he tried to keep it in check. It tightened his throat and changed the timbre of his voice. Could Spock hear that in his voice? Hear that he was afraid?
The sound of shovels scratched the top of his packed snow prison. “It’s getting cold….”
Stiles shuddered through a sigh and this time saw his breath, as the chill from outside permeated the cockpit.
Another scratch-broader, brighter. They’d have him in a minute or two. Now he could hear voices above. Bootsteps. Shouts. “Sir…” “Yes ?” “I don’t know… how well I’m going to do,” he admitted.
“This is hardly routine for you,” Spock offered. “You are twenty-two.”
‘Twenty-one.” Miserable now, beginning to feel the pain in his shoulder through fading numbness, he tried to shift his feet but failed even to do that. What did Spock mean? So he was twenty-one. So what?
Old enough to control simple fears. Old enough to put fear aside. What was a veteran like Spock really thinking of him?
He sank more deeply into his seat, let his legs go limp, flexed his good hand, and touched the frosted canopy near his face. “I guess this is where you tell me everything’ll be all fight eventually, and I’m brave and ought to be proud of myself.”
“I hesitate to quote poetry,” Spock said, and Stiles could almost see the hint of a smile.
So he smiled too. “Sir, I wouldn’t know what to do with it if you did. I don’t even read the insides of my birthday cards.”
For a moment there was no sound from the now-distant coach, no response, no coddling. The comm unit crackled, struggling to pull in the spaceborne signal through systems that were probably broken or fried. “I’m losing you, sir,” Stiles said. “Yes, your reception signal is thready.” “Should I try to boost?”
“Distance is a factor. No need to strain yourself I’U boost from here.”
Stiles’s hand fell back to his side and he let himself go limp, trying to ease the ache in his head. A little shaving of frost fell from the canopy where he’d touched it. The flakes landed on his fight cheek and stuck there, like a frozen tear. His face was too cold even to melt it.
“The Federation will negotiate for your freedom,” Spock told him placidly. “I’ll see to it personally.”
“Don’t make a spectacle,” Stiles grumbled. “I don’t want to be known as the little goof with the big rescue. Then somebody else’ll be the hero and I’ll just be the jerk who crashed in enemy territory and cost a mint to get back. I don’t need that… God, my shoulder hurts… think they know how to set a human arm?” “Yes, they know how.”
Spock’s voice was small now, but clear of static, patient and gentle, laden with understanding of what he was feeling. How could that be?
“I have worked with many humans in my lifetime. There is great comfort for me among them, and much to admire. Above all traits, ! believe, I most admire their resilience. Be pliant, Eric. Once you survive this, you’ll be a more valuable officer. And a better man.”
Stiles heard the words, but it was as if he were listening to wind. Substantial, effective… but he didn’t understand what made it happen. An instant later he could barely remember what Spock had just said-all he remembered was the sound of his own name spoke so adaptably by that famous voice.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked