Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [46]
He didn’t care. Even after a lifetime of family conditioning, Starfleet had been surprisingly easy to leave behind. Now, this force in his life that had faded to an echo, something he could ignore and forget, now it held ultimate sway over him. Four years ago, though restricted in a jail, Stiles had taken control over his own life. That control was about to be wrested from him again. He was an ensign again, a man in uniform. Today he was free-but more imprisoned than ever.
Then he thought of something else and pushed himself up again. “Can you get Zevon out?” “Who?”
“Another prisoner. We were together the whole time. We kept each other alive.” “Not another Starfleet man. I’d have known about that.” “No, he’s… he …. “
As the doctor waited for the word Stiles was about to unthinkingly spit, Stiles held himself back. For four years he’d said whatever popped into his mind, careless of consequences because there weren’t any consequences, heedless of hurt feelings because he and Zevon endured so much hurt that feelings stopped making any difference a long time ago.
He’d made a promise to Zevon to inform the Romulan Empire that their prince was a captive, not dead as they probably suspected. Was it a good idea to tell anybody else Zevon was Romulan?
I’ll get the message to them myself, somehow. I’ll figure out a way.
“One miracle at a time,” McCoy told him. “We can make a report on your friend, see if Command has a process “
‘I’ll take care of it.” Stiles lay back again, enjoying the sensation of getting a lungful of air without pain, entertaining thoughts of breaking away and running back to the Pojjana and continuing his work with Zevon now that he was cured. Cured ?.. the idea of dying was easier to grasp.
But how would that be? The sector was still red. Zevon was right-he’d be better served to tell the Romulans and let them get Zevon out, then let Zevon pressure his own people into helping the Po’jjana. It’s the least they owed… and the Pojjana still saw both Stiles and Zevon as evil aliens. They might have to be forced to accept help.
The Constrictor was coming, he was sure of it. Zevon would be caught in the middle of it, maybe even killed if the Pojjana wouldn’t listen to him.
“I’ve got to fight my way to somebody with influence” Stiles grumbled aloud, gazing at the scratched brown wall of the small quarters. When he realized he’d spoken aloud, he turned to the elderly surgeon, but the famous old man was busy with something medical and apparently hadn’t heard him or didn’t care. “They’re going to court-martial me, aren’t they?”
“Hmm?” McCoy glanced at him. “I wouldn’t know. Why would they?” “I botched a critical mission.” “Did you?” “I thought I knew everything.”
“Show me a twenty-one-year-old who doesn’t.” McCoy pulled a hypo off his shelf and fitted it with a newly load~-whatever that thing was called that held the medicine. “I’ll give you something to make you sleep. Tomorrow we’ll start your physical therapy. You might as well relax for a while. It’s a long ride back from Red Sector to whatever Starfleet’s got waiting for you.”
Chapter Nine
“Orsova.” “Mffbuh… muh?” “You’re not unconscious. Stand up.” “Huh? Stand up?”
“You’re not dead. Stand up and shake off the daze. Find your feet.” “Who… who… r’you?”
“This mechanism distorts my voice. Forget trying to recognize me. You will never know me.” “Where is this? Where have you brought me to?” “You’re on a space vessel.” “Space7 Space!… Prove it.” “Look out that portal. See your planet, your moons.” Disoriented, nauseated, Orsova tripped over his bootlace and stumbled from the cool floorspace to a carpeted area where there was a hole in the wall. There he fingered the porthole ledge and peered