Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [48]
Seventeen weeks of physical therapy and quaint tales. No matter how many times Stiles asked what was going to happen to him, Dr. McCoy always played old and swerved into some tall story about the glorious past, or the irritating past, or the past that could’ve been done better if only so-and-so had listened to him. Stiles got the idea. The doctor didn’t want to be the one to tell him what was coming.
Now they were about to rendezvous with the first Starfleet ship Stiles had seen since he’d been dragged out of his tighter. On one of the courtesy screens, he and Dr. McCoy watched the brand new Galaxy-class Starship Lexington pull up to docking range. Then a transport pod came out of the starship and made its way toward the livestock transport.
“Why don’t they just get it over with and beam us over?” Stiles complained. “The sooner this is done, the better for me. I can take my dishonorable discharge and vanish.”
“Discharge?” McCoy didn’t look at him. The lights of the airlock flashed on his papery face.
“It’s the only way to get out of a long, drawn-out court-martial. I don’t care if they put me on trial, but I don’t have the time to waste. I’ve got a message to deliver. They’ll offer me a deal. Dishonorable discharge. And I’ll take it” “Don’t blame you”
The vessel around them endured a slight physical bump, and a moment later the nearest airlock clacked and rolled open. Two Starfleet security men stepped out, with holstered phasers and full helmets. One of them stepped forward. “Dr. Leonard McCoy and Ensign Eric Stiles?” McCoy stepped forward. “That’s us, son.”
“Ensign Pridemore, sir, and Ensign Moytulix, here to escort you to the starship. If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, I’m honored to have this duty.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” McCoy allowed with a practiced nod. “Carry on.” “Yes, sir. If you’ll both follow me-“
The security officers parted, and Pridemore led the way back into the pod. Stiles let McCoy go first, though he was feeling the bristling power of strong legs again and nearly plowed into the pod just on the hope of getting this misery
over with sooner. There was no getting around the next few days. He’d have to face the music, take the stain on his record, plead guilty to whatever they threw at him, and get out so he could find a way to notify the empire about Zevon. That was everything, Zevon was everything, and Stiles was in a perfect panic of worry for him.
His head was swimming. Yes sir, no sir, carry on… all the common phrases he’d abandoned so easily… they spun him like coins on a table. He felt as if he were reliving somebody else’s life, detached from any real involvement of his own.
“Right over here, sir.” Ensign Pridemore gestured Stiles to a seat in the cramped back of the transport pod. “I’d rather stand and look out the viewport.” “Sorry, sir. Regulations.”
Stiles stepped to the seat. “You don’t have to ‘sir’ me. I don’t outrank you.”
“It’s my honor, sir.” Pridemore took off his helmet, hung it on the bulkhead hook, and turned toward the piloting console.
“Yeah, year.” Stiles dropped into his seat and slumped into the cushions.
McCoy sat across from him. The other security ensign, his helmet obscuring his face, stood at the airlock hatch at full attention. Seemed kind of silly.
Within twelve minutes, they were landing in the bay of the starship. The pattern of approach and responses from the baymaster seemed like echoes of his past, as Stiles eavesdropped on the cockpit action and imagined himself in the pilot’s seat.
As the interior lights of the starship’s hangar bay flooded the pod, Dr. McCoy clapped his ‘knees with those gnarled white hands and said, “Ready to get this over with?” Stiles sighed. “Do elephants have four ‘knees?”
McCoy stepped