Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [49]
Ensign Pridemore got up and stepped to the hatch. “This way, gentlemen,” the young man said.
Young… yes, Pridemore seemed young to Stiles. A long time since he’d seen a person younger than himself in any authority. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the two ensigns here with him today. So much was expected of them- “If you’ll stand here, Mr. Stiles,” Pridemore said, motioning him to the middle of the hatch entrance, only then motioning to McCoy. “Doctor? Here, sir.”
Without comment the old surgeon came to stand beside Stiles. The staging was mysterious, but Stiles assumed a security team was stationed outside the door and would be escorting him to quarters under guard. The brig? Probably not. He wasn’t a criminal, after all. Just a turkey being led to the slaughter. “Ready, sir?” Pridemore asked. “We’re ready,” the doctor confirmed. “Open’er up” Pridemore, curiously, stepped aside then instead of leading them down the ramp that must be out there, and punched the hatch controls.
The hatch swung open and for a moment Stiles was blinded, after weeks of dim smugglers and tramp ships, by an unfortunately placed spotlight somewhere in the hangar bay that plunged instantly into his eyes and made him blink.
Then a sound rushed up the ramp and engulfed him. Was something exploding?
He moved slightly to one side, enough to get out of the direct beam of that one culprit light, and let his eyes adjust. As he blinked, he identified that unfamiliar sound. Applause.
He stepped forward to see what was happening, and saw sprawled out before him a field of Starfleet crewmen, officers, civilian guests and dignitaries, all knocking their hands together and looking up the ramp at him and McCoy.
“Sorry!” Stiles gasped. He was standing right in the way. Careful of his new physical coordination, he stepped quickly to one side, faced the famous Leonard McCoy, and began to politely applaud also. “What’re you doing?” Dr. McCoy asked. Stiles kept applauding. “I was in the way”
The doctor’s leathery face crumpled in disapproval and he grasped Stiles by the arm and pulled him back to the middle of the ramp. “They’re not applauding me, hammerhead? “Honor Guard! Atten-HUT!”
The sharp disembodied order echoed in the huge hangar bay, answered by the crack of heels on the deck as a tunnel of uniformed men and women came abruptly to attention, flanking the red carpet which stretched out from the end of the ramp to the edge of the crowd.
“What?” Stiles stumbled a few steps down the ramp, baubling drunkenly as he realized Dr. McCoy wasn’t following him down the ramp. He stopped in the middle of the slope and stared at the throng of people applauding before him.
And there was music-trumpet fanfare in vaulting military tradition. He hadn’t heard music in years.
A stimulating cheer rose now above the continuing applause, and some of the people in the crowd were jumping and waving, calling, “Eric ! Eric ! Eric !”
Stiles turned halfway around and looked back up the ramp at Leonard McCoy. The doctor wagged a scolding hand at him, waving him the rest of the way down the ramp.
Spreading his hands perplexedly, Stiles complained, “I don’t get this…”
But he barely heard Iris own voice over the cheering. As he turned back to the crowd, confused and overwhelmed, a flicker of sense carne into the picture Ambassador Spock now stood at the end of the tunnel of uniforms. The senior Vulcan now looked more ambassadorial than the one time Stiles had met him. That day four years ago, the ambassador had been wear~ lug a jacket and slacks. Today he wore a ceremonial robe of glossy purple quilted fabric and a royal blue velvet cowl. Apparently this was some kind of ceremony. With him stood a captain and some officers and a couple of dignitaries. They continued applauding as Stiles meandered down the red carpet, entertaining ideas of slipping between a couple of these guards