Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [52]
He had been young then, too young to know it was okay not to already have all the experience of life. It was all right not to know everything. Or much of anything. It was okay… it was okay. I’m okay, Zevon. Don’t worry. In a flush of emotion and self-examination he endured the next half hour of applause and honors without really registering much of it. By the time Spock took his arm and drew him to his feet, Stiles was humbled beyond description. He collected his only pleasure from knowing his survival was making so many people feel good about themselves. That was pretty good, really. When they teased him and spoke poorly, he’d at least been giving them something to converse about. Today he was doing the same sort of thing, deserve it or not. He shook hands and denied his way across the platform, then down to the crowd as the people smiled and then left him alone. They seemed to understand that he was overwhelmed, and the crowd funneled politely to the exits, heading for the ship’s mess and ward rooms where the banquets were waiting. Music played again over the PA, and everyone was laughing and cheery, all because of him. On this astonishing day, he had everything he’d once thought he ever wanted. And now he didn’t want it.
“If you’ll come this way,” Ambassador Spock was saying, “there are some other people who’re been waiting a long time to meet you.”
“Not more,” Stiles moaned. He lowered his eyes. Maybe whoever it was would just get the idea he’d had too much and leave him alone. The ship’s captain had gotten the message and corralled the princess and the mayor and governor and were waiting with them about halfway to the exit, giving Stiles a few minutes to breathe. They were conversing with each other, obviously waiting for him, but also deliberately not looking at him. He needed the time too. He stood at the side of the slowly emptying hangar bay, with Spock and McCoy providing a welcome buffer between himself and the throng. “Eric !” “Hey, Eric!”
With a notable wince, he turned away from the sound. If he kept his back to the masses, maybe they’d think he just didn’t hear. “Lightfoot!”
Something sparked in his head. Now he turned toward the calls. Not twenty steps away, held back by a couple pillars of meat in security uniforms, were the last people in the universe he had expected to see alive, never mind here. “Travis?” Stiles’s voice caught in his throat.
At his side, McCoy gave him a little push. “Go ahead, son. Go see ‘em.”
Behind Travis Perraton, also crowding the guards, were Jeremy White, Matt Gitvan, Greg Blake, Dan Moose, and both the Bolt twins. At the front of the group, Travis Perraton’s dark hair was grown out from the Starfleet junior-officer close-clip, and his blue eyes gleamed and bright smile flashed like a star as he reached between the guards and said, “They won’t let us through !”
“Security guard,” Ambassador Spock smartly ordered, “stand down.”
In unison the four guards snapped, “Aye, sir? and came to at-ease, allowing Perraton, White, Blake, Girvan, Moose, and the Bolts to flood into the reception area. All at once Stiles was engulfed in a coil of embraces, until finally he was clinging to Travis Perraton and getting his back slapped by everybody else.
Spock and McCoy graciously moved away, leaving the young men together without interference. The row of guards between them and everyone else would assure that the former evac team would have a few private moments before all the ringing