Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [73]
Travis looked at him and a moment later sat bolt upright. “You mean-you don’t mean try to make another contact! The last one took you a year!” “Zevon might not have a year this time, Travis.”
“Oh, my God! This is a little sudden-” Breathing in gulps, Travis glanced around the quarters as if looking for the writing on the wall. “My God… I’ll contact Starbase Fourteen… get another CST out here to cover the precinct… I’ll have to give them some kind of excuse,”
The fact that Travis Perraton so quickly absorbed and didn’t question the moral imperative came to Stiles as a compliment, a vote of loyalty, and it bolted into place his flickering plan. “I’ll come up with something,” he said.
Travis pressed his hands to his face, shook his head, then let his hands fall to his lap and sighed. “You and your causes. Just when I think you’re settling down, you come up with some lofty goal.”
“I don’t have any lofty goals,” Stiles told him. “I’ve got my goal. Save Zevon if I can, and if I can’t, be with him when he dies. That’s my goal.”
“What about averting an interstellar conflict? If we can make a solid contact in the royal family, somebody inclined to trust us the way Zevon and you trust each other, maybe Starfleet can help the Romulans with this poison thing they’ve got going.”
“That’s not my problem. If it’s in the cards, great. We’re one ship with limited influence and we’re better off keeping a leash on our aspirations. If there’s a conflict, somebody else’ll handle it. If we’re there, we’ll help. We can only do so much in life. Things change. Then they change again. I’ve been a hero. Got what I thought I wanted, and it was nice, but how long can you keep that up? Once the handshaking and the medals are done with, the heroness just fades. You can’t strut around for the rest of your life being heroic. I can’t, anyway. I’m not James Kirk. The good thing is that I don’t want to be. I’m gonna do my part, not his part.”
Travis leered at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s the most depressing nobility I’ve ever heard.” “Works, though. You prepared for the hard part?” “I’m always prepared, Eric.” “That’s it then. Ready about.” “Ready about, aye.”
Chapter Thirteen
NOW WHAT?
The last living Romulan royal family member, the last chance at uncontaminated blood, was no longer living.
Riker’s profound words tolled through the silence on the bridge.
Spock was particularly aware of Dr. McCoy’s expression and longed to have a few private moments, but that would not come today. Decades ago, Leonard McCoy had lost his ability-or even desire-to hide his feelings. Now his bent shoulders further sagged, his wrinkled eyes crimped, his dry lips pursed, and he seemed to weaken. This news portended a grueling struggle for the physicians, with no possible short cuts. Spock knew McCoy had seen many failures in his long life, and together they had fielded many fears and changes, and yet somehow McCoy had never lost his hope to alter one more arrow of fate before the years finally caught up to him. Failure this time might mean failure in his last attempt to make the galaxy better.
“Captain,” Mr. Worf interrupted, “another ship on longrange, SIC’
Picard looked up at him. “The Tdal returning for some reason?” “No, sir. Starfleet encryption.” “Identify her as soon as you can, Mr. Worf.”
“Sensors are reading the vessel now, sir” the Klingon obliged. “Heavy keel… double hull. . multipurpose configuration… It’s a tender, sir, combat support. The… Saskatoon.”
Picard turned to the forward screen, but nothing was visible yet. “Signal