Homecoming - Christie Golden [42]
Paris stuck his head in. “Someone wants to talk to you, Doc.”
The Doctor glanced up from a medical journal, irritated. He could of course simply download the information, but found that reading it the way other doctors did helped kill the huge amount of time on his hands. Miral slept in his arms, her little body limp, warm and heavy, her mouth open.
“Send the standard message. It sounds like my screening system needs adjustment.”
Tom was grinning. “No fan, Doc. At least, not a fan of your writing. This guy’s from some medical facility somewhere.”
The Doctor was on his feet instantly. He thrust the still-sleeping baby into her father’s arms and raced for [124] the computer. He took a moment to compose himself, then sat down.
Smiling, he said, “Good morning. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The human male had black hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. He was quite handsome. When he saw the Doctor, his face lit up and the lines around his eyes wrinkled in delight.
“Doctor,” he said, his voice warm and rich. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to finally speak with you.”
The Doctor sat up straighter in his chair. Now, this was more like it.
“My name is Dr. Oliver Baines. I work with a small group that provides humanitarian aid to various hot spots in the quadrant. We’re not officially connected with Starfleet or the Federation, but our goals are certainly similar. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to contact you. You’re a hard man to track down.”
The Doctor scowled. “I’ve heard nothing through any official channels. Nobody’s bothered to let me know you were trying to get in touch with me.”
“Really? That’s very odd. I would have thought people would be beating down your door.”
“So did I,” the Doctor said. He smiled and said jokingly, “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”
Baines caught the jest and chuckled. “I’d like to talk to you in person about the possibility of your signing on with our group. You’d be invaluable to us. We are fortunately kept well supplied, but finding people who are willing to travel so far from their homes to treat [125] people they don’t even know ... well, that’s a bit more difficult.”
Altruism surged through the Doctor. He would miss his friends, of course ... well, maybe not Mr. Paris; he’d certainly had a good dose of him over the last two weeks ... but other than that, he had no family. He had been programmed to serve, and this organization sounded exactly like what he had been looking for.
He tried not to sound too enthusiastic as he replied, “I’d like to hear more about this, Doctor. Where and when shall we meet?”
“If you’ll give me the coordinates, I can meet you right now,” Baines said.
“The sooner the better. Let me get my, er, roommate out of the way. Ten minutes?”
“Wonderful.” Baines’s pleasant face split into a grin. It made him look like a boy. “I have to admit, I’m very excited about this, Doctor. The strides you’ve made, the things you’ve discovered and invented ... Well, let me just say I’ll be meeting a hero of mine in ten minutes.”
The Doctor smiled. “I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss.” He transmitted the coordinates, then rose to tell Tom to take Miral out for a stroll for the next hour.
When Baines transported in, he was still smiling. “Doctor,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I can’t believe that I’m here at last. You’ve simply no idea how much this means to me.”
“Please, have a seat,” said the Doctor graciously. “May I get you something? Some water, or coffee?”
Baines eased into the seat indicated. “I’m fine, Doctor. More than fine.”
[126] “Good.” The Doctor sat in a chair opposite his guest. “Tell me about your organization. I’m all ears.”
Baines glanced away quickly and clasped and unclasped his hands. “I really am here for a humanitarian reason, Doctor, though I regret to say that it’s not quite the one I told you about earlier.”
“I don’t understand.”
Baines leaned forward. He radiated urgency and sincerity. “I am in charge