Homecoming - Christie Golden [45]
“Really?” Baines brightened. “I’m so pleased to hear that, Doctor. Let me leave you with some information. You can peruse it at your leisure.” He handed the [132] Doctor a small padd. “Well. I guess it’s time I return and tell my friends what you’ve told me.”
“They’re fiercely intelligent entities,” said the Doctor. “They’ll understand, once you’ve explained it to them.”
“I hope so.” He extended a hand. The Doctor shook it.
“I’m glad you came today,” the Doctor said, and meant it. Thank goodness he’d had the opportunity to set Baines on the right path before a tragedy had occurred.
Baines seemed to be about to say something else, then apparently thought better of it. He smiled, released the Doctor’s hand, and stepped back. He touched a small device on his chest and dematerialized.
The Doctor didn’t move for a moment. This, he supposed, was the problem with free will and the ability to exceed one’s programming. One could attempt something on the theory that it would be a pleasant and useful thing to do, and then one could step away. But so often, as he had learned, that one step set things into motion no one could predict. Would he forever be known as the author of Photons Be Free and not a master surgeon and researcher?
And if so, would that truly be such a bad thing?
He looked at the padd in his hand and debated sitting down with it for a while. Then he decided that after his stressful discussion with Baines, he could use some time spent listening to opera. He thought that Madama Butterfly would fit the bill nicely.
Chapter 11
“THE DESERT?” Libby said in astonishment when Harry told her where they were going.
“Trust me, it’ll be wonderful,” Kim reassured her, picking up her bags. “Geez, what have you got in here?”
“Bricks, stones, and lead weights, of course,” Libby replied, then got back to the subject that interested her. “The desert?”
Harry sighed. “We can cancel if you want,” he said, and the disappointment in his voice was heavier than her bags.
“No, it’s just ... when you said you wanted to whisk me away for a romantic getaway, hot baking sun and sand without any blue water was not exactly what I had in mind.”
“You said you’d trust me,” he reminded her.
[134] “And I do, but ...” Her voice trailed off. She had a job to do. She’d go to the desert if that was where he wanted to take her.
As always when the reality of her relationship with Harry reared its ugly head, Libby felt slightly ill. Her interaction with Lieutenant Harry Kim wasn’t an act, but neither was it wholly genuine. She hated dancing on this knife-sharp edge: Was she or wasn’t she his girlfriend? Was he or wasn’t he a subject that she was assigned to study as part of her job? One or the other would be easier. Every night when she came home, she kept hoping for a message from Covington that the assignment was canceled. Then she could sit back and see how she really felt about Harry. But the hoped-for message never came.
What had come over the last six weeks were increasingly distressful reports about who was under suspicion as a traitor. Names she had respected and trusted for most of her adult life “were now coming up for her to watch, to monitor. It was unfortunate, in many ways, that Harry was so eager to get her alone. She needed to be in the thick of the social whirl in order to complete her assignment.
When they materialized in their lodging, though, she almost forgot about why she was here.
“Harry, it’s gorgeous!” And it was. They were in a beautifully furnished adobe house, large enough to feel roomy, small enough to feel cozy. Viga beams stretched across the ceilings. An exquisitely woven rug, obviously an antique, graced the orange-tan walls, while a more functional one was spread out on the cool tile floor. Round windows made moons of sunlight on the [135] floors and