Miracle Workers (SCE Books 5-8) - Keith R. A. DeCandido_. [et al.] [30]
Stevens was the first to react. “That has to be one of the most heart-wrenching apologies ever offered by a Tholian.”
“Any bets on how much that hurt him to say?” Corsi asked. Turning her attention to Duffy, she said, “Well done, Commander.”
Duffy’s first impulse was to respond with one of his usual flippant comments, but he checked himself. Domenica Corsi didn’t hand out compliments lightly, and coming from her, the simple statement was high praise indeed. He decided not to undercut the moment and instead accept her words in the spirit he was sure they were intended.
Indicating McAllan with a nod of his head, he said, “Keep your eyes on the Tholians until we’re out of range. In the meantime, contact the Defiant. I think it’s high time we got the hell out of here.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and someone ask Captain Gold which big chair he wants to sit in for the ride home.”
CHAPTER
11
Normally a hive of activity, as it had been since first entering service more than two centuries ago, operations aboard the primary SpaceDock facility orbiting Earth had come to a virtual standstill. Observation galleries overlooking the station’s interior docking areas were crammed to overflowing with spectators, and every available viewscreen had been tied into the bays’ visual feeds. A similar image was also being transmitted on subspace frequencies throughout the Federation, offering a view of history to anyone who might be interested.
And Admiral William Ross couldn’t imagine anyone not being interested.
For years it had been a common complaint among the older, more seasoned members of Starfleet that respect for tradition and history seemed to be waning among younger officers and enlisted personnel. The explorers and defenders of peace from those bygone eras had supposedly exhausted all that they could offer to those who now wore the uniform. It had been said that many outside Starfleet had also outgrown the need to honor and appreciate those who had forged trails through the cosmos in the Federation’s early days.
However, looking down at the throng of people gathered in SpaceDock’s main observers’ gallery, Ross smiled in satisfaction at the fervor he saw. He could almost feel the energy washing over the room in the anticipation of the next few moments. Maybe the arrival of the Defiant would engender only momentary fascination among the masses before they all returned to their regular lives, he decided. Then again, perhaps respect and interest in the past would be reclaimed here today, if indeed it had been lost at all.
“Mighty flashy party we’ve got here today, wouldn’t you say, Admiral?”
The voice was gravelly and weathered, much like its owner, Ross discovered as he turned to face the speaker. His expression brightened at the new arrival, nodding with enthusiasm of his own. On a day that would play host to legends, it seemed only fitting that he be visited by one of their living representatives.
At nearly one hundred fifty years of age, Admiral Leonard McCoy still presented an imposing figure, though his shoulders slumped and his skin was little more than a waxy film covering the bones and muscles of his withered body. None of that seemed to matter, however, as Ross could still see the fiery determination in the admiral’s eyes that had been captured countless times in biographical databases and historical narratives. The former chief medical officer of the original U.S.S. Enterprise represented the same history as the ship approaching Space-Dock, and Ross felt it more than appropriate that he should be here on this day.
“Admiral,” Ross said, extending his hand to the aged McCoy, “it’s good to see you. Couldn’t resist coming out to see the Defiant’s homecoming?”
Taking Ross’s proffered hand in his own frail grasp, McCoy nodded in greeting. “Wouldn’t