Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [29]
She regained her professional demeanor. “All right, I’ll assume for the sake of argument that you are telling the truth.”
“That’s very gracious of you,” the captain replied.
“Not at all,” she told him. “It will simply make our conversation easier on both of us if I assume what you tell me is the truth. That frees you from having to be convincing and it frees me from having to be on my guard. Besides, if you’re lying, it’ll come out soon enough. For now, I prefer to see the best in you. You have what my father used to call a kind face.”
He grunted. “In that case, would you please tell me where I am?”
She thought for a bit, then shook her head. “Sorry. That sounds like the commodore’s area. You’ll have to wait for the commodore to discuss it with you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she confirmed. “In the meantime, would you care to tell me where you’re from?”
Picard sighed. “I don’t suppose I could get off easily and claim amnesia?”
The doctor harrumphed. “Not likely. Do you intend to try?”
“That depends on whether or not you would believe it.”
She smiled a second time. “Again, not likely.”
The captain nodded and took stock of himself. His right arm was in a sling and a quick examination with his left hand confirmed that he had a bandage on his head.
“A few abrasions, one medium concussion, and a dislocated shoulder,” the doctor offered. “No permanent damage. Because of the concussion, I have resisted giving you painkillers. I had to partially reattach some ligaments and tendons in your shoulder, but they’ll be fine. The residual swelling and soft-tissue damage will correct itself in a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” asked Picard. Beverly would have had him as good as new in a few days.
The woman shrugged. “Sorry if that’s inconvenient, but I think it’s the best you’ll do. I could refer you to another doctor, I suppose—but there isn’t one for two dozen light-years.”
“No, I’m sorry. I meant no offense,” said the captain. “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”
“Not at all,” she told him. “You should have pretty good movement in the arm in about a week. Though for now, I’ll bet it smarts.”
Smarts? thought Picard. He felt a growing sense of unease. There was something wrong here. “When can I speak to the commodore?”
“He’ll be by shortly. He’s out checking the—” The doctor caught herself. “You know, he tells me I’m a lousy security risk. I suspect he’s right. Anyway, he’ll be back shortly, Mr… . ?”
She was looking at him expectantly. The captain hesitated for a moment, as something told him to withhold the truth. “Hill,” he supplied. “Dixon Hill.”
“Well, Mr. Hill, I’m Julia Santos. It’s a pleasure to meet you—even under the circumstances.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Picard said, forcing a smile. He would feel better when he could speak to someone in charge, someone who would be able to answer his questions. He had a growing sense that this place was not the safe harbor it appeared to be.
The loud crash was enough to make Geordi jump. From his crouched position, that meant lifting his head, which in turn connected solidly with the control panel he was working under. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled out from under the thing and was out the door with Data on his heels. At the far end of the hallway, he found Barclay and O’Connor working on another open control panel—this one beside the now-closed door to the airlock.
Inside, the shuttle they had taken here was safe and sound. Geordi breathed a sigh of relief.
Barclay looked sheepish. “Sorry, sir. My fault. I tripped the mechanism.”
Data had his tricorder out and was scanning. “No sign of a recent or impending power surge,” the android said after a moment. “Station power functioning continuously at minimal levels.”
Geordi took a moment to feel the back of his head, which had begun to throb dully where it had hit the panel. Finding the tender spot, he was certain that he would have a good-sized bump there within the hour.
“That’s okay, Reg. We’re all just a little jumpy,” he said.
Peering inside the