Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [31]
“Sheveled. As opposed to dis-.” Trip paused to squint at him more closely. “How the hell did you get out of bed and into uniform so fast?”
“Oh.” Reed stepped forward, permitting the door to close behind him. “I’ve…I’ve been up for a while. That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about, Commander.”
“Well, can it wait? There’s this little matter of the captain ordering everyone to sickbay….” Trip forced himself onto his feet, pulled a uniform off the nearest rung, and began pulling it on.
“Yes, I know. I was just there.” Reed paused, then launched into speech with swift urgency. “Look, Trip, I know that when we were trapped on the shuttlepod and we thought the Enterprise was destroyed and that we were goners, you overheard me making a will….”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Trip said. “Is that what this is all about? There you go being premature again….” He hopped on one foot, trying to pull on a boot. “Sometimes, Lieutenant, you can be a bit—overly dramatic.”
Reed’s lean face composed itself into somber, dignified lines. “I’m not being dramatic,” he said evenly. “Those of us who went down onto the planet’s surface were exposed more than those who remained on the ship. I need for you to know—”
One boot on, Tucker stopped hopping. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes. And I want to speak to you about my will.”
“Well, why don’t you just make a tape? Why tell me?” Tucker pulled the other boot on, then straightened to face his friend.
“Because I may not have time.”
“Malcolm…” Trip groaned, in his will you please quit being so dramatic tone.
“Doctor Phlox is in a coma,” Reed said. “I’ll make a tape, if there’s time, but I just wanted to make sure I talked to you first.”
“Ah, hell.” Trip sat, deflated. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are they sure it’s the—”
“It’s the radiation, yes.” Reed paused. “I want you to have everything.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Everything.”
“But…but what happened to all those girlfriends?” Trip asked. Reed’s generosity left him feeling secretly embarrassed by the implication of affection. “All the women? Your parents? Your sister?” He rose. “Look, I’ve got to report to sickbay. Let’s talk about this later….”
“There might not be a later,” Reed intoned, as Tucker walked past him and out the door.
“Look,” Trip said, as Reed caught up with him quickly in the corridor, which was already filled with bleary-eyed personnel headed for the turbolift. “Keep your will the way it was. After all, I’ve been exposed to the radiation, too.” He kept his tone light, matter-of-fact. “So if we’re both goners, there’s no point in your going to the trouble.”
Reed ignored him. “There’s some property in the Caymans. Quite a large agricultural spread in Argentina. And a flat in Knightsbridge…”
Trip felt a muscle in his jaw begin to twitch. He was tired, and although the news about Phlox was upsetting, he could not take any talk of death seriously. They would find a solution, just as they’d found a solution for every other life-threatening dilemma they’d faced since Enterprise had first launched. An innate optimist, Trip simply could not conceive of the crew succumbing to the malady that had claimed the Oanis. “Knock it off, Lieutenant,” he said shortly. “We’ve got better things to do right now than worry about your real-estate holdings.”
As they stepped onto the turbolift, crowded with groggy officers, Reed stepped beside him. Sotto voce, in a voice barely loud enough for the others to hear—but loud enough to embarrass Trip—Reed said, “I’m quite serious, Commander Tucker. I’ve never been one for making friends, but I’ve come to consider you—”
“Knock it off,” Tucker repeated, this time with more irritation in his tone than he actually felt. Now, in front of other crewmates, was not the time to discuss their growing friendship—and again, he felt sure that Reed was overreacting. Staring straight ahead at the turbolift doors, he said, “That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
Reed broke off in midsentence. He said not another word—reason enough for Trip to glance sidewise at him and see the stony expression that