The Red King - Michael A. Martin [14]
“A lot of the repairs still don’t look very pretty,” Ra-Havreii went on. “But in a few hours I expect Titan to be essentially ‘ship shape’ once again.”
“Good work, Commander. And thank you. Riker out.”
His errant recollection of the death of Titan’s first chief engineer reminded him that he had another duty to perform, and that it had to be tended to very soon. The timing of this sad task was dictated not by a duty roster or a Starfleet regulation, but rather by certain strict cultural requirements of the planet Tiburon, the homeworld of the late Lieutenant Commander Nidani Ledrah, who had perished horribly during the recent skirmish between Romulan and Reman forces.
According to Tiburon funerary custom, the deceased had to be formally eulogized and interred no later than one thirty-two-hour Tiburoni day following the onset of death. Very soon, that time would be up.
As if on cue, Riker’s combadge chirped yet again. This time, the subdued voice of his wife, Diplomatic Officer Deanna Troi, issued from the small gold chevron on his chest.
“Will. It’s almost time.”
“Understood, Deanna. Thanks.”
After Deanna signed off, Riker regarded Vale, Pazlar, Tuvok, and Akaar, all of whom wore dour expressions and drifted in weightless silence.
Riker gestured toward the weird energy phenomenon that still loomed high overhead, all but filling the stellar cartography lab. “Let’s revisit all of this a bit later. After the memorial service.”
Lieutenant Commander Nidani Ledrah was about to embark on her final voyage.
Chapter Three
His dewclaws clicking on the uncarpeted portions of the deck as he made his way through sickbay, Dr. Shenti Yisec Eres Ree was feeling the weight of fatigue. Because of their carnivore heritage, Pahkwa-thanh tended toward relatively brief bursts of activity following their feedings, punctuated by several hours of dormancy. But in pursuing his medical duties—namely, dealing with all the major and minor injuries caused by both the skirmish at Romulus and Titan’s rough crossing into what was evidently a distant region of space—Ree had been awake and active continuously for nearly three duty shifts. His eyelids were nictitating more often than usual, but he had not yet been able to secure sufficient time away from sickbay to get any significant quantity of food or rest.
And eat and rest he would. But not before he had finished making his rounds. Looking across the main sickbay area, Ree saw Nurse Ogawa and Nurse Kershu, the three-armed Edosian, both of whom were attending to Titan’s Reman guest. All three turned their heads toward Ree as he approached.
“Doctor,” said Mekrikuk, nodding in greeting. The Reman, a political prisoner who had been rescued from Vikr’l Prison along with Tuvok, was sitting on the edge of the biobed. He was no longer under restraints, as Commander Troi had recommended, contrary to Ree’s ever-cautious instincts. Ree had to admit, though, that Troi’s assessment of Mekrikuk had been correct; he had caused no trouble whatsoever, merely engaging the medical staff in conversation and asking innumerable questions. Though Mekrikuk’s massive, heavily muscled form was wrapped in a blue hospital gown, the roadmap of old scars that covered his chest—doubtless the legacy of past battles, some fought against the Dominion, others in opposition to his Romulan rulers—remained starkly visible.
“It occurs to me that I have yet to thank you properly for saving my life,” Mekrikuk said