The Red King - Michael A. Martin [25]
Following that surprising reunion, Tuvok had begun to think that Akaar had finally put his old resentments behind him. Now, however, Tuvok understood that his apparent initial rapprochement with the admiral had merely been the result of the exigent circumstances arising from Tuvok’s hair’s-breadth rescue.
Why am I having such vivid recollections of the Neltedian planetoid? he wondered as he began exchanging his black robe for a standard duty uniform. Perhaps the reason was merely Akaar’s presence aboard Titan.
Or maybe it is because Akaar, too, is plagued by those memories. Thanks to the unexpectedly strong telepathic bond he and Mekrikuk had forged during their imprisonment together, Tuvok was inclined at least to see this as a possibility.
And, perhaps, to consider that the time might have come to bury the past, once and for all.
“Computer, where is Admiral Akaar?”
Approximately four minutes later, Tuvok stood in a nearly empty corridor on deck five. He touched the controls to the door chime.
“Come,” answered a deep voice from the keypad on the wall.
The door hissed open and Admiral Leonard James Akaar stood in the open doorway. Gone was the dress uniform tunic he had worn hours earlier at Ledrah’s memorial service, but the sleep-rumpled red uniform shirt he still wore, opened at the sternum, as well as the dark pigmentation surrounding Akaar’s eyes, testified to the restless night his old friend had spent thus far, and the troubled state of his psyche.
“Commander,” Akaar said. “The hour is late.”
“But perhaps it is not too late for either of us, Admiral,” Tuvok answered. “We need to talk.”
Akaar smiled thinly but without any evident humor. “Then perhaps you had better come inside.” He stepped back from the doorway and gestured toward the interior of the wide VIP quarters he occupied.
“Sit. Be comfortable,” Akaar said, taking a seat on a sofa after the door had closed, ensuring their privacy.
Tuvok took a seat near the far wall. “It is time for us to set our differences aside.”
Akaar regarded him impassively for several moments before replying. “Why now, Commander? Do you anticipate that we will be forced to share one another’s company for an extended period?”
“Given some of my previous experiences,” Tuvok said, raising an eyebrow. “I must acknowledge that as a distinct possibility.”
The huge Capellan chuckled, a great rumbling sound that reminded Tuvok of better times. “It must be getting tiresome for you, constantly being catapulted thousands of light-years from Federation space.”
“That is something of an understatement,” Tuvok admitted drily. “After three such events, I have begun to wonder if my presence aboard a starship should be considered a warning to its crew.” His former friend’s laughter gave Tuvok hope that their old enmities might finally be laid to rest.
A look of something that resembled sadness crossed Akaar’s weathered features. “I tried to save your life, Tuvok.”
“And I will always appreciate that, Leonard.”
Akaar’s eyes narrowed. “Can you explain how denying a Capellan warrior his honorable death constitutes ‘appreciation’?”
Tuvok had rehearsed this conversation for years. Despite that, he found it difficult to govern his rising anger. “Perhaps. If you can explain how ritual suicide is an action befitting a Starfleet captain.”
Akaar rose, his eyes blazing as they had just before Tuvok’s abrupt transfer off the Wyoming all those years ago. The rapprochement the Vulcan had hoped for had suddenly become as remote as his home planet. “Leave now,” the Capellan said. “While you still can.”
Tuvok slowly rose. With as much dignity as he could muster, he nodded, turned, and withdrew back into the corridor.
DAY 12—STARDATE 26815.4 (25 OCTOBER 2349)
Tuvok pounded his hands onto the chest of his captain with as much force as he could muster, then pulled the other man’s mouth open and breathed into the Capellan’s still, supine body yet again.
He didn’t know how long it had been since Akaar had attempted suicide, since Tuvok