Waiting inside, mostly seated at the two long tables, was the crew of the Sagittarius. As a tiny scout ship, her crew consisted of only fourteen personnel including the captain, and they all wore the same utilitarian olive-green jumpsuits, which were devoid of rank insignia or department designations.
At the front of one table sat Commander Clark Terrell, the first officer, a muscular man with brown skin and big hands. Across from him sat the ship’s chief medical officer, Doctor Lisa Babitz, a svelte blond germophobe.
Behind them, sitting opposite each other, were the ship’s petite and kooky red-haired science officer, Lieutenant Vanessa Theriault, and the brawny and bearded chief engineer, Master Chief Petty Officer Mike Ilucci. At the end of the first table sat Lieutenants Celerasayna zh’Firro, the Andorian senior helm officer, and Sorak, the middle-aged Vulcan chief of security and lead recon scout.
At the other table, Senior Chief Petty Officer Razka, a young Saurian who served as a field scout, sat across from medical technician Ensign Nguyen Tan Bao. The engineering petty officers—Salagho Threx, a burly and hirsute Denobulan, and Karen Cahow, a tomboyish young woman with dirty blond hair—sat together opposite engineering crewman Torvin, a gawky young Tiburonian.
At the back of the compartment stood two officers Xiong didn’t recognize, a man with distinctive spots along the sides of his face and neck and a young Orion woman with close-cropped raven hair. As Xiong noticed them, Nassir made the introductions. “Ming, allow me to introduce the newest members of the crew.” He gestured first at the man. “Lieutenant Dastin, our new tactical officer.” Then at the Orion woman: “Ensign Taryl, our new recon scout.”
The two officers nodded at Xiong, who returned the gesture. “Hi.” After a brief pause, he added, “I don’t mean to be rude, but what I’m here to say doesn’t really concern the two of you. But you’re welcome to stay if you like.” No one made any move to leave. Xiong took a deep breath. “It’s been a while since I last saw you all. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why.” The Sagittariuscrew members nodded gravely, needing no reminder of their intimate involvement in Operation Vanguard or their harrowing encounter with the Shedai. “The reason I asked to talk with all of you is that I have to tell you something. . . . Bridy Mac’s dead.”
A pall settled over the room. Grief moved like a wave across the crew’s faces. Theriault turned away and hid her eyes with one hand; Threx bowed his head and let his long hair conceal his face. Cahow and Tan Bao both appeared shaken by the news that their former shipmate and second officer was gone. The only unaffected visage was that of Sorak, leading Xiong to envy the Vulcan for his completion of the emotion-purging Kolinahrritual.
Cahow asked in a small voice, “What happened?”
“I’m sorry,” Xiong said. “All the details are classified.”
Babitz cast a teary-eyed stare at Xiong. “Will there be a memorial service?”
“Not in public. The brass doesn’t want to call any attention to her death. Her family on Deneva’s being told it was an accident.” Xiong’s composure began to crumble; tears welled in his eyes, and his voice shook. “But I wanted you all to know it wasn’tan accident. She died bravely. In the line of duty.” His last vestige of control disintegrated, and he bowed his head to hide his tears.
Nassir draped a comforting arm across Xiong’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Ming.”
“No, it’s not,” Xiong said, choking on the words. “It’s my fault. I sent her there.” He palmed his cheeks dry. “I’m sorry.”
Terrell stood and clamped a hand on Xiong’s shoulder. “No one here blames you, Ming. Nobody except yourself.”
Babitz joined Terrell and Nassir. She cupped Xiong’s face in her hands and lifted it to force him to make eye contact with her. “You know she loved you like the little brother she never had?” Xiong nodded, and Babitz gave him a sad smile. “And you know we think of you as one of us, right? And we always will.”
Despite their assurances, Xiong’s face burned with shame. “How can you forgive me for this?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Nassir said. “It’s called being in command.”
Sheltered in the embrace of his friends and peers, Xiong felt as if he had no right to their consolation, no place accepting their comfort when he was the one most directly responsible for their shared loss. And, for the first time, he believed that no matter how valuable Operation Vanguard’s discoveries might be, they would never be worth the price Bridy’s family and friends had just paid.
20
Quinn’s journey back to Vanguard had felt like time spent in limbo. Aside from one short debriefing session, no one had asked to talk with him, and that had suited him just fine. He had limited his contact with the ship’s crew to its chief medical officer, who had done a superlative job of healing all of Quinn’s wounds except the ones that really mattered, the kind that didn’t show up on medical scanners.
Now the ship was back at its home port, and Quinn had been “put ashore” on Starbase 47 to make his own way. Unfortunately for him, he had nowhere to go.
He drifted across the manicured lawn of the starbase’s terrestrial enclosure. Despite being surrounded by thousands of people, he felt utterly alone. His friend Tim Pennington was off the station, chasing down some story or other for the Federation News Service. There was no one else Quinn wanted to see, no one who knew him well enough to understand his loss, no one else he could trust.
Ahead of Quinn, the cluster of buildings—some commercial, some residential—known as Stars Landing grew slowly larger with each step he took. Somewhere in that small warren of civilian life tucked inside a Starfleet military base there was an apartment with Quinn’s name on it, accommodations arranged by the grace and generosity of Starfleet Intelligence.
I guess this is home for now. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. In one was a credit chip good for a few months’ living expenses and, if he was willing to travel like a piece of luggage, maybe even passage back to the core systems of the Federation. Aside from that, he had nothing but the clothes on his back.
The report from the Endeavourhad said no part of the Dulcineahad been salvageable, and his rescuers had found no sign of the treasures he had amassed in his cargo hold. For the first time in his adult life, he had no job, no ship, and no prospects. He thought about trying to find a poker game with an open seat. A few lucky hands and I could go home first-class instead of in steerage. The idea almost took root, and then he chortled ruefully. A few lucky hands? Who’m I kidding? Lady Luck might be smilin’ on someone right now, but it sure as shit ain’t me.
He felt aimless as he wandered the narrow lanes of Stars Landing, passing familiar storefronts without bothering to look at any of them. I thought I’d had it all figured out,he brooded. My life had purpose. Meaning. Hope. He looked up at the holographic simulation of a dusk sky projected on the ceiling of the terrestrial enclosure. I thought my karmic debt was paid. Didn’t I suffer enough? Or do enough good deeds?Quinn felt as if the stars themselves were looking down at his dreams and calling them delusions. Turning his gaze back toward the cobblestone road under his feet, he felt like a rat in a maze and wondered if he had only been fooled for a moment into believing he’d chosen his own path in life.
Then he stopped. There was no point taking another step. Where was he going? What would he do when he got there? Why did he care anymore?
He looked up and realized he was standing in front of his old watering hole, Tom Walker’s place. Inside, the atmosphere was muted—quiet conversation mixed with low music, subdued lighting, and no vidscreens or other distractions. Just ordinary folks minding their own business and letting others do the same.