“That may be what you believe. Or it may be what you’re convincing yourself you may believe. Or it may be that if you were truly alive, you might have a better chance with her than if you were not.”
“There are wider issues at stake than my love life or lack thereof,” he informed her, reacquiring some of the archness of his tone from earlier.
“Fine. There are wider issues.”
“Thank you for acknowledging that. Nine hours.”
She shook her head. “Excuse me?”
“In answer to your question. Nine hours before we are ready to—”
“Translocate the virus, yes, right, of course.” She tapped the side of her skull. “Should have remembered that.”
“Soleta…”
“Yes?”
“You realize that I am putting myself at tremendous risk here. I could wind up dying in the attempt to accomplish something, the ethics of which I am still uncertain of.”
The way he said that made Soleta nervous. If they didn’t have the Doctor squarely in their corner, the entire operation could go entirely off the rails. “What are you saying, Doctor?”
“I’m saying that—should that occur—I would be most appreciative if you mourned my passing, just as you would with someone who is alive.”
Inwardly, so that the Doctor couldn’t see it, Soleta laughed.
Outwardly, she nodded and said, “It would be my honor to mourn you.”
“And mine,” and he bowed slightly, “to be mourned by you.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“It was my understanding that ‘hope’ was something typically reserved for those who are alive.”
“I think we can afford to stretch the definition a bit in this case.”
“That’s very generous of you.” He looked her up and down. “You need to get some sleep.”
“Is that your medical opinion?”
“It is.”
“Then who am I,” she said, each word laced with fatigue, “to argue with a doctor?”
Short minutes later, she was sound asleep. Whereas Seven was sagged in a chair, Soleta simply stretched out on the floor, preferring the hardness of the surface beneath her. Her chest rose and sank slowly.
A bit of spittle started to trail down the side of her face.
The Doctor scooped it up for his collection.
U.S.S. Excalibur, Orbiting New Thallon Ten Hours Later
i.
Everyone on the bridge of the Excalibur, without exception, turned to Calhoun in utter astonishment. Sitting calmly in the captain’s chair, he glanced around and said with just a touch of sarcasm, “Is there a problem?”
No one seemed to know where to start. It was Kebron who spoke first: “You’re going down by yourself, Captain?”
“I believe I recognized my own voice saying exactly those words,” said Calhoun.
Morgan, seated at her ops station, turned to face Calhoun. “I don’t know that that’s wise, Captain.”
“The Thallonians will see it as a sign of confidence and strength,” Calhoun pointed out. “That will give me greater leeway in the negotiations, as opposed to hiding behind a phalanx of security guards.”
“And I suppose that pointing out that this is contrary to Starfleet regulations would be a waste of time?”
“How well you know me, Morgan.”
“Captain,” said Tobias, “Mr. Kebron and Morgan are right. This is an extremely bad idea. Kalinda has already been going on about how dangerous the entire mission is. You heading down completely on your own…”
“Have I ever given you cause to think that there’s a situation I’m incapable of handling?”
“This isn’t about a vote of confidence, Captain,” Xy said from the science station. In recent days, Xy had been serving double duty as both science officer and temporary chief medical officer, until such time as Calhoun named a replacement for the late Selar. “This is about what’s best for you and for the mission.”
“I think I know what’s best for me, and the mission will take care of itself.” There was now an unaccustomed brittleness to Calhoun’s voice. “I was making a declaration, people. I wasn’t planning to open it to debate. This is not, last I checked, a democracy. Commander Burgoyne,” and he turned to look warily at his second in command, “do you wish to weigh in on this matter?”
“No, sir,” said Burgoyne.
Calhoun cocked an eyebrow. “Really. Because everyone else seems to have something to say.”
“I assume that you’ve already made your decision after some consideration, and that should be honored.”
“Good.” Calhoun nodded once and then rose from his chair. “Burgy, you have the conn.”
“Actually, sir, I’d like to talk to you on the way down to the transporter room.”
Calhoun did nothing to indicate that this would be the slightest problem. “Of course. Mr. Kebron, the conn is yours for the moment.”