The Lost Era: Well of Souls: Star Trek (16 page)

“Suit yourself.”

“Anyway, that’s old news. A lot’s happened since then.” (The call had come a few days ago, but Garrett felt like she’d aged twenty years.) Garrett cradled her mug in both hands, enjoying the warmth that came through the stoneware. “So what’s on your mind, Jo? You gave Bulast the impression that this was some sort of emergency.”

“In a way.”

“Halak?”

“You could say that.”

“How is he?”

“He looks like hell, too.” Stern had a smoky voice that always reminded Garrett of dim bars. This was apt: Stern, like Garrett, took her bourbon neat. “But I’d say it’s a toss-up who looks worse, you or him. Of course, Halak’s got a lot of reasons. On the other hand, so do you. Other than the reasons we all know, like worrying about crew morale, having to make notification to next of kin, and whipping your acting first officer into shape ... how is Bat-Levi doing, by the way?”

“She’s good,” said Garrett. “She was good at ops, and she’s good at being the XO. But I have to admit, I was a little concerned at first.”

“You mean, because of her looks.”

“Sure. But I was thinking more about her mental stability.”

“Another good reason for us to have a psychiatrist aboard this time out,” said Stern. “Anyway, the Vulcans have vouched for her. So has Starfleet Medical. Still, she’s a strange duck, though she’s damned sharp, I’ll give her that. But that’s why you look like hell? Worrying about Darya Bat-Levi?”

“No. Starfleet Intelligence.”

Stern groaned. “An oxymoron if ever there was one.”

“That’s a really old joke.”

“About what you can expect from a really old wreck.” Stern was fifty-one, ten years Garrett’s senior, and there wasn’t a thread of gray anywhere in the shock of wheat-colored hair that she habitually wore pulled back from her face in a tight ponytail that brushed the nape of her neck. A woman of strong opinions and acerbic wit, Stern was lean and wiry, with a square face and wide mouth. She wasn’t beautiful and knew it; she didn’t mourn that either. She had what she called her man’s hands: large, capable, adept at manipulating a laser scalpel. “So what do they want?”

Garrett filled Stern in on her conversation with Batanides. “So we’re to cooperate with Lieutenants Burke and Sivek, no matter what. I don’t get it, frankly. What could Halak know that could possibly interest them?”

Stern looked thoughtful. “It might be nothing more complicated than what Batanides told you. Maybe they just want to debrief him, hear what he saw or heard.”

“Then why search the shuttle? We already did that anyway.”

Stern made a face and drank from her mug. “You got me on that. So there’s another agenda. You get any clue about what’s between the lines?”

“Something about the Orion Syndicate and some other crime family, the Asfar Qatala, and red ice.”

“Red ice?” Stern ran a blunt finger around her mug’s rim. Her nails were flat-cut. “That’s bad business. And they think Halak’s involved?”

“How could he be? Anyway, it’s Starfleet Intelligence’s time to waste.” Garrett gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “So what’s going on with Halak?”

“Well, I think you can hold your inquiry in a couple of days. We have to wait for your two SI types to finish with their little dance anyway, right?” When Garrett nodded, Stern continued, “You know he might feel better if his captain visited.”

“
This
is why you called? Wondering why I haven’t been mopping my first officer’s feverish brow?”

“Partly.”

Garrett ducked her head over her coffee. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s crap, Rachel,” Stern said mildly. “Sure, you’ve been busy. Hell, we’ve all been busy. But he’s your goddamned XO.”

Garrett felt a wave of heat rise in her neck. “I know that.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” said Garrett. She picked up her mug, put it down without tasting, picked it up again.
“What?”

Stern’s face was impassive. “You want me to say it, or are you going to?”

“Say what?”
(Stop playing dumb.)
“Say
what?”

“Gripes, Rachel, for a smart lady, you can be pretty willfully stupid sometimes, you know that? I’m talking about how you keep beating up this poor guy because he’s not Nigel Holmes.”

Garrett went rigid. “That’s ridiculous.”

(Liar, liar, liar.)

“Oh,
crap,” said Stern. “You can tell yourself that if you want to, and since you’re the captain, I guess you can do any damned thing you please. But you’d have to be brain-dead not to notice that the two of you aren’t exactly chummy.”

“Chummy. I’ve
been
an XO, remember? There’s no need for chumminess. It’s a job, Jo, just a job.”

“With responsibilities and delegation of duties based upon mutual respect and trust.” Stern held up her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t get on my case; it’s in the manual.”

“Did it ever occur to you that our lack of chumminess might be mutual?”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She had to admit that Halak was more than competent, and she had developed a grudging fondness for the man, though he could be exasperating the way he argued.

(So can you.)

They’d always argued in private, but still. Halak had a savage intensity she found disturbing. Never outright subordinate, but ... Halak seemed to be watching her. Weighing her against some internal scale, judging her ability to command the respect and loyalty of her crew before deciding whether or not she was worthy of his.

(Or maybe it’s mutual. After all, Halak’s no Nigel Holmes.)

And she missed Nigel. Nigel Holmes had been with Garrett from the moment she took command of the
Enterprise
four years before. She’d trusted Holmes; he’d saved her life on two occasions; and then she’d failed to save his. The
Enterprise
had been too far away from Holmes’s shuttle when it came under attack from renegade Klingons, and Nigel had died.

Aloud, she said, “I think we’re like two porcupines, Jo. I’m prickly about Nigel, and Halak’s got whatever ghosts he’s carting.”

“So you haven’t made the poor guy’s life any easier.”

“I think I just said that.” Garrett felt the muscles of her jaw and neck tighten. “If you have a point, make it.”

“I thought I just did. Even before all this with Batra, it’s safe to say that you didn’t exactly trust or respect the man. I know, I know,” Stern held her palm like a traffic cop signaling a stop, “things aren’t looking too good for him right now. Frankly, when I tell you what’s on my mind ...”

“There’s more?”

“Don’t get snide. All I’m saying is that you might be right not to trust him, but that’s not my point. My
point
is that if you treat someone like a visitor you’d just as soon boot out the airlock without a helmet, it shouldn’t be a surprise if the guy feels he can’t come to you for help, or advice. Answer me this,” Stern leaned on her folded forearms, “did you ever, once, invite this guy to have dinner with you?
Once?”

“What does that ... ?”

“Fine, I’ll take that as a
no.
And how often did you and Nigel have dinner? Or coffee? Or just plain talk?”

Too many times to count.
“All right, point taken,” said Garrett. She toyed with her mug. “I’ll admit that it’s been very hard since Nigel ... died. I just can’t get used to
not
seeing him on the bridge, that’s all. And it’s
not
what you’re thinking.”

“And what am I thinking?”

Garrett drew in a deep breath. “Come on, Jo, we’re both grown-ups here. You’re thinking love affair, right? Well, you’re dead wrong. We were very good friends, and that’s it. I was ... comfortable with him, and it’s been a long time since I felt comfortable with a man.”

“You mean, anyone who wasn’t Ven.”

Garrett gave her a frank look. “That’s right. Once burned, twice shy, I guess. I can
work
with men, fine. But talk?
Really
talk? That’s another kettle of fish.”

Stern shrugged. “I don’t doubt that you work with men just fine. I’ve heard no complaints. Actually, the crew respects you, a lot. We’ll get to the crew in a sec. Go on.”

“There’s nothing more to say. I miss Nigel, and it’s my fault things worked out the way they did. He’s dead because I made a command decision. I feel like I killed a friend, Jo, and I have to live with that.”

“Okay,” said Stern, nodding. “Okay. But there’s no reason that
Halak
has to live with it. The poor guy didn’t do anything but show up, you know? You want to keep beating up on yourself, go right ahead. I wouldn’t recommend it, but be my guest. But don’t take it out on Halak. He’s got enough problems.”

“All right, Doc.” Garrett exhaled. “Point taken. Now what’s this about the crew?”

Stern gave her a searching look, as if weighing whether to drop it and go on, or pursue what they’d been talking about. “A couple of things,” she said, evidently deciding on the former. “Just want to put a bug in your ear, that’s all. I did morning sick call. It was packed. An awful lot of somatic complaints. You know the drill: fatigue, upset stomachs. Headaches.” She eyed Garrett.

Garrett ignored the inference. “And?”

“Crew’s pretty shook up. They want to point fingers. Understandable.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“More shook up than anyone else? Yeah. Castillo.” Sighing, Stern threw her hands up in a
what-can-you-do
gesture. “I don’t know, Rachel. Like I said, maybe it’s good we’ve got a psychiatrist aboard this time around.”

Garrett’s concern was immediate. Castillo was young, she reflected, and he had all the qualities youth possessed: enthusiasm, energy, passion. He was also loyal, and stubborn to a fault.

But she should have known that, no matter what face Castillo showed her every day, he would feel Batra’s loss as keenly as Halak. Batra and Castillo had been an item for several months, and then Halak had shown up, and that was that. Garrett knew what everyone knew. Castillo and Batra were still friends, but on a ship—even one with over 700 souls aboard—privacy was hard to come by, and there had been a few times on the bridge when Garrett sensed the tension between Castillo and Halak. (And now, in light of what Stern had said, Garrett wondered if she hadn’t helped that along.)

“He’s
that
bad?” asked Garrett.

“Let’s just say that he wouldn’t mind if Halak went somewhere far away and never came back,” said Stern.

“He
told
you this?”

Stern hiked one shoulder. “In not so many words. He talks. I listen. Right now, I’m not inclined to do anything more, but I might.”

“Order him to see Tyvan? For what it’s worth, whatever he’s going through hasn’t affected his work. I haven’t picked up on anything other than what you’d expect.”

“Of course not. You’re the captain. Castillo practically worships the ground you walk on, for crying out loud. You think he’s going to let you see anything? Anyway, I said I
might
send him to Tyvan. Depends on how things shake out. Actually, I’m hoping he goes on his own. Be good for him to come to that realization instead of being ordered.”

“You think this is going to be trouble when Halak returns to duty.”

“Yeah,” said Stern, and paused. Then: “
If
he returns to duty.”

Garrett’s eyebrows shot for her hairline. “
If?
He’s hurt that badly?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. His arm’s much better. He can use it without a lot of difficulty. His side, too, though that cut was pretty damn deep. Three more centimeters to the right, and that knife would have gone into his kidney. He bled like stink. That’s why he finally passed out. I had to give him a couple of transfusions just to get his blood pressure off the floor. Amazing, he managed to stay conscious long enough to pilot that shuttle. Chalk it up as one more mystery.”

“Mystery.” Garrett gave Stern a narrow look. “Referring to?”

“Well, that Ryn business for one.”

“Old news, Jo. He was cleared and reassigned.” Privately, the fact that Halak
had
transferred always bothered Garrett. She knew it was unfair to judge Halak by that fact
(You’ve been judging him all along. It’s no wonder he’s in this mess.)
but if she’d been in command of the
Barker,
she might have done the same thing: request that Halak be reassigned. On the other hand, if Halak had been a good first officer, she’d have fought for him to stay, or tried talking him out of it.

(And if he’d been Nigel
...
)

Shut up,
she told the voice,
just shut up.

“And a couple of the
Barker’s
crew ended up dead, too,” Stern was saying. “Anyway, for what it’s worth, Tyvan’s done an evaluation. Halak might have opened up with him. If not, then Tyvan will have something to say about that, too.”

“Mmmm.” Garrett reserved judgment on Dr. Yuriel Tyvan. She didn’t know the El-Aurian psychiatrist well. To be honest, she’d deliberately avoided him ever since he’d come aboard during a stopover at Starbase 5. “I’m not sure that Halak will feel he can talk very freely with a psychiatrist who’s doing a return-to-duty eval.”