“Alert,”the voice repeated, obviously part of an automated warning system. “Singularity containment malfunction. Containment will fail in twenty-eight minutes and forty-five seconds.”
Vaughn shined his beacon around the junction well and picked out the right access tunnel, fortunately wider than the one from which he had just emerged. He jumped over to it and dove inside, racing to meet Commander Gravenor and Captain Harriman before Tomedcollapsed into nonexistence.
Sulu marched through the arc of a corridor on Space Station KR-3, her feet pounding rapidly along the deck, her thoughts and emotions whirling. The briefing she’d just received from Admiral Mentir had delivered to her unexpected and even shocking information. Her perspectives on recent events—the treaty negotiations with the Klingons and Romulans, the loss of Universe,Captain Harriman staying behind on Algeron, her unearthing of incongruities in Starfleet personnel files—had all shifted dramatically during the meeting. Likewise, her feelings had slipped their moorings, drifting not only from the surest of her convictions, but also to unanticipated extremes. She understood what had been done—and what would be attempted—even as some of those actions had injured, and would injure, her and others. She felt conflicted and aimless, despite that she would do what had been asked of her.
A corridor intersected with the curve of KR-3’s central hub, and Sulu turned right into it. She had left Admiral Mentir’s office headed for Enterprise,forty-five minutes short of its departure for Foxtrot XIII, but partway to the airlock she had changed direction. Right now she did not know if she would ever see John Harriman again, but whether she did or not, there was something she felt she needed to do for him.
Sulu slowed when she reached the infirmary, padding quietly through the main room and into the intensive-care section. A thin, long-limbed man sat working at a console off to the right, and he turned when she entered. “I’m Dr. Van Riper,” he said, rising and walking over to her. In his hand, he held a long, silver device, tapered at one end—some sort of medical instrument, Sulu assumed, but one she did not recognize. “May I help you?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m Commander Demora Sulu, executive officer of the Enterprise,”she said. “I wanted to check on the condition of Admiral Harriman.”
Van Riper’s expression changed little, but it was as though a gloom had settled across his face. “The admiral is not doing well,” he said. “Our expectations for his recovery have diminished.”
Those expectations, Sulu knew, had never been particularly high in the first place. “Is he awake?” she asked. “May I see him?”
“He drifts in and out of consciousness,” the doctor said. “I can take you to him, but I’ll have to ask you to stay no more than five minutes.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Sulu said.
Van Riper reached back to a console and set the silver device down, then moved past Sulu and led the way to an alcove at the far end of the section. They stopped at the threshold, and Sulu looked in to see the admiral’s indistinct shape beneath a sheet, the low arch of a respirator circling his chest; she could not see his face. “Five minutes,” the doctor whispered gently, and then left.
Sulu moved slowly into the alcove, making her way to the head of the biobed. As she passed the respirator—the sighs of its operation haunting in the quiet room—the upper section of the admiral’s body came into view. Sulu’s hand automatically came up to her mouth, as though stifling the gasp that she consciously held back.
Gone was the Blackjack Harriman of her memory. The sturdy, broad-shouldered admiral had been replaced with a fragile skeleton of a man. His robust features had slackened and paled, the medical coverings wrapping his head and one side of his face seeming to have more substance than did his sickly flesh. His one visible eye was closed.
Sulu peered down at the admiral with a mixture of horror and pity. She had come here for her friend, not with any specific agenda in mind, but simply because she believed that she should. As she stood here, though, she felt grateful that she’d found the admiral sleeping.
Still, she didn’t want to leave right away. She glanced around and saw a chair against the wall, and she picked it up and set it by the head of the admiral’s bed. She sat down to spend the five minutes here that the doctor had granted her.
The rise and fall of the respirator’s sounds filled the small area, an elegy meted out in mechanical breaths. For the first time in a while, Sulu thought of her mother, thought of sitting by her sickbed, keeping a vigil night after night. The hours had seemed interminable at the same time that they’d raced unflaggingly toward her mother’s death.
Next to the admiral’s respirator, Sulu saw several of his fingers not covered by the sheet. She considered taking his hand, just as she had so often taken her mother’s during those final days. She wanted to do it, thinking that it might somehow serve her friend, but she couldn’t. Not only did she feel no connection with this man, but she had built a strong resentment of him over the years, knowing how he had willfully failed his son. On so many occasions—
A sound like sandpaper rasping against wood interrupted her thoughts. She looked over to see that the admiral had awoken—or perhaps he had been awake, but had only now opened his eyes. Sulu met his gaze, but he couldn’t seem to focus on her. His eyes—rather, the one eye not covered—appeared glassy and vacant. As she watched, his thin, grayish lips parted, and another scratchy mutter issued from them.
“Admiral Harriman,” she said quietly.
His lips moved again, and this time, they emitted a weak voice. He seemed to speak a single, unintelligible word, something that sounded to Sulu like Fron.
“It’s Commander Sulu,” she said. “From the Enterprise.”
Blackjack’s mouth slowly formed the last word she’d said, though he only gave voice to the third syllable: “Prise.”
Inane questions such as How are you?and Can I get you anything?crossed Sulu’s mind, and she discarded them at once. “I’m here—” she started, but couldn’t complete the statement because she really didn’t know why she’d come here.
“Enterprise,”Blackjack said again, most of the word audible this time. “Sulu.” His eye seemed at last to find her.
“Yes,” Sulu confirmed. “That’s me.”
“Your father,” Blackjack said, “violated regs.”
Sulu couldn’t stop from smiling. She understood the incident to which the admiral was referring—the incident that had resulted in the estrangement of Blackjack and his son—but her amusement came from what she knew she would say.
“Yes, my father violated Starfleet regulations,” she agreed. “Many times.”
“A cancer,” Blackjack said.
Sulu felt the smile fade from her face. In an instant, she thought of countless ways to respond to the admiral, from citing the details of her father’s long and illustrious Starfleet career, to simply saying how much she loved him. Instead, she decided to give the dying man before her another chance to find peace. “I’m here,” she said, “for your son.”
Blackjack said nothing for a moment, and Sulu thought that he might not have heard her, but then: “Johnny.”
“Yes,” she said. “John Harriman Junior.” She paused, and then said, “He’s worried about you. He wants you to get better.” She waited for the admiral to respond, but when he didn’t, she added, “He loves you.”
Blackjack remained quiet. As Sulu watched him, though, a spark of life seemed to enter his eye, and she realized that a tear had formed there. Joy filled her heart at this moment that she could bring to her friend— ifthe captain returned from his mission.
“Johnny,” the admiral said again. “Weak. Undisciplined. Un grateful.”