Despite a curiously ample collection of evidence and confessions, Desai’s instincts told her there was more to this case than what was visible on the surface.
“Well,” Moyer said, “if they hadn’t botched the job, they would have turned a tidy profit selling that stuff on the black market.” Shrugging, she said, “Somebody’s paying their bills. I’m following the money and seeing where it leads.” She shook her head. “Otherwise, it’s a pretty weak case, Captain. Security’s screwup hurt us.”
Desai could sympathize with her plight. The case currently hinged upon sloppy paperwork submitted by one Ensign Donovan Collig, a member of Vanguard’s security team. “I ripped Lieutenant Jackson a new…well, let’s just say he didn’t sit comfortably the rest of that day.”
She had wasted no time addressing the matter with the station’s chief of security in no uncertain terms, particularly given the fact that it was not the first time she had heard members of her staff complain of poorly assembled incident reports submitted by the security section. Thanks to Collig’s failure to retain key forensic samples from the crime scene, Moyer’s evidentiary chain was broken, severely fracturing any chance the JAG office had of connecting the attempted burglary to where Desai believed it originated: the Orion trader Ganz.
It was not the first time such a setback had occurred during one of her staff’s investigations where the goal had been to link something tangible to the merchant prince who for reasons defying logic and common sense was allowed to maintain a vessel docked with the station. Were such failures truly accidental? Was it possible that Ganz had friends embedded within the station’s security force?
“Hey!”
A voice from above and behind them echoed off the walls. Startled by the outburst, Desai and Moyer looked up to the spectator stands situated one level above the court to see Ezekiel Fisher regarding them from where he sat reclined in one of the seats. Leaning forward until his arms rested atop the safety railing, he offered one of his paternal smiles. “Are you going to play or not? And quit talking shop. It throws off your game.”
Desai laughed, running her free hand through her sweat-dampened hair. “It’s already off,” she replied. “And who invited you, anyway?”
“I’m never one to await an invitation to witness a demonstration of athletic prowess,” Fisher said, rising from his seat. “You’ve looked better, though.”
“I can only hope,” Desai replied, watching as the doctor descended the narrow, spiral staircase leading from the observation deck. Turning to Moyer, she said, “I guess I’ll quit while I’m behind. Your game, Lieutenant.”
“I’ll take it any way I can get it,” Moyer said, breaking into a wide grin. She nodded to Fisher as he moved toward them. “Good to see you, Doctor,” she said before looking to Desai. “See you at the office, Captain.”
Fisher’s gaze followed the lieutenant’s willowy form as she disappeared through the door at the back of the court. He waited until Moyer was out of earshot before glancing at Desai. “Always liked redheads.”
Offering a mock scowl, Desai punched him playfully on the arm. “What are you doing down here?”
Fisher gestured to the door and they started toward it. “You know me. If somebody’s playing a sport anywhere on this station, I’ll find it. I’m a serial spectator.”
“Ever think you’d have more fun if you played instead of just watching all the time?” Desai asked as she once again sat down on the bench.
Waving away the suggestion, Fisher said, “There’s no senior circuit on the station.” He smiled at his own joke as he sat down next to her. “Okay, you got me. Haven’t seen much of you lately, and figured I’d see how you’re doing, and all that.”
“Making a house call, Fish?” Desai regarded him with a lopsided grin.
“Not if you keep calling me that,” Fisher replied, grimacing at the nickname she knew he hated. “You’ve been working hard these past few weeks, hiding in that office of yours. Do you ever get out of there?”
Desai nodded as she rummaged in her bag for her bottle of water. “Sure. I get to eat every so often, and I’ve read about this phenomenon that’s supposed to relieve fatigue and stress. Sleep is what I think they’re calling it.” In truth, the workload had been enormous during the past month. The inquiry into the loss of the Bombayhad resulted in many other cases and issues being reprioritized, and she and her staff had been playing catch-up since then.
“So you’re saying that your social life has been drawing the short straw,” Fisher said, leaning back against the wall and reaching up to stroke his beard.
Is he kidding?Desai looked askance at the doctor as she sipped her water. Fisher was the only person on the station—so far as she knew, anyway—who possessed knowledge of her relationship with Commodore Reyes. As he also had been a friend of Reyes for decades, she was certain he knew that same relationship had been strained during recent weeks. Despite that, in all the time she had known Fisher, the man had made it clear that getting involved in the personal affairs of others, even his close friends, was an activity he preferred to avoid if at all possible.
If he’s here, then he’s worried about Diego,she surmised. And maybe even worried about me.
“Fish,” she said after a moment. “How’s he doing?”
Eyeing her from beneath a furrowed brow, Fisher asked, “Like he’d tell me?”
“He’d tell you before he told me.”
“Well, that’s because I’ve courted him longer,” the doctor countered, his deadpan delivery making her laugh. “He’s carrying a lot of weight around. His mother’s on his mind. Hallie Gannon and everyone else on the Bombayare on his mind.” Sighing, he glanced about the corridor before saying, “He loves being here, Rana. Challenges, mystery, lots to learn. It’s just the place for him at this point in his life. But, he hates to lose people. Always has.”
Desai nodded. “I know.” She had seen as much during the inquiry into the destruction of the Bombay,during which she had been duty-bound to sit and listen as the prosecutor she’d appointed grilled Reyes for hours on his actions—or lack thereof—which may or may not have contributed to the tragedy. He had been forced to relive the incident through grueling testimony, every moment of which Desai was sure had rubbed at the wound inflicted by the loss of the starship and its crew, the captain of which had also been a close friend.
“What’s odd,” Fisher said, “is that he’s endured thirty years of losing people. You’d think he’d have found a way to cope with it by now.”
The blunt comment stung Desai. “That seems a little harsh. You know that inside he’s not what we all see in the uniform.” While he presented a gruff, commanding exterior in public, she had seen firsthand the vulnerability Reyes contained with exceptional skill. That he managed it so well was a testament to his force of will, and was one of the many qualities she admired—no, loved—about him.
“Oh, I know,” Fisher replied, “and that’s my point. He closes off. Keeps people out, and keeps the hurt all caged up in him. That’s not any way to heal, Rana.”
Desai nodded. “Well, you’re the healer. What do you suggest?”
“I have no idea,” Fisher said.
“And once again, your sage counsel proves invaluable,” Desai replied, releasing a humorless chuckle as she busied herself tucking her racquet into her bag. For all the problems she had faced dealing with Reyes on a personal level, confronting him in a professional setting had proven almost as daunting. Much of that was her fault, she knew.
“We’ve disagreed on any number of issues, Fish, and some of those disagreements have been volatile.” She chalked that up to her passion for upholding and defending Federation law, even when it became inconvenient to Starfleet missions and interests. “I know he understands on an intellectual level that I’m just doing my job, but sometimes I wonder if our professional…spats…are having an effect. You know, gradual but detrimental effects.”