Bloodthirst (36 page)

“N-no,” he said. The room seemed suddenly overheated. Oh, hell, what was the point in avoiding it? He hadn't been completely truthful with her before, and where had it gotten him? “It—it wasn't that I thought you were—well, felt that way “
Look at you, stuttering now. Smooth, Stanger. Very smooth.
“I knew it wasn't you, Lamia. It—it was me.”

“You?” She cocked her head quizzically for a moment, and then her complexion began to take on a deeper hue.
"Oh,”
she said. Her antennae rose and drew so far forward on her scalp that he came very near to giggling nervously. She beamed at him. “I don't suppose we could just try being friends for a while, first?”

Stanger grinned. “I'd like that.”

They smiled awkwardly at each other all the way to the security office.

Tomson was waiting for him. Stanger arrived a full minute early, and she seemed to sense it; she got up from her desk and peered out into the security lounge. To her surprise, he and the Andorian ensign were simpering at each other like fools. Odd. Before Stanger's illness, the two of them had seemed mortal enemies. But then, Tomson had always been confounded by the intricacies of personal relationships.

Maybe in his own way, Stanger was just as good at making friends as Lisa Nguyen; maybe it just took him longer. Tomson sighed. Nguyen better have been right about him. Of course, there was the indisputable fact that he had saved Nguyen's life.

If it was all true, he would make an excellent second-in-command.

A shiver of resentment passed through her at the thought, but with time she would get over it.
All right. Admit it and be done with it. You don't like anyone taking al-B's place. But he's dead, and there's nothing you can do about it.

She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. Stanger and Lamia were too occupied with each other to notice her. She leaned further out her door and cleared her throat. “Stanger.” She intentionally avoided using his rank. “Come into my office. Please.” The “please” was an afterthought, a conscious attempt to seem more approachable. It was good for morale, she supposed. Otherwise, she would not have bothered.

He and Lamia jumped up as if they had been electronically prodded. “Yes, sir,” Stanger answered swiftly. It was clear he expected a reprimand, and was trying to puzzle out exactly what he had done to deserve it.
Is my expression that unpleasant?
Tomson wondered. She had not meant it to be.

Stanger followed her inside. The door closed, blotting out the view of Lamia's curious face. He waited stiffly at attention while Tomson walked behind her desk and sat down. She gestured at the chair next to him. “Sit.”

He lowered himself cautiously into it. “I was on time this morning, wasn't I, sir?”

“Yes, yes. It's nothing like that.” She fastened her gaze on him intently, so as not to miss his reaction to what she was about to say. “Good news, actually. Your promotion to lieutenant, junior grade, came through.”

She was slightly disappointed. Not a muscle twitched in his strong, dark face, but he stared at her hard for a full minute, and with each passing second, she could see more and more of the whites of his eyes as they grew rounder. “But I'm not up for a promotion,” he said blankly, like someone who has just confronted an impossible reality.

“I know that,” Tomson replied with contrived irritability. “But it wouldn't be seemly to have an ensign as a second-in-command.”

That
shattered his composure completely; Tomson fought the urge to rub her hands in triumph. “B-but” he began, and trailed off, confused. “But” And then he gave up and grinned like an idiot. It was all she could do to keep from smiling herself. Perhaps the corners of her mouth were turning up just a bit.

His smile faded as something occurred to him. “Was this the captain's idea?” His eyes narrowed defensively. “Because if it is, I want nothing to do with it. I won't be forced on a superior who doesn't”

“Enough.” She waved him silent. He closed his mouth and studied her coldly. “It wasn't the captain's suggestion at all. Quite frankly, you have Lisa Nguyen to thank for this. She was the one who convinced me to do it.”

“Lisa!” he exclaimed, frowning.

“You saved her life, after all. And I need someone to replace her. You've got more security experience than anyone else on the
Enterprise
, probably more than anyone I could bring in from outside.

“But I should let you know that there are conditions: if Nguyen decides to return to duty at the end of her six-month leave of absence, she'll be my new second-in-command. If you don't like that, you can transfer out. Either way, the promotion to lieutenant is permanent.”

“You made a bargain, then,” he said disapprovingly. “I'm not sure if I want to accept this, if Lisa talked you into it.”

She felt heat on her face and knew her cheeks were turning red. “You forget yourself, Stanger.” She leaned over her desk at him, her face level with his. “No one talks me into anything. I only do it because
I
want to do it. I gave you the promotion because after listening to what Nguyen had to say, I decided you deserved it. Is that absolutely clear, Lieutenant?”

He drew in his breath at the sound of his new rank. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Tomson sat back, mollified by the respect in his tone. “Your new assignment is effective immediately. I'll brief you outside, along with the others.” She nodded to let him know he was dismissed. Stanger rose, still looking dazed, and started out the door. “Oh and Lieutenant”

“Sir?” He turned his head to look back at her, his eyebrows raised in an inverted V.

“Nguyen asked me to give you a message.” She folded her hands on the desk and paused for effect. “Don't ask me to explain it. She said to tell you that we're not all like Rosa.” It was all she could do to pretend she did not understand.

For a moment he looked like he would keel over in front of her. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

In the end, when he had control of himself, he gave a small, rueful smile and said: “No, sir, I suppose not.”

“Come,” Kirk said, at the sound of the buzzer. The door opened, and McCoy stepped inside from the dim corridor.

“Feeling up for some company?” The doctor smiled and lingered in the entrance, sounding apologetic for the intrusion.

“Come in, Bones. I won't bite."
Though I would have if you'd tried this yesterday.
Jim glanced down at the dust-covered bottle McCoy held down by his side. “What's that? Is it what I think it is?”

McCoy wiped the label on his tunic and held the bottle of Saurian brandy up so Jim could read it.

He whistled. “My God. That's older than the two of us put together.” He took the bottle from McCoy and cradled it in his hands, admiring it.

“Obviously, you've never read my personnel file,” McCoy joked. He went behind the desk and opened the cabinet where Jim stored his liquor. “What's that?” He nodded at the package sitting out on the desk. “Another early birthday present?”

“Package from home,” Jim answered noncommittally.

“Let me guess. Your mom's home-baked cookies. So how come you never share them with the rest of us?” McCoy took out two crystal glasses and set them down on the desk. “For your information, this brandy is
almost
as old as the two of us put together. I was saving it for your birthday. Pour.”

Kirk shook his head, aghast. “I can't open this now. What's the occasion?”

“Quince Waverleigh,” McCoy answered briskly, without an ounce of gloom or pity. “Don't worry, I'll find something else for your birthday. Now, will you pour, or do I have to?”

“I'll pour.” A dull heaviness took hold of Jim at the mention of Quince's name, but McCoy's consideration touched him. He broke the seal on the bottle and, with considerable effort, pulled out the stopper. “I take it you're going to suffer along with me? Didn't bring along your own private stock?”

“I'll risk it this time. I figure anything that old can't be too bad—even if it
is
brandy.” McCoy waited expectantly while Jim filled the glasses and set the bottle down.

“To Quince Waverleigh.” McCoy raised his glass.

“To Quince.” They clinked glasses and drank.

“Not bad.” The doctor smacked his lips. “Tastes kinda like a well-aged bourbon, doesn't it?”

Kirk didn't answer. “Thanks, Bones.”

“What for?”

“Quince deserved a decent wake. And for trying to cheer me up.”

“Is it working?” McCoy took another sip and peered at Jim over the rim of his glass.

“It's funny.” Jim sat down at the desk and rested his hand on the bottle. McCoy took the chair across from him. “I was angry as hell about it at first. Angry at Mendez, of course and at Quince, for not watching out for himself. Most of all, I was mad at myself.”

“As if you could have done any differently,” McCoy said impatiently. “When are you gonna learn to quit doing that to yourself? When will you stop taking all the blame?”

Kirk shook his head. “I'm not as bad as I was yesterday. I tried to figure out what else I could have done to trap Mendez without Quince's help, but without that message, I wouldn't have been convinced enough to return to Tanis. I would have followed Mendez's orders, turned Adams in.”

“Seems to me the Romulans owe you two a big thank-you.” McCoy drained his glass. “Not that you'll ever get it. But you and Quince really did save the Empire.”

Kirk wasn't listening. “But all that could have happened without Quince having to die. I feel like I marked him for death.”

“Philosophy was my worst subject,” the doctor said softly. “All that damnable logic. All I can say is, it happened, Jim, because you
didn't know
. Both of you figured Quince could take care of himself. Maybe if either of you had been more careful, he wouldn't have died. But how are you supposed to know everything that should have been done? I know Mendez did it intentionally, but in a way, Quince's death was a sort of accident, a senseless thing, and that's the cruelest thing of all to have to face.”

Jim took a deep swallow of brandy and felt the fire crawl from the back of his throat all the way down into his chest. “Quince had been down lately. His wife didn't renew their contract, after eight years.”

“Poor devil,” said McCoy. “I know what that's like.” He held his empty glass out.

Jim poured another drink for both of them. “When I'm able, I like to think that—it's crazy—I somehow made life easier for him, by giving him something to do.”

“You have to admit, espionage is more exciting than paperwork. I think you're right, Jim. I didn't know Quince all that well, but from the way you described him, he didn't sound like the kind of person who wanted to die in his sleep.”

“No.” Jim set the bottle down, unable to say anything more. He wanted very badly to be able to believe it.

“And look at it this way: maybe it wasn't senseless at all. After all, he helped to bring Mendez down. He may have even kept the galaxy from a biowar.”

“I thought about that, too. Apparently, Quince tried to get in touch with Admiral Noguchi the night he died, so an investigation into his death has already been launched. It seems that they've already found four other admirals involved with Tanis base.”

“That's hardly the whole Fleet,” said McCoy. “For a while there, I thought you were afraid you were the only one who wasn't in on it.”

“I did. I was beginning to think I was some kind of naive Boy Scout not to believe it.” Kirk shook his head, remembering. “I wonder what they'll do with Mendez.”

“He'll probably be assigned to psychiatric counseling and a penal colony for a while. That's if the prosecuting attorney is worth anything.”

“If the attorney's worth anything,” Jim repeated bitterly. It hardly seemed fair. “And if not”

McCoy shrugged. “I've already figured out how Adams will try to get out of his confession. Of course, there's no way he'll get out of the fact that he and Mendez were in this thing up to their eyeballs. And Mendez must be sore enough to testify against Adams, what with his turning traitor and trying to sell the virus to the Romulans. I'm sure that bothered the admiral more than Adams' spilling the beans.”

“So how will Adams get off?” Jim asked.

“Oh, he'll claim that his insanity was only temporary, that he only killed because of the H-virus. I was afraid for a while that if he lived to stand trial, he'd have no problem going free. But the fact that Stanger was ill, yet protected Ensign Nguyen from Adams, says a lot. It says that the homicidal effects can be resisted. We owe Stanger a lot for that.” He looked questioningly at Jim. “I hope you gave the man a commendation.”

“Promotion. He's Tomson's second-in-command now.”

“Glad to hear it.” The doctor rose to his feet. “Well, I don't mean to drink up all your expensive brandy, Jim, even if I did bring it myself.”

“You don't have to rush off, Bones.”

McCoy grinned smugly. “Oh, yes, I do. I promised to buy Christine a drink. I don't want to be drunk before I even get there.” He nodded at the desk. “I'll let you open your mystery package. ‘Night, Jim.” He nodded and walked out.

“Good night, Bones.” The door closed over McCoy, and Jim sat watching it for a minute.

He had been dreading opening the package from Quince Waverleigh's lawyer. It took him twenty minutes and another glass of brandy before he could bring himself to do it.

At last, he put his hands on the package. It was not particularly heavy, knowing Waverleigh, it probably contained a bequeathed bottle of tequila and a taped good-bye from Quince. He peeled the thin, crackling paper away easily and slowly eased the lid off the box.