XXI.
Med-deck.
Surgery. Trance's face, so sincere and inviting…
"Dylan? I want you to count back from ten, okay? Now just relax…"
"Ten. Nine… Eight
Seven.
T h r e e.
Five…
Uh, five.
Five.
Five.
Oh.
Fade.
Voices.
"Is he awake?"
"Not yet. Help me get him up."
"Shall I slap his face?"
"That might be a little extreme. I have some smelling salts – wait…"
"Honestly…"
"It's not his fault he fainted. He's just not very good with blood."
"He's had enough injuries – you'd think his tolerance would be a little higher."
"With his own blood, yeah. Just not with other people's."
"He's coming round."
"Help me get him on a bed."
"Is it less embarrassing than waking up on the floor?"
"Not less embarrassing, just more humane… Ah, here he is…"
"…ungh…"
"That's the way…"
"Good. Now that Harper's fainting spell has passed, I think I'll check on Dylan."
Fadingfadefadingfadefadingfadingfading.
Fading back.
"…and then, right before he turned around, I cold-cocked him. Absolutely perfect. He sank like a stone. Bobby put him in the hold, and we –"
"Beka? It's late."
"…mm? Oh, yeah, I know. I'm just finishing –"
"No, Beka, I mean it's really late. It's 0430. You have a duty shift in three hours."
"Ah, yeah. I know."
"You should get some rest."
"Yeah. I know."
"Then go to bed. If there's any change, you'll –"
" – be the first one notified. Yup, yup. Okay."
"Good girl."
"Alright. See ya."
"…and Beka?"
"Yeah?"
"It's helping. I'm sure it is."
"Thanks, Trance."
Fadefading.
Fading back.
"…To be unable to take one's own enemies, accidents, and misdeeds seriously for long -- that is the sign of strong and rich natures. Such a man simply shakes off with one shrug much vermin that would have buried itself deep into others; here alone is it also possible -- assuming it is possible at all on earth -- that there be real "love of one's enemies." How much respect has a noble person for his enemies! And such respect is already a bridge of love. After all, he demands his enemies for himself, as his distinction; he can stand no enemy but one in whom there is nothing to be despised and much to be honored -"
"That's very poetic."
"I've always thought so."
"I think he really likes you reading to him."
"I think that his likes and dislikes, in his present condition, are rather irrelevant."
"I'm sure he likes you reading to him though."
"I read to stave off my own boredom."
"Well, it's gotta be boring lying flat on your back in med-bay."
"I'm sure. Then perhaps this is helping."
"He's improving."
"It's a little early to make a prognosis."
"Yes and no. The infection is gone, now his body just needs to repair itself."
"More easily said than done. But…"
"What are you thinking?"
"He is strong, and in good physical condition. That may help."
"You're right. He is strong."
Fadefadingfading.
Back.
"…uh, what else? Um, the AP valves are wearing down faster than I expected, so we'll need to get replacements next time we dock. But on a brighter note, the interface cells are working like a dream. Not a bad little innovation if I do say so myself. And I do. So. Um, I'm still working on the weapons systems overhaul, the anti-matter containment units, and, of course, Rommie's image resonators. Not exactly top priority, but it is to her, I guess. I just wish there was a way I could make 'em self-repairing, 'cos there's like a million of 'em, and every time one of 'em breaks down I gotta haul halfway across the ship to fix it… Oh well. Oh, and I had to reinstall the processor for the synth unit in the messhall, 'cos everyone was complaining that their coffee tasted of onions – yeah, I know, kinda gross. But at least now it - uh, crap, she's coming back, I gotta go –"
Fading. Back. Fading. Back.
Back. Fading.
Back.
Back.
Ow.
"You're awake."
"…unh…I think so…"
"I'll get Trance –"
"No. Wait."
"Do you need anything?"
"Thirsty."
"Here."
Rain falling in the desert. He swallows.
"Better. Thanks."
"Of course."
"What time is it?"
"0312."
"Ah. How long?"
"Nearly four days."
"God." He blinks against the lights. Everything is painful, dazzling. "It's bright."
The lights dim immediately.
"How are you feeling?"
"Terrible."
"An excellent sign."
"You think?"
"As a measure of how aware your body is, yes."
He thinks for a second.
"The Council?"
"…ah, yes. That."
"What?"
"We had no choice, Dylan. We had to tell them. You'd been away too long."
"…damn."
"Actually, I don't think the news is as bad as you think."
"How's that?"
"They've been waiting for word from us on your condition. Pending your recovery, they're willing to renew negotiations."
"You're kidding."
"Not at all. I get the feeling that surviving a poisoning of this magnitude extends you some extra kudos."
"Kudos."
"Yes. The current Vizier has himself recovered from three poisoning attempts. I believe he considers you a potential comrade-in-arms."
"Pending my recovery."
"Naturally. But that seems to be a moot point."
"I guess it does."
He notices her shoulders relax as she sighs, imperceptibly.
"It's nice to have you back, Dylan."
He smiles.
"It's nice to be back, Rommie."
XXII.
He's in his quarters, ensconced on the couch. There's a throw rug, and a pillow, but he's put them to one side. He feels perfectly fine, and is happy to tell Trance so.
"I'm fine. Really."
She grins.
"I know. But it's my job to check. You check out pretty well, overall."
"Good."
"You still need to spray your side tonight, before you go to bed. The rawness should be gone in about twelve hours."
"Okay."
"There'll still be a bit of a scar."
"I figured."
"One for your collection?"
"Ah, yeah. A 'something to remember me by' from Thebbia."
"We're going back there, aren't we."
"As soon as the negotiations are finished here, yes. I don't think we can leave the situation there the way it is."
She nods.
"Good. And maybe now, with more time and resources, Harper can crack the programming for Leper10. Frankly, I wouldn't want to try the cure we gave you on anyone else. You only pulled through because of health and stamina and plain ole' stubbornness…"
"And...friends. I had a lot of support."
She grins again.
"That's right. You did."
"I wanted to say thanks, Trance. I wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for you."
"My pleasure." She stands smiling in front of him, gathering her equipment. "But hey – I had a lot of support too, remember."
"Believe it or not," he says quietly, "I do."
XXIII.
Obs deck.
They sit, surrounded by the remnants of official feasting, still in their formalwear.
Trance is picking over her plate, talking to Harper, who's booted foot is pushing the table edge, black jacket discarded on the next seat, open shirt-collar sporting a few condensation drips from the beer he's swigging.
Tyr, resplendant, is trying to pour Beka another glass of wine – the wine matches the colour of her dress. Over her protestations he dribbles the alcohol into her glass, catching her fingers, which are shielding the rim. She frowns at him and flicks the drops at his chest before drinking.
Rommie is in her dress uniform, regal beside Dylan in matching black. They have both pushed back their chairs, and Dylan is in the process of unbuttoning collar and cuffs. Rommie toasts him, glass upraised.
"Congratulations. A new signatory – a new ally."
He raises an eyebrow in reply.
"You should be congratulating yourself, Rommie. You were the one who kept the negotiations alive while I was…"
"Half dead?"
He grins.
"I didn't want to say it."
"Hm." Her ghostly smile. "It's an achievement, at any rate. And this dinner – a veritable coup. For the Council members to consent at all was a great honour."
"Ah well." He grins into his glass. "That would be my kudos."
"Kudos – correct. Your sheer survival is a testimony to your strength."
"Thank you. But it wasn't just that. And while we're on the subject –"
He tings his glass with a fork to gain attention. Conversations fade and all eyes focus as he leans forward, his wineglass lifted, meeting each gaze around the table.
"I would like to take this opportunity to say a sincere thank you, to all of you. Without your work on the ship, and your attention to me while I was sick, this dinner would never have come about, and I probably wouldn't be here now to say…"
He catches Beka's eye.
"…what a good captain you are…"
She blushes; he turns to Tyr.
"…and how much I enjoyed Nietzsche, on the re-read…"
Tyr's lips almost quirk up. Dylan looks at Harper.
"…and to congratulate our engineer on his extraordinary feats in my absence…"
Harper swallows and reddens with the praise. Trance looks at Dylan with a smile.
"…and to acknowledge what medical miracles have been performed on this ship…"
He turns to Rommie, who is focussing hard on not looking at him.
"…under the outstanding direction and attention of this most excellent…" He savours the word for a moment, "…friend."
Rommie blinks a couple of times and drinks the rest of her wine in one big gulp. Dylan pushes on while he's still got everyone's notice.
"And so," he concludes expansively, cheeks pinking, "now I've expressed my thanks and thoroughly embarrassed us all – drinks are on me."
Beka laughs.
"Hah – you're the captain. Drinks here are always on you."
Grinning, Dylan's about to demur when Harper interrupts
"She's right, you know. Hey, uh…now you're back from the brink of death an' all, I can tell this, right?" He looks at Trance for permission. "Right?"
Trance shrugs. Dylan sighs, then waves a hand. Tonight, he is the soul of magnanimity.
"Tell away, Mr Harper."
"Ah, cool. Okay, there's a Nightsider, a Terran, and a leper playing poker, right? And then –"
"Oh, for goodness sake, Harper," Rommie says, as she throws her napkin at him.
Beka groans and rolls her eyes.
"I think I told you that joke."
"Yes, yes –" Tyr has leaned back in his chair. " – and isn't the punchline something about 'throwing in his hand'?"
"Ah, you guys are no fun."
Dylan, at least, has the good grace to laugh.
"Mr Harper, I don't wanna be cruel, but – stick to your day job, okay? That joke is older than me."
He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. The sound of general talk, and the room swims for a second.
Fade. Fading.
Back.
Fin
A/N: And my thanks to everyone who's read and been kind enough to leave reviews. Cheers!