Stardate 2260.203

Dagny was semi-awake long before her eyes flickered open. She had been dreaming about something, but she'd already forgotten it. When she did manage to pry her eyes open, she found herself fully dressed and covered under a light, threadbare blanket. She blinked several times, taking stock of her surroundings and wondering what time it was.

A loud clang rang out from downstairs, followed by the thrum of a laser drill. Crews had started working on expanding the convalescent ward the day before, which would be lovely when it was completed but was inconveniently noisy in the meantime. She rolled over onto her back, but upon seeing the clock on the far wall read 1558 hours, she lurched upright. When was the last time she'd checked on Adelaide? Four hours ago? Five? Why hadn't her alarms gone off?

She threw her legs over the bed, which quickly tangled in the blanket and nearly caused her to fall flat on her face. She couldn't remember covering herself up, but she'd been so exhausted that she reasoned she might have at some point. She then decided it didn't matter—she needed to check on her patient.

She took a few slow breaths, collected herself, and slinked toward the bed in the corner, grabbing the tricorder from the table as she went. She could have sworn she'd left it by Adelaide's bedside, but maybe not. The moment she held it to the frail woman's chest, it began purring, and a moment after that, Adelaide's eyes burst open with such alacrity that Dagny nearly jumped back.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm dying," Adelaide coughed. "How do you think?"

Dagny grimaced as she watched the numbers trail across the device's screen. Even with the supplemental oxygen, her vitals suggested she could barely breathe from the tumors strangling her lungs.

She checked the history on the tricorder to compare her current vital signs to the last set she'd taken, and was stunned to find out they'd been read just thirty-eight minutes earlier. Had she done that? She couldn't have. She frowned and glanced at her patient, who gazed back at her with a neutral, gray expression.

She had been living with Adelaide for two days—or had it been one? She had to stop and think about it. Time was becoming a blur. Caring for the dying woman was like caring for a newborn baby, checking on her every hour and making sure to stick to a regular schedule of meals, calibrating the oxygen machine, and changing her soiled garments.

Amid bouts of sleep, Adelaide drifted between clarity and confusion. Last night she'd referred to Dagny as Ada and had refused to entertain the idea that Dagny had no idea who or what Ada was. Or had it been earlier this morning? Dagny bit her lip and stared into her dark eyes. She looked lucid enough right now.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No."

"Aren't you hungry?" Dagny asked, thinking that if it was already nearly 1600 hours, Adelaide must have skipped lunch.

"No."

"You really should eat."

"I'll eat if you're offering something other than that boiled piss you tried giving me this morning."

"That was plomeek soup."

"Is it made from cat piss?"

"No, it's made from—never mind." Somehow, she didn't think finding out plomeek soup was a Vulcan breakfast staple would make Adelaide appreciate it more. "Anyway, we have some of the cantaloupe left that Zernon brought over yesterday."

Adelaide grumbled but it was clear from her expression that she liked the idea very much. She descended into a fit of coughing, so Dagny adjusted her pillow, offered her a tissue, and headed toward the kitchen to prepare their meal.

As she cut the sweet melon into tiny cubes, she thought of the rillan she'd thrown at Voris several days ago. The cantaloupe was very nearly the same color and the stringy insides were quite a bit like the large Vulcan gourd.

Taking care of Adelaide had kept her busy and exhausted, but it was still impossible to avoid thinking about Voris. He had come by yesterday evening while Adelaide had been sleeping to see how she was getting along and though he'd been cordial, Dagny was struck by how different things seemed. They were like strangers again, but to be fair, they had never been particularly close. Had they?

"What's taking so long? Are you cutting up melon or writing your memoirs?" Adelaide coughed from across the room.

"I'm trying to cut it into small pieces so you don't choke."

"Are you afraid I'm going to choke to death?" Adelaide wheezed. "Because it seems to me like that's going to happen no matter what you do."

A loud series of banging noises came from downstairs, prompting Adelaide to groan, "Can't they be quiet? Don't they know I'm dying up here?"

Dagny rolled her eyes, jammed a fork into the center of the bowl of freshly sliced fruit, and proceeded to her bedside. "You don't have to act so grim all the time."

"What? I am dying and I'll act however I damn please," she retorted, reaching up for the bowl from Dagny's hands.

Dagny pulled it back and shot her a cynical frown. "Say please."

Adelaide's eyes bulged out of their sockets at the suggestion she should exchange manners for food. "Anyone who has to demand respect ain't worthy of it."

"And anyone who is so awful to other people that they have to be told to show respect doesn't deserve much of it either."

Dagny momentarily worried that she'd gone too far, but the old woman tossed her head back and cackled, which turned into a prolonged and vicious cycle of coughing. When she finally caught her breath, she gasped, "I knew I liked you."

Dagny sighed, plopped down on the stool, and set the bowl in Adelaide's hands. She could mostly eat by herself, but sometimes she needed assistance in steadying the fork. They sat in silence for a time, aside from the sounds of the oxygen machine's beeps and Adelaide's wheezing.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'll have some soup after you go to sleep."

"The cat piss soup?"

She gave Adelaide a dark look and took the empty bowl from her hands. "Yes, the cat piss soup."

"You must have a strong stomach."

"No, I was just raised to eat my food and be grateful."

"Are you calling me ungrateful?"

"I'm explaining why I'm grateful and don't complain whenever someone offers me food."

"What does a pampered Earth baby like you know about being grateful for food?"

Dagny wasn't sure whether to laugh out loud or be angry. "What makes you think I'm a pampered Earth baby?"

"Every Federation citizen on this colony is a pampered, entitled baby," Adelaide replied with a scornful cough. "The lot of you. You all came here because life in your perfect Federation society was boring and you wanted an adventure. Or maybe you were running away from mommy and daddy. The fact is, people like you don't last very long. Six months, maybe a year and you run home with your tail between your legs because you don't have the stomach for hardship. You don't know what true suffering is."

"And you do?"

"Of course I do! I lived through three famines on Cygnia Minor and survived Kodos on Tarsus IV. That was hardship. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your family die a slow and painful death and not be able to do anything about it?"

"I do, actually."

It seemed to take Adelaide a few seconds to process Dagny's response, and when she finally made eye contact with her, her expression was caught somewhere between curiosity and confusion.

"Not from hunger, exactly, though growing up on a salvage ship, there were plenty of times I wished I had more to eat," Dagny continued nonchalantly, rising to her feet to set the bowl in the sink. "But life was ok. I never would have described it as pampered, but we had enough food and clothes and good times to make us forget about all the things we didn't have. So, it was ok, at least until my parents, thirteen siblings, and most of my extended family and friends died in a neutronic storm on my birthday. But please, continue to tell me what true suffering is, because I really have no idea."

Dagny did her best to keep her tone neutral, but by the end, it was soaked in bitter defiance. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter, staring at her patient in rabid expectation. Adelaide remained silent.

"Oh, and Voris, sure, he grew up on Vulcan so I guess he probably never went to bed hungry. Life was probably pretty good for him, until his home and most of his family were wiped out by some angry Romulan renegades. Should I call him up here so you can he can sit in on your lecture about the nature of true suffering?"

Her face was burning. The months of pent up frustration, loss, grief, and anger threatened to explode and it took her longer than it should have to realize she was holding her breath. None of this was Adelaide's fault, but she'd opened this can of worms and Dagny felt ready to give it back to her wholesale. That was until she noticed a single tear sliding down the old woman's cracked face.

"Ugh, look, I'm sorry…" She massaged her temples and fell back onto her stool at Adelaide's bedside. "It's just… I don't see the point in having a competition to see who has the worst life. You don't really know anything about me."

"And you don't know anything about me," Adelaide sniffed.

"I'm willing to listen." Dagny waited for another one of Adelaide's coughing spells to pass before she ventured a question. "If you don't mind me asking, who is Ada?"

Adelaide scowled. "My sister. And my daughter."

She waited for Adelaide to clarify. The old woman rolled her eyes when she saw the curiosity her statement had garnered. "I haven't talked to anyone about them in years."

The pain in her face was the most obvious thing Dagny had ever seen. "I haven't really talked about my family much either. They only died five months ago. Seems like forever ago sometimes, and other times it seems like yesterday. Sometimes it feels like they aren't really dead, but if I talk about them like they are, well, then they are. I can barely remember what they look like anymore."

Adelaide frowned and nodded. "Ada was my twin, so I could never forget her face, unless I stopped looking in a mirror."

"What happened to her?" The question hung in the air, raw and probing.

Adelaide's face hardened and Dagny wished she could take it back, but then Adelaide took a few coughing breaths and said, "When I was eleven, me and my twin sister, Ada, we went down into Smuggler's Valley. That was on Cygnia Minor."

She hesitated and then descended into a bloody and severe coughing fit. The oxygen machine started to beep and Dagny increased the cycles, and after several minutes, she had her breathing back under control.

"So, what happened in Smuggler's Valley?"

"This was all a long time ago," Adelaide moaned, closing her eyes and resting her head on the pillow. "No good in digging up the past."

"I don't think there's much good in burying it either."

"Hmmm," Adelaide murmured.

She was quiet for a long time. Dagny suspected she was pretending to be asleep but could tell from her respiration that she was still very much awake. She looked up at the ceiling and ventured,"I know what it's like to lose a sister."

"I guess you do, if you had thirteen of 'em."

"I actually only had five sisters. The rest were brothers."

"Hmmm."

"Anyway, they didn't all die in a neutronic storm. My two oldest brothers, Aksel and Benjamin died trying to save a bunch of Vulcan strangers."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. My family's salvage ship was at the Battle of Vulcan. It was an old ship, held together by hope and luck, and they were repairing a plasma ejection port. My father, he was the ship's captain, he had to vent the plasma or he was going to lose the whole ship. So, he killed his sons to save the rest of us."

"Why are you telling me this?" Adelaide asked, finally opening her eyes but not bothering to turn and look at Dagny.

"I don't know."

Adelaide blinked several times and finally said, "Me and Ada went to Smuggler's Valley because Timmy Noonen said there was ghosts down there and- well, it ain't important. Anyway, there was a rockslide; me and Ada was buried. She got the worse of it. In the hospital, the doctor said she was too far gone. Said I probably wouldn't live neither. In the end, the doctor decided to take parts of her to piece me back together. Said it was safer than synthetic organs."

"I'm so sorry, Adelaide."

"Me too. Sorry about your brothers."

"Yeah, me too."

"Anyway, I never went to another doctor after that. Not on purpose anyway."

"Well, like I told you, I'm not a doctor. If I'm going to be honest with you though, I always wanted to be one."

"So, what stopped you?"

"I grew up on a salvage ship. I had a patchy education and a family that needed me more than I needed a medical degree."

"I always would have liked to be an artist," Adelaide mused, closing her eyes.

"What stopped you?"

She fought back a cough and answered, "Same as you, more or less."

Her words trailed off and Dagny thought that would be the end of their conversation—the longest conversation completely free of verbal barbs they'd ever had—when something unexpected happened. Adelaide closed her eyes and began to talk without any prompting.

"Grew up on a mining colony. Too much real work to do. Met Aaron when I was nineteen. Had two babies, one born dead and the other died not too long after he was born. Too much residual radiation and bad nutrition, they said. Could have been bad genes too, but so many babies died on Cygnia Minor that we got used to it."

Dagny's arms folded over her round belly almost on instinct. She'd cared for women who had had early miscarriages, but she struggled to wrap her mind around a place where dead babies were common. She closed her eyes and grimaced, briefly thinking of Melana's son. What would it be like for that to be normal?

Dagny cleared her throat, opened her eyes, and asked, "I thought you only had one child?"

"No, no. After Aaron died—drank himself stupid one night and wandered out in a dust storm—I married Harvey and we had three more. Ada was the only one who made it past the first year. Named her after my sister. I like to think she lived because my sister didn't get the chance to."

"So, where is she now?"

"Dead, along with my fourth husband on Tarsus IV."

The mere mention of the name sent tingles down Dagny's spine. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the rest, but she had asked and Adelaide was drawing in a deep breath to continue her story, almost as if determined to deliver her final confession.

"Funny thing, we left Cygnia Minor because it seemed like there was never enough food and because Ada was always sick. We had some good years on Tarsus though." She paused to cough and catch her breath. "Ada found herself a nice young man and was on her way to giving me my first grandchild when the blight hit the crops. Wasn't long before the first riots. Soon after they got the rioting and looting under control, the doctor came to our door, wanting to do routine scans—said it was for calculating out the rations. To be fair, he didn't lie, we just didn't realize we was going to make the list to receive no rations at all."

She watched Adelaide's lips move, but had a hard time focusing on what came next. A high-pitched sound flooded her ears and all Dagny could think about was her family. She remembered being about seven years old when her brother Aksel had gathered her, Benjamin, and Daniel around his bunk and told them that there were ghosts on Tarsus that ate the souls of anyone who came too close to the planet's orbit. Dagny hadn't been able to sleep from the nightmares, but when her father had made a ship wide announcement the next morning calling for a moment of silence as they passed by Tarsus IV, Dagny had hidden in the linen closet and refused to come out for hours.

She'd eventually grown older and wiser and accepted that there weren't any ghosts on Tarsus IV. It was just a story from one of the darker parts of the Federation's history, but to the dying woman lying in the bed beside her, it had been her life. The ringing in her ears suddenly stopped and Adelaide's voice came back into focus.

"… and like I said, me and Barry were near sixty and Ada's health was still pretty delicate. Had no idea that doctor was singling us all out for extermination. Socially beneficial euthanasia, they called it. It was murder."

"All of you?" Dagny blurted, hoping she wasn't being indelicate.

Adelaide pursed her lips and gave a single, grim nod. "But you obviously made it out alive…"

"I was at the back when they turned their phasers on us. I got separated from Ada and was pushing my way through the crowd when Kodos told us the real reason we were standing in a ditch at sunset. The bodies piled up and I near got myself crushed. Laid in the mud for three days."

"No one fought back?"

"Most people were already starving by that point and too weak to kick up much of a fuss. Hunger has a funny way of turning people into wolves at first, but they all become lambs in the end. Don't think anyone thought Kodos would actually go through with it either, 'til he did. I was one of two survivors that was on the list to be executed."

"It's a weird thing, wondering why you get to live when everyone else dies," Dagny murmured. "Every day I think about why things had to happen that way."

Adelaide shot her an exasperated look. "Why does anything happen? Chance."

"In my case, it was a mistake. My mistake."

Adelaide offered a lazy and listless glance, neither urging her to continue nor suggesting she stop. The story started flowing out of Dagny and much to her surprise, she managed to get through it without crying for the first time. "And so they're all dead because of me."

Adelaide took several heavy breaths and replied, "You think it would have been better, running around your ship deciding who lived and who died? Maybe the way it happened was the best way. You didn't have to watch or nothing. They just fell asleep and died."

"Radiation poisoning from radiolytic isotopes isn't quite the same thing as carbon monoxide poisoning," Dagny scowled. "It wasn't as pleasant as that, trust me. I was almost dead when Voris found me."

"Voris, that pointy-eared doctor downstairs?"

"He was with a diplomatic ship that managed to ride out the storm. They beamed me aboard and Voris saved my life. At first, I wished he hadn't. Sometimes I still wish that, but…" Her left hand fell on her stomach, her right hand rubbed her forehead.

"So that's how that happened," Adelaide said with a laugh disguised in a cough.

"What?"

"He saved your life, you fell in love with him just long enough to fall into bed with him—not such a very unlikely love story after all."

"We're not in love," Dagny replied hastily. "It's… complicated."

"Life is complicated. And ugly. And unfair. Just like love."

"Did you read that in a holocard?"

Adelaide erupted into laughter and it took her five minutes to quell her coughing and catch her breath. "I never got any holocards. And I don't know the whole story, but I can see the ending plain enough." Her eyebrows wagged at Dagny's belly, causing Dagny to instinctively straighten her back and try to suck in her stomach to disguise her bump. Her cheeks began to burn as Adelaide started laughing and hacking all over again.

"There's no sense in being embarrassed," Adelaide wheezed at long last. "It keeps the species going. Ours and his. It's a twofer."

"I should probably go back to bed," Dagny said darkly. "I'll check on you again in an hour."

"What, you're allowed to poke and prod and ask uncomfortable questions but I can't?" the woman called after her.

"Like you said, life's not fair."

"It's rotten, having other people dig in your business, ain't it?"

"Fine," Dagny seethed. "I jumped into bed with the first guy I saw after my family died and now I'm going to have a baby to show for it. There. I said it. Whether or not you want to believe it, there actually is more to the story but it's really none of your business. Judge me all you want."

"Sounds to me like the only one judging you is you."

Dagny ignored her and tucked herself into bed after making sure to set an alarm to wake her in an hour. She shut out the lights and closed her eyes. Adelaide wasn't willing to give up so easily. "Say what you want, but you two care for each other."

"We're having a baby together, that's all."

"He came up here and covered you up. You was shivering in your sleep and he put that blanket over you. Then he checked up on me so you could sleep."

Dagny swallowed hard, glad for the confirmation that she wasn't losing her mind about the blanket and the fact that the tricorder was on the table rather than by Adelaide's bedside. "I'm surprised you didn't threaten to kill him, what with you hating doctors as much as you do."

"Eh, he turned my oxygen up. That was nice of him. I still think he did it for you more than for me. Like I said, he cares about you."

Without opening her eyes, Dagny replied, "Caring isn't the same thing as loving."

"No, caring is the better way, much better than love."

"How do you figure?"

"You young people love to love love. Love is dangerous. People in love leave their families, destroy other people's marriages, and tear lives apart for their own selfishness. You don't want to settle down with someone you love: you want to settle down with someone who cares about you. People who care can be trusted, people in love can't."

"I never even got the chance to be in love," she said, her voice hardly rising above a whisper. She fumbled with the aquamarine necklace at her throat, thinking of Erik and Pearson and what her life might have been like.

"You only feel sorry for yourself because you've probably been sold love stories your whole life. Trust me when I say most girls don't grow up dreaming of settling down with the first man to put a baby on them. But now that it's happened, you couldn't ask for a better partner. Forget all the love nonsense. You've got something much better."

"So, you're saying love isn't important at all?"

"It's nice to have, if you can get it, but not necessary. Caring is more important. Partnership too. A good relationship is like a business and anyone who treats it as anything less is kidding themselves."

"I always suspected you were a hopeless romantic under all the piss and vinegar," Dagny groaned, rolling over onto her back.

"I had four husbands, remember? Trust me when I say that someone you can depend on to pull their weight is a much better find than someone who makes you feel all giddy and girlish. Those feelings go away and when they do, you'll want a reliable partner willing to stand by you. I'm sure he's boring as an old shoe and I've seen plenty of men with better looks than he's got, but he cares. I could have gone a lot farther in life with someone like that by my side."

"He only cares because we're having a baby. If this baby hadn't come along, we would have never spoken to each other again."

"Maybe not, but here you are. Hold on to that one, if you can. I doubt you'll listen to me though because what do I know?"

Dagny was very tired, but she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Her mind and heart were too full. How had Adelaide maintained her sanity all those years after famine and genocide and the loss of her children?

She tenderly touched her stomach. She'd never felt more conflicted about anything as she did the baby growing inside her. She had never wanted to be a mother, but the baby's existence had kept her going in those early days when she'd just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Now her impending bundle of joy was holding her hostage inside the clinic and their quarters and she resented it. But she also couldn't wait to hold it in her arms. Then there was the issue of getting on with her education and how difficult the baby would make things. Then there was the fear that her baby would grow up and decide it would rather be like its Vulcan father than its human mother, and she didn't think she could bear it. And under all that was the worst fear of all: that something would go wrong and the baby wouldn't make it. Was it normal, to love and resent something so much at the same time?

Dagny hadn't listened for the baby's heartbeat in several weeks. She suspected it was because she was afraid—she was twenty-one weeks along and she was definitely showing, but there was still not so much as a fluttering movement. She pressed hard into her navel, wishing the baby would press back, but there was only stillness. If the baby had died, she wouldn't be tied to Voris for the rest of her life, but she also didn't think she could bear it. She wasn't Adelaide, she couldn't just accept the death of her baby as "one of those things," not after everything that had happened.

She thought of Adelaide's advice and scoffed more loudly than she'd intended. How was she supposed to hold on to Voris when he couldn't even stand to share living quarters with her anymore? Even if they hadn't had a falling out, she'd never imagined herself being with him and living happily ever after. He was her colleague, her mentor, the father of her child, and maybe even her friend, but certainly not her partner. He was a nice enough person and she couldn't hate him, but she couldn't bring herself to love him either. Adelaide had said love wasn't important, but what did she know? She'd been married four times.

When it came down to it, Dagny hardly knew Voris, despite their five months together. They'd always managed to occupy silences with work or tutoring; sometimes they hadn't bothered to fill the silences at all. Were it not for the fact that she was growing fatter every day, she would have almost forgotten that they'd shared a regrettable one-night stand. She no longer had any real memories of the night of passion that had permanently fixed them together; it was like it had been a dream and the harder she tried to remember it, the fuzzier it became.

Several months earlier she'd had dreams about Voris, some steamy and romantic and others more mundane and domestic, but now she couldn't remember the last time she'd had any kind of dream about Voris. What was her subconscious mind trying to tell her?

She tossed and turned for the next forty-five minutes, skirting the edges of sleep but never quite managing to drift off between her troubled thoughts and the sounds of Adelaide's cough and the construction noises downstairs. Just as she was starting to think her alarm was about to go off and remind her to check on her patient, the oxygen machine began to beep, signaling that Adelaide wasn't breathing properly.

Dagny stumbled out of bed and engaged the lights. Adelaide's skin was the color of paper, her chest was rising and falling in rapid, shallow motions, and a trickle of blood was forming in her right nostril.

"I'm going to go get Voris," Dagny announced, grabbing her face mask from the table and preparing to run downstairs.

"Please, let me go." It was a faint whisper, but there was no mistaking what she'd said.

Adelaide coughed, stretched out a sluggish hand, and nodded to Dagny. For the first time, there was peace in her usually hawkish eyes. Dagny faltered. She felt a strong professional duty to treat this woman and she was so very tired of death, but she still stopped and remained frozen in the middle of the room. She took several cautious steps to Adelaide's bedside, hating the tremble that was beginning in her lower jaw.

"The box… under… the bed," Adelaide gasped. "Take… it."

Dagny bit hard on her upper lip and glanced down at the floor. Among the possessions that Zernon had brought over, there was a worn, carved box that Dagny had slid under the bed to make space. She started to pull it out, but Adelaide gripped her arm. "Don't be… in… such a hu-hurry."

Dagny sat up and blinked the tears from her eyes. "Can…you…make…sure I… look…my best?"

Dagny squinted and leaned forward. "What do you mean, look your best?"

The beeps of the machine were coming faster now and she fought her instinct to go get Voris. Adelaide closed her eyes and mumbled something. She couldn't be certain, but it sounded like, "I'm not afraid." Two breaths later, she was gone.

Voris shrugged his shoulders to push the collar of the navy fleece coat higher around his neck. It was a clear day but bitterly cold. The slight breeze stung his skin and made him wish he'd heeded Dagny's advice about the scarf.

Dagny had wanted to come but it was out of the question in her condition. She'd taken great care with Adelaide's body, washing her and trimming her nails and curling her hair. It seemed a strange custom, but Dagny assured him it had been the elderly woman's last request.

He held in his hands an ornately carved wooden box, square and about twenty centimeters in length. Dagny had insisted it be buried with her and because she had been unable to attend, she'd passed the duty on to Voris. It didn't contain anything of value—three blurry holographs of young children, a few rocks, some bits of hair wrapped in twine and string—but Dagny had indicated they had enormous sentimental value. Sentiment was illogical but Adelaide Proctor had not been a logical being, and it would be illogical for him to refuse her final request.

Voris surveyed the tiny gathering, noting few people had wanted to brave the frigid temperatures to witness the burial of Adelaide Proctor. Aside from himself, Zernon, Mike Yates, Cillian Kilpatrick, and Samantha Bergeron, the only other people in attendance were two miners, and they had only come because a laser drill had been required to cut through the frozen soil.

The cemetery was small and held forty-three graves, including the one that had just been carved for Adelaide. He was only intimately acquainted with the five most recent additions—Hannu Järvinen, the man who had died in a mining accident on Voris' first night at the colony, two Klingon men who had committed suicide shortly after their arrival, and Melana and her child. He recognized other markers though, if only by name. Velara, the colony's previous healer, was buried next to a small headstone that simply read "Baby Boy Diels."

The drill suddenly came to a screeching halt and one of the miners stepped down off the machine and motioned to Samantha Bergeron. "That's about as good as it's gonna do! Best get her in the ground before sundown."

She gave a tiny nod and glanced at Mike Yates, who was standing next to Adelaide's body, which was wrapped in cloth and strapped to an anti-gravity jack. Mike maneuvered it into position beside the hole and glanced at Voris. He stepped forward, placed the box on Adelaide's chest, and with the help of Mike, Zernon, and Constable Kilpatrick, lowered her into the ground with a set of straps.

No sooner had they pulled the straps up after her than the miners started shoveling the frozen dirt back over the body. Zernon wiped away several tears and Mike and Cillian pulled off their hats and clutched them to their chests. It was most illogical to remove warm clothing given the conditions, but it was logical to conclude it was done out of custom, so he followed their example.

He glanced down at the snow and winced. His head ached. It had started at the base of his neck and spread to the backs of his eyes and down into his teeth. His neck was stiff too and it hurt to breathe. He suspected his symptoms were likely the result of the cold air and overwork.

"Shouldn't someone say a few words?" Zernon asked, his teeth chattering.

"You knew her best," Sam replied.

"Well, yes. Well then. Adelaide Proctor was a sharp old woman, but she was a friend."

Voris exhaled slowly, the fog of his breath catching in the air. He saw a small figure approaching in the distance. A latecomer. He turned his attention back to Zernon, suddenly aware how sore his neck really was. Had he strained it? He breathed more deeply, sucking in the icy air, which sent his lungs into a series of coughing spasms.

"You alright there, doc?" the constable asked, patting him on the back.

"I am," he replied, trying to catch his breath.

"You might be, but I'm freezing me balls off."

"Cillian!" Sam barked.

"What?" he shrugged. "Old woman said much worse to me in her day. Were she still 'round, she'd be mocking the lot of us for standing out here in the cold like this."

Voris would never have phrased it so crudely, but he agreed with the constable's assessment. Fighting his way through a grim smile, Zernon continued with his strained eulogy. "A lot of people called her mean, but I believe she was misunderstood. She had a big heart. She was always giving away coats and blankets to newcomers. She had a lot of demons, I think, but most people here seem to. I hope if there's an afterlife, that she's there and she's at peace."

The others in the group murmured and the humans donned the hats, prompting Voris to do the same. The figure approaching from the colony was much larger now and close enough for Voris to identify it as probably human. A sudden blast of wind blew snow into his eyes, causing him to turn his head away.

"I don't know what else to add," Zernon sniffed.

"You did well enough, I say," Cillian mumbled. "Now, everyone up for a pint at Jester's?"

"Count me in," Sam replied.

"Might as well," Zernon added.

"Mikey, you in?" Cillian asked, turning to Mr. Yates and making a gesture with his hand indicative of drinking from a glass. Mike shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

"Doc?"

"I have never been to Jester's."

"Oh, now ye gotta go!"

"I have been made to understand it is an establishment that primarily serves ethyl alcohol, which I have never been in the habit of consuming."

"Come on! No one likes a teetotaler! Just one pint. Addy wouldn't mind and it's not like the missus is gonna tan yer hide for coming home late. You don't even live there no more."

Voris slowly turned to the constable, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. "The clinic does not close for approximately two more hours and Miss Skjeggestad is anticipating my return. I thank you for your offer, but I must decline."

"Oh, come on-"

"He said no, Cillian," Sam interjected. "Leave him be."

"Alright, alright. You know where it is though, if ye change yer mind."

"I should return to the clinic," Voris replied, thinking of the long trek back to the main entrance and suddenly feeling exhausted.

"I'm gonna head out too," Cillian agreed, before glancing at Sam and adding, "Unless you need something, of course."

"No, you guys go on ahead. I'll catch up with you," she replied. "There's something I'd like to do first."

Cillian, Zernon, and Mike set off along a course to the large secondary tunnel that led to the back of the main ring, their feet leaving choppy tracks in the virgin snow. Voris and Sam turned the opposite direction toward the main entrance, which was the shortest route back to the clinic. The figure on the horizon was only about two hundred meters off now, definitely human, judging by the stature and gait, but impossible to identify under the thick swath of clothes.

Voris lengthened his stride, eager to return to the warmth of the tunnels. He was worn and aching. He deliberated closing the clinic early, or at least leaving Dagny to tend it for the final two hours of regular operations, but he disliked leaving her alone when it wasn't necessary and he had nowhere else to go. He hadn't even planned on attending Adelaide's funeral, but she had insisted he go, even if only to deliver the box.

Tomorrow the clinic would be closed, as it was once every seven days. He could rest then. It had been four days since he'd moved out of the quarters above the clinic, but he had yet to move into the empty apartment adjacent to Constable Kilpatrick's. The engineering crews had been working continuously on the convalescent ward expansion and he hadn't wanted to leave them in the clinic unsupervised, so he had taken to sleeping on a cot at the back of the room. The arrangement had been excellent for monitoring the crew's progress, but less than ideal for procuring meaningful sleep.

The crews had completed their excavation and installed the necessary structural supports the evening before and secured the site behind a force field, and so Dagny had returned to her shift in the clinic that morning. He would need to speak with the housing council about gaining access to the vacant quarters adjacent to the constable's, but he hesitated.

It was already quite late in the afternoon and it would take a considerable amount of time to move all of his belongings. He could sleep on the cot in the clinic for one more night, surely. It seemed likely the stiff cot was the source of his neck and back pain, but he decided he was more tired than he was sore. Yes, he would spend one final night in the clinic and visit the housing council tomorrow. It was most logical.

Sam suddenly drifted to the right and walked down the first row of headstones, stopping before one that read Lucy Coronado. Voris would have preferred to keep walking, but he was not sure what the proper protocol was. If one person paused to show deference to a particular marking, was it polite for others to do the same?

He looked to her for guidance, but she never took her eyes from the small, gray marker. "She was my wife. She was the first person we buried here."

"I grieve with thee." He swallowed hard, not out of an attempt to subdue emotion but rather, to quell a cough.

"I miss her every day."

Voris understood the sentiment, even if he did not say so. Vulcan funeral rites varied, at least in terms of the disposal of the physical form. Burning, burial, and desiccation were all common methods, though the people of his father's line preferred burning to entombment. Visiting the remains of a cherished relative was sentimental and illogical. The body was just a physical shell.

Many Vulcans elected to have their katras preserved in the Hall of Ancient Thought atop Mount Seleya, but that was all gone now. Nero's destruction of Vulcan had done far more than claim the lives of six billion people, it had also devastated centuries of accumulated knowledge and culture. Had he been able to maintain T'Sala's katra, it would have made her death more bearable.

"Can you leave me? I just want to be alone for a little while."

Voris nodded and proceeded down the path alone. The black-clad figure was only a hundred meters away now, but it was near enough for him to make an identification. When they were within ten meters of one another, he raised his right hand in the ta'al and said, "Live long and prosper, Mr. Schoenbein."

"Hey there, Dr. Voris. What's everyone doing out here?"

"By 'everyone' do you refer to the seven people who attended Ms. Proctor's funeral?"

"Who?"

"Adelaide Proctor. The clothier whose funeral was this afternoon."

"Oh, the old lady? Yeah, I heard she died. Shame, I guess. Say, how's Dagny doing?"

Voris bristled involuntarily before he could repress the emotion. "She is well."

"That's good to hear. Anyway, I also found out yesterday an old friend of mine died a couple weeks back. Thought I'd come and pay my respects."

Voris believed it was illogical for him to involve himself in the man's private matter, but he could not resist the impulse to ask, "Do you refer to Melana?"

His eyes widened slightly and he gave a small shrug. "You knew her too?"

"I am this colony's physician and as such, I am usually aware when one of its members dies."

"Oh, yeah, I guess I didn't think of that. Any chance you know where she's buried?"

"She is in the grave next to the laser drill at the top of the hill, buried next to her son."

Pearson Schoenbein's countenance shifted between confusion and shock. "I didn't realize she had any kids-"

Voris blinked and tried to shield his face from the chilly wind, fighting the urge to cough. "She didn't, until the day she died."

Another gust of cold air smacked him in the face and he could no longer resist the need to cough, and once he began, it was difficult to stop. He needed to return to a warmer environment and decided a hot mint tea might serve him well. He started to move past Mr. Schoenbein, but the young man stopped him.

"Wait, what do you mean, until the day she died? You mean, she died having a baby?"

He wasn't sure why he said what he said next and when he would reflect on it later, he would never arrive at a logical explanation. He was so tired, and his head and neck ached, and it took so much energy to avoid coughing from the tickle in this throat. Perhaps it was because he assumed almost everyone on the colony knew the sordid details surrounding Melana's death—few things traveled as quickly as gossip—or perhaps it had simply been a momentary slip in his mental faculties, but whatever the case, he had duty to maintain Melana's privacy, and he failed her. "Yes, as a result of the fetus' human blood mixing with hers. The child died several hours later owing to his unstable hybrid physiology."

Pearson stared at him dumbly, overcome by shock and horror. Voris swallowed and coughed again, more desperate than ever to find respite from the frigid winter air. He pushed past Pearson without another word and set off down the path, following the footprints he'd made on his ascent to the cemetery.

His head was pounding now and he was short of breath and by the time he finally reached the mouth of the main tunnel and began descending the stairs, he was seeing black spots in his vision. He tried to recall the last time he'd eaten. Dagny had brought him a strawberry muffin and some cantaloupe that morning, but he'd only eaten several bites before the clinic had received its first patients. He was overtired and undernourished, that was all, and those things were easily remedied. When he reached the bottom row of stairs, his knees nearly buckled, but he somehow managed to stay upright.

"You ok?" someone called.

"Yes," he tried to answer, but all that came out was a series of coughs.

There was a faint ringing in his ears and he started to realize that despite the fact that it was at least thirty degrees warmer down in the tunnels, he didn't feel any warmer. In fact, he couldn't stop shivering. His chest felt taut and he couldn't catch his breath. He made it the short distance from the stairs to the clinic entrance, and just as he pushed open the door, he saw a dark figure creep past his legs.

"Harold!" Dagny cried from inside the clinic. Her voice sounded hollow and distant. Was she in the surgical suite?

He nearly tripped over the threshold. He needed to sit down, get warm, and take a meal. More than anything, he needed to sleep.

"Voris? How was the- Voris?"

She was standing right in front of him, eyes wide and panic-stricken, but she sounded so far away. The ringing in his ears grew louder. How could she be so far away when she was so close? He was so cold. He was so tired. He sensed her hands gripping his shoulders and then his neck. She was yelling, but he couldn't make sense of her words before his world faded to black.