What Judgments Come

What the hell is he babbling about?The question teased Reyes, though he forced himself to play along. “They fired the last guy. Too many weird spices in the meat or something. Sent some poor bastard to the infirmary with a hole in his gut. Guess he didn’t read the menu cards.”

Fisher nodded. “That’ll teach him.” The line continued to move forward, and as he drew abreast of the first station along the buffet, he reached to where a stack of hexagonal plates sat waiting for customers. Retrieving two plates, he held one face up and offered it to Reyes. “Kind of reminds me of chow time at the Academy.”

There was something about the way he made the statement, coupled with the way he held the plate for an extra heartbeat as Reyes took it, that set off an alarm bell in his head. He scrambled to search long-buried memories of his days at Starfleet Academy, trying to co

Fisher was holding his plate level, parallel to the floor, with his elbows tucked in tight at his sides, just as Academy cadets once had been required to do when navigating the dining facility during their meals. It had seemed silly at the time, he recalled, particularly given the emphasis with which his instructors had enforced the rule along with a host of others that, on their face, made no sense whatsoever. As it turned out, the rigid, formal movement through the cafeteria line, complete with facing movements and the proper positioning of arms and feet, had been one of numerous ways in which Academy instructors reinforced the various components of marching in formation during close-order drill. In hindsight, Reyes considered the practice as overkill, and indeed such policies and practices had been relaxed over the years, but for old-school Starfleet types like him and Fisher, it was just one more outdated practice from a bygone era.

So why the hell is he doing it now?

Instinct told Reyes to follow his friend’s movements, though he opted to do so while attempting to appear relaxed as he made his way through the buffet procession. After several moments spent perusing the various selections, both men made their choices. Fisher stood silent, an amused expression gracing his weathered features as he waited for Reyes to pay for both meals using his own credit chip.

“No, really. I got it,” Reyes said, his voice dripping sarcasm as he handed his chip to the cashier.

Finding an empty table along one wall of the restaurant’s dining area, the next few moments were spent in silence as they ate their meals. Reyes had not even put the first spoonful of Kohlanese stew in his mouth when a server, a lithe, striking Andorian woman whose outfit consisted of less material than the napkin in Reyes’s lap, approached their table and asked if they wanted anything to drink. As she left, Fisher turned to watch her as she disappeared into the depths of the crowded restaurant.

“You think she gets cold, walking around dressed like that?” he asked.

Reyes shrugged. “I think she’ll kick your ass if you don’t stop looking at her like that.” Taking another bite of his stew, he asked around a rather large chunk of spiced meat, “So, you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

“Can’t I come and visit an old friend once in a while?” Fisher asked, offering a wan smile as he picked at his salad. “Besides, after that inoculation I gave you, I wanted to make sure you weren’t suffering any adverse side effects.” His expression betrayed nothing, as though the doctor had been carrying out covert conversations in public his entire life. At least Fisher’s first visit had served a purpose: providing Reyes with the subcutaneous transceiver that allowed him to communicate with T’Pry

“Well, I’m still having trouble sleeping,” Reyes said. He paused to glance around, checking to see if anyone might be eavesdropping on their conversation, “but I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it. Just too much racket around here, is all.”

Nodding, Fisher offered another wry grin. “Well, maybe what you need is a change of venue. You’re overdue for a vacation, aren’t you?”

“For a couple of years now,” Reyes replied. “Got any suggestions?”

The doctor shrugged as he turned his attention from his salad to a bowl of soup he had selected. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Taking a few more bites of his stew, Reyes cast a casual glance about the bar. No one seemed close enough to be eavesdropping, but he kept his voice low as he asked, “What happened with Hetzlein and Gianetti?”

It was obvious from Fisher’s expression that the doctor was uncomfortable discussing this topic, particularly given his present surroundings. Without looking up from his plate, he replied, “Their bodies weren’t recovered, but one of T’Pry

Reyes forced himself not to react to the news. It was not an unexpected development, given the clandestine nature of the extraction attempt. Why Ganz had not taken advantage of the situation by capturing the two covert operatives and using them as leverage against Admiral Nogura, he did not know. All that was certain was that the two officers’ deaths were now added to the list of acts for which Reyes hoped the Orion merchant prince would be held accountable one day.

Movement in his peripheral vision made Reyes turn to see an Orion male—one of the two security guards who had been shadowing Fisher outside the restaurant—heading toward the table. Reyes felt his muscles tense in anticipation, not liking what he was seeing. The guard brushed past a server and two patrons on his way in their direction, and when he came to a stop at their table, he stood in silence, glaring at them. After several seconds, during which Fisher continued to work on his soup, Reyes decided he would be the one to break the ice.

“We’re not ready for the dessert menu just yet, sport. Come back in about fifteen minutes.” The remark was enough to make the Orion turn his smoldering gaze upon Reyes, though the guard said nothing to him. Instead, another moment passed in odd silence before he turned his attention to Fisher.

“Come with me. I’ve been ordered to escort you to the main entrance.”

“I’m not finished with my lunch,” the doctor replied.

As if to emphasize his point, the Orion leaned across the table toward Fisher. “Yes, you are. Come with me, now.”

“What’s this about?” Reyes snapped, scowling and deciding that he did not care how the guard chose to interpret his question or tone.

The guard turned to glower once more at Reyes. “I’ve been ordered to escort this human off the ship. I don’t know the reason, and I don’t care.” To Fisher, he said, “Let’s go.”

Shrugging, the doctor wiped his mouth with a napkin before pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. “Food was cold, anyway.” He sighed, offering Reyes another small, knowing smile. “See you around, Diego,” he said, before looking back to the guard and nodding toward the restaurant’s exit. “After you.”

Reyes was certain he heard the Orion growl in irritation as he gestured for Fisher to move along. He watched the unlikely pair work their way through the crowded restaurant, with the guard retrieving what Reyes knew to be a communications device from his belt and holding it up to his mouth. No doubt he was alerting whoever was on duty for the Omari-Ekon’s security detail that he had his charge in custody and was escorting him to the exit, where Reyes guessed Fisher would be shown without ceremony to the docking ring leading back to Vanguard.