Declassified

“I see. And I do understand. You’re sticking to policy and you should, given that we’ve only just met.”

Je

“Well, hospital and otherwise.”

She bent her smile down into a frown and snorted as she nodded her head knowingly. “Ohhh, but you’re good. So why are you trying so hard to look like you’re trying so hard?”

“Damn, I knew I should have gone with the sincere approach.”

“It might get you further next time.”

“Further than what?”

“Well, further than a discussion of hospital policies with me,” she said. “If I were to talk with someone on staff about a medical condition concerning a Vulcan, I would start with Doctor M’Benga.”

“Would Doctor M’Benga be able to let me see her?”

“That is up to him,” she said, allowing another smile. “But I can assure you that were your friend under his care, then once you spoke to him you would not need to see her. You would realize that she is in good hands.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “And maybe for now, that’s all I need to know. Is there a way I can contact Doctor M’Benga?”

“You can leave a message with me and I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Or I can take it back to him myself.” The gravelly voice snapped my gaze from Je

“Doctor Fisher!” Je

“I’m not meaning to intrude,” he said to her, “but I should be able to assist Mister Pe

“Of course, Doctor, thank you,” she said as Fisher stepped away from the desk and tilted his head toward a grouping of chairs in a corner of the reception area. I took it as a suggestion to follow him.

“Thank you, Je

“Mister Pe

“I appreciate your help, Doctor,” I said.

“There’s no guarantee how helpful I might be, but it’s nice to hear your optimism.”

“I’m not asking you to speak on the record about anything—”

“Then we’re off to a positive start. Sit down, Tim.”

I laughed a bit in midsentence as we each sat. “Well, thank you. I admit that this is a personal query, so I’m asking your indulgence. I’m curious as to the condition of Lieutenant Commander T’Pry

“Then allow me to be curious as to the personal nature of the discussion.”

“I happened to be in the thoroughfare near the hangar observation windows when she collapsed. I witnessed the whole thing.”

“I see,” Fisher said. “I can imagine that would be rather unsettling for you.”

“Well, yes,” I said, finding myself quickly at ease with the man owing to the nature of his voice and presence. As must be the case with the most seasoned physicians, he seemed to have a way of gaining my trust and confidence in a matter of moments. “It’s all a bit . . . haunting, I suppose.”

“I’m told there was more to the onset of T’Pry

When I looked up into Fisher’s eyes, it was easy to sense his interest was hardly prurient. I could sense the care he had for T’Pry

“Yes.”

“And then, her face just wiped blank. It simply . . . reset to looking no different than usual. But she just crumpled. Truthfully? I thought she was dead.”

“Just as truthfully? She soon may be. It’s pretty clear that she suffered some sort of trauma. From our scans, there is no physical evidence of an injury relative to a concussion. We can find no bleeding nor any blockage of blood to the brain, so she hasn’t had a stroke. And yet, here we are, witnesses to the mysteries of the psychosuppressive wonders of the Vulcan mind. I’d be fascinated by it all . . . if I were a Vulcan.”

It was easy for me to tell from the physician’s face that his quip was more to mask his frustrations than to dismiss himself as disinterested in the neuroscientific studies of an entire race. “I’m confident you’re doing all you can, Doctor.”

Fisher regarded me quietly and nodded, then took a sip from his mug. “She’s not my patient, she’s Doctor M’Benga’s. And I will be sure to tell him you stopped by with your concerns.”

“Any chance that I might be able to see her?”

“Not this morning. That’s his call to make, and he’s not available right now to make it. Try later, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “As long as we’re here, might I ask as to the condition of another of your patients?” I paused as Fisher’s eyebrows rose in anticipation of my words. “Diego Reyes.”

Fisher smiled slyly as he stood up from the chair. “And now you’re pushing, Mister Pe

“No, sincerely,” I said as I rose to meet his gaze. “Well, professionally, too, but sincerely. We’re still off the record.”

“I’ve always been curious how this whole on-the-record-off-the-record thing works for a reporter,” Fisher said. “I would venture to guess that your real determination of what stays off the record is made afterit’s told to you.”

“Well, would you prescribe a course of treatment for a patient before considering the results of your own examinations?”

Fisher nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“But in this case, I’m not asking for a story. I’m, well, I’m concerned.”

Fisher paused before speaking. “If I have the opportunity, I will send the commodore your regards. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” I said, extending my hand. Fisher met it with a firm and noticeably warm shake. “I appreciate the chance to talk.”

“I’m usually around,” Fisher said. “I’m even usually agreeable, if I’ve had my coffee.”

7

“You’re that journalist, aren’t you?”

With a bite of my eggs poised on my fork and almost in my mouth, I stopped myself before being forced to respond to the question with my mouth full. I also had to mentally revisit a few personal mantras upon which I relied in moments like those, the ones when what I would like to do is answer no and keep eating: the next story can come from anywhere and anytime, be polite, and when I don’t want to be interrupted I don’t eat at Tom Walker’s.

“I can’t be certain I am thatjournalist, but I am one, yes.” I looked up to find standing next to my table a young man wearing a Starfleet uniform with a red tunic, which told me he was in some area of operational services. From the look of his chest and upper arms, I assumed he was in security. At least, I hoped someone of his size was in security.

“The one who wrote the reports about what we’re doing out here. That’s you, right?”

I could sense from the man’s tone of voice that his intensity was rising, but I could not imagine he was there to pick a fight. I hoped that my being in a public restaurant at a time of day that one was not likely to be drunk—Qui