What Judgments Come

“I wasn’t sold on the idea at first,” Reyes said, “but the more I thought about it, the nicer it sounded. Besides, compared to prison, I think I can learn to live with anything. And who knows? I might even be happy there one day.”

“Now there’s something I’d like to see,” Fisher replied, smiling as he took a belt from his glass. “How many people know about this?”

Reyes shrugged. “You, me, Nogura, and two or three of his friends at Starfleet Command who made the whole thing happen.”

“Well, it’s probably all recorded in a computer file somewhere, anyway,” Fisher said. “They still have to get your retirement pay to you, after all.”

“True.” Nogura had also seen to it that Reyes would receive a small stipend. It was not a full restoration of the pay and benefits that would have been owed him had he officially retired from Starfleet, but it would be more than sufficient for living a quiet, anonymous life on a Federation colony world. “Other than that, though, and maybe checking up on me from time to time, they’ll probably leave me well enough alone. Ten years from now, nobody will know or care who I am, or was, or whatever, and I’m okay with that.” He had pledged to Nogura that he would accept and even embrace this generous revision of his sentence, and harbored no intentions of going back on his word, if for no other reason than to avoid dishonoring the admiral and the extraordinary effort Reyes knew he had expended on his behalf.

Taking another drink from his glass, Fisher asked, “So, what are you pla

“Catch up on my leisure reading,” Reyes replied. “Got any recommendations?”

Fisher nodded, playing his part. “I gave you a perfectly good selection of books, and you let them get blown up. I hope Caldos II has a decent library.”

Chuckling at that, Reyes drained the contents of his glass, grimacing at the bourbon’s sting as he swallowed. “Well, I haven’t really gone fishing since I was a boy. Maybe I’ll do that.” As he poured himself another drink, a mischievous thought entered his mind. “I could buy myself some old boat, fix it up as a do-it-myself restoration project, then hire it out for fishing charters. That ought to drive some of those admirals at Starfleet nuts.” He paused, considering another idea that had just occurred to him. “You know, taking on a job like that, I could use a partner.”

“Yeah,” Fisher said, leaning back in his chair and cradling his glass in both hands, “that’s exactly where I see myself: cutting bait on the back of some shipwreck you’ve given a fresh coat of paint. Do you even know how to sail a boat? What could possibly go wrong?”

Both men shared a laugh, then said nothing for several moments, two old friends each so comfortable with the other that small talk to fill quiet air had long since become u

“Thanks, Zeke, for everything.”

His gaze remaining on his glass, Fisher asked, “What did I do?”

“You were there,” Reyes answered. “Always. You never doubted me, not for one damned second, and you looked after Rana after I left the first time. I know we haven’t talked about it, but I’m betting it wasn’t easy for her, first thinking I was dead, then wondering what I must’ve done to end up with the Klingons or the Orions.” He sighed, at once both sad and angry that he had never been given the opportunity to talk to Desai before her abrupt departure from the station. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

Fisher nodded, seemingly content to leave it at that. “How much time do you have?”

Glancing to the chronometer set into the computer workstation on the corner of the doctor’s desk, Reyes replied, “Four or five hours. Nogura has a transport scheduled to take me to Caldos II, leaving in the dead of night so as to attract minimal attention.” It would take three weeks to make the journey to his new home, even at the transport’s high-warp speeds. Within a month, he would be settled into his role as just another colonist on the frontier of Federation space, making an honest go at a new, challenging life away from the buzz and static of fast-paced modern society.

Yes, Reyes decided, he could live with that.

“Well, then,” Fisher said, reaching once more for the bottle, “as I remember it, we said our long good-byes the last time you left on a transport. I figure there’s no reason to rehash all that again. Besides, it’s just a waste of good drinking time.”

Reyes smiled at his old friend’s gentle yet unassailable wisdom. He could live with that, too.

EPILOGUE

April 2270

Pe

“So,” he said after a moment, “you told him, but not me? I don’t know whether to be surprised or insulted.” As he spoke the words, Pe

“Be both,” Reyes replied, his expression growing somber, and Pe

Holding up his glass, Pe

“Call it a coping mechanism,” Reyes said, rising from his chair. “How else are my visitors supposed to put up with me?” He reached for the metal poker and knelt before the fireplace, stirring the embers before adding two new logs to the withered remnants still sitting in the firebox’s soot-covered cradle. “It’s too late to call for a ride back to the mainland. I’ve got a spare bedroom. You can collapse in there if you want.”

Lifting his glass to his lips, Pe

Reyes, appearing satisfied that the fire soon would return to its former blazing glory, replaced the poker in its stand and returned to his seat, where he set about pouring more whiskey into his glass. “You know, it’s amazing what you can buy when you’ve been saving for your retirement for thirty-odd years. One of the benefits of spending most of my adult life living in Starfleet billeting aboard starships and space stations is that I never had to pay rent. So, I just banked those credits for a rainy day.” He gestured toward one wall and, presumably, the forest beyond the confines of his cabin. “Like I said before, we get a lot of rainy days here.”

“So,” Pe

“Hardly,” Reyes replied, his gaze returning once more to the fire. “Caldos II was number four on a list of five planets where Starfleet was willing to authorize my ‘relocation,’ with the proviso that once I picked a place, that’s where I’d agree to stay until I died, the planet blew up, or Starfleet needed me—whichever came first.”

Trying to imagine how that conversation might have played out, Pe

“Not really,” Reyes countered, sipping his drink, “not when you remember that the alternative at the bottom of the list was prison.” He paused, glancing around the cabin. “Anyway, they helped smooth things over so far as my actually buying this place. I own the entire island, and my cover story is that I’m a retired civilian engineer who came looking for a nice, quiet corner of the galaxy to live out my golden years. It’s enough to let me move around, interact with the locals, and so on. Everyone pretty much keeps to themselves here, so I don’t get anyone nosing around looking for answers to questions that don’t even come up, anyway.” Pe