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Pushing back against the gnawing, acidic sensation in his gut, he crossed Fontana Meadow and admired the rich color of the lawn. It reminded him of Kentucky bluegrass, but it seemed much more resilient in the face of heavy foot traffic and sports activities, which made him wonder if it might be Rigelian mountain grass. The one thing he knew for certain about it was that it made for a very comfortable place to sleep—unless one happened to be there at 0315 when its automatic sprinkler system activated.
His meandering brought him to a halt in front of the lone Denevan dogwood planted at the edge of the meadow, beside a paved walkway that ringed the terrestrial enclosure. In front of the tree was a large plaque of brilliantly polished metal, not yet old enough to have acquired the slightest patina of tarnish, affixed to a large, broad rock. The plaque was inscribed:
IN PROUD MEMORY
USS BOMBAY NCC-1926
“OUR DEATHS ARE NOT OURS; THEY ARE YOURS;
THEY WILL MEAN WHAT YOU MAKE THEM.”
Three years I avoided this spot, Qui
I made one mistake and sent all those people to their doom. His thoughts fixated on that bitter reflection. No wonder Karma has it in for me. Nothin’ I do could ever make that right.
Amid the soft patter of distant footsteps and happy voices, he heard one set of footfalls close at his back—and then they stopped. Someone was standing behind him. He turned, half expecting a confrontation. Instead, he was met by the placid presence of T’Pry
“Hello again, Mister Qui
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned back toward the tree. “Hey.”
The Vulcan woman stepped forward to stand beside him and regard the dogwood. “Time is of the essence, so forgive me for being brief. It seems my superiors at Starfleet Intelligence have decided that you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
Qui
“I don’t think you understand their sentiments,” T’Pry
Disarmed by her candor, he wrinkled his brow as his lips curled into a crooked half-smile, half-grimace. “You don’t say.” He let out a snort of cynical amusement and wondered if maybe this wasn’t a blessing in disguise. “Can I at least trust you to make it quick and painless?”
“I have no intention of obeying this order,” she said. She discreetly slipped a modestly sized vinyl-wrapped packet into his right hand. “I have prepared a new identity for you. It is complete with a long history of good credit, solid employment, shifting residences on several different worlds, and an education similar to the one you earned in your youth.”
He sneaked a look at the black-wrapped package in his hand. “And what am I supposed to do with this? Apply for a loan? I think a few folks around here might still recognize me.”
T’Pry
It sounded as if she had thought of almost everything. He eyed her skeptically. “What about my biometric profile? Won’t it trip me up if someone scans my DNA or my retina?”
“Normally, yes,” T’Pry
Qui
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
T’Pry
He smiled and shook her hand. “Thank you.”
Then he stepped away, walking quickly toward Stars Landing.
T’Pry
He paused and looked back. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it.” He resumed his hurried pace toward the station’s civilian center. “There’s just one thing I have to do first.”
Tim Pe
“Thanks, Mister Pe
A nod and a wave signaled the conversation was done. “Thank you. Have a great day.”
Much to his relief, the couple seemed to take the hint and buggered off with their sheaf of papers. It wasn’t that Pe
Lifting a forkful of soy-and-maple-glazed salmon to resume his repast, he noted out of the corner of his eye another person sidling up to his table, and since it wasn’t his white-clad waitress, he assumed the worst. He dropped his fork and turned to face his next uninvited guest. “And what the bloody hell can I do for—” Words logjammed in his brain and left his mouth hanging half open as he saw Cervantes Qui
“Heya, Newsboy.” Qui
The waitress appeared as if from thin air and shot a look at Pe
“I’m fine,” Pe
Qui
“Coming right up,” As swiftly as she’d come, she departed to the kitchen.
An awkward silence stretched out a bit longer than Pe