The dwarf and I roamed one the lowest levels of the ship, quietly drunk. Sulu smiled crookedly and cast furtive, sidelong glances at me; my limp had become more pronounced and almost out of control---occasionally I crashed against the corridor wall, cursing, and rebounded, losing my balance. The motorized exoskeleton caused the problem, exaggerating each slight misstep or drunken shift of balance.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnzGI0ZPvIL
We had spent two hours in Sulu's room drinking the harsh and bitter liquor he claimed was Scotch whiskey. I was trying, unsuccessfully, to blot out the recurring images of Doyle's blood splattering away form his face and neck and across my helmet, his eyes so calm and peaceful as if leaving his life behind was a great relief. Sulu was trying to help us both forget.
I stopped, put a hand against the metal corridor wall to steady myself, and glanced down at the dwarf.
"Never again," I said to him.
Sulu just laughed.
"How much farther?" I asked.
"Not much," Sulu replied.
"Quit grinning."
Sulu's smile widened, and he turned away and started off again along the corridor. I followed.
We dropped one more level, and everything seemed to change: the air was muggy and stagnant, and stank of overcooked ersatz meat; the corridor walls were streaked with soot and paint; a thumping brass beat seemed to come from all directions, or no direction. Father one, a wide doorway on the left opened into a bistro where a trio of mad-rock musicians played to a dozen tables of diners and drinkers. The atonal squeals hurt my ears as we hurried past.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4Pgttyz1GM
We were no longer alone in the corridor; we passed people who seemed to be even drunker than we were, as well as a few who looked as if they hadn't touched alcohol in years---men and women with tight lips and frowns and furrowed brows, in stark and simple clothing.
Finally Sulu led the way down a short side passage and activated a door panel. Out from the doorway rolled a quiet cloud of voices and music and lights. Sulu waved me inside, then followed and closed the door behind us.
I stood just inside a large room with half a dozen chairs and settees. Light came from two hovering globes that drifted in spiral patterns about the room just beneath the ceiling. The voices stopped with our entrance, but a quiet ether jazz played in the background.
There were five or six men and at least as many women in the room, but I could not refrain from staring at one woman in the corner, seemingly shy, and in appearance amazingly like Father O'Heron, if Father O'Heron were to wear a blouse and trousers instead of her usual cassock and collar.
The dwarf grinned. "Remind you of someone?"
"No," I answered, too sharply and too quickly.
Sulu's grin widened; then he clapped his hands. "Drinks, everybody!"
I couldn't do anything except stare at the woman in the corner who was staring back at me.
One hour later I walked side by side along a dark corridor with the woman, whose name was Edith. So much about her reminded me of Father O'Heron, even up close: her build, the pale and almost translucent quality of the skin on her arms, the shape of her eyes, and the thin but somehow sensuous lips. Even the way the left side of her mouth turned up when she smiled. I started to wonder if she was Father O'Heron's twin.
But I noticed differences as well: the gold-flecked green of her eyes in contrast to the dark brown of Father O'Heron's; the narrow nostrils; and especially the voice. When Edith spoke, her deep, coarse voice drove all uncertainty away, and I knew she was not Father O'Heron in a clever disguise. I wanted desperately for her not to speak at all.
Suddenly the woman stopped, swung around, put her hands behind my neck and pulled my face to hers, kissing me deeply. I didn't respond just then, taken aback and tasting smoke and alcohol on her lips and tongue, tastes I hadn't expected, for I had forgotten for a moment who she was. Or who she wasn't.
But then, overcome, I did respond, and kissed her deeply in return, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her tight against me.
Then her hands were at my belt, unbuckling it and pulling at trouser buttons.
"Not here," I said, closing my fingers around hers, stopping her movements. "Somebody might see us."
The woman nodded, grinning. She worked one hand free and plunged it inside my pants, grabbing me. I have to admit I was easily aroused.
"My, my," she said, "that's not artificial."
"No," I insisted. "I can't----not here----not....."
She released me, but then she took my hand in hers and led me farther along the corridor. "No sense of adventure," she said, and once more I wished she just wouldn't speak.
Another two minutes and she opened the door to a small, dimly-lit cabin, closed the door behind us after we entered. She kept my hand in hers and led me to the wall bed, which was rumpled and unmade. There was a faint smell of old sweat and a hint of stale perfume; on the shelf beside the bed was a worn brown Bible.
"Now to where we left off," she said.
"Don't say anything more," I told her, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice. "Just silence."
Thinking she understood, but not understanding at all, the woman smiled and nodded, and pulled me onto the bed beside her.
I'd spent my life on the Enterprise watching men and women fall in love, or at least make the claims of love for each other; watching pursuits and resistances both real and pretended, and other related behaviors that were often ridiculous, petty, cruel, and only occasionally touching. I'd long ago decided that falling in love was pointless at best. But falling in love with a priest was even worse, so absurd that I could hardly believe it was happening to me. More than that, having sex with a woman because she looked like the priest I'd fallen in love with was simply pathetic.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfhZs2oDWjF
When I saw Father O'Heron the next day, my skin flushed; I could feel the heat rising up along my neck, and I wanted to walk away. We were in a small chapel off to one side of the cathedral. She smiled uncertainly at me.
"What is it, Pavel?"
"Nothing." My response seemed inadequate, so I added, "I think I might be ill." Which was true in more ways than one.
She nodded, as if that were to be expected. "It was awful, watching him die like that," she said.
"And being so completely helpless."
"You tried, Pavel. You reacted more quickly than anyone, and you did everything you could."
"Yes, and no. Maybe Jean-Luc was right, we shouldn't have stayed. Maybe if we hadn't...."
"Don't, Pavel. Going that way accomplishes nothing. Nothing odd happened while we were in there. If he hadn't done it then, he would've done it some other time, I'm sure of it."
I knew that intellectually, but in my gut I didn't yet believe it, and I wasn't sure I ever would. It helped to hear it, nonetheless.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwgNJTkx7xr
"How well did you know him?" I asked.
"I'd known him most of my adult life, worked with him in the Church. But to be truthful, in important ways I did not know him well at all." She paused and sighed. "I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't like him."
"Why be ashamed of that?"
She gave me a rueful smile. "It wasn't very generous. To dislike him."
"Hey, nobody's perfect."
She almost laughed then. "Certainly not the priests." She paused again, became serious. "Kevin was mean-spirited and unpleasant, and although he claimed he wanted to become a priest, he would never have been approved. He knew he was disliked by most people, and that must've been hard for him to live with."
I knew what that was like, and I wondered if I was as mean-spirited and unpleasant as Doyle had been. I didn't think so, but how could I know? I also believed that I had changed over the last year, so that even if I had been that way once, I hoped I had become less so.
"Did he ever strike you as being suicidal?" I asked.
She hesitated before replying. "As I said, in some ways I didn't know him very well. Does it matter?"
"I'm just trying to understand what happened."
"Do you think you can?"
"Probably not. But I have to try. I'm in charge of this---expedition, mission, whatever you want to call it. What happens is my responsibility."
"You take too much upon yourself."
"Somebody's got to."
"No, Pavel. That's part of why Christ died on the Cross. He takes on what we cannot."
I really didn't want to start down that road. There were times when I relished discussing theology with her, because although we disagreed on most things, she was thoughtful and reasoned and often insightful. But this was not one of those times. I think she sensed my feelings, because she let it go and moved on to another subject.658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCBzwvvLkav
"How is the old woman doing?" she asked.
"Still alive. She's undernourished, a little dehydrated, very weak, but the doctors think she'll survive."
"It's incredible. Has she been able to speak?"
"Not really." I related the conversation I'd had with Gardner.
"So we may never know what happened to her," she said. "One more mystery held by that alien ship. Full of mysteries and no answers."
"We've only explored a small portion of it so far."
" 'So far?' Do you plan to go back?"
I was shocked by her question. "Of course."
"After everything that's happened?'
"Yes. After everything that's happened. We may have to rethink our approach, be more careful---I don't know. But yes, we continue."
She looked at me with concern. "I wonder how may other people feel the same way."
That hadn't occurred to me. 'You?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I won't go back into that ship, Pavel. I don't think any of us should."
"Have you come to believe the ship is evil?"
"No. Just dangerous. Perhaps willfully so."
I couldn't really argue with her. "Maybe," I said, "but it's still the most remarkable discovery ever made in the history of the Enterprise. We can't just leave it behind."
She hesitated for a minute, then breathed deeply. "You had best prepare your arguments, Pavel."
I cocked my head at her. "What do you know that I don't?"
"Bishop Worf is going to propose that we set course for another star system and leave the alien starship behind. Before we have any more casualties."
"Formally? Before the Executive Council?"
She nodded.
I didn't respond. There was no point in making any of my arguments to Father O'Heron; she wasn't one of the people I would need to convince. I had to think about the council members; I had to think about the case I would make.
"Thanks for the warning," I said at last.
She smiled sadly at me. "I think you're going to need it."658Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqvttUHrRwC
