“Damn you, Quinn,” I said under my breath as I passed through the main doors of Vanguard’s medical center. I promised myself in that moment I would not divulge to him how I walked to the central facility directly following our conversation. I needed to maintain some sense of pride.
In my time on the station, I had made relatively few visits to the hospital, and when I did, I happened to be the one in need of care. The last time, I had come for a brief scan to follow up on the injuries I had suffered on Jinoteur, and as I walked into the main reception area, I hoped my visit had been recent enough that I might look a little less conspicuous as I breezed past the admissions desk. I was following one of the most useful pieces of advice from my days in journalism school: if you look like you belong somewhere and know what you’re doing, no one will ask you any questions. I gave a sideways glance to the desk, and to a woman seated there wearing a loose-fitting nurse’s uniform whose attention seemingly was on the desk-mounted viewer before her, and turned the back of my head to her just as I passed.
“Sir? Can I help you, please?”
I sighed, knowing it would be too unbelievable had I pretended not to hear her. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt. You looked busy.”
She looked up at me with her slender face framed by straight blond hair and what may have been the widest pair of hazel eyes I had ever seen. “You’re very kind, but I’m fine. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’m wanting to check on a friend. She would have come in about a week ago with what I suspect was brain trauma.”
She returned to her desk monitor. “Can you tell me her name?”
“Yes, it’s T’Prynn, and as you might suspect, she’s a Vulcan woman.”
“Ah,” she said, looking back at me. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid she is not allowed visitors at this time.”
I leaned a bit onto the desktop. “I’m just trying to ease my concern, Ms. . . .”
She lowered her eyes and softened her posture a bit, almost as if she had been hoping I might ask. My hope for getting past the desk buoyed a bit, so I offered a smile as soon as she looked back up. “Braun. Jennifer Braun.”
As I offered my hand, I had considered keeping my name to myself, or even giving a false one, but when she took my grasp, I could not help but play straight with her. “I’m Tim. And I assure you that I would not stay if I could only look in on her. I was with her when she fell ill, you see, and I’ve heard nothing about her condition.”
Jennifer withdrew her hand. “And going back into the isolation wards will ease your concerns?”
“Is that where she is, Jennifer?”
“I’m not able to release any information about a patient, or even confirm that someone is a patient,” she said. “But the isolation wards are where you might have ended up, had you kept going.”
“I see. And I do understand. You’re sticking to policy and you should, given that we’ve only just met.”
Jennifer smiled. “But as we get to know each other, I’ll certainly relax my approach to hospital policy. Is that what you’re hoping, Tim?”
“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 Jennifer and up to find a dark-skinned, gray-haired man wearing a white lab coat over a blue satin, low-collared version of a Starfleet uniform tunic and cradling a coffee mug. Evidently, I had been engaged enough with my bantering that I had not noticed his approach.
“Doctor Fisher!” Jennifer’s voice let me know she had been equally startled.
“I’m not meaning to intrude,” he said to her, “but I should be able to assist Mister Pennington here without having to interrupt Doctor M’Benga.” Then he looked back at me with the expression of someone who seemed as interested in talking to me as I might be in talking to him.
“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, Jennifer,” I said as I joined him. “I hope to see you again.”
“Mister Pennington,” she replied, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows a bit as if she might be warning me of the conversation to come. I winked in reply and caught up with the physician, whom I knew to be the space station’s chief medical officer as well as a personal friend of Commodore Reyes.
“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’Prynn.”
“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’Prynn’s condition than her simply dropping to the deck,” Fisher said. “Any insight you could offer might be helpful.”
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’Prynn, and in that moment, I grasped that her situation might be more dire than I had thought. “In the moment, she was obviously emotional. Her face was twisted . . . anguished. She was crying, I’m sure of that. It was as if she had been startled . . . well, no, it was more. She looked shocked, almost as if she had snapped under a sudden realization, or had learned something that she did not want to know.”
“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 Pennington.”
“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 after it’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.”