Enigma: A Far From Home Novel (3 page)

Too many to count. So many, in fact, that she’d had the main file stored in the ship’s memory banks and then deleted it from her personal computer. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that nobody should know too much about their own future. And in a way, it was like listening to her destiny getting spelled out for her. While that particular future would never happen, knowing about it all would still inform the choices she made. Case in point, pre-empting Swogger’s breakdown.

“How did you know?” the doctors had asked her.

She’d simply smiled and told them she was attuned to the feelings of her crew.

“I wish all Captains were that way,” one of them had mumbled as they carted Swogger off.

There had been some genuine good from her other self’s message… and that was the nature of her heritage. Initially, the revelation that Andrew Singh had actually been her biological Father. And then the MS she’d inherited from him. Unlike her other self, however, Jessica had a chance at treating it.

The walk back to the
Defiant
was a long and difficult one for her, more so because of her condition. Her back hurt, her feet grew numb as ice blocks and yet she pushed on, determined to do it herself. It felt good to simply walk, unhindered by distractions from the crew, from the many problems that arose minute to minute, the plethora of issues that required her personal attention.

Commander Greene had reminded her of the fact it was a full year since Singh had died. Though she’d forgotten it was so soon, Singh had never once left her thoughts. And now, as she walked the extensive walkways of Station 6, she was reminded of the day his body was shot out into space.

Then the Draxx had arrived – and immediately after that, she’d commanded the
Defiant
in an effort to stop it from destroying them all. Her grief at Singh’s memorial service had been forgotten then, and indeed in the aftermath of those events.

But not now.

Right now, she felt it all, raw as it had been back then.

I’ll shake it off,
she thought. Jessica shook her head and a thin smile appeared on her lips.
No I won’t, and that’s the point.

Captain King walked through the decontamination jets of the
Defiant
‘s airlock and felt relief at finally being on familiar decking. She wasn’t much in the looks department, and she happened to be pretty old, but the
Defiant
was home.

And after all, home is where family is.

7.

“So, waddaya think of the joint?” Dollar asked her.

Selena glanced around. “It’s nice. But not as nice as the company.”

They sat in a little place called
The Chili Leaf
, nestled between a tattoo parlour and a multi-purpose store on the station’s promenade.

She reached across the table, took hold of his hand, and squeezed. Dollar couldn’t help but smile. It had taken a while, but thankfully, the bond he’d had with Selena Kyle in the previous timeline was the same here. He’d managed to rekindle his relationship with her, though it pained him not to be able to tell her the real story. The most he’d been able to say was “I used to work for Covert Ops, which is why I can’t tell you about my previous duty.”

That had been enough for her. He suspected she’d tried to look him up, and knew that all she’d get was a warning:

CLASSIFIED DATA

ACCESS TO PERSONNEL FILE DENIED

She admitted as much after trying to peek into his past.

“Thought ya would,” he’d said.

“Well, I had to try, didn’t I?”

Now, here they were, a full six months into their relationship. And it was as strong as before, if not stronger.

“Six months . . .” Selena said.

“I know,” Dollar said. “Amazin’ ain’t it? Who’da thought a rogue like me would end up with a little beauty like yerself?”

She let go of his hand. “Oh, shush.”

“Nah, I’m serious,” he said.

The waiter set their drinks down on the table. A moment later he returned with their starters, then left them in peace.

“I’m very lucky to have you,” Dollar told her. “And you know what?”

She shook her head. “No, go on, tell me.”

Dollar grinned in an all-too-familiar, lopsided way that managed to melt her heart, without fail, every single time. “Yer lucky to have
me
.”

Before she could fire back with a suitable retort the Texan had stuffed a forkful of salad into his mouth and proceeded to chew, his mouth slapping back and forth in a comedic manner.

And then, all she could do was laugh at him.

8.

“I don’t know how we all got off the ship at once,” Lisa Chang said as Kyle Banks got another round in. Crew from the
Defiant
had flooded into Mickey’s, and the atmosphere was familiar and friendly. There was a good vibe in there, though the takeover probably hadn’t gone down so well with the station regulars looking for a quiet drink that evening.

“Don’t be such a misog,” Banks said and shoved another shot at the Lieutenant. “Here, drink up.”

Chang rolled her eyes, but downed the shot without hesitation. The liquor burned her throat and made her gasp. She slammed the shot glass down on the counter, much to Banks’s surprise.

“Feisty,” he said with a smirk and ordered another round.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said from behind. Chang turned around to find Olivia Rayne there at the bar.

“Oh, hey you,” Chang said and pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Did you just get here?”

Olivia nodded. “Just got let out, you mean,” she said. “Released for good behaviour.”

The music playing over the speakers in Mickey’s changed to a slow, thumping synthpop. The bass resonated so deep it made the back of Chang’s throat vibrate.

“Drink?” Banks asked her, his voice raised over the din.

“Ooh, yes please,” Olivia said.

Chang shook her head. “Don’t let him corrupt you.”

Rayne ducked in for another kiss, and as the two parted Rayne licked her top lip. “By the taste of it, you’ve already been corrupted.”

Lisa chuckled.

Banks handed them both shots, and the three of them downed the drinks together, gasping at the end.

Olivia held her throat. “What the hell was
that
?”

“Ouch!” Lieutenant Banks exclaimed. He signalled the bartender. “Three more and keep ‘em coming!”

* * *

Dr. Clayton waited as the passengers filed onto the station from the recently docked transport. He checked his watch – an old fashioned timepiece his Father had given him when he was a boy – and noted that the merchant was late.

Then he saw him. Trundling along on a set of slippery tentacles, the Bejugit glanced around before it noticed him standing there. Clayton had had dealings with the same man (if he could be called a man) several times over the years and he knew him to be trustworthy. Before it had only been the simple matter of getting hold of restricted brandy – not exactly hardcore illegal by any means. The good Doctor happened to be partial to a nip of Veluzevaran brandy from time to time, and the only way to get hold of some was to have it shipped – by hand – from one end of the galaxy to the other. However, it was worth it.

Another time the Bejugit, who operated by the name of Landell, had transported a crate of very rare medical books from the early colonial period. There was much to be learned from those first settlers of the outer rim systems.

Landell didn’t come cheap. But this time the Union were footing the bill, much to Clayton’s surprise. Grimshaw himself had signed off on it.

“Landell my friend,” Clayton said in greeting.

The Bejugit shook his hand. “Doctor. A pleasure seeing you again.”

“Is this mine?” Clayton asked, looking down at the metal case in the alien’s other hand.

Landell smiled, showing his small, sharp teeth. “Indeed.”

“Do you have time for a drink?” Clayton asked him.

“I’m afraid not,” Landell said. “I have an item to collect from a client aboard this station, and then I must catch the next departure.”

He handed Clayton the case. “Thanks,” the Doctor said. He popped it open quickly to check that it did contain what it was meant to.

People filed past them, on their way to and fro all areas of the station.

“All there. As you asked. Very peculiar. You couldn’t have a Union ship bring that here?”

Clayton shook his head. “No. What with the upheaval following the war, they’ve put a cap on that sort of thing. I had to get a private courier to do the job. I’m afraid you’re the only man I’d even consider.”

Landell laughed. “And you’re more than welcome. I appreciate your loyalty!”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Clayton said. He handed the Bejugit a data tablet. “Just authorise that, and it’ll go straight to your account. I made sure they added ten per cent on top for the inconvenience. It’s not like they can’t afford it.”

Landell reviewed the payment information on the table, smiled his appreciation and pressed one of his fingers to the screen. A second later, the credits transferred to his own account, safe and secure. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome. Well, I won’t keep you,” Clayton said. He looked over at the timetable. “I see from the board over there your next flight out is in one hour.”

“Yes. Time waits for no Bejugit,” Landell said. He shook the Doctor’s hand once again. “You have my card, my friend. Whatever you want, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“As always,” Clayton said.

He watched the Bejugit slither off, then glanced about. The promenade was a five minute walk away. He could hear the noise. Smell the food. There was no time for that . . . but perhaps just one drink?

Why not?
he thought.
It’s been a long goddamn trip for me, too.

He headed in the direction of the promenade, carrying with him the case that may very well contain the cure to his Captain’s regrettable affliction.

* * *

Dr. Clayton shouldered his way through the crowd – the majority of the merry men and women dominating Mickey’s were faces he recognised from the
Defiant
 – and got to the bar in one piece.

“Whaddaya have?” the bartender asked him.

“Jack. Double. Straight up.”

“Gotchya.”

Clayton ran his eyes over his surroundings as his drink was prepared. He turned back as the bartended set the glass in front of him.

“Thanks,” he said and lifted the glass to his lips. He’d tried many things, from all over the place, but sometimes that craving for good old Jack Daniel’s overcame everything else. It wasn’t anything special, but it did the job.

That kid Dollar sounds like he’s from some place like Tennessee,
Clayton thought idly.
I’ll bet he grew up on the stuff. Fed it through a teat.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he half-turned to see who it was.

“Doc!” Banks said.

Inwardly he groaned. “Hey there.”

“What’re you doing here, Doc?”

Clayton lifted the glass. “What d’you think?”

Banks broke into a loud, grating laugh. The Doctor decided to hurry his drink and get out as soon as possible.

I have to put up with these idiots and their antics on the ship,
he thought.
I’m not doing it here. Goddamn kids…

“Lemme buy you a drink!” Banks yelled in his ear. Admittedly, the music was very loud.

“I’m fine, kiddo. You here by yourself?”

Clayton slung the rest of the Jack Daniel’s down his throat and grimaced for a second from the resultant heat. A good heat, a welcome burn.

“No, everyone else is over there…” Banks said, turning around to scan Mickey’s for whomever he was with.

Clayton took that as his cue to leave and swiftly waded back into the crowd. Seconds later he heard
“Doc?”
from where he’d been at the bar, but by then he was nearly at the door and well on his way.

He found it nigh impossible to enjoy himself in a place like Mickey’s where the drinks were so cheap and flowed freely. A medical man through and through, he found himself forever on the verge of giving each and every one of them a lecture.

Still, I have a few bottles of good old Veluzevaran back in my quarters,
he thought with satisfaction.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he mumbled to himself as he strode out of Mickey’s and onto the promenade, aware of the irony of rushing out of a bar to drink in private.

* * *

“I swear the Doc was here earlier . . .” Banks said. Now he couldn’t be so sure. He’d had a lot to drink.

Ken Dunham waved him off. “Nah, couldn’t have been. The Doc wouldn’t come in a flea pit like this.”

Banks seemed sure. “Oh, I don’t know. Or maybe just someone who looked like him…”

Dunham shook his head.

“To the Doc!” Billy Yamato said, lifting his beer. It was now his sixth, and he was well on his way past merriment to falling-over-his-own-feet drunk. Unlike other joints on other Starbases, Mickey’s only served real alcohol. None of the synthetic stuff those other dives peddled. Starbase 37 had been the only other station the
Defiant
had so far visited that held real booze – perhaps because it was so far out from the rest of the Union.

Trouble was, when crews got a chance to let their hair down, they couldn’t hold their drink. It soon got the better of them.

So to say the crew of the
Defiant
partying in Mickey’s were wasted was an understatement.

They all raised their drinks in a toast. “The Doc!”

Why they would be drinking to Dr. Clayton was anyone’s guess. Not that they needed a reason to drink.

The music thumped and thumped around them, the lights strobed from time to time in a way that made them feel unsteady. Chang, Rayne, Banks, Dunham and Yamato drank round after round.

“We deserve this,” Chang said in Rayne’s ear.

Olivia nodded. “Yeah.”

“It’s been tough.”

“But good, no?”

Chang smiled. Drunk – more than tipsy drunk – she looked positively goofy with her big smile and sleepy eyes.