Finding Home
by Philippe de la Matraque
Sequel to Alien Us
Chapter Eight
Dr. MacCormack yawned. Quarterly reports were not her favorite part of the job. It was late. Quite late. Dinner was hours ago. She'd had something from the canteen sent up and ate at her desk. The rest of the evening had been reports from each department and then writing her report, bringing all the information together. She'd so much rather work directly with patients, even closer than she had with Reed. She liked the detective work of diagnostics particularly. But she tolerated this interruption four times a year in return for overseeing and leading her team of fine physicians, nurses, and therapists.
Another fifteen minutes and she'd be done and ready to head home. She took another swig of her coffee and winced because it had gone cold. She heard footsteps running and getting closer. She looked up to see Mark, one of Dr. Varnis's nurses arrive in her doorway. "There's a situation, ma'am."
MacCormack came around her desk and followed Mark. She could hear the commotion before she saw the situation.
"You murdered her! You and your people. You butchered her like a piece of meat." It was an older man, paunchy, with an air of man used to wielding authority. In an overbearing sort of way. A dark-haired, middle-aged woman stood a bit farther away. Dr. Varnis stood between the man and the Recovery corridor.
"Mr. Reed," Varnis tried, raising her voice slightly.
"You mutilated my daughter's corpse. Left us little more than a husk to bury. And why? She had months left. You killed her and for what? He wasn't worth killing her!"
"Get Commander Charles Tucker III here ASAP," she whispered to Mark, "and get Security." Then she deliberately walked up behind the man. "That is quite enough!" she commanded. "This is a hospital and our patients need their rest."
"You!" He rounded on her. "You signed off on it! Killed my daughter!"
"Your daughter chose to be an organ donor for her brother and others."
He used the same commanding tone. "She was compromised and you took advantage of her condition."
"Why don't you come with me to my office," she offered without softening her tone, "and we can discuss this without disturbing any more patients."
Security came at that moment. "Sir," Serena interjected, "I suggest you go with our CO or we'll remove you from these premises." James and Kim stood behind her. They made an imposing team.
And that worked. The man, Retired Admiral Stuart Reed, MacCormack had surmised, stopped yelling.
MacCormack turned and started back to her office. She half-hoped Reed and his wife chose to leave but she didn't look back. She knew Serena and her men would get the Reeds to follow.
She made it back to her desk, and pulled a PADD from her drawer just before the Reeds entered. She set her jaw and spread her arms as she leaned forward to splay her fingers on her desktop.
Admiral Reed entered with his wife following. Serena took up the rear.
"Please, sit," MacCormack offered, only now softening her voice. She indicated the chairs in front of her desk. They sat and Serena adopted a parade rest posture behind them.
"Your daughter's own physician found her competent to make the decision," MacCormack informed them. She handed the PADD to Mrs. Reed. The admiral snatched it from her. "And she was fully cognitive when she sat right where you are, Mr. Reed, and volunteered to be her brother's donor."
"Admiral Reed," he spat back.
"Retired," MacCormack reminded him. "She was adamant that she did not want her brother to have to wait. Madeline Reed, herself, initiated the energy pulse that her sent her into brain death. She chose this. I am sorry for your loss, but your son is alive because of her sacrifice."
"And her hand?" he demanded. "Who got her hand?"
"Generally, the names of donors and recipients are kept confidential. The relationship between your daughter and your son made that impossible. But I'll not disclose any more. The hand, however, was amputated according to her will."
"What will? We haven't found her will."
"The hand and the return of her body were the only obligations from her will that involved this hospital," MacCormack stated. "Beyond that, we are not in the business of executing wills. However, the general custom is that those named in the will are contacted by the executor of said will. Now, if you don't mind, I have reports to finish. Lt. Brockmeyer will see you out."
"I'm not finished!" he shouted, rising.
"Yes, you are," MacCormack countered, "and if I see or hear you in my halls again, I'll have you arrested for putting recovering patients at risk." She nodded to Serena.
Mr. Reed scowled, but he got around the chair to leave. Mrs. Reed followed but never said a word. It left MacCormack to wonder if she shared her husband's sentiments or was too cowed by him to protest.
MacCormack called Trevon and asked him to return. If Lt. Reed had heard any of that, he was going to need help. This was the worst way for him to find out that his sister was his donor.
After MacCormack and Security had left the corridors, Dr. Varnis and her nurses went door to door, reassuring patients and helping them get back to sleep. They had started where the commotion had started and moved back toward the Recovery wing. Kelen met her in the junction between the two wings just as she left Sgt. Ip's room. "He's not in his room," Kelen whispered.
"Lt. Reed?" Varnis asked for clarification. "He can barely walk. Where would he go? You checked the restroom?"
"Yes, doctor," Kelen replied. "It's empty."
"Keep looking," Varnis told her. "I'll let MacCormack know."
Kelen went one way and Varnis went the other. MacCormack was back in her office. She was just turning off the computer so she must have finished her reports. Varnis knocked on the door frame. When MacCormack saw her, she said, "Lt. Reed isn't in his room."
"It's imperative we find him," MacCormack stated. She came around the desk. "And whoever finds him needs to approach him gently. Could he have heard them?"
"Patients three doors down from him heard," Varnis replied.
"Thanks, Janis, let's finish calming them and find him."
Trip walked back into Starfleet Medical at 2213. The lights were dimmed and there was a whispered frenzy in the corridors as he approached Malcolm's room. Trip went straight there. But Malcolm wasn't in the room. He checked the restroom, even under the bed. Mom always said when you looked everywhere something that's lost should be, you gotta start looking where it shouldn't be.
He went back to the hall and spotted Dr. MacCormack. He wasn't sure why she was still here so late. "What's going on?" he whispered. "Where's Malcolm?"
MacCormack pursed her lips like she didn't like what she was about to say. "We don't know."
Trip wasn't sure he heard that right. "What do ya mean, ya don't know?"
"There was a disturbance this evening," she explained. "Mr. and Mrs. Reed came, after hours, claiming they wanted to see their son. Dr. Varnis wasn't going to allow that. Mr. Reed started shouting some rather incorrect and very cruel things."
Trip felt his stomach drop. "What kind of things?"
MacCormack sighed. "That we had murdered his daughter and mutilated her body to save his son, who he expressed wasn't worth it."
Trip couldn't breathe. "His sister?" It felt like Lizzie had died all over again.
"She volunteered, Commander," MacCormack said her defense. "She wanted to save her brother."
"I saw her," Trip said. "I talked to her. I had tea with her the night we arrived. She said she was sick but she seemed fine."
"Brain tumor," she replied. "Incurable."
Trip pushed the confusion aside. "When were you plannin' on droppin' that on him?"
"There was no good time to do so," she held. "It would have risked his health. But this is the absolute worst way for him to find out, and he's going to need a friend when we find him. Do you have any idea where he might have gone? He hasn't escaped the compound. We checked security sensors at the doors."
"Could they have taken him somehow?" Trip didn't want to think his parents were that evil, but why else was he so hard to find?
MacCormack shook her head. "Not unless they had someone else working with them, but it would be on the sensors. Besides, Security escorted them out."
Trip rubbed one hand through his hair and tried to think. Malcolm could barely cross the room. "What about Trevon? Can't he contact him telepathically?"
"I've tried." Trip spun around to see the Betazoid approach. "He's not answering me."
Then he remembered this morning. Malcolm was so much more relaxed at the park. But that would have been a very long walk for him. "The courtyard?"
"How could he manage that?" But MacCormack pulled out a communicator anyway. "Serena, scan the courtyard."
Trip counted the seconds as they waited for a reply. "One patient, male, near the pond."
The pond? Trip started running. Trevon was right beside him. "He's aquaphobic," Trip told him as they ran.
He had recognized the voice shouting, and the words had cut him to his soul. Maddie was dead and he wasn't worth it. Maddie was dead. That was why she hadn't come. The shouting continued. He stood, knocking the PADD to the floor. He ignored it, couldn't hear it. The walls around him were stark, the bed across the room was a metal slab anchored to the wall. But they'd left the door open. He had to escape. He had to try.
He caught the door frame, turned right. His legs felt sluggish but he kept going, using the handrail in the hall for support. He stepped with his legs and pulled with his arms. The walls were closing in, he had to make it out. The pain in his chest nearly drove him to his knees. Maddie was dead. He pulled on the rail and rose again, aiming for the bright spot at the end of the collapsing tunnel he was in.
He could barely breathe for the exertion--and the pain. He had to get out. "You mutilated her corpse!" he heard again. "This is your fault! You weren't worth the expense. Swim! You know how to swim! You cost me everything!"
It was like he was being cut open, but this time he could move. This time he could gasp. If he could just get away.
The light, the tunnel's end. He pushed open the doors, stumbled out in the crisp night air. But it was hot to him. Hot and dry under an oppressive sun. He kept going. He could see water ahead.
By the time he reached the edge of the pond, he was crawling on his knuckles and his knees. The grass was cool and slightly damp, but, in his mind, it was sand and it burned his fingers, his legs. He had to get to the water.
"Come to me, Malcolm." A woman's voice. Hoshi? "Come closer. I can save you." No, not Hoshi, but he recognized her just the same. "The air is hurting you. Come to me."
His fingers sank into the mud and the water licked his wrists, seeped under the splints and into the bandages. He sat back and panted against the weight he felt. The hurt.
"We belong together, Malcolm," the voice sang to him. It was quiet, sultry, alluring. "I could have saved you from the bullies. From the orcs. From your father. Come to me, and I will take away all that pain."
He couldn't feel the water on his knees, the mud on his shins as he knelt by the pond. He couldn't think. He could only feel the pain, hear the voice. In the very deepest part of himself, sinking him into the ground. It hurt more than anything T-Rex or Sauron had done, and he couldn't make it stop. She said she could.
Trip saw him kneeling by the pond. His white pajamas stood out starkly against the dark of the grass. Trip ran harder until he reached him, and he slid the last few feet so that he stopped at Malcolm's level. "Malcolm?"
Malcolm didn't turn to him. He had a dazed look on his face. Tears were falling down his cheeks and he was breathing heavy.
Trip ignored the mud on his pant legs as best he could. It was cold and wet. He'd never seen Malcolm like this. Trip waved Trevon away for now. Others had come, too. Trip kept all his focus on Malcolm.
He put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and moved closer. Malcolm's head turned, and in the wan light, he looked half dead. "Hoshi will understand," he breathed.
No! The realization slammed into him. Malcolm would drown himself to stop the pain. Trip took both of his shoulders and turned him to face him better. "No, Malcolm," he argued. "She won't." He took Malcolm's face in his hands. "If you die, she will die. She'll find a way, just like she did in Buftanis." Then he pulled Malcolm to him and held him. "You can survive this, Malcolm."
Trip stood, lifting Malcolm with him and stepped away from the water. Malcolm was dead weight so they only got a couple feet before they dropped again. Trip just held him. It felt like hours before Malcolm moved at all. He dropped his head to Trip's shoulder and let out a weak sob.
Trip held him tighter. "I know it hurts, Malcolm," he whispered in his ear. Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I know how much it hurts. You tried to help me through it and I pushed you way. Let me help you through it."
Trevon came closer. He was pushing a wheelchair. Another doctor stood off to the side. Trip waved Trevon over, and, between them, they lifted Malcolm and poured him into the chair. He was limp again, like a doll, and he just stared at the pond. Trip's mind whirled. Malcolm couldn't stay here. Not like he was, not with the courtyard within reach. They would have to restrain him. That would make things worse.
He had to get Malcolm out of here. He had to take him home. He looked to Trevon. "Stay with him. Move him back, under a tree, away from the pond. Don't leave his side."
"I won't," Trevon promised.
Trip held Malcolm's shoulders. "I'm going to go get your stuff. I'll be right back."
Then he ran. Past the doctor, the gawking nurses and orderlies, and Security. He ran through the doors and down the corridors, all the way to Malcolm's room. He fished the bag from under the bed and put the PADD he'd left with Malcolm into it. He found another on the floor and turned it on. It was a letter, a love letter. To Hoshi. He turned it off and tucked into the bag.
"Where will you take him?"
MacCormack was there. "He can't stay here. They know where he is."
"Do you think they would intentionally hurt him?"
"They already have hurt him," Trip countered. "He was gonna drown himself in that pond."
"It hasn't been a week since surgery. He needs medical care," she argued.
"North Mississippi Medical Center in Tupelo. Real close to my parents' place. You can coordinate his care with them, but I'm takin' him home." Trip looked around the room for anything else. "My brother-in-law is a home health nurse. He's between assignments." He checked the bathroom and found some grooming implements.
"Commander," she started but Trip cut her off.
He couldn't let her override him. "He was doin' better. Healing, talking. He talked to Trevon! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get Malcolm Reed to talk about himself? It took a near-death experience with him for me. The two of us in a disabled shuttle, light-years away from Enterprise with not enough oxygen and a whole bottle of bourbon. He can't stay here."
She nodded. "I'll need to get his files transferred. And I'll need the address."
He had everything. It was time to go. "Get 'em and meet me in the courtyard. You might want to clear it of unnecessary people 'cause I'm puttin' my flitter down right in the middle of it."
She nodded and they left the room together. She went toward her office, and he went toward the exit. As he neared the flitter, a woman stepped out of the shadows. She was carrying what looked like a silver briefcase. "Commander Tucker?" She had a British accent like Malcolm and Madeline.
"I'm a little busy right now," he told her.
"You work with Lt. Malcolm Reed?" she asked, stepping closer.
Trip stopped and turned to face her. "Who are you?"
"My name is Sarah Farmer. His sister, Madeline, worked for my firm. She asked me to be the executor of her will. I need to see Malcolm Reed. I have to give him this." She held up the case.
"I can take it to him," Trip offered, softening his tone.
She shook her head. "I have to transfer it directly to him."
Trip sighed. "Well then, get in. But when we get there, make it quick and I'll do the talking. He's not really in a good place right now."
"I imagine not," she said, stepping into the flitter. "I saw Mr. and Mrs. Reed storm out of there a while ago. I saw him at the funeral, too. He's turned his grief into a furious anger."
Trip got in, sat in the pilot's seat and fired up the engine. "You know them?"
She sat in the passenger seat. "No, I knew Madeline. But it was easy to pick them out at the service. I tried to get here before them."
The flitter lifted from the ground. Trip took it over the hospital. He used the comm system to call home, audio only.
"Trip." His mom.
"I'm bringing him back with me," Trip told her.
"I understand. We'll be ready." He closed the channel.
The courtyard was below them. He lowered the flitter and turned off the engine.
Ms. Farmer put a hand on his arm to stop him from getting up. "She loved her brother very much. I got that much just from talking with her. She was very proud of him. She recorded a journal after she got sick. It's in this case. He should watch it, but maybe he should watch the last entry first. She had been depressed about her illness. Her death seemed like a waste of a young and talented life. Then she heard her brother needed a heart. She was happy the last time I saw her. She felt her death would have meaning because she could save him. He needs to hear that, I should think. From her."
That matched with what MacCormack had said about Madeline volunteering. Trip got up and opened the door.
Trevon had wheeled Malcolm to the nearest tree and turned him away from the pond. Malcolm didn't try to leave the chair. He hadn't moved at all. Trevon waited for Dr. Varnis to finish her scan. Then he knelt on one knee in front of the chair. "Malcolm," he said, talking very gently, "please, talk to me."
"I'm not Sam." Trevon was startled. But Malcolm's lips hadn't moved. "I'm Faramir." Trevon felt a great weight on his chest, and he realized it was from Malcolm's mind. So he steeled himself, used his training to block the wave of sadness that poured from the man in that chair. He focused on the words, the names. Sam and Faramir. Sam had been his codename. Why Faramir? Less favored son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Favored son, Boromir, had died. Faramir had asked his father if he'd wished their places had been reversed, if he had died instead of Boromir. Denethor said he did wish it. That fit the situation. Fortunately, he was a fast reader. He'd finished the third book just this evening.
Faramir outlived Denethor, he communicated back to Malcolm. Aragorn saved him from the Black Breath, and he won the heart of Éowyn. Just as you won the heart of Hoshi Sato.
But Malcolm said no more, and Trevon couldn't be certain he had heard. The dark, pounding melody had drowned out the descant. And Hoshi wasn't here to reinstate it.
Trip found Trevon and Malcolm and motioned for Ms. Farmer to follow. Trevon stood and Trip knelt in his place in front of his friend. "This woman needs to give you something," he told Malcolm. "Something from Madeline."
Ms. Farmer came closer. There was a small device attached to her case. She put the case on the arm of the chair and lifted the device. She pressed her thumb to it. "Now his," she whispered.
Trip had to help Malcolm put his thumb on it. It beeped and the device came away. She put the case on the ground next to the chair, then nodded and backed away.
Trip looked to Trevon. "Can you put that in the flitter?"
Trevon nodded. "Yes, and I'll help you get him in." He picked up the case and walked toward the vehicle.
Trip looked at Malcolm and was sorry for the time he'd called him the grim reaper. Something very wrong in the Reed family had made Malcolm the way he was.
Dr. MacCormack arrived with a couple PADDs as Trip pushed Malcolm toward the flitter. "I've contacted the Med Center. I'll coordinate with Dr. Perez. She'll need to see Malcolm as soon as she's able." They reached the flitter. Trevon was inside and they both worked to move Malcolm from the chair to the passenger seat. Trevon folded the empty chair and tucked it into the back. Then he moved forward and whispered into Trip's ear. "I need to keep working with him."
"You may be the only one who can," Trip agreed, touching his temple. MacCormack stuck her head in after Trevon stepped out. "First one is instructions for your brother-in-law." Trip took the PADD she handed him and stowed it in Malcolm's bag with the others. "Second is for you. I need the address."
Trip took it and wrote his parents' address before handing it back. "Trevon's gonna need that, too."
"He's assigned here."
Trip took a breath and knew he was about to betray a confidence. But it had to be Trevon. Trip leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "Malcolm is a telepath. He needs Trevon."
It took her a beat but her eyes went wide. "I'll make it happen." Then she handed him a blanket. "Keep him warm." She leaned back out and stepped away. Trip closed the door then tucked the blanket around Malcolm. Malcolm didn't react. He looked so lost. Trip sat down and lifted the flitter from the ground. "We're goin' home, Malcolm."
Trevon stood beside Dr. MacCormack and watched the flitter lift off. Zheiren didn't break him, he told her with his mind. He'd never tried that before, but he hoped she could hear. His parents shattered him.
"He's a telepath?" she asked, replying in kind. "How is that even possible?"
We didn't get that far, but it happened there, in Zheiren. No one else should know. He's been studied enough.
"He's been hurt enough," she agreed. Then she spoke aloud. "I'll get you out there as soon as possible." Then they both turned and walked back into the hospital.
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