“Nothing,” he assured the Kandilkari. “Really. I just wanted to...welcome you aboard.”
Kastiigan inclined his head. “You are kind to do so. Would you care to stay and join me in meditation?”
Vigo had never been one for meditation. He said so.
“I understand,” the science officer told him. “For some, the manner of one’s death is a personal matter.”
“Right,” said Vigo, jumping on the excuse with both feet. “It’s personal. Very personal. So if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to my quarters and meditate on my own.”
“May you find fulfillment in your meditation.”
“You, too,” the weapons officer told him. Then he backed out of Kastiigan’s quarters and made his way down the corridor as quickly as he was able.
Phigus Simenon took a deep breath, waited for the turbolift doors to open, and headed directly for Picard’s ready room.
He knew the captain was there because the ship’s computer had told him so. Still, he glanced at the bridge’s center seat to make sure the situation hadn’t changed.
Picard wasn’t there, but Commander Wu was. And in Simenon’s experience, Wu was the sort of individual who wanted to know everything that was going on.
Everything. Without exception.
Seeing Wu’s head turn in his direction, Simenon looked away again. The last thing he wanted to do was engage the second officer in conversation. He just wanted to take care of what he had come to the bridge for and beat a hasty retreat.
But Wu didn’t seem inclined to let him do that. Rising from her seat, she intercepted the engineer and asked, “Can I help you?”
She couldn’t. Only Picard or Commander Ben Zoma could do that. “No,” Simenon told her emphatically.
He must have surprised Wu with the forcefulness of his response, because she recoiled a bit. What’s more, the other bridge officers turned to look at him.
It was exactly what he had hoped to avoid.
“All right,” Wu said, regaining her composure. “Then perhaps—”
The engineer didn’t wait for her to finish her suggestion. Instead, he turned and made his way back to the turbolift, having embarrassed himself quite enough.
As he reached the double doors, they slid apart for him. He was about to enter the lift compartment when he heard a familiar hiss.
Picard’s ready room door was opening. Simenon turned his head in time to see the captain and Ben Zoma emerge.
Before they could go anywhere, the Gnalish hurried over and planted himself in front of them. Picard looked surprised. But then, he had probably never seen his chief engineer move so quickly before.
“Mr. Simenon,” he said.
Ben Zoma smiled. “Everything all right?”
The Gnalish wasn’t in the mood for niceties. “Can I see you in private?” he rasped. “Both of you?”
Picard’s eyes narrowed. No doubt, he was trying to divine the reason for Simenon’s discomfort.
“Of course,” he said at last.
“Good,” the engineer snapped, and led his superiors back into the captain’s ready room.
Ensign Nikolas was whistling to himself as he made his way to the bridge for his training session with Commander Wu.
Wu wasn’t exactly known as an easy taskmaster. People didn’t often whistle on their way to meetings with her. But this once, Nikolas felt justified in doing so.
To that point in his career on the Stargazer, he had earned a reputation for arriving at his training sessions just in the nick of time, raising the eyebrows of the officers in charge of them. In fact, some of the ensign’s friends had picked up on his habit and given him the obvious moniker: “Nik of Time.”
But this time he wasn’t going to show up exactly when he was due. For once, he was going to be early for something.
That was his intention, at least.
But as Nikolas passed the doors to the ship’s gymnasium, which were situated between his quarters and the nearest turbolift, he saw them slide open. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw a feminine figure come out of the gym.
Of course, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be detained if it was just any feminine figure. But it wasn’t. It was Idun Asmund, her cheeks flushed with evidence of her exertions, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.
Nikolas didn’t know he was slowing down to acknowledge her until he had already done it. “Lieutenant,” he said a little awkwardly.
She glanced at him, her eyes the blue of polar ice, and said, “Ensign.” Then she made her way down the corridor.
As he watched her retreat, he couldn’t help smiling. Idun Asmund was a living work of art. No, he corrected himself—better than that. She was a genuine masterpiece.
“Nikolas?” said a familiar, high-pitched voice.
The ensign looked away from the object of his admiration just long enough to see who had greeted him. He found himself peering down at a small, pink humanoid who—as the ever-sensitive Joe Caber had gleefully pointed out—looked a lot like a plucked chicken.
In this case, a plucked chicken in midnight-blue gym togs.
“Obal,” said Nikolas.
The Binderian, who worked in security under Pug Joseph, looked up at him with a distinct glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Nikolas resumed his admiration of Idun Asmund. “Appreciating one of the finer things in life.”
A moment later, the helm officer vanished around a bend in the corridor. The ensign sighed. All good things come to an end, he mused, and he couldn’t think of anything better than the sight of such an attractive woman.
Nikolas turned to his friend—and realized something. “Hey... you were working out in the gym just now, weren’t you?”
“Why, yes,” said Obal.
The ensign smiled. “You know what? You’re one lucky guy.”
“And why is that?”
“Well,” said Nikolas, “it’s not everybody who gets a chance to share a gym with one of the Asmund twins.”
The Binderian’s brow wrinkled over his big, round eyes. “What does luck have to do with it? Are the Asmunds less likely to make use of the gym than other crewmen?”
Nikolas chuckled. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Obal shrugged his bony shoulders. “I suppose not.” The ensign wasn’t all that surprised. As humanoid development went, Obal’s people were pretty far off the beaten track. Nonetheless, he did his best to explain.
“You see, buddy, by human standards, the Asmund twins are hot. I mean really hot.”
Obal looked just as perplexed as before. “Hot?”
Nikolas sighed. “They’re... how can I put it? Extremely desirable mating partners. Get it?”
A light went on in the Binderian’s eyes. “Ah,” he said knowingly. “Hot. Of course.”
Nikolas pointed to his friend’s chest. “And you got to get sweaty with her. You know what that makes you? The envy of every human male on board—me included.”
Obal shrugged again. “If you say so. But, you understand, we didn’t engage in any mating practices. We merely fought.”
It was the human’s turn to be perplexed. “You mean you...sparred with her? With Idun Asmund?”
The security officer nodded. “It was her idea, actually. She said she had heard of my prowess as a hand-to-hand combatant and wished to see if the stories were true. As it turned out, it was an exhilarating experience for both of us.”
Nikolas smiled. After all, he had seen Obal in action. His friend was as fast as lightning and twice as devastating.
“Then you must have pulled your punches, my friend. Otherwise, the lieutenant wouldn’t have walked out under her own power.”
Obal let a smile of his own leak out. “I suppose I did pull my punches a little.”
It had to be more than just a little, Nikolas mused. But what he said was, “That’s what I thought.” Then an idea came to him—a brillant, absolutely inspired idea. “Say, do you
think you could set up a sparring session for me?”
The Binderian looked at him. “With Lieutenant Asmund?”
“Yup. With Lieutenant Asmund.”
Obal thought about it. “You’re sure you’d like that?”
“I know I would. It would give me a chance to get to know her a little better—and there are few things I would rather do in life than get to know Idun Asmund.”
Obal seemed to understand. “All right. I’ll try.”
“That’s the spirit,” Nikolas told him. “And if she agrees, I’ll treat you to dinner.”
His friend eyed him suspiciously. “But dinner is available to all crewmen free of charge.”
“Picky, picky,” said Nikolas, already dreaming about his sparring session with the statuesque helm officer.
Unexpectedly, Obal made a face. “Wait a second...”
“What is it?” the ensign asked.
“Shouldn’t you be on the bridge? I distinctly recall your saying that you had a training session scheduled with Commander Wu.”
Nikolas felt the blood drain from his face. “Gotta go,” he blurted and sprinted down the corridor, hoping he could catch a turbolift before it was too late.
Picard sat down behind his desk and watched Ben Zoma fill the chair on the other side of it. But their chief engineer remained on his feet, pacing back and forth across the captain’s ready room with his hands clasped behind his back.
Picard had seen Simenon agitated before, but seldom like this. It worried him.
“Won’t you sit down?” he asked Simenon.
The Gnalish shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” Suddenly, he stopped and looked directly at Picard. “I need a leave of absence. For personal reasons.”
“Personal reasons?” Ben Zoma echoed.
Simenon hesitated, his ruby eyes blinking. “Yes,” he said finally.
It was clear that he didn’t wish to go into any detail regarding his request. However, the captain felt compelled to make sure his officer was all right.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
Again, Simenon hesitated, as if that were a difficult question to answer. Then he said, “Everything is fine.”
Picard frowned. “You’re not ill, are you?”
The engineer looked at him askance. “Why do you ask?”
The captain smiled. “Isn’t it obvious? You seem to have something on your mind.”
“That’s for sure,” Ben Zoma chimed in. “Come on, Simenon. You’re among friends. What’s going on?”
Leave it to Ben Zoma to cut to the chase, Picard reflected. He regarded the engineer. “Phigus?”
For a moment, he thought Simenon might let them in on his problem. Then the Gnalish’s lizardlike features hardened with resolve. “I have to go back to Gnala,” he said. “That’s all. And if you’re my friends, you won’t ask me any more questions.”
Picard and his first officer exchanged glances. The captain didn’t like the idea of letting the matter drop. However, Simenon wasn’t leaving him any other option.
“Very well,” Picard said reluctantly. “I’ll respect your privacy. And I’ll grant your request for a leave of absence.”
Ben Zoma looked at him and shrugged. “There’s nothing urgent about Egreggedor, is there?”
“Nothing,” the captain agreed. He glanced at the intercom grid. “Picard to Gerda Asmund.”
“Asmund here,” came the response.
“Chart a course for Gnala, Lieutenant. Best speed.”
“Aye, sir,” said Gerda.
The Gnalish looked from one of them to the other. “Thank you,” he told them. Then, before they could engage him in further conversation, he left Picard’s ready room.
As the door whispered closed in Simenon’s wake, Ben Zoma whistled. “I’ve never seen him like that.”
“Nor have I,” the captain noted.
“I wonder what’s bugging him,” said Ben Zoma.
So did Picard. But he had given his word not to pry into Simenon’s business and he meant to keep that promise unconditionally.
Chapter Five
Captain’s Personal Log, supplemental. We are more than halfway to Gnala, the world of Simenon’s birth, and he has yet to volunteer any additional information regarding his business there. In fact, he has become rather close-mouthed in general, leading me to believe that what awaits him on Gnala may be something less than pleasant for him. Still, I continue to respect Simenon’s wishes and allow him to deal with the matter on his own.
FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME THAT DAY, Elizabeth Wu’s thoughts wandered in the direction of her return to the Crazy Horse. And for the umpteenth time, she reeled them back in. For the time being, she was still serving on the Stargazer. Captain Picard and everyone else on the ship were depending on her to carry out her duties faithfully and efficiently, and she would be damned if she would fail them in any way.
Hence, her decision to visit the science section. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Lt. Kastiigan, who appeared to be a capable individual. It was just that new section chiefs often had questions, and it was the second officer’s job to answer them.
Just as soon as the double doors slid open in front of her, Wu began to look around for Kastiigan. As it turned out, he was nowhere in sight. All she could see was the section’s horseshoe-shaped bank of sleek, black sensor stations, through which all incoming data was available.
Half the stations were occupied—in every case but one by a science technician who had received prior authorization to access sensor data. The crewman who represented the exception was easy to identify, even when seen from the back.
After all, most of the 240 people serving on the Stargazer only donned a Starfleet-issue containment suit when they went outside the ship. Only one of them—a Nizhrak ensign named Jiterica, whose molecular structure was radically different from any of her colleagues’—was in the habit of wearing a suit on board.
Wu crossed the room to join Jiterica. But it wasn’t until she was standing beside the ensign that her presence was noted.
Turning in her chair, Jiterica looked up at the second officer. There was an expression of surprise imposed on the ghostly visage visible through her transparent faceplate.
“Commander,” she said, her voice sounding tinny as it emerged from her specially designed vocalization unit.
“Ensign,” Wu responded with the same note of formality.
Jiterica glanced at the monitor, then at Wu again. “I apologize. I accessed sensor data without the proper authorization.”
She was right. And the fact that she had violated regulations with full knowledge of what she was doing made her violation an even more grievous one.
The second officer’s first impulse was to come down on Jiterica for blatantly breaking the rules. However, she managed to hold that impulse in check.
Not so long ago, Ben Zoma had made Wu the object of a strict interpretation of the rules, giving her a taste of how it felt. Since then, she had become less of a stickler about regulations, and her relationships with the crew had improved as a result.
Nor, to her surprise, had anyone’s efficiency suffered. It was a lesson Wu now wished she had learned years earlier.
“It’s all right,” she told Jiterica. “It’s a minor infraction. There’s no need to apologize.”
The ensign gazed at her for a moment, her ghostly visage unreadable. “Thank you,” she said at last.
“Don’t mention it,” Wu assured her.
Peering over Jiterica’s shoulder at the monitor, she saw that the ensign was studying the file on Gamma Barchedden V, a gas giant in a distant star system. She wondered why—until she remembered that Jiterica had grown up in the atmosphere of a gas giant.
When Wu regarded Jiterica again, she thought she saw a sadness in her strange, translucent eyes. A melancholy, as if she had lost something dear to her.
“Are you...homesick?” Wu asked.
Jiterica didn’t give her an answer right away. A
nd when she did, it was an elusive one. “I was just trying to gain a better understanding of Gamma Barchedden.”
Understanding that the subject might be an emotional one, the second officer didn’t probe any deeper. “I see,” was all she said.
The ensign got to her feet—a less than graceful maneuver, thanks to the cumbersome suit she wore. “I’m due on the bridge in a few minutes,” she told Wu. Then she brushed past her and made for the exit.
Wu’s heart went out to Jiterica. After all, the Nizhrak hadn’t had an easy time of it on her last vessel, nor had she made any friends to this point on the Stargazer.
And yet, if not for her contribution to their search for the White Wolf, they might never have had an opportunity to find the pirate. Obviously, the ensign had a lot to offer.
But she might never get the chance unless someone took her under her wing. Someone like me, Wu thought.
She might not have planned to serve on the Stargazer much longer, but while she was there she was going to see what she could do on behalf of Ensign Jiterica.
Vigo wasn’t exactly a stranger to the Stargazer’s engineering section. As chief weapons officer, he often had occasion to check on the various systems that generated and delivered the energy used in phaser and photon torpedo barrages.
But he hadn’t come to engineering to check on any systems this time. He had come to see his friend Pug Joseph.
Vigo found him in his office, a small cubicle that lay just past the weapons diagnostic room and opposite the locked phaser armory. As the Pandrilite filled the doorway with his bulk, he saw Joseph look up from whatever work he was doing on his computer terminal.
“Vigo,” said the security chief. He swiveled around in his chair. “What’s up?”
“I... wanted to speak with you,” the Pandrilite told him.
Joseph’s brow pinched over the bridge of his nose.
“You don’t look so good. Is everything all right?”
Vigo averted his eyes. “Perhaps not everything.”
The human leaned forward. “What’s the matter?”
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