Her eyes narrowed. “Really.”
“That’s right,” Nikolas assured her. “And if I can pull my punches for them, I can pull them for you, too.”
The helm officer nodded. “I see.”
“So,” he went on, “there’s really no reason not to—”
“Name the time and place,” she said, interrupting him in the middle of his pitch.
Nikolas smiled. “Really? I mean... great. How about tomorrow, after second shift?”
Asmund’s eyes seemed to glitter. “Fine.”
“And afterward,” he suggested, pushing his luck, “a cup of coffee in the rec? And a little friendly conversation?”
Her mouth pulled up at the corners, making her look even more desirable. “One thing at a time,” she advised him.
The ensign was perfectly willing to go along with that. “One thing at a time,” he agreed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Absolutely,” he told her. “Tomorrow.”
Nikolas watched the doors to the lieutenant’s quarters slide shut. Then, rather pleased with himself, he started to retrace his steps along the corridor.
This is good, he mused. This is very good. And it wasn’t anywhere near as difficult as he had thought it would be.
Wouldn’t Obal be surprised.
As soon as his shift was over, Ulelo returned to his quarters, stretched out across his bed and tried his best to concentrate on his mission. However, it was difficult to do so. Thoughts of Emily Bender kept intruding.
He had no reason to doubt that she had known him at the Academy as she had claimed. His memories of that time were incomplete, hazy at best. All he remembered was what he had learned in his classes.
It hadn’t bothered Ulelo that it should be so. But it had bothered Emily Bender. It had bothered her a lot.
The question was...what would she do with her resentment? Would she discuss the matter with her fellow science officers? Would they think it strange that the junior comm officer couldn’t—or wouldn’t—acknowledge the experiences he had shared with Emily Bender?
And would the story spread eventually to Captain Picard and his command staff, raising doubts in their mind as to Ulelo’s character . . . if not his sanity?
He couldn’t afford that.
But what could he do about it? How could he keep Emily Bender from shining a light on his odd behavior?
He had barely posed the question when he heard the chimes that told him someone was standing in the corridor outside his quarters. Ulelo sat up on his bed and wondered who it might be. After all, no one had called on him before.
“Come in,” he said. Then he left his bedroom and entered the smaller enclosure that served as an anteroom—just in time to see the doors part and reveal Emily Bender.
“May I come in?” she asked.
Ulelo frowned. “I don’t—”
Before he could get the rest out, she slipped past him. “Thanks a bunch, Dikembe.”
As the doors to his quarters hissed closed behind him, Ulelo watched his unwanted visitor take a look around. After a moment or two, she seemed disappointed.
“You know,” she said, “I was hoping to find something from the Academy so I could pin you down. But you don’t seem to have anything of that sort on display here.” She turned to look at him. “Still, it’s you. I know—I found your name in the personnel files.”
Ulelo sighed. “Maybe we did know each other at the Academy. It’s certainly possible—I met lots of people there. It’s just that I don’t remember you.”
Emily Bender’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. We were a tight-knit group. Maybe we haven’t kept up with each other very well, but there’s no way you could have forgotten me.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I—”
She put her forefinger to his mouth, silencing him. “Don’t, Dikembe. I don’t know why you’re trying to give me the brush-off, but it’s not going to work.”
Ulelo moved her finger away from his lips. “It’s not a brush-off. I just don’t remember.”
Emily Bender smiled. “Do you believe in Fate, Dikembe?”
He frowned. “What does that have to do with—”
Her finger slid back across his lips. “You probably don’t know this, but I had a crush on you back at the Academy. A big crush, and I always regretted not doing anything about it. Then I saw you in the corridor and I realized that I’d been given some kind of second chance.”
Before he knew it, before he could say or do a thing to stop her, Emily Bender slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. She was a woman, after all, and a rather attractive woman at that.
But Ulelo wasn’t in a position to follow his instincts. Removing her arms from his neck, he shook his head.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said.
She looked at him disbelievingly. “What—?”
“A mistake,” he repeated. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Emily Bender stared at him for a moment longer. Then, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she said in an injured voice, “All right. If that’s the way you want it.”
And she left Ulelo standing there in his quarters, feeling that he hadn’t merely failed to solve his problem. Somehow, he had increased the complexity of it.
Picard looked at his first officer as they stood in his ready room. “You did what?”
Ben Zoma shrugged. “I contacted my friend Tanya, who studied the Gnalish a number of years ago.”
The captain winced. “Please tell me you didn’t speak to her about Simenon.”
“Actually,” Ben Zoma said a little sheepishly, “I did. I wanted to find out what he was holding back from us.”
Picard held his hands out in an appeal for reason. “Gilaad, that is precisely what he asked us not to do.”
Ben Zoma nodded. “I know. I butted into his business. I betrayed the trust of a friend and a fellow officer.”
“To say the least,” Picard told him.
“But I may also have saved his miserable life.”
That brought the captain up short. “What do you mean?”
Ben Zoma explained. In detail.
Picard frowned as he realized what his engineer was up against. The odds against him were considerable. But that didn’t excuse what his first officer had done.
“We agreed not to pry into Simenon’s affairs,” Picard said. “You and I both. For pity’s sake, we gave him our word.”
“So,” Ben Zoma responded matter-of-factly, “does that mean you’re not going to talk with him?”
The captain wrestled with the question. Finally, he came to the only conclusion possible. “Simenon is going to hate us for lying to him,” he told his first officer.
“I know,” Ben Zoma conceded. “But if you can’t depend on your friends to lie to you, who can you depend on?”
Picard grunted. Who indeed?
Admiral McAteer sat back in his chair and tapped the rim of the bar glass on the table beside him. The previously clear liquid inside the glass began blushing with a host of different colors.
The admiral smiled appreciatively. “Best damned Samarian Sunset I ever saw. If it tastes as good as it looks, we’re all set.”
Of course, there was no answer. The replicator that had produced the cocktail had no more to say in response to his remark than any other inanimate object in the room.
McAteer didn’t mind in the least. The truth was he liked being by himself once in a while.
Not everyone understood that, he thought, as he picked up the Sunset and conveyed it to his lips. Just because he was good with people, because he could influence them, didn’t mean he wanted to be surrounded by them all the time.
The cocktail was sour and dusky sweet and a little bitter all at the same time, a riot of unexpectedly complementary tastes. And it went to his head like an exploding photon torpedo, exactly the way it was supposed to.
“Perfec
t,” the admiral said out loud. “My compliments to the bartender.” His words of praise echoed in the room for a moment, then faded to nothing.
He didn’t normally drink by himself, especially when he was on a starship far from home. On the other hand, he seldom found himself in such a good mood.
Finding someone to undermine Picard hadn’t been as simple as he had expected it would be. He had begun to realize that after he failed to enlist the services of Rachel Garrett.
After that, McAteer had felt the need to be careful. Very careful.
Any other strategy would invite the possibility of yet another second officer turning down his offer, and in that case he would be asking for trouble. The admiral was confident that Garrett, at least, wouldn’t say anything about their discussion. But someone with less control or common sense might flap his jaws at the wrong time and expose McAteer’s vendetta.
If it became common knowledge that he was after someone for personal reasons, it would be a difficult matter to explain away. He could ill afford that kind of embarrassment at this critical juncture in his Starfleet career.
So the admiral had resolved that his next attempt would be a successful one. That meant meant putting a lot more work into the winnowing-out process. A lot more research.
More than once, he had come close to his goal—or thought he had. But time after time, there had been something about the candidate that forced McAteer to rule him or her out.
Some weren’t ambitious enough. Some were too ambitious. Some were too righteous while others couldn’t be trusted, and still others simply lacked what it took to command a starship.
At one point, the admiral thought he had found his man in the person of Donald Varley, second officer on the Invincible. Varley had started out as a fast-tracker just like Picard, a fellow who would inevitably be placed in command of a starship.
Then he had slipped off the fast track by offending a superior officer. Judging from what McAteer had read of the incident, it wasn’t really Varley’s fault. Nonetheless, it had gone against him.
The experience appeared to make Varley a little more cynical—and a great deal more practical. McAteer got the impression that the fellow would compromise a few ethics if it meant obtaining the captaincy he had always wanted.
In the admiral’s mind, Varley had been perfect—perhaps even more perfect than Rachel Garrett.
He had been all set to approach Varley with his offer. Then he had discovered one more tidbit of information—that Varley and Picard had become the best of friends in their last year at the Academy.
So much for perfect.
But McAteer hadn’t given up. He had continued to rifle through personnel file after personnel file—and finally, his work had paid off. He found a candidate he believed would not only embrace his plan but act discreetly in carrying it out.
Then and only then had he made arrangements to meet the fellow at a mutually convenient starbase—the one he was headed for now, Samarian Sunset well in hand.
“It’s only a matter of time now,” the admiral told himself gleefully. “Only a matter of time.”
And if his assessment wasn’t greeted with encouragement, neither was it met with skepticism. But then, that was the way it went when one conversed in an empty room.
Chapter Nine
IN HIS SMALL BUT NEATLY KEPT OFFICE in sickbay, Carter Greyhorse considered what he was about to do. Then he tapped his combadge and said, “Greyhorse to Gerda Asmund.” The navigator’s response came a moment later—from her quarters, according to the ship’s computer. “Asmund here. What is it, Doctor?”
She still called him that—Doctor instead of Carter or even Greyhorse. Even in the aftermath of their most exhausting lessons, when they were both standing there on the gym floor with their chests heaving and their faces flushed and the musky scent of Gerda’s sweat like perfume in his nostrils . . . even then, it was Doctor.
“It appears I won’t be able to make our lesson this week,” Greyhorse informed her.
He listened carefully for the tone of her reaction. Please, he thought, give me a crumb. Even a hint of disappointment.
“Oh?” Gerda said.
“I’m going on an away mission,” he elaborated.
“In the next few days?”
“Yes,” Greyhorse told her.
In fact, all chief medical officers went on away missions at one time or another, so there was nothing inherently impressive about his announcement. But this was the doctor’s first such mission since joining the Stargazer.
“I haven’t been apprised of any away mission,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “Is it classified?”
“It’s not,” Greyhorse assured her. And he described the endeavor in broad strokes, trying his best to wring some mystery and importance out of them.
Gerda chuckled, making his heart sink. “Oh, that. I wouldn’t call it much of an away mission.”
“There’s danger involved,” the doctor maintained. “I’ve been warned to expect casualties.”
“Casualties?” she echoed.
He licked his lips. “Yes. The captain informed me that they were a distinct possibility.”
Gerda paused, causing Greyhorse’s heart to soar. Was it possible that she was actually worried about him? Was she perhaps wondering how she might feel if he didn’t come back?
“Tell me more,” Gerda said curtly.
The doctor savored the words as he might an exotic elixir. Then he did as the navigator asked.
Picard regarded the peaceful-looking sphere pictured on his viewscreen, half of its surface brilliant with sunlight and the other half blanketed in shadow.
He had never seen this particular world before, but he had seen others very much like it. In fact, it was a good deal like his native Earth except for the predominance of red-leafed vegetation that gave its landmasses their striking crimson color.
“We’ve established orbit, sir,” Gerda announced.
Picard nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He glanced at Ulelo. “Contact the authorities, Lieutenant. Let them know we’re here.”
“Aye, sir,” said the comm officer.
Next, the captain addressed his second officer, who was waiting patiently beside his center seat. “Commander Wu,” he said, “you’ve got the bridge.”
Wu inclined her head slightly. “Acknowledged, sir.”
Picard had already briefed her thoroughly on his intentions. If she had had any questions, she would have asked them then.
He got up from his seat and headed for the turbolift. But before he could get there, he heard Wu say, “Captain?”
Surprised, he turned back to her. “Yes, Commander?”
She smiled. At least, it looked like a smile. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” said Picard.
If his luck were really good, Wu would have been remaining with him on the Stargazer instead of returning to the Crazy Horse. But the captain didn’t tell her that.
Instead, he entered the turbolift, watched the doors close, and punched in his destination. Then he waited for the compartment to take him to Transporter Room Two.
Phigus Simenon stood in the corridor outside his quarters, watched the duranium doors hiss closed behind him, and frowned at the thought that he might never see this place again.
Not that he was leaving behind the most comfortable living arrangement in the galaxy. At best, his suite was plain and uninspired, just like that of every other officer on the ship. At worst, it was poorly designed for someone of his size and physiology, not to mention his unique esthetic preferences.
But Simenon had called his quarters home, however briefly. He had looked forward to remaining in them for a while as a key component of the Stargazer’s command staff. And for that reason, he was reluctant to put the place behind him.
On the other hand, there was nothing he could do about the situation. He had received the summons. It was time to go.
Turning, he made his way down the corridor. But as m
uch as he would have liked to reach the nearest turbolift without running into anyone en route, he hadn’t even reached the first bend before two of his engineers appeared in front of him.
Urajel and Dubinski. The pair who had borne the brunt of his tirade a few days earlier.
Simenon put his head down and tried to walk past them. He desperately didn’t want to engage them in conversation right now. He didn’t want to engage anyone in conversation.
But of course, Urajel and Dubinski didn’t know that.
“Sir?” said Dubinski.
I’m going to walk right past him, Simenon told himself. I’m going to put my head down and pretend he doesn’t exist.
But of course, he couldn’t do that. No matter how much he wanted to avoid contact with anyone, Dubinski was one of his engineers. If the man had something to say, it was Simenon’s job to listen.
At least until he reached the transporter room.
“Yes?” he responded.
Dubinski shrugged. “I just wanted to apologize. I thought about what you said in engineering the other day.” He glanced at Urajel. “We all did. And we came to the conclusion that you were right.”
Simenon looked at him. “I was? I mean... of course I was.”
Urajel nodded, her antennae dipping in the process. “No matter how many times we checked the warp core, we shouldn’t have assumed there was nothing to worry about. Just as we shouldn’t have assumed the computer was on top of the situation.”
“And,” Dubinski added, “while irreparable core failure is rare without an apparent cause, I’m sure there are causes out there we’ve never even heard of.”
“In short,” said Urajel, “we acknowledge our errors and we’re going to try to do better.” Her face turned a deeper shade of blue. “And I personally regret the—”
“Question you asked?” Simenon suggested, getting her off the hook. “About my hindquarters and what might have invaded them?”
Urajel nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
Normally, the chief engineer would have simply accepted their apology and moved on. But as he didn’t believe he would be the chief engineer much longer, he said, “Don’t give it a second thought. Any of it.”
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