Progenitor
Page 22
“A warrior does not beg,” she told him, her voice suddenly seething with emotion. “A warrior takes.”
“This is going to be good,” said Nikolas as he made his way to the ship’s gym.
“Are you certain that you wish to go ahead with this?” asked Obal, who was doing his best to keep up with the human’s longer strides.
Nikolas grinned incredulously at his friend. “Am I certain? Do Vulcans have pointed ears?”
The Binderian made a face as he bounded along. “It is only that I am concerned about the possibility of injuries.”
The ensign waved away the idea. “I’ll take it easy on her, I promise. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is hurt her.”
Then they had arrived at the gym. Nikolas pressed the pad set into the bulkhead and watched the doors slide apart in front of him, revealing a single figure waiting for him in the gym.
A single, very lovely figure.
“Ensign Nikolas,” said Idun, by way of acknowledgement. She glanced at his companion. “Lieutenant Obal.”
“Lieutenant Asmund,” the Binderian said, though it sounded to Nikolas more like a sigh.
Nikolas’s original date with the curvaceous helm officer had been postponed because of the Belladonna crisis, which had required her continual presence on the bridge. But Idun hadn’t been the least bit reluctant to reschedule.
“Thanks for walking me over,” the ensign told his friend, keeping his gaze locked on his sparring partner. “I can take it from here.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” Obal asked.
Nikolas nodded. “Never been more sure in my life.”
“All right,” the Binderian told him. “I will see you...” He hesitated for a moment. “Later.”
“Later,” the ensign agreed.
He waited until Obal had departed and the doors to the gym had slid together again. Then he rubbed his hands together in friendly anticipation and approached his partner.
“Have you had a chance to warm up?” Nikolas asked.
“I have,” Idun acknowledged. “You?”
“It’ll take just a moment,” he said.
Usually, the ensign warmed up slowly, not wanting to invite injury. But this time, he rushed it a bit. After all, he didn’t want Idun to change her mind.
“All right,” he said. “Ready.”
Idun nodded. “Good.”
She began to circle him, her hands curled like claws. She held her left hand forward and the right back near her chin.
“Interesting stance,” Nikolas observed.
“It’s Klingon,” she told him.
He smiled. “Really.”
“Really,” said Idun.
Then she came at him, shooting her right hand at his face. Nikolas moved his head to one side and avoided the blow without any trouble. Then he returned it with one of his own.
It wasn’t anything like his best shot, of course. He had meant it when he told Obal that he didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
As it turned out, the ensign’s attack missed by more than he expected. Idun was fast. Almost as fast as he was, it seemed.
Abruptly, she changed her stance. Turning her palms inward, she held her hands in front of her chest.
“Don’t tell me that’s Klingon too,” he said.
“As a matter of fact,” she returned, “it is.”
Idun came at him again, but this time she didn’t use her hands. Her body rolled gracefully and her right foot lashed out, her heel headed for his mouth.
As before, Nikolas avoided the maneuver without too much trouble. And this time, he put a little more mustard on his counterpunch.
His opponent handled it flawlessly, showing him that her earlier move was no fluke. She really was fast.
“Nicely done,” he said.
Idun didn’t answer him. Instead, she changed her stance again, reverting to the one with the clawlike fists. And she continued to circle him, her eyes as hard and blue as sapphires.
“You know,” Nikolas said, “I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
He smiled. “I only staged this match because I wanted us to become better acquainted.”
“Really,” she responded.
“That’s right,” he confirmed.
“I assume,” said the helm officer, “that you want to become acquainted with all of me.”
Nikolas felt himself blush. He had hoped this little “date” of theirs might eventually lead to something amorous, but he hadn’t expected Idun to be so blunt about it.
“Well, yes,” he replied. “Yes, I do.”
“With every facet of me?” she asked.
Nikolas couldn’t believe it. “Every facet,” he assured her. “Every last bit of you.”
“Thank you. I wanted to make certain,” Idun told him.
Then she came at him in a blur of motion.
Admiral McAteer looked out his office window at the San Francisco Bay and the island of Alcatraz that sat in the center of it, and decided that it was officially a beautiful day.
Not that he cared all that much about the view. It only mattered to him as a symbol of how far he had come and how much he had achieved to get there.
What made the day so beautiful was the prospect of having Lt. Shalay on the Stargazer.
Picard might very well recognize the Bolian for what he was—McAteer’s spy. But even if he did, he couldn’t keep Shalay from observing what went on there. And with a 28-year-old in charge of the ship, a lot had to be going on. The admiral was confident of that.
Once he got his hands on the right information, Picard would be cannon fodder. Likewise, his first officer. And next to fall would be the esteemed Admiral Mehdi, who had made the rash decision to promote those two in the first place.
As McAteer was thinking that, his intercom came alive with the voice of his assistant. “Admiral?”
“Yes, Mr. Merriweather?”
“Sir, I have a communication from Captain Picard on the Stargazer. I believe it’s a response to the orders you sent.”
McAteer smiled to himself. He had looked forward to seeing Picard’s face when he learned that yet another second officer was being foisted on him. Now was his chance.
“Thank you,” he told Merriweather.
Then he tapped out a command on his keyboard, brought up a list of messages that had been sent to him, and noted the one that was labeled “Picard.” With a deep feeling of satisfaction, he opened the message and saw the captain’s face appear on the monitor screen.
McAteer leaned back in his chair. I’ve got you now, he thought.
Picard looked nettled, even a little annoyed. However, the admiral didn’t sympathize in the least. There was no room for 28-year-old captains in Starfleet, nor was there room for men like Mehdi who tried to put them there. If Picard thought he was discomfited now, he would absolutely hate what was in store for him.
“I must say, sir,” the captain of the Stargazer began, “I’m at a bit of a loss. You seem to think Commander Wu is inclined to transfer off this vessel. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Wu tells me she has every intention of staying right here.”
McAteer felt his face go hot. “What?” he said out loud.
“It’s true,” said Picard, “that she spoke with Captain Rudolfini and discussed the openings that have occurred on the Crazy Horse. But she wanted me to emphasize that she is not going to fill either of those openings.” He smiled. “I repeat, Admiral, so there will be no further confusion—Commander Wu isn’t going anywhere.”
McAteer cursed long and volubly. Either his source on the Crazy Horse had been lying to him—which he sincerely doubted—or Picard had somehow gotten Wu to change her mind.
But why would in heaven’s name she do that? Wu prided herself on her efficiency, sometimes to a fault. What could possibly keep her shackled to a captain several years her junior, a man as raw as one of the oysters the admiral had eaten at lunch?
And what was he going to tell Shalay? That Wu had decided to stay on the Stargazer after all? That he had resigned his position on the New Orleans for nothing?
Maybe, the admiral told himself, he could come up with a reason to relieve Wu of her duties on Picard’s ship. Then he could insert Shalay as he had planned.
No, he argued inwardly. You can’t.
It was his order that had placed Wu on the Stargazer in the first place. If he got rid of her now, it would look like he had made a bad choice, and he hadn’t gotten to be an admiral in Starfleet by making himself look bad.
McAteer pounded his fist on his wooden desk, shivering everything on it. Damn Picard, he thought. Damn Wu. And damn Mehdi for putting him in this position in the first place.
But the war wasn’t over. Eventually, Picard would make a mistake. And when he did, McAteer would be there to capitalize on it.
Nikolas opened his eyes and found himself in sickbay.
“What am I—?”
“Doing here?” Greyhorse said, finishing the question for him. The doctor was standing to one side of the ensign’s biobed, checking its readouts. “You had a little accident.”
“Accident . . . ?” Nikolas muttered.
“That’s correct. In the ship’s gymnasium.”
It started to come back to him. He was sparring with Idun. She had asked some pretty startling questions. And then...
“She hit me,” the ensign realized.
“Several times in succession,” said Greyhorse, “if the bruises you sustained were any indication.”
Nikolas shook his head. “Amazing.”
“I agree,” said the doctor.
He wasn’t speaking to the ensign when he said it. He was gazing in another direction, as if lost in thought.
“Doctor Greyhorse?” said Nikolas.
Greyhorse turned to him, his eyes still a little out of focus. “Sorry. I was just thinking of . . .another patient.”
He didn’t mention who it might be. But then, Nikolas didn’t really care. He had other fish to fry.
Swinging his legs aside, he sat up and said, “I think I’m okay now. Mind if I go?”
Greyhorse gave him a disparaging look. “What sort of physician would I be if I released someone who had just been worked over by one of the Asmund sisters?”
The ensign frowned. “Just how long do you think it’ll be before I can get out of here?”
The doctor shrugged. “That’s hard to say. Mr. Nikolas. In the meantime, just out of curiosity... what did Lieutenant Asmund do to catch you at such a disadvantage?”
Nikolas described the maneuver to Greyhorse—at least, to the extent that he could remember it. Then, a little curious himself, he said, “Why do you ask?”
To the ensign’s surprise, Greyhorse went red in the face. “I’m your doctor,” he said, a note of annoyance in his voice. “If I’m to treat you, I need to know how you were injured.”
It made sense, Nikolas thought. But for just a moment there. . .
No, he told himself. Not again. He had gotten into enough trouble lately by misinterpeting what someone was thinking.
From now on, the ensign resolved, he would stay out of people’s heads—especially when they fought like a Klingon.
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