All Good Things__ - Michael Jan Friedman [18]
The security chief had always been proud of her reflexes. In one fluid motion, she rose from her chair and whirled—in time to see the waiter stumbling in her direction with a tray loaded with hot drinks.
Someone else would have been lucky to elude the drinks as they spilled. Tasha was able to catch the waiter and steady the tray, so that only a little of the hot liquid washed over onto the 1ounge’s soft deck covering.
“Sorry,” said the waiter, looking stricken in the face of his clumsiness. “Are you all right?” he asked. The lieutenant scowled. “Try to be a little more careful next time. The counselor and I could’ve wound up in sickbay with some nice burns.”
“I know,” the waiter agreed. “It’s just that we’re running all over the place, trying to keep everyone happy. They need someone to take charge of this placeú Someone who knows what he’s doingú” Tasha looked at him. “Or she,” she suggestedú
The waiter sighed. “Or she. Just as long as they get someoneú”
As he retreated, heeding the lieutenant’s advice to be more careful, Troi shook her head ruefully. “You know,” she commented, “I helped design this place.” Tasha turned to her. “Did you?”
The counselor nodded as the security chief sat down. “The idea was to have a venue where people could let off a little steam. Resolve conflicts. Make new friends. Thirty years from now, when I’ve retired to do something else, I envision this place continuing to do my work for me.”
“You just didn’t take into account the need for a strong manager,” observed Tasha.
Troi made a sound of resignation. “Apparently. But then, lounge management wasn’t exactly my specialty.”
As the security chief smiled, unable to help herself, she remembered her meeting. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m supposed to get together with some new shuttle pilots. You know, to get them acclimated to the way we do things here.”
“I understand,” the counselor assured her. “But stay here. I have to go now, anyway. So you can have the table all to yourself”
As she rose, not even waiting for a response, her expression changed. It became a little more serious.
“And, Tasha… if you ever feet you need someone to talk to…”
“I‘11 know where to look,” said the lieutenant sincerely. “Thanks. I mean it.”
With that, Troi headed for the exit. As Tasha watched her go, she saw a couple of the shuttle pilots meander in. Collins and Mayhew were just a little early, she noted. But where was Prieto?
Catching sight of her, Mayhew pointed in her direction, and both pilots crossed the lounge to join her. As they sat down, they seemed eager to hear what she had to say. And why not? The sooner they were briefed, the sooner they could do what they were trained to do: fly shuttles.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked them. “Prieto?”
They glanced at each other. “Er… actually…” Collins began.
“He said he’d meet us here,” supplied Mayhew. “As soon as he was…” Tasha looked at him. “Yes?”
Mayhew winced. “He had a previous engagement, Lieutenant.” She grunted. “I see. A romantic liaison, you mean?”
The pilot looked as if he were barefooting it over hot coals. “Something like that.”
Tasha glanced at the chronometer on the wall—a temporary fixture, as she understood it. Something about people not being able to relax if they were too aware of tbe time. “By my reckoning,” she said, “Prieto’s got exactly thirty-nine seconds to show up. And if he doesn’t, he’ll be old and gray before hem”
Abruptly, the doors to Ten-Forward slid aside and Prieto came bounding in. Without ceremony, he pulled up a chair and sat down between his fellow pilots. “Sorry I cut it so close,” he said. “You see, I—”
“Save it,” Tasha told him. She scowled. “Honestly, Prieto. It’s guys like you that’ll be the death of me.”
Picard’s quarters weren’t quite set up yet. In fact, they were hardly set up at all. There were only a monitor and a couple of pieces of furniture in the anteroom.
Still, it was a shelter—a haven fi’om the wondering glances of his crew, who were no doubt still puzzled by his call