Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [12]
Lieutenant Shubunkin had gone on at length, spinning a gossamer theory supported by obscure ideas about racial talent, harmful solar rays, and synchronistic curves. The ideas were no more than theories themselves. Picard had thought all his arguments pretty unlikely, and Riker had politely argued with Shubunkin; but beyond making a few off-color comments, Commander Mont had said nothing. Picard was certain that before Shubunkin began to speak, Mont had not even heard of the Trilg.
This was an expert on first contact?
The next morning Picard had asked Troi what her impression of Mont was.
“He seems to be very satisfied with himself.”
“Not shy?” Picard asked.
“I detected no unease last night. However …” She looked to one side, pursed her lips, and shook her head. When she looked at the captain again, it was with the direct, guileless stare Picard had come to trust. Troi said, “He is definitely hiding something. There is a tension in him, a waiting.”
“For what?”
“I have no idea.”
Picard had asked her to tell him more if anything occurred to her, but so far, except for making a similar observation on the bridge a few hours earlier, Troi had said nothing about Commander Mont.
Troi was next to the captain now, staring out the port at the rainbow smudges that the warp field made of the stars. At the other end of the table, Mont and Shubunkin were having a quiet conversation.
Despite the evidence of his own observations and instincts, despite the corroborative feelings of Counselor Troi, Data’s research into Commander Mont’s background had turned up nothing unusual. He’d gone to school, he’d come up through the ranks in a very normal way, he’d published the following papers. The man was a puzzle, and Picard did not like it.
The door sighed open, and Mr. Data entered with Professor Baldwin. Baldwin had showered and changed into a clean bush outfit. It was khaki, neatly pressed, and sporting many pockets, just the way it had come from the clothing fabricator. He had trimmed his beard, but it was still there, giving his face a faintly demonic look that, Picard understood, women found attractive.
Picard and Baldwin shook hands and clasped each other’s shoulders, made social noises about how long it had been, and indeed, they had not seen each other for at least fifteen years. While Data sat down on the captain’s other side, Baldwin shook hands all around, lingering a little over Troi’s. Troi did not seem to mind.
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise,” Picard said.
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Settling in all right?”
Baldwin sat down and said, “Yes, fine. I understand it’s two weeks to Memory Alpha.”
“At warp five, yes,” Picard said.
Baldwin frowned, but Mont said, “Barely enough time to begin.”
Shubunkin said, “We can begin now. I understand there is an infowafer …” He held out his hand.
From one of his shirt pockets Baldwin took a green plastic square no bigger than the square of insulating tile that had come from the twentieth-century space shuttle Enterprise and was now in stasis in one of the rec rooms.
As Baldwin handed the infowafer to Shubunkin, Data said, “It is only a copy. The original is in the safe in Lieutenant Worf’s office.”
“Just as well,” Shubunkin said. “Six months’ worth of data.”
“Including,” Baldwin said as he raised one finger, “the entire contents of the alien ship’s computer memory.”
“You were able to download it?” Shubunkin said, obviously surprised.
“All part of the job.”
Troi’s shy, self-deprecating smile matched Baldwin’s.
“Gentlemen,” said Picard, “you have your work cut out for you, and a limited time in which to do it. Please proceed.”
Mont and Shubunkin stood up and, as one, made a short bow toward Picard’s end of the table. The door sighed open, and they stood there looking back at Baldwin.