Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [58]
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Geordi prodded the communicator badge fastened to the breast of the uniform. It did nothing. “Even ours at least chirp if another living hand touches them. Maybe it’s personalized to the captain?”
“Have him try it when he comes out—was That was when she caught it, the quick upsurge of emotion from just outside the door, from the guard standing there. Alertness at the sound of footsteps, and then recognition.
“Quick!” she whispered, and pushed Geordi back out of sight of the door—just as it opened.
Picard strode in. He glanced around and stopped as his eyes fixed on her. The door shut behind him.
She hardly knew what expression she had expected to see on this man. What he turned on her now was a look of mild surprise, almost of pleasure; but there was a curl to the lips that would have betrayed, had she not already been able to feel it, the suspicion and annoyance he felt, tinged with both apprehension and a peculiar kind of anticipatory pleasure.
“Counselor,” he said.
She smiled at him: a slight smile such as she had seen on the face of her counterpart on the bridge. It was very much a willed act, and it took everything she had to hold it there. “Captain,” she said politely, trying to sound offhand, as if she felt she had every right to be here.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” the captain said, coming slowly toward her. “Normally you don’t choose to visit my quarters—and certainly not without your people with you.”
“I have my reasons for caution,” she said, still smiling.
The apprehension was acquiring an amused edge now, but there was also anger growing around the boundaries of it.
“You seem to have thrown the caution away for the moment,” said this Picard, coming closer to her. She forced herself not to back away. “I have ways of knowing when the computer in my quarters is being used without my authorization. Or is this another of your little tests?” He smiled, and she recognized the expression as a parody of her own. “Just checking to see that the captain’s security isn’t likely to be compromised?”
“That is a duty I undertake occasionally.”
“Well, I assure you, Counselor”—and the way he said the word was more a curse than anything else: a slur, and a nasty one—”that if anything goes wrong with this mission, it won’t be because of anything I have done or failed to do. And you can tell your master at Starfleet, whichever of them is holding the leash this week, as much. The only failure there’s been has been one of your staff.” He smiled. “A little personnel difficulty with Kowalski? Got his last promotion too soon for someone else’s tastes, perhaps?”
Troi smiled, too, harder, and, greatly daring, turned her back on him and strolled slowly toward the windows, gazing out on the starry night—trying hard to hang on to her composure. She could feel preparation, eagerness, not too far away; but much closer, riding up behind her, came that feeling of combined suspicion, amusement, and pleasure—the kind of pleasure she had no desire to feel any more of.
“You know how it is in my department,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder and flash that smile at him again. “The occasional disagreement. Not all of my people agree with me all the time.”
The counterpart Picard chuckled softly. “”Occasional,”” he said, mocking. “Indeed, it seems more than occasional lately. No, I don’t think it was a promotion problem. An evening’s entertainment that went wrong, perhaps? A crewman less than discreet about your … preferences?” That smile got wider; “No, indeed, you couldn’t leave someone to run about discussing that. Others might get ideas. So … someone from your own department, promised a little something extra —of one kind or another—slips in to visit a comrade on a lonely post. Something like that?” He was drawing closer to her now, and there was nowhere to go. “Or maybe not,” said this Picard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Perhaps—”
There was no telling what else he might have thought