Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [61]
He shook his head. There was no time for this now: he had business. He needed, first of all, to set up some situation that would make it natural for the ship’s security officer to release the computer core to Geordi’s ministrations. There was no way to tell exactly how he could do that as yet. But he would find out soon enough.
He paused by the mirror near the closet to look himself over. The uniform was indecently tight, but fortunately quite comfortable. It turned out he didn’t have to worry about bending over after all —he did a couple of experimental deep knee bends, pulled down the tunic to straighten it, and found, rather to his distress, that it didn’t need pulling down, that it was down as far as it was going to go, despite his movement. It annoyed him that these people had managed a solution to this particular problem that his own universe never had.
Meanwhile, it was time to get out there. His mouth was dry. He got a drink of water from the replicator—at least that worked the same here—and headed for the door.
He stepped out into the hall, and the man standing there saluted him—an odd gesture: a thump of the right chest, the hand then extended flat outward. Picard returned the salute as easily as he could while keeping his face as calm as possible, for the man standing guard outside his quarters was Barclay, wearing lieutenant commander’s insignia over the more or less normal-looking uniform of the junior officers.
“Any problem, Captain?” Barclay said, falling in with Picard as he walked down the hall. Another man, stationed farther down the hall, dropped into step behind them, maintaining a respectful distance.
Picard studied Barclay briefly from the corner of one eye as they walked. This was not the innocent, sometimes bemused young crewman he knew. That bemusement had an edge to it now; the slightly crazed creativity of the man, his quirkiness, seemed to have been redirected. His face had a calculating look about it, like that of someone who spends his life anticipating trouble and isn’t entirely disappointed when it finally arrives.
“No,” Picard said, “no, Mr. Barclay, no problems.”
“I had wondered,” Barclay said thoughtfully. “It’s not a time of day when you usually bother with your quarters.”
“I wanted to check something, that’s all.”
They came to the turbolift: it opened for them. Picard started to step into it and was briefly surprised when Barclay brushed past him as if he hadn’t been there. At first he was ready to write it off to discourtesy, then Picard saw Barclay alertly looking around the ‘lift, checking it for—who knew what?—devices, people, lying in wait. Picard kept his mouth shut and waited. Finally Barclay glanced up at him and said, “Bridge, sir?”
“Bridge,” Picard said, and got in. The ‘lift started moving. They stood in a silence that, for the lack of tension in it, at the moment felt almost amiable.
“Captain,” Barclay said. “Possibly I shouldn’t be telling you this …”
Picard put his eyebrows up and waited.
“The day before yesterday, Commander Riker made me an offer for my services.”
Picard kept his face as still as he could and finally fell back on Counselor Troi’s technique. “How did you feel about that?”
Barclay looked uncomfortable. “Captain, it’s not as if you haven’t always treated me well. A cut of the booty.” Booty! Picard thought. “Jumps in rank, better quarters. It’s just that—” It was his turn for his eyes to slide sideways. “It’s not always safe to say no to Commander Riker. People have a tendency to, uh—” He took a moment to find the right phrase. “Come to grief.” He swallowed. “And even chief bodyguards sometimes have accidents.”
Picard nodded slowly. “What were you planning to do about it?”
“Sir—I want to refuse him. But afterwards, I’m going to need your protection. For the moment, though, I can stall.”
“You’ll need my protection.” Picard smiled thinly. “A reversal of roles, is that it? Do you need to be taken off duty for a while?