Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [71]
“They adjusted because you packed ‘em off to special training for combat-ready missions. You made sure we all had skills in hands-on operations management, not just Academy certificates in theories and simulators. Then you juggled us around until you found our strengths. You even pushed Brad and Bill back out to the private sector.”
“I had to push them. We had a good relationship going among all of us, and nobody wanted to be the first to leave. They were ready to go. Starfleet couldn’t make as much use of them as free enterprise could. Not everybody flourishes in uniform. CST duty didn’t make good use of their natural abilities. For others, this is the best they’ll do, or this is where they’re most useful. Better this than have them go out and try to be hotshots and wash out. Maybe cost some lives.” Travis grinned coquettishly. “What about me?”
“You? You’re a bum. I just keep you here as my first officer out of charity. And me… this is perfect for me.”
“Eric?” One of the evil twins knocked on the door, not bothering with the chime. “You asleep?” “No, come on in.”
One of the Bolts appeared and stuck his tousled blond head around the doorframe. “Permission to put a team outside and patch the PGV meter?” “As long as Jeremy says it’s safe to go out.”
“Right. And do either of you know where the cylinder punch went? As my mother used to say, ‘You had it last.’”
Travis spoke up before Stiles could bother saying he didn’t know. “It’s in the aft locker in the tool alley, Zack, on the inboard side, underneath the conduction paper.” “Thanks. Sorry to interrupt.” When they were alone again, Stiles regarded Travis with quizzical respect. “How do you tell those two apart so fast? Fifteen years, and it still takes me half a conversation.”
“Just doing what any good exo does. So… what do you think of Hashley?”
“I think he’s into something a lot more complicated than he believes,” Stiles said. “I checked the Bureau of Shipping records just before you came in. Ansue Cabela Hashley, human, Federation citizenship, most of the right licenses, skirts the law now and then but not much, originally from Rigel system, nothing much worth putting on record. He’s been running the same patch of space back and forth for years like a bug, shuffling minor contraband into Romulan space. The Romulans have pretty much encouraged him by not enforcing their own laws in his case. He probably brings in things they can’t get, and they like it. He hasn’t been hurting anybody and more people like him than not, so he’s been considered small potatoes.” “It’ll now.”
Stiles nodded. “He’s a cosmic worker-insect. Now he’s stepped in goo and he’s stuck. Probably he doesn’t even realize that the reason he’s been safe is that things haven’t been too tense with the Romulans over the past twenty years. Now that they’re tensing up, well, he has been breaking Romulan law right along. I’m guessing the Federation doesn’t have good cause to protest. Then he stumbled on this poison thing and suddenly the small potato is a hot potato.”
“What do you think the connection is between the blood thing and Hashley?” “No idea.”
“It’s got to be more than he thinks,” Travis surmised. “More than just his ‘knowing’ about the poisoning, or whatever it is. Nobody would try to kidnap him just because he knew about it.”
“He said it could be an engineered virus. Some kind of assassination plot. If a hundred or so imperial relatives have died, I can’t believe Starfleet’s not working on it already. We’re a day late and a dollar short to make it our problem.”
Stiles sank deeper into his chair, rocked back some, and rested his head on the worn neckrest. As the chair protested with a squawk, the hot chocolate finally drew him with its rich scent, and he scooped up the cup and blew across the milky warmth.
Watching the stern rise, Travis smiled. “You’re a contented man, Eric.”
“Oh, Travis… I lived for four years at the mercy of whim. Would they decide to beat