Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [64]
Normally it was a busy place at this time of day. As luck would have it, it was deserted now.
She was grateful.
The entrance to her residence was programmed to respond to her approach. It obeyed that programming and she breezed inside, hardly noticing when it sealed itself off in her wake.
Will …
She headed for her bedroom. Only after she’d reached it and another set of doors had closed behind her did she allow herself to crumble.
Slumping against the wall, she felt the sobs well up from deep within her. And she cried as she had seldom cried before.
Chapter Eleven
“YOU KNOW, Will m’ boy, it’s too bad.”
“What is?”
“That we couldn’t have brought some of that Dibdinagii joy juice back with us.”
Will smiled. “It packed a punch, didn’t it? Like some of the stuff we used to drink on a dare back home.”
“Nothing like this synthehol they’re producing now. The Ferengi are traders, not revelers. They wouldn’t know a fine liqueur if they drowned in one.”
“Maybe not. But when there’s no fine liqueur to be had, synthehol’s a damn sight better than … uh, Teller?”
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing?”
“I’m taking off my boot. What does it look like?”
“In the officers’ mess? Is this some custom you picked up from the Dibdinagii?”
“I picked up a custom, all right. But it has nothing to do with footwear.”
Teller turned his boot upside down, and a slim leather pouch fell into his lap. He tossed it in the air, caught it.
“Joy juice,” he announced. “Dried and sterilized, of course, so it wouldn’t set off the biofilter alarms.” He plunked the pouch down on the table.
“In your boot. I don’t believe it.”
“I keep all my valuables in my boots. An old Conlon family tradition, starting with me. Because no one ever thinks to look there.”
“But this is contraband, Teller. If they catch you with this, you’ll be drummed out of Starfleet.”
“True—if they catch me. Which they won’t.”
He walked over to an automated food unit and ordered two glasses of water. It took him a moment to mix in the powder. Then he came back to the table.
“Care to join me, Will?”
“You’re crazy. Out-and-out crazy.”
“One drink, then I toss the rest away. How’s that?”
“To prove what?”
Teller shrugged. “That all things are possible. That a man can do anything if he just sets his mind to it.”
“And you’d risk your career for that?”
Another shrug, a light in his eyes. “Of course, if you’re too frightened of getting caught …”
“Frightened isn’t the word. Try ‘petrified.’ “
“Then I guess I’ll be drinking alone.”
There was something contagious about Teller’s particular madness. Riker had learned that a long time ago.
“All right.” He glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to the mess. “Do it. Just be quick about it.”
“Quick as you please. Here you go. Whoa—wait a second.”
“What now?”
“A toast, of course.” He raised his glass. “To the art of the possible.”
“Sure. To that.”
They drank.
“Ah. Now, you can’t say that didn’t hit the spot.”
“It hit all the spots. Now get rid of that pouch.”
“Hey, I keep my bargains, Ensign Riker. No one ever said a Conlon went back on his—”
“Teller! Someone’s coming!”
“You’ve got ears like a bat, Will, you know that?” Teller crossed the room. “Are you sure you’re not part Ferengi yourself?”
The sliding-aside of the door, a dour look. “Gentlemen.” A pause. “The two of you look like cats who’ve swallowed canaries.”
“Beg your pardon, sir?”
A slowly spreading frown. “Don’t beg, Mr. Conlon. It isn’t becoming. But as long as you’re wrestling with that food dispenser, you can get me a cup of coffee. Make that a strong cup—it’s been a long shore leave.”
“Aye, Captain. Three cups of coffee, coming right up.”
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Sunlight on his eyelids, a pinkish orange incandescence. He opened his eyes and saw the room.
The first thing he noticed was the fire in the hearth. But something was wrong. Wasn’t the hearth in the wrong place? He looked around. This wasn’t the room he’d been in before, the hotel room where he’d first met Lyneea. This