Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [18]
Obal resembled nothing so much as a plucked chicken. A beakless chicken to be sure, and one that had unusually big, front-facing eyes, but a chicken nonetheless.
In fact, he was the silliest thing Joseph had ever seen—and that wasn’t just an aesthetic judgment. It was, unfortunately, an observation with concrete, real-world implications.
With his obvious physical limitations, the Binderian would find it hard to get others to take him seriously. In Joseph’s mind, that cast doubts on Obal’s ability to serve as a security officer.
After all, security personnel needed to command respect. They needed to inspire confidence. And the Binderian, well, didn’t do either of those things particularly well.
Clearly, Joseph needed to do something about it. “Obal?” he said. “Could I have a word with you?”
Obal stopped in his tracks, turned to his superior again and replied, “Of course, sir. Right away.” Then he waddled back across the room to Joseph’s side.
The security chief took a moment to phrase his next remark. After all, he didn’t want to hurt Obal’s feelings. It wasn’t the Binderian’s fault he had been placed somewhere he didn’t belong.
“You know,” Joseph began, “the Stargazer is a big ship. A very big ship. It’s got a whole range of career opportunities for a bright, young fellow like yourself.”
Obal smiled at him. He didn’t seem to have any idea what the security chief was suggesting.
“What I mean is,” Joseph said, “there are lots of other sections where you could make a contribution.”
This time, the Binderian spoke up. “That’s good to know,” he said. But he didn’t say anything more.
Joseph tried again. “Sections that could profit immensely from your eagerness and your intelligence.”
Obal’s brow creased over the bridge of his nose. “You mean . . . you would like me to work in those sections? And apply my expertise to areas other than security?”
The security chief felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Yes! That’s exactly what I mean.”
The Binderian shrugged his scrawny shoulders. “I would be happy to do that, sir.”
“You would?” said Joseph. “I mean . . . I’m glad to hear that, Obal, very glad indeed. I’ll speak with the heads of the other sections the first chance I get.”
“Excellent,” Obal told him, clearly enthusiastic about the idea. “And when I return, I will be a better officer as a result.”
Joseph’s hopes fell. “When you . . . return?”
“Aye, sir. When I return to security.”
The chief frowned. “To security.”
“In fact, I will be happy to share what I’ve learned with my colleagues.” Obal’s brow creased again. “That is, unless you plan to lend them out to other sections as well.”
It wasn’t the response Joseph had been hoping for. Obviously, the subtle approach hadn’t gotten him anywhere, so he decided to meet the matter head on.
“Obal,” he said, “I was thinking you might want to transfer to another section permanently.”
The Binderian’s brow creased deeper than ever. Then, surprisingly, the smile returned to his face.
“Why would I want to do that?” he asked Joseph. “My heart is in security work. And I intend to do that work better than anyone who has ever worn the uniform.”
This time, Joseph sighed out loud. He could request the transfer himself, of course. But he wouldn’t do that until he had given Obal a chance to prove him wrong.
Not that the chief thought that would happen. “All right, then,” he told the Binderian. “Welcome aboard.”
“Lieutenant Simenon?”
Simenon looked up from his console in engineering to see who had called his name. There was only one person standing anywhere near him—a middle-aged, rather plump human with kind eyes and dark hair graying at the temples.
She was smiling at him. Obviously, the engineer reflected, she didn’t know him very well.
“Yes?” he hissed.
“I’m Juanita Valderrama,” she said. “The new sciences chief. You asked me to come see you . . . ?”
It was true. Simenon had wanted to show her something. “Join me,” he said, beckoning the woman closer.
He tapped the keys on his console that