Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [20]
“Her sister’s name is Gerda.”
The light of recognition went on in Wu’s eyes. “Yes . . . Gerda. She’s your navigator, I believe?”
“That she is,” Ben Zoma confirmed. “And you won’t find a more efficient officer in the fleet. Unless, of course, you bump into Idun, who happens to be her twin.”
“Efficiency is to be commended,” Wu said. “What else should I know about them?”
He smiled again. How should I put this?
“That they’re not afraid of anything—and I mean anything. That they’re perfectly loyal, dedicated to their work, and resourceful beyond any expectation. And that they were raised by Klingons.”
That brought Wu up short. “Klingons?”
“Klingons. It’s all in their files.”
“I can’t wait.”
Who else? “Vigo?”
Wu shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“He’s our weapons officer. A Pandrilite. Knows what he’s doing inside and out. And he’s eager to please.”
“Sounds like we’ll get along fine.”
“I’m sure you will,” Ben Zoma told her. He asked himself whom he had left out. It took a moment, but it came to him. “Then there’s Pug Joseph, our security chief.”
Unexpectedly, Wu’s level of enthusiasm seemed to drop precipitously. “Ah, yes. Joseph.”
Ben Zoma looked at her. “Something wrong?”
Wu sighed. “A few months ago, I heard some bad things about the Stargazer’s security section.”
The first officer felt a rush of heat to his face. “Bad in what way?” he asked.
Wu shrugged. “Poor discipline, scheduling inefficiencies . . . generally, a lack of leadership.”
“You don’t say.”
Wu’s eyes brightened. “But don’t worry. I’m going to crack down on Lieutenant Joseph. By the time I’m done with him, his section will be the best in the fleet.”
Ben Zoma smiled halfheartedly. “I applaud your initiative, Commander. However, a few months ago, Pug Joseph wasn’t the security chief on this ship. I was.”
Wu’s eyes opened wide. “I’m . . . sorry, sir. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to offend you.”
The first officer nodded. “It’s all right. Really. But if I were you, I’d observe Mr. Joseph firsthand before making any judgments concerning his abilities.”
“Of course,” Wu responded crisply.
Ben Zoma went on with his list of command personnel. But as he did so, it occurred to him that Wu might not be quite the prize he had believed her to be.
Picard took a sip of his tea and gazed out the observation port of his ready room. The distant suns abeam of the Stargazer sped by him in long, straight lines of light.
Ben Zoma was sitting at the captain’s computer terminal, going over the reports they had received from their section heads. For once, he wasn’t smiling.
Out of the corner of his eye, Picard saw his friend push himself away from the desk and swivel his chair in the captain’s direction. Picard turned to him.
“Finished?” he asked.
Ben Zoma nodded. “I see what you mean. Of our seven new crewmen, four seem to come with a bit of baggage. That’s not a very good average, Jean-Luc.”
Picard nodded. “An inescapable conclusion. And given what my friend Corey Zweller told me, I would not be surprised if it were more than a coincidence.”
“You think McAteer stuck us with them on purpose? To give us a few distractions while we’re hunting the White Wolf?”
“If you accept Corey’s premise, it is difficult to ignore the possibility entirely.”
Ben Zoma frowned. “I suppose.”
“On the other hand,” Picard said, “I’m not willing to give up on these crewmen just yet.”
“You think we can help them?”
“A couple of them, at least. Ensign Nikolas, for instance. He has been labeled a discipline problem—”
“To put it mildly,” Ben Zoma interjected.
“However,” the captain continued, “he reminds me of myself before the incident at Bonestell that cost me my heart. He’s young, brash, too full of himself to think about his future.”
“But maybe, if we exercise a little more patience than Nikolas is accustomed to . . . ?”
“He may turn out to be a diamond in the rough. Precisely.”
“Or,” said Ben Zoma, “he may turn out to be what he’s been labeled—a square peg in a very round hole.”
“Then all we’ve lost,” Picard countered, “is time and patience.”
Ben Zoma