Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [33]
And without another word, she turned and left Idun’s quarters, the sliding doors hissing closed in her wake.
For a moment, Idun was left speechless. Then she swore volubly and vividly in the Klingon tongue, filling her quarters with curses that threatened to blister the duranium bulkheads, and contacted Wu’s superior via the Stargazer’s intercom system.
Chapter Ten
BEN ZOMA HAD JUST ARRIVED on the bridge to take over for Picard when he received Idun Asmund’s impassioned call.
Her voice, normally so clipped and efficient, seethed with barely restrained anger and indignation—so much so that it attracted the attention of everyone present. Picard was no exception.
Ben Zoma frowned. Then he asked the helm officer to hold off for a moment and moved to the captain’s side.
“A problem?” Picard asked.
He was beginning to look a little tense. A little grim. And Ben Zoma had no trouble understanding why that would be.
They were getting closer to Beta Barritus, closer to the White Wolf—and closer to McAteer’s “trap,” as Corey Zweller had described it. Picard was determined to buck the odds, to accomplish what a dozen other captains before him couldn’t and turn the tables on the admiral.
But what if Picard didn’t manage to complete his mission? What if he fell short and, in the process, showed everyone that Admiral Mehdi’s faith in him had been misplaced?
The captain had been studying chart after chart of Beta Barritus, incomplete as they were. He had pored over every research paper he could find that dealt with the dynamics of Lazarus stars.
But what if that wasn’t enough?
Then McAteer would have succeeded in his gambit—and Picard would never forgive himself for it.
Hence the beleaguered expression, the first officer reflected. In his friend’s place, Ben Zoma would no doubt have looked a little beleaguered as well.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he told Picard.
“I trust you are right,” the captain said, easing himself out of his center seat. “But if you should require my assistance after all, you will find me in my quarters.”
Ben Zoma nodded. “I won’t. But thanks.”
That seemed to satisfy Picard. Leaving his friend to deal with Idun’s problem, he headed for his quarters and a much-needed rest.
Ben Zoma waited until the captain had left the bridge. Then he entered the captain’s ready room, took a seat behind the black plastic desk, and said, “Ben Zoma to Lieutenant Idun Asmund.”
Instantly the story spilled out of her, punctuated with denunciation and invective. It took the first officer a while to amass all the details and put them in what seemed like the proper order.
Then he said, “Let me get this straight, Lieutenant. Commander Wu relieved you of your duties as helm officer because you hadn’t taken your requalification test?”
“That is correct,” Idun responded, her voice trembling with fury she dared not release.
Ben Zoma didn’t get it. “Was that the only reason?”
“It was the only reason she gave me.”
The first officer frowned. It was highly unusual for anyone to be held that closely to requalification regs—especially while on a mission as potentially difficult as this one.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “For now, you’ll have to comply with the commander’s decision. But I’ll speak with her first chance I get. And when I do, I have a feeling we’ll clear this up to everyone’s satisfaction—yours included.”
That seemed to calm Idun a bit. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome,” Ben Zoma replied. Then he sat back in his chair and considered what he was going to say to Commander Wu.
Pug Joseph had gotten into the habit of checking in with his monitor officer every so often, even when he wasn’t on duty. Fortunately he had never caught one napping, even figuratively.
Until now.
Marching into the security section, he didn’t nod to either of the armed officers standing guard in the little anteroom. He didn’t even look at their faces. He just kept going until he reached the hexagon-shaped main security facility.