Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [34]
That’s where he found Obal sitting in front of the big, concave bank of monitors with its closed-circuit views of every strategically critical area on the ship. It was the Binderian’s turn to stand watch over those critical areas.
And as Joseph had feared since his routine check-in several minutes earlier, Obal was fast asleep.
The security chief stood there for a moment, watching the little fellow’s chest rise and fall serenely. Then, not too roughly, he took Obal by the shoulder and shook him.
The Binderian sat bolt upright with a little cry of surprise, his eyes blinking wildly. Still, it was a second or two before he realized where he was and who was standing beside him.
“Lieutenant Joseph,” he said, his eyes wide as he began to grasp the nature of his circumstances.
“Sorry to have to wake you,” Joseph told him. In more ways than one, he added silently. “But I can’t have my monitor officer catching up on his sleep.”
He might as well have driven an old-fashioned arrow into Obal’s chest. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” the Binderian bleated. “I don’t know what came over me. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
“Maybe you’ve never stayed up half the night checking phasers before,” Joseph suggested.
Obal swallowed. “That’s true. Still, I feel terrible about this. Allow me to try to atone for it somehow.”
By checking the phasers again? Joseph mused. Or maybe the photon torpedo tubes this time? “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Just do the job you’re assigned, all right?”
The Binderian couldn’t possibly have looked more contrite. “Of course, sir. As you wish.”
Joseph felt sorry for the little guy—he couldn’t help it. But he wasn’t just a bystander here, he was Obal’s superior. And as such, he couldn’t just dismiss the incident.
Besides, if he had waited just a few more minutes to call in, one of the other officers might have discovered the Binderian before he did. Then the incident would have become the talk of the ship’s lounge. And though he could have asked his people to keep it among themselves, the story might have leaked out anyway.
Joseph sighed. It wasn’t just a matter of people respecting Obal anymore. Now it was a matter of people respecting him. Because when the captain read Joseph’s report, he would be forced to wonder what kind of security section his chief was running.
“Am I relieved of my post?” Obal inquired humbly, wincing as he posed the question.
Joseph nodded. “I think that would be our best course of action under the circumstances.”
Without another word, the Binderian slipped out of his chair, thrust out his scrawny chest, and stood there dutifully until his only slightly curious replacement could be called in. Then he left security and presumably made his way back to his quarters.
As Joseph watched Obal go, a sigh escaped him. He himself hadn’t done a single thing wrong, but he felt every bit as bad about the incident as the Binderian did.
Maybe worse.
Picard eyed the viewscreen in front of him. It showed him a massive, dark bullet of a ship bristling with deadly armaments, half obscured by the roiling currents of Beta Barritus.
“Hail them,” he said.
Paxton made the attempt at his comm console. There was no response—not that the captain had expected any.
“Sir,” said Gerda Asmund, sitting at her customary spot behind the navigation controls, “they’re powering weapons.”
“Red alert,” Picard snapped. “Shields. Phasers.”
“Shields up,” Gerda confirmed.
“Phasers ready,” Vigo announced.
It was then that the captain noticed the two figures standing next to the weapons console, just behind his left shoulder. They comprised a mismatched pair if he had ever seen one.
One was an older man, his face lined, his hair all but gone. He wore simple, sturdy clothes, the sort one might don to work in the fields, and there were traces of dirt beneath his fingernails.
The other was a tall, athletic-looking fellow in the cranberry and cream of a Starfleet captain’s uniform. His hair was thick and dark, only beginning to show signs of gray at the temples, and his smile was a beacon of confidence