Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [46]
In a burst of energy, he swung completely around the bar, cutting a perfect circle through the air—once, twice, and a third time. Finally, without warning, he released the bar and tucked himself into a rapidly spinning somersault.
But it wasn’t the single flip that Nikolas had done. It was a double, with a twist for good measure. And when Caber landed, it was with flawless grace and balance.
Nikolas whistled involuntarily. And here he thought he had impressed his roommate with his relatively rudimentary performance. The guy was amazing. Absolutely amazing.
“Nice job yourself,” Nikolas told him.
But Caber didn’t answer. He was staring over Nikolas’s shoulder, his face frozen in an expression of disbelief. His curiosity piqued, Nikolas turned and saw what had caught his friend’s attention.
It was the Binderian—the one who had beamed up to the Stargazer in Nikolas’s group. The ensign hadn’t seen him since, but he had heard that the guy was in security.
What was his name again? Obert? Obizz? No, Nikolas thought, remembering at last. Obal.
When he last saw the little guy, it was in the transporter room. They had beamed up together, along with the new science officer.
At the time, Nikolas had noted how strange-looking the Binderian was, how awkward he seemed in his Starfleet uniform. Almost comical, the ensign had thought at the time.
Now Obal was wearing Starfleet-issue black gym shorts a couple of sizes too long for him and a blue tank top that accentuated his bony shoulders and arms, and he looked even more ridiculous than he had in the transporter room.
As Nikolas watched, the Binderian went over to the weight area and picked up a couple of barbells—the lightest pair on hand, perhaps three kilograms apiece. With an effort, he brought them to shoulder height. Then, taking a deep breath between clenched teeth, he began to push them toward the ceiling.
With each push, Obal grunted. No—it was less a grunt than a wheeze, Nikolas decided. And to add to the effect, Obal’s face, which was already a bright pink, turned a lush crimson.
Nikolas was sorely tempted to laugh out loud—it was that funny-looking. But he knew it would hurt the Binderian’s feelings, so he managed to refrain.
Then he heard laughter after all. It seemed to fill the gym. And it came from Caber.
“Boy,” he said, “that’s got to be the most pitiful excuse for a body I’ve ever seen.”
Nikolas looked at him. It wasn’t like his roommate to be so critical, even in jest.
Obal, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind the remark. He just smiled as Caber was smiling and went back to his lifting.
“Come to think of it,” Caber went on, “I’m not even sure that is a body. Bodies have muscles, don’t they? I’ve baited hooks with physiques more muscular than that.”
Still the Binderian seemed not to take offense. He continued his exercises without a hint of animosity, without the least sign that he was bothered by Caber’s comments.
But Nikolas was bothered by them.
It wasn’t that he thought Caber was trying to hurt Obal’s feelings. Anyone who knew the admiral’s son knew he wasn’t capable of that. He was just playing around.
But the remarks still felt wrong to Nikolas. Unsporting somehow, like hunting flies with a phaser rifle.
“Hey,” he said, meaning to distract his friend, “all this exercise is getting me hungry. What do you say we hit the mess hall and pump some fried chicken?”
But Caber didn’t even look at him. He was still too enthralled by the sight of the Binderian.
“I wonder what he looked like before he started working out.” Caber snickered. “Must’ve been hard to see him at all.”
“Or some ribs,” said Nikolas, pushing upstream with his suggestion. “I sure could go for some nice barbecued ribs. You are the guy who’s always hungry, right?”
It was then that Caber finally seemed to notice him. “Yeah,” he replied after a moment. “Ribs. That sounds good to me too.”
Nikolas indicated the doorway with