Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [6]
She knew that Lieutenant Ang was leaving the Stargazer to accept a second officer’s post on the Sutherland. However, she hadn’t heard that Joseph would be succeeding him as security chief.
And now that she knew, she thought it a rash choice. Although Joseph was one of the more senior officers in the security section, he had never exhibited any particular affinity for command.
What’s more, he seemed to be aware of his deficit—but to be fair, he was trying to address it, if in an unusual way.
“So you’ve been named our new security chief,” she concluded.
Joseph blushed and shook his head. “Not permanently, mind you. It’s only a temporary assignment until the captain can find a replacement for Lieutenant Ang.”
Idun felt better about that. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Joseph or trust him implicitly, or that she would have hesitated for a moment to give him her back in a firefight.
It was only his ability to lead that the helm officer questioned. Nothing else.
“I see,” she said.
“Anyway,” he plunged on, “about your voice . . . do you have any tricks you might be able to share with me? Or . . . I don’t know, suggestions?”
Idun thought about it. “I don’t think so,” she said at last. “I don’t use any tricks. I just speak.”
Again, Joseph seemed disappointed. “Right. I just thought you might . . .” He shrugged. “Never mind. Thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. But she wished that she could have been of more help.
Phigus Simenon was a Gnalish, a lizardlike being from a world called Gnala, who stood as high as the shoulders of most human males. He was also the Stargazer’s chief engineering officer.
Usually, Simenon could be found in the engineering section, scrabbling over the controls of a sleek, dark console. At the moment, however, he was in his quarters, studying the image of an old friend and former colleague on his computer monitor.
“Hans Werber,” he observed with his customary sibilance.
The man who had been the Stargazer’s weapons chief nodded. “Good to see you again, Phigus.”
“Where are you?” Simenon asked.
Werber smiled beneath his walrus mustache, his blue eyes dancing. “New Zealand. Not a bad place, actually. If you’ve got to be in a penal colony, you might as well be in this one.”
“And they give you the run of the place?”
Werber shrugged. “I’m wearing an electronic anklet. It’s not as if I can go very far.”
“I see,” said Simenon.
“How’s Picard?”
“Well enough. He’s at a meeting at the moment. Captains and second officers from all over the sector.”
“Really. That’s unusual.”
Simenon nodded. “Very.”
Werber swatted suddenly at his balding head, then inspected his palm and brushed his hands together. “Damned insects. You forget how annoying they can be when you’re on a starship.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You know,” said Werber, “I was wrong about Picard. I had him pegged as the vindictive type. But you know what he did?”
“What?” Simenon asked.
“He came to my cell at Starfleet Command and told me he’d put in a word on my behalf with the judge advocate general. He said that I put our differences aside and helped him.”
“You mean after you entered his room in the dead of night and tried to stun him with a phaser beam.”
Werber chuckled at the irony, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah. After. But the thing is Picard forgave me. He let bygones be bygones. Which, I’ll bet, is why I’m doing short time here in New Zealand instead of life on some high-security asteroid.”
“You’re probably right,” Simenon told him.
“Anyway,” Werber said, “I thought I’d let you know where I am. You know, so we can talk from time to time. No friend like an old friend, I always say.”
“I’d be happy to correspond with you,” the Gnalish replied. “More than happy. That is, if I still considered myself your friend.”
The man’s brows met over the bridge of his nose. “What?”
“When you betrayed Picard, you betrayed me too,” Simenon said. “I went charging into his office, accusing him of incarcerating you for no good reason. Then he told me about your little mutiny.”
“But Picard’s forgiven me