Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [71]
So when his relief had yet to show up a full ten minutes after Paxton’s shift had ended, it bugged him. And it bugged him even more that the tardy officer was Ulelo.
He had taken Ulelo off the graveyard shift sooner than any other comm chief would have. He had treated the new guy with warmth and respect. In Ulelo’s place, Paxton would have made damned sure he didn’t bite the hand that fed him.
Finally, the comm chief had had enough. Tapping his insignia, he said, “Paxton to Ulelo.”
There was no answer.
Again he said, “Paxton to Ulelo.”
Still no response.
“Computer,” he said, “locate Mr. Ulelo.”
The computer’s soft, feminine voice informed him that “Mr. Ulelo is in the shuttlebay.”
The comm chief frowned. “Paxton to Ch—”
“Mr. Paxton?” someone said over the comm link. But it didn’t sound like Ulelo.
“This is Paxton,” he said. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Andarko, sir. Technician first class. I’m speaking into Mr. Ulelo’s communicator.”
“And why isn’t Mr. Ulelo speaking into his communicator?” Paxton inquired, figuring it was a reasonable question.
“He took off his tunic to work on one of the shuttles with Lieutenant Chiang,” said Andarko. “But when I heard a voice coming from his communicator, I came over to see what was going on.”
“I see,” said Paxton.
Had he spoken directly into the intercom grid, Ulelo’s name would have rung throughout the shuttlebay. But, not wanting to embarrass Ulelo any more than was necessary, he had chosen to use the more private method of communicator-to-communicator, so Andarko was the only one who had ended up hearing him.
“Would you be so kind,” Paxton asked the technician, “as to get Mr. Ulelo for me? I need to speak with him right away.”
“Actually,” Andarko said, “he’s right here, sir.”
A moment later, the comm chief heard a voice that he recognized as Ulelo’s. “Sir?”
“Mr. Ulelo,” Paxton said evenly, “are you aware of the fact that you were supposed to report to the bridge almost fifteen minutes ago?”
“Actually,” a third voice chimed in, “it’s my fault Ulelo’s late.”
It took Paxton a moment to place it. “Chiang?”
“That’s right,” the shuttle chief confirmed. “And I’ll take the blame for Mr. Ulelo’s tardiness. You see, he asked for a look at the newer shuttles. And while we were going over them, he found a comm problem with the type-eight. I asked if he could stay awhile and fix it, and, unfortunately, we both lost track of the time.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Ulelo.
“Same here,” Chiang added. “I didn’t mean to keep your man that long.”
Under the circumstances, Paxton could hardly be angry. It wasn’t as if Ulelo had been goofing off. He had been working—just not where he was scheduled to be working.
“Don’t give it a second thought,” said the comm chief. “Just tell me when to expect him.”
“Immediately,” Ulelo assured him. “I’m done with the shuttle. Mr. Chiang shouldn’t have any more problems with it from here on.”
“I wouldn’t even have known it had a problem,” the shuttle chief remarked, “if Ulelo here hadn’t mentioned it.”
“Then it’s a good thing he was there,” Paxton said. “See you later, Chiang. Paxton out.”
With a private chuckle, he turned his attention back to his comm console. Chiang was lucky Ulelo was so curious by nature. In fact, they were all lucky.
Considering the dangerous nature of their mission, the last thing they needed was a shuttle malfunction.
* * *
As Gilaad Ben Zoma entered his captain’s ready room, he saw a figure standing on the other side of the room, gazing out the observation port. For just a moment, he could have sworn that the figure was that of the late Daithan Ruhalter.
But of course, it wasn’t. It was that of Jean-Luc Picard.
Strange, the first officer thought. Picard wasn’t as tall as Ruhalter or as broad, and Ruhalter’s hair had been gray where Picard’s was still brown. And yet, for just a moment, Picard had put him in mind of their former captain.
It was something about Picard’s bearing, Ben Zoma decided. Something about the set of his shoulders. Ruhalter had been a confident