Ghost of a Chance - Mark Garland [53]
Chakotay considered this for a moment. It made sense, especially from the aliens' point of view. He just didn't like it very much. There were far too many "ifs" and "buts." On the other hand, none of the facts seemed to be in his favor just now. And none of the options seemed workable.
"We do understand how you must feel, I assure you," Tassay insisted, then waited for Chakotay's response, sincere as could be, the commander noted. His training and, perhaps more importantly, his experience had taught him never to completely trust anyone, not even the Federation, and yet he found himself doing just that where Tassay was concerned.
He decided to try and keep her at a distance, at least for the time being. The whole idea bothered him more than a little. The Drosary had earned his trust so far, he thought, and he believed he had earned theirs. He wasn't sure he could necessarily say the same of the Televek, who were the ones he was ultimately dealing with--a point he thought it best to keep clearly in mind.
"Very well, but I trust the Televek won't object if we go ahead and begin trying in the meantime. We're not even sure the attempt is plausible."
The Drosary turned to one another and mumbled for a brief moment.
Then Jonal looked up. "Of course not, Commander. We will inform Gantel. I'm sure he will understand, just as you do."
"Of course," Chakotay said, drawing three quiet Drosary smiles.
He noticed that Paris had calmed considerably and was now standing nearly face to face with Mila; an aura of chemistry hung about them.
Chakotay cleared his throat loudly. "Who is minding your station, Mister Paris?"
Chakotay heard the turbolift door hiss open. He turned in time to witness B'Elanna's brisk entrance onto the bridge. As before, she headed straight to the engineering station, barely glancing at the others on the bridge. Her eyes never met those of the Drosary--or anyone else, for that matter--though Chakotay noticed she managed to frown rather heavily.
"Sorry, sir," Paris said as he sat down hastily and began a quick review. Mila stepped back a bit.
B'Elanna tapped at her consoles, then turned abruptly to face the commander. "Would you like my report?" she asked, looking past him to the three advocates with what Chakotay read as a mild flash of venom.
"Of course I would like your report, Lieutenant," Chakotay told her.
She still clearly had a problem with the aliens, for which he really didn't see any basis. Not yet, anyway. He made a mental note to have a word with her.
"What about... them, sir?" she asked, nodding at the Drosary.
"Would you rather we spoke in the captain's ready room?" Chakotay offered rather curtly.
B'Elanna didn't hesitate. "I would."
"Very well." Chakotay bit the words off as he started across the bridge. He took a deep breath and calmed himself somewhat as the ready room door slid aside. He turned, then waited for the door to close behind B'Elanna.
"It's not like they're transmitting everything we say," he told B'Elanna. "We're controlling that, and frankly so are they.
They've been very helpful, at least to a point, and I'd say--" "Do you want my report or not?" she interrupted, standing less than a meter from him.
Chakotay reminded himself of her Klingon temper, her ongoing struggle to control that part of herself, and his desire to give her the chance to do so. He saw her mixed heritage as one of her greatest strengths and had always tried to encourage her to accept herself as she was, just as he had. Of course, her more aggressive nature could get out of hand. He didn't understand her animosity toward the Drosary, something he thought had diminished since their talk in the mess hall, but he didn't think confronting her over it would do anyone any good right now. He nodded.
"I have the warp engines back on line."
Chakotay felt a sudden swell of enthusiasm. "That's very good news, B'Elanna," he said, trying to maintain a proper measure of composure.
"What about