Gulliver's Fugitives - Keith Sharee [34]
When he was much younger he might have been uncomfortable working or socializing with another physically challenged person, particularly a blind one, as it would draw attention to his own condition. But as he became an adult, he lost that self-consciousness. He was now at ease with his blindness and with being around other blind persons. Transferring Chops Taylor to his staff was an expression of that maturity. It didn’t hurt, of course, that she was the best maintenance engineer he’d ever met.
The name Chops came from her hobby. She played 28-string duotronic-enhanced guitar. “Chops,” in the earliest rock-and-roll days, meant the ability to play well—a hot musician was said to “have chops.”
Chops Taylor was a phenomenally good musician, easily good enough to go professional. In fact, she had been on some tours with a band that included a boar-faced Tellarite drummer, a tall blue Andorian bassist, and an elegant Vulcan on keyboard.
She didn’t perceive her guitar in the normal visual manner. She formed a spatial image of it through the information near her fingertips. The guitar filled her entire field of consciousness. She saw each nuance of string and fret with microscopic clarity. She saw things other musicians didn’t see, like heat and harmonic vibration. Above all, her manual dexterity was unmatched, both as a musician and as a maintenance engineer. She lived through her hands.
Now, Chops came over to Geordi and put a sensor-augmented hand on his face; her way of seeing him.
“You’re looking tired, sir. Lot of fatigue in the forehead, the jaw, hmmm, down on the neck …”
“You’re tellin’ me. How’s it going on those communicators?”
She held up a partially-assembled communicator with her other hand.
“Incredible,” said Geordi. “State-of-the-Chops.”
“And guaranteed un-jammable. All I have to do is the final assembly.”
Geordi didn’t let himself indulge in relief. The special communicators might allow him to send another team down to the planet, but there would be no guarantee they would be able to find the first team. His guts would be grinding until the moment he got the captain, Riker, Data, and Troi back, safe and sound, on the ship. And until the moment he got rid of the damned one-eyes. Right now his stomach felt like it had been tied in a reef knot.
He was also tired as hell, having been up for a good twenty-four hours. Even if he had no time to sleep himself, he could at least exert command authority and make her sleep.
“Chops, you’ve been up as long as I have. Don’t you think you should take some quick winks before you go on?”
“Why? I’m toolin’ along fine.”
“Our communicator task is only one of several. When you’re finished with it I’m going to put you on the team that’s devising weapons to use against the one-eyes. Somewhere in there you’re going to have to get some sleep.”
There was enough sternness in his voice to convey what amounted to an order.
“Okay, but I’ll do it here. I slept in worse places when I played in clubs on the road.”
She went and sat on the floor, in a corner, and fell asleep instantly.
“Lieutenant La Forge.”
Worf’s voice. Geordi put his hand over his communicator and tiptoed into the next console bay.
“La Forge here.”
“How many other crewpersons are in Engineering at the moment?” asked Worf.
“Five besides myself.”
“Two of the one-eyes have split off from the others and appear to be working their way over to you. They may attempt to enter Engineering itself.”
“Worf, how are they getting past us like this? At least some of our security measures should be stopping them—at least once in a while.”
“We’ve been observing them whenever possible,” said Worf. “It seems that of the two heading in your direction, one is specialized; a kind of locksmith. It uses electromagnetic energy to enter codes and open doors. It already knows many secret procedures—because of information gathered from the minds on