Hard Crash - Christie Golden [1]
Words, written or spoken, were almost as dear to Faulwell as Anthony.
He took a breath and settled down in a chair in the quarters he shared with Stevens. He instructed the computer to provide soft instrumental music as a pleasant background, and began to write.
Just a brief note to let you know that our last assignment was completed successfully. It was not without its tense moments, however! Some days, this mission becomes just a trifle too exciting for a boring old linguist like me to handle. It is always such a pleasure to have a calm moment now and then to write down my thoughts and feelings to you, my dear, and know that as you read these words you will, in some small way, share in my adventures. How are you getting along with your new colleague, the one you called in your last letter the "Pompous Windbag?" Has PW come around to your way of thinking yet? I cannot imagine you would be unable to win him over once
A klaxon sounded. Yellow alert. The slight linguist sagged in his chair and groaned. Time for another adventure.
"Will the following crewmembers please report to the briefing room." Bart listened, but his hopes of peacefully continuing with his correspondence were dashed when he heard his name among those listed. Carefully he capped the pen and left the letter on the table.
He wasn't usually summoned to briefings unless he was an actual participant in whatever mission they were about to embark upon. Still, he remained optimistic. With any luck he'd return to his letter in a few moments. After all, not every "adventure" on which the da Vinci embarked required a linguist.
"And we'll need a linguist," Captain David Gold was saying to Geordi la Forge as Faulwell entered the room. "Ah, from my mouth to God's ears," Gold added with a lift of his bushy eyebrows as he caught sight of Faulwell. The rest of the crew who had been asked to report was filling the small briefing room, gently pushing past Faulwell to take their seats.
Faulwell smiled weakly. His brief note would have to wait.
Something brushed past his leg; P8Blue scurrying toward her specially designed seat. She was muttering underneath her breath. Bart wondered what this mission was about that got the normally calm Pattie so agitated.
He sat between Commander Sonya Gomez and Carol Abramowitz. Carol leaned over and whispered, "Culture specialist and linguist huh? Wonder if it's a first contact situation."
Her dark eyes glowed with excitement. Abramowitz loved first contact situations, but they always made the academic Faulwell nervous as hell. He more than anyone knew just how important choosing the right word in delicate negotiations could be. Sometimes, it was literally a matter of life or death. He figured each of the first contact situations in which he'd participated had aged him at least a year. No wonder his hair was thinning and turning gray.
110, as always, was the last one to enter. Sometimes, he was quite late in reporting to the briefings, but Gold had not reprimanded him. Everyone was sympathetic to 110's situation. Bart had begun to worry about him after their conversation. The little Bynar edged into the room as if fearing an attack, his eyes, so small in his round, pale face, darting about. Bart remembered how the unified pair used to move, each step in synch, quickly but with grace. Now 110 moved jerkily, awkwardly, as if he was uncertain where to put hand or foot. There was no rhythm in his movements anymore. In many ways, he reminded Bart of nothing so much as a broken toy. He did not take a seat, but chose to stand next to the door.
As if to make a quick exit, Faulwell