Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [23]
Pfeffer nodded. Then she took note of Jiterica and looked concerned. “Isn’t that difficult for you to do?”
“She’s not doing it,” said Stave, with just a hint of a glance in Paris’s direction. “I am.”
Pfeffer looked impressed. “Really.”
For a moment, they stood there—all four of them. Finally, it was Stave who broke the silence. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I’ve got a tactical meeting in a few minutes. I ought to be going.”
“Of course,” said Jiterica. And she retrieved her suit.
As she slipped it back on, Paris saw the way Stave looked at her. It almost made him drop the pretense of polite behavior and confront the Magnian.
Almost. But he managed to restrain himself.
“Thank you so much,” Jiterica told Stave once she had closed up her suit.
“It was my pleasure,” said the Magnian. And with a nod to Paris, he left Jiterica’s quarters, Pfeffer trailing in his wake.
Paris waited until the door slid closed behind Stave. Then he turned to Jiterica and said, “We have to talk.”
“All right,” she said.
He sat her down and, as well as he could, explained what had happened and why it wasn’t proper. And he also told her how he felt about it.
“You’ve got a right to do anything you want,” he said. “Everyone does. But it’s traditional, in a monogamous relationship, for both partners to keep their clothes on. I mean…unless they’re alone. Or with each other.”
With every qualification, he sounded increasingly ridiculous. But it wasn’t ridiculous. It was something Jiterica needed to know if she was to continue living among humanoids.
She considered the advice for a moment, her ghostly features knotted in concentration. Then she said, “Are you certain about this?”
Paris straightened. “Of course.”
“The reason I ask,” said Jiterica, “is that I’ve seen others take their clothes off, with no apparent concern about my being there. Gerda, for instance.”
Paris didn’t get it. “Gerda took her clothes off…?”
“I ran into her as she was returning to her quarters from the gym. I had expressed curiosity about her Klingon upbringing and she had promised to show me some artifacts.”
“Oh. That’s different. Gerda’s a woman—a female.”
“But I’m a female as well,” Jiterica pointed out.
“Yes,” said Paris, “that’s the point. You’re both females.”
“Then it’s acceptable for those of the same sex to disrobe in front of one another?”
“Exactly.”
Jiterica frowned. “Was it improper, then, for me to undress in front of Mister Simenon?”
It took him a moment to realize what she was referring to. “No,” he said, “not at all. Mister Simenon was helping you. He was making it easier for you to get around.”
She looked at him. “But…so was Stave.”
Paris sighed. “That’s different. Stave had an interest in you that went beyond helping. He was…exploiting the situation.”
Jiterica still looked uncomfortable. “It didn’t seem that way to me. I thought he was being kind.”
He knew he wasn’t explaining very well. “Look,” he said, “can you just trust me in this area?”
“Of course,” she said. “I always trust you.”
She did, too. And that placed a responsibility on him, which in turn compelled him to ask a question: Am I telling Jiterica these things as a jealous lover, or as a friend who’s concerned that she might be making a fool of herself?
After all, some cultures preferred nudity in certain situations. Betazoids, for instance. And they were among the most enlightened species in the Federation.
“Listen,” said Paris, “it’s your decision. But if I were you, I wouldn’t let Stave do that again.”
Jiterica nodded. “All right. I won’t.”
But he could tell by the look on her ghostly face that she would never have made that choice on her own. She was embracing it strictly for his sake.
On one hand, Paris was pleased that Jiterica had trusted him as he had asked. But on the other, he wished she had reached her decision without him.
Sitting back in his chair, Picard considered the bizarre tale of Gary Mitchell, as compiled from the once-classified logs of the twenty-third-century Starship Enterprise.
As a first-year cadet at Starfleet