Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [51]
Her momentum carried her forward a good five meters before she touched down. And while it wasn’t the best landing she had ever made, it wasn’t the worst.
It was only then that she noticed someone standing by the entrance to the gym. Turning, Cadwallader saw that it was Commander Ben Zoma, his arms folded across his chest.
“Impressive,” he said.
It would have been even more so in a bigger gym. However, Cadwallader wasn’t one to brag.
She just nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“I won’t drag this out,” said Ben Zoma. “What happened in the mess hall before…”
Cadwallader steeled herself for a reprimand. And it was well deserved, wasn’t it? How could she have been so blind as not to notice someone the size of Dojjaron?
“…was impressive as well,” the first officer finished. “Judging by Commander Wu’s report, you couldn’t have comported yourself any better if you’d been a twenty-year veteran.”
Cadwallader wasn’t certain she had heard him correctly. “I…that’s kind of you to say, sir.”
“I just wanted you to know,” said Ben Zoma, “that exemplary behavior doesn’t go unnoticed around here—even in the middle of a critical mission.”
The com officer smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”
Ben Zoma smiled back. “I thought you would be. Keep up the good work, Cadwallader.”
“I will, sir.”
The first officer regarded her a moment longer. Then he turned and started for the exit.
Cadwallader watched the door open for him and let him out. Then she dropped to the mat below her, rolled onto her back and laughed out of relief.
She was still laughing when she realized that Ben Zoma had stuck his head back through the open doorway. Feeling a rush of blood to her face, she bolted to her feet.
“Sir?”
“By the way,” the first officer said, “feel free to replicate some gym togs. The last time I worked out in my uniform, I got a rash—and I’m not sure I should say where.”
Cadwallader couldn’t imagine that coming from Captain Muirchinko. “Aye, sir,” she said. “I’ll try to remember that.”
But what she would remember was Ben Zoma’s kindness. Even more than before, she was glad she had decided to transfer to the Stargazer.
Picard was going over the Gary Mitchell logs yet again, hoping to glean some tiny but useful bit of data he had missed, when he heard the chime sound at the door of his ready room.
“Come,” he said.
As soon as the door slid aside, Serenity walked in. It didn’t take a former lover to see that she was not happy.
“I understand you had a discussion with Dojjaron,” she said, not even bothering to sit down.
“I suppose he discussed it with you,” said Picard.
“He did.”
The captain smiled. “I am surprised he let you near him. After all, if you had touched him, there would have been hell to pay.”
“He’s a Nuyyad, Jean-Luc. Surely you’ve learned that people from different worlds have different customs.”
That rankled. “He went after one of my crewmen, Serenity. Should I have ignored the fact?”
“I don’t think you appreciate what it took for him to come here, alone and unarmed.”
Picard shrugged. “He had plenty of motivation, if Brakmaktin is the aberration Dojarron claims he is.”
“But that doesn’t mean it was easy for him. You have to understand how he thinks—how his species thinks. If we were the Nuyyad of another clan, we would have roasted him on a spit and fed him to our pets by now.”
“So he is uncomfortable in our midst?”
“Not just uncomfortable,” said Santana. “Terrified.”
The captain chuckled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Terrified,” Serenity repeated grimly. “It’s instinctive, Jean-Luc—programmed into his genes. You don’t dwell among your enemies. You get the hell away from them.”
And yet Dojjaron had defied his instincts, because the stakes were high enough. That was as good a definition of courage as any, Picard supposed.
“All right,” he said. “I will take his feelings into account next time I speak to him. But it would be far