Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [24]
Merant swallowed.
“Is that clear?” asked the glinn, a dark but subtle promise of violence in his tone.
“Yes,” said Merant. “Very clear.”
The glinn smiled, though he was far from amused by the situation. “Good. I wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. You may go now.”
Merant inclined his head. Then he turned and left, no doubt eager to be out of his superior’s sight.
The glinn nodded, satisfied that he had gotten his message across. Merant would find the Zartani before Picard could, one way or another.
Or, thought the glinn, my name isn’t Enabran Tain.
Ensign Cole Paris stood in front of the door to his colleague’s quarters and waited for the sensor mechanism to announce his presence.
Like Paris, his colleague was an ensign, relatively new to the Stargazer and Starfleet in general. But that was where the similarity between them ended.
Paris was human, of medium height and medium build, with fair hair and what had been described to him as boyish features. He was also the latest entry in a long line of Parises, several of his closest relatives occupying a prominent place in the lore of the Fleet.
His colleague, on the other hand, had no height or build, no hair, and no real facial features—though she could project the illusion of features through the transparent faceplate in the special containment suit she wore.
She also wasn’t human, or even solid. She was a Nizhrak, a low-density being whose species had evolved in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant—which was why she had to squeeze her mass into the containment suit. Without it, it would have been impossible for her to move through the ship, much less interact with monitors, control panels, and her crewmates.
Unfortunately, the suit was difficult for Jiterica to control. However, she had been getting more expert at it over the course of the last few weeks.
Coincidentally, it was in those same few weeks that Paris and Jiterica had become friends.
It was something he would never have envisioned in a million years. After all, when he first beamed aboard, he hadn’t known what to make of the Nizhrak. She was so unusual, so different from anyone he had ever met.
Then Commander Wu had asked them to work together to rescue a research vessel called the Belladonna, which had gotten itself caught in a strange, deadly space anomaly.
In order to save both ship and crew, Jiterica had placed her life in Paris’s hands. And he had found the courage to come through for her, overcoming a deep-rooted emotional problem in the process.
For a while after that, their schedules had conspired to keep them from seeing each other. Then they had met unexpectedly in a corridor near Paris’s quarters, and Paris had promised to get together with her.
In fact, he called on her just as soon as his shift that day was over. But then, Starfleet’s Parises were known for keeping their promises.
That first time, Paris and Jiterica had just lounged in her quarters and talked. The next one, they took a walk together through some of the ship’s less-traveled corridors.
Each time, they got to know each other a little better. And Paris found that the more he knew about Jiterica, the more he wanted to know.
It hardly mattered to him anymore that they had risked their lives together. What mattered was how much they enjoyed each other’s company.
It was in that spirit that Paris was calling on Jiterica now. The other times, he had called ahead first. But this time, he wanted it to be a surprise.
After all, as his aunt Patricia had often told him, spontaneity was the secret of life. And he hadn’t known too many people smarter than his aunt Patricia.
But the longer Paris stood in front of Jiterica’s quarters, the more he began to see that spontaneity had its downside. After what had to be a full two minutes, his friend still hadn’t answered the door.
The