Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [41]
In any case, someone had set off that bomb—someone who was willing to do more than just plunge people’s hands in boiling water, horrible as that was. Some interested party, either the Cardassians or someone else, was willing to shed blood to get what they wanted.
Yet Picard didn’t seem worried. In fact, he seemed eager to take the next step in their search, regardless of where it might lead them.
He reminded her more than ever of the man she had met all those years ago in San Francisco. A man as steady as a rock, who had unhesitatingly risked his life and his mission to stay behind in that cave with her.
And the fact that he had no hair made it even easier to think of him that way.
For the first time in a long time, Guinan felt safe, protected from the forces that had tried so hard to tear her apart…and in some ways were trying still.
Picard didn’t know that, of course. He thought he was following her, dependent on her for his salvation. But in truth, it was she who was following him.
“Mate,” said Paris.
Jiterica looked surprised as she gazed at him from her seat on the other side of his table. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mate,” he repeated.
Only then did he realize she could have derived a different meaning from the word than the one he had intended. Blushing fiercely, and hoping that Jiterica wasn’t capable of discerning it, he pointed to the chess-board between them.
It had been a gift from his father on the occasion of his graduation from the Academy, arriving in a cargo container with the expressed sentiment that the younger Paris could learn something about tactics from it.
But Paris hadn’t been thinking of tactics when he suggested that he and Jiterica play the game. He had been thinking of how it would help her develop her manual dexterity.
And, as well, he had been thinking of how it would give them something to do when they spent their off-duty time together. Somehow, the idea of just sitting and talking with her made him a little uncomfortable now.
It wasn’t that way before. But since the incident in Jiterica’s quarters, Paris couldn’t help but look at his friend a little…differently.
“Mate?” she echoed.
Jiterica’s king—a crude rendition of the traditional Terran figure carved out of Vulcan amethyst, which had retreated into a corner three moves earlier—was now effectively surrounded by Paris’s amber queen and amber knight.
Jiterica studied the situation for a moment, then looked up again. “It appears you have won.”
Paris nodded. “But you put up a better fight that time. Much better. For a moment, I thought you had me.”
Behind her faceplate, her phantom brow seemed to pucker like a real one. “Had you?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling his blush intensify again. “You were all around me and…” He stopped himself. “I mean, your pieces were all around me…”
Jiterica waited patiently for him to finish, apparently oblivious of Paris’s discomfort.
“How about another game?” he said suddenly.
She smiled. “I would enjoy that. And this time,” she added, “I will try to be aware of when you mate with me.”
No, thought Paris, not mate with you.
He was about to explain Jiterica’s grammatical error when he realized that he would have to provide a literal translation of what she had said—and decided to leave the matter alone. “Good” was the response he settled for.
He forced himself not to look at his friend while they set up the board again. It gave his cheeks a chance to cool off. Finally, the pieces were all in place.
“I go first?” Jiterica asked.
Paris nodded. “Absolutely.” After all, he had gone first the last time.
Jiterica moved one of her pawns forward a couple of spaces. Then she looked up at him. “You said I was permitted to do that, correct? Move two spaces, that is.”
“Yes,” he said, “of course.”
Apparently satisfied with her opening, she sat back in her chair. As she did, the light caught her faceplate, briefly obscuring the ghostly visage behind it.
In that one moment, Jiterica’s helmet looked strangely