Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
Paris smiled. “You did.”
His reply only seemed to confuse her. “Then why are you speaking of it again?”
This wasn’t going to be easy, he told himself. “Because I want to say…what I mean is…”
“Yes?” she said.
Paris could think of only one way to say it. “Before I left your quarters, when I was standing in your midst…I felt something. Something good.”
Jiterica gazed at him, expressionless. It was impossible to tell how she had taken his remark.
Nonetheless, Paris plunged on. “If it’s all right with you, I wouldn’t mind feeling it again.”
For a time, she just stood there, appearing to absorb what he had told her. The ensign began to wonder if he had overstepped his bounds after all.
Then, just as he was about to tell her to forget he’d said anything, he saw a grin spread across her ghostly face. “I would not mind it, either,” she told him.
Paris let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. It was the best thing she could have said. He wanted to embrace her and share his happiness with her.
But it wasn’t possible. The only thing he could embrace was Jiterica’s containment suit, and Paris didn’t find that option especially appealing.
This wasn’t going to be easy, he told himself. Still, he wanted to try to make it work. And as he looked into her eyes, pale and insubstantial as they were, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t regret this.
Any of it.
Nikolas sat on the edge of his bed and shook his head.
To take another shot at a fellow crewman, even if he thought it was in self-defense…it was about as stupid a thing as he had ever done. Even more stupid than fighting with Hanta in the first place. And Nikolas couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t do something just as stupid tomorrow.
Or the next day.
Neither could Ben Zoma. That was why he had relieved the ensign of duty pending an investigation of the incident with Hanta in the mess hall.
Nikolas didn’t disagree with the first officer’s decision. If he were in command of the ship, he would have done exactly the same thing.
Even when he wasn’t fighting, he was walking around like a zombie and shirking his responsibilities. He was useless. And he didn’t see the situation changing anytime soon.
Not when he couldn’t make himself forget Gerda Idun. Not when there were two living reminders of her sitting on the bridge, torturing him with their very presence.
Sometimes Nikolas would see them glaring at him, and realize that he had been staring. He didn’t even know for how long. He just knew they didn’t like it.
He couldn’t blame them, either. It wasn’t their fault that they looked and sounded and walked the same way Gerda Idun did, or that she had left while they remained.
Once, Nikolas wouldn’t have believed himself capable of such feelings. Other guys fell head-over-heels in love, not him. He had always been too wild, too fickle to let himself get sucked into something like that.
Until now.
He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t go on this way. He needed to do something before he went nuts altogether.
And it seemed to Nikolas there was only one thing he could do.
As Picard entered the lounge, he saw Guinan and Ben Zoma standing by an observation port and chatting. And from the look of it, she was feeling anything but uncomfortable in the first officer’s company.
“Sorry,” Picard said as he approached them, “but I had some ship’s business to take care of. I trust Commander Ben Zoma has been a good host?”
Guinan nodded. “The best. I feel right at home.”
Picard smiled. But then, the woman looked so different from the last time he had seen her.
First off, she wasn’t purple anymore. Like Picard, she had been restored to her original appearance by Doctor Greyhorse.
For another thing, Guinan’s garb was different. Though she had donned a dress similar to the one she had worn in Oblivion, it wasn’t the same washed-out shade of gray. It was a vibrant cornflower blue—just like her hat, which was even more extravagant than the one she was wearing when he met her.
However, those weren’t the only