Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [81]
She seemed more animated, more optimistic than when he first saw her in that bar back on Oblivion. He wasn’t certain why that should be, exactly, but it pleased him.
“So,” said Ben Zoma, “if I understand correctly, it was Guinan who distracted the Cardassian in the cargo hauler while you dropped the shields?”
Picard shook his head. “I dropped the shields when the Cardassian killed his henchmen.”
“But,” said Guinan, “I knew it would take a few moments for you to realize the shields were down and beam us out. So I kept him busy.”
“With a little character analysis,” the captain added. He smiled at Guinan. “And no Starfleet counselor could have done a better job of it.”
“Where did you learn to do that?” Ben Zoma asked.
Guinan shrugged. “Here and there.”
Picard’s smile deepened. There was a lot more to Guinan than met the eye. It seemed to him that he could probably spend a lifetime getting to know her and still barely scratch her surface.
She wasn’t merely someone who had rescued him from a detention cell. He now thought of Guinan as his friend.
“One thing I don’t understand,” he told her, “is how you knew Demmix would drop the force barrier between him and us.”
“You mean when she fired into the ventilation shaft,” Ben Zoma noted.
“Yes,” said the captain, “then.” But he had barely gotten the confirmation out when the answer came to him. “What am I thinking?” he asked Guinan. “You just listened.”
Ben Zoma looked curious. “Listened…?”
“A valuable ability,” Picard explained with a wink at his friend, “or so our guest here seems to believe.”
“Actually,” she said, “there wasn’t any time to listen. It was just a hunch.”
“Really,” said the captain.
It occurred to him that Guinan might have learned a bit from him even as he was learning from her. He found the notion a gratifying one indeed.
“You know,” said Guinan, in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “I was telling Commander Ben Zoma here that you need to broaden your horizons.”
“Really,” said Picard. “In what way?”
“Earl Grey?” she said. “At a bar on Oblivion? You could have been more inventive than that.”
“What would you recommend?” the captain asked.
“Wait right here,” said Guinan.
Then she went over to the replicator slot. When she came back, she was carrying a pair of tall, fluted glasses with a roiling, bloodred liquid inside.
“Here you go,” she said, handing a vapor-topped glass to each officer.
“Will I regret this?” asked Ben Zoma.
“Not at all,” she assured him.
Picard took a look into his glass. It looked…formidable. Throwing caution to the winds, he took a sip.
And was pleasantly surprised.
“Not bad,” he said.
Ben Zoma agreed. “Not bad at all.”
“What do you call it?” the captain asked.
“Volcanic Spew.” She shrugged. “It’s a Tellarite drink.”
Ben Zoma turned to his friend. “You know, you ought to hire this woman on as our official bartender.”
“I wish I could,” Picard said in earnest.
“And while you’re at it,” his first officer added, “maybe you ought to get yourself a shipboard barber as well. That is, if you’re planning on growing your hair back.”
“I’m very much planning on growing it back,” the captain told him sternly. He frowned as he ran his hand over his hairless pate. “This is only a temporary condition, I assure you.”
Guinan put a hand over her mouth, badly concealing a smile.
“What?” Picard asked.
“Nothing,” she said, her eyes dancing with glee. “Nothing at all.”
The captain regarded her. Was it possible that his friend had a knack for foreknowledge she hadn’t let on about—and therefore, some sense of how his appearance would evolve in years to come?
No, he told himself firmly. Guinan had many talents, but no one could see into the future.
Epilogue
WHEN ULELO EMERGED from the turbolift to begin his shift on the bridge, he was certain that he had made the right decision.
But now that he had been at his post for a couple of hours, he wasn’t quite so sure. In fact, he wasn’t sure at all.
He hadn’t wanted to