Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [147]
Ben Zoma leaned closer to him and spoke sotto voce. “Looks like you’re developing quite a fan club, Commander.”
Picard glanced at the security chief. Gilaad Ben Zoma was a handsome, darkly complected man with a ready smile. He was also the second officer’s closest friend and colleague on the ship.
Like Picard’s father, Ben Zoma’s had disapproved of his joining Starfleet. From the day they met, the coincidence had given the two men a common ground, something about which to commiserate—and had created a warm rapport between them.
“Fan club indeed,” the second officer responded in the same soft voice.
Up ahead, Ruhalter was too engrossed in conversation with Eliopoulos to pay much attention to what his officers were saying. Still, Picard didn’t want to utter anything even vaguely insubordinate.
“That’s all you have to say?” Ben Zoma wondered. “You know, if you’re not careful, our pal Number One is going to stab you in your sleep.”
Picard chuckled drily. “He’s welcome to try.”
Three
Picard stood outside a pair of gray sliding doors, alongside Ruhalter, Ben Zoma, and Eliopoulos, and watched an armed Starfleet security officer punch a code into a wall pad.
A moment later, the doors parted, revealing a fairly large, well-lit chamber. A translucent force field bisected the place, denying access to two separate cells. One was empty. The other contained two very human-looking figures—a man and a woman in dark green jumpsuits.
The man was of average build, with curly, red hair and a robust mustache. The woman was dark and petite, her thick, black tresses drawn back into a long, unruly ponytail.
Daniels, Picard thought. And Santana.
They eyed Eliopoulos and the others as they entered. There wasn’t any anger in their expressions, despite their captivity. There wasn’t any apparent resentment. But there was an almost palpable sense of impatience.
“Commander Eliopoulos,” said the redhaired man. “I hope these gentlemen are from the ship you told us about.”
“They are,” Eliopoulos confirmed. He introduced Ruhalter, Picard, and Ben Zoma one by one.
“Pleased to meet you,” the woman replied.
Up close, Serenity Santana was strikingly beautiful, with big, dark eyes and full, cherry-colored lips. So beautiful, in fact, that Picard had difficulty taking his eyes off her.
It seemed to him that her gaze lingered on him for a moment as well. But then, the second officer was quick to concede, that might well have been a product of his imagination.
“And your mission?” Daniels asked, his eyes narrowing. “To investigate what we’ve been telling you about the Nuyyad? That’s still on, I hope.”
“It is,” Eliopoulos confirmed for him. “In fact, that’s what we’re here about. Captain Ruhalter wants to decide for himself which of you he’ll take along as a guide.”
Santana frowned. “Which of us?”
“Starfleet Command has decided it would be better for one of you to remain here,” Eliopoulos explained. “For security reasons.”
Picard saw Santana and Daniels exchange glances. Judging from the looks on their faces, this was yet another indignity in what they perceived as a long list of indignities.
“Fine,” said the red-haired man.
Santana looked at Ruhalter. “Who are you going to take?”
The captain returned her gaze for a moment. Then, in a voice that betrayed nothing, he said, “I’ll take you.”
The woman seemed unprepared for such a quick decision. “Just out of curiosity,” she asked, “why me?”
Ruhalter smiled an easy smile. “As my second officer will tell you, I like to go with my instincts.”
Santana glanced at Picard. Again, it seemed to him that her scrutiny lasted a little longer than necessary. Then she looked at Daniels, and finally at the captain again.
“I’m ready when you are,” the woman told him.
Idun Asmund had been waiting at her helm console for what seemed like forever before she heard her captain’s voice flood the bridge: “We’re aboard, Number One. Take us out of here.”
Commander Leach, who had been sitting in Ruhalter’s center seat, responded to the order. “Aye, sir.” He turned to Asmund. “You heard the