Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [149]
Santana smiled a wan smile. “You know,” she said in a friendly, almost playful tone, “the guards on the starbase talked to me. Are the rules that different here?”
It seemed rude not to speak to her at all. No, Joseph reflected, more than rude. Cruel, really. After all, the woman was going to be in that cell for a long time.
“If you need anything,” he responded finally, “let me know.”
“Ah,” said Santana, her smile blossoming into something lovely. “So you can talk. That’s good to know.”
With an effort, he kept from smiling back. “Is there?” he asked. “Anything you need, I mean?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Not right now,” she told him. “But if I think of anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
Then he did smile.
“We’re making progress,” Santana observed. “First a conversation. Then a smile. Next thing you know, I’ll have you in my power.”
Joseph felt his heart jump up his throat. Instinctively, his hand went to the phaser on his hip.
She took note of it. “Actually,” she said, her voice a good deal more measured, “I was joking with you.”
As quickly as he could, he took his hand off his weapon. “So was I,” he answered, trying to salvage some of his dignity.
Santana smiled again. “Listen,” she said, “I should probably let you believe you fooled me just now, but…well, I’m a telepath. I can tell when you’re joking and when you’re not. And just now…” She shrugged.
Joseph blushed.
“So,” she said, “now that we’ve shared an incredibly awkward moment…what’s your name?”
There didn’t seem to be any harm in telling her. “Joseph. Peter Joseph. But everyone calls me ‘Pug.’”
“Pug,” Santana echoed, tilting her head to the side as if to get a better look at him. “Yes…I can see why.”
The scrutiny made Joseph feel self-conscious. But in a way, it was also flattering. It wasn’t often he had beautiful women staring at him.
“Tell me something, Pug.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I don’t mean something in particular,” she explained. “I mean tell me anything. Anything at all. It’ll make it easier to pass the time.”
The security officer tried to think of something, but he couldn’t. He had never been much of a conversationalist.
“All right, then,” said Santana. “I’ll tell you something. I’ll tell you about the place I come from.”
And she did.
Picard reported to the ship’s lounge as soon as he received the captain’s summons. But by the time he arrived, Ruhalter and Leach were already seated around the sleek, black table.
“Have a seat, Jean-Luc,” said the captain.
Picard pulled out a chair across from Leach and sat down. Then he gave Ruhalter his attention.
“I think one of us should get to know Santana better,” the captain declared. “I’m not saying Eliopoulos’s conclusions aren’t valid, but I’d prefer to have a second opinion.”
“Makes sense,” Leach agreed.
Ruhalter regarded the second officer. “I noticed some…” He smiled. “Let’s call it magnetism…between you and Santana.”
Picard felt his cheeks heat up. “Magnetism?”
“That’s what I said,” came Ruhalter’s reply. “I didn’t get where I am by being oblivious to that kind of thing. She’s attracted to you, Jean-Luc, no question about it.”
Suddenly, the second officer’s uniform seemed a size too tight for him. He lifted his chin. “If you say so, sir.”
“I’d like you to spend some time with her,” the captain told him. “Take her out of her cell, if you like. See what you can learn.”
Picard didn’t entirely like the idea of weaseling his way into someone’s confidence. On the other hand, he knew there might be a lot at stake.
“As you wish,” he responded.
“I object, sir,” said Leach.
Ruhalter turned to his first officer, making no effort to conceal his surprise. “On what grounds, Commander?”
Leach didn’t even glance at Picard as he spoke. “On the grounds that I’ve got a degree in xenopsychology and a higher rank…all of which makes me better qualified to do the job.”
There was a rather obvious note of bitterness in the first officer’s voice, but the captain seemed willing to ignore it. “You know I’m a man who listens to his