Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [150]
Leach seemed to wrestle with the decision. Finally, he conceded the point with a nod. “I understand,” he said.
But he didn’t understand. Picard could tell. And so could Ruhalter, the second officer imagined.
Nonetheless, the captain thanked them for their help and dismissed them, and remained in the lounge for a scheduled meeting with Simenon and Werber. Picard and Leach left the room together, the silence between them thick and full of hostility.
Finally, as they made their way toward the nearest turbolift, the first officer spoke. “I know what you’re doing,” he said.
Picard glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
Leach’s mouth twisted with unconcealed resentment. “Don’t play innocent with me, Commander. You’re worming your way into the captain’s good graces more and more each day, hoping to squeeze me out and land yourself a fat promotion. But I’ve worked too long and hard to let someone like you undermine my authority.”
“Undermine your…?” Picard smiled incredulously and shook his head. “I had no such thing in mind, I assure you.”
“The hell you didn’t.” Leach’s eyes had become as sharp as chips of obsidian. “Don’t push me, Commander. I’m liable to push back.”
Picard didn’t know what to say to that. And before he could think of anything, two crewmen turned the corner ahead of them. The second officer recognized them as Pernell and Zaffino—a couple of Simenon’s engineers.
“Just the men I wanted to see,” said Leach.
The engineers looked surprised. “Us, sir?” asked Zaffino.
Picard doubted that Leach had any real business with Pernell and Zaffino. More likely, he was simply looking for an excuse not to share a turbolift with the second officer.
That was fine with Picard, who hadn’t been looking forward to the company either. Leaving his colleague with the two engineers, he made his way down the corridor on his own.
The second officer wasn’t thrilled that he had made an enemy—especially of the ship’s first officer, who happened to be his immediate superior. However, he wouldn’t let it stop him from discharging his duty. Turning left at the first intersection, he came to the turbolift and summoned it.
When the compartment arrived, Picard stepped inside and uttered a single word: “Brig.” Then, his command filed and noted, he let the lift carry him to the vicinity of Santana’s cell.
Four
Picard gazed at Serenity Santana across a table in the Stargazer’s mess hall. She, in turn, was gazing into her drinking glass, her raven hair liberated from its ponytail.
The woman had been happy to leave the brig, no question about it. It couldn’t have been a picnic sitting in the same small enclosure hour after hour, denied access even to the ship’s library computer lest she stumble across something of some small tactical value.
The second officer glanced at the open doorway, through which he could see a watchful Pug Joseph. A necessary precaution, he conceded, but one that made having a casual conversation a bit awkward.
“You’re right,” Santana observed. “It is a little awkward.”
Picard turned to her. “You read my mind,” he said, hearing a mixture of surprise and delight in his voice.
“Of course,” she returned.
“You know,” he said candidly, “I haven’t had much experience with telepathy. Few Federation species are capable of it. And none of them are capable of telekinesis.”
“Unfortunately,” Santana replied, “neither talent is very highly developed in our case. Captain Eliopoulos must have mentioned that.”
The commander nodded. “He did. Still…”
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. “Are you angling for a demonstration, Commander?”
He chuckled. “Can’t you tell?”
Santana looked at him askance. “If you’ve spoken to our friend Eliopoulos, you know I’m only privy to active thoughts.”
“I do know that,” he admitted. “And for the sake of expediency, I’ll make no bones about it…I would like to see a demonstration.”
She seemed charmed by his manners. “All right. One feat of mental dexterity coming up.”
Gradually,