Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [159]
It was insulting. It was frustrating. And Leach had decided that he had taken all he was going to take of it. He had promised himself that he was going to confront Ruhalter the next time he gave Picard a job that should have been the exec’s.
Then, as if he had read Leach’s mind, the captain contacted him in his quarters and put him in charge of the Kelvan’s deflector modifications. Finally, Leach had a task he could sink his teeth into—and an opportunity, as well, he was quick to note. If he could see the retrofit schedule completed quickly and efficiently, he would prove to Ruhalter that he was good for something more than meeting visitors at the transporter platform.
Smiling to himself for the first time in a long time, the first officer stopped in front of the lounge doors and tapped the metal padd set into the bulkhead. A moment later, the doors slid aside, revealing the room’s long, oval table.
There were three figures seated around it—Simenon, Werber, and Jomar. The Kelvan sat apart from the two officers, his pale blue eyes glazed over as if he were deep in thought.
But he wasn’t. Leach knew that. It was simply one of the flaws in Jomar’s imitation of a human being.
The first officer pulled out a chair and took his seat. “Thanks for coming,” he told the others. “I’m hoping we can keep this short, so we can attend to our respective duties. All I need is an update on how the deflector modifications are going.”
“They are going well,” the Kelvan answered, before anyone else could be consulted. “We should be done on schedule.”
Werber frowned. “As our colleague says, we’ll be finished on time…barring any unforeseen complications, of course.”
“No snags, then?” Leach asked.
“None,” Jomar blurted. “Neither with the field generators nor the distortion amplifiers. Everything is proceeding smoothly.”
Simenon regarded the Kelvan with disdainfully slitted eyes. “So far, so good,” the engineer agreed.
Given the climate of optimism, Leach didn’t think anything else really needed to be said. “All right, then. We’ll reconvene at this time tomorrow. Until then, you’re all—”
“You do not like me,” the Kelvan observed abruptly, cutting off the first officer’s directive.
It took Leach a full second to recover from the remark—perhaps because it had some truth to it. “I beg your pardon?” he said.
“You do not like me,” Jomar repeated.
The first officer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Why would you say something like that?”
The Kelvan shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I am different. I do not emote as you do. I lack social graces. Do not bother to tell me that these facts are irrelevant. I know differently.”
Leach could feel his opportunity to impress the captain slipping away…and quickly. Hiding his anxiety behind a smile, he dismissed Jomar’s statement with a wave of his hand.
“Listen,” he said, “we’re Starfleet officers. We’ve each had experience with dozens of sentient life-forms—hundreds, in some cases—and believe me, you’re not as different as you might believe.”
“Nonetheless,” Jomar insisted, “you do not like me. You resent my being here. Perhaps you feel that my contributions are unnecessary.”
The Kelvan leaned forward in his chair. His face was still devoid of expression, but his posture suggested a purposefulness Leach hadn’t seen in Jomar to that point.
“It does not matter to me what you think,” the Kelvan told them. “You have not witnessed Nuyyad atrocities. You have not seen my people writhing in agony. You have not seen them die. But I have. That is why I will go to any length to halt the Nuyyad’s advance.”
The first officer didn’t quite know what to say to that. Fortunately, Simenon bailed him out.
“We all have the same purpose in mind,” the Gnalish assured Jomar. “Let’s not waste any time arguing over how to pursue it.”
The Kelvan considered Simenon, then nodded. “I will take you at your word.” He turned to Leach. “If you have no further need of me, Commander, I will return to my duties.”
The first officer was only too happy to accommodate Jomar.