Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [163]
Joseph blushed. “Oh.”
The woman thought for a moment. “Here’s one. Tall and thin, with jet black fur and silver eyes.”
He tried to put the information together. What he came up with seemed pretty elegant. “Sounds easy on the eyes.”
“I’ve always thought so. They’re called the Yotaavo.”
“Friend?” he ventured, playing the game.
“Friend. We’ve done quite a bit of trading with them over the years. Want another one?”
Joseph shrugged. “Sure.”
Again, Santana took a moment to choose. “Small and muscular, with four arms, short legs, and scaly, yellow skin.”
The security officer constructed an image in his head. “I think I’ve got it. What are they called?”
“The Caddis.”
“I’ll say…friend.”
“Actually,” said the prisoner, “they’ve been both. When we first established the colony, they were always making life difficult for us. In the last fifty or sixty years, they’ve gotten to know us better. As a result, things have improved.”
“How about an enemy?” Joseph asked. “A current one, I mean.”
She frowned. “We’ve only got one of those. Big and fleshy, with shiny, black eyes and a fringe of dark hair around their skulls.”
“The Nuyyad?” he asked.
Santana nodded. “Not that we’ve ever had a run-in with them—but we consider them our enemy just the same.”
“I can’t wait to meet them,” Joseph said, injecting a note of sarcasm into his voice.
The woman didn’t seem to notice the irony. “Oh yes, you can, Mr. Joseph. Believe me, you can.”
Picard sat down at the black, oval table in the Stargazer’s lounge and faced his captain. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Ruhalter nodded from the other side of the table. “I do indeed, Commander.” He paused, as if choosing his words more carefully than usual. “According to regulations, we shouldn’t be having this conversation. Nonetheless, I feel it’s necessary.”
The second officer waited patiently. The captain wasn’t the sort to need any prodding.
“As you’ve no doubt noticed,” said Ruhalter, “Commander Leach and I don’t often see eye to eye. Don’t get me wrong—he’s an efficient officer, with an impressive background and considerable skill in some areas. But he’s not a first officer. At least, not in my book.”
Picard was surprised. Captains didn’t normally make such comments about their execs—especially to subordinate officers.
“It’s unfortunate, really,” Ruhalter went on. “Captain Osborne expressed every confidence in Leach, and I relied heavily on his recommendation. It was one of the few times since I became a captain that I didn’t go with my instincts—and look what happened.”
The second officer had wondered how Ruhalter could have made such an error in judgment. Now he understood.
“I wound up with a man I can’t get along with,” said the captain. “A man eminently capable of carrying out a project on his own, yet plainly in capable of leading others.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s not a good situation, Jean-Luc. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t do something about it.”
Do something? Picard repeated to himself. Might that mean what he thought it meant?
“As soon as we come back from this mission,” Ruhalter told him, “I’m going to arrange for Commander Leach to be transferred to another ship. Or, failing that, to some other Starfleet facility. Of course, that’s going to leave me short a first officer…” He smiled. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have serving in that capacity than you.”
The second officer was at a loss for words. Finally, he found a few. “I would be honored, sir,” he replied graciously. “That is, when the appropriate time comes.”
The captain nodded approvingly. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Commander. It’ll give me something to look forward to when I’m wrangling with your predecessor over Serenity Santana.”
“Commander Leach still insists it was a mistake to bring her along?”
“Yes,” said Ruhalter, “he does. And at every opportunity, I might add. It’s making my head spin.”
Picard understood. The first officer made his head spin sometimes too.
“In the meantime,” the captain told him, “we have an important mission on