Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [172]
Arriving at his solitary destination, he put his tray down and deposited himself in a chair. Then he pushed himself into his table and began to eat, mindful of the fact that he had to get back to work soon.
He was halfway finished when some of his crewmates walked in and took a table next to his. He recognized them as Lieutenant Werber, Chief Engineer Simenon, and a couple of the men who worked for him.
They didn’t acknowledge Joseph’s presence. In fact, they didn’t acknowledge anyone. They were too engrossed in their conversation.
Joseph didn’t want to eavesdrop. He was the kind of person who respected the rights of others, the right of privacy in particular. However, Werber and his companions were speaking so loudly, it would have been difficult not to hear them.
“—upstart is taking the captain’s place,” said Simenon. His expression was a distinctly sour one.
“And he was the one who convinced Ruhalter to trust Santana,” Werber pointed out.
“How do you know?” asked the chief engineer.
“Leach told me,” said the weapons officer.
Simenon shook his scaly head in disbelief. “The way that woman twisted Picard around her finger…it was disgraceful. And now we’re all going to pay the price for it.”
“You think she led us into a trap?” asked one of the other engineers, a man named Pernell.
Werber chuckled bitterly. “Is there any doubt of it?”
Pug Joseph swallowed and pushed his tray away. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like eating anymore.
It seemed to him that Werber was right. Santana had led the Stargazer into a trap. In fact, she must have begun plotting it long before she set foot on the ship.
But it wasn’t just Commander Picard whom she had hoodwinked. She had pulled the wool over Joseph’s eyes as well. If he had been his usual alert self, he might have figured the woman out in time and warned Captain Ruhalter not to trust her.
But he had allowed Santana to charm him, to draw him in. He had let his guard down. And as a result, they had lost their captain and their first officer, and come within inches of losing their ship.
Joseph promised himself that as long as he lived, he would never let someone like Santana fool him again.
Idun Asmund made a small course adjustment to avoid some space debris and watched the stars slide to starboard on the viewscreen.
Commander Picard, who was standing behind her, nodded approvingly. The hollows under his eyes gave him the look of a man sacrificing sleep and other creature comforts for the sake of doing what needed to be done.
But then, he was laboring under a great burden. He had already scoured the ship for survivors, gotten repairs underway on key systems, and moved the ship away from the coordinates of their battle in case other enemy vessels were on their way.
Truly, Picard was a warrior.
However, he seemed unequal to his task in one respect and one respect only—though he moved around the bridge like a caged targ, he refused to settle into the center seat.
Of course, the captain had perished less than fourteen hours ago. Quite likely, Picard still thought of the seat as Ruhalter’s and avoided it out of respect.
On the other hand, a Klingon wouldn’t have hesitated to sit down. In fact, Idun reflected with a secret smile, a Klingon might have put a dagger in his superior to secure such an opportunity.
The helm officer frowned, regaining her composure. She was a Starfleet officer, she reminded herself. She had sworn allegiance to the Federation and the ideals it held dear.
But she had been raised as a Klingon, and part of her still thought as Klingons did—which was why she couldn’t find solace in a leader who shied from leadership.
No matter the reason.
For the next hour or so, Picard continued to haunt the bridge, checking on this console or that one, stealing glances at the viewscreen every now and then. Then, apparently satisfied