Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [190]
He considered the Kelvan a moment longer as Jomar went about his labors. Something was wrong, it seemed to the second officer. Every now and then, a Magnian would frown in the alien’s direction.
He decided to speak with Williamson again. With luck, the colonist could shed some light on the matter.
He had raised his hand to tap his combadge when someone said, “Commander?” The voice sounded awfully familiar.
Then he realized it wasn’t a voice at all. It was just a word in his head, planted telepathically.
Turning, Picard saw Serenity Santana come through the control chamber’s only doorway.
The colonist was as beautiful as when he first saw her. Her lips were full of color again, her eyes deep and searching, her long, black hair loosely cascading over one shoulder.
“Ms. Santana,” Picard replied.
She feigned disapproval. “People generally use their first names here. Please…call me Serenity.”
Remembering what she had done to the Stargazer, he kept his response to a single word. “Serenity.”
Santana’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked into his. It seemed to Picard that the woman was skimming the surface of his mind. “You’re surprised to see me.”
“I am,” he admitted freely. “Apparently, your people’s medical techniques are even more formidable than I was led to believe.”
“To an outsider,” she said, “I can see how they would appear that way.” She paused. “I owe you an apology, don’t I?”
The second officer shook his head from side to side. “Mr. Williamson has made your apologies for you. He spoke of the pressures the Nuyyad placed on you and Daniels.”
The woman looked relieved. “Then you see I had no choice? I had to do as the Nuyyad demanded.”
“So it would seem,” he responded flatly, keeping his thoughts to himself as much as possible.
Santana studied him a little longer. Then she smiled wistfully. “You know,” she said, “I thought we had the makings of an intriguing friendship. I hope what happened doesn’t make that impossible.”
Picard wanted very much to tell her that their friendship could still develop unimpeded. However, he couldn’t allow himself the luxury. He held the fate of an entire crew in his hands, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize it by giving rein to his emotions.
No matter how strong they might be.
Besides, Picard thought, Santana had caused the deaths of Captain Ruhalter and several other crewmen, and injured a great many more. It wasn’t easy to forget that.
“I will try to keep an open mind,” he told her, his tone as devoid of emotion as Jomar’s.
The woman sighed. “Under the circumstances, I suppose that’s the best answer I can hope to get.”
Picard didn’t know what to say to that. But as it turned out, he didn’t have to say anything at all—because at that moment, an argument was breaking out on the other side of the shield control device.
“Are you out of your mind?” someone hollered.
“Insulting me will not mask your ineptitude,” came the response.
Picard couldn’t identify the first voice right off the bat, but he could certainly identify the second one. Quite clearly, it was Jomar, and his tone was an edgy one.
Circumnavigating the control device, the second officer saw what the dispute was about. The Kelvan was tapping away at one of the colonists’ keypads, erasing work that had already been done.
“If you cannot follow directions properly,” Jomar added, “do not participate in this activity.”
The Magnian in question, a dark-haired man who had been introduced to Picard as Armor Brentano, looked around angrily at his fellow technicians. “Did you see what he did to my screen? He’s insane!”
“No,” said Jomar, looking up from the keypad. “I am meticulous. Perhaps it is you who are insane.”
Brentano took a couple of steps toward the Kelvan. “Am I the one who just wrecked half a day’s work?”
“Perhaps it was half a day’s work,” Jomar remarked coldly, “but it was not half a day’s progress.”
Picard had heard enough. “Calm down,” he told the combatants, moving forward with the intention of getting between them.
Santana reinforced