Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [64]
“Some might call that kind of confidence a trap in and of itself. And I suppose it could be. But more often, I think it’s an asset. Because if you really believe you’re going to upset the odds, you generally will.” Morgen ran his palm over a clump of moss on the couch, studied it. “I really believe we’re going to get out of this, Riker.” He raised his head, fixing the human with his yellow eyes. “How about you?”
“And that,” said Troi, “is our predicament as I understand it.”
The rec cabin was empty but for the six of them—Troi herself, Ben Zoma, Cadwallader, Joseph, Greyhorse, and Asmund. The ship’s counselor looked from face to face. “Questions?”
“I take it Simenon is already involved in solving the problem,” said Greyhorse, his voice implying criticism of the idea—which was usually the case when he was talking about the Gnalish.
“That is correct,” Troi told him. “He is working closely with Geordi La Forge.”
The doctor added, “Much to Commander La Forge’s delight, no doubt.”
That drew a murmur of laughter; even the empath had to chuckle. Only Asmund, who sat in the back of the room apart from the others, seemed less than entertained by the remark.
“And Morgen?” asked Cadwallader.
“Commander Riker is discussing this with him separately. After all, there are political ramifications to his late arrival which will have to be dealt with.”
“Is there anything the rest of us can do?” asked Asmund.
Troi shook her head, noting how the woman’s professionalism had come to the fore as soon as she’d heard about the emergency. Otherwise, she would probably have resisted meeting with the others.
“Not at the present time,” said the counselor. “But if the situation changes, you will, of course, be notified.”
“Have you tried to contact any of our other ships?” asked Joseph. “The Lexington, for instance?”
The empath nodded. “We have sent out communications beacons. However, as long as we progress at this speed, no other ship can catch up to us—much less help us.”
Ben Zoma, who was sitting next to Joseph, clapped his security chief on the shoulder. “Well,” he said, “we all wanted to know what was out there. Maybe now we’re about to find out.” He looked at Troi, his dark eyes full of good cheer. “Don’t worry, Counselor. We served on the Stargazer—we’re used to blazing new territory.”
Troi was grateful for his help in keeping his comrades’ spirits up. And for Greyhorse’s as well—though that had not necessarily been the doctor’s purpose.
“If that’s all,” she said, “I should be getting back up to the bridge.”
No one objected. But as she made her way to the exit, she found Ben Zoma walking beside her.
She had a feeling it was no accident, but they were in the corridor—out of earshot of the others—before he confirmed it. “Counselor,” he said, looking straight ahead, “there’s a problem—isn’t there? I mean beyond this slipstream phenomenon.”
“A problem?” she echoed.
He turned to her, as serious as she’d ever seen him. “I’ve been at this too long not to know when something’s wrong. First of all, there’s an excess of security officers around—even if they’re trying their best not to be obvious about it. Second, Morgen’s spent an awful lot of time in his quarters lately. And third, the holodecks are suddenly off limits. Now, I don’t know what the others think, not having discussed this with them. But I’d be surprised if they weren’t a little suspicious as well.”
Troi looked him in the eye. “If you have a question,” she suggested, “you should take it up with the captain.” She smiled, hating the need to be evasive. “Even ship’s counselors aren’t privy to everything, you know.”
Ben Zoma didn’t quite buy her act; she could tell. But for now, he let the subject drop. “Very well, then,” he said, a glimmer of humor creeping back into his voice. Or was it irony? “I’ll let you go now. I’m sure you’ve got other duties to attend to.”
“Thank you,” she answered, and headed for the turbolift.
Picard glanced around the conference table at Geordi’s four-member crisis team. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said. “How will reversing