Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [84]
Maybe not the most riotous time in the life of Beverly Crusher. But that didn’t mean Jack’s tape would be gloomy as well. It always seemed his most upbeat messages came when she needed them the most—as if he’d had a sixth sense about her that transcended the thousands of light-years separating them.
What the hell. Without giving it another thought, she popped the tape into the player.
“Hi, Bev. I hope things are as exciting for you as they are for me.”
Crusher closed her eyes and smiled. Just what the doctor ordered.
“We’ve just gotten back from Coryb, the fourth planet in the Gamma Shaltair system, where we were surveying the Coryb’thu civilization as a precursor to formal first contact. Up until now, the only surveys I’d been on were the flora-and-fauna kind—never anything that involved a living, breathing civilization. You can’t imagine what it was like walking through their cities, brushing against them, exchanging smiles with them—and none of them ever suspecting that you weren’t one of them. Kind of eerie and exhilarating at the same time. And whenever it got more eerie than exhilarating, there was Ben Zoma or Pug or Idun nearby to haul me back to reality.
“The funniest part was having to wear these prosthetics that Greyhorse designed for us. The Coryb’thu are basically humanoid, but the middle part of their faces extend forward into kind of a snout. The prosthetics created the same effect. And they weren’t even all that uncomfortable. The only problem is they take a while to remove, which is why I’m still wearing mine as I speak. We cut a deck of cards to determine the order in which we’d have our faces restored to us—and I picked the two of diamonds. Oh, well. You know what they say—lucky in love, unlucky in prosthesis removal. And speaking of love—either that relationship of Greyhorse’s ended as soon as it began, or I really was seeing things. I’ll keep you posted on that.”
Greyhorse’s relationship? Beverly shook her head. There could hardly have been two subjects farther apart in her mind than romance and the former medical officer of the Stargazer. She wondered who the lucky girl might have been—assuming, of course, that it hadn’t just been Jack’s imagination getting the best of him. She’d have to ask Carter about it.
“Got to go now. As you know, we get only so much time in these subspace packets. Love you. Miss you like crazy. And study hard, damn it—someday, I want to be able to turn around and see you standing there next to me.”
End of tape. Crusher sighed. Hearing Jack’s voice had had the desired effect. She felt better—much better.
Almost safe, in fact.
* * *
“There,” said Simenon. “That’s more like it.”
Wesley frowned, visualizing the flight of his last toss before it sank beneath the surface of the lake. Two hops—not bad, but not great. The Gnalish had gotten as many as four without even trying.
“Don’t stop to think about it,” Simenon advised. “Thinking has nothing to do with it. After all, you’re only throwing rocks—your ancestors did that with brains a good deal less developed than yours.”
The ensign chuckled and picked up another stone. Positioning it the way the Gnalish had taught him—the procedure having become second nature by now—he pulled back and let it fly.
One hop, two.
Three.
And it wasn’t done yet. With one last burst of energy, the stone leapt in a high fluid arc—the rock-skimming equivalent of a grace note.
Four. The ensign turned to Simenon. “Well?” he asked.
The Gnalish puckered up his face and grunted approvingly. “Much better,” he said, studying Wesley intently. Something changed in his eyes, softened.
Wesley hesitated, then decided to say what was on his mind. It didn’t look like he’d get a better opportunity. “Professor? You said you’d tell me more about my father—about how he died.”
Simenon nodded, cleared his throat. “I did, didn’t I? Very well,