Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [10]
Unfortunately, there was no one on the Stargazer whom the captain could name as Wu’s replacement. With so many of his officers having received battlefield promotions, command experience was in drastically short supply.
Funny, Picard thought. When Wu had been foisted on him by Admiral McAteer prior to their hunt for the White Wolf, he hadn’t looked forward to working with a stranger. Now he wasn’t looking forward to seeking out a candidate on his own.
Nonetheless, the captain reflected with a sense of resignation, that is precisely what I will have to do.
Chapter Four
GERDA ASMUND WAS RUNNING a long-range sensor diagnostic at navigation when she saw a fair-haired young man approach the helm console manned by her twin sister.
Idun looked up at the fellow—an ensign she had never seen before—as he stopped beside her. “Yes?” she said, posing a challenge as much as a question.
“I’m your replacement,” the ensign told her.
Gerda glanced at the chronometer readout in the upper right-hand corner of her control panel. In fact, Idun’s shift was over, though Gerda’s still had two hours to go.
It was the captain who had decided to stagger the schedules of the helm and navigation officers. What’s more, it made perfect sense. The remaining officer could apprise the new one of any concerns that had arisen in the last couple of hours.
Nonetheless, Gerda hated to see anyone but her sister at the helm. Idun was a skilled pilot and a cool head in an emergency—and one never knew when a crisis might arise.
“So you are,” Idun told the ensign.
She got up and gave him her seat. Then, with a glance at her sister, she left the bridge. Knowing Idun, Gerda imagined she would be in the gym in a matter of minutes.
Turning her attention to the new helmsman, Gerda watched him go over his monitors to make sure everything was in order. The navigator felt a rush of indignation. Did he think that someone like Idun would leave a mess for him?
Ben Zoma, who had the center seat, glanced at the ensign. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Paris.”
The ensign nodded. “Aye, sir.”
Paris, Gerda repeated to herself.
So this was the new crewman she had heard about. The one whose Starfleet lineage went back to the Stone Age, or so it seemed. He didn’t look like much to Gerda.
But then, no human did.
Gerda had grown up among Klingons after the death of her natural parents. Her human parents. In the process, she had adopted a Klingon’s way of looking at things—a Klingon’s appreciation for the drama and spectacle of life.
Her Klingon father had been an impressive individual. He had carried himself with confidence, with dignity. One had but to look at him to know one was in the presence of a warrior.
Very few humans possessed that kind of bearing. Captain Ruhalter was one of them, though his spirit had gone to Sto-Vo-Kor. Captain Picard was another, at least at times.
And Greyhorse . . .
The navigator didn’t know what to make of him. He was often passive, willing to let others make his decisions for him. But he showed a certain promise, she was forced to concede.
Ensign Paris, on the other hand, looked to the navigator like any other human—fragile, timid, too focused on expediency to give any thought to matters like dignity and honor. If he had a warrior’s spirit, he concealed it well.
Abruptly, Paris’s fingers began crawling over his control console. Clearly, he was busy with something. But to Gerda’s knowledge, he hadn’t been given an order to make changes.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Gerda pointed to the ensign’s console. “You did something to the thrusters. What was it?”
He shrugged. “I changed the timing.”
“Who told you to do that?”
Paris hesitated. “No one.”
“Then why did you do it?” the navigator asked.
“To make the ship more responsive,” he explained.
“Thruster timing is a delicate matter—one that requires special expertise. By tampering with it, you have likely made it necessary for someone to