Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [18]
The woman’s smile faded the rest of the way. “Stop it. We spent hours together at the Academy. You, me, Angela, Ragnar . . .”
He didn’t remember Angela or Ragnar either. “I’m sorry.”
She held her hands out in an appeal for reason. “It’s Emily, Dikembe. Emily Bender.”
Ulelo just shrugged.
Her gaze went cold. “Right. Whatever you say.” And with that, she turned and began to walk away.
But the woman didn’t get far before she stopped and looked at him again. This time, her expression was one of unconcealed resentment. Clearly, he had caused her some discomfort.
“I don’t know why you’re pretending not to know me,” she said, “but it’s rude. Damned rude.”
Then she walked away.
Chapter Six
“MIND YOU,” SAID PICARD, “I didn’t bring you aboard for this reason alone. But I would be lying if I told you I haven’t been looking forward to this moment.”
Ensign Paris inclined his head slightly. “That’s high praise, sir. I’ll do my best to prove worthy of it.”
With that, he slipped on his fencing mask, raised his sword vertically in a gesture of respect, and dropped into an en garde position.
Picard smiled approvingly. If Paris was even half as good a fencer as his personnel file had indicated, this was going to be a most enjoyable bout indeed.
And it would have the added benefit of taking Picard’s mind off other matters—the sort that hadn’t even occurred to him before Admiral Mehdi made him a captain.
Personnel matters, for instance. Caber and Valderrama might be history, gone if not quite forgotten. But Picard was plagued more and more by the looming prospect of Commander Wu’s departure.
The woman had just begun to feel at home here, it seemed to him. She had just begun to accept the way her superiors conducted themselves on the Stargazer.
And what does Rudolfini do? He reels her back to the Crazy Horse like a prize fish.
Then there was Simenon. Though Picard had promised not to pry into the engineer’s personal affairs, he wished he knew more about Simenon’s reasons for visiting his homeworld.
But there was nothing he could do in either case, Wu’s or Simenon’s. They weren’t children, after all. They had the right to make their own decisions, just as he did.
And right now, he chose to test his new ensign’s mettle.
The captain slipped on his own mask and returned Paris’s salute. Then he lowered himself into a crouch and extended his blade, savoring what was to come.
He wasn’t disappointed. The ensign’s initial attack was a flurry of high and low angles that drove Picard back almost to the limit of the strip. But before he could be driven off it, the captain launched a counterattack. Inspired by his opponent’s speed and aggressiveness, he matched it lunge for lunge.
And Paris warded off each thrust. In fact, he almost turned the last one into a point with a deadly-quick riposte.
Again, Picard smiled. This was nothing like fencing with Lt. Pierzynski. Nothing at all.
Paris launched another assault, probing what he must have perceived as the captain’s weaknesses. His point darted at Picard’s lead shoulder, then his lead hip, then his shoulder again.
But the captain parried each move and answered it with a thrust of his own. It gave the ensign pause, forced him to think about what he would try next.
And in that moment, Picard struck.
His attack wasn’t just quick, it was devilishly precise—a long, low lunge of which his fencing instructors back in France would have been proud. As Paris retreated in desperation, the captain’s point came at his chest like an angry viper.
But just when Picard thought he had won the touch, the ensign flung his bell-shaped guard in the way. It deflected the captain’s weapon just enough to keep it from grazing his opponent.
Picard swore softly to himself and tried it again. This time, his attack was more explosive than precise. But as before, Paris managed to deflect it enough to save himself.
The captain was tempted to make the attempt a third time since Paris seemed to be off-balance. But the ensign recovered more quickly than Picard would have thought possible and nearly