Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [29]
Simenon put his head down and tried to walk past them. He desperately didn’t want to engage them in conversation right now. He didn’t want to engage anyone in conversation.
But of course, Urajel and Dubinski didn’t know that.
“Sir?” said Dubinski.
I’m going to walk right past him, Simenon told himself. I’m going to put my head down and pretend he doesn’t exist.
But of course, he couldn’t do that. No matter how much he wanted to avoid contact with anyone, Dubinski was one of his engineers. If the man had something to say, it was Simenon’s job to listen.
At least until he reached the transporter room.
“Yes?” he responded.
Dubinski shrugged. “I just wanted to apologize. I thought about what you said in engineering the other day.” He glanced at Urajel. “We all did. And we came to the conclusion that you were right.”
Simenon looked at him. “I was? I mean... of course I was.”
Urajel nodded, her antennae dipping in the process. “No matter how many times we checked the warp core, we shouldn’t have assumed there was nothing to worry about. Just as we shouldn’t have assumed the computer was on top of the situation.”
“And,” Dubinski added, “while irreparable core failure is rare without an apparent cause, I’m sure there are causes out there we’ve never even heard of.”
“In short,” said Urajel, “we acknowledge our errors and we’re going to try to do better.” Her face turned a deeper shade of blue. “And I personally regret the—”
“Question you asked?” Simenon suggested, getting her off the hook. “About my hindquarters and what might have invaded them?”
Urajel nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
Normally, the chief engineer would have simply accepted their apology and moved on. But as he didn’t believe he would be the chief engineer much longer, he said, “Don’t give it a second thought. Any of it.”
Dubinski looked perplexed. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
Simenon dismissed it all with a snap of his wrist. “You did fine, all of you. I was holding you to an unreasonable standard.” He eyed Urajel in particular. “And for your information, something had crawled up my hindquarters—a personal matter. It was astute of you to notice.”
Neither engineer seemed to know what to say to that. Taking unexpected pleasure in the looks on their faces, the Gnalish walked around them and resumed his trek to the transporter room.
If he wasn’t coming back to the Stargazer, he thought, he would at least leave here with his conscience in good shape.
Ensign Nikolas put his tray full of food down on the table in front of him and pulled up a chair.
“Man,” he said, “those replicator lines seem to get longer every day. Is the captain taking on new crewmen in secret or something?”
His friend Obal, who was sitting across the black plastic table from him, chuckled good-naturedly. “If he is, he is keeping it secret from me as well.”
Nikolas savored the smell of his salmon in béarnaise sauce. And who did he have to thank for it? His old roommate, Joe Caber. It was Caber who had advised him to trust the mess hall’s replicator and try some of the more challenging dishes.
Caber wasn’t all bad, the ensign told himself archly. Just mostly.
He wondered what Caber would have said if he knew Nikolas had convinced Idun Asmund to spar with him. More than likely, the guy’s jaw would have dropped—just as Obal’s was going to.
Nikolas was still thinking about his old roommate when his new one walked into the mess hall. Paris wasn’t alone, either. He was accompanied by Lt. Paxton and Lt. Pierzynski, the latter being the number two officer in Pug Joseph’s security section.
And Paris had only beamed aboard a couple of days ago. “Like I said,” he muttered, “the guy doesn’t waste any time.”
“Of whom are you speaking?” asked Obal, who wasn’t facing the entrance to the mess hall as Nikolas was.
“Paris. My roommate.”
“Ah,” said the Binderian. He swiveled in his chair and spotted the newcomer as he joined the end of the replicator line. “Ensign Paris is quite impressive.”
Nikolas wasn’t certain he had heard right. He looked at his friend questioningly.