Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [45]
Gerda and Idun had always shared everything with each other. Even their deepest secrets.
When the two of them were taken in by the House of Warrokh, tiny stripling girls in the midst of huge, menacing warriors who roared and snarled at each other for no apparent reason, they had cried themselves to sleep—and shared each other’s tears, for they were wrapped in each other’s arms.
When they were older and a gang of sneering boys had thought to push “the human girls” around, they had stood back to back and endured their beating together. And in the end, they obtained their revenge together as well, cornering the offenders one by one and returning their injuries measure for measure.
And when their father died defending his family’s honor, they had howled together over his ruined body and and shared the joy of knowing he would go to join Kahless in Sto-Vo-Kor.
We have shared everything, Gerda thought. But I cannot share my feelings in the matter of Carter Greyhorse.
And what was worse, she couldn’t bring herself to say why.
Ulelo stopped when he got to the set of doors he had been looking for and waited for his presence to be announced.
It took longer to get a response than he had expected. But then, having never called on any of his crewmates, his only point of reference was how it felt on the other side of the doors.
Finally, the duranium panels slid aside, giving him a view of an anteroom much like his own. However, this anteroom looked a good deal warmer, decorated as it was with Japanese watercolors and a grouping of Vulcan statuettes.
Emily Bender looked at him. She was standing in front of an unusually shaped teakwood chair, a padd in her hand. “Yes?”
Ulelo recited the words he had rehearsed. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I treated you rudely and I’m sorry.”
His host regarded him for a moment. “I don’t know whether to forgive you or detest you.”
“I wouldn’t blame you either way,” he said.
That seemed to soften her up a bit. “Have a seat,” she told him, clearly still a little wary. Of being hurt again.
“Thank you,” he said.
Emily Bender stepped aside and Ulelo entered her quarters. Once inside, he noticed a number of other personal touches—a geode filled with brilliant violet crystals, a woven wall hanging done in more muted violets, an artifact that might have been a ceramic oil lamp a very long time ago.
And a picture of Emily Bender with two people who seemed to be her parents.
She indicated a Starfleet-issue chair. The communications officer sat. For a heartbeat or two, neither of them spoke, until he realized that she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. It was incumbent on him to begin the exchange.
He did so.
“What I said before must have seemed strange to you,” Ulelo ventured. “Both in the corridor and in my quarters. After all, you were certain that you knew me, but I wasn’t acknowledging that I knew you.”
Emily Bender nodded. “It was strange, all right.” She was still holding herself back, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“I’m sure everything you told me was true,” he continued. “About the Academy, our friends there, how close we were. . . I don’t doubt it for a minute. But what I was saying... that’s true too. I honestly don’t remember any of it.”
She tilted her head to one side as she studied him. “You’re saying you have amnesia...?”
Ulelo shrugged. “I was in an accident a little while ago. I lost pieces of my memory. Apparently, my relationships with you and the others you mentioned were some of the pieces I lost.”
It was a lie, of course. He hadn’t had an accident at all.
So why was he misleading her? Heaven knew it wasn’t because he wanted to torment the woman. It would have been a lot easier on him if he could have simply told her the truth.
But that wasn’t an option.
“An accident,” Emily Bender echoed, making it clear she was skeptical about the information.
He nodded. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Another lie. He was getting good at telling them. “But it wasn’t pleasant,” Ulelo added for good measure.
She sighed. “So you really