Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [5]
“Welcome aboard,” the captain said.
“Thank you, sir,” the human replied crisply. “It’s a genuine pleasure to be here.”
This was the crewman Picard and Ben Zoma had had their eyes on weeks earlier, before Admiral McAteer foisted his own choices on them. Like Caber, the fellow came from a Starfleet family with a long and prestigious track record. And like Caber, he was an ensign with a high career ceiling.
But that, the captain hoped, was where the resemblance between the two men ended. Caber had been an anomaly, an aberration. Picard expected much more from the likes of Cole Paris.
“I, too, take pleasure in joining this crew,” said the Kandilkari in a slow, surprisingly musical voice.
Stepping down from the transporter platform, he extended a long, four-fingered hand in Picard’s direction. His eyes, which were as purple as his jowls, seemed to dance with enthusiasm as he spoke.
“Lieutenant Nol Kastiigan,” he added by way of an introduction. “At your service, sir.”
The captain shook Kastiigan’s hand, feeling the unusual metacarpal structure. “You come highly recommended, Lieutenant.”
“Captain Sannek and I had the utmost respect for one another,” Kastiigan told him. “I only regret that he chose to retire when the Antares was decommissioned.”
Picard smiled. “Captain Sannek spent more than forty years in the center seat of one Starfleet vessel or another. His retirement is no doubt well-deserved.”
He turned to Ensign Paris again, who was waiting to be invited before he descended from the transporter disc. It was a formality few observed in this day and age.
“Please,” the captain told him, indicating the deck beside him.
Only then did Paris come down from the platform. “If it’s all right with you, sir,” he said, “I’d like to take the first available shift. No time like the present and all that.”
Picard glanced at Ben Zoma, who looked equally impressed. It was difficult to decide who was more eager, their new lieutenant or their new ensign.
“I think we can arrange that,” said the captain.
Ben Zoma nodded. “Absolutely. But you’ll want to settle in first,” he told the ensign.
The fellow smiled a little. “Of course, sir.”
“Come on,” said Ben Zoma, heading for the exit. “I’ll see to it you’re shown to your quarters. Both of you.”
The newcomers fell in behind the first officer, leaving Picard alone with Refsland. He turned to the transporter operator, who was already in the process of locking down his console.
Refsland looked up at him. “I guess that’s it, sir.”
Picard nodded and replied, “So it would seem, Mr. Refsland.” But inwardly he added, For now.
Nikolas was lying in his bed with his uniform on, enjoying the feeling of just doing nothing, when the doors to his quarters slid apart. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.
The guy that came in was his new roommate. He had to be. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have walked in as if he owned the place.
As Nikolas watched, the guy made his way to the naked mattress that had been Joe Caber’s and took stock of the linens piled on top of it. Then he began unfolding them.
“You don’t waste any time,” said Nikolas, “do you?”
His roommate looked at him as if noticing him for the first time. “Excuse me?”
Nikolas smiled and sat up. “Sorry,” he said, offering the guy his hand. “Andreas Nikolas, widely known as the only indispensable member of the crew.”
The newcomer just looked at him.
“That was a joke,” Nikolas told him.
Finally, the guy cracked a smile, albeit a weak one, and shook Nikolas’s hand. “Cole Paris. Pleased to meet you.”
“Just so you know,” Nikolas said, “I haven’t had much luck with roommies lately. The last one got himself kicked off the ship. But then,” he quipped, “what do you expect from an admiral’s son?”
Paris’s smile faded.
“What?” said Nikolas.
“I’m an admiral’s grandson.”
Nikolas felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. Nice going, he thought. Offend the guy right off the bat.
“Tell you what,” he said, “just give me a moment and I’ll get my foot out of my mouth.”
The new guy dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Don’t give it another