Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [64]
“But I’m not my brother,” Ensign Paris insisted, as if someone had argued to the contrary. “I never have been and I never will be. I’m just an average guy.”
He looked Wu in the eye. “If it had been up to me, I would never even have applied to the Academy. But when you’re a Paris, Starfleet isn’t something you think about. It’s your fate, your destiny, your birthright. You don’t question it, you just go. And later on, when you have sons and daughters, they will go as well.”
The second officer’s heart went out to him. Her parents had both been colony administrators, but they had never tried to sway her choice of career. It was Wu herself who had opted to join Starfleet.
“I don’t belong here,” Paris told her. “I’m not captain material. I’m not even fit to be an ensign.”
Wu didn’t believe that. She said so. “You like piloting starships. And you’re good at it, Ensign. You’re damned good.”
Paris shrugged. “I’ve got an aptitude for it—people have told me that. But how can I man a helm when my hands shake at the slightest hint of pressure?” He shook his head, looking lost and dejected. “The kind of nerves I’ve got . . . they’re better suited to civilian work, and a laid-back kind of civilian work at that.”
Wu sighed. “So what you’re saying is you don’t want to pilot that shuttle for me.”
The ensign looked up at her, his eyes full of torment and frustration. “I want to, Commander. I want to help in the worst way. But do you want to trust me with people’s lives after what I’ve told you?” He held up his hands, which were trembling a little even now. “Do you want to take that kind of a chance?”
It was a good question.
Did Wu want to wager the lives of Jiterica and maybe a ship full of researchers that Paris would come through for her? Was that the best she could do for them?
The ensign would have to keep the shuttle and its tractor beam steady if Jiterica and the crew of the Belladonna were to have a shot at coming out of this alive. But if he gave in to the pressure, if his hands betrayed him as they had in the past . . .
Once, the ensign had seemed like the obvious choice for the job, the most talented helmsman this side of Idun Asmund. But now, knowing what he had told her about his problem, Wu had a problem on her hands.
And it was hers, no one else’s.
Picard was on Gnala. Ben Zoma as well. There was no sense in asking herself what they would have done in this instance because she didn’t know them well enough to say.
But she knew Captain Rudolfini well enough. Put in Wu’s place, forced to make this kind of choice, he hadn’t always relied on his head. More often than not, he had relied on his heart.
And not just his heart, but the hearts of others.
With that in mind, Wu looked across the table at Cole Paris. Clearly, the young man was scared stiff of bringing disgrace to his family’s name, and even more scared of being responsible for Jiterica. He didn’t want to let anyone down.
But Wu had seen him working at the Stargazer’s helm console. He wasn’t just good. He was a rare talent, a prodigy. At his best, Paris was still the number one choice for what she had in mind. In her heart, the commander was sure of it.
She just had to make sure she could get his best out of him.
“I’ve sat here and listened patiently to what you had to say,” Wu told the ensign. “Now you listen to me. Your grandfather, your father, your aunt... you may see them as superhuman figures, as gods. But they were people like you and me. And people get scared. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t, myself included.
“Ever been in combat?” she asked him.
Paris shook his head. “No.”
“You can’t imagine how you’ll ever get through it. Your knees tremble and your belly clenches like a fist and your heart pounds so hard you think it’s going to shatter against your ribs. And it’s even worse when other people’s lives depend on what you do and say. Then you feel their weight on you, a mountain of it, and you hate to make a move because you’re sure it’ll be the wrong one.
“But you make it, Ensign. Somehow you make