Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [88]
Emily Bender smiled accusingly. “Chicken and rice. I’m sure you’ve seen it before.”
He had, in fact. “It just looked different,” he explained—rather lamely, he thought.
She didn’t respond to his excuse. Instead, she dug her fork into her chicken and rice and said, “When we spoke in my quarters, I turned down your offer of friendship. But I’ve had some time to think about it.”
Ulelo didn’t know what to say. The best he could do was “Oh?”
“And I think I’d like to be your friend after all.”
“My... friend.”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “If that’s what you want, of course.”
Ulelo frowned. He didn’t know the answer to that question.
It was critical that he put his mission above all else—and without question, a friend could complicate that mission. That was why he had been careful to keep all his acquaintances on the ship at arm’s length.
But mere acquaintances left his need for companionship unfulfilled—and mission or no mission, a man still craved companionship. Emily Bender would fill that need if he let her—if he could cope with the idea of her getting closer to him but not too close.
“Yes,” Ulelo found himself saying. “It’s what I want.”
He only hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it.
Vigo found Kastiigan in the science section, where he was running a diagnostic on a sensor bank.
“Ah,” said the Kandilkari, favoring him with a glance. “I see you’re back from your away mission. I heard it went well—though regrettably, no one got the opportunity to perish for his comrades.”
“Er . . . that’s right,” Vigo agreed. But he hadn’t come here to speak of his adventures on Gnala or how close they had come to perishing. “I was hoping we could talk for a moment.”
“Of course,” said Kastiigan. He gave the weapons officer his full attention. “What about?”
“It’s . . . about your talk of dying.” Vigo searched for some diplomatic way to make his point, but finally had to settle for the direct approach. “I find it disturbing.”
Kastiigan looked surprised. “Disturbing...?”
Vigo nodded. “You have to understand... we Pandrilites never speak of such things.”
The Kandilkari’s brow furrowed. Clearly, he was making an attempt to understand his colleague’s feelings in the matter. Finally, his purple eyes brightened.
“I see what you mean,” he said.
Vigo smiled. “You do?”
“Of course. Talk is of no value. All that matters is what one does—and to this point, I have not been aggressive enough in my struggle to perish for the good of my comrades.”
The Pandrilite shook his head, horrified. “That’s not—”
“No,” said Kastiigan, holding up a hand for silence, “there’s no need to elaborate. You have made your point most eloquently. When I perish, it will be with your friendship and kindness foremost in my mind.”
“You don’t understand,” Vigo started to tell him.
But before he could get all the words out, he was interrupted by the captain’s voice coming over the intercom system. “Picard to Lieutenant Kastiigan.”
The science officer looked up. “Aye, sir?”
“These readings you took of the sinkhole are quite remarkable. I’d like to discuss them with you in my ready room.”
“Of course, sir. Kastiigan out.”
“Listen,” said Vigo, still intent on clearing up the Kandilkari’s misapprehension, “I didn’t—”
“Sorry,” Kastiigan told him, “duty calls.”
And before the weapons officer knew it, his colleague was on his way out of the science section. It occurred to Vigo that he could go with him, explain the matter en route.
But by the time he decided to do that, it was too late. Kastiigan was out the door, down the corridor and out of sight, headed for the nearest turbolift.
Vigo frowned. Perhaps he would get through to the science officer another time. But somehow, he had his doubts.
Carter Greyhorse was lying in bed, trying to endure the assorted aches and pains he had accumulated on Gnala without the benefit of medication, when his door chimed.
He swore beneath his breath. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up and steeled himself. Then he got up, defying cramps in his quadriceps, his calves, and his lower back.