Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [9]
Greyhorse could have been one of them if he wished. But it would have been torture for him to share Gerda with others, to engage in conversations he didn’t care about when what he really wanted was to take her in his arms.
And she knew how he felt about her. He had told her himself, right there in one of the ship’s corridors less than a month earlier—just after she had lashed out at him in anger.
“You’re all I can think of,” the doctor had confessed, the bulkheads echoing with his pain. “All I want to think of. I can’t go on like this. If I haven’t got a chance, I need to hear you say it.”
That’s when Gerda had told him to meet her in the gym, where she would teach him “to fight like a warrior.” It wasn’t exactly an answer to his question. But then, in a way it was.
So Greyhorse met her in the gym as she suggested, and continued to meet her afterward at regular intervals. And little by little, despite his pronounced lack of athleticism, he was beginning to learn what she taught him.
But it wasn’t his thirst for learning that kept him coming back. It was the chance to touch her, however fleetingly—to smell her scent, to hear her voice, to feel her intoxicating presence.
In the gym, where they were alone. Where it was just the two of them, locked in a dance of violence and grace—at least on her part.
But Greyhorse didn’t sit with her in the mess hall. He sat with men like Joseph and listened to them go on about their personal trials while he kept his own very much to himself.
“So what’s going on with you?” Joseph asked.
The doctor turned back to him and shrugged. “The usual.”
Picard smiled politely at Wu as he regarded her across the sleek, black expanse of his ready room desk. “I believe I know why you asked to see me,” he said.
Wu smiled back. “Captain Rudolfini asked me to respond on a timely basis. I did that.”
“And what was your decision?” Picard asked, though he believed he already knew.
“I told him,” said Wu, “that I would accept the position of first officer aboard the Crazy Horse.”
The captain felt a sting of disappointment—no less sharp for his anticipation of it. “I see. As of when?”
“Your earliest convenience,” said his second officer.
Picard nodded. “I will ask Mr. Paxton to contact the Crazy Horse and arrange a meeting in accordance with our schedules. I don’t imagine it will take more than a week or two before we can get together.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Wu. She looked contrite for a moment. “I hope I haven’t given you cause to disapprove of me.”
“Disapprove?” he echoed.
“Yes, sir. For leaving so soon after I arrived.”
Picard shook his head from side to side. “Not at all, Commander. Opportunity knocked. You answered.”
Wu looked relieved. “Thank you for putting it that way, sir.”
“If there’s nothing else?” he said.
“Nothing,” she confirmed.
“Then you are dismissed, Commander.”
With a slight inclination of her head, Wu got up and left the captain’s ready room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Picard sat back in his chair and shook his head.
In fact, he thought, he did resent Wu’s coming and going in so short a time. He did disapprove of her behavior.
However, it wouldn’t have accomplished anything if he had stood in the way of her transfer. The Crazy Horse would have missed out on Rudolfini’s first choice of exec and the Stargazer would have been stuck with a disgruntled second officer.
It was too bad, Picard thought. He liked Wu. He had come to appreciate her dedication and efficiency, and she had even begun to overcome her tendency to be overzealous at times.
He tapped his communicator. “Picard to Commander Ben Zoma.”
“Ben Zoma here,” came the response.
“We’ve got a personnel matter to discuss, Gilaad.”
There was a pause on the other end. “The one you mentioned to me earlier?”
The captain frowned. “Yes. That one.”
“I’ll be right there,” his first officer promised. “Ben Zoma out.”
The disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. But then, Ben Zoma had come to value Wu’s contributions as well.
Picard swiveled in his chair to face his computer terminal. Tapping out a