Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [90]
It wasn’t anything like his best shot, of course. He had meant it when he told Obal that he didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
As it turned out, the ensign’s attack missed by more than he expected. Idun was fast. Almost as fast as he was, it seemed.
Abruptly, she changed her stance. Turning her palms inward, she held her hands in front of her chest.
“Don’t tell me that’s Klingon too,” he said.
“As a matter of fact,” she returned, “it is.”
Idun came at him again, but this time she didn’t use her hands. Her body rolled gracefully and her right foot lashed out, her heel headed for his mouth.
As before, Nikolas avoided the maneuver without too much trouble. And this time, he put a little more mustard on his counterpunch.
His opponent handled it flawlessly, showing him that her earlier move was no fluke. She really was fast.
“Nicely done,” he said.
Idun didn’t answer him. Instead, she changed her stance again, reverting to the one with the clawlike fists. And she continued to circle him, her eyes as hard and blue as sapphires.
“You know,” Nikolas said, “I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
He smiled. “I only staged this match because I wanted us to become better acquainted.”
“Really,” she responded.
“That’s right,” he confirmed.
“I assume,” said the helm officer, “that you want to become acquainted with all of me.”
Nikolas felt himself blush. He had hoped this little “date” of theirs might eventually lead to something amorous, but he hadn’t expected Idun to be so blunt about it.
“Well, yes,” he replied. “Yes, I do.”
“With every facet of me?” she asked.
Nikolas couldn’t believe it. “Every facet,” he assured her. “Every last bit of you.”
“Thank you. I wanted to make certain,” Idun told him.
Then she came at him in a blur of motion.
Admiral McAteer looked out his office window at the San Francisco Bay and the island of Alcatraz that sat in the center of it, and decided that it was officially a beautiful day.
Not that he cared all that much about the view. It only mattered to him as a symbol of how far he had come and how much he had achieved to get there.
What made the day so beautiful was the prospect of having Lt. Shalay on the Stargazer.
Picard might very well recognize the Bolian for what he was—McAteer’s spy. But even if he did, he couldn’t keep Shalay from observing what went on there. And with a 28-year-old in charge of the ship, a lot had to be going on. The admiral was confident of that.
Once he got his hands on the right information, Picard would be cannon fodder. Likewise, his first officer. And next to fall would be the esteemed Admiral Mehdi, who had made the rash decision to promote those two in the first place.
As McAteer was thinking that, his intercom came alive with the voice of his assistant. “Admiral?”
“Yes, Mr. Merriweather?”
“Sir, I have a communication from Captain Picard on the Stargazer. I believe it’s a response to the orders you sent.”
McAteer smiled to himself. He had looked forward to seeing Picard’s face when he learned that yet another second officer was being foisted on him. Now was his chance.
“Thank you,” he told Merriweather.
Then he tapped out a command on his keyboard, brought up a list of messages that had been sent to him, and noted the one that was labeled “Picard.” With a deep feeling of satisfaction, he opened the message and saw the captain’s face appear on the monitor screen.
McAteer leaned back in his chair. I’ve got you now, he thought.
Picard looked nettled, even a little annoyed. However, the admiral didn’t sympathize in the least. There was no room for 28-year-old captains in Starfleet, nor was there room for men like Mehdi who tried to put them there. If Picard thought he was discomfited now, he would absolutely hate what was in store for him.
“I must say, sir,” the captain of the Stargazer began, “I’m at a bit of a loss. You seem to think Commander Wu is inclined to transfer off this vessel. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Wu tells me she has every intention of staying right here.”
McAteer felt his face