Resistance - J.M. Dillard [11]
Jean-Luc moved across the bridge—not with his usual brisk, intensely no-nonsense stride, but with his slower “diplomatic” pace, the one he reserved for showing visitors around the ship. The newest addition to the crew walked beside him; the two approached Beverly and stopped. Nearby, Worf vacated the captain’s chair with unusual alacrity and stood at grave attention.
“Counselor T’Lana,” Jean-Luc said, his voice gracious, showing no sign of turmoil, “this is my chief medical officer, Commander Beverly Crusher.”
“Doctor.” The counselor gave a graceful nod; her manner lacked the stiff formality of most Vulcans. She seemed uncommonly relaxed around humans. It certainly explained why she had received commendations for her diplomatic work and her counseling, this ability to adapt her mannerisms to put those from other cultures at ease. “It is my pleasure to meet you.” She was a small woman—a full head shorter than Beverly—with a slight frame and possessed of a beauty humans would term “classic.” Her eyes were heavy lidded, giving her a dreamy look incongruous with the rest of her Vulcan features.
“The pleasure is mine, Counselor.” Beverly returned the nod, impressed that someone from T’Lana’s planet would not shirk at using the word “pleasure.”
Picard gestured at the flight control console. “And this is Lieutenant Sara Nave.”
Nave swiveled in her chair, her pale, freckled face beaming despite the fact that she was being introduced to a being who supposedly disapproved of such displays of emotion. Yet T’Lana did not seem at all discomfited. Beverly liked Sara Nave, though she knew her only as a patient. Nave had come down with the Cardassian pneumovirus only a few months earlier, two days after she had returned from an away mission. The disease was rare in humans and often fatal, but somehow, Nave had held on. While she was recuperating, she managed to keep the sickbay staff entertained by her crackling sense of good humor and tales of her hijinks while at the academy—despite the fact that she was physically ill and miserable. Crusher learned afterward that Sara had a reputation among her Enterprise crewmates as a practical joker. But on duty, she was all business.
“Counselor,” Nave said. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” T’Lana said. “I am pleased to be here.”
Picard glanced in Worf’s direction; neither of them directly met the other’s gaze. “And this is my…first officer, Commander Worf.” There was the slightest hesitation in Jean-Luc’s voice. Beverly could guess at the word that had entered the captain’s mind but that he had not uttered: temporary. She shot Worf a swift, surreptitious look; the Klingon’s massive shoulders were tight, bunched. He was uncomfortable in the captain’s presence, which meant that something unpleasant had indeed occurred during their meeting that morning, but she couldn’t imagine what it had been. Surely Worf had no reason to turn down a promotion.
Worf directed his attention downward to the Vulcan. “Counselor T’Lana,” he said stiffly. “It is an honor to meet you.”
T’Lana looked him directly in the eye. She regarded the Klingon in silence. The ease and grace she had carried onto the bridge with her evaporated. Nothing overt in her posture or expression changed, yet without moving a muscle, without so much as narrowing her eyes, she managed to convey something approaching…disapproval. Beverly wondered if she had been too quick to commend the counselor’s ability to interact with the crew. Either T’Lana wasn’t as comfortable addressing Klingons as she was humans, or something else was transpiring at the moment.
“Commander,” T’Lana said with a slow nod before turning to Picard. “I would like to meet the rest of the senior staff when it is convenient, Captain.”
Worf couldn’t help but think that the counselor had turned away from him in a pointed way. He would have chalked up her terse manner as being a typically