Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [12]
Up ahead, Simenon and Greyhorse turned and entered the transporter room. A moment later he and Commander Asmund followed them in. The transporter technician was waiting patiently for them. She smiled cordially at Kuznetsov; he smiled back. He wondered if his relief was evident in his expression comthough at this point, he hardly cared. The important thing was that he was getting rid of them—all of them.
Beverly Crusher had managed to keep to herself up until now, leaving little opportunity for her to run into the Stargazer people. But she was forced to abandon that policy when they reached Starbase 81.
After all, she had worked closely with Carter Greyhorse for most of the year she’d spent at Starfleet Medical. They’d become more than colleagues; they’d become friends. And he’d been sensitive enough not to bring up more than a passing reference to her late husband, once he realized she didn’t want to talk about him. So how could she snub him now by not attending his arrival? It would have been worse than bad manners. It would have been a breach of professional etiquette.
And if there was one thing of which she would not be found guilty, it was a lack of professionalism.
The doctor repeated that to herself as she stood beside Captain Picard and watched the last of their guests materialize. Under O’Brien’s expert touch, the shafts of shimmering light coalesced into flesh and blood.
Greyhorse wasn’t difficult to discern from the other two. His towering height, black eyes, and blunt Amerind features set him apart right away. And as if that weren’t enough, the medical blue of his uniform stood out in stark contrast to the garb of his companions.
Crusher stepped forward. “Carter,” she said, her smile coming naturally.
He clambered down from the platform and took her hand. She felt tiny beside him-she’d forgotten about that. “Beverly. So good to see you.” Greyhorse’s voice was as dry as ever, but she knew him better than to be offended. Deep down, he was a warm, even affectionate person.
“Good to see you,” she told him.
The captain was exchanging pleasantries with the others. After a moment or two, he turned to Crusher and touched her arm. “Dr. Beverly Crusher, my chief medical officer … this is Commander Idun Astound of the Charleston.” The blond woman had a small Starfleet-issue pack slung over one comshoulder—a little unusual; ship’s stores could reproduce any personal effect a passenger desired. But then, some effects were more personal. than others. Asmund extended her hand and they shook. She had quite a grip.
“And this, was said Picard, indicating the third member of the party, “is Lieutenant Commander Phigus Simenon, once my chief engineer and currently an instructor at Starfleet Academy.”
“And not dead yet,” said the Gnalish, “contrary to popular belief-and the fervent hopes of my students.” He smiled, his bright-red serpentine eyes slitting even more than usual as he extended his hands palms down-ward. His stooped posture made it necessary for him to crane his neck to look up at her-a gesture that would have been awkward, not to mention painful, for a human. Of course, Simenon was decidedly not human.
Crusher returned the comgreeting as best she could, extending her hands in the same manner. The Gnalish seemed to approve, “Not only beautiful,” he told the captain, “but re-spectful as well.”
“I’ve been to your world,” explained the doctor, taking the compliment in stride. “It was part of my training in xenobiology.” “I gathered as much,” said Simenon.
“No doubt,” said Picard, “you’ll want to join
others. They’re in our Ten-Forward lounge.” He looked at Crusher. “In fact, one might say they’re commandeer-+ the lounge, and have done so for the last two days.”
Greyhorse grunted. “Sounds about right,” he remarked. “To the lounge, then,” said the Gnalish. “But only on one condition.”
The captain became mock-serious. “And that is?” “That