Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [60]
Wesley jumped at the sound. He’d been so intent on the feather, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the holodeck. Turning, he saw the Gnalish sitting with his back against a tree trunk, his scarlet robes exactly the same color as the foliage. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Simenon said, getting to his feet. “It just occurred to me that you might find a little background information interesting. Including what’s poisonous and what’s not.”
The ensign looked at the feather in a fresh light. “It’s so pretty. It’s hard to believe it’s harmful.” “Appearances can be decieving.” The Gnalish smoothed out his robe. “There’s an antidote, of course comb you would have to have taken it in advance. Once you’ve been pricked, it’s too late.” He shaded his eyes and pointed to the flying things among the branches overhead. “That’s how they secure their sustenance. They wait until an animal brushes against a feather and is incapacitated by the poison. Then they descend and pick it apart. Quick workers too. Usually, they can clean a carcass before the poison shuts down the victim’s brain.”
It wasn’t a pretty image. Wesley shuddered involun-tarily, imagining a path full of tiny four-legged skeletons. “Of course,” Sirnenon went on, “the poison doesn’t affect the colunnu-the flyers. They have a natural immunity to it.”
Wesley let go of the feather. He watched it waft to the mossy ground. “I’m glad,” he said, “that you decided to leave a few details out of your program.”
The Gnalish grunted. “So am I. Back on Gnala, I used to have to wear thick boots to go for a walk in the woods.” He picked up the hem of his robe. “Here, I can go au naturel.”
Wesley looked at Simenon’s feet. For the first time, he realized that the Gnalish was barefoot.
“So, young man, have you followed me in here for a reason? Or just to chat?”
Wesley smiled, a little embarrassed. “Geordi-I mean Commander La Forge—wanted me to make sure you were all right. You didn’t show up in engineering this morning.”
“If I was all right?” Now it was Simenon’s turn to smile. “He could have found that out over the intercom. Commander La Forge just wonders what I’m doing in this holodeck when we have a problem to solve.”
The ensign nodded. “I guess that’s another way of putting it.” “And to solve a problem,” the Gnalish went on, “we must stand around the master situations monitor, look-+ ominously at one another.”
Wesley winced. “I don’t think that’s exactly-was Simenon dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “It’s all right. You need not defend your Commander La Forge. At his age, I would probably have approached it the same way.” He regarded the ensign. “However, I am older and wiser now. And I know that the best way to approach a problem, sometimes, is to forget about it entirely.” He indicated the scarlet forest with a sweeping gesture. “To play a little hooky, as your Earth expression goes.”
He began to walk down the path. Wesley just watched him, not knowing exactly what to do. Should he continue to badger the Gnalish? Or consider his mission completed and return to engineering?
Suddenly, Simenon turned around. “Well?” he asked. “Are you coming or not?”
The ensign hesitated for a moment. “Me?” he repeated lamely. The professor snorted. “I don’t see anyone else stand-+ there.” What the hell, thought Wesley. It wouldn’t hurt to take a break-just a short one.
He started after Simenon. “That’s better,” said the Gnalish. “”Where are we going?” asked Wes. “Down to the lake. Where else?” It wasn’t very far. A couple of twists in the path, and they were there, the water reflecting the splendor of the trees that towered all around it.
Simenon stopped in the vicinity of a small pile of stones-one which he had gathered some time before, apparently, or else simply programmed into the scene. Abruptly, without a word to his companion, he knelt, his ruby eyes darting around until they fixed on something a meter or so away.