Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [14]
Pazlar glided up after her. She wasn’t surprised there was still work to be done. Her living space was, as far as she knew, the only vertically oriented crew quarters ever built into a Federation starship. She supposed that “built” was probably the wrong term; Ledrah and her staff had actually retrofitted a narrow space spanning three decks in order to fashion living quarters suitable for an Elaysian.
“Hey, Ledrah!” Bralik bleated loudly, her voice echoing up and down the shaft. Pazlar made a mental note to apply some sound-dampening fabric or foam to the walls.
A familiar face emerged from an open access hatch. Ledrah looked harried, gripping a tool of some sort between her teeth. Her shock of bluish hair was matted with sweat; it would have been free-floating except that the Tiburon had it clipped to one of her large, seashell ears.
Ledrah mumbled something, releasing the tool from her mouth as she did so. It drifted forward and down in a lazy ellipse, but before the clearly micro-g-unaccustomed engineer could snatch it, Pazlar had already done so.
“Thanks,” Ledrah said. “Sorry it’s still such a mess in here. I’d hoped we’d be farther along on the reconstruction by now.” She lowered her voice slightly, gesturing with one hand up to the fourth—and highest—level. “I’m starting to think having Paolo and Koasa on the job might be more trouble than it’s worth. If I’m not having to redo something they’ve done wrong, they’re arguing about which way to do it right the first time.”
“But they’re handsome,” Pazlar said, smiling. “And they’re twins.”
Ledrah carefully extricated herself from the Jefferies tube hatch, laughing. “You’re right. And they aren’t anywhere as bad as I make them out to be.” She cautiously kept one hand on the rail, to steady herself in the micro-g environment.
“My understanding among your type is that hostility often masks attraction,” Bralik said, her toothy smile showing. “Better be careful. They’re junior officers.”
With a mock scowl, Ledrah waggled a mottled, salmon-colored finger at the Ferengi. “You just watch yourself there. I know some of your secrets, too!”
As Bralik put her hands up, as if to protest her innocence, Melora spoke up. “I really appreciate all the work you’re putting into the place, Commander.”
“Well, it is a challenge, but it’s about time we tried something new,” Ledrah said. She looked around guiltily and dropped her voice. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Ra-Havreii’s basic design, mind you. It’s just nice to see a few of my own ideas integrated into this ship, too.”
“I’ve never met a chief engineer yet who didn’t want to make the ship she’s serving on her own,” Pazlar said.
Engineers. She thought for a moment of Reginald Barclay, the shy man with whom she had shared a brief romance while serving aboard the Enterprise. She understood that in the time since then, he had been an active part of Project Pathfinder, which was instrumental in bringing the lost starship U.S.S. Voyager back to Earth. She hadn’t spoken to Reg in years, and wasn’t certain even now whether she was avoiding him, or vice versa. Or if their protracted mutual silence was mere happenstance.
Perhaps once she was fully settled aboard Titan, with a mission or two under her belt, she would make the time to contact him.
“Hellooooo,” a pair of heavily accented voices called from above them, in unison. Ensigns Paolo and Koasa Rossini came swimming down toward them, pulling along a cart of tools between them.
“Ooooh, your favorite junior officers are here,” Bralik said, not quite quietly enough.
Ledrah flushed a bright pink, particularly along the vertical ridge of tiny horns that bisected her forehead, then lobbed the small instrument in her hand straight at Bralik.
Pazlar stifled a laugh as the object bonked the Ferengi woman directly between the twin lobes of her cranium, then ricocheted off into the room’s lower levels.
I think I’m going to like this crew, she thought. For once, I’m not the only outsider who has to adapt. We’re all going to have to adapt