Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [18]
Though Andrew had been dead for nearly five years, Ogawa saw her late husband’s kind, strong face every time she looked at Noah. The child was both a comfort to her and a painful reminder of her loss, though thankfully much more the former than the latter.
“Sorry to interrupt the math lesson,” she said.
Ranul grinned at her. “That’s all right. I think we both needed a break.”
Ogawa stepped into the office. “Good. Because there’s somebody here I want you to meet.” She swept her arm toward the open doorway behind her, where Titan’s new chief medical officer crouched so as not to bump his scaly head as he entered. “Lieutenant Commander Keru, Noah Powell, say hello to Doctor Ree.”
Ranul looked startled for a split second. Then he smiled an easy smile, and introduced himself as he leaned forward across the desk to offer his hand in greeting. The doctor briefly took the hand in his gentle, hyperarticulated grasp. Then the reptiloid surgeon disengaged from the handshake and fixed his serpentine gaze on her son.
She squinted and held her breath for a moment, hoping that Dr. Ree’s decidedly alien appearance wouldn’t startle her son into saying something embarrassing. Noah was, after all, only eight years old.
Noah rose, goggle-eyed and silent as he stared at Ree. A long beat passed. “Wow,” he said at length, drawing out the word and brushing a shock of jet-black hair out of his eyes. His voice was breathless, but without a trace of fear. “A Pahkwa-thanh. Cool!”
“So, you still don’t have your exec, then?” Admiral William Ross asked, a concerned look on his face as he snatched the steaming cup of raktajino from the replicator.
Riker maintained a neutral expression, though he inwardly counted to ten before answering. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that Ross and Akaar were second-guessing him. Maybe they’re just testing me for prelaunch jitters. Better not disappoint them.
“No, sir. But I can’t afford to rush a decision as important as this one,” Riker said evenly, seated behind his heavy Elaminite desk. “My XO needs to be someone that I know I can trust implicitly before we even clear the moorings.”
Seated in one of the chairs in front of Riker’s desk, Admiral Akaar uncrossed and recrossed his long legs, almost grazing the side of the desk as he did so. Though the towering Capellan seemed less tightly wound than Ross, Riker still couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling that whatever news they were bringing him could not be good.
“And none of your Enterprise confederates fit the bill?” Akaar asked.
“Yes, and no, sir. I had three candidates from the Enterprise. All of them turned me down.” He had more or less expected Geordi and Worf not to take the position, though either man would have excelled in it. But he was still stunned that Christine Vale had turned him down not once, but twice.
Of course, I turned down three captaincies before I finally saw the light, he thought. If he could finally change his mind, then why couldn’t she?
Akaar and Ross exchanged a glance, then looked back at Riker, neither saying anything. Ross blew on his raktajino and sipped cautiously.
“There were exigent circumstances behind their decisions,” Riker said, feeling defensive in the silence. “In fact, I’m going to pay a visit to one of them shortly. This time I feel certain that the candidate in question will accept my offer.” Please, Christine, take the job! Riker thought to himself.
Akaar’s mahogany-brown eyes focused on Riker like a pair of mining lasers. “May we assume, Captain, that the unnamed person who eventually becomes this ship’s executive officer will not be another member of your immediate family?”
He’s trying to bait me, Riker thought, though he wasn’t about to allow either admiral to provoke him into losing his cool. “I assume, Admiral, that you’re referring to the presence of my wife on my senior staff.”
“I am, Captain,” Akaar said. “I have