Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [30]
Ree blinked several times—the outer, rough-textured eyelids closed and opened first, followed in alternation by a moist white inner membrane—as he appeared to digest the unfamiliar human sports idiom. Then he displayed several rows of serrated, daggerlike teeth in what had to be the Pahkwa-thanh equivalent of a benevolent smile. “Not yet, Olivia. I will maintain your flight and duty certifications for at least the next month. Let’s schedule another examination for thirty standard days from now. I will reevaluate your duty status then.”
Ree bid the couple farewell and exited into the corridor, carefully but quickly negotiating the narrow doorway, his broad tail tucked up tightly behind him.
Olivia breathed an involuntary sigh of relief after he had gone.
She glanced down once again at her distended abdomen, then smiled at Axel, gratified that Titan had turned out to be so family-friendly, at least so far. Being a much smaller vessel than the Venture—the Galaxy-class starship on which she and Axel had most recently served—Titan had nowhere near as many married couples and children living aboard her. But Olivia felt that their burgeoning family was more than welcome here nevertheless.
But maybe it’s not so welcoming to Ree, she thought, her thoughts abruptly darkening. Why hadn’t Ree asked her to report to sickbay for today’s prenatal examination? Could it be that other members of the crew were flinching in his presence, just as she had? Was Ree picking up on those feelings of alienation, and therefore making an extra effort to reach out to the crew?
She contemplated the child that was steadily growing within her. Let’s hope you and Noah Powell will get these things right more often than the rest of us do.
“Okay,” Vale said as the azure limb of the Earth dropped away from the Armstrong’s forward windows, “how about this one: ‘We hold it in our power to begin the world anew.’ ”
Riker nodded solemnly. Though he’d served with Vale aboard the Enterprise for the past four years, he had never realized just how well read she was. “Where did that one come from? Ben Franklin?”
“Thomas Paine.” She appeared pleased to have stumped him.
“I like it,” he said. When he saw her triumphant grin, he amended his statement with, “So I’ll put it on the short list with the other contenders.”
“Can you recommend a better one?” she asked, appending a “sir” a beat later as an obvious afterthought. She was clearly taking this business very seriously.
After pausing to enter a minor course correction into the flight control console, Riker decided he had no choice other than to take up the gauntlet she had thrown down.
“All right: ‘Among the map makers of each generation are the risk takers, those who see the opportunity, seize the moment and expand man’s vision of the future.’ ”
“Emerson,” she said with unflappable confidence. “Not bad. I think you ought to short-list that one, too. How about this one: ‘My guide and I came on that hidden road to make our way back into the bright world and with no care for any rest, we climbed—he first, I following—until I saw, through a round opening, some of those things of beauty Heaven bears. It was from there that we emerged, to see—once more—the stars.’ ”
Riker was so impressed with that one that he actually let out a long whistle. “Beautiful, though I think it’s a little long. Milton?”
“Dante.”
He made a face. “Let’s pass on that one. Maybe we ought to go heavier on brevity and lighter on metaphysics: ‘O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night; O Night and Stars return!’ ”
Once again absently tracing a finger across the three solid pips on her collar, Vale silently focused her gaze on some undefined portion of the shuttlecraft’s ceiling.
Ha! he thought. Got you. You can’t get ’em all right.
“I didn’t figure you for a fan of Emily Brontë, Captain.”
He slumped in defeat. “Well, much as I like Cab Calloway’s song lyrics, I couldn’t find any I thought would pass muster with Starfleet Command. So I went back to the classics.”
“I’m not criticizing, sir. The Brontë is a good choice. Maybe