The Garden - Melissa Scott [41]
He slurred the words together, and Janeway was sure it was a literal translation of some Kirse term. Revek had said senior officers, which was logical and appropriate if they wanted to establish decent relations with the Kirse, but potentially dangerous if the Kirse turned out to be hostile. She would bring the
minimum number, she decided; herself, Tuvok, maybe Torres or either Paris or Kim, and Chakotay only if she had to. "Thank you," she said, and thought she had spoken quickly enough to allay any suspicion. "I'll be bringing three others."
Adamant bowed then, spreading narrow, four-fingered hands in a graceful gesture. By the table, Night-Whispers copied the movement. "You will be most welcome, Voyagers. We will expect you an hour after sundown."
"That would be about eighteen-hundred hours by your reckoning," Revek said. His tone was almost demure, but there was a glint of mischief lurking in his eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Revek," Janeway answered, with deliberate austerity, and looked over her shoulder to find the rest of the away team waiting by the table. They had emptied a number of the plates, and her own stomach growled jealously. "Gentlemen." She touched her communicator. "Janeway to Voyager. Beam us up, Chakotay."
"-and as a result of this discussion, I, Lieutenant Tuvok, Lieutenant Paris, and Ensign Kim will be beaming down to the citadel to dine with the Kirse at eighteen hundred hours." Janeway touched the key that ended the log entry, and looked up to see Chakotay frowning slightly across the ready-room table. He smoothed his expression, but not quickly enough, and Janeway sighed.
"You disagree, Mr. Chakotay."
Within Starfleet tradition, the words were permission, but not an invitation. She saw Chakotay hesitate, weighing the importance of his protest-as she'd expected, as she'd intended-but then he nodded. "I do, Captain."
He said no more, and Janeway rested her elbows on the table. "All right, Chakotay, let's hear it."
Chakotay gave her a wry, fleeting smile, momentarily shifting the tattoo that marked his face. "To get to the point, I think I should be part of the group." Janeway lifted an eyebrow, and the first officer went on, ticking the points off on his fingers. "First, it's a matter of protocol. Both the captain and the first officer are expected to attend local functions, as a matter of courtesy to the indigenous people, and I don't think we should change that when there's a human being down there who can tell the Kirse whether or not we're following standard procedure. Second, you haven't picked any ex-Maquis to go with you, and that's likely to start up the conflicts you and I have been at such pains to smother."
"I am, of course, leaving an ex-Maquis in command of my ship," Janeway murmured.
Chakotay nodded. "Agreed. But the people who are still looking for trouble aren't going to see it that way. But it's also worth remembering that Revek is ex-Maquis, too. One of us might be able to get something out of him that you can't. Finally, I think it's important that both of us get a look at these Kirse." He fixed her with a sudden serious stare. "There's something about them that doesn't feel right, Captain. I don't know what it is, where this comes from, but I want to see them face-to-face. I need to see them."
Janeway considered his words, her fingers still steepled on the tabletop. His points were good, she admitted-much as she hated having to consider the former Maquis separately, not to do so would undo everything they'd done to meld the two crews into a single entity, and he was right about Starfleet protocol, too, not to men tion the healthy respect she'd developed for Chakotay's hunches. I'll think about it,
she started to say, and bit back the words. He had played by the rules, Starfleet rules; she owed him as direct an answer.
"Very well, Mr. Chakotay," she said aloud. "You'll replace Mr. Paris in the away team."
"Thank you, Captain." Chakotay did not smile, but she could read the relaxation in his rigid shoulders, knew he was genuinely relieved.