The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [60]
“LOOK SHARP,” RO LAREN SAID AS THE CATARIA CAME INTO view. The Bajoran ensign piloted their shuttlecraft while Barclay rode shotgun beside her. Lwaxana Troi’s personal vessel soon filled the cockpit’s front windows. Over fifty meters long, the sleek, warp-capable yacht dwarfed the smaller shuttle. “Time for our command performance.” Her dark hair met in a widow’s peak above the ridges of her nose. “How exactly does Counselor Troi’s mother rate our services, anyway? Since when does Starfleet loan out its officers to Betazed’s trade commission?”
“The ambassador is a c-close personal friend of the captain’s,” Barclay stammered, attempting a professional tone to mask the apprehension he felt as they drew nearer to their destination. He had been dreading this rendezvous the whole way here. “Besides, it’s always in the Federation’s interest to promote closer relations between different worlds, especially in cases like this. The Tadigeans are notoriously xenophobic; increased trade with Betazed might encourage them to overcome their mistrust of strangers.”
“I suppose,” she said, sounding dubious. New to the Enterprise, Ro had a prickly edge that made her hard to get to know. Their voyage to this sector had been full of uncomfortable silences, at least as far as Barclay was concerned. For all he knew, Ro liked it that way. “Anyway, here we are.”
Already? He swallowed hard and wiped his sweaty palms upon his trousers. If only I could have gotten out of this mission, he thought glumly. He had tried to talk Geordi into delegating someone else, but the Enterprise’s engineering chief had insisted that Barclay was the right man for the job. Especially since I couldn’t admit to him the real reason I wanted out of this assignment…
The shuttle docked with the Cataria, and Barclay thanked the fates that at least they weren’t beaming over to the other ship. One of these days, he knew, he would have to do something about his transporter phobia, but right now that was the least of his worries.
He reached beneath his seat and brought out a visored cap, in the same black-and-gold shades as his Starfleet uniform. A mild jolt rocked the shuttle as its landing gear touched down on the roof of the Cataria. He hastily clamped the cap onto his head.
Ro gave him a quizzical look. “That’s not exactly regulation.”
“M-my head was cold,” he said unconvincingly. “It’s a well-known scientific fact that human beings lose thirty-five percent of their body heat from their heads.”
Ro shrugged. “If you say so.”
The silvery Bajoran earring dangling from her left ear reminded Barclay that Ro wasn’t much of a stickler for the rules either. It occurred to him that they were both sort of misfits aboard the Enterprise. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate that observation, however, so he kept it to himself.
“Powering down,” she reported.
Ro killed the shuttle’s engines. An access panel in the floor connected with one of Cataria’s airlocks. There was no way to put off boarding the yacht any longer. Barclay felt like a condemned man going to face a firing squad.
Let’s get this over with, he thought as he reluctantly rose from his seat. If nothing else, he figured they could count on a warm welcome from Ambassador Troi.
“You? You’re the best Starfleet can send me?”
Lwaxana Troi, daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed, and roving ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary, glared scornfully at her two visitors. A low-cut burgundy gown, woven from the finest Vulcan damask, clothed her imposing figure. Gold-pressed latinum glittered upon her ears, hands, and throat. Curly auburn hair piled atop her head like an ominous storm cloud. She had the indignant expression and body