Three - Michael Jan Friedman [37]
[108] They hadn’t discussed Gerda Idun since their meeting in Idun’s quarters. However, Gerda had been thinking about their counterpart a great deal.
In the course of her reflection, she had come to believe that it wasn’t her imagination after all. She had seen something in Gerda Idun’s expression that was at odds with the persona she presented—something that made Gerda mistrust her, despite the woman’s resemblance to her.
And yet, Idun appeared not to have noticed anything. Or if she had, she hadn’t said anything about it—a situation the navigator meant to investigate in short order.
“It was interesting,” she said, “how different our counterpart was from either one of us. Without a Klingon upbringing to nurture her better qualities, she might as well have been any human.”
Idun looked at her as if she had brought a pet targ onto the bridge. “I’m a little surprised to hear you say that. I thought she was a lot like you.”
“Like me?” Gerda asked. It was about the last thing she had expected to hear. “She’s nothing like me.”
“Isn’t she?” Idun asked. She shrugged.
“Nothing at all,” Gerda insisted, unable to see how her sister had come to such a conclusion.
Idun turned back to her instruments and fell silent for a moment. However, her expression indicated that she hadn’t wavered in her opinion.
“In any case,” the helm officer said finally, “we need to take Gerda Idun under our wing. Being from another universe, she must feel quite lost here.”
“No doubt,” said Gerda.
But she didn’t feel the same sense of responsibility [109] that her sister did. Obviously, Idun had indeed missed what Gerda spotted in the newcomer’s expression, or she wouldn’t have been speaking of her this way.
But I saw something, Gerda insisted silently. I did. I’m certain of it.
“After all,” Idun continued, “our blood runs in her veins. That makes her family.”
Gerda didn’t look at it that way. Members of the same house didn’t keep things from each other, and it seemed to her that Gerda Idun was doing just that. But without the least shred of proof to support her suspicions, the navigator wasn’t ready to oppose her sister’s point of view.
“We will do what we can,” she said.
Then she turned back to the viewscreen, where the anomaly glared at her like a great, blazing eye—as if daring her to unlock Gerda Idun’s secret.
Phigus Simenon arrived at the briefing room precisely on time, only to find that the captain was the only one there.
“Where is she?” the engineer asked brusquely.
Picard frowned. “I expect our guest and Mr. Joseph to join us at any moment. And I believe the proper protocol is ‘Where is she, sir?’ ”
Simenon eyed him. “You’re kidding, right? Maybe I’ll call you ‘sir’ when you get to be twenty-nine.”
The captain tried to suppress a smile, but didn’t do a very good job of it. “Which will be soon. My birthday is coming up, you know.”
The engineer harrumphed. “Sounds like someone is fishing for a present. Unfortunately—”
[110] Before he could finish, the door slid aside and Joseph walked in. And there was someone behind him—someone tall, blond, and female, and well built in a human sort of way.
She also bore an uncanny resemblance to Gerda and Idun. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, he would have said she was Gerda or Idun.
Picard got up as the woman walked into the room. He was nothing if not gallant. “Lieutenant Asmund,” he said, “please have a seat.”
“Thank you,” the woman said.
Then she caught sight of the Gnalish.
“This is Mr. Simenon,” the captain said, “our chief engineer. Mr. Simenon, Gerda Idun Asmund.”
The woman stared at the engineer for a moment.
“Something wrong, Lieutenant?” Simenon asked.
Gerda Idun shook her head as she, the captain, and Joseph sat down. “No, nothing. It’s just that ...”
“Yes?” Simenon prompted.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’ve never met a Gnalish before, that’s all.”
The engineer found the remark disconcerting. “My people don’t exist in your universe?”
“Oh,” said Gerda Idun, “they exist. But they tend to keep to themselves.