Three - Michael Jan Friedman [41]
The Stargazer’s weapons officer had paced his prison perhaps a hundred times before the guards finally lowered the barrier and threw Runj inside.
Vigo and Sebring moved to the Vobilite’s side. Like his colleagues before him, Runj had been worked over thoroughly, his face a mask of dark red bruises.
“They asked me about the shuttle,” he rasped, a swollen lip joining his tusks as an impediment to speech.
“I know,” said Vigo, regretting what Runj had gone through. “They asked Sebring and me as well.”
“Whatever you did to it,” Sebring told the Pandrilite, “it must be driving them crazy.”
Their captors couldn’t even transmit any classified data to their mother ship—not with the magnetic-storm layer raging above them. It gave Vigo a small measure of satisfaction that they had stymied the intruders, but it didn’t make up for the pain Sebring and Runj had endured.
The human cast a glance at their guards. “What do you think they’re going to do next?”
Vigo knew what he meant. The intruders had gone through all three of them and failed to get what they needed. They would have to step up their efforts.
And as the one who had carried out the sabotage, he was the one on whom they would most likely focus their attentions.
[121] “I don’t know,” he said, in answer to Sebring’s question. But he had a feeling he would find out.
Nikolas was on his way to the bridge to take his turn at Vigo’s weapons console when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
Turning, he saw Obal hustling to catch up with him. “Hey, buddy,” the ensign said, slowing his pace, “what’s the good word?”
He was surprised at how cheerful he sounded. But then, he had reason to be that way.
“Nikolas,” said Obal, as he finally pulled up alongside his friend, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“How come?”
“I wanted to speak with you about Lieutenant Asmund. That is, the Lieutenant Asmund who beamed aboard.”
Nikolas shrugged. “What about her?”
“I stopped by the mess hall earlier on my way to security and saw you talking to her. She was laughing—apparently, at something you had just said.”
“Is there a regulation against laughing?” the ensign asked good-naturedly. “Because if there is, I think even the captain might have violated it.”
Obal sighed. “You know there’s no such regulation. And it isn’t the laughter itself that makes me concerned. It’s what it could lead to.”
Nikolas was touched that his pal was looking out for him. But as usual, Obal was going a little overboard.
“My friend,” said the security officer, “are you certain that it’s wise to become friendly with this woman?”
Nikolas laughed. “Obal, I just talked to her.”
[122] “Yes,” the Binderian conceded. “And Romeo merely talked to Juliet.”
Nikolas looked at him. “How do you know about Romeo and Juliet?”
“Lieutenant Kastiigan recommended the play to me. He saw it in San Francisco, when he was at the Academy.”
Nikolas chuckled. “Really.”
“He told me it was a most engaging drama, one of the best he had ever seen performed. He especially admired the ending, in which the lovers perish.”
“Sounds like Kastiigan,” said Nikolas, stopping at a turbolift station and tapping the metal plate beside it.
Obal stopped too. “But it is not Lieutenant Kastiigan I am worried about. It is you.”
The ensign dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “There’s no reason to worry, pal. She’s not Gerda or Idun. She’s from another universe, for godsakes.”
“Which is exactly my point,” Obal said. “You do not know her very well. Your attraction to her cannot be anything but a physical one.”
Nikolas was about to ask his friend what was wrong with that. But before he could get the words out, he realized Obal was wrong. It wasn’t just a physical attraction.
Sure, it might have started out that way. But somewhere in those few short minutes they’d had in the mess hall, it had become something more than that.
“Listen,” he said, “I appreciate your concern. But don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”
“I don’t think—” Obal started to protest.
But before he could finish, the turbolift doors opened,