Three - Michael Jan Friedman [50]
As Delakan worked, the commander heard the grinding of an ascent compartment. Even without turning from the screen, he knew who was in it.
Tsioveth swore as she left the compartment and advanced to Wutor’s side. “Then it’s true,” she said, her eyes alight with the Balduk urge to battle.
“How are the plasma conduits on weapons deck?” the commander asked with a sneer.
His mechanic craved victory as much as Wutor or anyone else aboard the Ekhonarid. He knew her answer would be with tinged with optimism.
“They’ll hold,” she said.
Wutor could have used a little more optimism than that. “They’d better. We’ll soon have need of them.”
“Scan complete,” Delakan reported.
As she said it, another graphic went up on the screen, [148] replacing the first one. This time, it wasn’t a red image on the blue background—it was a yellow one. And it clearly described a spacegoing vessel with a flat circular section and four long, skinny appendages.
Wutor wasn’t an expert on alien designs, but even he knew a Federation ship when he saw one.
A Federation vessel in Balduk territory, the commander thought, bristling with anger and indignation. Something would have to be done about that, and quickly.
“Energy to weapons,” he ordered.
“Energy to weapons,” said Potrepo, a vibration of excitement in his voice.
And why wouldn’t there be? All Balduk longed for battle. All Balduk yearned for the chance to defend their people’s borders. Potrepo, old as he might be, was really no different from anyone else.
“They’re charged,” the weaponer reported.
Wutor studied the graphic on the viewscreen. The Federation invader wasn’t moving. Obviously, he didn’t fear the Ekhonarid. But her commander would give the invader reason to fear her.
“The enemy is attempting to contact us,” said Wutor’s communications technician.
Wutor laughed, the harsh sound of it echoing throughout his bridge. What could the enemy say that could possibly be of interest to him?
“They’ll receive no reply,” he said, “other than the lash of our weapons!”
Gerda was striding down the corridor outside sickbay, still stinging from what she had seen in Greyhorse’s [149] eyes, when she saw her sister coming from the other direction.
She wasn’t alone either. Gerda Idun was with her. And so, naturally, was Pug Joseph.
Gerda wished she could have turned and gone back the other way, but it was too late. Idun and the others had already caught sight of her.
Fine, she thought. I’ll face this like a warrior, the same way I would face anything else.
Fortunately, her sister made it easier for her. She greeted Gerda as if nothing had happened.
“Come,” she said. “We’re on our way to stellar cartography.”
Joseph elaborated. “Gerda Idun doesn’t have anything like it on her Stargazer.”
Gerda Idun, the navigator thought, can go straight to Gre’thor. The last thing she wanted to do was give tours to someone whose motives she didn’t trust.
But Gerda couldn’t say that. Not without embarrassing herself even further.
So, as much as it galled her, as much as it ate at her like a slow-acting Klingon poison, she tamped down her suspicions and her resentment. And without a word, she fell in line with Gerda Idun’s entourage.
The physical act was predictably easy. Not so the task of containing her emotions. With each step Gerda took, she could feel shame and anger roil inside her.
Up ahead of her, her sister and Gerda Idun walked side by side, identical but for the clothing they wore. Every so often, they said something to each other—just a word or two, but it seemed to be enough.
[150] Gerda imagined that she and Idun had looked like that once. But it was no longer just she and Idun. Now, as repugnant as she found the idea, there were three of them.
Three.
Dammit, she was jealous—just as she had told Greyhorse. She was aflame with it. But it wasn’t jealousy that made her believe Gerda Idun was deceiving them.
There was more to it. The navigator was certain of that. And she clung to that certainty all the while her jealousy was writhing inside her like spoiled bloodwine.