Three - Michael Jan Friedman [66]
[198] The odds were stacked against them, the navigator reflected. They were going into battle against forces significantly greater than their own.
If they were to have any chance to succeed, Gerda and her twin would have to work together as they always had—in perfect coordination and harmony. That meant putting their differences aside, no matter how heartfelt they might be.
For the sake of her captain and her crewmates, Gerda had decided to make that sacrifice. She just hadn’t known if she was alone in that regard.
But the look in Idun’s eye was unequivocable. It told Gerda with ironbound certainty that her sister felt exactly the same way.
Gerda Idun sat down in front of the computer console in her quarters and tried to clear her head. She had anticipated a lot of things when she materialized on this ship, but seeing Andreas Nikolas wasn’t one of them.
Of course, it should have been. She had fully expected to see counterparts of all her other comrades here, even one of herself. But not Nikolas. After all, he was dead.
But only in her universe. In this one, he was still very much alive, as she had so intimately discovered a mere few hours ago. She found herself smiling yearningly at the thought of it and forced herself to stop.
She and Nikolas couldn’t be together. She was going back to her own universe, just as she had told him, and it was impossible for her to take him along. It was that simple.
[199] So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? And why had she spent the night with him, knowing full well it could never happen again?
Because I’m weak, Gerda Idun told herself. But she couldn’t afford to be weak any longer. Focusing on the task at hand, she punched a command into her console.
Fortunately, the Stargazer’s computer system wasn’t very different from the one on her own ship, and what differences existed were easy enough to pick up. She sailed past them, racing unerringly toward her goal. ...
The crew’s level-two personnel files, unrestricted because they didn’t contain any sensitive information.
Gerda Idun knew that if she opened them, it would become a matter of record in the ship’s data banks. However, she doubted that the notation would raise any eyebrows in the short time she had left here—especially since, as a newcomer to this universe, it was only natural for her to be curious about the Stargazer’s crew, and the personnel files were the most logical way to satisfy that curiosity.
Not that Gerda Idun was interested in all the files. Far from it. In point of fact, she was interested in only one file. But to cover that up, she opened several others first—starting with Paxton’s and then making her way through Joseph’s, Greyhorse’s, and Kastiigan’s.
En route, she learned that Paxton was an expert skier, that Joseph had an allergy to bananas, and that Kastiigan was older than he looked. But none of that mattered to her.
All that mattered, all that she cared about, lay in one file in particular—the one on Phigus Simenon.
Taking a deep breath, Gerda Idun opened it. Then she read through it slowly and carefully, taking the time to [200] scan related links when necessary. Finally, she switched to yet another file—Commander Wu’s, as it happened—and left it open while she sat back and considered what she had just learned.
He was Gnalish, just as he appeared. He had graduated from Starfleet Academy with degrees in quantum mechanics, warp field physics, and starship engineering. And his first assignment was on the Fearless, an Excelsior-class vessel.
Interestingly enough, Simenon hadn’t distinguished himself on the Fearless. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten along very well with some of his colleagues, including his section chief. After less than a year, he wound up on the Onjata—a smaller, older, and apparently less prestigious ship.
But it was in the cramped quarters of the Onjata’s engine room that Simenon thrived, and was recognized time and again for his insights and ingenuity. As his superiors retired or managed transfers to