Unification - Jeri Taylor [60]
It was not until she got home to her tiny closet room that she burst into tears, and cried without stopping for an hour. Then she had to spend hours over a steam quill trying to reduce the swelling in her eyes; that took so much time she never did get around to repairing her fingernail.
Gretchen Naylor’s green eyes flashed as she looked at Riker, and he had to fight feelings that he had somehow betrayed her. They were in the captain’s ready room, where Riker had quickly led them after Naylor had come onto the bridge and requested a conference. That in itself was unusual; her attitude once they were secluded was nothing short of astonishing to him.
“I’ve been on this investigation from the beginning, Commander,” she was saying now, “and I think I deserve to be included now.”
“You’ve been extremely helpful. I know the contributions you’ve made, and I’m grateful. I’m just not sure it’s wise for you to be seen at Shern’s Palace.”
“And that’s because—?”
“You’ve been there once with me. You go again, you’ll be noticed. I’m not going until Lieutenant Worf lets me know that an overweight Ferengi who likes ‘Melor Famagal’ has arrived.”
“But when you go—if you go—I should be with you.” “I think I can handle the situation, Ensign.”
The tone in Riker’s voice got her attention. She fixed those eyes on him. “Am I overstepping the boundaries, Commander?” “You’re coming very close.”
From the look on her face, he realized this statement frightened her—on some profound, visceral level. It was a brief flash of vulnerability, and then she became extremely composed.
“Sir, if I’ve seemed pushy, I apologize. I take my work seriously. It’s important for me to do my best. I want the chance to prove myself, and it’s hard for me to have those chances taken away.”
Riker stared at her. He had a vision of a serious, dedicated little girl, studying obsessively at her desk while the warm, fragrant breezes of Indiana wafted through her room. Somewhere outside, in the lush gardens, her family worked and laughed together, bonding in their shared commitment to give this gifted child a chance to grasp a dream—Starfleet Academy.
The family had each other; they had a goal that held them together. Gretchen was alone, bearing the responsibility of fulfilling the vision for which her parents and her siblings gave so much. She had not only survived a journey that claimed many casualties —she had excelled. She was admitted to the Academy, graduated with honors, and then was posted to Starfleet’s flagship. Gretchen Naylor was in rarefied company, the upper minuscule percentile of those millions in the quadrant who longed to be exactly where she was. But did it bring her joy? And what had it cost her? “Ensign Naylot, you’ve been invaluable in this investigation. I’ve valued your insights. I can honestly say we wouldn’t be where we are if it hadn’t been for you.”
He had the sense that she drank these words as a dying man gulped water in the desert. Yet her expression remained impassive. “Thank you, sir. I hope my performance has been acceptable.”
“More than acceptable. Exemplary.”
She nodded briefly. A moment passed. “But my presence won’t be required on Qualor?”
“I don’t think it’s wise.”
“Very well.”
She turned away and started to leave; he felt an overwhelming flood of protectiveness toward this driven woman, wanted to salve her feelings somehow. “Gretchen?”
She turned back to him. “Maybe we could have dinner some night. I’d like to know you better.”
She stared at him, a proud tilt to her head. “Commander—please don’t patronize me,” she said. Then she walked out.
Arnarie’s puffy eyes had subsided by the time she went to work, and the metaphasic eye shadow, which changed color and design constantly, concealed any residual swelling. She had that awful snuffiy feeling she always got when she had been crying for a long time, but all things considered, she thought she was looking pretty good. The room, as usual, was nearly empty. The prostitutes (thank the