"And you too, Lieutenant Commander."
"Shall I have Yates escort you to the bridge?"
"Oh, I think I can find the way."
And as she headed for the door, Burgoyne asked, "Are you going to be staying with us awhile, Commander?"
"That," said Shelby, "is what I'm going to try and find out."
Shelby stepped out onto the bridge and nearly walked straight into a mountain range.
At least, that's what it seemed like. She stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't really have much choice in the matter; her path was blocked. She looked up, and up.
The being who faced her was powerful and muscled, his skin a dusky brown with ebony highlights. Either one of his arms was bigger than both of hers put together, and he had three fingers on each hand: Two of the fingers in a [V]-shape, rounded out with an opposable thumb. His (assuming it was a he) head was squared off, like a rough diamond, and he had small earholes on either side of his skull. His nose consisted of nothing more than two vertical, parallel slits between his eyes that ran to just above his mouth.
"You've gotto be a Brikar." She'd never seen one of the gargantuan beings before, but she'd heard them described. If what she'd learned about them was true, this behemoth could withstand phaser blasts that would kill a human . . . hell, kill a squad of humans.
He was wearing a Starfleet uniform that seemed stretched to its maximum, and all she could think was Thank God he's on our side.
"And you are?" he rumbled. His voice seemed to originate from somewhere around his boots.
"Commander Shelby. I'm here to see Captain Calhoun."
"I was not aware of your arrival, Commander."
"It's," and she bobbed her head from side to side slightly, "it's a bit of a surprise."
"I, with all due respect, sir, don't like surprises."
"Let me guess. You're in charge of security."
His eyes glittered down at her. She had a feeling he was eyeballing her quickly to see if she had weapons hidden on her. Apparently satisfied, at least for the moment, he said, "Wait here, Commander." The Brikar moved off toward the captain's ready room and entered. Shelby mused that it was fortunate the door opened fast enough. Otherwise the Brikar would likely have just walked right through it.
"Commander Shelby?" Shelby turned to see a pert young woman with a round face and dark blond hair, piled high on her head, standing near her. She had her hand extended and Shelby shook it firmly. "Lieutenant Robin Lefler. Ops. Burgoyne told me you were on your way up."
"I wish s/he'd told the walking landmass over there." She chucked a thumb in the direction that the Brikar had just gone.
"Wouldn't have mattered even if s/he had," said Lefler. "Zak is pretty single-minded. If the word doesn't come down from the captain, then as far as he's concerned, the word isn't given."
"Zak?"
"Zak Kebron. He's quite a piece of work, Zak is. I helped outfit him with a small gravity compensator he wears on his belt. The Brikar are such a heavygravity race that, if he doesn't wear the compensator, it makes it almost impossible for him to move. As it is, if he's in a hurry, you can hear him running from three decks away."
"I'd believe it."
"We have a few holdovers from when Captain Korsmo was in charge," continued Lefler. "They all had nothing but good things to say about you."
With a slightly mischievous air, Shelby said, "Well, they know better than to say anything bad."
Then Shelby heard a soft, rhythmic snoring noise. She looked for the source . . . and couldn't quite believe it. There was a lieutenant sitting at navigation, his feet propped up on the controls. His arms were folded across his chest, his head rising and falling with the rhythm of his snoring. He had shortcropped red hair and—curiously—freckles. Curious because Starfleet officers, not being exposed to tremendous amounts of sunlight in their insular adult lives, tended to be fairly freckle-free. Shelby turned to Lefler, an unspoken question on her face.
"He knows his stuff," Lefler said optimistically. "Really."
The door to the ready room slid open and Zak Kebron was standing there. "The captain will see you, sir," he said in a voice that sounded like the beginnings of an avalanche.
Shelby nodded briskly and headed into the ready room. Kebron stepped aside, allowing her to pass. The door slid shut behind him and Zak walked over to his station. Robin sidled over to Kebron and
leaned over the railing. "Did the captain have any kind of reaction?"
" 'Reaction?' " He looked at her blankly.
"When he found out that the commander was here."
"Should he have?"
"I'm not sure. I was getting the impression that she was expecting . . ." Her voice trailed off. "I'm not sure what she was expecting. That's why I was asking you."
His face was immobile.
"Come on, Kebron. Did he smile? Frown? Did he seem tense, curious, excited, tepid . . . stop me when I hit a word that's accurate."
Nothing. Zak Kebron simply stared at her.
Lefler grunted in annoyance. "Lefler's newest law: Getting information out of you is like interrogating a statue." She turned away from him.
"Good," muttered Kebron.
* * *
Dr. Selar entered sickbay and went straight to her office. But she quickly became aware that Dr. Maxwell was following her with his gaze. He'd known fully well that Selar had been dissatisfied with his prep work in sickbay, and he had been perfectly candid about the fact that he thought Selar was being too hard on him. He had suspected, correctly, that Selar had gone to the captain to discuss the situation.
Unaccustomed to subterfuge, Selar turned and met his look squarely. And, in some ways, she felt as if she was looking at him—really looking at him— for the first time.
And she had never realized before how, with his dark hair, his squared-off jaw, his serious demeanor, Maxwell bore a passing resemblance to her late husband. To Voltak, who had died of a heart attack in the throes of Pon farr.Died while Selar had lain there helplessly, unable to aid him.
And the rational part of Selar's mind said, No. That is ridiculous. Pop psychology, pat and unsatisfying. Having a negative reaction to a coworker because of a passing resemblance to Voltak? It is absurd. It is not logical. That cannot be it. There must be . . . other concerns.
Except at that moment she couldn't think of any.
Deciding to break the uneasy silence, Maxwell stepped forward and said, "Dr. Selar . . . I'd like to know if you'll still be requiring my services."
"Do you have duties to attend to?" she asked him.
"Well . . . yes . . . but . . ."
"Then I suggest you attend to them. Our intended departure time has not been altered, and it behooves you to be prepared." And she turned and walked away to her office, leaving a confused but happy Maxwell behind.
The first thing that Shelby noticed was the short sword mounted on the wall. She stopped and stared at it. Calhoun seemed entranced by his computer screen, more than content to have Shelby speak first. She didn't let him down. "You still have it?"
He didn't even have to look up to see what she was referring to. "Of course."