"I was warned McHenry was somewhat unusual," admitted Calhoun. "I thought he'd fit right in on that basis. But even I'm not sure now . . ."
"Lieutenant Soleta is right," Kebron said, backing her up. "McHenry was like this back in the Academy. Actually, he was even more extreme. It's nothing to be concerned about. As the lieutenant said, McHenry's just thinking."
"About what?" demanded Shelby.
"Anything," said Soleta. "Everything. McHenry devotes exactly as much of his brain power as is required for routine duties. If there's an emergency, he'll devote that much more. And he devotes the rest of his brain to other things. Most humans can only concentrate on one thing at a time. McHenry is multifaceted. What you perceive as aberrant behavior is nothing more than what I would term an . . . eccentricity."
"His eyes are half-closed! We can't have a man at helm who's not alert!"
"He's alert, Commander," Soleta said confidently. "He's one hundred percent alert. If you walked over to him and spoke his name, he'd snap to instantly."
"Responding to his name isn't what concerns me," Shelby replied.
"Nor I," admitted Calhoun. "We need someone at that post who can respond to developing situations on his own, not a man who has to wait for someone to tell him what to do."
"May I suggest a simple test?" asked Soleta. When Calhoun gestured for her to continue, she said, "I can have Lefler reroute guidance through the ops station. Then we'll have her make a change in course. Nothing major. A simple alteration."
"What will that prove?" Shelby asked.
"A great deal, if I am correct," Soleta replied.
"You're not saying that he'll detect, without instruments, a deviation in ship's heading."
"That is precisely what I'm saying, Commander."
"That's impossible," Shelby said flatly. "That is completely impossible."
"Captain," Kebron spoke up, "Commander . . . I fully admit that I had the same initial reactions to McHenry when I met him years ago as you are currently having. I recommend you do as Lieutenant Soleta suggests."
Calhoun shrugged. "Sounds like a plan."
"Captain—?!"
"Calm down, Shelby. Soleta has something to prove. Let's let her try and prove it."
Soleta exited the captain's ready room and went straight over to Lefler. The others emerged and watched, fascinated in spite of themselves. Soleta bent in close to a puzzled Lefler and whispered in her ear. There was no sign of comprehension on Lefler's face, but she wasn't about to dispute a straightforward instruction. Within moments she had rerouted the navigations systems, and then made a course adjustment that would take the Excalibureighteen degrees off course.
The moment the ship began to move in the new direction, the reaction from McHenry was instantaneous and stunning. He snapped forward, his attention completely focused—not on his instrumentation, but on the starfield in front of him on the screen. He then looked to his instruments, but clearly it was only to confirm that which he already knew. All business, he demanded, "Lieutenant, did you take us off course?"
Shelby was thunderstruck. "I don't believe it," she said. McHenry looked over to her, clearly not sure what Shelby was talking about.
"She changed headings at my direction, Lieutenant McHenry," Soleta informed him.
He switched his focus to Soleta, his eyebrows knit in puzzlement. "Why?"
"Why do you think?"
He considered the question a moment. "Because there was concern that I had zoned out and you decided to prove otherwise?"
"Correct."
"Ah. Okay."
"Without looking at your instruments, Lieutenant," Calhoun said, descending down the ramp to the command chair, "would you mind telling me how far off course we are?"
"I don't know, sir. Ballpark . . . nineteen degrees."
"Eighteen," Robin Lefler acknowledged in wonderment.
"Fairly close ballpark, I'd say," Calhoun said. "Would you agree, Commander?"
Shelby sighed. "Damned close."
"Lieutenant McHenry, bring us back on course."
"Aye,sir."
Shelby sank into her chair. Calhoun sat next to her. "You all right, Commander?"
"Fine," she sighed. "I'm fine. I swear, though, this is like no other ship I've ever served on."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Calhoun said.
"You are, of course, always free to exercise your discretion as commanding officer," Shelby replied, as she wondered what other oddities would surface about the crew during their voyage.
Burgoyne 172 strode into sickbay with an impatient look on hish face. S/he turned to Dr. Maxwell and said, "Well?"
"Well what, Lieutenant Commander?"
"Dr. Selar said she wanted to see me. Here I am. I have things to do, so if the doctor could please tell me what she wants, I might be able to get back to my duties."
Selar emerged from her office and said, "In here, Mister Burgoyne, if it is not too much trouble." She stood there as Burgoyne appeared to be studying her. "Is there a problem, Mister Burgoyne?"
"No. No problem at all," Burgoyne said as s/he entered Selar's office. "You know, I don't think we've actually had a chance to meet."
"You have not attended any of the initial department-head meetings," replied Selar. "That would have been the logical place."
"I had a lot to do to get things ready," Burgoyne said, not sounding particularly apologetic. It seemed to Selar that s/he was looking over the Vulcan doctor in a startlingly appraising manner. "It always comes down to the chief engineer having to pull everything together during the last minute. So ... what can I do to help you, Doctor?"
"Your most recent medical examination is over two years old. By putting out to space without a more recent exam, we are technically already in breach of Starfleet regulations."
"Can't have that," Burgoyne said agreeably. "Do you wish to conduct it right now? Because I'm free now."
"Dr. Maxwell will attend to the actual examination."
Burgoyne made no effort to hide hish disappointment. "I would prefer you do it. Have the top woman attend to it, and all that."
She glanced at him with eyebrow cocked in mild curiosity. "Do you have an unusual condition which would require my direct attention?"
"Well . . . no . . ."
"Then I assure you, Dr. Maxwell will prove more than sufficient for your needs." She turned and became immediately engrossed in her computer screen, familiarizing herself with other medical profiles It took her a few moments to realize that Burgoyne was still there, and looking at her with a very strange lopsided grin. "Is there something else, Lieutenant Commander?"
Burgoyne dropped into a chair opposite Selar, giving her the impression that s/he wasn't about to leave anytime soon. "Well, I admit if nothing else I'm disappointed in you, Doctor."
"How so?"
"There aren't very many Hermats in Starfleet, and none at command level aside from me. The Vulcans I know have always had a great inquisitiveness about the galaxy they live in and the people therein. I would be surprised if you, a woman of science, did not share that famed Vulcan drive to satisfy curiosity."
She gave a brief acknowledging nod. "A small amount, I admit. Hermats, as a race, tend to keep to themselves. The tendency toward segregation from the rest of the Federation is well known . . . right down to your tendency to refer to yourselves with a unique set of pronouns to accommodate your dualsex status. 'Hir' rather than 'him' or 'her'. . . 'hish' for the possessive forms of 'his' or 'hers' . . . 's/he,'" and she punched a bit harder than usual on the separately accented h, "rather than 'she' or 'he.'"