“And deprive the crew of your sterling example to health and fitness?” the physician asked, his tone one of pure mockery as he held up his cup in mock salute. “What a waste of a morale booster that would be.”
Smiling at the good-natured jab, Zhao waved the matter away as he reached for his water. “So, shall we start and let Lieutenant Xiong catch up on his own, or am I being too presumptive in thinking he’ll be here at all?”
Knowing full well that Xiong’s cavalier attitude toward Zhao’s penchant for regular staff meetings put the two at constant odds, Khatami held her tongue as she took a seat at the briefing room table. She trusted that the room would not remain silent long, however, as the concept of knowing when a question could go unanswered typically eluded Dr. Leone.
His predictability fell into form this morning.
“I’m sure I just passed him on deck eight coming with a tray of sweet rolls for everybody.” As soon as Zhao shot a narrow-eyed look at him, Leone quickly added, “Um, sir,” and slid into his chair.
“Dr. Leone,” Zhao said, pausing to take a long swig of water, “maybe you could start with your report on the status of the Erilon encampment’s staff and their acclimation to conditions?”
“Yes, sir,” the physician said in a voice Khatami found suddenly officious. “The Corps of Engineers and survey-team members have adapted to the arctic climate on the planet as well as we can expect. Dr. Catera’s incident log for the last few weeks looks pretty routine. A few cases of frostbite in the extremities, fatigue, bumps and bruises. It’s what you’d expect at any installation trying to get up and running in Class-P conditions.”
“Any illnesses or reported reactions to anything indigenous?” Zhao asked.
“Besides the sniffles?” Leone frowned. “No, nothing out of the ordinary, illness-wise. As for reactions or interactions or any other kind of actions, nothing. There’ve been no reported encounters with indigenous life beyond any bacteria or mold thawed out and stirred up by our activities. There’s been no higher-order life detected down there, Captain. The place is an ice cube.”
Listening to Leone’s report, Khatami knew that, like her, the captain was waiting for information that to the doctor might on its own seem new or unusual but which might have additional meaning when coupled with other facts to which she and Zhao were privy. Researchers at the Erilon encampment were among the first Federation personnel with long-term exposure to bacteria and other life imbued with the Taurus meta-genome, and no one had any idea of the potential implications of such prolonged contact.
As the doctor completed his report, Zhao quietly took another long draw from his tumbler before looking to Khatami. Their eyes locked only briefly, but in that instant she saw that his thoughts mirrored her own: Nothing new.
“So much for Erilon,” Zhao said with a small smile. “Ship’s status, Commander?”
“As far as the Endeavourgoes, all main systems are working normally,” she said before consulting the data slate she had brought to the meeting. “Chief Nelson resolved that pattern-buffer problem in the transporter room. Commander Mog replaced a faulty backflow to eliminate an intercooler issue he reported yesterday. Oh, and Doctor, I received a memo thanking me for correcting the food-slot situation.”
“Situation?” Zhao knit his brow. “I wasn’t informed of any situation.”
“Oh, it was nothing, sir,” Khatami said, wincing a bit as she heard the words escape her lips unchecked. The captain never liked hearing an incident aboard ship or a status report on an Endeavoursystem reduced to “nothing.”
“If it was nothing…” Zhao let his voice trail off, offering a knowing smile because Khatami and everyone else on the senior staff could finish the sentence for him.
…then why bring it up in a meeting?
Mentally resetting herself as Leone sighed audibly, she said, “I meant that more for Dr. Leone, sir. Ensigns th’…th’Shendileth and sh’Dastisar—”
“Say thosethree times fast,” Leone said, which made Khatami laugh in spite of herself.
Zhao seemed to almost crack a smile himself, though it was quickly suppressed as he glanced over at Khatami. “Continue, Commander.”
“Well, sir, the ensigns in question had complained that the food slots had not been programmed for Andorian cuisine,” she said. “I told them that the problem lies in their meal cards, so I consulted Dr. Leone and he issued me amended cards to pass to them.”
“And another shipboard dietary crisis is averted,” Leone said dryly. “Good work, Commander.”
“So,” Zhao said, “let’s move on.” He made a show of looking about the conference room. “We seem to be missing some representatives from the planetary survey team.”
Khatami fidgeted a bit in her seat, uncomfortable at her being the bearer of frustrating news. “Well, sir, Lieutenant Xiong informed me that he would forward his report to me in time for the meeting. Then when you asked for his attendance at our meeting, I presented that request to him as well.”
“And his response?” Zhao’s voice was flat and his eyes just slightly narrowed.
“He indicated that he would come to the meeting…if he had time,” Khatami said, eliciting a single cough of a laugh from Leone. “Those were his words, sir, and I made it very clear that you wanted your report in per…”
Khatami abruptly closed her mouth as Zhao rose from the table and sharply tugged down the front of his shirt, the same automatic gesture he would have made had he been wearing his standard Starfleet duty uniform. The glint in his eyes was not one of anger or irritation, but of ice.
“Considering the lieutenant’s busy schedule, perhaps I’ll just take my report from him in his lab.”
“Captain!” Khatami exclaimed, surprised at the sharpness of her own voice as it echoed around the briefing room. Rising to her feet, she continued in a more reserved tone. “That is, sir, allow me to retrieve Lieutenant Xiong and escort him back here. There’s no reason for you to go to the surface yourself.”
“On the contrary,” Zhao said, his voice remaining neutral as he strode to the door. “I think there’s every reason. Our Mr. Xiong is a busy young man. I’d hate to inconvenience him any more than is absolutely necessary.”
Khatami hustled to keep pace with Zhao as Leone fell in behind her. “But sir, please at least wait long enough for me to assign a security detail to accompany you.” By way of reply, Zhao offered an odd, almost amused expression, and she expected him to deliver a sharp denial of her suggestion, but none came. “Starfleet regulations, sir,” she said, hoping to lighten the tone. “I’m offering only a reminder.”
After a moment, the captain nodded. “Very well. Have Lieutenant Nauls muster two of his team and meet me in the transporter room in one hour.” As Zhao walked toward the turbolift, his words echoed back to her. “We’ll give that pattern buffer its first run.”
As Zhao left the room and the doors closed behind him, Leone sidled over to stand next to Khatami.
“I’ve never seen him that mad, have you?” Leone asked in a wide-eyed whisper with as much seriousness as Khatami had ever heard from the doctor. “Good idea about the security, Atish. I think the captain’s gonna killXiong.”
6
As he always did when summoned to the inner sanctum aboard the Omari-Ekon, Quinn stood between the pair of ominous black obelisks while facing the raised dais upon which Ganz reclined in unrepentant splendor. He tried not to fidget as the muscled Orion crime lord looked down upon him, his emerald green skin glistening from a recent application of body oil no doubt provided by one or more of the concubines with whom he surrounded himself. For several moments Ganz said nothing, and Quinn had to restrain himself from speaking first for fear that he might start blabbering incoherently.