Khatami allowed herself a small chuckle at the comment. “Well then, what do you suggest I do, my confidant and supporter?”
“You need someone you can trust to second-guess you and tell you where you might be heading down the wrong path,” Mog replied. “Someone who’ll get in your face a bit if that’s what it takes. In other words, someone like me, though not an engineer. I wouldn’t bet on finding someone as handsome as me, either.” Making a show of examining his fingernails, he added, “You have a number of capable officers under your command. Something tells me you might find what you’re looking for in one.”
Weighing her friend’s counsel, Khatami nodded after a moment. “You may be right. My main concern is how this change will affect the crew. I respected Sheng, and part of me really liked him, Mog, but I know that I don’t want to command like he did. I can’t match up to any comparisons between us, and I don’t even want to try.”
His eyes gleaming with barely contained mischief, the engineer replied, “Have you stopped to consider there may be plenty of people on this ship hoping and praying that you are notlike Captain Zhao?”
Khatami laughed again in spite of herself. “Still, everything is so…different now, Mog. Sometimes, there’s no way of putting a finger on it, and other times it just slaps me in the face.” Her brow furrowing, she held out an open hand. “Like just now, and I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but when you talk about him, you don’t just say ‘the captain’ anymore. You say his name. Have you noticed that?”
“Of course, Atish,” Mog said as he rose from his chair. “That’s because you’re‘the captain’ now, and if there’s nothing else, Captain, I will take my leave.”
Nodding, Khatami reached for the data slate he had brought for her. “That’ll be all, Mog.” She looked up at him. “Thanks, for everything, and that includes not taking me up on my offer.”
The engineer shrugged. “So long as you’re screening candidates, there’s always Dr. Leone.”
She offered a mock grimace. “Please. You might start a war, but I’m pretty sure putting the good doctor in a position of command is a recipe for universal entropy.”
Roast beef sandwich. Vegetable soup. That’s all I want, and it shouldn’t be too much to ask from that damned contraption.
The thought continued to reverberate in Leone’s mind as he entered the officers’ mess. He regarded himself as a capable and intelligent man who felt completely comfortable with all manner of technology, be it a computer or a piece of equipment being field-tested by some young idealist stationed at Starfleet Medical. He even considered himself to be a shuttlecraft pilot of reasonable talent and skill.
The Endeavour’s food synthesizers, however, were his nemesis.
Gritting his teeth and forcing a smile onto his lean, nearly gaunt features, Leone nodded politely to an ensign he passed on his way to the bank of slots positioned along the dining facility’s rear bulkhead. Choosing one of the stations at random, the doctor inserted the menu selection card he had brought along from sickbay into the reader above the food slot’s main door and keyed its activation sequence. He rolled his eyes at the lyrical series of beeps and tones emitted by the unit until, seconds later, the door slid up to reveal his lunch.
A roast beef sandwich and a bowl of steaming soup.
“I don’t believe it,” he said to no one. “Somebody contact the FNS. Better yet, somebody check my pulse.”
Allowing a pinched grin of satisfaction, Leone retrieved his tray from the slot and made his way to an empty table next to one occupied by a trio of human officers. With a sigh of anticipation as he regarded his well-earned feast, he picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup. Noting what his movements were stirring up within the bowl, Leone’s brow furrowed in confusion. That bewilderment turned to suspicion as he raised the spoon to his lips—before devolving into defeat as he took a tentative sip.
Plomeek soup,he thought, a sneer curling his upper lip. Figures.
Trading his spoon for his sandwich, Leone raised it to his mouth and took a bite, savoring the taste of roast beef cooked almost to perfection—until his tongue registered a spicy burning sensation at the same instant a piquant odor assailed his nostrils.
“Gah,” Leone exclaimed, grimacing around his wad of chewed sandwich. Horseradish.He drew a sharp breath through sinuses now opened at the mercy of the pungent root. When in the hell will we be able to just tell those damned things what we want to eat?
“I’m telling you,” said one of the officers at the next table, just loud enough for Leone to hear, “if things don’t change soon, we’re going to be in big trouble.”
The doctor cocked his head at that, interested in where the conversation might be going while at the same time dreading that he already knew the destination. Taking his sandwich apart, Leone grabbed up his spoon to scrape the offending condiment from his roast beef while trying to listen to the discussion at the next table without appearing too obvious.
“C’mon, Muller,” said another man, who Leone saw in his peripheral vision wore a blue jumpsuit. “You can’t be serious.”
Without turning his head, the doctor was able to see the first man, who wore a gold uniform tunic, lean closer to his two comrades. “It was her indecision that got Captain Zhao killed, and now we’re heading back to the scene of the crime. What are we looking for? Another fight? You ask me, this ship isn’t safe with Khatami in charge.”
Leone dropped his spoon onto his tray, his appetite having disappeared now. Rising from his seat, he took his tray and made his way toward the row of recycling slots, walking slower than usual in order to continue listening to the conversation which went on as the three officers at the next table also concluded their meals and rose from their seats.
“What,” said the third man, dressed in a red tunic and whom Leone recognized as a member of the Endeavour’s security force, “because she’s a woman?”
“Oh, give me some credit, please,” Muller said as he fell in line behind Leone. “Species, gender, age, whatever. Incompetence knows no boundaries. She may have been fine making duty rosters and supervising landing parties, but Khatami doesn’t belong in the center seat. Period.”
Tossing his tray into the nearest recycler slot, Leone pivoted on his heel until he was facing Muller, who had to come to an abrupt stop to avoid running into the doctor. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said, his eyes locking with those of the younger man. “I’d like a word with you out in the corridor.”
To his credit, Muller said nothing until both men exited the dining hall. Once in the passageway, Leone folded his arms across his chest as he glared at the other man.
“As an officer, Mr. Muller,” he said, “you have an obligation to lead by example. That means presenting a professional demeanor when in the presence of subordinates, and keeping to yourself any unfavorable opinions you might have regarding this ship’s chain of command.”
“I’m not saying anything that other people haven’t said,” Muller replied, his tone growing more defensive with each word. “She could have gotten us all killed during that attack. You know that.”
Feeling his ire rising even as he regarded Muller through narrowing eyes, Leone snapped, “The fact that you’re alive to run your mouth about what happened obviously means she did something right. Now tell me, Lieutenant, do I look like the type of person who enjoys quoting rules and regulations? All they do is piss me off. Therefore, I suggestyou reevaluate your comments, particularly when you’re in a public setting among the rest of the crew.”
His own expression growing cold, Muller leaned forward, and when he replied his voice took on what Leone imagined the other man thought to be menace. “Frankly, Doctor,” he said, his chest puffing out a bit, “until I see a reason to believe differently, I’m going to hold to my opinion, and I’ll share it with whom I please. CaptainKhatami is a disaster waiting to happen.”