Suppressing the urge to giggle, Khatami replied, “I understand.”
“So, things seem okay then?”
Khatami found herself flattered by Leone’s awkward display. Though public expression of friendship or support was by no means the doctor’s strong suit, there was no mistaking his genuine concern for her. At the same time, she understood that he was not seeking emotional reciprocity.
“I think so,” she replied. “I was just finalizing my decision to appoint my new first officer.”
“Well, it’s quite an honor to even be considered, Captain. I accept,” Leone said as he sat down in the chair opposite hers. His expression remained neutral for several seconds before he added, “By the way, if I ever say that again, feel free to have me locked up for psychological evaluation, and if you thought I was serious, even for a second, then make sure you book yourself into the padded room next to mine.”
Now she did laugh, welcoming the rush of warmth that came with it. Though others might take exception to his sardonic personality, in his own way, Leone always had been able to put her at ease.
“So,” she said after a moment, “tell me about this mysterious outbreak you contained down in the mess hall the other day.” Feeling a hint of mischief taking hold as she noted Leone’s worried expression, she fought to school her own features. “I seem to have misplaced your official report on the incident.”
Clearing his throat and appearing as though he would rather be somewhere—anywhere—else, the doctor shifted his position in his seat. He even raised a hand in an animated attempt to respond, but as soon as he opened his mouth, she saw comprehension dawn. “It was a minor outbreak, Captain, nothing too serious. I was able to…initiate quarantine procedures and keep the reaction from spreading, if that’s what you mean. I’ve stayed on top of the situation, but it appears my single application of the treatment regimen is proving effective. I don’t expect there will be any new flare-ups.” He squirmed in his seat again, the expression on his face indicative of someone who might just have sat upon an unexploded photon torpedo.
“Ah,” Khatami said, folding her arms across her chest and nodding as she listened to the rambling report. “Well, while I appreciate your initiative, Doctor, it’s my opinion that you pursue other ‘treatments’ from now on.” When she finally did smile, she leaned across the desk toward him. “I’m sure the idiot deserved it, but I know I’ll need time to earn the crew’s respect. I also know I need to earn it on my own.”
Leone nodded. “Understood, Captain,” he replied. “And…may I speak freely?”
“You’ve been doing that for as long as I’ve known you, Tony,” Khatami said, laughing again. “Permission retroactively granted.”
“For what it’s worth,” the doctor offered, “I think you’ve done a hell of a job. Captain Zhao’s a hard act to follow, and I know it takes time to figure out your own way, but I think you’ll do just fine.”
Khatami smiled. “This isn’t just another prescription morale booster, is it?”
Shrugging, Leone replied, “When it rains, it pours.”
The door chime sounded again, and when Khatami gave permission for the caller to enter, she turned to see Mog standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” the burly engineer said by way of greeting. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” Khatami replied, gesturing for him to enter. “Dr. Leone and I were discussing a few things before I take him up on his dinner invitation.”
Turning to stare at the doctor, Mog affected a mock expression of shock. “You? By Kera and Phinda, I’ve finally lived long enough to have seen it all.” His eyes narrowing, he asked, “Are you feeling well? I hear there’s something going around on the lower decks.” Leone’s reply was limited to a pained grimace, more than enough to elicit a bellowing laugh from the husky Tellarite. To Khatami, he said, “So, is there room for one more in this party?”
“Only if you eat something that doesn’t smell like it’s been rooted out of a silage pile,” Leone said as he rose from his seat, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think Tellarite cuisine was developed as the result of an elaborate dare.”
“That doesn’t stop you from enjoying my bojnoggiin the mornings,” Mog noted.
“I’m having it scanned for addictive substances before I drink another drop,” the doctor replied, wincing as he headed for the door.
Khatami turned to follow him when she felt Mog’s hand on her arm. Waiting for Leone to walk out of earshot, the engineer looked to her. “From the looks of things,” he said in a low voice, “the doctor beat me to it, but I’ll say it anyway. Captain Zhao would be proud of you.”
The words, soft and sincere, embraced Khatami with the warmth and comfort of a favored blanket. While she knew that Mog’s support and loyalty to her was absolute, it still felt good to receive affirmation from one of her closest and most trusted friends. “Thank you, Mog. I appreciate that.”
“Hey,” Leone said from the corridor, poking his head through the door. “You coming or not? I’m hungry.”
Mog chuckled as the doctor’s head disappeared again. Nodding toward the door, the engineer said, “I don’t think he ever visited Captain Zhao. That has to be a good sign.”
Feeling her inner demon recede somewhat in the face of her friend’s observation, Khatami nodded with a conviction she had not felt in some time. “I’ll take all the good signs I can get.”
47
Basking under lamps designed to simulate the warmth generated by the sun of his homeworld, Jetanien lay disrobed and belly-down atop the stone slab that was the dominating piece of furniture in the bedroom of his private quarters. Though the heat expelled by the lamps was far above the tolerance and even safety margins of most humanoid species, for a Chelon the effects were soothing, relaxing and reinvigorating muscles fatigued by the stresses of his position and the anxieties they evoked.
Despite the sun lamps’ calming effects, Jetanien was unable to shake entirely the frustration and despair that continued to gnaw at him even here in his otherwise comforting refuge. At this moment, both the Klingon and Tholian delegations were on their way to their homeworlds, having departed the station at the decree of their respective governments.
Though the summit had been tumultuous, Jetanien admitted, he felt also that the first signs of real, measurable progress had taken hold when the meeting met with untimely interruption. Events far beyond his influence had conspired to pull apart the tenuous links he was sure were on the verge of sending the Federation, Klingons, and Tholians down a path of mutual understanding and perhaps even cooperation. Once again, the three interstellar bodies eyed one another as players on different sides of a game board, each waiting for the other to initiate play. No, Jetanien decided, a better analogy was one of warriors in centuries past, who gazed upon each other across ancient battlefields in the moments prior to the first sword being drawn.
In essence,he mused, I have accomplished nothing.
In particular, Jetanien regretted the opportunity he had lost with Ambassador Sesrene. The Tholian diplomat had only just begun to offer substantive clues as to the reasons for his people’s bizarre, unexplained reactions to the Klingon and Federation presence in the Taurus Reach. That Jetanien might have come so close to answering so many lingering questions before his efforts were thwarted was as disheartening as it was frustrating.
Might a better diplomat have gotten those answers? Would he or she have made a more effective facilitator, rather than wasting precious time trying to regain control of a situation he or she should never have lost in the first place?
As they had from the moment Commodore Reyes suspended the summit, those questions tormented Jetanien. What could he have done differently, or more efficiently? What mistakes had he made, and which now demanded attention and correction in order to avoid repeating them? Would there be an opportunity to redeem himself?