Rush glanced up from the computer screen as the door to his ready room slid open. Dr. Selar entered and, with no preamble whatsoever, said. "Dr. Verrill's performance is unacceptable. Please dismiss him from the crew compliment immediately."
"Computer off," said Rush as he rose from behind his desk. He gestured for Selar to sit. The Vulcan doctor merely stood there and, with a mental shrug, Rush sat back down again. "His performance is unacceptable?"
"That is correct."
"Did you have sex with him?"
Selar seemed taken aback, although naturally she didn't let her surprise become reflected in anything more than a raised eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Did you have sex with Dr. Verrill?"
"No, of course not. Nor do I...."
"Is Dr. Verrill an actor? Does he tend to burst into monologues or soliloquies?"
Selar was hopelessly lost. "Not to my knowledge. I do not see how..."
"Does he play a musical instrument?"
Giving up trying to understand where her captain was going with the conversation, Selar said simply, "It does not appear on his resume. If he does, he has not done so in my presence."
"Well, I was wondering. You see, you come in here complaining about his performance, and since I know perfectly well that no patients have come through life station yet, I assumed you couldn't possibly have evaluated his performance as a doctor....which is, the last time I checked, the reason he was here."
She tilted her head slightly. "Captain Rush, are you always this circumloquacious?"
"No, not really. Generally I just tell people whom I feel are wasting my time to get the hell out of my office. But we haven't even left drydock yet, so I'm trying to be generous." He came around the desk. "Look, Cessan....."
"I prefer Doctor Selar."
He smiled. "I heard a joke once. What do you call the person who graduates at the bottom of their medical class?" Without waiting for her to respond, he answered, "'Doctor.'"
She stared at him.
"Do you get what I'm saying?" he asked.
"I think so. You seek to diminish the title to which I am due, based upon years of study and work, by implying that quality of scholarship may not be reflected in that title."
He rubbed his temple with his fingers and tried to remember why in God's name he'd let Weir talk him into this. "Look, Dr. Selar, it's your life station. If you want Verrill out, he's out. I'm not going to argue. Maybe you've perceived some potential trouble spots, or maybe it's just a personality clash...."
"Vulcans do not 'clash,'" she informed him.
Keeping his voice even and calm, Rush said, "All I'm saying is that you are in charge of life station. The lineup for everyone working under you came from the Fleet surgeon general's office. I okayed it based upon their recommendation, and I live it to you to iron out the bugs. Verrill works under you. Use him, don't use him, blow him out a photon-torpedo tube for all I care. But I'll tell you right now, any changes in personnel have to be followed up with a formal report. I cannot put sufficient emphasis on this: I care very much about reports and following procedure. And you damn well better be ready to give concrete explanations for Verrill's termination, because I think you should know that 'I felt like it' doesn't fly with Fleet Central."
"I see."
"Now, if you want my recommendation---and the joy of being captain is that you get my recommendation whether you want it or not---I suggest you sit down and speak with Verrill about those areas in which you find him lacking. See if you can come to some kind of accord. That would be something that I'd very much like to see."
"Are you offering your services as mediator, Captain, in order to facilitate matters?"
"Hell no. I'd sooner stick my head in a warp coil. To be blunt, it sounds to me as if you're reacting out of some kind of core irrationality....which would be, to say the least, disturbing, considering who you are. Now, do your goddamn job and I'll do mine, and we'll both be happy. Or at least I'll be happy and you'll be," he gestured vaguely, "you'll be whatever Vulcans are. Now get the hell out of my office!"
She headed for the door, stopping only to ask, "Why do you use more profanity than any other Fleet officer I have encountered?"
And with a wry smile, Rush replied, "Because I'm an officer, not a gentleman."
Wray 283 was working with Ensign Jann, overseeing the recalibrating of the Heisenberg compensators in Transporter Room E when the signal beeped on hish comm badge. S/he rose quickly, narrowly avoiding bumping hish head on the underside of the control. 683Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXqFiHnsDt0
The Zypoth was of medium build, quite slender and small-busted. S/he had a high forehead, dark eyebrows, slanted eyes, and two-toned bluish-black hair that s/he wore in a buzz cut, but that was long in the back. S/he tapped hish comm badge and said, "This is Wray. Go ahead."
"Wray? This is Johansen."
"Commander!" Wray was genuinely pleased. S/he'd always gotten on well with Johansen, having worked with her on the Universe during the captaincy of the late Captain Anarth. "How are you? For that matter, where are you?"
"I'm on a shuttle approaching drydock. They were kind enough to route this message through from the bridge. Tell me, Wray, how long would it take you to get to a transporter room?"
Wray smiled, displaying hish slightly extended canine teeth. "Well, let's see----allowing for the size of the ship, the measurement of my stride, the...."
"Wray...."
"I'm in a transporter room, Commander, as it so happens."
"Perfect. I was hoping you could beam me aboard."
"That's against regulations." Wray frowned. "Why not just dock in the shuttlebay? I'll inform the captain to meet you and..."
"That's what I was hoping to avoid."
"Avoid? I'm not following you, Commander."
"I wanted to meet with the captain privately before I meet with him publicly, if you get my drift."
"I guess I do. You want to surprise him."
"In a manner of speaking. It'll be on my authority. Any problems with that?"
"None whatsoever, Commander. You're still technically my first officer until we leave port. If it's what you want, that's good enough for me. Just give me a moment to lock onto your signal," and hish long tapered fingers fairly flew over the transporter controls, "and we'll bring you right on board."
Moments later the transporter beams flared to life, and Johansen appeared on the pad. She stepped down and stuck out a hand, which Wray shook in hish customary extremely firm manner----so firm, in fact, that Johansen had to quickly move her fingers around in hopes of restoring circulation.
"Good to see you, Commander."
"And you too, Lieutenant Commander."
"Shall I have Jann escort you to the bridge?"
"Oh, I think I can find the way."
And as she headed for the door, Wray asked, "Are you going to be staying with us awhile, Commander?"
"That," said Johansen, "is what I'm going to try and find out."
Johansen stepped out onto the bridge and nearly walked into a mountain range.683Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFSmrgnafN8
At least, that's what it seemed like. She stopped dead in her tracks. Not that she had much to say about it; her path was blocked. She looked up, and up.
The being who faced her was powerful and muscled, his sky 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 male) 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 got to be a Malon." 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 Fleet uniform that seemed stretched to its maximum, and all she could think was Thank God he's on our side.
"You be whom?" he rumbled. His voice seemed to originate from somewhere around his boots.
"Commander Johansen. I'm here to see Captain Rush."
"Not aware of your arrival was I, Commander."
"It's," and she bobbed her head from side to side slightly, "it's a bit of a surprise."
"Like surprises I do not, Commander, with all due respect."
"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 on her person. Apparently satisfied, at least for the time being, he said, "Wait you here, Commander." The Malon moved off toward the captain's ready room and entered. Johansen mused that it was fortunate the door opened fast enough. Otherwise the Malon would likely have just walked right through it.
"Commander Johansen?" Johansen turned to see a pert young woman with a round face and sunshine-blonde hair, piled high on her head, standing near her. She had her hand extended and Johansen shook it firmly. "Lieutenant Vanessa James. Ops. Wray told me you were on your way up."
"I wish s/he'd told the walking asteroid over there." She chucked a thumb in the direction that the Malon had just gone.
"Wouldn't have mattered even if s/he had," said James. "Jakar's 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."
"Jakar?"
"Jakar Thul. He's quite a piece of work, Jakar is. I helped outfit him with a small gravity compensator that he wears on his belt. The Malon are such a heavy-gravity race that, if he doesn't wear the compensator, it makes it 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 Anarth was in charge," continued James. "They all had nothing but good things to say about you."
With a slightly mischievous air, Johansen said, "Well, they know better than to say anything bad."
Then Johansen 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 short-cropped red hair and---curiously---freckles. Curious because Fleet officers, not being exposed to tremendous amounts of sunlight in their insular adult lives, tended to be fairly freckle-free. Johansen turned to James, an unspoken question on her face.
"He knows his stuff," James said optimistically. "Really."
The door to the ready room slid open and Jakar Thul was standing there. "See you now the captain will, sir," he said in a voice that sounded like the beginnings of an avalanche.
Johansen nodded briskly and headed into the ready room. Thul stepped aside, allowing her to pass. The door slid shut behind him and Jakar walked over to his station. Vanessa sidled over to Thul 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."
"Why should react he?"
"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'm asking you."
His face was immobile.
"Come on, Thul. Did he smile? Frown? Did he seem tense, curious, excited, tepid---stop me when I hit a word that's accurate."
Nothing. Jakar Thul simply stared at her.
James grunted in annoyance. "James's newest law: Getting information out of you is like interrogating a statue." She turned away from him.
"Good," muttered Thul.
* * *
Dr. Selar entered sickbay and went straight to her office. But she quickly became aware that Dr. Verrill was following her with his gaze. He'd known fully well that Selar had been dissatisfied with his prep work in life station, 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, Verrill bore a passing resemblance to her late husband. To Chudor, who'd died of a heart attack in the throes of Farr'Pon. 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 Chudor? 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, Verrill 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 them. Our intended departure time has not been altered, and it behooves you to be prepared." And she turned and walked way to her office, leaving a confused but happy Verrill behind.
The first thing that Johansen noticed was the short sword mounted on the wall. She stopped and stared at it. Rush seemed entranced by his computer screen, more than content to have Johansen 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. "Yes."
"Nick, that sword laid your face open. It almost killed you. I'd hoped you'd outgrow the need to hold onto such things."
"It reminds me of the importance of keeping my guard up. As does this," and he tapped the scar. Then he turned in his chair to face her for the first time. "I can't say I'm surprised to see you, Commander."
"We're being formal, are we, Nick?"
"Yes."
Without missing a beat, she said, "Very well. Captain, I hope you'll excuse my unannounced appearance, but I wish to discuss a matter of some urgency."
"You want to apply for the position of first officer."
"That's right." She noticed her own picture staring out from the computer screen. Rush was reading up on her latest stats. "Since you're already in the process of reviewing my service rec...."
"Hammond told me not to use you."
She shook her head slightly as if trying to clear water from her ears. "Pardon?"
"I received a communique from Admiral Hammond. He told me you'd be applying, and that he could not, in good conscience, recommend you for the post."
"I see." Johansen had presumed that Hammond would be backing her up. All right---if he wasn't going to, then fine. Rush couldn't possibly be aware of the dynamics involved in......
"I assume one of two scenarios to be the case," said Rush, tilting his chair slightly back. "Either Hammond wanted you to spy on me, and you told him to go to hell, so that in a fit of pique he's trying to block the assignment. Or else he's hoping that you will, at the very least, make my life a hell----and by telling me not to use you, he hoped to employ some kind of reverse psychology. Like in the old Earth story you once mentioned to me, about the rabbit begging not to be thrown in the briar patch, he figured that by telling me not to use you, I would then turn around and do so." He gazed at her blandly. "How would you assess the situation, Commander?"
She did everything she could to fight down her astonishment. For a moment she felt as if she were clutching on to a thin wire, and couldn't quite understand why the sensation had a familiar feeling to it. Then she realized: She'd oftentimes felt like that during her relationship with Rush. Why am I letting myself in for this again? I must be crazy! Those were the thoughts that went through her head. All she said, however, was "I would----agree with your assessment, Captain."
"Good."
She cleared her throat. "Captain," she started, there are some things you should know...."
"I don't want to hear it, Commander."
"Sir, with all respect, I believe you do. My record as been exemplary, I have served as first officer on the Universe, on the Atlantis, on the...."
"I said I don't want to hear it!"
"I'm the right person for this job and, to be blunt, I'm the right person for your job, but at the very least can provide a valuable...."
"Commander," he said in an icy tone.
"If you'll just listen to me....!"
"Jonny, will you shut the hell up!"
Her back stiffened. "Yes, sir!"
"Thank you, Jonny."
"However, I should point out that if I am not addressing you by your first name, it would likewise be appropriate if you were not to call me by that...annoying....nickname."
"Tamara Johansen. Johansen. Jonny."
"I remember the derivation, sir. I would just appreciate your not employing it."
"You didn't used to consider it annoying. You thought it affectionate."
"No, it always annoyed me. It was just reticent about saying so because of our----involvement.....at the time."
He gave her a skeptical look. "You? Reticent?" He sighed and turned his back to her, swiveling his chair so that he was gazing out the narrow sliver of starscape which was visible through the sides of drydock. "It was good seeing you again, Commander."
"And you, Captain. And I guess I should say----our history aside----that I wish you the best of luck in the reassumption of your career."
"I appreciate that. Where's your stuff?"
She stared in confusion at the back of his chair. "Stuff?"
"Possessions. Equipment. Gear. Did you bring it with you or are you sending for it? Don't tell me you're going to waste time going back for it."
"I don't understand....."
He sighed. "Commander, we have to be out of here in two days. I need to know if we're going to be required to sit around and wait for you to retrieve your gear, or whether you can be ready to go by the time we're prepared to cast off."
"Are you saying you want me aboard the Universe?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
"In what capacity?"
He turned to face her with a disbelieving expression. "Chief cook and bottle washer. Good God, Johansen, are you going to make me spell it out for you?"
"I think so, yes, sir."
"All right." He stood and extended a hand. "Congratulations, Commander. You are the new first officer of the Universe---assuming, that is, you still want the job."
"Yes, I still want the job." She shook his hand firmly, but then a cloud crossed her face. "We might have a problem, however."
"What kind of problem?"
"Well, the paperwork for my appointment has to be run past Admiral Hammond. If he was genuinely trying to block me because of---for whatever reason---that could be a problem. Procedures to have to be followed, reports must be made, and...."
"Johansen, I can't put sufficient emphasis on this: I don't give a damn about reports and following procedure. The decision is mine, and the decision is made."
"Very well, sir."
She paused, as if wanting something else, and it was fairly obvious to Rush. "Well? Something else on your mind, Commander?"
"Captain." She shifted uncomfortably in place. "Our relationship---it was as long time ago. I'm over you. Way over you. I need to know if you're over me. I need to know if you took me on because of our past involvement."
"No, Commander. I took you on despite it. Dismissed."
"I just wanted to say..."
"Dis-missed!"
She nodded curtly, satisfied with the response, and walked out of the ready room. Rush turned back to his viewing port and stared out.
She nodded curtly, satisfied with the response, and walked out of the ready room. Rush turned back to his viewport and stared out.
There had been any number of times when there had been people who thought he was crazy. The Senderians, for one, when he had led his people in revolt against them, thrusting himself into one dangerous situation after another with an abandon that many mistook for recklessness.
There had been fellow Fleet cadets who were openly horrified, and secretly amused, by Rush's willingness to go head-to-head with the most formidable professors at the Academy, never hesitating to voice his opinion, never backing down if he was convinced that he was right.
In his sojourn on the Destiny he'd learned the game of poker and quickly established a reputation as being able to bluff his way through a hand. Once they'd even brought in an empath as a ringer, and even the empath hadn't been able to get a bead on him.
The chances he'd taken in subsequent years while performing the missions that Lutes had liked to refer to as his "little adventures" on her behalf---well, Lutes himself had said he thought he was out of his mind on more than one occasion, although that never stopped him from tapping Rush or his "odd skills" (as he termed them) whenever he needed something low-key handled.
But in all those times, in all those years of people thinking that he was nuts----never once had Nicholas Rush himself shared that opinion about himself.
Until now.
"I just took on my former fiancée as my first officer," said Rush out loud. "I must be out of my mind!"
"I assume she is qualified, sir."
The voice startled Rush, who swiveled around in his chair quickly to see a young Vulcan woman standing just inside the doorway. He mentally chided himself; he had been unforgivably sloppy. He'd actually been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard someone enter his ready room. In the old days back on Rizajor, such carelessness could very likely have earned him a dagger lodged squarely in his back.
"Yes. She's eminently qualified, and that's all that counts," said Rush quickly. He stared at the Vulcan for a moment, her face familiar to him. Then it clicked: he'd seen it in computer personnel files. "You're Lieutenant Soleta."
"Yes, sir."
"Welcome aboard. We've been waiting for you."
"I encountered some---delays."
"I'd like to sit down with you and get a full picture of what you know about Centauri space."
"As you wish, Captain. But first---there is a matter of some urgency that I need to discuss with you."
"Relating to....?"
"My luggage."
He considered that for a moment. "Your luggage."
"Yes, sir."
He leaned forward, fingers interlaced and said, "This should be good."
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