THE VALIANT

by Michael Jan Friedman

  The man was of average build, with curly, red hair and a robust mustache. The woman was dark and petite, her thick, black tresses drawn back into a long, unruly ponytail.

  Daniels, Picard thought. And Santana.

  They eyed Eliopoulos and the others as they entered. There wasn’t any anger in their expressions, despite their captivity. There wasn’t any apparent resentment. But there was an almost palpable sense of impatience.

  “Commander Eliopoulos,” said the redhaired man. “I hope these gentlemen are from the ship you told us about.”

  “They are,” Eliopoulos confirmed. He introduced Ruhalter, Picard, and Ben Zoma one by one.

  “Pleased to meet you,” the woman replied.

  Up close, Serenity Santana was strikingly beautiful, with big, dark eyes and full, cherry-colored lips. So beautiful, in fact, that Picard had difficulty taking his eyes off her.

  It seemed to him that her gaze lingered on him for a moment as well. But then, the second officer was quick to concede, that might well have been a product of his imagination.

  “And your mission?” Daniels asked, his eyes narrowing. “To investigate what we’ve been telling you about the Nuyyad? That’s still on, I hope.”

  “It is,” Eliopoulos confirmed for him. “In fact, that’s what we’re here about. Captain Ruhalter wants to decide for himself which of you he’ll take along as a guide.”

  Santana frowned. “Which of us?”

  “Starfleet Command has decided it would be better for one of you to remain here,” Eliopoulos explained. “For security reasons.”

  Picard saw Santana and Daniels exchange glances. Judging from the looks on their faces, this was yet another indignity in what they perceived as a long list of indignities.

  “Fine,” said the red-haired man.

  Santana looked at Ruhalter. “Who are you going to take?”

  The captain returned her gaze for a moment. Then, in a voice that betrayed nothing, he said, “I’ll take you.”

  The woman seemed unprepared for such a quick decision. “Just out of curiosity,” she asked, “why me?”

  Ruhalter smiled an easy smile. “As my second officer will tell you, I like to go with my instincts.”

  Santana glanced at Picard. Again, it seemed to him that her scrutiny lasted a little longer than necessary. Then she looked at Daniels, and finally at the captain again.

  “I’m ready when you are,” the woman told him.

  Idun Asmund had been waiting at her helm console for what seemed like forever before she heard her captain’s voice flood the bridge: “We’re aboard, Number One. Take us out of here.”

  Commander Leach, who had been sitting in Ruhalter’s center seat, responded to the order. “Aye, sir.” He turned to Asmund. “You heard the captain, Lieutenant. Half impulse.”

  “Half impulse,” the helm officer confirmed.

  She had laid in a course already, based on the coordinates transmitted to her minutes earlier by Commander Eliopoulos. Applying starboard thrusters, she gently brought the Stargazer about. Then she engaged the impulse engines and left Starbase 209 behind.

  As usual, Gerda was bent over the navigation station. Idun glanced at her sister—and saw that she was typing something on her comm pad. The helm officer was able to guess the sense of the message before she saw it appear on one of her monitors.

  Where now? Gerda wanted to know.

  Idun smiled to herself. Where indeed? Clearly, they were headed for the other side of the galactic barrier—her sister knew that much already. But what did they expect to find there? What did they hope to accomplish? That was what Gerda was really asking.

  Eventually, both Idun and her sister would be briefed by Commander Leach or Commander Picard and given the answer to Gerda’s question. But for now, Idun was more than content to savor the question itself.

  And judging by the expression on her sister’s face, Gerda felt the same way.

  Pug Joseph had taken a turbolift down to the brig just as soon as Lieutenant Ben Zoma contacted him.

  After all, he’d had to make certain that everything was in running order. The last thing he wanted was to have his superiors arrive with their prisoner and find that the force field was on the blink.

  Of course, the security officer reflected, as he leaned on the wall beside the field controls, Ben Zoma hadn’t actually called the woman a prisoner. But if she was anything else, she would have been given a suite of guest quarters instead of a small, spartan cell with a guard outside.

  Abruptly, Joseph heard the clatter of boot heels from around a bend in the corridor. Straightening, he listened to the sounds grow closer, louder. Finally, Lieutenant Ben Zoma turned the corner.

  He wasn’t alone. Fox and Sekowsky were with him, carrying phasers. And a woman was walking between them—a small, slender woman with a black ponytail and dark, exotic eyes.

  “Mr. Joseph,” said Ben Zoma, acknowledging him. “This is our guest, Serenity Santana. Please see that she’s not any more inconvenienced than she needs to be.”

  “I will, sir,” Joseph answered.

  Santana, he repeated inwardly. The name suggested energy and exhuberance, spice and spirit. In his mind, at least, it seemed to fit her.

  The woman didn’t wait to be escorted into her cell. She walked in of her own volition. Then she sat down on the bench seat within and watched as Fox manipulated the force field controls.

  A moment later, a not-quite-transparent barrier sprang into existence across the cell mouth. It was powerful enough to cause any human who came into contact with it to lose consciousness.

  But Joseph, along with every other security officer on the ship, had been warned—Santana wasn’t just any human. It was possible, if only remotely, that the electromagnetic field wouldn’t hold her. Hence, the need for live, armed guards, who would monitor her every minute of the day.

  And if she was as adept a telepath as they suspected, even armed guards might not be enough to keep her from escaping. So Joseph and whoever else was watching Santana would have to check in with a superior every five minutes . . . just in case.

  Not so long ago, Ben Zoma had lectured him about his overzealousness. But surely, this was one case where he couldn’t be overzealous. No amount of caution would be too great, Joseph told himself.

  Even if the woman did look pretty harmless.

  Ben Zoma put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “You’ll only be here a couple of hours. Then I’ll get you some relief.”

  The security officer nodded. “Acknowledged.”

  Ben Zoma smiled at the terseness of Joseph’s response. Then he left, and Fox and Sekowsky followed in his wake.

  Joseph turned to Santana. For a moment, their eyes met and locked. Then, made uncomfortable by the contact, the security officer turned away.

  “I don’t bite,” she told him.

  He looked back at her, but he decided not to reply. He didn’t want to be distracted by conversation.

  Santana smiled a wan smile. “You know,” she said in a friendly, almost playful tone, “the guards on the starbase talked to me. Are the rules that different here?”

  It seemed rude not to speak to her at all. No, Joseph reflected, more than rude. Cruel, really. After all, the woman was going to be in that cell for a long time.

  “If you need anything,” he responded finally, “let me know.”

  “Ah,” said Santana, her smile blossoming into something lovely. “So you can talk. That’s good to know.”

  With an effort, he kept from smiling back. “Is there?” he asked. “Anything you need, I mean?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Not right now,” she told him. “But if I think of anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Then he did smile.

  “We’re making progress,” Santana observed. “First a conversation. Then a smile. Next thing you know, I’ll have you in my power.”

  Joseph felt his heart jump up his throat. Instinctively, his hand went to the phas
er on his hip.

  She took note of it. “Actually,” she said, her voice a good deal more measured, “I was joking with you.”

  As quickly as he could, he took his hand off his weapon. “So was I,” he answered, trying to salvage some of his dignity.

  Santana smiled again. “Listen,” she said, “I should probably let you believe you fooled me just now, but . . . well, I’m a telepath. I can tell when you’re joking and when you’re not. And just now . . .” She shrugged.

  Joseph blushed.

  “So,” she said, “now that we’ve shared an incredibly awkward moment . . . what’s your name?”

  There didn’t seem to be any harm in telling her. “Joseph. Peter Joseph. But everyone calls me ‘Pug.’ ”

  “Pug,” Santana echoed, tilting her head to the side as if to get a better look at him. “Yes . . . I can see why.”

  The scrutiny made Joseph feel self-conscious. But in a way, it was also flattering. It wasn’t often he had beautiful women staring at him.

  “Tell me something, Pug.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “I don’t mean something in particular,” she explained. “I mean tell me anything. Anything at all. It’ll make it easier to pass the time.”

  The security officer tried to think of something, but he couldn’t. He had never been much of a conversationalist.

  “All right, then,” said Santana. “I’ll tell you something. I’ll tell you about the place I come from.”

  And she did.

  * * *

  Picard reported to the ship’s lounge as soon as he received the captain’s summons. But by the time he arrived, Ruhalter and Leach were already seated around the sleek, black table.

  “Have a seat, Jean-Luc,” said the captain.

  Picard pulled out a chair across from Leach and sat down. Then he gave Ruhalter his attention.

  “I think one of us should get to know Santana better,” the captain declared. “I’m not saying Eliopoulos’s conclusions aren’t valid, but I’d prefer to have a second opinion.”

  “Makes sense,” Leach agreed.

  Ruhalter regarded the second officer. “I noticed some . . .” He smiled. “Let’s call it magnetism . . . between you and Santana.”

  Picard felt his cheeks heat up. “Magnetism?”

  “That’s what I said,” came Ruhalter’s reply. “I didn’t get where I am by being oblivious to that kind of thing. She’s attracted to you, Jean-Luc, no question about it.”

  Suddenly, the second officer’s uniform seemed a size too tight for him. He lifted his chin. “If you say so, sir.”

  “I’d like you to spend some time with her,” the captain told him. “Take her out of her cell, if you like. See what you can learn.”

  Picard didn’t entirely like the idea of weaseling his way into someone’s confidence. On the other hand, he knew there might be a lot at stake.

  “As you wish,” he responded.

  “I object, sir,” said Leach.

  Ruhalter turned to his first officer, making no effort to conceal his surprise. “On what grounds, Commander?”

  Leach didn’t even glance at Picard as he spoke. “On the grounds that I’ve got a degree in xenopsychology and a higher rank . . . all of which makes me better qualified to do the job.”

  There was a rather obvious note of bitterness in the first officer’s voice, but the captain seemed willing to ignore it. “You know I’m a man who listens to his gut,” he told Leach. “And right now, my gut is telling me this assignment should go to Mr. Picard.”

  Leach seemed to wrestle with the decision. Finally, he conceded the point with a nod. “I understand,” he said.

  But he didn’t understand. Picard could tell. And so could Ruhalter, the second officer imagined.

  Nonetheless, the captain thanked them for their help and dismissed them, and remained in the lounge for a scheduled meeting with Simenon and Werber. Picard and Leach left the room together, the silence between them thick and full of hostility.

  Finally, as they made their way toward the nearest turbolift, the first officer spoke. “I know what you’re doing,” he said.

  Picard glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  Leach’s mouth twisted with unconcealed resentment. “Don’t play innocent with me, Commander. You’re worming your way into the captain’s good graces more and more each day, hoping to squeeze me out and land yourself a fat promotion. But I’ve worked too long and hard to let someone like you undermine my authority.”

  “Undermine your . . . ?” Picard smiled incredulously and shook his head. “I had no such thing in mind, I assure you.”

  “The hell you didn’t.” Leach’s eyes had become as sharp as chips of obsidian. “Don’t push me, Commander. I’m liable to push back.”

  Picard didn’t know what to say to that. And before he could think of anything, two crewmen turned the corner ahead of them. The second officer recognized them as Pernell and Zaffino—a couple of Simenon’s engineers.

  “Just the men I wanted to see,” said Leach.

  The engineers looked surprised. “Us, sir?” asked Zaffino.

  Picard doubted that Leach had any real business with Pernell and Zaffino. More likely, he was simply looking for an excuse not to share a turbolift with the second officer.

  That was fine with Picard, who hadn’t been looking forward to the company either. Leaving his colleague with the two engineers, he made his way down the corridor on his own.

  The second officer wasn’t thrilled that he had made an enemy—especially of the ship’s first officer, who happened to be his immediate superior. However, he wouldn’t let it stop him from discharging his duty. Turning left at the first intersection, he came to the turbolift and summoned it.

  When the compartment arrived, Picard stepped inside and uttered a single word: “Brig.” Then, his command filed and noted, he let the lift carry him to the vicinity of Santana’s cell.

  Chapter 4

  Picard gazed at Serenity Santana across a table in the Stargazer’s mess hall. She, in turn, was gazing into her drinking glass, her raven hair liberated from its ponytail.

  The woman had been happy to leave the brig, no question about it. It couldn’t have been a picnic sitting in the same small enclosure hour after hour, denied access even to the ship’s library computer lest she stumble across something of some small tactical value.

  The second officer glanced at the open doorway, through which he could see a watchful Pug Joseph. A necessary precaution, he conceded, but one that made having a casual conversation a bit awkward.

  “You’re right,” Santana observed. “It is a little awkward.”

  Picard turned to her. “You read my mind,” he said, hearing a mixture of surprise and delight in his voice.

  “Of course,” she returned.

  “You know,” he said candidly, “I haven’t had much experience with telepathy. Few Federation species are capable of it. And none of them are capable of telekinesis.”

  “Unfortunately,” Santana replied, “neither talent is very highly developed in our case. Captain Eliopoulos must have mentioned that.”

  The commander nodded. “He did. Still . . .”

  The woman’s dark eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. “Are you angling for a demonstration, Commander?”

  He chuckled. “Can’t you tell?”

  Santana looked at him askance. “If you’ve spoken to our friend Eliopoulos, you know I’m only privy to active thoughts.”

  “I do know that,” he admitted. “And for the sake of expediency, I’ll make no bones about it . . . I would like to see a demonstration.”

  She seemed charmed by his manners. “All right. One feat of mental dexterity coming up.”

  Gradually, her eyes took on a harder cast. Then the skin around them began to crinkle. It was clear that she was focusing on something, concentrating as hard as she could, though the second officer didn’t know what kind of task she had set for herself.

/>   Then he heard a tinkling sound and he looked down. Santana’s drink was moving, levitating off the table, the ice in it clinking merrily against the sides of the glass.

  As Picard watched, the drink gradually rose to a height of perhaps twenty centimeters. Then, just as slowly, it descended, eventually coming to rest on the table again.

  He looked up at Santana. “Impressive.” He meant it.

  She shrugged. “Eliopoulos didn’t think so. He kept waiting for me to send his station spinning through space like a top.”

  “You have tops where you come from?” Picard asked.

  “We are human,” she reminded him. “If you saw my world, I’m sure you’d see a lot that’s familiar about it.”

  He found himself smiling. “And a lot that’s not, no doubt. To be honest, it’s the latter that intrigues me.”

  “You want to know how we’re different?”

  “I do indeed.”

  Santana thought for a moment. “As Eliopoulos must have told you, we value our privacy.”

  “He mentioned that,” Picard conceded. “But surely, that’s not the only quality that sets you apart from us?”

  She thought some more. “We’re good gardeners, as a rule. And good musicians. Unfortunately, I’m one of the few exceptions to the rule. I couldn’t carry a tune if my life depended on it.”

  “Anything else?”

  Santana shook her head. “Nothing. Except for our mental powers, of course. But I think we’ve already covered that topic.”

  “Not completely,” the second officer said. “You haven’t shown me much of your telepathic abilities.”

  She waved away the suggestion. “They’re not very impressive in comparison to my drinking glass trick.”

  “Nonetheless,” Picard insisted.

  “Persistent, aren’t you?”

  “So I’m told.”

  Santana sighed. “Have it your way, Commander. You’ll have to think of something, of course. Something pleasant, I hope.”

  “I’d be happy to,” he told her. And he did as she had asked.

  Santana’s brow furrowed for a second. Then she said, “Your mother was a lovely woman. And if I’m not mistaken, a wonderful cook.”