STAR TREK: TNG - Stargazer: Three

by Michael Jan Friedman

  “And will it be a bloodless rebellion, Ejanix? Is that what Kovajo has told you—just as he said your venture here on Wayland Prime would be bloodless? Or will lives be sacrificed on our homeworld as well?”

  Touching his fingertips to the cut above his eye, the weapons officer showed his friend the thin, wet smear of gore on them. “Kovajo seems willing to spill vast quantities of this to get what he wants. Are you?”

  The older Pandrilite looked as if he had been slapped across the face. For a moment, it seemed to Vigo that Ejanix was going to respond to his protégé’s charges.

  But he didn’t. Without speaking a single additional word, he turned around and walked back across the room. He didn’t even acknowledge the guards at the door as he went past them and disappeared from sight.

  [138] The weapons officer felt a pang of disappointment. For a moment there, he had believed he was making progress. It was clear to him now that he had been mistaken.

  Ejanix was too set on rebellion to listen to reason. If Vigo were to stop Kovajo from getting away with his scheme, he would have to find another way.

  As Gerda entered sickbay, she was relieved to see that all the biobeds were empty. That meant there was only one person present—the one she had come to see.

  Heading straight for Greyhorse’s office, she entered without knocking. The doctor was sitting at his desk, consulting his monitor in some medical matter.

  He looked up at her, then automatically peered past her at the rest of sickbay—as if to see if anyone would notice a brief liaison. But that wasn’t why the navigator had come to see him.

  “I need to talk,” Gerda said.

  Greyhorse looked at her, clearly a little surprised. But then, she had never said anything like that to him before. In fact, she had seldom said it to anybody, Idun included.

  “About what?” he asked.

  She closed the door to his office, but declined to sit in the room’s only other chair. “About Gerda Idun.”

  The doctor’s surprise turned to concern. “Is there something wrong with her?”

  Gerda shook her head. “She’s fine. In perfect health. In fact, she just acquitted herself rather well against Idun in the gym.”

  Greyhorse looked confused. “Then what’s the problem?”

  [139] She looked at him. “Gerda Idun may have acquitted herself well, but I did not.”

  Seeing that the doctor’s confusion had only increased, she started at the beginning. She told him about the look she had seen in Gerda Idun’s eyes, her sister’s seemingly blind acceptance of the woman, and the childish way she had acted in the gym.

  “I embarrassed myself,” Gerda said. “I made myself an object of scorn. And I still haven’t recovered sufficiently to look Idun in the face.”

  Greyhorse nodded. “I see. But why did you act that way in the gym? It’s almost as if you were ...”

  “Yes?” she said. “Go ahead and say it. As if I were jealous of Gerda Idun.”

  “But,” said the doctor, “that’s ... ridiculous.” He turned away from her to resume his work. “I mean ... how could you possibly be jealous of her?”

  Gerda frowned as she recalled the incident in the gymnasium. “You haven’t seen the way Idun acts when she’s around. It’s as if Gerda Idun is her sister, her confidante, and I’m ... I don’t know what. Something else.”

  The doctor looked back over his shoulder at her, a look of distraction on his face. As it cleared, he said, “Right. I see how that could be a problem.”

  For the first time, Gerda noticed that his cheeks were redder than usual. But why would he be blushing? Unless ...

  The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Gerda Idun looked just like her. But unlike Gerda or her sister, Gerda Idun had been raised by humans.

  That made her more like Greyhorse as well. And [140] men—human or Klingon—were timid creatures at heart. Few of them liked to venture far afield when it came to matters of the heart.

  Gerda lifted her chin. “It seems there is a bigger problem than the one I came here to tell you about.”

  Greyhorse’s brow gathered in a knot above the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean?”

  She made a sound of disgust. “You prefer her to me, don’t you? Because she’s human. Because she won’t leave marks on your flesh when she makes love to you.”

  The doctor’s Adam’s apple climbed his throat and descended again. “You’re mistaken,” he insisted. “I haven’t got the slightest interest in her.”

  “Liar,” Gerda spat. “I can see it in your eyes. She would be the best of both worlds for you, wouldn’t she?”

  “Gerda,” Greyhorse protested, “I—”

  She didn’t let him finish. With a last seething glance in his direction, she made her way out of his office and then out of sickbay—her stomach churning at the thought that she had lost not only her sister’s affection, but her lover’s as well.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE FIRST THING Nikolas noticed when he walked into the Stargazer’s lounge was Gerda Idun—or, more accurately, the back of Gerda Idun’s head.

  The second thing he noticed was Joseph, who was sitting across a low table from Gerda Idun. His expression indicated that their conversation wasn’t an especially jovial one.

  Someone else might have taken that as a sign that his company might not be appreciated. But then, Nikolas had been barging in where he wasn’t wanted all his life. He saw no reason to diverge from that policy now.

  As he approached the pair, Joseph looked up at him. But he didn’t give the ensign any sign that he wasn’t welcome there. In fact, Joseph looked almost relieved.

  Gerda Idun cast a glance back at Nikolas as well. Like the security chief, she seemed glad to see him.

  [142] “We meet again,” the ensign told her.

  “Quite a coincidence,” she noted.

  Nikolas turned to Joseph, making a silent request for some time alone with Gerda Idun—or, rather, as alone as Joseph could let her get.

  The security officer frowned. Then he said, “I think I need to speak with Mr. Paxton again.”

  Neither Nikolas nor Gerda Idun pointed out that Paxton wasn’t there, or that Joseph hadn’t expressed any need to speak with the man before. They just let the remark go by.

  As Joseph moved to the other side of the room and tapped his combadge, Nikolas took the seat opposite Gerda Idun’s. Then he said, “Everything all right?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I walked into the gym before and saw my counterparts sparring. Idun asked me if I wanted to take part, and before I knew it she and I were going at it.”

  Nikolas grimaced. He had gone at it with Idun himself, and come out very much on the losing end.

  “You don’t look battered,” he said.

  “I wasn’t. But when we were done, Gerda seemed angry with us—and with me in particular, I think. But I didn’t go in there intending to interrupt them. It was Idun’s idea.”

  The ensign considered the matter. “That doesn’t sound like Gerda. She’s usually pretty much in control.”

  “Maybe I just hit a nerve,” said Gerda Idun. “Oh well. Idun didn’t seem to think it was anything irreparable.”

  “And who would know better than she would?”

  She smiled. “You always know the right thing to say, don’t you?”

  [143] “Always,” he said. “I just have this habit of saying the wrong thing instead.”

  “Which is why your career hasn’t been as sparkling as it might have been. Or so you claim.”

  Nikolas leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve got a better explanation?”

  “It sounds to me,” she said, “like you’ve been sabotaging yourself—like you’re a bit intimidated by the prospect of taking responsibility for people, so you’re making sure that possibility never materializes.”

  He smiled back at her. “You told me you were an engineer, but it seems you’ve also got the makings of a counselor.”

  “
Is that a compliment?”

  “That depends,” he said, “on what you think of counselors. Personally, I think every ship should have one.”

  Gerda Idun looked skeptical. “You do?”

  “Absolutely,” he told her, “if they’re all as easy on the eyes as you are.”

  Not that the odds of that were very good. Every counselor Nikolas had ever met—including those who had counseled him at the Academy—was short, dumpy, and balding.

  Gerda Idun laughed. “You just don’t stop, do you?”

  She seemed to be enjoying his company every bit as much as he was enjoying hers. He found that surprising in light of the way Gerda and Idun looked at him.

  Or didn’t look at him, to be more accurate about it.

  Supposedly, Gerda Idun had the same genetic makeup they did. And yet, she had seemed to have a soft [144] spot for Nikolas ever since the moment she saw him in the corridor.

  Funny how that worked. ...

  And then it hit him: She was from another universe—one that seemed to parallel Nikolas’s pretty closely. And if there was a Gerda Idun Asmund in that universe ...

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Is there an Andreas Nikolas where you come from?”

  The light in her eyes seemed to dim.

  Not good, he thought. “What?” he asked softly.

  “There is indeed an Andreas Nikolas in my universe,” Gerda Idun told him, looking down at her hands all of a sudden. “Or rather ... there was.”

  The ensign got an eerie feeling hearing her say that. It was a little like attending his own funeral.

  “What happened to him?” he asked. But it felt as if he were really asking, “What happened to me?”

  “He died,” she said. “In an accident.”

  He heard a catch in her voice as she imparted the information. It led him to believe that Gerda Idun and his counterpart were more than mere acquaintances.

  Before he could ask, his companion filled him in. “We were just teenagers at the time, but we had the beginnings of a serious relationship. Unfortunately, it never had a chance to develop into something deeper.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Gerda Idun tried to smile, but there was a liquid shimmer in her eyes that told Nikolas she still hadn’t gotten over the tragedy. “I never got to see him as he would have been,” she said, “as an adult. Until now.”

  [145] So that’s what she sees in me, he thought. That’s been the attraction all along. I remind her of her dead lover.

  Nikolas would have expected something like that to bother him. After all, he had been jealous of other guys from time to time. Why not himself?

  But it didn’t bother him—not even a little bit. He found he didn’t care why Gerda Idun had feelings for him. All that mattered to him was that she did.

  “You know,” he said, smiling, “you’ve been given a chance most people don’t have. You can find out what might have happened between you and that teenager.”

  She averted her eyes, as if she were ashamed of herself. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about that.”

  Nikolas studied her face. “And?”

  “With any luck,” said Gerda Idun, “I’m going to return to my own universe and leave you here in this one. It doesn’t make sense to start something that’s doomed to end.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. However, her tone wasn’t one of finality. It seemed to the ensign that there was some tiny bit of wiggle room.

  And that was all he had ever asked for.

  Wutor Qiyuntor eyed the phenomenon to which his Middle Order overseers had dispatched him. It was long, violet in color, and—if his ship’s data collectors could be believed—was generating an enormous number of charged particles.

  The commander eyed the numbers crawling by at the bottom of his viewscreen and waited for the right moment. Finally, he turned to his pilot.

  [146] “One-quarter light-speed,” he told Jeglen.

  Instantly, the Ekhonarid slowed to a crawl, the streaks of brightness on Wutor’s viewscreen diminishing drastically in length. But then, they were within twenty-five million kilometers of the phenomenon. There was no longer any need for haste.

  Wutor leaned back in his brace. All he could do now was wait—and pray that an enemy arrived before the High Order squadron summoned by the overseers.

  “Commander,” said Delakan, the female who stood at the data-collection panel. Her face was caught in its pale green glare. “There’s someone else here.”

  Wutor felt his neck pulse accelerate. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “Another vessel,” Delakan elaborated. She looked up at the viewscreen, which gave no indication of any other ships in the vicinity. “It’s hiding behind the phenomenon.”

  The commander leaned forward in his brace, the flat teeth in the back of his mouth grinding as he considered the phenomenon. “Show me.”

  A moment later, the viewscreen abandoned its visual perspective on the phenomenon and replaced it with an augmented thermal-trace graphic—one that represented the other vessel as a ghostly, red shape on an otherwise unbroken field of blue.

  Wutor’s tongue snaked over his teeth. Delakan was right. The ship was using the phenomenon to mask its presence.

  And it wasn’t a Balduk ship. He could tell even from this crudest and quickest of scans. It was an invader—here, in a part of space claimed by the Balduk.

  [147] The very thought made his blood boil.

  But he kept his head. After all, he didn’t want to merely engage this enemy. He wanted to crush it and drag its carcass back to the homeworld as evidence of his victory.

  When he stood in the brace of a High Order vessel, he would simply have swooped in with his subordinate ships and seized the victory. But to his shame, he was no longer in command of a High Order vessel.

  All he had to work with was the Ekhonarid. But if he used his brain, that would be enough.

  “Run a full scan,” he told Delakan.

  “Aye,” she said, and bent to the task.

  Wutor could feel his nails digging into his palms. Patience had never been his best attribute. But he would exercise it if it meant a chance to regain his stature.

  As Delakan worked, the commander heard the grinding of an ascent compartment. Even without turning from the screen, he knew who was in it.

  Tsioveth swore as she left the compartment and advanced to Wutor’s side. “Then it’s true,” she said, her eyes alight with the Balduk urge to battle.

  “How are the plasma conduits on weapons deck?” the commander asked with a sneer.

  His mechanic craved victory as much as Wutor or anyone else aboard the Ekhonarid. He knew her answer would be with tinged with optimism.

  “They’ll hold,” she said.

  Wutor could have used a little more optimism than that. “They’d better. We’ll soon have need of them.”

  “Scan complete,” Delakan reported.

  As she said it, another graphic went up on the screen, [148] replacing the first one. This time, it wasn’t a red image on the blue background—it was a yellow one. And it clearly described a spacegoing vessel with a flat circular section and four long, skinny appendages.

  Wutor wasn’t an expert on alien designs, but even he knew a Federation ship when he saw one.

  A Federation vessel in Balduk territory, the commander thought, bristling with anger and indignation. Something would have to be done about that, and quickly.

  “Energy to weapons,” he ordered.

  “Energy to weapons,” said Potrepo, a vibration of excitement in his voice.

  And why wouldn’t there be? All Balduk longed for battle. All Balduk yearned for the chance to defend their people’s borders. Potrepo, old as he might be, was really no different from anyone else.

  “They’re charged,” the weaponer reported.

  Wutor studied the graphic on the viewscreen. The Federation invader wasn
’t moving. Obviously, he didn’t fear the Ekhonarid. But her commander would give the invader reason to fear her.

  “The enemy is attempting to contact us,” said Wutor’s communications technician.

  Wutor laughed, the harsh sound of it echoing throughout his bridge. What could the enemy say that could possibly be of interest to him?

  “They’ll receive no reply,” he said, “other than the lash of our weapons!”

  Gerda was striding down the corridor outside sickbay, still stinging from what she had seen in Greyhorse’s [149] eyes, when she saw her sister coming from the other direction.

  She wasn’t alone either. Gerda Idun was with her. And so, naturally, was Pug Joseph.

  Gerda wished she could have turned and gone back the other way, but it was too late. Idun and the others had already caught sight of her.

  Fine, she thought. I’ll face this like a warrior, the same way I would face anything else.

  Fortunately, her sister made it easier for her. She greeted Gerda as if nothing had happened.

  “Come,” she said. “We’re on our way to stellar cartography.”

  Joseph elaborated. “Gerda Idun doesn’t have anything like it on her Stargazer.”

  Gerda Idun, the navigator thought, can go straight to Gre’thor. The last thing she wanted to do was give tours to someone whose motives she didn’t trust.

  But Gerda couldn’t say that. Not without embarrassing herself even further.

  So, as much as it galled her, as much as it ate at her like a slow-acting Klingon poison, she tamped down her suspicions and her resentment. And without a word, she fell in line with Gerda Idun’s entourage.

  The physical act was predictably easy. Not so the task of containing her emotions. With each step Gerda took, she could feel shame and anger roil inside her.

  Up ahead of her, her sister and Gerda Idun walked side by side, identical but for the clothing they wore. Every so often, they said something to each other—just a word or two, but it seemed to be enough.

  [150] Gerda imagined that she and Idun had looked like that once. But it was no longer just she and Idun. Now, as repugnant as she found the idea, there were three of them.