by Glenn Hauman
The other students nodded—given the layout of the bridge, if T’nok was at the operations console the captain’s chair would be on her right side.
“Okay, so it’s not affecting the bridge,” Tomas said. “T’nok, are you picking up anything strange on this level?”
“Negative,” she replied, “but I did notice a brief signal burst a moment before your first call to the captain. I am rescanning now, trying to pinpoint its origin.”
“Great, let us know when you do,” Tomas told her. Alex noted that he had once again taken charge of the group—Tanya’s frown showed that she had noticed it as well, but most of the others were willing to follow Tomas’s lead. “So we’re dealing with some kind of signal,” he repeated to the others. “What signal could make us lose all sense of ‘left’?”
“The brain stores such information as electrical impulses,” Santar said. “Perhaps something is blocking that particular signal?”
“A scrambler!” Malcolm exclaimed. “It’s frying our direction senses, so that every time we want to turn left we go right instead!”
“No way!” Ian said. “It would have to figure out what each person’s brain signals were for ‘right’ and ‘left,’ and then swap them. Without studying us beforehand, it’d have no way to know those, and no system could handle maintaining that for all of us at once.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Tanya snapped at him, and Ian turned red. “If a device were scanning your brain when you went to turn right, all it’d have to do is isolate that signal. Then it could reverse it, and that would probably be ‘left.’ And once it had the signal for a particular person, it could just automatically replace it with the reversed signal each time.”
Ian wasn’t too happy at being shown up, Alex noticed, particularly by Tanya. But then, Ian often assumed he knew more than he really did, or could do less work than required, and got belligerent when he was proven wrong.
“T’nok,” Meru called into her combadge, “have you isolated that location yet?”
“Affirmative,” their Vulcan classmate replied. “It originated at the galley door.”
Zoe, Meru, and Santar had started walking in that direction even before T’nok’s reply came—obviously they had already figured it out, and had simply wanted confirmation from her. The others followed behind them. Fabian had been studying the door frame himself, and Alex knew from the look on his face that the S.C.E. technician had also guessed the device’s location.
“I don’t see anything,” Zoe remarked as they all clustered around the door.
“Me either,” Ben agreed, studying his tricorder, “but there’s a small hologram field right above the center of the door.”
Ian, who was the tallest, reached up and the others watched as his hand seemed to pass through the wall. He grimaced and yanked his arm back, and a small metal box came with it, trailing several wires.
Tomas then turned in a circle—starting to his right. “That was it,” he reported. “I’ll bet one of those wires tapped into the ship’s power, and when Ian pulled it loose he disconnected it.”
“All I care about,” Malcolm announced, “is that we can get into the galley without going the long way around. Let’s eat!”
Alex waited until the students had all shuffled into the cafeteria, then turned to Fabian.
“So, was that one of yours?”
Fabian grimaced at him. “Nope. I wouldn’t mess with their minds like that—this is a test of their engineering abilities, not their willpower or their senses. Another prank.”
“Well, at least that one wasn’t dangerous.”
“We could have starved to death” Fabian grinned, and Alex stopped just short of rolling his eyes.
Chapter
8
Captain Gold was getting very, very hungry.
He couldn’t help it. He’d been here for much longer than he had expected, and, try as he might, he just didn’t like Klingon food. He wasn’t a stickler for kosher meals, but he did prefer that his meat actually be dead before he ate it. And of course he couldn’t exactly snub his hosts by calling out for a delivery of human food.
He tried very hard to ignore his rumbling stomach and the ruckus that was coming from the two repairmen fixing the overhead light, and endeavored to give all of his attention to the list Khor had given him. Khor looked at him with the expression of one eager to please, one who expected a pat on the back for a job well done.
And for the most part, it was a job well done.
“This list is exceedingly reasonable, Khor. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Captain. I appreciate all the work that you have done.”
“Although, to be honest, the last item is just a bit over the top.”
“It is a point I don’t expect to compromise on, sir.”
“Yes, but saying ‘to be marrying a wonderful woman’ just sounds like you’re trying to butter up your grandfather-to-be.”
Khor simply smiled.
“The diplomacy of my father is not a style I’m accustomed to, Captain. I’m trying to shift paradigms here, but I’m a few cents short.”
Captain Gold looked at Khor with a bit of puzzlement on his face.
“Did I get the translation of that idiom wrong?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it was just a weak joke in the first place. Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t worry about anything,” Khor said, just as something came down from the ceiling, making him jump a bit.
“We lost our grip on the overhead panel,” one of the technicians said.
“No problem,” Gold said.
“There is no need to inform the ambassador of our—clumsiness,” the other technician said slowly.
“Absolutely not,” Gold replied with a smile.
“No, why should he hear anything that conflicts with his view of the universe?” Khor muttered.
Gold paused. “Is there something you wish to add to the list, Khor? Something you aren’t telling me about?”
“Not at all.”
“Khor, we don’t know each other really well yet. But I think I’ve gotten enough from the three or four times we’ve been together that I know when something is bothering you.”
“I am merely irritated that I have to be going through all of this. I had made compromises, and I expected that it would be the end of the matter. But no.” He stood up abruptly. “I am done with being diplomatic. You have my list of demands.”
“Demands?”
Khor considered. “Requests, then. I expect them to be included. Now if you will pardon me, I have other preparations to attend to.” Khor turned and left, nearly colliding with the technicians bringing in a new light fixture.
Gold exhaled. The hell of it was, there really wasn’t anything here that seemed that unreasonable; in fact, Khor had probably been the most reasonable one so far. Esther had always wanted her dream wedding, and her visions never included being attacked by the ushers at the conclusion of it, like in a Klingon wedding. Khor had had the inspiration of having a military wedding performed by Esther’s grandfather in the first place, which he thought would satisfy his father’s side of the equation. There was a tacit agreement to the entire arrangement in principle weeks ago. So why was everybody yelling at each other now?
“Hello, dear one. Having a problem?” Rachel said as she entered.
Gold put his fingers to his temples. “I just finished talking with Khor.”
“Yes, I know. I heard the door slam.”
Gold looked up. “How do you hear an automatic sliding door slam?”
“I hear these things. It didn’t go well?”
“As well as can be expected. He’s irritated as hell, a condition that seems to be going around. There’s an undercurrent of something going on here, but I don’t know what—” Gold stopped, and sniffed the air. “What is that wonderful smell?”
“Guess.” She presented a small plate covered with a cloth napkin over it, hiding the contents—but Gold knew
that smell.
“You made latkes? For me?”
“Well, I was feeling a bit fidgety. And there’s fresh applesauce too, with just the right amount of cinnamon.” She placed the plate down in front of him, and pulled off the napkin with a flourish. “Ta-dah!” She produced some cutlery out of nowhere, and laid it next to the napkin.
“Glory be! A feast for the senses!” He reached for the fork and knife, mouth watering as if a bell had been rung, and began to cut off a mouthful of the nearest latke. “What did I ever do to deserve such a…” Captain Gold’s voice trailed off. He eyed his blushing bride, the light of his life, who gazed at him with the sweet adoration that he had seen many times before. He placed the fork down and started to drum his fingers on the tabletop.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
“You’re playing me.”
“What do you mean?” She just looked more adorable. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was manipulating the lighting in the room to make her look saintly.
“Don’t try that little routine with me, Atalanta, it’s not gonna work. This is a bribe.” He picked up the fork and waved it at her for emphasis.
“What, this?” She had stiffened for a moment at the mention of that nickname, but covered it very smoothly. No one else would have noticed it. Of course, no one else would have used that nickname.
“Yes, this. You sure didn’t make these here; you must have gone home to make these.”
“So maybe I did. What would I be trying to bribe you for?”
“I don’t know yet, but I have a suspicion. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Well, it’s just that Jessica—”
“Jessica. Naturally.” Of course she would want a say in her daughter’s wedding. He marveled how someone who could be such a pain in the posterior could also be at least fifty percent responsible for such a delightful granddaughter. Must be excellent genetics showing through, he thought, though he wondered from which of her parents Esther got the stubbornness chromosome.
He heard Rachel go on, despite his closed eyes and the beginning of his headache. “She’s hurt that you’re not considering her feelings.”
“Rachel, what does she have to do with this?”
“She’s Esther’s mother! She should be involved with her daughter’s wedding.”
“Oh yes, silly me. I remember how much your mother was involved in ours.”
“That’s not fair.”
“She can learn to deal with that in this case. Lord knows I certainly indulge her in just about everything else.”
“Were you not strapped in during warp drive or something on your way back to Earth? Your body is here but your heart seems to be orbiting Bajor.”
“This is a wedding between two people. She can’t—”
“She can.”
“Pardon me. I meant to say that she shouldn’t have a say in this.”
“Khor’s father has a say.”
“That’s different.”
“Well, that’s nice, but Jessica doesn’t see it that way.”
“Khor’s father is the Klingon ambassador, for crying out loud! His feelings have to be considered in this matter.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. He is representing the Klingon side, just as you are representing the Jewish side. You want Jessica to have a say? Fine—then you don’t get one.”
“Then who do you think is going to perform the wedding?”
“I’m performing the wedding, not you—” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that he had said something very, very wrong. Rachel said nothing, and merely looked at him. It was a look that told him he was going to be sleeping on the da Vinci tonight, and yet a part of him was determined to press on, hoping to salvage something from this.
“Rachel, having Jessica involved in the planning of this thing adds yet another layer of complexity to something that’s taking as long to resolve as the Sheliak peace treaty.”
“Don’t get pompous with me.”
“I’m not pompous, I’m pedantic. There’s a difference. Speaking of which, where’s your list of items?”
“I don’t have a list.”
“No list.” Gold quietly counted to ten in Yiddish, and then said, “I can’t tell if you have an ace up your sleeve or if it’s missing from your deck altogether. Why didn’t you make up a list, dear?”
“Because all my items are nonnegotiable.”
“Could you have done me the favor of writing them down, at least?”
“I’m willing to be incredibly flexible on most matters. My few points you should already know.”
Gold probably did know them, or he thought he could make a few reasonable guesses. But if he didn’t match precisely what she was thinking, she’d blame him for not being telepathic. “Honey, of course I know them. But I’m juggling the demands of multiple parties here, and I want to make sure I don’t forget any of them in the commotion. And in addition, I’ll want to make sure that I have them if anybody else would like to see them.”
“All right. I’ll write them up and send them to you.”
He sighed quietly. He was definitely going to be sleeping on the da Vinci tonight.
“Yes. Because I’m convinced that in your rush to get back here to Earth, you left your heart orbiting Andor. Which is a shame for you.”
“Oh? Why?”
Rachel stood up. “Samuel 13:14. ‘But now thy kingdom shall not continue: the Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart, and the Lord hath commanded him to be captain over his people, because thou hast not kept that which the Lord commanded thee.’” She turned on her heel and headed out the door so quickly that he was amazed it slid open in time.
One of the technicians looked up from what he was doing—or rather looked down from the ladder. “She’s magnificent.” The other one was muttering something in Klingon that sounded like poetry, and they both laughed.
He hated it when she quoted Scripture. The devil wasn’t the only one who could quote Scripture to suit his own purposes. Resignedly, he pulled the plate of latkes to him.
“Captain?”
Gold looked up from his plate. Lantar was standing in the doorway. Gold stood up. “Ambassador. I didn’t hear the door chime.”
“It was open.”
“Probably isn’t going to close right after being slammed.”
“How can an auto—”
“Never mind.” He pushed the plate of latkes aside. He knew that they’d be cold by the time he got back to them. “Please come in.” Gold swore that he could hear the door sigh as it closed.
“How are the repairs going?” Lantar said to the technicians.
“We are done, Excellency. We merely have to pack up our—”
“Surely you can do that later, after I am done speaking with the captain?” The tone was smooth, but the undercurrent was unmistakably “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry? Don’t let the door nip you on the way out.” The technicians picked up on it and left, not even stopping to grab their tools.
When the door had closed behind the exiting Klingons, Lantar spread his arms wide. “Captain, before we start, I would like to register my regrets at the acrimonious tone that these negotiations have taken.”
“As would I. I’m hoping we can come to an amicable resolution.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.”
“I will be pleased if we can do so. I am always happy to engage in a productive dialogue that will increase the understanding and warm friendship between our two cultures. I know you share the same concerns as all decent and hardworking Klingons. You want to achieve the best possible outcome, just like I do.”
Ambassador, Gold thought, your words could be used as a renewable energy source for dirigibles.
“Lantar, level with me. How did you ever become an ambassador in the first place?”
The ambassador pursed his lips, then said, “Good manners.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “For a Klingon.”
“What does that mean?”
“Good manners is the art of pretending one is not superior.”
“Ah. And what about cases where you are not superior?”
“There is no such occurrence.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Lantar made no visible reaction. “Really?”
“Really.”
“And why should I brook this new insult to me?”
“Because you’ve been trying to use indignation as a debating point, instead of actually having any substantive points you might have to concede.” Gold expected an additional outburst or retort, but Lantar merely sat back in his chair, his face calm and impassive. Gold took the silence as a good sign and went on. “In this world, you have to be oh-so-smart or oh-so-pleasant. I’ve spent years being smart. I highly recommend pleasant.”
“Indeed you do, Captain. Are you familiar with the concept of QIp’ong?”
“Can’t say that I know it under that name.”
“It would probably translate as ‘stupid-cunning’ or ‘stupid-smart.’ It refers to the concept of one who plays the fool but hides great subtlety and facility.”
“Ah, I see.” Gold thought for a moment. “There is an old Earth word that describes a similar sort of person—dummschlau, I believe. That is applied to someone who is not all that smart but possesses animal cunning. A very dangerous sort of person.”
Then Lantar smiled—or rather, Gold hoped it was a smile, because otherwise Lantar was baring his teeth at him. “I’m glad to see that you are not without wit,” Lantar said. “It shows me that you are amenable to reason.”
“I’m always open to hearing what other cultures have to say. It’s important to keep an open mind.”
“Indeed, but not so open your brains fall out.”
“Do you anticipate that being a problem, Ambassador?”
“It has already happened to people close to me in the past.”
“I see.” Gold steepled his fingers, then pointed forward. “Someone very close to you?”
“Unquestionably.”
Gold picked up his padd. “You know, Khor was in here earlier. His list seems quite reasonable—there are enough points of congruence that we should be able to find common ground.”
