Star Trek - Double Helix, page 108
“It’s an explosive,” said the Professor. “Hide the weapon in plain sight.”
“Am I risking blowing my head off?”
“Not at all. Nothing can set it off as long as the circuit isn’t completed. You simply take the two ends and twist them around each other. That engages it, and the chemicals inside it begin to interact and build toward detonation. Once the chemical reaction has begun, there’s no stopping it. You’ll have about fifteen minutes to clear the area before it blows.”
Calhoun held the scar gingerly. “Oookay,” he said slowly. He lined it up with the scar on his face and pressed it against it. He heard a small hiss of air and a seal was promptly engaged, adhering the fake scar to his face. The metal of the cabinet was highly polished, and he was able to see in his reflection that the blend was perfect. If he himself had not known, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.
“This is almost standard issue by this point,” said the professor. He extended a fairly nondescript ring which contained a round emblem at one end. “Push it firmly against someone’s skin, and it injects a subcutaneous transponder which sends out a homing signal. You’ll be able to track anyone.”
“Convenient. No woman will dare brush me off again.”
The professor didn’t seem amused. “Now…this next thing is a pip.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a pip.” And sure enough, he held up what appeared to be a standard-issue pip that indicated rank. “If you’re not in uniform, you can still easily attach it to a collar or other article of clothing.”
“What’s significant about it?”
“Put it on.” When Calhoun had done so, the Professor said, “Now say, ‘Activate transporter, right.’”
“Activate transporter, right,” Calhoun said, wondering why he was doing so. Then, to his astonishment, he suddenly heard a familiar hum around him…and an instant later, he was standing on the other side of the room.
“Short range personal transport device. Moves you ten feet in whichever direction you indicate you want it to go. Just be careful, though. You wouldn’t want to move into the middle of a solid object.”
“Definitely not.” He studied the pip. “I didn’t think Federation technology had anything like this.”
“Officially, It doesn’t. Now…here. You can probably use an offensive weapon as well. He produced from a cupboard a pair of boots that were exactly Calhoun’s size. He turned them over and, from the right one, removed the heel. He proffered it to Calhoun for closer examination, and Calhoun immediately saw the small, tell-tale barrel of some sort of phaser weapon inserted neatly into the inner edge of the heel. “Squeeze the middle with thumb and forefinger top and bottom, that’ll produce a stun blast. Squeeze in at the sides, that’ll get you level two power. It will only respond to your DNA imprint, so you actually have to be holding it.”
“You mean I don’t have to worry about stepping down too hard and shooting myself in the foot.”
“Something like that,” said the Professor. “The left heel contains a communications device. I’ll show you.” He tapped the middle of the heel and a small, palm-size device slid out. He removed it and held it up. “Under normal circumstances it would only get you standard range, but I’ve improved it.”
“Improved it…how?”
“Total security bypass.”
“Total security bypass?”
“That’s correct, yes. Plus its broadcast will piggyback on any other signals it detects giving it almost unlimited range.”
“Oh really.” He tapped the comm button and said, “Calhoun to Admiral Jellico, Starfleet headquarters, San Francisco. Come in please. Admiral…my men are under attack by a squad of berserk Amazon women and I can’t get them to leave. Please advise.”
He smiled wanly at the professor, and then the smile froze as back over the communicator came the unmistakable, and clearly irritated, voice of Admiral Jellico. “This is Jellico. Amazon women? Who the hell is this? Calhoun, is that—?”
Stunned, Calhoun said in a high-pitched voice, “Sorry,” and shut down the line. Then he gaped at the professor.
There was no smile on the professor’s face, not a hint of amusement or triumph. He simply stared at Calhoun impassively.
“That’s very impressive,” Calhoun said slowly.
The professor took a step toward him, and in a low voice tinged with warning, said, “Yes it is, isn’t it? Apparently you have been selected to be the champion of the galaxy. I’ve decided to give you a slight edge. The rest is up to you.”
Calhoun stared into those implacable eyes for a long moment. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Me? I’m simply the fellow in research and development who hands out the weapons.” With that, he turned and walked out the door. Calhoun quickly followed him out…but saw no sign of him.
VII.
“I WILL ATTEND TO IT, Captain Riker,” Si Cwan said with confidence. The Thallonian noble made a few more notes as he looked across the desk of the captain’s ready room at Riker. “I have certain…avenues…I can check. If there is a hidden Romulan base, I might very well be able to get some indication of where it is.”
Seated next to him was Robin Lefler, who was also taking notes. In addition to her position at Ops, Robin had taken on the additional duty of personal aide to Si Cwan. Riker felt himself to be something of an aficionado of the ways in which the human heart moved, and as he watched Lefler try—perhaps a bit too hard—to be all business with Cwan, he had the funny feeling that there might be more motivating her than simply trying to be a good officer or find ways to fill the day. Then again, it wasn’t really any of his business or his place to comment. So, rather wisely, he kept his opinions on the matter to himself.
“Do you want me to send out the messages?” Lefler asked him.
Si Cwan shook his head. “No…no, I think it’d be best if these came directly from me. Thank you for the offer, though.”
“And thank you, Lord Cwan, for your assistance in this matter,” Riker said.
“‘Lord’ Cwan.” He smiled slightly at the title.
“Did I miss a joke?”
“It’s simply that I cannot recall the last time I was addressed with the title. Here on the Excalibur, they tend to address me simply by my name.”
“And you tolerate that?” Riker asked in amusement.
He shrugged slightly. “I tolerate the familiarity. They, in turn, tolerate my presence. A philosophy of mutual tolerance, I suppose you’d say.”
“I am rather pleased to hear it, Lord Cwan…particularly considering the rather incendiary nature of our last meeting.”
“Incendiary” had hardly been the word for it, as Riker recalled. The first, and last time, that he had seen Si Cwan was right around the time that the Thallonian empire was beginning to crack apart. Si Cwan, exiled but still imperious, had sought out the Federation for aid, and Riker had been present at the meeting where that aid had been decided upon.
“I have not forgotten, Captain,” Si Cwan said with a measure of respect in his voice, “your contribution to that meeting. You not only took my side in the discussion…but it was you who recommended the assignment of this vessel to Thallonian space. If not for you none of this would have been possible.”
“Someone else might well have suggested it,” Riker said, “but nonetheless, I appreciate the thanks. Although as I recall, your being posted to the ship was not part of the plan.”
“There was a change of plan,” Si Cwan said with a combination of dignity and deadpan.
“Yes, and he changed it,” Lefler put in with a slightly teasing tone.
“I was invited by Captain Calhoun to serve as a sort of guide and lead diplomat in Thallonian space.”
“After he was caught as a stowaway.”
Si Cwan turned in his chair and looked at Lefler with something approaching disapproval. “In my opinion,” he said slowly, “you are deriving far too much amusement from the situation.” He turned back to Riker and said, “I admit, my arrival on this vessel was not the most…dignified. But I am here now, and there are no regrets.” He fired Lefler a look. “Although I am beginning to have one or two in regards to certain personnel.”
“This is all very interesting, and I would certainly like to hear all about it at some future date,” Riker said readily. “However, at this point, I do have other matters to attend to…”
“And we shall be more than happy to allow you to attend to them, sir.” Si Cwan rose, and seemed to keep rising. Riker was impressed, not for the first time, by the sheer presence of the man. He seemed someone who was genuinely entitled to be referred to by the term “noble.” He bowed slightly, a gesture which the now-standing Riker returned, and then he turned and left. Lefler, however, remained where she was. “You told me earlier I should stay after the meeting?”
“Yes. There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you. A matter regarding one of the bridge crew…”
“Shouldn’t you be discussing it with Commander Shelby, sir?”
She had a perfectly valid point. In fact, Shelby was probably the person he should really be dealing with. The problem was, he wasn’t entirely certain that Shelby would be anything other than defensive, no matter how diplomatically he tried to handle the matter.
He had no desire to say that, though. So instead he said coolly, “Actually, I thought it best to speak with you first since you work with him fairly closely.”
“Ahhh.” She sounded as if she knew precisely what was going to be said. “You’re talking about McHenry.”
“Yes. That’s right. When you and Si Cwan came in here, I caught a glimpse of McHenry out the door and it appeared he was…well…”
“Sleeping. At his post.”
He nodded. “Lieutenant, I admit I feel a bit like I’m walking on eggshells here.” That was no exaggeration. Riker still remembered, all too clearly, the time that Admiral Jellico had taken command of the Enterprise. Despite the fact that the assignment was purely temporary, Jellico had wasted no time not only imposing his command style upon others, but going head to head with the senior staff in a manner that was unnecessarily harsh and certainly aggravating. At that time, Riker had made a solemn promise to himself that if he ever found himself in a similar position, for whatever reason, he would do everything he could not to disrupt the pre-established routines of the vessel. It was one thing when one was coming aboard as permanent commander, but Riker was not about to lose sight of the fact that he was a visitor. Still…when he saw something that so set his teeth on edge as a crewman displaying total lack of professionalism, he couldn’t keep silent. Delicately, he continued, “I’m aware that Captain Calhoun’s command style is somewhat different than mine…or Captain Picard’s…or, in fact, anyone that I can think of offhand. Very much a ‘live and let live’ philosophy, a tendency to celebrate the little differences in people. And by all means, there is much to be said for that. But there is also such a thing,” and his voice hardened, “as maintaining at the very least a bare minimum of acceptable preparedness. And having the helmsman asleep in his chair simply doesn’t fit that criteria.”
“He’s not asleep,” she said with the air of someone who was not explaining this for the first time. “It only seems that way. Actually he’s just deep in thought, but he’s completely attuned to everything that’s going on. One hundred percent alert.”
“I see.”
“Also, I admit…he’s probably a bit worn out. I still don’t think he’s sleeping on the job. But his exhaustion is understandable. He’s been through something of an emotional wringer.”
“How so? Unless you feel it’s none of my business.”
“Well, sir…probably it’s not your business, no.” With that mandatory disclaimer out of the way, Lefler quickly and eagerly sat down, elbows propped on her knees.
Riker noted with quiet amusement that she was displaying one of the oldest mindsets of young humans, stretching back centuries: the slightly guilty joy of dishing gossip. No matter how advanced humanity became, no matter how many horizons were explored, no matter how many adventures were pursued, no matter how great and noble the race aspired to be…there was simply something irresistible about chattering about people behind their backs. Riker, the older, wiser, cooler head, was relieved that he himself was above such things…and then leaned forward so as not to miss anything.
“Okay,” continued Lefler, “the fact is that for a while McHenry and Burgoyne 172 were quite the couple, if you catch my drift.”
“Not really.”
“Well, Burgoyne is a Hermat.”
“Hmm. A Hermat.” He understood why she said it that way. Not since the Deltans had there been a race whose sexual mores and practices had engendered more interest than the Hermats. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There aren’t all that many in Starfleet. It’s somewhat amazing that two were assigned to this vessel.”
“Two?” The tops of her eyebrows knitted together in quiet surprise and confusion. “What two?”
“Well, the Hermat who is involved with McHenry, and the one who is involved with your CMO. At least, I was told the father…mother…whatever…that that individual is the father of Doctor Selar’s child.”
“Right. That’s Burgoyne. Same person.”
Riker stared at her. “The…three of them are involved…”
“No, no. You see…well, yes, kind of,” and she started ticking off major elements on her fingers. “Burgoyne was interested in Selar. But Selar wasn’t interested in Burgoyne. At least, she was trying to pretend that she wasn’t interested, but she really was, but part of it was as a result of this whole Vulcan biological thing. They don’t like to talk about. There’s all kinds of different stories about it. It’s a personal, private cultural thing and far be it from me to pry.
“Anyway, Selar apparently changed her mind, but Burgoyne was involved with McHenry by that point. So Selar approached the captain about ‘accommodating’ her. Apparently he said okay…”
“He said what?”
“He said okay. Apparently it was part of his Xenexian duty to be accommodating about something like that.” At Riker’s shocked expression, she quickly added, “It’s a life or death situation.”
“Apparently so.” For some reason, Riker was suddenly relieved that Calhoun hadn’t been in command of the Enterprise when Lwaxana Troi had shown up with a quadrupled sex drive. He was sure that Lwaxana would have convinced Calhoun that hers was a life and death situation as well. “You seem to be rather up on everything that’s going on around the ship, Lieutenant.”
“A starship is like a small town, Captain. Everybody hears everything. Fortunately enough,” she said with a touch of irony, “there’s some of us who work hard to make sure that accurate information is being disseminated.”
“Bless you.”
“Thanks,” she said, with a grin. “Anyway, some other stuff happened, and Doctor Selar wound up with Burgoyne after all. Now she’s pregnant.”
“I see.” He was intrigued in spite of himself. “And how does McHenry feel about all this?”
“Well, he was okay with it, but really stunned when he found out that Burgoyne was pregnant too.”
“What?” He felt his head starting to spin.
“Yeah. At about the same time that Selar announced she was pregnant with Burgoyne’s child, Burgy announced that s/he was pregnant with McHenry’s child. Poor Mark. Passed right out. Fainted dead away. Since then, he’s just thrown himself into his work. I don’t think he knows quite how to approach Burgoyne about it. He feels embarrassed about fainting, I know that, and I sure don’t think he was prepared for the notion of being a father.”
“Well, he’s going to have to deal with it sooner or later.”
“I think he’s angling for later, sir.”
“Computer…service record of Burgoyne 172. I think,” Riker said slowly, “that I very much want to meet Burgoy—.” His voice trailed off as he stared at the screen, and his eyes widened. “Burgoyne is the chief engineer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is this individual stable enough?”
“Oh yes,” Lefler said cheerfully. “S/he’s as stable as the rest of us.”
Riker wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
They walked out of the Captain’s ready room. Shelby was seated in the command chair, and made as if to stand up and give way to Riker, but he waved her off. “That won’t be necessary, Commander. Presuming everything is calm here, Lieutenant Lefler is going to help familiarize me with the ship.”
“As you wish…Captain.”
There was just that moment of hesitation, and Riker wondered if something vaguely insubordinate was meant by it. But there was nothing about Shelby’s attitude or deportment that seemed to indicate it, and Riker chalked it off to his imagination.
“Am I risking blowing my head off?”
“Not at all. Nothing can set it off as long as the circuit isn’t completed. You simply take the two ends and twist them around each other. That engages it, and the chemicals inside it begin to interact and build toward detonation. Once the chemical reaction has begun, there’s no stopping it. You’ll have about fifteen minutes to clear the area before it blows.”
Calhoun held the scar gingerly. “Oookay,” he said slowly. He lined it up with the scar on his face and pressed it against it. He heard a small hiss of air and a seal was promptly engaged, adhering the fake scar to his face. The metal of the cabinet was highly polished, and he was able to see in his reflection that the blend was perfect. If he himself had not known, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.
“This is almost standard issue by this point,” said the professor. He extended a fairly nondescript ring which contained a round emblem at one end. “Push it firmly against someone’s skin, and it injects a subcutaneous transponder which sends out a homing signal. You’ll be able to track anyone.”
“Convenient. No woman will dare brush me off again.”
The professor didn’t seem amused. “Now…this next thing is a pip.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a pip.” And sure enough, he held up what appeared to be a standard-issue pip that indicated rank. “If you’re not in uniform, you can still easily attach it to a collar or other article of clothing.”
“What’s significant about it?”
“Put it on.” When Calhoun had done so, the Professor said, “Now say, ‘Activate transporter, right.’”
“Activate transporter, right,” Calhoun said, wondering why he was doing so. Then, to his astonishment, he suddenly heard a familiar hum around him…and an instant later, he was standing on the other side of the room.
“Short range personal transport device. Moves you ten feet in whichever direction you indicate you want it to go. Just be careful, though. You wouldn’t want to move into the middle of a solid object.”
“Definitely not.” He studied the pip. “I didn’t think Federation technology had anything like this.”
“Officially, It doesn’t. Now…here. You can probably use an offensive weapon as well. He produced from a cupboard a pair of boots that were exactly Calhoun’s size. He turned them over and, from the right one, removed the heel. He proffered it to Calhoun for closer examination, and Calhoun immediately saw the small, tell-tale barrel of some sort of phaser weapon inserted neatly into the inner edge of the heel. “Squeeze the middle with thumb and forefinger top and bottom, that’ll produce a stun blast. Squeeze in at the sides, that’ll get you level two power. It will only respond to your DNA imprint, so you actually have to be holding it.”
“You mean I don’t have to worry about stepping down too hard and shooting myself in the foot.”
“Something like that,” said the Professor. “The left heel contains a communications device. I’ll show you.” He tapped the middle of the heel and a small, palm-size device slid out. He removed it and held it up. “Under normal circumstances it would only get you standard range, but I’ve improved it.”
“Improved it…how?”
“Total security bypass.”
“Total security bypass?”
“That’s correct, yes. Plus its broadcast will piggyback on any other signals it detects giving it almost unlimited range.”
“Oh really.” He tapped the comm button and said, “Calhoun to Admiral Jellico, Starfleet headquarters, San Francisco. Come in please. Admiral…my men are under attack by a squad of berserk Amazon women and I can’t get them to leave. Please advise.”
He smiled wanly at the professor, and then the smile froze as back over the communicator came the unmistakable, and clearly irritated, voice of Admiral Jellico. “This is Jellico. Amazon women? Who the hell is this? Calhoun, is that—?”
Stunned, Calhoun said in a high-pitched voice, “Sorry,” and shut down the line. Then he gaped at the professor.
There was no smile on the professor’s face, not a hint of amusement or triumph. He simply stared at Calhoun impassively.
“That’s very impressive,” Calhoun said slowly.
The professor took a step toward him, and in a low voice tinged with warning, said, “Yes it is, isn’t it? Apparently you have been selected to be the champion of the galaxy. I’ve decided to give you a slight edge. The rest is up to you.”
Calhoun stared into those implacable eyes for a long moment. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Me? I’m simply the fellow in research and development who hands out the weapons.” With that, he turned and walked out the door. Calhoun quickly followed him out…but saw no sign of him.
VII.
“I WILL ATTEND TO IT, Captain Riker,” Si Cwan said with confidence. The Thallonian noble made a few more notes as he looked across the desk of the captain’s ready room at Riker. “I have certain…avenues…I can check. If there is a hidden Romulan base, I might very well be able to get some indication of where it is.”
Seated next to him was Robin Lefler, who was also taking notes. In addition to her position at Ops, Robin had taken on the additional duty of personal aide to Si Cwan. Riker felt himself to be something of an aficionado of the ways in which the human heart moved, and as he watched Lefler try—perhaps a bit too hard—to be all business with Cwan, he had the funny feeling that there might be more motivating her than simply trying to be a good officer or find ways to fill the day. Then again, it wasn’t really any of his business or his place to comment. So, rather wisely, he kept his opinions on the matter to himself.
“Do you want me to send out the messages?” Lefler asked him.
Si Cwan shook his head. “No…no, I think it’d be best if these came directly from me. Thank you for the offer, though.”
“And thank you, Lord Cwan, for your assistance in this matter,” Riker said.
“‘Lord’ Cwan.” He smiled slightly at the title.
“Did I miss a joke?”
“It’s simply that I cannot recall the last time I was addressed with the title. Here on the Excalibur, they tend to address me simply by my name.”
“And you tolerate that?” Riker asked in amusement.
He shrugged slightly. “I tolerate the familiarity. They, in turn, tolerate my presence. A philosophy of mutual tolerance, I suppose you’d say.”
“I am rather pleased to hear it, Lord Cwan…particularly considering the rather incendiary nature of our last meeting.”
“Incendiary” had hardly been the word for it, as Riker recalled. The first, and last time, that he had seen Si Cwan was right around the time that the Thallonian empire was beginning to crack apart. Si Cwan, exiled but still imperious, had sought out the Federation for aid, and Riker had been present at the meeting where that aid had been decided upon.
“I have not forgotten, Captain,” Si Cwan said with a measure of respect in his voice, “your contribution to that meeting. You not only took my side in the discussion…but it was you who recommended the assignment of this vessel to Thallonian space. If not for you none of this would have been possible.”
“Someone else might well have suggested it,” Riker said, “but nonetheless, I appreciate the thanks. Although as I recall, your being posted to the ship was not part of the plan.”
“There was a change of plan,” Si Cwan said with a combination of dignity and deadpan.
“Yes, and he changed it,” Lefler put in with a slightly teasing tone.
“I was invited by Captain Calhoun to serve as a sort of guide and lead diplomat in Thallonian space.”
“After he was caught as a stowaway.”
Si Cwan turned in his chair and looked at Lefler with something approaching disapproval. “In my opinion,” he said slowly, “you are deriving far too much amusement from the situation.” He turned back to Riker and said, “I admit, my arrival on this vessel was not the most…dignified. But I am here now, and there are no regrets.” He fired Lefler a look. “Although I am beginning to have one or two in regards to certain personnel.”
“This is all very interesting, and I would certainly like to hear all about it at some future date,” Riker said readily. “However, at this point, I do have other matters to attend to…”
“And we shall be more than happy to allow you to attend to them, sir.” Si Cwan rose, and seemed to keep rising. Riker was impressed, not for the first time, by the sheer presence of the man. He seemed someone who was genuinely entitled to be referred to by the term “noble.” He bowed slightly, a gesture which the now-standing Riker returned, and then he turned and left. Lefler, however, remained where she was. “You told me earlier I should stay after the meeting?”
“Yes. There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you. A matter regarding one of the bridge crew…”
“Shouldn’t you be discussing it with Commander Shelby, sir?”
She had a perfectly valid point. In fact, Shelby was probably the person he should really be dealing with. The problem was, he wasn’t entirely certain that Shelby would be anything other than defensive, no matter how diplomatically he tried to handle the matter.
He had no desire to say that, though. So instead he said coolly, “Actually, I thought it best to speak with you first since you work with him fairly closely.”
“Ahhh.” She sounded as if she knew precisely what was going to be said. “You’re talking about McHenry.”
“Yes. That’s right. When you and Si Cwan came in here, I caught a glimpse of McHenry out the door and it appeared he was…well…”
“Sleeping. At his post.”
He nodded. “Lieutenant, I admit I feel a bit like I’m walking on eggshells here.” That was no exaggeration. Riker still remembered, all too clearly, the time that Admiral Jellico had taken command of the Enterprise. Despite the fact that the assignment was purely temporary, Jellico had wasted no time not only imposing his command style upon others, but going head to head with the senior staff in a manner that was unnecessarily harsh and certainly aggravating. At that time, Riker had made a solemn promise to himself that if he ever found himself in a similar position, for whatever reason, he would do everything he could not to disrupt the pre-established routines of the vessel. It was one thing when one was coming aboard as permanent commander, but Riker was not about to lose sight of the fact that he was a visitor. Still…when he saw something that so set his teeth on edge as a crewman displaying total lack of professionalism, he couldn’t keep silent. Delicately, he continued, “I’m aware that Captain Calhoun’s command style is somewhat different than mine…or Captain Picard’s…or, in fact, anyone that I can think of offhand. Very much a ‘live and let live’ philosophy, a tendency to celebrate the little differences in people. And by all means, there is much to be said for that. But there is also such a thing,” and his voice hardened, “as maintaining at the very least a bare minimum of acceptable preparedness. And having the helmsman asleep in his chair simply doesn’t fit that criteria.”
“He’s not asleep,” she said with the air of someone who was not explaining this for the first time. “It only seems that way. Actually he’s just deep in thought, but he’s completely attuned to everything that’s going on. One hundred percent alert.”
“I see.”
“Also, I admit…he’s probably a bit worn out. I still don’t think he’s sleeping on the job. But his exhaustion is understandable. He’s been through something of an emotional wringer.”
“How so? Unless you feel it’s none of my business.”
“Well, sir…probably it’s not your business, no.” With that mandatory disclaimer out of the way, Lefler quickly and eagerly sat down, elbows propped on her knees.
Riker noted with quiet amusement that she was displaying one of the oldest mindsets of young humans, stretching back centuries: the slightly guilty joy of dishing gossip. No matter how advanced humanity became, no matter how many horizons were explored, no matter how many adventures were pursued, no matter how great and noble the race aspired to be…there was simply something irresistible about chattering about people behind their backs. Riker, the older, wiser, cooler head, was relieved that he himself was above such things…and then leaned forward so as not to miss anything.
“Okay,” continued Lefler, “the fact is that for a while McHenry and Burgoyne 172 were quite the couple, if you catch my drift.”
“Not really.”
“Well, Burgoyne is a Hermat.”
“Hmm. A Hermat.” He understood why she said it that way. Not since the Deltans had there been a race whose sexual mores and practices had engendered more interest than the Hermats. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There aren’t all that many in Starfleet. It’s somewhat amazing that two were assigned to this vessel.”
“Two?” The tops of her eyebrows knitted together in quiet surprise and confusion. “What two?”
“Well, the Hermat who is involved with McHenry, and the one who is involved with your CMO. At least, I was told the father…mother…whatever…that that individual is the father of Doctor Selar’s child.”
“Right. That’s Burgoyne. Same person.”
Riker stared at her. “The…three of them are involved…”
“No, no. You see…well, yes, kind of,” and she started ticking off major elements on her fingers. “Burgoyne was interested in Selar. But Selar wasn’t interested in Burgoyne. At least, she was trying to pretend that she wasn’t interested, but she really was, but part of it was as a result of this whole Vulcan biological thing. They don’t like to talk about. There’s all kinds of different stories about it. It’s a personal, private cultural thing and far be it from me to pry.
“Anyway, Selar apparently changed her mind, but Burgoyne was involved with McHenry by that point. So Selar approached the captain about ‘accommodating’ her. Apparently he said okay…”
“He said what?”
“He said okay. Apparently it was part of his Xenexian duty to be accommodating about something like that.” At Riker’s shocked expression, she quickly added, “It’s a life or death situation.”
“Apparently so.” For some reason, Riker was suddenly relieved that Calhoun hadn’t been in command of the Enterprise when Lwaxana Troi had shown up with a quadrupled sex drive. He was sure that Lwaxana would have convinced Calhoun that hers was a life and death situation as well. “You seem to be rather up on everything that’s going on around the ship, Lieutenant.”
“A starship is like a small town, Captain. Everybody hears everything. Fortunately enough,” she said with a touch of irony, “there’s some of us who work hard to make sure that accurate information is being disseminated.”
“Bless you.”
“Thanks,” she said, with a grin. “Anyway, some other stuff happened, and Doctor Selar wound up with Burgoyne after all. Now she’s pregnant.”
“I see.” He was intrigued in spite of himself. “And how does McHenry feel about all this?”
“Well, he was okay with it, but really stunned when he found out that Burgoyne was pregnant too.”
“What?” He felt his head starting to spin.
“Yeah. At about the same time that Selar announced she was pregnant with Burgoyne’s child, Burgy announced that s/he was pregnant with McHenry’s child. Poor Mark. Passed right out. Fainted dead away. Since then, he’s just thrown himself into his work. I don’t think he knows quite how to approach Burgoyne about it. He feels embarrassed about fainting, I know that, and I sure don’t think he was prepared for the notion of being a father.”
“Well, he’s going to have to deal with it sooner or later.”
“I think he’s angling for later, sir.”
“Computer…service record of Burgoyne 172. I think,” Riker said slowly, “that I very much want to meet Burgoy—.” His voice trailed off as he stared at the screen, and his eyes widened. “Burgoyne is the chief engineer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is this individual stable enough?”
“Oh yes,” Lefler said cheerfully. “S/he’s as stable as the rest of us.”
Riker wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
They walked out of the Captain’s ready room. Shelby was seated in the command chair, and made as if to stand up and give way to Riker, but he waved her off. “That won’t be necessary, Commander. Presuming everything is calm here, Lieutenant Lefler is going to help familiarize me with the ship.”
“As you wish…Captain.”
There was just that moment of hesitation, and Riker wondered if something vaguely insubordinate was meant by it. But there was nothing about Shelby’s attitude or deportment that seemed to indicate it, and Riker chalked it off to his imagination.
