Текст книги "Twilight "

Автор книги: David George

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Vaughn smiled, and Quark smiled back, knowing what the old man would say. “Obviously it’s slipped your mind that you asked for payment in full when I ordered it.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Quark said, putting on his expression of sudden remembrance, though he knew it would not fool Vaughn. “My mistake, Commander.”

“Thank you, Quark,” Vaughn said, hefting the bottle into the crook of his arm. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have an old holosuite program set on Earth, would you?”

“Actually, I do, Commander,” Quark said, pleased that this intrusion might at least lead to more business. He reached below the bar and pulled out a small metal box, flipping open its lid to reveal the orange tips of several dozen isolinear rods.

“I’m actually looking for something specific,” Vaughn said. “Do you have anything from North America in the twentieth or twenty-first centuries relating to space travel?”

“Earth space travel in the twentieth century?” Quark said, mulling over the request. “Had hew-monseven left their planet back then?” Quark had not intended the question as an insult, but he realized as soon as he had said it that it might have sounded that way. Before he could rephrase it, though, Vaughn answered.

“Just barely,” the commander said with a smile, clearly not offended.

Quark considered the request, knowing he had nothing exactly like what Vaughn had asked for, but trying to think of any other holosuite programs that might satisfy the commander’s needs. “I’m afraid I don’t have that,” Quark said hurriedly, “but I do have several other twentieth-century Earth programs: Paris, New York, Las Vegas—that’s an amazing program—”

“Thank you, no,” Vaughn said, interrupting Quark’s list. “I didn’t think you’d have what I was looking for, but I thought I would ask, just to be sure.”

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Quark said. “I could look for something like that for you, though…special-order it.”

“Perhaps when I get back from the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Believe me,” Quark told him, “I could use the business.”

“So I see,” Vaughn said, turning and surveying the empty bar.

Quark took the moment to look over at Ro. Her eyes were cast downward, at the surface of the bar. She seemed uncomfortable.

When Vaughn turned around toward the bar again, Quark looked back up at him. “The station has quieted down considerably since the Europani departed,” Vaughn offered.

“The Europani,” Quark agreed, “and the crews of the ships taking them back to their planet.”

“Of course,” Vaughn said. “Well, I hope business improves for you. Thank you for this.” He indicated the bottle, then looked to Ro. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

“Commander,” Ro said, looking up and smiling, though it appeared to Quark like a professional smile and not a personal one.

Quark watched as Vaughn exited the bar. When the commander had gone, Quark turned his attention back to Ro. “You were awfully quiet,” he said, trying to achieve a tone of nonchalance. He flipped the lid closed on the box of isolinear rods.

“Yeah,” she said. “Actually, I like Commander Vaughn. It’s just that…well, I guess you were right: I’m not really the Starfleet type.”

“Take it from me,” Quark told her, “that’s not the worst thing in the universe.” He bent and returned the box of holosuite programs to its place beneath the bar.

“Maybe not,” she said, seeming suddenly pensive. She was quiet for a few seconds, and then said, “May I ask you a question, Quark?”

“The answer is yes,”he told her immediately. In a heartbeat, another smile blossomed on her face.

“You haven’t even heard the question yet,” she said.

Quark leaned on the bar and looked into Ro’s eyes. “I trust you,” he said.

Ro chuckled warmly, and Quark felt a chill run through his lobes. No sound had affected him like that in a long time, not even the delicious chink of latinum. Ro held his gaze a moment longer, then asked, “Are you really ruined?” He could not tell whether that was the question she had initially intended to ask him.

“Well, ruinedmight be putting it a little strongly,” he admitted, pushing away from the bar. “But business has been mostly slow since the end of the war. Having the Europani and the convoy crews on the station helped, but profits dipped while I was away at Farius Prime.”

“Sorry about that,” Ro said. She had been the one who had secured his cooperation in the whole Iconian gateways mess, through a mixture of cajolery and coercion, though he liked to think that he would have gone along anyway, simply as a favor to her. “Well, maybe not that sorry,” she said, her tone light. “There wasthat nasty bit of business on Cardassia.”

“Yes, well, if you want to include my financial reversals there,” he said, playing along with her teasing, “then business is really in decline.” All of which was both true and troubling, Quark knew, but somehow it did not seem like such a bad thing to joke about it right now. “And that doesn’t even take into account the generous contract I gave Treir.”

“‘Generous’?” Ro asked. She lifted the snifter and sipped once more at the brandy.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “Actually, I thought she was working out.” Ro looked over her shoulder at the dabo table, and Quark followed her gaze. The Tellarite captain had not moved, but Treir had sat down and was now leaning her head against her hand, her elbow propped up on the table.

“Well, I have to admit that her presence in the bar has turned some heads and brought in some customers,” Quark said. “The freighter crews lovedher. Of course, that was up until two days ago, when there were still people other than Starfleet types on the station.”

“Personally, I like the lull,” Ro said. “It’s allowed me the first real free time I’ve had since I’ve been here.”

Quark grunted his disagreement. “When it’s quiet, business suffers. And when business suffers, I’m not happy.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Quark,” Ro said. “If not for the quiet, I might not have come in here.”

Quark could not be certain—he had never been terribly good at judging these things—but he thought he might not be the only one flirting now. He started to respond, but then he heard something. He turned from Ro and looked off into the middle distance, concentrating and trying to identify the sound.

“What’s wrong?” Ro asked.

“Nothing,” Quark said. “I hear a group of people…a largegroup of people…heading this way.”

“I don’t hear anything,” she said. “Are you sure?” By way of an answer, Quark looked back at her and tugged at one of his ears. They waited for a few seconds, and then Quark saw that Ro could hear it too. The voices increased in volume as they drew closer, with laughter and yelling mixed in. A moment later, Morn wandered into the bar at the head of a boisterous throng. The bald Lurian strode directly over to his usual seat, plopped himself down, and looked around for somebody to serve him. Several of Morn’s companions joined him at the bar, while the bulk of the crowd scattered to various locations—including, Quark was pleased to see, the dabo table. Treir had risen from her seat, he saw, and now stood in a sultry pose next to the dabo wheel. Remarkably, the Tellarite captain had been removed to a nearby table, where she sat groggily back in a chair, apparently trying to shake off her night of hard drinking. The noise level in the bar had, in a matter of a few seconds, escalated dramatically. Quark and Ro looked at each other in amazement.

“That must have been some poetry reading,” Quark finally said, raising his voice to be heard.

“I guess so,” Ro said, also raising her voice.

Quark scanned the room for Frool and Grimp, got their attention, and pointed where he wanted them to go. “I should never have let Broik leave for the night,” he said to himself. Then, to Ro, he said, “Excuse me for a minute.” He started toward the other end of the bar to serve Morn, but stopped when Ro called after him.

“Good night, Quark,” she said, standing from her barstool.

“No, you’re not leaving,” he said, hoping that he could wait on his customers and then return to his conversation with her.

“Like I said,” she told him, “I liked the lull.”

Quark thought about what he could possibly say to convince her to stay, but he could see her discomfort with the raucous crowd, so he simply said, “Good night, Laren.”

“Thanks for the brandy,” she said, gesturing back at the nearly empty snifter as she began walking toward the door. “Put it—” She stopped, came back to the bar, and leaned across it, obviously wanting to say something to Quark without anybody else hearing it. He leaned over the bar, putting his ear up close to her lips. “Put it on my tab,” she whispered.

Quark turned and smiled at her. Beautifuland considerate,he thought; she must have realized that he extended lines of credit to very few of his customers, and that he wanted as few people as possible to know that he did so at all.

“Thanks again,” she said.

“Anytime.” He stood motionless behind the bar and watched her leave. When she had gone, he said it again: “Anytime.” Then he turned and paced down to the other end of the bar.

“Okay, Morn,” he said, “which one of your usuals will it be?” But even amid the call of profits, he was still thinking about Ro Laren.

12

Akaar exited the turbolift—ducking his head out of long-standing habit—and stepped into the dimly lighted corridor. Capellans as a rule possessed keen eyesight, slightly sharper than that of humans, but he found it did him little good aboard this station. With such a low level of afternoon illumination, he wondered how much darker it became here at night. He imagined wandering around in complete blackness, tripping over raised doorsills, banging his head on low transoms, and ending up hopelessly lost in this dreadful Cardassian labyrinth.

Akaar peered both ways down the corridor. He had consulted a station directory and diagram prior to heading down here, but now he could not recall which way he needed to go. He spied what seemed to be a companel in the bulkhead opposite the turbolift, and he walked over and tapped its reflective surface. The panel came to life, a Cardassian “shatterframe” display appearing on it, accompanied by a short series of electronic tones. Akaar studied the unbalanced, asymmetric polygons arranged around the central, circular viewing area, and decided that the station’s crew—Starfleet and Bajoran personnel alike—rated commendations simply for serving in this inhospitable setting.

“Computer,” he said, “direct to me Commander Vaughn’s quarters.” His voice echoed faintly in the empty corridor. The panel hummed briefly, but did nothing more. Akaar waited for a moment, then reached up and tentatively touched the screen again. Another series of tones sounded, and then the computer addressed him.

“State request.”It surprised Akaar that the voice was not male, and even more so that it was not entirely unfriendly.

“Computer,” he repeated, his fingers still pressed against the panel, “direct me to Commander Vaughn’s quarters.”

“Restate request.”

Akaar sighed. Attempting a different approach, he said, “Computer, locate Commander Vaughn.”

“Commander Vaughn is in his quarters.”

“Computer, where are Commander Vaughn’s quarters?” he asked, and the computer dutifully recited the level, section, and cabin numbers that Akaar had already ascertained from the station directory. “Computer, how do I get there from my present location?”

“Restate request.”

Akaar dropped his head, then sighed a second time. Clearly, his assessment of the computer as “not unfriendly” had been premature. He dropped his hand from the companel, which blinked off after a couple of seconds. He looked both ways down the corridor again, then arbitrarily set off to the left. He passed two doors on one side of the corridor and two on the other, determining from the increasing numbers on the accompanying wall plates that he was headed in the right direction. At the next door, though, the number unpredictably decreased. He stopped in his tracks, thinking that perhaps abandoning Deep Space 9, née Terok Nor, to the Bajorans, and thus to the Federation, had actually been part of an insidious Cardassian plot to sow madness through the galaxy.

He decided to walk as far as the next turbolift. If he had not located Vaughn’s quarters by that point, then he would contact ops and ask for assistance, embarrassing as that would be. A fleet admiral, decades in space, with tens of thousands of light-years behind me,he thought, and I can’t even locate a cabin on a space station.He laughed quietly to himself, and then thought that perhaps this had not been the Cardassians’ doing after all, but Vaughn’s; it would have been just like Elias to find some means of concealing the location of his quarters.

Akaar started down the corridor again, fully prepared to admit defeat. The next door he came to was Vaughn’s. He laughed again, although this time with less humor; he realized that he had been entertaining a hope that he would not find Vaughn, and that he would not have to tell his old friend what he had done. A fool’s daydream,Akaar told himself, and then he touched the access panel. A moment later, the door glided open. He lifted his feet over the sill and bowed his head beneath the upper doorframe, feeling as though he had to fold himself up in order to move around this station. Not thatGryphon orDefiant or any other Starfleet vessels are much better,he thought. He looked forward to the day when Capella would construct its own space stations and its own starships, with doorways and chairs and beds that would comfortably accommodate larger people.

Akaar glanced around as he entered the room. The layout and furnishings seemed standard: a sitting area, a dining table and chairs, replicator, companel, a closed door on the far side of the room that doubtless led into a bedroom. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary or even noteworthy; anybody could have lived here. These could even be guest quarters,Akaar thought, except that even lodging for a guest typically contained some sort of adornments. Here, there was nothing, though he supposed the absence did not stand out unless you looked for it. The walls featured no paintings or other artwork, and no books or pictures or other personal items sat on any of the tables. Akaar knew that Vaughn had only been on the station for a couple of months so far, and that he always traveled with few belongings, meaning that he had probably arrived here with very little. And perhaps he had not even decided whether he would remain on Deep Space 9 for the long term. Or perhaps,Akaar thought, these quarters are just the way Elias wants them.

Vaughn himself stood on the opposite side of the room, in front of a wide, eye-shaped window. Dressed in his uniform, he looked no different from the way he had the last time Akaar had seen him. Of course, through all the years Akaar had known him, Vaughn’s appearance had never seemed to change much.

“Did you travel halfway across the quadrant to inspect my quarters, Admiral,” Vaughn said from the window, “or are you going to greet me with an open heart and hand?”

“Elias,” Akaar said, striding farther into the room. Vaughn walked over from the window, and when they met, Akaar extended a hand to him. Vaughn did the same, and they wrapped their hands around each other’s forearms.

“L.J., it’s good to see you,” Vaughn said.

“And you,” Akaar responded. “Although I am never certain where I will find you next.” Throughout their careers in Starfleet, Akaar had unexpectedly encountered Vaughn on a number of occasions, in a number of locales. Before coming to Bajor, though, Akaar had been aware of Vaughn’s presence on DS9; allof the admiralty knew of his transfer here, though not all of them supported the move.

“I do make my way around,” Vaughn agreed. He released his grip on Akaar’s arm, and Akaar did the same. Vaughn then walked past him and over to the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

“I have been seated for days,” Akaar told him. He followed Vaughn over to the sitting area, but the two remained standing.

“The Bajorans?” Vaughn asked.

“During the weeks of meetings we had with them, yes,” Akaar said, “but during the past few days, it has been the Europani. When you have hundreds of crew and thousands of passengers aboard an Akira-class starship, there is not much you can do but stay in your quarters.” Over the past four days, Akaar had made numerous trips between Bajor and Europa Nova aboard Gryphon,part of a sizable convoy ferrying the Europani back to their newly decontaminated world.

“Just be grateful Europani aren’t the size of Capellans,” Vaughn joked. “You would’ve had to sleep on the outside of the hull.” Akaar laughed as Vaughn walked over toward the dining area. “If you won’t sit, L.J., can I at least get you something to drink or eat?”

“Considering the friendly nature of this station,” Akaar said with measured sarcasm, “I am afraid to see what may emerge from a Cardassian replicator.” Again he followed Vaughn across the room.

Vaughn circled around the dining table and stepped up to the replicator. “Deep Space 9’s not unfriendly,” he said. “It’s got character.”

“As does a black hole,” Akaar said, “but I would not want to spend any time in one.”

Vaughn gestured at the replicator. “So what would you like? It’s only seventeen-thirty, but are you in the mood for an early dinner?”

“I have not had a meal since early this morning, so I am hungry,” Akaar said. “I do not suppose any Capellan foods are programmed into the replicators here. I have been craving some koltaristew lately.”

“Let’s see,” Vaughn said, and ordered the dish. Akaar was not surprised when the computer asked him to furnish parameters for it. Vaughn shrugged, then inquired about any Capellan foods at all; none were available. “Sorry,” Vaughn said. “I’ve done a bit of tinkering since I’ve been here, though, and I’ve managed to introduce a few new meals, and improve some others. There’s a better-thanfair approximation of that dinner we had on Earth, in Rome, back during the last Tholian visit.” Akaar did not recall the meal to which Vaughn referred—though he certainly remembered the calamity with the Tholians—but he trusted his old friend’s memory and intentions. Vaughn ordered a family-style serving of “pasta fagioli,”which did not sound familiar to Akaar, although he thought he recognized the preparation of “extra garlic.”

The food materialized on the replicator pad in a wide, deep bowl, quickly filling the room with a delicious redolence. All at once, the memory of the dinner Akaar had shared with Vaughn in Rome rushed vividly back to him. “For this,” Akaar said, “I will sit down.” His mouth already watering, he took a seat at the table, thinking that the full aroma of the food was reminiscent of the pungent meals traditionally prepared on Capella. Knowing Vaughn as he did, Akaar was sure that the selection had not been coincidental.

Vaughn set the bowl in the center of the dining table, and then from a compartment beside the replicator, he retrieved bowls, utensils, and linens, which he laid out for the two of them. Then he pulled out a squat, dark-green bottle from a second compartment. “Something to drink?” he asked, holding the bottle out for Akaar to see. He recognized it at once as grosz,a Capellan liquor.

“Where did you manage to find this?” Akaar asked, reaching out and taking the offered bottle. Thinking that he had not partaken of groszin quite some time, he examined the label, then had to look at it a second time to be sure of what he had seen. “This is from my home territory,” he said, hearing a mixture of astonishment and delight in his own voice.

“When I learned you’d be spending some time on the station,” Vaughn explained, “I asked the barkeeper on the Promenade to try to track some down for me. Turns out that he’s got some interesting connections and is quite resourceful.”

“Evidently,” Akaar said, mindful of the fact that Vaughn had just revealed the existence of his own interesting connections and his own resourcefulness. Vaughn had not been on the station three and a half weeks ago, when Akaar had visited briefly with Colonel Kira, but the colonel had surely informed Vaughn of it when he had come back. Few people outside Starfleet Command and the Federation Council were aware, though, that Akaar would be returning to Deep Space 9 and staying for an extended period. Akaar chose not to inquire about the source of Vaughn’s information, both respecting his friend’s privacy and understanding the futility of asking such questions of him.

Vaughn produced two glasses while Akaar removed the wire cage around the mouth of the bottle. He pulled the cork free and then poured out the clear liquid, tinged lightly purple. He waited until Vaughn sat, then held up his glass in a salute. Vaughn raised his own glass. “To old friends,” Akaar offered.

“And getting older all the time,” Vaughn added.

Akaar nodded, aware that Vaughn, eight years his junior, had passed the century mark himself more than a year ago. He pushed his glass forward, tapped it against Vaughn’s, and drank. The groszflowed down his throat with a heady warmth, and a sharp, challenging taste even better than he remembered. He let out an appreciative sigh. “Thank you, my friend,” he said.

“My pleasure,” Vaughn told him. “Welcome to Deep Space 9.”

Akaar picked up a ladle and served himself from the bowl of hearty soup. “You make me feel welcome, but the rest of the station…” As his voice trailed off, he recalled the difficulties he had encountered on the way here. “Can you explain the numbering scheme of the quarters on this level?”

“I’m not sure that I understand it myself,” Vaughn said. “But I think it may have had something to do with Gul Dukat’s twisted notion of security.”

“Make it impossible for his crew to find their own quarters?” Akaar asked rhetorically. He finished serving himself and passed the ladle over to Vaughn. “Very clever,” he added derisively. The mention of Dukat reminded Akaar of another Cardassian: Dukat’s cousin, Macet. He asked Vaughn his opinion of the gul.

Vaughn did not answer immediately, but appeared to consider the question as he put food in his bowl. Finally, after setting the ladle down, he said, “Macet’s intentions seem genuine to me, but regardless of his intentions, his assistance has been invaluable. Without the use of his vessel during the evacuation of Europa Nova, we would have lost a lot of people.”

“I am sure you are aware that he also helped return the Europani to their planet during the past few days,” Akaar said, and Vaughn nodded his agreement. “Without Trager,we would still be shuttling between Bajor and Europa Nova.” Akaar took his first spoonful of the soup and found that it tasted as good as it smelled. “This is excellent, Elias.”

“One of my favorites,” Vaughn said, starting on his own meal.

“I invited Macet to Deep Space 9 after we finished the resettlement,” Akaar said, “but he declined.”

“We’ve performed repairs on his ship at DS9 twice now,” Vaughn said, “and on both occasions, I asked him to come aboard the station. Neither time did he or any of his crew leave Trager.”

“I suppose that is understandable,” Akaar said, knowing that Gul Dukat had caused the people of the station—all of Bajor, in fact—a great deal of horror and suffering. “I wonder what sort of a reception Macet would receive on Deep Space 9.”

“Mixed at best,” Vaughn said between mouthfuls of food. “I’m sure not everybody shares my opinion of his aims.”

“What about Kira?” Akaar possessed a great curiosity about the colonel, one not sated by his single conversation with her. Knowing what she might soon be faced with, he hoped to learn what he could expect from her.

“I can’t speak for Colonel Kira, of course,” Vaughn said, “but I believe she is cautious about Macet.”

“Cautious,” Akaar asked, “or suspicious?”

“Probably both,” Vaughn allowed. “But I think it’s worth noting that when the Europani required assistance, she put aside any negative feelings for the greater good.”

Akaar said nothing for a moment, considering this information as he ate. Then he asked, “What do you think of her, Elias?”

“I like her,” Vaughn said simply.

“That is not what I am asking, and you know it.”

“She’s strong, decisive, loyal, solid under pressure,” Vaughn expounded, not hesitating to provide his opinions. “Not always as diplomatic as a commanding officer might reasonably be expected to be, but I actually find that refreshing.” Vaughn paused, apparently thinking about how else he could characterize the colonel. “Passionate,” he finally said. “Quick to temper sometimes, but she also seems to be committed to enjoying her life. I haven’t known her long obviously, but…you read her report of the time she spent—or thoughtshe spent—in Bajor’s past?”

“Yes,” Akaar said.

“I think that experience has had a profound affect on her,” Vaughn said. “She’s young to be in such a position of authority, particularly for somebody with no formal military or command training. Even so, I feel privileged to be serving under her. There are things Starfleet could stand to learn from Colonel Kira.”

Akaar found himself surprised at Vaughn’s strong assessment of Kira, considering how short a time he had served with her. “What about her feelings about the Cardassians?”

“Passionate,” Vaughn repeated.

“What exactly does that mean?” Akaar wanted to know.

Vaughn reached out, picked up his glass of grosz,and took a healthy swallow. “I don’t know her well enough to know what goes on inside of her. But I do know that she’s led a complicated and difficult life. You know what the Cardassians did not only to her people and their way of life, but to Kira personally, and to her family. She lived the first twenty-six years of her life not knowing a day of freedom from oppression, and she’s spent a good part of the past eight years fighting to prevent that from happening again.” Vaughn drank again, then lowered his glass back onto the table. “All of that, and yet she fought beside the Cardassian resistance during the war, and her first action when faced with Macet was to accept his help. And since the war, she’s been generally supportive of the relief efforts to Cardassia.”

Akaar listened to Vaughn’s comments attentively. He would still make his own judgments about Kira, but he appreciated the benefit of knowing Vaughn’s mind about the colonel. Even when Vaughn was wrong, Akaar knew, his evaluations still often managed to provide valuable insights.

Over dinner, the conversation crossed many subjects. Vaughn asked about Councillor zh’Thane, a mutual acquaintance, who had accompanied Akaar first to Bajor, then to Europa Nova, and finally, today, back here to Deep Space 9. And Akaar wanted to hear Vaughn’s account of what had gone wrong at Torona IV. Since Defiant’s nearly disastrous encounter there, diplomatic relations between the Federation and the Jarada had completely broken down. Vaughn seemed pleased to learn from Akaar that the Federation Council was content, at least for now, to let the relationship between the two governments founder; the council considered it simply too difficult right now to deal with the xenophobic, isolationist Jarada, an opinion also shared by Starfleet Command. And although the admiralty continued to consider Torona IV strategically important, Akaar explained, they were also confident that no other Alpha Quadrant power would be able to cultivate an alliance with the troublesome Jarada.

As the afternoon blended into the evening, and as the dinner and their conversation progressed, a feeling of discomfort began to overtake Akaar. In any circumstances, his presence on Deep Space 9 would have seen him visit with his old friend, but knowing that he had come to Vaughn’s quarters with an additional purpose made him uneasy. Although Akaar had been careful to maintain his usual phlegmatic manner, he thought that Vaughn might have picked up on his anxiety once or twice.

After the meal, Akaar and Vaughn repaired to the sitting area, where they sat across from each other and emptied the bottle of grosz.“No phaser practice for us tonight,” Vaughn said with a smile.

“I believe you have already stunned me,” Akaar said, holding up his glass. Then, knowing that he could put it off no longer, he asked, “How is Prynn?”

Vaughn’s expression did not change, nor did he delay in responding, which Akaar interpreted as indications that he had indeed been expecting the subject of his daughter to arise. “She’s well,” he said.

“I’ve followed her service record,” Akaar said. “Her evaluations aboard Mjolnirand Sentinelwere quite good. She is considered an exceptional conn officer.”

“ ‘A bit intense,’” Vaughn quoted one of Prynn’s previous captains, a judgment of which Akaar was aware. “But she’s young,” Vaughn explained with a shrug.

“She was not always that way,” Akaar said as gently as he could. Vaughn leaned forward and placed his glass on the low table at the center of the sitting area. Only a few sips of groszremained, Akaar saw. Vaughn rested his elbows on his knees and stared over at him, and Akaar suspected that his old friend knew where the conversation was headed.

“Do you have something to say, L.J.?” Vaughn asked.

“Elias, do you think it wise to have Prynn on Defiantfor your mission to the Gamma Quadrant?” Akaar asked. He attempted to avoid being either overly nonchalant or too intense with the question. If any chance existed of leading Vaughn to the proper course of action here, it would require a careful effort.

Vaughn continued peering at Akaar. “You said it yourself: she’s an excellent conn officer.”

“And you said, ‘a bit intense,’” Akaar countered.

“She deserves an opportunity at alpha shift,” Vaughn said, ignoring Akaar’s comment. “And right now, Defiantcan use her.”

Akaar finished his groszand deposited his glass on the table beside Vaughn’s. A purple-tinted drop slid down the inside of the glass. “There are reasons that Starfleet discourages family members from serving together,” he said.

“We send entire families out on starships these days,” Vaughn argued.