IX.

“APOLOGIZE, ENSIGN. RIGHT NOW. You too, Burgoyne.”

They were in the conference lounge. It was Shelby who had just sternly addressed Burgoyne and Ensign Janos, while a somewhat chagrined-looking Robin Lefler looked on. Riker’s face was expressionless. Janos had changed to the Starfleet uniform that he usually wore, albeit uncomfortably, when he was on duty.

“My apologies, Commander,” Janos said sincerely. “When…exercising…my Hermat friend and I can get quite intense. We simply did not hear you call for the program to freeze. Then, when you attacked me, we thought you were joining us. Captain Calhoun does, on occasion.”

“My apologies as well,” Burgoyne put in.

“Well, then,” Riker said, smiling, “a simple mistake. No hard feelings.”

“Thank you, sir,” Janos said. “But…permission to speak freely?”

“Of course,” Riker said.

“I am aware that my appearance can be quite startling, even frightening, to those unprepared for it.”

“All right,” Riker suddenly spoke up. His face was still inscrutable. “I see where you’re going, and you’re right. I shouldn’t have made assumptions about you…even a ‘hologram’ of you, based solely on your physical appearance. We in Starfleet are supposed to be above the concept of making judgments based on surface impressions. Therefore, Janos…I apologize for jumping to the conclusion that you were a threat and not a Starfleet officer. Perhaps if you were wearing clothing…”

“I was, a white jumpsuit.”

“I didn’t notice. Again, my fault, I apologize.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Sir,” Robin Leffer put in at that moment, “I apologize for not taking firmer control of the situation. I could have done what Zak did. I should have been more take-charge, instead of allowing myself to be carried away by the avalanche.”

“Yes, you should have,” Riker said. “Just try to be a little more aggressive in the future.”

“Aggressive. Yes, sir.”

“Well, that wraps that up,” Riker said, smiling again. “Oh, one more thing. Burgoyne, I understand that you’re pregnant. Is exercise of this nature a good idea?”

“Wait, wait a minute,” Burgoyne said. “Where did you hear I was pregnant? I’m not pregnant.”

Lefler looked utterly confused. “But you are, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I think I would know that.”

“But…you told McHenry…”

“What, in sickbay the other day? That was a joke! He knew I was joking.”

“Uh oh.”

Now both Riker and Burgoyne was stating at Lefler.

In unison, they said, “Uh oh?” Janos and Shelby looked at each other in confusion.

“Well…McHenry didn’t know,” said Lefler. “You weren’t there when he came to, after he passed out.”

“Yes, I know that. While he was unconscious, that’s when I was called down to engineering. Worked the eighteen straight hours, as I said. When I finally got back to my quarters, though, there was a message from him. We got together and I let him know it wasn’t true. That it was just intended to be a joke.”

“You told him that?”

“Yes. A few hours ago.”

“Uh oh.”

“Why does she keep saying ‘uh oh’?” Burgoyne asked Shelby. Shelby shook her head, not knowing the answer.

“Well…the thing is, you see…McHenry told me. And I sort of told, well…” She shifted in her seat, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“You just sort of told, well…who?”

Wincing as if she were preparing to duck back from a punch, she said, “Uh…everybody.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so. How the hell was I supposed to know?” she said defensively.

“You mean everybody on the ship?”

“No, everybody in the quadrant,” she shot back. “Yes, on the ship. And not really everybody. Just…a lot of people.”

“Perfect. That’s just perfect,” moaned Burgoyne. “One casual remark, and suddenly…”

At that moment, the doors hissed open and Si Cwan entered. “Excellent,” said the Thallonian noble. “I’m glad you’re all here.”

“Ambassador, could this possibly wait…?” asked Shelby.

“Narobi II.”

Shelby and Riker exchanged looks. “Pardon?” asked Riker.

“I’ve received word from one of my sources that the Romulans are going to be attacking Narobi II. He’s reasonably sure that it’s the same pack that you’re talking about. The Renegades we’d hoped they return to Romulus to help rebuild after the Dominion War.”

Instantly everyone at the table was alert. “How does he know this?” Riker asked.

“He’s the type of individual who makes it his business to know such things. In this instance, someone with whom he was connected apparently aided in repairs on one of the vessels that the Independence engaged in battle. And this individual happened to hear about one of the next intended targets.”

“I’m not sure I like this. It’s too pat,” said Shelby.

“I agree,” Riker said.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” said Si Cwan. “When you deal with a large operation…and this apparently seems to fit that description…there’s large numbers of people who let things slip. In any event, Captain, you wanted me to try and bring you information, If you’re going to dismiss it out of hand, then why am I bothering?”

Slowly Riker nodded. It was, he thought, a valid enough point. “Narobi II. Tell me about it.”

“It’s a rather unique world in Thallonian space. It’s populated entirely by a race who has converted itself into beings of a sort of living metal. They created ul-tra-durable bodies for themselves that last for hundreds of years. In essence, they’ve made themselves immortal. They are utterly peaceful, but fully capable of protecting themselves should they be under attack. I’m not entirely certain why the Romulans would choose to target them.”

“Neither am I. But we can’t afford to let the possibility go. Commander…set course for Narobi II.”

“Aye, sir.”

As they got up from the conference table, Si Cwan suddenly turned to Burgoyne and, to hir surprise, placed a hand on either side of hir face. “What are you—?” s/he began to say.

Si Cwan proceeded to utter a lengthy chant, the performance of which stopped everyone in their tracks. Cwan had a surprisingly melodious voice which floated up and down the register. It was so lovely that no one dared to interrupt as Cwan continued that way for about forty-five seconds, murmuring, chanting, and swaying back and forth slightly as he did so. Then he lowered his hands and smiled.

“What was that all about?” demanded Burgoyne.

“That,” Si Cwan said in a booming voice, “was the ancient Thallonian prayer for a smooth and uncomplicated pregnancy, which can only be delivered by one of the Noble house upon an expectant mother. Congratulations, Burgoyne. May you have a child which brings glory to your name.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Burgoyne said testily, and s/he walked out of the conference room.

There was silence for a moment and then, nonplussed, Si Cwan decided, “Well…it’s probably for the best. It’s been a while, and I was out of practice. Instead of the pregnancy chant, I may have accidentally prayed for hir not to contract root rot.”

“Smashing. So the odds of it being effective just went way up,” said Janos cheerily.

I’ve got to get off this ship, thought Riker.