Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continum
The battle maneuvers of the three new Class Two Heavy Cruisers were over. The Enterprise 1901 had won – technically. No one had expected otherwise, but the official tallies were so close as to render any real victory marginal. No one had expected other than that, either. Pitting Captain James T. Kirk’s Lincoln, Captain Spock’s Enterprise, and Captain Sulu’s D’Artagnan against one another was the epitome of an exercise in futility. Kirk had more than ten years of experience commanding a starship; Spock possessed an incredible computer for a mind; Sulu was fast and brash enough to pull off unheard of strategies. Add in the facts that a) both Spock and Sulu knew how Jim ran a starship, b) neither Sulu nor Jim were restricted by logic, and c) Jim and Spock had acquired the important quality of patience, and it made for a very evenly matched contest.
The crew on the Bridge of the U.S.S. D’Artagnan conversed casually, waiting for their first mission to be recorded in the ship’s log and their captain’s orders. In the three weeks since the launch, the varied races and personalities of the newly assembled crew had melded into a solid working unit. It helped that most of the Senior Staff had served with Sulu, either on the old Enterprise or on the Drake.
“How long does it take Headquarters to transmit a mission briefing?” Dylan Paine muttered from his seat at the Defense and Weapons station.
“Keep your tunic on, Lieutenant,” the Chief of Communications answered tersely, then scowled as Paine’s entire demeanor brightened. “You’d think he was the only person ever to get stripes,” Tristan Vale said to himself – though the Indiian’s voice was loud enough to carry to the rest of the Bridge.
“It was touch and go there for while,” Lieutenant Zel, the L’Chal’dan Chief Helmsman chuckled.
“I heard Intelligence had something to do with that,” Monique Dubois commented from Navigation.
“It sure wasn’t his intelligence,” Jeremy Paget said with a wicked grin. The Chief of Security was at the Security station, a new feature of the Nest ships.
Dylan made a face back, then suddenly straightened. “Captain….” he announced as the doors of Lift 2, another new Bridge feature, slid open, “…on the Bridge.”
“How does he do that?” Monique asked Zel. The helmsman shrugged. The only other person who seemed to take an interest in the statement turned from the Life Sciences station, one eyebrow rising curiously.
“Is the Lieutenant telepathic?” Ensign Salok asked.
“The Lieutenant better keep his mind on his job, and not on the captain,” Jeremy replied sternly. Dylan lowered his head, but there was a smile pulling at his lips.
The First Officer, Jerel Courtland, turned his attention from Captain Sulu as they both stepped from the car. “No more of that formality, Paine,” the Equian said. “I’d think you know how the captain likes to run his ship by now.”
“Au naturalle,” Monique giggled.
“In the nude?” Salok questioned, blinking.
“She means casual,” Ramon Ordona said from his Assistant Science Officer’s chair. “And don’t tempt him,” he scolded his long-time lover.
“Well, I’m game,” Dr. Lian Rendell chimed it. She was at another of the new Bridge stations, this one for Medical Sciences. The joke among the Brass was that this chair had been designed into the Nests due to Dr. Leonard McCoy’s habit of spending way too much time on the Bridge, so the designers had decided to give the man a place to sit.
“With a figure like yours, Doctor…” Tristan commented, his grey eyes sparkling as he left the innuendo hanging.
The Haven laughed, and Monique turned to Communications. “Or yours, ma beau argent,” she said with a flirtatious wink.
“Enough, people,” Captain Sulu said, grinning. “There’s casual and there’s casual.”
“You just don’t want the little one to go nova,” Jeremy chuckled. Sulu glanced at him, giving him a warm smile.
“Mrs. Majiir isn’t even on the Bridge,” Dylan pointed out.
“It’s preemptive,” Paget returned.
“Like she has any right to be offended…” Tristan began, and both Jeremy and Courtland frowned at him.
“You accepted this position, Mr. Vale,” Sulu reminded.
“Who knew you’d actually get a dependency posting?” the Indiian mumbled.
“We did,” came the voices of Jeremy, Jerel, Ramon, Monique, Dylan, Zel and Lian all at once.
Vale continued muttering and was ignored, the captain having made it clear not only in the last three weeks but in the year before on the Drake that exceptions were to be made for Indiian emotionalism.
Sulu took his seat and Jerel went to the superfluous Exec’s chair – superfluous on both the D’Artagnan and the Enterprise because the positions of First Officer and Chief of Sciences were, on each ship, filled by one person. Courtland had suggested the extra seat be removed, and Sulu had asked if he wanted a nice stall built in its place. To which the Equian had recommended a banana dispenser be added to the con.
“Mission details coming in, sir,” Tristan announced.
“About time!” Dylan enthused.
“We’ve been assigned to Quadrant Two,” Vale continued, and Jeremy, Monique and Ramon groaned. Quadrant Two was on the Klingon border.
“Who better than a captain who doesn’t mind kicking a little Klingon ass?” Lian temporized.
“But he has to take us with him,” Ramon pointed out.
“There’s been a marked increase in Klingon activity in the Ninoa system,” Tristan went on.
“That system has only been marginally explored by the Federation,” Courtland reported.
“But it’s in Federation space?” Sulu asked.
“It’s in a disputed region,” the First Officer replied.
“So we’re being sent to find out just what the Klingons find so interesting about it,” the captain concluded.
“Headquarters stresses this is a peaceful mission,” Vale finished. “We’re to avoid confrontation with the Klingons at all costs.”
“Of course we are,” Sulu said. “Damn.”
“Hardly a proper Federation attitude, sir,” Jerel responded with a grin.
Sulu glanced at him. “You’re a pain, Courtland.”
“I thought that was Dylan, sir,” the Equian retorted.
“It is,” Jeremy Paget muttered.
Sulu leaned forward. “Monique, Zel, set a course for the Ninoan system with an unobtrusive entry, warp factor six.” He turned to Communications. “Tristan, as soon as we’re in range, monitor all frequencies. We might be able to pick up some useful information. Jerel, get me everything known about Ninoa. I’ll be in my office.” He rose from the con and strode to the back of the Bridge, where the new ship design had relocated both the Captain’s and the Exec’s offices. He was followed by a chorus of “Aye, sir.”
“Ninoa is a relatively cool orange star with six planets. The first is little more than an asteroid, rocky and barren. The outermost two are gas giants. The three central planets are, or will be habitable. The last of the three has not yet developed any life, the second is in a period corresponding to Terra’s Paleozoic Permian era, abundant plant and oceanic life with small reptilian and amphibious creatures. Ninoa II is in a Mesozoic/Jurassic period, large avianoids predominating, but all standard life-forms present. There is no indication of any sentience on either planet.”
Jerel switched off the tape and turned to Sulu. “That is the report of the Diana, the last ship to visit the system, five standard years ago. Mineral and compositional readings show conventional class M geology, nothing to interest either us or the Klingons for at least 100 million years.”
“Dinosaurs aren’t considered sentient?” the captain asked casually, taking a sip of his coffee.
The Equian shook his head. “Well, sir, we can’t communicate with them.”
“I ran into telepathic dragons once,” Sulu pointed out.
“When we get there, we could we ask Mr. Paine to…”
“I’d rather not,” was the wry interruption. Sulu finished signing the paperwork he’d been attending to, handing the statboard to his yeoman, Sakura Tamura. She murmured “Thank you, sir,” and he smiled at her. She grinned back, nodding to the First Officer and left the office.
“There must be something else there,” Sulu continued. “The Klingons aren’t ones for non-profitable exploration. Any ideas?”
Jerel shook his head. “None, sir. This is all the information the Federation has at present.”
Sulu scowled. “What kind of a Science Chief are you?”
“So call Spock,” the Equian retorted.
“Courtland, you’re a…”
Jerel whinnied. “I know, sir.”
“Quadrant Two. Klingons. I’ve had enough of Klingons to last a lifetime,” Monique Dubois complained over a cup of coffee. Second Watch had just begun and the Senior Bridge crew had gathered in the mess to discuss the mission.
“Amen to that,” Ramon Ordona agreed grimly.
“What are you two bitching about?” Dylan Paine asked. “It’s better than running a shuttle for supplies and diplomats.”
Ramon and Monique exchanged glances and Jeremy Paget frowned.
“Mr. Paine,” the Security Chief said, “No one who served on the Enterprise has any love for Klingons. With good reason.”
“Don’t mind him,” Tristan Vale put in. “He hasn’t spent enough time in the real galaxy to appreciate things like safety.”
“You mean boredom,” Dylan shot back.
“How long until we reach Ninoa?” Ramon asked.
“ETA is about ten days,” Zel replied. “Why?”
“After all the activity of the last three weeks, I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing much of our captain and Chief Engineer,” the Assistant Science Officer mused.
“Except on duty,” Paget added.
“A situation, by the way, which I could be persuaded to duplicate,” Ramon continued, with a significant glance at Monique, who was smiling right back.
Dylan snorted meaningfully and Tristan’s face started to glow faintly as a frown drew his full, dark grey lips downward.
“The captain is not Mrs. Majiir’s husband,” he began.
Jeremy cut him off. “The captain puts up with that shit from you, Mr. Vale,” he warned. “I don’t.”
“You do not approve of a crewmember speaking truthfully?” Salok asked. The Vulcan had been sitting silently, clearly intent on inclusivity, though just as clearly reticent about it. Jeremy found himself wondering if that was now standard training at the Academy for Vulcan cadets.
“Not when such truth is only technically accurate,” he told the ensign.
“But Commander Vtkrgdantm is a widow, and by the customs of her people…” Salok returned.
“Majiir,” Ramon and Monique corrected together, as Paget himself said, “Lady Takeda.”
“The captain is not her husband,” Tristan declared firmly.
“So they aren’t married?” Dylan conceded. “So what? Fleet granted them a dependency posting, which in Federation eyes is…”
“An affront to every...!” Tristan shot back.
“Give it a rest, Tristan,” Zel advised softly.
The Indiian drew himself up indignantly as Dylan continued. “… every bit as binding. Captain Sulu already pointed out that you accepted a post here, so common sense dictates that you accept it with grace and…”
Jeremy pulled on Paine’s arm, dragging him from the bristling Communications Chief.
“What did I say?” Dylan protested.
“I’ll explain later, Pavel,” Paget muttered.
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Commander Jilla Majiir relaxed in the whirlpool bath in her quarters, letting the warm, swirling water ease away her apprehension about being assigned to the Klingon Quadrant. One of the new ships had to be assigned there, she knew, and if it were a choice between Spock and Ruth, or Jim… The thought of her best friends having to deal with the reminder of the trauma of Spock’s first year as Captain of the old Enterprise, or Captain Kirk confronting those who had stolen two years of his life made her own uneasiness seem unimportant. After all, the odds of coming into contact with one particular Klingon were at least the entire space-going population of the Klingon Empire to one.
She let her mind wander to more pleasant thoughts. Since the Drake’s arrival in Earth orbit less than six weeks ago, she and Sulu had managed perhaps six uninterrupted nights – which was no way to further a relationship that had been arrested for nearly a year. She was actually looking forward to the long voyage to Ninoa. With luck, there would be nothing but routine maintenance and reports for the next ten days; nothing to call her away at 0300 hours, or to require the captain’s attention at 0500.
Uncharacteristically, she stretched languidly, then felt Sulu’s tia as he entered the bathroom. When she turned her head to the doorway, he stood just inside it, arms folded, smiling warmly.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“It is quite relaxing,” she answered. “And something of a luxury.”
Sulu chuckled. “Nothing but the best for Fleet’s Premier couples.”
Jilla remembered his comment upon his first inspection of his new ship: “A bathtub? Damn, Nest captains are gonna be spoiled.” When he spoke again, there was more than a hint of suggestion in his voice.
“Room enough for two?”
She shimmered in both pleasure and embarrassment, but nodded. He pulled off his uniform, and Jilla reflected that the new design with its deeper gold tunic and the matching stripe down the straight pant legs suited him very well. He grinned at her as he slipped into the water beside her, immediately pulling her into his arms.
“Your new uniform looks good on you, too, honey,” he whispered.
Jilla rested her head against his shoulder, well aware that to comment on his apparently growing telepathic sense would only cause him discomfort. He preferred to think of it as simply knowing how she thought, not knowing what she thought. Personally, she thought the new female uniforms looked more collegiate than military – the solid-color tops were in darker, more muted but traditional departmental shades, with a skirt-portion of black, a stripe similar to that on the men’s pants down each side. She did approve of the new insignia for the D’Artagnan; a diamond – the gem, not the geometric shape – with a starburst inside it. The Enterprise had retained the familiar arrow-head design, while the Lincoln’s insignia was a block L.
She roused herself from her musings when Sulu kissed the top of her head, sighing contentedly.
“Did Mr. Courtland find anything interesting about Ninoa?” she asked.
“Jerel,” Sulu corrected automatically. He had been trying to get her used to his casual command style. She had, of course, resisted the attempt. “Nothing that seems likely to be of interest to Klingons,” he answered her question. “We’ll just have to wait till we get there.” He kissed her again. “Which could take forever as far as I’m concerned.”
She murmured soft agreement, and he turned in the water, kissing her fully on the lips. When he pulled away, she couldn’t help the gentle smile nor the adoration in her eyes.
His voice was quiet as his gaze met hers.
“Aoyama wo
Yoko giru kumo no
I chijiroku
Ware to emashite
Hito ni shirayu na,” he whispered.
Jilla flushed. “Which means?” she asked.
“Do not smile to yourself, like a green mountain with a cloud drifting across it,” he translated, his own smile pulling at his lips. “People will know we are in love.”
Ten days passed much more quickly than anyone on the D’Artagnan would have liked, with the possible exception of Security. Jeremy refused to modify his drilling procedures, telling his people that no one was getting fat and lazy on his watch. When the inevitable grumbling reached his ears, he reminded them that they were heading for an area of space that was full of Klingons, and he’d be happy to recommend any of them for transfers to the Empire if they so desired. His Second, Lieutenant Sean Dyson, a holdover from the old Enterprise, did his part by informing the Security Section that this was their Chief in a good mood. Which stopped the complaining rather nicely.
As had been predicted, no one saw much of the Captain or Chief Engineer off duty – though Sulu made it a point to spend at least a part of each evening in the recreation areas of the ship, and coaxed Jilla and her Assistant, Geoff Redford, to play lyrette/piano duets for the crew. The music was as popular as it had always been on the Enterprise, though it sometimes made Jilla miss Ruth Valley terribly. That was eased, however, when Zel added his drumming skills and Dylan Paine joined in with his bass. The lack of a lead guitar was covered when Geoff switched to an electronic synthesizer.
“Can we call it Cataclysmic, the Second Coming?” Ramon had asked.
Sulu had shaken his head. “Nope, Del did that on the Drake.”
“We could call it D’Artagnan’s Muse,” Monique had suggested.
The ‘Muse” part stuck.
Tristan Vale usually vacated the rec room as soon as Jilla entered, something that caused her some discomfort – yet the handsome Indiian somehow managed to tolerate her presence when she was playing as easily as he did when on duty. And only Dylan Paine commented on that.
Sakura Tamura often joined the Muse, adding her light, breathy voice to back-up vocals. When both she and Jilla asked, Jeremy Paget consented to sharing the male vocal spotlight with Redford and Paine, much to the captain’s delight.
A few of the crewmembers had already had children, and having them aboard the ship was, for them, a constant joy, since most of them had had to spend months at a time away from their offspring. Sulu had made sure to spend some time in the area of the ship designated as the Nest – as opposed to the nickname for the entire ship - every other day or so, and the children soon were as familiar and casual with him as he was with his crew. Jeremy commented that he was going to make a great father, something that made Jilla glow fiercely.
When the ETA for Ninoa approached, the crew of the U.S.S. D’Artagnan was relaxed and eager for their first mission to begin.
“Ninoan system on the screen, sir.”
Sulu sat up a little straighter in the con.
“Thanks, Monique,” he said. “Full magnification. Mr. Paine, activate the Valjiir cloak.”
“Aye, sir,” both replied. Ninoa and her planets came into view, and Jerel whistled in appreciation. The ship was entering from an upward plane and the sight below was a tangled string of jewels, the invisible chain that bound them spiraling out from the rust-colored star. The first was a bead of copper, the second a lush emerald, followed by velvet turquoise, then a swirling fire opal punctuated by streaks of lava and lightning. The two outermost planets were giants, one a ruby with alternating bands of amber and diamond, and lastly a great, glittering obsidian-streaked amethyst.
“Beautiful,” Sulu murmured. “Jerel, switch that view to all decks. No one should miss a sight this magnificent.”
The First Officer grinned. “Yes, sir,” he agreed.
“Zel, Monique, put us in orbit around the second planet,” Sulu ordered. “We’ll take a closer look from there.”
Monique fed the coordinates into the navigational computer, then nodded to Zel, who implemented the course and impulse drive commands.
Sulu’s comm signaled.
“Sulu here,” he answered.
“Ordona, sir,” came Ramon’s voice. “Thanks for the show from Geology, Chemistry, and Astrophysics.”
“You’re welcome,” Sulu grinned. “Carry on.”
“Aye, sir.”
The comm buzzed again.
“Sickbay, Lian here, Sulu. It’s beautiful. It cheered Ensign Grian right up.”
Grian, Engineering, broke his hip in a fall from the catwalk during the battle maneuvers, Sulu reminded himself. “Glad he liked it,” he said. “How’s the hip coming?”
“He’ll be back on duty tomorrow,” the Haven assured.
“Thanks, Li—”
Monique turned, her eyebrows rising in a way that conveyed both question and warning.
“—an,” Sulu finished. “Sulu out.” He gave the navigator a sour look. “Really, Monique?” he said.
“Not a nickname you want Madame Jilla to hear, non?” she countered.
“How many years do I put up with this?”
“As Uhura would say,” Monique replied, “only as many as you’ve got, sugar.”
Sulu sighed, then nodded. “Okay, that’s fair,” he said.
“Captain, I’m picking up transmission from Ninoa II,” Tristan Vale interrupted. “Faint… I can’t make out anything definite, but it’s Klingonese.”
“Try and fine-tune it, Tristan,” Sulu acknowledged. “Keep monitoring all frequencies. Monique, cut magnification to normal. Zel, take us in as quietly as you can.”
“Aye, sir,” came the triple response.
Sulu stared at the now quite ordinary view. “They’re up to something,” he muttered.
Thanks to the Valjiir cloak, orbit was achieved without alerting the Klingon cruiser, which was also in orbit. Courtland had calculated the precise timing necessary for the D’Artagnan to uncloak long enough to beam down a scouting party without drawing unwanted Klingon attention. Tristan’s monitoring of communications had revealed that the Klingons had their own landing party on the planet’s surface, and were transmitting a great deal of scientific and genetic information
“Scientific?” Sulu snorted, clearly skeptical. “Since when are the Klingons scientists?”
“That’s all there is, sir,” Vale repeated. “Reams of data about species differentiation, habitat, genus variations….” His voice trailed off. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were all Vulcans in bad disguises.”
“That makes no sense,” Sulu said, more to himself than to his Communications Chief. He turned to the Science Station. “Jerel?”
“Confirmed, Captain,” the Equian replied. “The Klingon party seems to be taking tricorder readings and biological scans. Nothing else.”
“Nothing geological, no mineral readouts?” Sulu asked.
“No, sir. It’s all biological and genetic.”
“What the hell are they doing? Trying to breed attack dinosaurs?”
“There’s no indication that they’re trying to do anything, sir,” Ramon reported from his own scanner. “They’re just collecting data.”
“Captain, if I may?” Salok put in. Sulu nodded to him. “Why is it that you are so certain this is anything more than what it appears to be – a purely scientific mission?”
Sulu stared at the Vulcan for so long it would have made any other officer quite discomforted. Salok, however, merely waited with patient attention.
“Because it’s Klingons,” Jeremy Paget finally answered. “And the captain knows a thing or two about Klingons.”
“Given Klingon history and culture, such a thing would be quite out of the ordinary, Ensign,” Courtland put in with just a hint of rebuke.
“It’d be downright twitchy,” Dylan quipped from his station.
“Have you even read Fleet’s cultural briefings…” Tristan Vale added, then started glowing as Salok turned a coolly incredulous gaze to him. “All right, dumb question.”
“Still, Captain,” Salok repeated, returning his attention to Sulu, “Since there is no evidence to the contrary…”
“They’re up to something,” Sulu said. “I can feel it.” Salok’s eyebrow rose, but he said nothing more.
“Ladies, gentlemen, any theories, hypotheses, speculations, conjectures, suppositions, guesses, hunches, brainstorms, divine inspirations, vague feelings…” The captain took a breath. “…anything will be more than welcome.”
Sulu sat in the briefing room with Jerel, Jilla, Jeremy, Ramon Ordona, Salok, Lian, and genetics specialist Alexis Devon. The scouting party had returned, their report confirming what sensor scans had indicated but adding a new facet; the Klingons were taking specimens of some of the life-forms back to their ship, then returning with subtly altered versions.
The question was – why?
“It might be nothing more than it looks like, a scientific expedition,” Lieutenant Devon said. “Ninoa is in disputed space. The Klingons might be trying to find a way to develop it so that the Organians will give them claim to it.”
“Scientific expeditions don’t travel in battle cruisers,” Paget interjected.
“Why not?” Devon argued. “Ours do.”
“The D’Artagnan is not a battle ship, Lieutenant,” Jilla replied. “Heavy cruisers are the Federation’s first line of defense, but our primary function is to serve the needs and goals of the Federation in our assigned quadrant, for the most part through exploration, investigation, and research.”
Both Sulu and Jeremy gave her approving grins.
“And let’s face it,” Lian put in, “Klingons aren’t pure research types.”
“I might agree with your assessment, Lieutenant Devon,” Jerel Courtland added, “but for one fact. According to the scouting party’s report, the Klingons are engaged in what appears to be selective breeding and genetic manipulation of several of the smaller, faster species of avianoid.”
“They are developing attack dinosaurs?” Sulu questioned incredulously.
Jerel turned to him. “If they are, they’re going about it in a very round-about way. They seem to be developing larger, less manageable creatures, not smarter or trainable ones. That contradicts not only ‘attack dinosaurs’ but also any reasonable plan for successful development the Organians might acknowledge.”
“Which brings us back to the original question,” Sulu replied. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t large, unmanageable dinosaurs made fairly effective warrior mounts?” Jeremy suggested.
“Illogical,” Salok put in. “We have phasers.”
“Maybe they’re breeding them to be immune to the energy signature of our weaponry?” Ramon proposed
“Impossible,” Jilla countered, “unless an entirely different concept of physics was involved, one that didn’t use any of our ideas of subtronics.”
“And that, at least, has been consistent throughout the galaxy,” Courtland agreed.
“And even with an evolutionary process as accelerated as Indi’s goonut,” Devon argued, “It would be centuries before any of the life-forms present would develop abilities more advanced than those involved in eating and reproducing. To create a species that could be domesticated would take even longer.”
“And sentience is the most complicated evolutionary step a life-form can take,” Salok affirmed. “The Organians would not involve themselves in any proprietary claim which did not include sentient beings.”
“So the only thing that makes sense is that it’s purely scientific,” Devon insisted. “The Klingons have no other agenda.”
“Klingons always have an agenda,” Sulu said tersely. “There has to be an answer somewhere, and I want it found.”
“Begging the captain’s pardon,” Lieutenant Devon interjected, “but I still say we should consider pure research as a motive.”
Jeremy and Ramon exchanged tense glances as Jerel slowly shook his head. Lian quickly caught Jilla’s eyes, signaling that the Indiian should make subtle physical contact with her Bonded. But Sulu only said, with admirable patience, “All right, Lieutenant, it’s considered. Get me facts to back it up.” He stood. “The rest of you – facts! Dismissed.”
As the officers filed out, Sulu turned to Jeremy.
“They’re up to something,” he said.
Jeremy nodded. “But what?”
“Whatever they’re doing, they’re not being very secretive about it.”
Jilla glanced up from the desk in her cabin at Sulu’s annoyed statement. He was lounging on their bed, frowning at the statboard which contained the latest batch of communications between the Klingon base on Ninoa II and the battle cruiser. She put aside her own engineering reports and crossed the room to him.
“Look at this,” Sulu continued. “Streams of reports, results of genetic tests, breeding counts, progress excellent, on schedule, no unanticipated difficulties, continuing work – and not one fucking word about what! It simply doesn’t make sense. You’d think they didn’t care who knew they were screwing around down there!”
Jilla took a deep, calming breath and placed her hand on Sulu’s knee. “Perhaps they do not,” she offered gently. “Perhaps they are not doing anything inimical.”
“Klingons?” Sulu scoffed. “And how fucking likely is that?”
“Agreed,” the Indiian responded, “but we have been in orbit for three days and…”
“So we’re wasting our time?”
Jilla’s voice was quiet. “Perhaps.”
Sulu got up, pacing away from the bed and getting himself another cup of coffee from the replicator. “Jilla, they’re up to something, I can feel it!” he asserted, his frustration clear to her senses.
“You keep saying that,” she said mildly.
“I keep feeling it,” he responded. “Something’s not right, I’m missing something somewhere.”
“Something more than captain’s intuition?”
Sulu stopped pacing, staring down at her, not sure if she was referring to ‘something more’ in particular. Looking at her impassive face, he still couldn’t tell.
“I’m taking another party down,” he announced. He strode to the communications console on the desk. “Landing party duty, the following report to the transporter room: Dr. Rendell, Commander Courtland, Commander Paget, Lieutenant Devon, Ensign Salok and Lieutenant Paine. Acknowledge.”
As the acknowledgments started coming, Sulu turned to Jilla and smiled grimly. “First mission and it’s gonna drive me crazy. And I wanted this job.” He shook his head and Jilla gave him a warm smile of encouragement. It faded when he left the cabin, and she rose from her bed, returning to her work. His ‘feeling’ was a strong one and it was settling in her as well. He had to be right, and she only wished she could find out exactly what he was right about.