Releasing a long sigh, Khatami affected what she knew to be a weak smile. “Hopefully, we’ll allbe ready.”

The Tellarite paused a moment, and she noted how his expression seemed to turn sour in response to the remark. His features softened after a moment and he shifted in his chair, and Khatami sensed he might try to change the subject, a suspicion confirmed the instant Mog opened his mouth.

“You know, those were some very nice words that Commodore Reyes shared with the crew yesterday.”

“Yes, they were,” Khatami replied. “He and Captain Zhao were friends for a long time.”

“I meant,”Mog interrupted, “what he said about you.”

Khatami swallowed a lump that materialized in her throat. “I suppose those were nice, too.”

Leaning closer, the engineer locked eyes with her. “Your promotion wasn’t someone’s idea of a grand joke, Atish, and it wasn’t a mistake. I don’t know Commodore Reyes that well, but I’ve seen enough to figure he’s not one to make stupid or ill-informed decisions. He had to have pushed for your promotion in order for it to go through as fast as it did. Would he have done that if he didn’t think you were suited to the job, and that you deserved a chance to prove it to any and all doubters?”

“I didn’t deserve it this way,” Khatami said, shaking her head. “Not at the expense of a good man’s life.”

“You need to stop that kind of thinking right now.” Reaching across the desk, Mog took her hand in his much larger one. “Atish, for your own sake, and the rest of the crew’s, you need to quit agonizing over your last decision and start worrying about your next one, and the ones after that.”

Comforted by her friend’s forthright demeanor, Khatami squeezed the Tellarite’s hand in reassurance. “Thank you, Mog.” Tilting her head as she regarded him, she said, “Actually, it’s my next decision I wanted to talk to you about. I still need to select a first officer, you know.”

“Excellent,” Mog said, his smile revealing a mouth of uneven teeth. “Who do you have in mind?” As the highest-ranking member of the crew after her, he had been serving in that capacity on a temporary basis, but she knew that the added responsibility was taking him away from his primary duties. A decision needed to be made one way or another, in order to best serve the needs of the ship and her crew.

Khatami said nothing, allowing her own smile to communicate her answer, and she watched as the Tellarite’s robust features melted and realization took hold.

“Not me,” he said, his voice containing more than a bit of pleading. “I already have a job.”

“You’ve already shown me you can do it, Mog,” Khatami replied. “This isn’t the time for transitioning in someone new. I need somebody I can trust without question, who knows me and what I expect, particularly now.”

“But I’m not on the command track,” the engineer replied, “never have been. I’m not even remotely qualified to do this full time.” Shaking his head, he added, “Besides, all you’d be getting is a mediocre babysitter, and losing a damn fine engineer.”

“If you do say so yourself,” Khatami said.

Mog nodded. “Of course I say so, myself,” he snapped, his Tellarite ire coming to the fore. Relaxing a bit, his eyes narrowed as he offered another playful smile. “Besides, I look better in red.”

Despite the teasing nature of the comment, Khatami could not help but feel the genuine sting of rejection the words carried.

Evenhe wants to keep some distance from you,the demon whispered.

Apparently realizing that his words might have carried the wrong sentiment, Mog held his hands out in a gesture of entreaty. “Atish, as your chief engineer, I can give you the best-running ship in the fleet, and you know I’m always here if you need support or a confidant. But I’m not suited to command, and we both know that.” Grunting, he replied, “Can you imagine me trying to be nice to admirals and ambassadors? I’d probably end up starting a war.”

Khatami allowed herself a small chuckle at the comment. “Well then, what do you suggest I do, my confidant and supporter?”

“You need someone you can trust to second-guess you and tell you where you might be heading down the wrong path,” Mog replied. “Someone who’ll get in your face a bit if that’s what it takes. In other words, someone like me, though not an engineer. I wouldn’t bet on finding someone as handsome as me, either.” Making a show of examining his fingernails, he added, “You have a number of capable officers under your command. Something tells me you might find what you’re looking for in one.”

Weighing her friend’s counsel, Khatami nodded after a moment. “You may be right. My main concern is how this change will affect the crew. I respected Sheng, and part of me really liked him, Mog, but I know that I don’t want to command like he did. I can’t match up to any comparisons between us, and I don’t even want to try.”

His eyes gleaming with barely contained mischief, the engineer replied, “Have you stopped to consider there may be plenty of people on this ship hoping and praying that you are notlike Captain Zhao?”

Khatami laughed again in spite of herself. “Still, everything is so…different now, Mog. Sometimes, there’s no way of putting a finger on it, and other times it just slaps me in the face.” Her brow furrowing, she held out an open hand. “Like just now, and I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but when you talk about him, you don’t just say ‘the captain’ anymore. You say his name. Have you noticed that?”

“Of course, Atish,” Mog said as he rose from his chair. “That’s because you’re‘the captain’ now, and if there’s nothing else, Captain, I will take my leave.”

Nodding, Khatami reached for the data slate he had brought for her. “That’ll be all, Mog.” She looked up at him. “Thanks, for everything, and that includes not taking me up on my offer.”

The engineer shrugged. “So long as you’re screening candidates, there’s always Dr. Leone.”

She offered a mock grimace. “Please. You might start a war, but I’m pretty sure putting the good doctor in a position of command is a recipe for universal entropy.”

Roast beef sandwich. Vegetable soup. That’s all I want, and it shouldn’t be too much to ask from that damned contraption.

The thought continued to reverberate in Leone’s mind as he entered the officers’ mess. He regarded himself as a capable and intelligent man who felt completely comfortable with all manner of technology, be it a computer or a piece of equipment being field-tested by some young idealist stationed at Starfleet Medical. He even considered himself to be a shuttlecraft pilot of reasonable talent and skill.

The Endeavour’s food synthesizers, however, were his nemesis.

Gritting his teeth and forcing a smile onto his lean, nearly gaunt features, Leone nodded politely to an ensign he passed on his way to the bank of slots positioned along the dining facility’s rear bulkhead. Choosing one of the stations at random, the doctor inserted the menu selection card he had brought along from sickbay into the reader above the food slot’s main door and keyed its activation sequence. He rolled his eyes at the lyrical series of beeps and tones emitted by the unit until, seconds later, the door slid up to reveal his lunch.

A roast beef sandwich and a bowl of steaming soup.

“I don’t believe it,” he said to no one. “Somebody contact the FNS. Better yet, somebody check my pulse.”

Allowing a pinched grin of satisfaction, Leone retrieved his tray from the slot and made his way to an empty table next to one occupied by a trio of human officers. With a sigh of anticipation as he regarded his well-earned feast, he picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup. Noting what his movements were stirring up within the bowl, Leone’s brow furrowed in confusion. That bewilderment turned to suspicion as he raised the spoon to his lips—before devolving into defeat as he took a tentative sip.