She looked great even when she was angry, Reyes decided, which was a good thing considering Desai’s dark, stern expression as she stepped into the room.
“Commodore,” she said by way of greeting, “we need to talk.”
“This can’t be good,” Fisher said, smiling to Desai.
Resisting the urge to elbow the doctor in the ribs, Reyes offered his own weak attempt at pleasantries as he regarded the JAG officer. “Looks like we’re getting started early today.” Desai’s only response was to stand silent and allow her scowl to deepen.
It’s going to be one of those days.
“I’ll be in sickbay when you need me,” Fisher said, nodding to Desai as he stepped past her on his way through the door. “Good morning, Captain,” he offered before exiting the room.
“What can I do for you, Captain?” Reyes asked as the doors closed behind Fisher, knowing even as he gave voice to the question that he was not going to like her answer.
Holding up the data slate in her left hand for emphasis, Desai said, “Explain to me why it seems you cannot grasp even the basic concepts of civil liberties.”
Reyes shrugged. “That could take a while. How’s your schedule this morning?”
Yes,he decided, watching Desai’s eyes smolder as if in preparation of unleashing phaser beams through his heart, she looks fantastic when she’s mad.
5
As she stepped from the turbolift, Commander Atish Khatami paused a moment to sip at the cup she cradled in her hands, letting the tea it carried warm her mouth. She had tucked her data slate under one arm so she could hold her hand over the top of the grayish standard-issue beverage cup, being mindful not to let her drink slosh over the cup’s side while on her way from the Starship Endeavour’s recreation room. At this point, she thought as she sipped again, she surely did not want to bobble it now.
Making her way down the corridor, Khatami sorted through a mental list of her morning routine. As the Endeavourhad returned to Erilon while she slept, she had awakened early enough to gather and review reports from the gamma-shift crew as they ended their duties, knowing as she did so that she probably had made a bit of a pest of herself. Khatami secretly enjoyed that she was a “morning person,” a quality that seemed to rattle her colleagues more often than not. She had even managed to sneak a bite of breakfast, and now everything seemed to be in order for her next item of business.
Rounding a bend in the corridor, she spied the ship’s chief medical officer, Anthony Leone, his left hand holding a drink of his own as he stood propped against the bulkhead outside the door to the Endeavour’s main briefing room. The wiry, sandy-haired man saw her and nodded silently, folding what looked like a pained grimace into a smile of greeting.
“Tony,” she acknowledged him in return, noticing Leone’s attention focused not on his mug but rather on a small device he held in his other hand. “Captain inside?”
“Nope,” Leone said, his eyes not wavering from what Khatami now recognized was a palm-sized chronometer.
“Good,” she said, comfortable that she was keeping to schedule. Khatami had learned quickly that while Captain Zhao liked his meetings frequent, he also liked them brief and to the point. Above all, he expected everyone called to a meeting to arrive before he did—and be ready to go. “Shouldn’t be long then.”
“I’d give him about…six seconds,” the physician said, “if I make my mark.”
It was then that Khatami heard the distinctive clatter of rapid footfalls against the deck plates. Turning to look past Leone toward the sound, she caught a glimpse of a bare-chested man in Starfleet-issue athletic shorts rushing their way.
“One minute, forty-two seconds, Captain,” Leone called out to the approaching runner. “Step it up, sir!”
“One more lap,” Captain Zhao Sheng huffed in a metered breath as he ran past. “Good morning, Commander.” His words echoed against the bulkheads as he disappeared around the bend of the corridor.
“Morning, sir,” Khatami called out to the now empty passageway. She had caught a slight scent of perspiration mingling with an almost spicy fragrance that lingered in the air of Zhao’s wake, and she smiled to herself in a subtle admission that she found it rather appealing. She chalked it up as another way that the captain reminded her of her husband, Kenji, whom she hadn’t seen since her last visit to their home on Deneva, more than four months before. Calculating the time between stops home was only going to become more involved the longer the Endeavourwas assigned to Starbase 47 and its subsequent duties in the Taurus Reach.
This place is a far sight from home foreveryone here, not just me,she thought, but we all knew that going in.
“I dunno,” Leone said after a moment to break the silence. “Running around, dripping with sweat. What kind of captain parades around his ship like that, with no shirt on and all?”
Khatami chuckled, something she typically found easy to do in Leone’s company. “I think he’s setting a great role model for the crew by staying on top of his physical training,” she said, and smiled as she stepped toward him. “As ship’s physician, you certainly can appreciate that.”
Leone shrugged. “You just remember that the next time you see Mog running half-naked down the corridor,” he said, referring to the Endeavour’s burly chief engineer, shaking his head and turning away from the chronometer in his hand long enough to sip from his drink. He swirled the cup and Khatami could see the thick, tan broth within.
“How do you drink that stuff?” Khatami had a high tolerance for the Federation’s wide assortment of food and drink, but Leone’s palate for his preferred morning beverage escaped her.
“Blame Mog, I guess,” he replied. “He got me started on it. Everyone on Tellar drinks it. Tastes sort of like…caffeinated mushroom soup or something.”
“What’s it called again?”
“Like I can pronounce it?” Leone sneered a bit as he brought the cup to his lips, barely getting a sip before they both heard the sound of Zhao’s approaching footfalls. The doctor’s attention returned to his chronometer as the captain slowed and came to a stop before them. Touching a key on the device, Leone nodded in approval. “Shaved five seconds, sir,” he said. “Not bad.”
Zhao was expressionless and drew in a deep breath as Leone passed him the chronometer. As usual, Khatami was impressed with the captain’s disposition even after the brisk run. His hairless chest gleamed with a thin sheen of perspiration, but that was the only evidence of the exertion he had just completed; his face was not flushed with color and he showed no sign of being winded. He was in peak physical condition, something Khatami could not as easily say for some of his fellow starship captains with whom she was personally acquainted, particularly the ones who had been on the job as long as Zhao.
Maybe I can expect this from Kenji when he’s the captain’s age?
The captain glanced at the chronometer before looking to Khatami. “I appreciate your indulging my run, Commander,” he said. “With my schedule today, this was the best time to fit it in.”
“Of course, sir,” she said. “Actually, we’re starting right on time.”
“Excellent,” Zhao said as he led the way into the briefing room and proceeded to the far end of the conference table. He grabbed a towel slung over the back of his chair and began wiping the perspiration from his chest and arms. Khatami was not at all surprised by the towel being at the ready, nor by the sight of a crisply folded standard gray Starfleet physical training shirt and a tall tumbler of water resting at the head of the table. Captain Zhao was nothing if not suitably prepared for any situation. “I hope you’ll forgive the lapse in attire, everyone,” he said as he scooped up the shirt and put it on. “I promise not to make it a habit.” To Leone, he said, “Doctor, please consider scheduling my next physical-fitness test so that it doesn’t clash so squarely with my duty schedule.”