Sand

[Tachyon 0]

“Sand”

Scott Coleridge

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The mug was still too hot to the touch, so Scott left it on its tray and instead pointed at the Bolian in a Starfleet commander’s uniform three stalls down. “That’s one of them.”

 

“No, he’s not,” his companion said.

 

Scott scowled. “How do you know? You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

 

His companion pushed back her chair and, reclining, placed her feet up on the table across from Scott, resting her hands behind her head. “You’re talking about the mysterious investigators who probably arrived on the Mason. Which means he isn’t one of them, because that’s Commander Lonn, passing through on the Meitner. He’s harmless. Even more harmless than you. You really are bad at this, aren’t you?”

 

“You’ve been on the station for all of fifteen hours! How do you already know all this? And how do you know about the Mason? That’s all classified.”

 

“Uh-huh. Scotty, darling, on a station this size, you can classify things all you want, but the really juicy gossip doesn’t stay secret for long. Look, one of your big and powerful starships comes limping back into port after supposedly going on a science mission, and then a few days later, another ship arrives and starts calling interviews with members of Aegis’ crew? It doesn’t take a Vulcan Kolinahr master to put the pieces together.”

 

Scott winced as he briefly checked the temperature of his tea against his tongue. Caddy was one of his oldest friends, practically a sister, even though they had drifted in an out of each other’s lives over the years as their respective interests brought them closer together or farther apart. Her most recent career had her travelling Federation space on behalf of some obscure shortselling firm, and it brought her to Aegis a few times a year. Caddy had had a lot of careers, but gathering information had always been a specialty. Which was why he was neither surprised nor pleased that she already knew as much as she did.

 

“Well, I can’t tell you any more than that. What? It is classified. Especially for you.”

 

“Spoilsport. Fine.” Caddy idly plucked at her jacket. “Want to talk about it, though?”

 

“Oh goodness, yes.”

 

“Worried about it?”

 

“About what? This inquiry?”

 

“No, about the crop reports on Bajor—yes, obviously.”

 

“I don’t know.” Scott paused for a moment, watching the business of the passers-by on the Commerce Level, letting his thoughts collect. “This isn’t my first time. Well, sort of. It wasn’t really an inquiry into anyone’s conduct. But years back, before Aegis moved here, Captain Sorehl headed up an inquiry into whether or not we were still needed in orbit of Cardassia. I was very green back then.”

 

Caddy gave him a look.

 

“OK, I was much more green than I am now.

 

“Anyway, at the time, I kind of just dodged most of the questions. I told him I didn’t really care about the politics of the situation—I was just there to fix things. To be a good engineer.”

 

“But now you have to care, Mr. I’m the Station’s XO.”

 

“Yes. No—I—I don’t know. Maybe I do care more now.”

 

“So you’re worried you’re going to say something that screws things up and gets people reassigned or in trouble?”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Should any of them be in trouble?”

 

Scott raised an eyebrow. “What? No. They were just doing their jobs, and they ran into an impossible situation, and they had to figure a way out of it, largely on their own.”

 

“So there you have it. They didn’t do anything wrong. Why are you worried?”

 

“It’s more complicated than that. There are … other factors at play.”

 

“Right, the same factors that involve two silent Romulan warbirds camping out here and an entire crew of another warbird living on the station.” Caddy held up her hands, palms out, in response to Scott’s glare. “I don’t know anything, I swear. Just what I hear.”

 

She swung her legs down, turned in her seat, and leaned forward against the table. “Scotty, you’re overthinking this. If those investigators have some ulterior motive, they’re going to pursue it no matter what you say. It’s called a ‘kangaroo court’, and no amount of clever manoeuvring on your part is going to affect their decision.”

 

“But what if what I say makes it easier for them?”

 

Caddy put her head in her hands. “I swear, it’s like talking to a wall sometimes with you. If you’re right about them, then they won’t care what you have to say. If you’re wrong, and this is just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill inquiry type deal, then you’re not going to get anyone into trouble who doesn’t deserve to be in trouble. Got it?”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“Good!” She reached across the table, seized his mug, and drained the tea in a long, satisfying-sounding gulp. Standing, she said, “Much better! Good talk! Now, where did Commander Lonn go … he owes me—” she glanced carefully at Scott, then added, “—latinum. He owes me latinum.” And she was off, carefully adjusting her jacket and tucking her hair behind her ears as she went.

 

Scott looked down at his empty tea mug and swished around the small remnants of the leaves therein. He had known, of course, everything that Caddy had said to him. That was the way it always was with them, telling the other what they already knew.

 

When it came to politics, and anything Scott had once considered “above his pay grade”, he had always just stuck his head in the sand, so to speak. It wasn’t his problem. Let other people deal with it, and he would keep the lights on. Except now, it kind of was his problem. And the trouble with sticking your head in the sand is that, if you do it long enough, you’re going to have to come up for air.