What Judgments Come

Nodding, Blair replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. Nice throw.” Why he had decided that today was a good day to accept his first officer’s invitation to practice some hand-to-hand drills was a question he would have to ponder at some point. Mbugua’s unarmed combat skills—which included mastery of at least half a dozen different styles of martial arts—were unmatched aboard the Defiant,and while Blair had not aspired to defeat his second-in-command, he had figured he might last longer than five seconds once the friendly sparring match got under way.

Nope.

“Sorry about that, Skipper,” Mbugua said, holding out his large right hand in a gesture of assistance. “That was more instinct than anything else.”

Blair waved away the apology. “My fault, Kamau. That’s what I get for trying a straight-on attack right off the bat.” He thought he might catch the commander off guard by launching an immediate strike right at the start of the match, but Mbugua had seen and reacted to his captain’s movements almost before Blair started moving. His defense was ready even as Blair committed to the tactic, and by the time the captain realized his mistake, he was already being flipped over Mbugua’s hip on his way down to the mat.

Seeing the first officer’s hand, Blair shook his head. “I’m okay. I think I’m just going to lie here a minute, and collect my thoughts.”

“Did somebody call a doctor?” a female voice called out. Mbugua’s response was to release a hearty laugh that echoed off the gymnasium walls as Blair raised his head from the mat to see Jane Hamilton, the Defiant’s chief medical officer, standing at the room’s entrance. Arms crossed, she was leaning against the door frame and eyeing him with no small amount of glee. Rather than a standard duty uniform, the doctor was dressed in gray sweatpants and matching shirt, across the front of which was emblazoned the Defiantinsignia. Her shoulder-length red hair was dark with perspiration, and there were damp spots on her shirt.

“Good morning, Jane,” Blair said, reaching up to scratch the top of his head where his sweat-matted gray hair was at its thi

Her gaze shifting to Mbugua, Hamilton asked, “That bad?”

“I’ve gone up against punching bags that put up a tougher fight,” the first officer replied, making no effort to hide his wide grin.

From where he still lay on the mat, Blair asked, “Do they still let ship captains keelhaul people?” Eyeing Hamilton, he added, “This is all your fault, you know.” For weeks the doctor had been after him to increase and vary his exercise routine. Though the captain made routine use of the ship’s gym and other recreational areas, his duties often prevented him from taking advantage of the facilities as often as he liked. As a result, his last physical had yielded a slight weight gain, in and of itself a recurring problem of Blair’s for the past few years. Though lack of time occasionally was at fault, so far as keeping to a regular exercise schedule, he had admitted to Hamilton that he was becoming bored with the routine of his workouts. With his fifty-first birthday approaching later this year, the doctor had suggested trying some new sports or pursuits, and engaging other members of the crew while working toward that goal. Blair had always preferred to exercise in solitude, often while listening to or reviewing the reports and communiqués that always seemed to accumulate on his desk, or which were intended solely for his attention. He received no sympathy from Hamilton, who had provided a good-natured scolding with respect to his solitary habits.

“I suggested you try something new,” the doctor said. “I don’t recall saying you should let yourself get thrown around the gym.”

Blair chuckled. “Captain’s prerogative, I suppose. Every crew should see their commanding officer getting his or her butt handed to them once in a while. Keeps things in perspective.”

“If the crew sees you exercising,” Hamilton countered, “even with everything you’ve got on your plate, then they might just think they have no excuse, and they’ll get out there and work up a little sweat themselves.” She gestured in his direction. “Now, get up and continue to perspire in an orderly, proficient, captainly ma

Any retort Blair might have given was cut off by the whistle of the ship’s intercom system. “ Bridge to Captain Blair,” said the voice of Ensign Ravishankar Sabapathy, one of the Defiant’s communications officers.

“Saved by the bell,” Blair said as he pulled himself to his feet and crossed the room to a wall-mounted comm panel and thumbed its activation switch. “Blair here.”

“ Sorry to disturb you, Captain,” Sabapathy said, “ but we’re picking up a faint broadcast message that appears to be a distress signal.”

Frowning at the report, Blair asked, “Any idea who it is?”

“ Yes, sir,” the ensign replied. “ According to its signature, the signal’s source is Tholian. The translator says it’s a ship, and that they’ve been attacked.”

Blair glanced to his left as Mbugua moved to stand beside him. “Do they know who attacked them?” the first officer asked.

“I don’t think so, Commander,” said Sabapathy. “The signal looks to be automated, repeating at regular intervals. It’s encrypted, but using an algorithm we’ve managed to break. Still, it’s taking a bit of work to translate the whole thing, and from what we can tell, it’s intended for other Tholian ships that might be in the vicinity.”

“Are sensors picking up signs of other Tholian ship traffic?” Blair asked.

The communications officer replied, “ Negative, Captain. So far as we can tell, we’re all alone out here.”

Remembering that gamma shift was still on duty, Blair said, “Have Commander Shull take us to Yellow Alert, and change course to intercept the ship. We’ll see if there’s anything we can do to help.”

There was a break before Lieutenant Commander Terry Shull, the gamma shift duty officer, answered, “ I’ve already had the helm computing an intercept course, Captain. If we accelerate to warp six, we can be there inside of sixteen hours.”

Blair nodded in approval. Of course she would be anticipating his orders. The Defiant’s crew did such an exceptional job of anticipating and reacting to his instructions that he often wondered how long they might carry on with their duties before noticing that he had slipped away in the dead of night, bound for a vacation on Argelius or some other fanciful destination. “Do it, and keep me apprised of any new developments.”

“ Aye, aye, Captain,” Shull replied.

Terminating the co

“Out here?” Mbugua asked. “There’s no telling. Could be Klingons, could be pirates, could be somebody else we don’t know about yet.”

Hamilton said, “We’re fairly close to the Tholian border, aren’t we?”

“Depending on whom you ask,” Blair replied, “and what day of the week it is, and the mood of the captain of whichever Tholian ship you happen to run across on that day.” The Tholians, despite being strict and even extreme isolationists, often engaged in the contradictory practice of extending and redefining their territorial boundaries as though fueled by whimsy. The lone exception to this odd policy was in how the Tholians treated the Taurus Reach, which they steadfastly refused to include in their expansion or a

The dark-ski