Force and Motion by Jeffrey Lang Read Free Book Online

Quark, who can be a surprisingly good listener when you pay him enough.” He frowned, but then brightened. “And Morn!”
    â€œMorn?” Danny asked.
    â€œI miss him,” Rom said, momentarily lost in the mists of nostalgia.
    â€œSure,” Danny said, playing along.
    His father remained quiet for a count of four and then asked, “What about Jake?”
    Well, Nog thought . Here we are. He kept his answer brief. “Married. Baby.”
    Both men shrugged and looked at opposite corners of their virtual room.
    â€œNo counterproposal for that,” Rom said.
    â€œIt happens,” Danny added.
    â€œYeah,” Nog sighed. “And I’m happy for him.”
    â€œOf course you are,” Rom said. “But I understand what you’re saying,” his father added. “What it means. But it’s one of those things that happen to everyone. People change. They grow up. And sometimes . . .”
    â€œPeople get left behind,” Danny concluded.
    No one spoke. They all stared for what seemed a very long time, but was probably only ten strips of latinum.
    Finally, Nog asked, “So, what do you do?”
    Rom looked at Danny, who looked back. They shrugged as one.
    â€œMove on,” Danny offered.
    â€œMake new friends.”
    â€œOr see a shrink,” Danny added.
    Nog shook his head at the last suggestion. “No. This isn’t that sort of thing. I’m not looking for therapy. Just someone who wants to . . . I don’t know. There’s a word . . .”
    â€œHang out,” Danny offered.
    â€œThat’s two words,” Rom corrected.
    Nog rolled his eyes.
    â€œWhat about the chief?” Rom asked.
    January 9, 2386
    Ops Center
    Robert Hooke
    â€œWhat about this Chief O’Brien?” Finch asked.
    â€œWhat is a chief?” Sabih asked, scrolling through large chunks of data at rapid speeds. One of his skills—his only skill, he would admit when he was being honest with himself—was his ability to quickly and efficiently search for and retrieve data from a variety of nonintegrated databases. Starfleet, he knew, was all about cohesive, curated databases, but not everyone else in the Federation (and definitely not outside it) was fortunate enough to possess its refined resources. Sabih also knew he could look up the answer to his own question before Finch could reply, but he wanted to buy himself some time. Also, sometimes he enjoyed listening to his employer pontificate.
    â€œA chief ,”Finch began, leaning back with fingers steepled, “is a noncommissioned officer, which means he or she has been promoted up through the ranks of enlisted personnel and did not receive a commission. There are many types of noncommissioned officers—or noncoms, as they are sometimes called—but most ofthem share the distinction of being particularly talented in some complex, specialized skill, such as piloting a particularly nasty form of craft or mastering a weapons system. Chiefs frequently know more about the actual subject than the lieutenants and captains to whom they report.”
    Finch exhaled, as he often did when completing one of his complex and perfectly phrased sentences. Inhaling, he began anew. “Now, our Chief O’Brien is likely some sort of engineering specialist—the most common use of the term in Starfleet—and holds sway over some section of specialists . . .”
    â€œActually,” Sabih said, having located O’Brien’s public records, “he’s the chief engineer of Deep Space 9. In fact, he’s one of the primary designers and architects.”
    â€œ. . . Or, as I was about to say,” Finch continued without missing a beat, “sometimes the title is retained by individuals who, in fact, have a much wider swath of responsibility and authority. Obviously, such is the case with our erstwhile visitor. And his