Zero-Option | Page 9

the meal matched the aroma. Candied carrots, scallop
potatoes, and snow peas supplemented the meat dish, providing a repast
of a sort he hadn't enjoyed in some time. N'robo, who sat to his right,
informed him the vegetables were the real thing, having come from
Earthside in a resupply shipment just that day. The veal, however, was
clearly not the real McCoy. Not because it tasted artificial, but because
no one had eaten 'real' meat on Earth in more than two centuries. He
had no idea as to whether or not the reconstituted cutlet he was
devouring with gusto approximated the actual flavor of veal or not. All
he knew was that it was surprisingly good for something that had once
gone down a toilet into a separation unit.
"I'm glad to see our culinary offerings meet with your approval, Mister
Imbrahim," said Jhordel. She sipped daintily at her wine and eyed him
shrewdly over the rim of the glass.
Imbrahim looked up at her and smiled apologetically, abruptly
conscious of the fact that he had been attacking his meal with manners

not much better than those of a lower deck hand. "You'll have to
forgive me, Captain," he said. "It's been more than a day since I last ate.
I hadn't realized how hungry I was."
"Ah," she breathed, a wry look in her eyes. "It would appear then, that
we weren't the only ones caught off guard by Admiralty."
Indeed not, thought Imbrahim. He'd been called in and given little more
than a few hours to prepare himself. A few hours in which to
familiarize himself with the matter at hand, but not enough time to do it
justice. I'm flying blind, he told himself; and so, he observed somewhat
fearfully, was Jhordel. That was not a particularly pleasant thought.
"It has occurred to me, Commander," she said casually, "that when you
briefed us earlier you failed to mention one alternative means of
achieving our objective."
He frowned and regarded her quizzically. "I'm sure I don't know what
you mean, sir."
Jhordel surveyed her table with a lazy eye, taking in the faces of the
other command officers seated about it. Finally her gaze drifted back to
Imbrahim; but there was a harder edge to it now.
"I've spent a few hours reviewing the charts," she said at length. "We
have some fairly decent information on most of the transit points
located throughout the Empire, both in the Unity and in the
Federation."
Imbrahim swallowed, beginning to sense where she was headed.
She grinned at him, a feral grin, and he saw in that instant a flash of the
cold and calculating ruthlessness that had made her so feared by the
Unity and so vaunted by Carter and Jackson. "I believe there may be a
transit point that can bring us to within a couple of days sublight travel
from the last suspected positions of the Niagara and the probes."
Imbrahim slowly set down his fork and picked up the napkin in his lap.

He dabbed at his lips, suddenly no longer hungry.
"I'm sure Admiralty considered all possibilities," he said, finally finding
his voice.
"Perhaps," said Jhordel; but he could tell it didn't matter to her whether
they had or hadn't. She would do things her way, as she had done so
most of her life since Obidian.
"Using a transit point in Unity space would be courting an unnecessary
risk on a mission that may well be fraught with far greater peril than
any of us are welling to concede," he argued. He looked quickly around
the table and saw the others were gaping at him. Gaping at them. Him
and Jhordel. And he realized, then, that they were as astonished as he
about this bombshell the captain had dropped.
"The risk involved is relatively minor," Jhordel insisted. "We can make
the jump directly to the Unity point, then use it to jump to our objective.
Our time in Unity space would be limited."
"You make it sound like a leisurely stroll through the countryside," he
accused.
She shrugged.
"With all due respect, Captain, aren't all Unity points guarded?"
"Afraid of a little action, Commander?" she chided.
"Afraid we might jeopardize our mission, sir."
"You worry too much, Mister Imbrahim." Jhordel addressed her
officers with a knowing look. "Have a little faith."
"That's for the Reds, I'm afraid," he muttered sourly.
She blinked, caught off guard by this retort; and then she suddenly
guffawed, throwing her head back and laughing loudly. Others around
the table joined in, until even Imbrahim found himself smiling at the

joke.
"We'll make a spacers out of you yet, Mister Imbrahim." She gave him
a sly look as she raised her glass in a toast. "Success," she declared,
glancing around the table.
"Success!" they