Star Trek: Corps of Engineers: Ghost by Ilsa J. Bick

Author:Ilsa J. Bick [Bick, Ilsa J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Space Opera, General, Science Fiction, Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9781416549758
Google: c-cda-Z9DA4C
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2007-07-13T13:51:39.671000+00:00

Chapter 9

So she was following Darly’s advice. She was knocking herself out.

She quickly discovered that sifting through all Jennifer’s work would take weeks, if not months. The task was compounded by the fact that she didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was looking for.

Pushing back from Jennifer’s workstation in her Academy office, Lense arched her back, wincing at a sudden twinge at the base of her spine. She’d grabbed a quick sandwich after transporting back from Washington, but she was tired and feeling wobbly. Coffee might do it, but then the kid would end up tripping the light fantastic all night.

Discouraged and brain-sore, she checked the time.

Not due back for another three hours, and then he’ll have to read the message, run the tests to make sure…

Too much time. She yawned. She ought to sleep.

Her eye fell on Jennifer’s photo album, the one she’d filched from the apartment. Hers now, she guessed. She’d resisted leafing through it, but now she scooped it up and turned to the first leaf. Might help pass the time and then…

“Oh my God.” And then again, almost mildly, “My God.”

Her father. Young, handsome, astride a mountaintop. Rucksack on his back, a big grin for the camera. A lean man with that snub nose and wide mouth he’d bequeathed to her daughter. Fifty years ago by the date stamp, and judging by that rainbow arc of rings slashing an azure sky, this must’ve been Casperia Prime, where her parents had honeymooned.

More pictures: her parents on various digs; her father porpoising from a mountain lake in a foamy spray; Jennifer— visibly pregnant— grinning, flexing her muscles, posing like a weightlifter before a sign-post and the words, Summit— 5 km…

And then one of Jennifer, smiling, propped up on pillows, her hair in disarray. Cradling a newborn in a fleecy pink blanket.

Me. Lense put a trembling hand to her lips. That must be me.

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