A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [1]
With a little tilt of his head, he indicated the main viewscreen-where Trilik’kon Mahk’ti’s outermost world was a slowly growing hole in the starry fabric of space, defined mainly by a sliver of white light around half its circumference.
“If they had survived,” Riker went on, “they would surely have maintained an outpost here-at the gateway to their home system. But scanners show no installation of any kind on the planet’s surface.” He leaned back. “Only a couple of massive, blackened pits where installations could have been located.”
Picard considered his first officer. “You sound disappointed.”
Riker smiled. “Maybe a little. I mean, I certainly wasn’t looking forward to a confrontation with the kind of people the Klah’kimmbri used to be. Not with their record for shooting first and asking questions later-if at all. But I was hoping that there was something left of them. A culture, maybe, that had learned its lesson after its clash with the Cantiliac. One that had found more peaceful means of existence…” His voice trailed off wistfully.
Picard nodded. “Yes. That would have been interesting. It seems, however, that for once the common wisdom has proven accurate. The Cantiliac offensive was of such a magnitude that the Klah’kimmbri were obliterated. That proud fleet of theirs must have been destroyed before it knew what was happening-and the rest of their civilization soon after.”
The other man grunted. “It’s like my grandfather used to say. No matter how big and tough you think you are, there’s always someone bigger and tougher.”
“A wise man, your grandfather.” But the captain’s mind was on neither the fate of the Klah’kimmbri nor Riker’s homespun advisement. His thoughts had returned to their former course-to the research ship Gregor Mendel and the personal burden it represented.
It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds coming from the subtle hum of the impulse engines and a murmured conversation at the aft stations. The system’s outermost planet gradually loomed larger.
“Of course,” said Riker, “I’d like to keep the shields up-just in case. File it under Appearances Can Be Deceiving.”
“By all means,” said Picard. “Whatever you think best.”
And then someone called for the first officer’s help, and he was consuming the bridge again in those ground-eating strides of his.
Alone again, with Troi immersed in her search efforts, Picard regarded the planet framed in the viewer. He found himself going over the statistics that he’d memorized in his preparation for Trilik’kon Mahk’ti.
One stuck in his brain. Two billion four hundred thousand miles. The average distance from this outermost world to its sun. No doubt, Data could have calculated a more precise number, but it was sufficient for the captain’s present need.
Two billion four hundred thousand miles. Not a very big system. The last one they had combed was twice that size.
In a way, though, Picard wished it were big. Infinite, in fact. For if it were, he would never have to face the slowly unraveling truth.
Suddenly, he found he couldn’t remain in his chair. He had an irresistible urge to get up, to move. To do something.
It took all of his willpower to stand up in a decorous manner, and to gradually approach the screen, hands clasped behind his back, until he was almost even with the forward consoles.
The planet was a bit closer now, a bit more fiery at the edges, but it remained dark and essentially featureless. Picard peered at it as if he could have spotted the Mendel just by looking hard enough-as if he could have outdone the Enterprise’s vast array of instruments, not to mention Troi’s considerable abilities, by determination alone.
But of course, there was nothing to be seen. Even if the research ship was anywhere in orbit around this world, they were still too far away to be able to detect it.
The captain took a deep breath, let it out. It was all so damned… frustrating.
The doors to the turbolift whooshed open, providing Picard with a momentary distraction. He glanced over his shoulder