A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
On the other hand, he couldn’t just assume the Klah’kimmbri were guilty of something. He had to know more before he could make any accusations.
Accusations? He rebuked himself even for his choice of words.
Aren’t you letting your personal feelings-your all-too-human need for a scapegoat-cloud your perceptions, Jean-Luc? The Klah’kimmbri may be completely innocent. Who knows? They may even have tried to help.
At the very least, they might have received some communication from the research ship-some information that would shed some light on how Dani and the others had perished.
If they had perished. That had yet to be substantiated.
“Mister Worf,” he called, “open hailing frequencies. Try to raise someone on the planet’s surface,”
“Opening hailing frequencies,” said the Klingon.
It was comforting, Picard had to admit, to have his most capable personnel around him-regardless of what shift they were supposed to be on. He could feel their sharpness, their precision. If the Klah’kimmbri were responsible, and it came to blows, this was the complement he wanted at the controls.
Was he feeling resentful that Riker had waited so long to contact him? To let him know about the ion trail-and about A’klah? Perhaps, yes. But he understood the man’s motives well enough. And besides, the first officer was more than a fixture. He had carried out his duties exactly as he should have.
In the final analysis, it had been a judgment call-on both levels, professional and personal. Not worth mentioning again on either level.
“Any response, Mister Worf?”
“Nothing yet, sir.”
“Isn’t it possible,” offered Riker, “that this mantle precludes long-range communications? I mean, if it can prevent our sensors from penetrating all the way to the planet’s surface…”
Picard nodded. “Certainly, it’s possible. But I’m betting that the Klah’kimmbri have found a way to defy their own invention. After all, this mantle isn’t much of a protection if it blinds them as much as it blinds us.”
The first officer chewed that one over. “A polarized field then? One which lets radiation in, but not out?”
“That’s my guess,” said the captain.
“Still no response,” reported Worf.
Picard regarded the whiplash dance of yellow golden light on the viewscreen. “Keep trying,” he said.
The Klingon worked at his communications board for a good half hour. A Certain tension built up on the deck; the captain felt it like a weight on his brow, growing heavier and more painful by the moment.
Finally, he had had enough.
When Sam Burtin heard the cry that came out of Pulaski’s office, his first thought was that his superior had injured herself somehow. Then, as he came marching down the hallway to investigate, he saw that she was doubled over by her desk.
Immediately, his training took over. He swung past the threshold and dropped down beside her. “Doctor? Are you all right?”
Pulaski looked up at him, a wistful expression on her face. “I am, yes. But this thing has seen better days.”
She held up two pieces of her Mondrifahlian good-luck charm, the one he had given her as a gift. The ceramic statuette had split into fragments, each fiery red on the outside and a dull beige on the inside. One piece, the largest, sported three snakelike appendages and a slender eyestalk.
But that was the only casualty. Pulaski was fine.
Of course she is, he told himself. What did you expect? This isn’t Vega Antilles, Sam. You’re not on the frontier anymore. Even when there is an emergency-like poor Fredi out there-you’ve got the hardware to keep it under control.
“Damn,” said Pulaski, replacing the shards on her desk. “I really liked that little fellow.” She smiled. “Oh well. I guess I’ll have to make my own luck for a while.”
And what a nice smile it was. The stories about Pulaski had been patently untrue. She wasn’t nearly the iron-handed ogre she’d been made out to be. In fact, she was more pleasant than most of the medical