A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [21]
The captain regarded him. “Yes-perhaps you’re right. Logic does demand it. But then, logic must sometimes take a backseat to other considerations.”
And he went on to speak of his friendship with Orbutu. Of Dani’s berth on the research ship, and his role in getting it for her. Before he was finished, Riker’s expression had changed. The air of forcefulness had receded, giving way to understanding.
“So you see,” said Picard, “I must do this myself. If I am to face my friend again, I must be able to say I did everything I could-with my own hands, my own eyes. This is not my duty as captain of the Enterprise, I grant you. But it is my duty as a man.”
Riker took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Officially,” he said, “that doesn’t change things. It still makes more sense for me to go.”
Picard nodded once. “Duly noted. And unofficially?”
Riker shrugged. “A man must do what a man must do.”
The captain smiled. “Thank you for your support, Number One. Unofficially, of course.”
His first officer smiled back-though his heart wasn’t quite in it. “Just don’t make me regret it, sir.”
“I assure you,” said Picard, “that is not my intention.”
Chapter Five
WORF WENT FIRST-fortunately, without incident. As soon as that fact was established, the rest of the away team came over one by one, starting with the captain.
He materialized in the research vessel’s common room-a space big enough to hold them all, and a central location from which they could fan out. As he joined the hulking figure of the Klingon, their containment suits glittering like ruby skins in the low light from the overhead panels, Picard took a look around.
There wasn’t much in the way of amenities here. Some tables and chairs, a few scattered pieces of artwork on the walls. Long, narrow windows, curved to conform to the shape of the hull, showed the golden dazzle of the surrounding energy mantle in brilliant sections.
No bodies-not here, anyway. The captain noted that with some relief. But there was something here-something curious. On one table, a game of flaga’gri-the Rhadamanthan equivalent of chess-stood undisturbed.
Picard knelt beside it. He had never taken the time to really familiarize himself with flaga’gri, but he understood the basic principles. It seemed to him that this game was still only in its first stages.
Would someone have started a flaga’gri match while the Mendel skittered through unknown space? Possibly. A number of crewmembers-life sciences people, primarily-would have found themselves of little or no help. Why not seek out a distraction-find a way to pass the time, to stave off outright panic?
On the other hand, would someone have begun this game knowing that death was imminent? Not likely. Not unless that person had a remarkably overdeveloped sense of fatalism. So-whatever happened to the crew of the Mendel, it probably caught the players and everyone else by surprise.
Picard frowned, looked up at Worf. Their eyes met through their transparent faceplates. Apparently, the Klingon had come to much the same conclusion.
As the captain got to his feet, they were joined by Doctor Pulaski. She became solid with a look of extreme discomfort on her face, but it didn’t last long. Not when she saw that she was being observed.
Pulaski’s loathing for the teleportation process was common knowledge. Normally, Picard would have brought someone else along-but these circumstances were far from normal.
Instantly, the doctor took a tricorder reading. She peered at the results for a moment.
“Interesting,” she announced. Her voice was something of a shock, a pebble dropped into the tomblike silence. “This air is eminently breathable. Gases all in the proper proportion, and none that shouldn’t be here.” A second reading. “Nothing significant in the way of radiation either.”
Another figure reformatted itself on the other side of the cabin. The captain