Captain's Table 02_ Dujonian's Hoard - Michael Jan Friedman [50]
Hellish, I thought. But I didn’t want to interrupt.
“There were several attempts on my life,” he noted, “though I kept mostly to myself and offended no one. The first few times, I was able to ward off my assailants. In time, however, I was forced to kill them to keep them from killing me.”
“Then the energies in our power source, which had been building slowly to that point, began to accelerate. If we were lucky, we realized, we had a few hours left. With no possibility of survival and no fear of punishment, my shipmates tore at each other like fiends, their hatreds fueled by the pettiest of slights.”
“Except for me. I alone fought to defend myself, though I had no more reason to hope than they did. I sequestered myself on the bridge, which no one else seemed to care about any longer, and endured the sounds of the others slaughtering one another.”
“It was fortunate that I was there,” said Thadoc, “and not somewhere else, or I might have missed the communication that lit up the tactical console. Apparently, someone had received our distress call and responded. What’s more, they were nearly in transporter range.”
He looked at me. “It was the Daring.”
I nodded. No wonder the helmsman was so loyal. Red Abby had taken him off a doomed ship. She had saved his life, and perhaps his sanity as well.
“At great risk to herself and her vessel,” he told me, “the captain transported me off, along with the others who still lived. There were shockingly few of them left.”
“Once our injuries were treated, we were invited to tell Red Abby our stories. Mine was the only one she believed. She put off the others at the nearest port of call, giving them a chance to make of themselves what they could. I, on the other hand, was invited to join her crew.”
“Unable to return to Romulus, faced with the possibility of having to sign on with someone less scrupulous, I took Red Abby up on her offer. Nor,” said Thadoc, “have I ever had reason to regret it.”
I smiled. “Not even now? With our numbers depleted and Hel’s Gate looming on the horizon?”
He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Not even now.”
Madigoor
PICARD WAS ABOUT to say more … when something long and green skittered across the table.
Suddenly, the intruder stopped and looked around with almost comical intensity. It was some kind of lizard, it seemed a gecko, unless the captain was mistaken and contrary to his earlier assessment, it wasn’t entirely green after all. In fact, it wore a sprinkling of bright yellow spots.
Bo’tex pushed his chair back, his face twisted with loathing. “What is that?” he demanded.
“It’s a gecko,” said the Captain of the Kalliope.
Picard nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“As I recall,” said Robinson, “the little fellows are found in the tropics. And don’t worry, Captain Bo’tex. As fearsome as they look, their diet is restricted to insects.”
The Caxtonian scowled. “Very funny.”
“Where did the thing come from?” asked Dravvin.
“Where indeed?” said Flenarrh. “In all the time I’ve been patronizing this place, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Could it be someone’s pet?” asked the Captain of the Kalliope.
“I don’t know how else it could’ve gotten in here,” Bo’tex replied.
“That’s true,” said Robinson. “Unless it’s a captain in its own right, and we simply haven’t recognized the fact.”
Hompaq chuckled. “Too bad it doesn’t have a little more meat on its bones. It looks like it would make a tasty snack.”
Bo’tex grimaced. “You want to eat it?”
The Klingon grinned. “I’d eat you, my plump friend, if I wasn’t loathe to catch your stench.”
The Caxtonian harrumphed. “I told you, dammit, it’s not a stench it’s a mating scent. On my homeworld, other males envy me. They’d kill for a bouquet like mine.”
“That may be true on your homeworld,” said Hompaq. “Here, people are willing to kill to