Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [40]
“He may have to address the medical crisis Doctor Crusher was sent to address.” Worf stroked his beard. “If we can determine what sort of crisis it was- “
“We may be able to figure out where the captain went.”
“There would be a record at Starfleet Medical of everything Doctor Crusher and Greyhorse worked on together. I do not suppose you have any friends there?”
“Not anymore,” Geordi said ruefully.
Worf dismissed the remark. “There is another way to approach this. If Joseph and Greyhorse are involved, they may have confided in one of their Stargazer comrades.”
“Makes sense,” said Geordi. “But even if they know, will they tell us? Their first loyalty is to Captain Picard, and it’ll be clear that he didn’t want us to know what was going on.”
Worf considered the matter for a moment. “Actually,” he concluded, “there is one Stargazer officer who might be inclined to see it our way.”
“Who’s that?” asked Geordi.
It was only after Worf provided an answer that he understood what his friend meant.
Eborion regarded the gray-haired individual standing before him, sandwiched between two of his personal guards. The fellow’s name was Poyaran, and he had been a servant in Eborion’s family for as long as Eborion could remember.
Eborion’s uncles, and perhaps even his father, would have taken the length of Poyaran’s service into account as they considered his punishment for attempted theft. But Eborion was not nearly so inclined toward clemency.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked, his voice a bit too shrill for his liking as it echoed through the airy, columned chamber.
Poyaran averted his eyes. “I ask for your understanding, master. I did not intend to steal the chalice, only to admire it in the sunlight. It belonged to my family when I was small, and I had not seen it in many years.”
It was true that the chalice had once been the property of Poyaran’s father, a merchant trader who had enjoyed ties with several of the Hundred. And it was certainly possible that he had shown it to Poyaran in the days when his every finger bore a ring of jewel-encrusted gold.
But Poyaran’s father had gotten greedy and tried to increase his fortune at the expense of his clients. A bad idea, Eborion reflected. His underhanded practices exposed, Poyaran’s father was executed in a public plaza, and the executors of his estate were directed by a tribunal to make reparations to the houses he had wronged.
Unfortunately, Poyaran’s father wasn’t wealthy enough to pay off his debts in their entirety. The tribunal was compelled to pursue its only other option-breaking up Poyaran’s family and distributing its members to the injured houses as bond servants.
Which was how Poyaran came to work for Eborion’s father. And for a long time, his service had been quite satisfactory. However, Eborion would not tolerate stealing. If he were lenient with Poyaran, it would only encourage other servants to try their luck.
“Is that all?” Eborion asked. In the Empire, even servants enjoyed the right of statement.
Poyaran looked up, his face pale and his eyes sunken in their sockets. “It is the truth, master.”
Eborion was relieved. He had expected a long, drawn-out defense, which would ultimately have been of no avail anyway, and there were more pressing matters that required his attention.
“I do not believe you,” said Eborion. “You are hereby sentenced to a year at the penal facility on Assaf Golav. When you return, it will be with a renewed appreciation of how fortunate you are to serve in this house.”
Poyaran’s mouth twisted, as if he were about to utter a curse. After all, Assaf Golav was not a pleasant world, and its overseers were reputed to be among the cruelest in the Empire. But in the end, Poyaran restrained himself.
“My master is kind,” he said, choking on the last word as if it were something tangible.
At a gesture from Eborion, the guards took Poyaran away. The aristocrat watched them until they