Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [58]
If that happened, Picard and his companions wouldn’t stand a chance. They would be outflanked and outnumbered before they knew what was happening.
The third possibility was even worse: that they would encounter a Romulan search-and-destroy patrol, which was likely to show them even less mercy than the Kevrata would. Hardly a pleasant prospect in the bunch, Picard conceded.
He was still hoping for the fourth possibility-the one in which they stumbled across the rebels before too long and were greeted without violence. But as he made his way from tunnel to cold, dank tunnel, that seemed less and less likely all the time.
The tricorders they had brought down to Kevratas with them could have made their task a good deal less difficult. Unfortunately, they were fouled most of the time by the same mineral deposits that made it impossible to beam to the planet’s surface.
Joseph came up beside the captain, his eyes darting everywhere. “We’ll find them,” he said. “Just watch.”
Picard had to smile. “I miss your optimism, Pug.”
“Still have that marble?”
“Of course,” said the captain. “It is in a safe place in my quarters on the Enterprise.”
Joseph had given his lucky marble to Picard to help him through a competency hearing more than thirty years earlier, shortly after the captain took command of the Stargazer. It didn’t let Picard down that day, nor had it let him down since.
He had offered to return it on more than one occasion. However, Joseph had always refused to take it back, saying that Picard needed it more than he did.
“Well,” said Joseph, “that explains why we’re still wandering around in these tunnels. If you had brought the marble, we would have been toasting marshmallows with the rebels by now.”
“Forgive me,” said Picard.
“Not a chance,” said Joseph.
The captain glanced at him. “I don’t remember your being so insubordinate when we were on the Stargazer.”
“Back then, you were a god to me. Now you’re just a guy who forgot his marble.”
Picard sighed in mock frustration. It was good to have Joseph alongside him again. Damned good.
He glanced back at his other former comrade, who had been silent since they left Phajan’s house. Greyhorse was inscrutable as he searched the beam-shot darkness of the tunnel, his thoughts very much his own.
Picard preferred that to what the doctor was saying earlier. It was not a comfortable thought that the man most indispensable to the success of their mission might also be a little insane.
The administrator of Greyhorse’s penal colony had said he was capable of taking part in a mission. She had assured the captain of it. But he feared now that she had been wrong.
And if that was the case, it wouldn’t matter if they found the rebels or not. It would all be for nothing if Greyhorse couldn’t focus enough to come up with a cure.
“I am sorry,” Decalon said suddenly, “but this is futile.” He gestured to the length of tunnel behind them. “We should turn around and return to Phajan’s house. He may have made contact with the underground by now.”
“The captain’s already told you,” said Joseph, “we’re no longer pursuing that option.”
Picard put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I can speak for myself, Pug.” He turned to Decalon. “We are not going back. We are moving ahead. Now.”
The Romulan regarded him for a moment. “This is a mistake.”
“Perhaps,” said the captain. “But again, I remind you that when you undertook this mission, you agreed to follow my orders.”
“That,” said Decalon, “was before I realized how fallible you are. As fallible as any other human.”
“And Romulans aren’t?” asked Joseph. “If you dust off your memory a little, you’ll remember it was we humans who- “
Picard didn’t hear the rest, because suddenly he realized why he had pulled them out of Phajan’s house. For a reason he couldn’t articulate at the time, but a valid one nonetheless.
“The dust,” he said.
Pug and Decalon