Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [59]
“Phajan’s house was full of it,” said the captain. “And yet he told us he had servants. If that were true, why wouldn’t they have dusted the place?”
His question echoed in the frozen air of the tunnel. Pondering it, his companions looked at him and at each other, but more than anyone they looked at Decalon.
“Romulans are meticulous housekeepers,” Picard noted. “Surely, if Phajan had even one servant…” He allowed his voice to trail off, leaving the rest for his companions to fill in.
Decalon’s eyes went flat and stony. He remained that way as he considered the captain’s insight, no doubt looking for a loophole in its logic. But in the end, he seemed unable to find any.
Finally, the Romulan lifted his chin. “As you have deduced,” he told Picard, “Phajan was attempting to deceive us. I regret that I did not see it. And I regret even more that I was so foolish as to question your judgment.”
The captain nodded. “Then let’s go on.” But before he could lead them deeper into the embrace of the catacombs, their tunnel was filled with long, seething needles of emerald fury.
Disruptors! he thought. But what he yelled was “Down!”
It was too late to help Joseph, who took a shot square in the chest and went skittering backward. But Picard and the others were able to douse their palmlights and flatten themselves against the rough stone floor.
“We are not Romulans!” the captain called out, hoping that it was the underground they had encountered rather than one of Sela’s patrols.
But there was no answer and no respite in the enemy’s volleys. So much for that, Picard told himself.
He couldn’t tell if Joseph was still alive, but he didn’t have the luxury of worrying about it. Pulling out his phaser, he aimed in what seemed like the right direction and returned fire.
A moment later, Decalon and Greyhorse did the same, their ruby beams clashing violently with the green ones of their adversaries. Unfortunately, Picard and his comrades were compelled to fire blindly, obtaining only glimpses of their intended targets in the flash of energy fire, so they had no idea if their blasts were hitting anything.
Suddenly, the captain heard a cry-deep and resonant with pain. Greyhorse, he thought with a pang of concern. There was a reason the doctor hadn’t been brought on a great many away missions: he was a decided liability in a firefight.
“Doctor?” Picard called out.
“Here,” said Greyhorse, though it sounded as if he were responding through clenched teeth.
But at least he was alive. That meant they could still carry out their mission, as long as they could beat the odds and maneuver their way out of this mess.
Simplicity itself, the captain thought.
Even though it was left to only Picard and Decalon to carry on. Even though it was clear they were vastly outnumbered, given the number of beams erupting at them.
The captain was desperately trying to come up with a method of escape when his adversaries did the last thing he would have expected-they stopped firing. At first he thought it was just a momentary respite, but it stretched on. And on.
In the eerie silence, Picard was left with one burning question…
Why?
Geordi had every reason to be happy as he stared at his monitor screen. After all, he had added another important piece to the puzzle of where Captain Picard had gone in pursuit of Beverly.
But all he could do was sit there, his mouth as dry as the deserts of Kolarus III.
Worf, who was standing beside Geordi with his hand on the engineer’s chair, was the one who finally said it out loud: “The Romulan Empire…?”
Geordi wasn’t a big fan of the Romulans. Sure, he had worked with his share of them during the Dominion War, when they were officially allies of the Federation. But he couldn’t forget what they had done to him years earlier, capturing him and programming him to murder a Klingon dignitary.
He still shuddered when he thought about it, and not with fear. There weren’t a lot of things that made Geordi angry, but that was one of them.
And now an old