Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [60]
“Looks that way,” said Geordi, in answer to his friend’s question.
“But why would the Romulans call for the doctor?” asked Worf. “Unless- “
“Unless it wasn’t the Romulans,” said Geordi, “but one of their subject worlds. One in need of medical expertise.”
Worf nodded. “That makes sense. But we do not know which world, and there are scores of them.”
The engineer frowned. “I could swear Beverly once said something about treating people from a Romulan outworld.” He glanced at Worf. “Sound familiar?”
Worf considered the question, then shook his head. “It does not.”
Geordi leaned back in his chair. “Maybe if I go over a list of the outworlds, one of them will ring a bell.”
“With that sort of information in hand,” said Worf, “all we would need is a spaceworthy craft-and we have enough of them in the shuttlebay to take our pick.”
The engineer nodded. “I just have to remember.”
Calling up a list of the worlds in question on his monitor, he went to work.
The silence around Picard was so deep and vast, it seemed he could lose himself in it and never be found. What is going on? he asked inwardly.
“Who are you?” came a voice, cascading suddenly through the corridor.
The question hadn’t come from a Romulan-the captain was certain of that. The tongue that fashioned it was too rough, too guttural to be anything but Kevratan.
Picard’s unseen adversaries hadn’t answered his remark earlier, perhaps because they couldn’t distinguish between a human voice and a Romulan one. But clearly, he had planted a seed of doubt in their minds.
“We are not the enemy,” said the captain, hoping to grow the seed into a certainty.
“Then who are you?” asked one of the Kevrata-a different one, Picard thought.
“A team from the Federation,” said Picard. “We are here to help you defeat the plague.”
“You are not the doctor,” observed the first Kevrata, making it sound like an accusation.
“Doctor Crusher is not among us,” the captain conceded. “But I have brought you another physician-one who studied the plague at Doctor Crusher’s side.”
The Kevrata exchanged muted comments. It seemed to Picard that one of them was doing his best to overrule the others.
“How do we know you are telling us the truth?” a Kevrata asked.
There was but one way to convince them. Putting his phaser away and deactivating his holodevice, the captain got to his feet in the darkness. Then he switched on his palmlight and turned its radiance on his undeniably human countenance.
More comments, as muted as before. But this time, there didn’t seem to be as much controversy.
Finally, a light went on among the Kevrata and a single figure rose from their midst. He seemed exceedingly tall for one of his species, nearly two and a half meters by Picard’s reckoning. The disruptor in his hand looked strangely toylike.
Giving his weapon to one of his companions, the Kevrata stepped forward, his hands extended with their palms up. “I am Hanafaejas,” he said, “leader of these people.”
Picard imitated the gesture. “Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Starship Enterprise. I come as an emissary of the Federation.”
“Welcome to our home,” said the towering Kevrata.
The captain’s thoughts turned to Joseph. “One of my people was hit hard by your weapons fire. He will need medical attention-if he is still alive.”
Hanafaejas dismissed Picard’s concern with a wave of his massive furred hand. “Our weapons were not set to kill. Your comrade will be all right.”
The captain felt a wave of relief. “I am glad to hear that.”
“Hanafaejas!” called one of the other Kevrata, his voice strident with urgency. “It is a trick!”
Suddenly, a beam of light illuminated Decalon’s face. The Romulan squinted but tolerated it without comment.
“A Romulan?” asked Hanafaejas. He turned to Picard, his expression a wary one.
“Decalon is a member of my team,” said Picard. “He lived