• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

As he listened to the message, Culunnh’s mouth opened and he seemed to shrink in size. He muttered something in return, but the captain couldn’t make it out.

From his seat next to Picard, Ben Zoma leaned over and whispered a grim “This is not a good thing.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” the captain sighed.

The First Minister waited until the Melacron had finished, then took his spot at the lectern. “I have some distressing news from Cordra Three,” he said, his voice solemn and hushed.

The chamber fell silent.

“I have just been informed that…” Culunnh swallowed. “… that more than two thousand Cordracites in the capital city of Mailoc have been poisoned by a contaminated water supply. Four hundred have already died. The city council suspects…” He winced. “… tampering.”

Picard was already on his feet when the silence was shattered by long wails of grief and fury. Before it could get any worse, he joined the First Minister at the lectern.

“We do not know for certain that it was an act of terrorism!” The captain had to bellow to be heard above the din. “We need to learn the results of the investigation first!”

He glanced down at Culunnh. The little Benniari looked broken. In his soft violet eyes Picard read the truth: the city council of Mailoc was not ready to officially announce that the reservoir had been deliberately poisoned, but everyone involved knew that was the case.

Suddenly Gerrid Thul was by the human’s side, his towering presence a reassurance. “Captain Picard has the right of it,” the Thallonian thundered. “Let us give the city council a chance to do their jobs.”

There were cries of protest from the Cordracites and their allies. And to Picard’s consternation, they were just as loud as before.

He conceded that the Cordracites had reason to be angry. Indeed, he would have been furious if he were in their place. But he couldn’t allow that anger to sabotage the proceedings.

“We cannot act without reliable information,” the captain said.

“Let us resume our talks tomorrow,” Thul advised. “By then, we should have a better understanding of what took place.”

“We have come so far,” Picard told the delegates, appealing to their reason with a voice that rang through the chamber like a bell. “We have made so much progress here in the last few sessions. We must not let something like this undo the work we have done!”

For a long, tense second or two, he had a feeling that their pleas to wait, to be rational, would be ignored by the assemblage. The captain would not have been shocked if the delegates rose, picked up their chairs and hurled them at the podium with murderous intent.

But they didn’t.

To Picard’s surprise, the congress of diplomats-for that was what they surely were, in that moment-began nodding in agreement. Slowly but surely, the sentiment spread from one end of the chamber to the other.

Then Sammis Tarv rose to speak for the Cordracite delegation. “We will postpone any radical action until we have a better understanding of the tragedy,” he announced gravely.

“Thank you,” the captain said earnestly.

“A wise decision from a wise delegation,” the Thallonian added with a hint of relief in his voice.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take more than a day for the official report to come in from Cordra III. The captain didn’t want to think about what would happen then.

He turned to face Thul. “Time is running out,” he observed in a low voice, with unavoidable solemnity.

The governor didn’t disagree.

Chapter Twelve

AS CRUSHER AND TUVOK APPROACHED the entrance to the dance hall, the commander was feeling pretty good about their chances of success.

It seemed to him they were a hair’s breadth from locating Bin Nedrach. And once they did that, they would be able to get some idea as to who was behind the terrorist incidents.

Of course, Tuvok’s criticisms back in the dressing room still rankled a little-not to mention his threat of filing a report. It was too bad, Crusher thought. At the outset, he had liked the Vulcan and valued his opinions.