Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [19]
Vigo heaved a sigh—an extravagant gesture, given his massive size and physique. “He said that Pandrilite society is out of balance—that the Lesser Castes are oppressed by the Elevated Castes, to which my family belongs. And that our governing council, when presented with evidence of this imbalance, looks the other way.”
Picard hadn’t heard any of this before. Obviously, Vigo had been keeping it to himself—and letting it fester like an untreated wound. “Is that why Ejanix decided to betray Starfleet?”
“Yes,” said Vigo. “He felt there was no way within the system to obtain justice for the Lesser Castes.”
“However,” the captain noted, “that may only have been Ejanix’s perception. The truth may be a different matter entirely.”
The lieutenant looked contemplative for a moment. “Ejanix told me that I had been away from Pandril for too long, or I would have seen the Lesser Castes’ oppression for myself. He suggested that I rectify the oversight.”
Picard wasn’t happy to hear that. “Rectify it how?” he asked. “By giving up your position on the Stargazer and returning to Pandril? What are we talking about?”
“A leave of absence.” Vigo looked at his superior beseechingly. “An indefinite leave of absence.”
“I see,” said the captain. He leaned back in his chair to ponder the idea. “And what if you find that the situation on Pandril is as Ejanix said?”
“Then those in the upper castes should be made aware of it—preferably by a member of their own caste. And if I must be the one to tell them, I accept that responsibility.”
Picard frowned. It was clear that Vigo had given the matter a good deal of thought, and that his decision hadn’t been an easy one.
He didn’t like the idea of losing his senior weapons officer—especially when the sector was so unsettled. However, if anyone had earned his understanding, it was Vigo.
“I will grant you such a leave,” the captain said, “if that is what you really want.”
“It is,” said Vigo. “But,” he was quick to add, “I don’t want to leave you understaffed.”
Picard smiled. “It is not as if I will not miss your expertise, Lieutenant. However, we do have other experienced weapons officers. I am certain that we will get by, if returning to Pandril is that important to you.”
Vigo nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“You are welcome,” said Picard.
He had long ago made it a policy never to stand in the way of his crew. If Vigo had a personal mission to carry out, the captain would do everything in his power to facilitate it.
He just hoped he wouldn’t have occasion to regret it.
Ben Zoma had been counting the hours until his shuttle got within transporter range of the Antares and he could say good-bye to the erstwhile Arlen McAteer.
The first officer had met men inclined toward criticism before, but he had never met anyone inclined toward so much criticism. It seemed that whatever minute detail Ben Zoma or his security officers took care of, there was a better way to handle it—and McAteer was generous enough to share it with them.
Ben Zoma had a hard time believing it was completely a matter of duty. It seemed to him that McAteer was practicing for the moment when he would put Picard in front of a competency hearing—a proceeding in which the admiral would not only present the case for Picard’s demotion, but also rule on it.
But that was the way of it in such hearings. Expediency ruled. If justice was served, it was strictly a coincidence.
Ben Zoma glanced for what might have been the thousandth time at the chronometer set into the shuttle’s helm console. One hour and ten minutes until they could drop off McAteer and head for home.
Normally, he wouldn’t have been in any hurry to contact their rendezvous partner. But in this case, he couldn’t wait. “Hail the Antares,” he told Garner, who was now riding shotgun.
“Aye, sir,” she said.
The admiral turned to Ramirez, the lovely, dark-haired security officer who had wound up next to him, and said, “Too bad you won’t have the opportunity to spend some time with Captain Vayishra. I think you’d learn a few