Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [20]
Feeling the sting of implied criticism, Ben Zoma leaned forward from his seat in the rear. “I’ve learned quite a bit from Captain Picard, sir.”
McAteer cast a steely glance in Ben Zoma’s direction. “I’m sure you have, Commander.”
But the admiral wasn’t saying whether what Ben Zoma had learned was good or bad. His teeth grinding together, the first officer toyed with the notion of a response—until he saw the expression of surprise on Garner’s face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Garner turned to look back at him. “I’m afraid there’s no answer, sir.”
“No answer?” McAteer echoed. “Are you sure, Lieutenant?”
Garner nodded. “I am, sir.”
Ben Zoma frowned. The Antares should have been well within communications range by now. If she wasn’t, there was no way she was going to make the rendezvous in time.
Of course, starships experienced communications glitches from time to time—and for all kinds of reasons, ranging from the mechanical to the celestial. Sometimes the problem was as simple as a crossed circuit.
It was inconvenient, but it happened. No reason to be concerned, Ben Zoma reflected.
“Keep trying,” he told Garner.
The lieutenant assured him that she would do that.
Chapter Six
THOUGH CAPTAIN DENTON GREENBRIAR sat in front of the seemingly infinite river of suns displayed on his bridge’s forward viewscreen, his mind was on none of them.
Or rather, it was on a sun not yet shown on the screen—the one that warmed the fertile, mineral-rich world known as Mizar II. Thanks to their ample resources, the Mizarians had been assaulted by one species after the other over the last few hundred years. On two occasions, it had been the Ubarrak. And yet the Mizarians had never made the slightest move to defend themselves, much less to seek assistance from others.
From time to time, the Federation had offered to intervene. But the Mizarians had always sent them away. They seemed to believe that as bad as the situation was for them, any demonstration of backbone would only invite something worse.
The Federation hadn’t always been good at taking a hint. But eventually, it stopped offering.
Then, just a couple of weeks ago, the Federation Council had received a surprise communication from Mizar II—or more specifically, from a new government that seemed to have more gumption than its predecessors. For the first time, the Mizarians were making inquiries about Federation membership.
Someone would have to ferry an ambassador to Mizar II to answer the Mizarians’ questions. The job pulled Greenbriar and his ship, the Cochise, off the Ubarrak border, where they had been stationed for the last several months.
At the moment, the ambassador in question—a gray-haired Vulcan by the name of Surat—was meditating in his quarters, having left instructions for Greenbriar to rouse him when the Cochise dropped out of warp. But that wouldn’t happen for a few more hours, so Surat would be very much at peace when he arrived.
The captain settled back in his seat. He didn’t particularly like this part of his job—moving dignitaries around the Federation—but he had long ago accepted it.
Besides, with politics in the sector coming to a boil, he and his crew would be called on to fight before too long. It was inevitable. The time would come when he would look back fondly on moments like these, and wish he had enjoyed them while he had the chance.
Greenbriar turned to his helm officer, Hohauser. “How are we doing, Lieutenant?”
Other ships had detected subspace anomalies in this part of space, so they had taken the Cochise around them. But dealing with such phenomena was an imprecise business at best.
“So far, so good,” reported Hohauser from his place behind the helm console.
The captain considered asking for more information, but decided against it. Hohauser was an old hand at this, having served under Greenbriar even before they launched the Cochise. His other bridge officers were veterans as well. If they thought he needed to know something, they would tell him.
That was the secret of his reputation as a model captain. He surrounded