Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [30]
“So where do we go?” asked Ramirez.
Ben Zoma wished he were the one empowered to decide their next move. But he wasn’t—not as long as McAteer remained the highest-ranking officer on the shuttle.
Turning to the admiral, the first officer said, “Sir?”
McAteer shrugged. “I don’t think we’ve got any choice, Commander. We’ll report to the nearest starbase.” He glanced at Paris. “That would be One-Two-Nine, I believe?”
The helm officer confirmed it.
“After all,” McAteer went on, “this is a shuttlecraft, not a starship. If the Cochise and the Gibraltar weren’t able to stand up to our mysterious enemy, I doubt there’s much we can do.”
Ben Zoma had some ideas about that. But, knowing how futile it would be to voice them, he kept them to himself.
Picard gazed across his desk at Wu and Greyhorse. They looked back at him with the same expectant look on their faces, obviously wondering why he had summoned them.
He didn’t leave them in suspense.
“Two of our starships—the Cochise and the Gibraltar—have been attacked by unidentified vessels,” he said. “And we’ve lost contact with the Antares.”
“When did this happen?” asked Greyhorse.
“Command received the distress calls less than an hour ago. And though the fates of the Cochise and the Gibraltar are still unknown, both captains spoke of defending against boarding parties.”
Wu’s otherwise flawless brow creased with concern. “What about our shuttle?”
“I have sent Commander Ben Zoma a message notifying him of the attacks. With luck, he will receive it in time to move the Livingston out of harm’s way.”
Greyhorse frowned. “Why can’t we meet the shuttle ourselves?”
“Admiral Mehdi has assigned us to investigate the fate of the Antares. Besides, the Livingston is probably seeking the shelter of a starbase by now.”
Silence reigned for a moment, as Wu and Greyhorse digested the information. Then the second officer spoke up.
“Whoever attacked them must have had some pretty impressive firepower,” she observed. “Greenbriar and Rodriguez are both formidable combatants.”
Picard leaned forward. “Unless the intruders knew our tactical systems inside and out. Then they could have worked out a way to pierce our defenses.”
Greyhorse looked at him askance. “But how would they have that kind of—” He stopped in midsentence. “You’re not suggesting that Ulelo had something to do with this?”
“I am,” said Picard. “I no longer believe that Ulelo was carrying out a schizophrenic fantasy. I believe he was transmitting data to a group of aliens, who used it in their attack on the Cochise and the other ships.”
Again, his officers took a moment to mull what he had said. This time, it was Greyhorse who reacted first.
“It may yet turn out to be a coincidence,” he said.
“It may,” the captain conceded. “But if it is, it will be a rather large one. On one hand, Ulelo repeatedly transmits data to an unknown party. On the other, an equally unknown party attacks our vessels with remarkable success. It is not much of a leap to suspect that there is a connection.”
Greyhorse sighed. “Perhaps not.”
The captain turned to Wu. “Do you think Ulelo is capable of shedding light on our attackers?”
The second officer frowned. “He couldn’t even keep straight whom he was working for. I doubt he can be of any help to us, even if he’s willing.” She looked from one of her colleagues to the other. “Still, I suppose I can give it a try.”
Picard nodded. “Please do.”
Nikolas was ensconced in the Iktoj’ni’s small, badly ventilated operations center, running a routine diagnostic on her deflector array, when he heard the clatter of approaching footfalls in the corridor outside.
“Nik?” someone called, his voice echoing wildly.
It had to be Locklear. No one else on the cargo hauler called him by that name. For that matter, no one on the Stargazer had called him Nik either.
Not even Obal.
Nikolas’s thoughts turned to the Binderian, as they had almost every day since he set foot on the cargo hauler. And as always, he set them aside.
Obal was a relic of the life