Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [31]
“I’m in here,” he called back, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his readouts.
“There you are,” said Locklear, his voice closer now.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nikolas saw his friend swing into the room. But then, Locklear’s shock of red hair made him hard to miss, even obliquely.
“What’s up?” asked Nikolas.
“You won’t believe this.”
Something in Locklear’s voice made Nikolas turn to him. When he did, he saw the unmistakable expression of concern on his friend’s face.
Locklear wasn’t the type of person to get worried over nothing. If something was bothering him, it was a bigger item than, say, a glitch in his sonic shower.
“What’s the matter?” Nikolas asked.
“While I was up on the bridge,” said Locklear, “Captain Rejjerin received a message—from Starfleet, of all places.”
That got Nikolas’s attention. “Starfleet…?”
“Yes. And it wasn’t just to say howdy. Apparently, someone’s attacking the Federation—or parts of it. But the message didn’t say who was doing it or why. It just advised us to avoid the usual shipping lanes.”
Nikolas whistled. “Rejjerin must be steaming. She promised she would get this cargo to Djillika on time.”
“She still may,” said Locklear. “I heard her say she refused to change course.”
Nikolas looked at him. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not,” said his friend. “She said she’s got a schedule to keep and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let a few troublemakers scare her off.”
Nikolas leaned back into his chair. “Great.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
“Any chance the captain will change her mind?”
“I’ve never known her to, but there’s always a—” He stopped himself in midsentence. “Nah. No chance.”
“So, what do you think? A little mutiny?” Nikolas suggested with a straight face.
Locklear chuckled a little. “Mutiny’s for your fancy Starfleet ships. Around here, we just grumble.”
“Then grumble quietly,” Nikolas recommended. “I’ve got a diagnostic to finish.”
He didn’t love the idea of ignoring a Starfleet alert and remaining on course for Djillika. However, it didn’t look like he had much choice in the matter.
Chapter Eight
PICARD WAS PACING the bridge of the Stargazer like a caged cat when at last he heard what he had been waiting for.
“Sir,” said Gerda, “sensors have identified a vessel. It appears to be the Antares.”
Finally, the captain thought. “On screen.”
A moment later, he saw the ship they had been sent to find. But she wasn’t as Picard had seen her last. Then, the Antares had fairly bristled with power and grace. Now she was hanging in space, her hull dented and charred by what was clearly weapons fire, looking for all the world as if she had been abandoned. Even her observation ports were unlit.
“Life signs?” he asked, less than eager to hear the answer.
“Quite a few,” said Gerda, much to Picard’s relief. “Maybe as many as a hundred.”
It was good news. The Antares had set out with a crew of a hundred and eight.
“Do they have power?” the captain asked.
Gerda called up another sensor report. “Barely. Enough to run life-support in a few parts of the ship.”
That explained how Vayishra’s crew had survived. But if the Stargazer hadn’t arrived when she did, they might not have survived much longer.
“Try hailing them,” said Picard.
There was no answer.
But then, communications might have been one of the systems damaged in the attack. And if the crew was restricted to certain areas, it would have been difficult to effect repairs.
“Commander Wu,” he said, accessing the ship’s intercom system, “this is the captain. We have located the Antares.”
“What kind of shape is she in?” asked Wu.
“Not as bad as she might have been. I want you to take a team over. Identify the injured and have them beamed back to sickbay. Then assist the others in effecting repairs.”
“Right away, sir,” said the second officer, probably already on her way to the nearest turbolift.
Picard frowned. He was eager to hear what had happened in Captain Vayishra’s own words—assuming