Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [65]
“I am,” McAteer said decisively.
“Actually,” said Ben Zoma, “he’s the ranking officer, but I’m the one in charge of this team.”
The invader made a sound of disgust. He was obviously having trouble with the distinction. Finally he said, “Then you will both come with me.”
When Ulelo opened his eyes, he expected to see the dark, featureless walls of his cell in the Stargazer’s brig. Instead, he saw the pastel-colored environs of sickbay.
He sat up in his biobed, wondering what had happened to place him there. Then it all came back to him—the bottomless abyss into which he had felt himself falling, and the commotion around him, and the sudden, soft feeling of well-being as the contents of a hypospray mingled with his blood.
Thankfully, Ulelo didn’t feel himself toppling into a chasm anymore. He didn’t see the deep blue forest or the diamond-dust shore anymore either.
All he saw was the facility where his colleagues went when they needed medical attention, with all its stolid, reassuring familiarity. And it felt awfully good to be there.
“Ulelo?” came a voice from behind him.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw Mister Joseph approaching him. Pierzynski was present as well, though he hung back by the room’s sliding doors.
Guarding them against my leaving. But Ulelo had no desire to leave. He liked it a lot better there than in the brig.
“How do you feel?” asked Joseph.
“Well,” said Ulelo.
He did, too. And not just because his visions had left him alone. He felt clear now, clear enough to talk to someone about the images that had been plaguing him.
Before, he had felt too burdened by them to discuss them with anyone. But he didn’t feel burdened any longer.
“If it’s all right,” he told Joseph, “I’d like to speak with Commander Wu.”
Ben Zoma and McAteer were marched along a short, straight corridor, led by the alien who had stuck his head into their cell and followed by two others. Each of the aliens behind them had a disruptor leveled at their backs.
Before long, they came to an open doorway on their left. Their guide walked through it, not even bothering to look back to see if his captives were following.
But of course, they had to follow. The aliens behind them ensured that.
There was a room on the other side of the doorway, as large as their cell but lined with observation ports. There were three aliens waiting for them inside. But these weren’t like any of the invaders Ben Zoma had encountered previously. These were different in that they weren’t wearing helmets.
As they turned to their captives, their faces open and exposed, Ben Zoma got a good look at them. It was difficult for him to ignore one remarkable fact.
McAteer swore under his breath. “They look—”
“Human,” said Ben Zoma, finishing the thought for him.
In fact, the aliens looked very human, more so than almost any extraterrestrial species the first officer had ever seen. Sure, their brows overhung their eyes a bit, and their ears were small and spiral-shaped. And now that Ben Zoma looked more closely, he could make out shallow whorls in the flesh along their jaws that reminded him of fingerprint patterns.
But that was it.
On the other hand, this group didn’t dress very much like humans. It was clear from their coarse leather vests and leggings that their species still hunted wild animals. And it was equally clear from the weapons belts slung over their shoulders that wild animals weren’t all they hunted.
But they weren’t blustery, in the manner of Klingons. They seemed restrained, measured. And also wary. But then, they hadn’t expected to find humans lurking on their vessel.
One of the hide-clad aliens, obviously their leader, stood there while the humans were delivered to him. The other two withdrew a step or two, deferring to him.
Ben Zoma’s handlers stopped him a meter short of the foremost alien. The same thing was done with McAteer. The invader’s eyes narrowed as he considered them.
“What is your purpose here?” he asked.
Ben Zoma