Enigma - Michael Jan Friedman [67]
“What I want,” said McAteer, shrugging off Ben Zoma’s hand, “is for these people to appreciate the bind they’re in. This is our space, Commander. They may have had some lucky breaks to this point, but they have no idea what they’re up against.” He chuckled. “No idea at all.”
The aliens looked like they were getting angrier by the minute, the whorls along their jawlines turning as livid as if they had been freshly carved. But the admiral didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.
“Sir,” said Ben Zoma a little more forcefully, “with all due respect, I’m sure we can find a common—”
“A common nothing,” McAteer snapped. “We don’t negotiate with thugs and criminals. We give them fair warning and then we whip their cowardly butts.”
It was then that one of their guards raised his weapon and trained it on the back of the admiral’s head.
Ben Zoma didn’t know if the device had a stun setting or not, and there wasn’t any time to find out. Without hesitation, he whirled and plowed into the alien as hard as he could.
They fell together in a heap, but the human didn’t take his eyes off the guard’s weapon. So when they hit the deck and rolled, Ben Zoma was able to grab his adversary’s wrist and challenge him for possession of his disruptor.
He was almost finished tearing it from the alien’s hand when he felt something wallop him in the back of the head, hard enough to make his senses swim for a moment. When he regained them, he saw their other guard standing over him.
And the one the first officer had tried to disarm? He was getting to his feet, his eyes ablaze. But he wasn’t pointing his weapon at McAteer anymore. Now he was pointing it at Ben Zoma.
“No!” came a cry, savaging the air and echoing wildly from bulkhead to bulkhead.
Ben Zoma turned and saw that it had come from the invaders’ leader. He was glaring at the guard, showing his displeasure with what he saw developing.
“First One…” said the guard, his tone unmistakably one of protest.
“Desist,” said the leader. And as Ben Zoma looked on, the guard grudgingly replaced his blaster in his shoulder holster.
The first officer turned to his benefactor. “Thank you.”
The alien lifted his chin, appearing to consider Ben Zoma and McAteer anew. His jaw muscles flexed and relaxed, making the whorls in his flesh ripple.
“You put yourself at risk,” he said at last, “for someone you clearly do not like. That is…admirable.”
Ben Zoma was stunned, but he did his best not to show it. “Thank you,” he got out.
“You are not unlike my people, the D’prayl. We too manage to put aside our enmity when blood may be spilled.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said the first officer. “Maybe,” he added, recognizing an opportunity when he saw one, “we have other things in common as well.”
“That may be,” the alien allowed. He pointed to McAteer. “Reunite this one with his comrades.”
The admiral started to protest. Then he saw the looks on his guards’ faces and desisted.
Ben Zoma watched them take McAteer away, concerned for the admiral’s safety. But mostly he was relieved that McAteer would no longer be able to get them in trouble.
“My name is Otholannin,” said the aliens’ leader, “First One of the River People.”
Ben Zoma turned to him. “Gilaad Ben Zoma, first officer of the Federation Starship Stargazer. It’s good to meet you.” For a lot of reasons, he added silently.
Ulelo gazed over Emily Bender’s shoulder at the uptilted monitor screen, where his friend had put together a picture of a fertile, azure woodland.
“No,” said Ulelo, “a darker blue.” He pointed to a large, spade-shaped leaf. “And this should be flatter.”
Emily Bender made the indicated changes. “Like this?”
“Yes,” said Ulelo. “That’s it.”
The azure forest was the last of the images he had imparted to the people in the science section. The other images were up on other screens, where various science officers were trying to match them with planetary survey data.
No one believed that the aliens came from a world the Federation had surveyed. However, if they identified a closely