Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [73]
Silence for a moment. “I don’t think I’d use the word ‘hoodwinked,’ sir.” More silence. “Not exactly.”
Picard regarded his aquarium. Sometimes he wished he could place some of his officers in that tank; certainly they’d be easier to keep tabs on. And they would have considerably fewer opportunities to take foolish chances with their lives.
Then again, there were extenuating circumstances. One could not forget that Riker had lost a close friend recently. That kind of experience had a way of jarring one’s values.
“Will, you are obviously playing a very deadly game down there. Would it not be wiser to have someone healthy working with Lyneea?”
Picard could almost hear his first officer bristling. And hadn’t he known what the answer would be, even before he posed the question?
“I’m still the best man for the job, sir. Unless, of course, that was a thinly veiled order.”
The captain grunted. “No, Number One. It wasn’t an order.”
“Then I’d like to see this through, sir.”
Picard nodded. “What about some help? A small security contingent?”
“Not necessary,” advised Riker. “We’re just going to find out where the seal is hidden. And Teller wouldn’t have hidden it anywhere he couldn’t easily recover it.”
Picard mulled it over. “No,” he agreed, “I suppose not.” He paused. “But there is still the matter of that assassin. And who can say he’s working alone? His employer could have hired others as well.”
“I’ve thought of that myself, sir. But a group of offworlders would just draw too much attention. Remember, we’re still trying to keep the seal’s disappearance a secret. Besides, if someone’s really determined to get me, an entourage isn’t going to help.”
The captain frowned. “All right. We’ll do it your way—for now. But I will take the precaution of preparing an away team, in the event you should need help.”
“Fair enough,” said Riker.
Picard considered the aquarium again. “What about Dr. Crusher? What provisions have you made for her safety?”
“She’ll be well protected,” the first officer told him. “Lyneea has arranged for Madraga Criathis to provide some retainers. They’ll be guarding the doctor’s hotel suite from the inside as well as the outside.”
“Good. At least one of my people will come out of this alive.”
Riker didn’t respond to the gibe.
“Incidentally, Number One, does your partner down there know of this conversation? Or will you be continuing to communicate in clandestine fashion?”
“No,” said Riker. “She knows all right. In fact, sir, she’s standing right here. I’ve already explained about that loophole in the high-tech ban, and she agrees—for the time being, anyway—that it’s a gray area. So I don’t expect any restrictions on our communications.”
An exchange followed—one that Picard couldn’t hear very well. “I beg your pardon, Commander?”
“Uh—nothing, sir. Lyneea was just reminding me that we have to go. The merger ceremony is scheduled to take place in fourteen hours.”
“I understand, Number One. But remember—stay in touch.”
“Will do, Captain.”
Picard thought for a moment, then exited his ready room. As the more brightly lit, more spacious environs of the bridge opened up before him, he turned toward Worf at Tactical.
The Klingon had already looked up from his instruments, as if he’d sensed that an order was coming.
“Lieutenant Worf, be ready to beam down to Besidia on short notice.”
“Trouble, sir?” asked Worf.
Picard shook his head. “Not yet, no. But I anticipate it.” He glanced at the Ops station, where Data usually sat. It was occupied by Lieutenant Solis. “Isn’t this Commander Data’s shift?” he asked.