Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
And his heart went out to it.
Cortin Zweller had red hair, boyish good looks, and a spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Just the sight of him on the monitor in Picard’s quarters—courtesy of an unexpected subspace message—brought a smile to the captain’s face.
At Starfleet Academy, Zweller and Picard had been the closest of friends, guarding each other’s backs in one bit of ill-considered, late-night mischief after another. It was during one of their more raucous ventures that Picard had been stabbed through the heart by an angry Nausicaan.
Of course, both men had changed since then, gradually taking on the more sober mien expected of Starfleet officers. But of the two of them, Zweller had changed a good deal less than Picard had. He still played the occasional prank—though never on a superior officer.
“In case you were wondering,” the redhead said, “I like the Ajax just fine. I like being second officer. I even like the new dom-jot table they installed in the rec room.”
Dom-jot was the game of skill at which Zweller had excelled as a cadet. However, the captain noted inwardly, his friend had never been as good as he believed he was.
Picard was still chuckling at the thought when he saw Zweller’s demeanor change. The smile drained from the man’s face, and he leaned closer to the screen.
“The only part I don’t like,” Zweller said, “is hearing an old buddy is sailing into a trap.”
Picard frowned. His pursuit of the White Wolf appeared to have become common knowledge.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Zweller said. “That I’m talking about the White Wolf. But I’m not. I’m talking about McAteer.”
It took Picard a moment to realize that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. McAteer? What the devil was his friend talking about?
Zweller was already providing an explanation. “Turns out he was against Mehdi’s decision to make you captain of the Stargazer. In fact, he’s been against a great many of Mehdi’s decisions over the years. That’s why McAteer’s sending you on this mission, Jean-Luc—a mission he thinks you can’t possibly pull off. It’s to make you look bad, so he can make your benefactor Mehdi look bad as well.”
Picard leaned back in his chair. He had heard that such political games were played in the upper echelons of Starfleet, but he had never experienced any of them firsthand.
Welcome to starship command, he mused.
His friend went on. “If there’s any way out of the mission, grab it and hold on tight. That’s what I would do.” He quirked a smile, though it didn’t have its usual enthusiasm behind it. “Good luck, pal. You’re going to need it.”
As the Starfleet logo came up, replacing Zweller’s face, the captain touched a square on his keypad and erased the message. After all that his Academy chum had risked on his behalf, it wouldn’t do for Picard to leave the evidence intact.
Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in his chair. Obviously, it was too late for him to even think about backing out of the mission. If it was true that McAteer had set a trap for him, he was firmly and inextricably caught in it.
But what if he could prove them all wrong—the admiral and anyone else who thought the White Wolf was uncatchable? What if he could do what no one expected him to do, his friend Corey Zweller included?
Picard resolved to find out.
Chapter Six
PETER “PUG” JOSEPH FELT A PIT OPEN in his stomach as he stood in the Stargazer’s security section and considered his newest officer.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Obal, a Binderian, looked down at his uniform and ran his hands over it, apparently thinking there might be something amiss in that department.
There was something amiss, all right. But it had nothing to do with the Binderian’s clothes.
Caught off-balance, the acting security chief shook his head. “No. Nothing at all. Carry on.”
Obal inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
As Joseph watched his new officer waddle away, he shook his head ruefully. There weren’t any other Binderians in Starfleet, so he had never seen