Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [83]
“But there’s a condition,” the captain added. “I want the Federation’s cargo returned. I don’t care how.”
The White Wolf nodded, only too glad to comply. “Whatever you say. I’ve got no use for it anyway.”
Greenbriar nodded approvingly. “You’re a good man, Picard. Just as I had heard.”
Picard took some solace in the knowledge that he had at least one true ally among his fellow captains. Also, it occurred to him, he understood something he only thought he had understood before.
“People are often not what they seem,” he said, quoting Greenbriar word for word.
The other captain smiled. “You’ve got a hell of a memory.”
“Yes,” said Picard. “But this is one day I may want to forget.”
Idun didn’t know anything about Picard’s conversation with Captain Greenbriar. She didn’t know why he had summoned Ben Zoma and Simenon and then dispatched them again.
But when Picard finally emerged from his ready room, the helm officer was certain that his orders would involve phasers and boarding parties and the incarceration of all who had committed crimes against the Federation.
That is, until the captain actually spoke.
“You know,” he said, “this is not a good situation.”
She looked at him. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I was referring to the impulse engines,” Picard told her. “This is a very bad time for them to have shut down.”
Idun looked at her console, trying to figure out what the captain was talking about. As far as she could tell, the ship’s impulse engines were working perfectly.
“Sir,” she said, “I don’t see any problem with the—”
The helm officer stopped in midsentence. Suddenly, all her monitors were flashing, indicating that they had lost impulse power. She turned to Picard again.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “How did you—?”
“In fact, the timing couldn’t have been much worse,” Picard remarked, his voice now loud enough for everyone on the bridge to hear him. “No doubt the White Wolf will take advantage of this unexpected opportunity to escape us. And without working impulse engines, there’s no possibility of our offering pursuit.”
Idun didn’t understand. The captain didn’t seem very disappointed, considering how hard they had worked to find the pirate and disable his vessel. Then she realized what he was doing.
He was letting the White Wolf go.
“Had another starship tracked us down and joined the fray,” Picard continued, “it might have been a different story. However, we faced the pirate alone.” He looked around at his bridge personnel, eyeing each of them in turn. “Completely alone,” he added for emphasis.
Idun didn’t know why the captain was doing this. But clearly, it had something to do with what he had learned in his ready room.
She had been raised by Klingons to be a warrior, and a warrior didn’t allow a defeated enemy to slip through her fingers. Her every instinct cried out against this.
Yet she remained silent, because it was Captain Picard who had implicitly asked her to do so. Her respect for him went beyond instinct, beyond protocol, beyond her understanding of right and wrong.
If Picard wanted to allow the enemy to escape, Idun wouldn’t do anything to stand in his way. Nor, she decided, would she include any of this in her helm report.
Her sister darted a glance at her from her place at navigation. Judging from Gerda’s expression, she felt the same way.
“It’s too bad,” Lieutenant Paxton said, taking his cue from the captain. “We came so close.”
“So very close,” Picard sighed.
“I guess we have no choice but to repair the engines and go home with our tail between our legs,” Vigo said.
“No choice at all,” the captain agreed.
He looked around the bridge, waiting for one of his officers to object. No one did.
Least of all Idun Asmund.
Obal was taking his turn at the big concave bank of security monitors when Pug Joseph approached him.
“Mr. Obal,” said the security chief.
The Binderian turned to him and smiled. “Good morning, sir.”
“How’s it going?” Joseph asked, though that wasn’t exactly the question he had come to ask.
“Fine, sir,” said Obal. “I understand the impulse engines