Gauntlet - Michael Jan Friedman [84]
“Uh . . . yes, I guess they are. I’m told we’ll be leaving Beta Barritus before we know it.”
Obal shrugged his narrow shoulders. “It’s a pity the White Wolf got away. But at least we managed to recover the stolen cargo.”
Joseph looked at the Binderian and couldn’t tell if there was any irony in his comments or not.
“Listen,” the security chief said, feeling the need to change the subject, “I wanted to tell you what a great job you did down there in the shuttlebay. If not for you, we might have had a real tragedy on our hands.”
Obal smiled. “I was happy to help. But then, isn’t that what a security officer does—provide help in times of crisis?”
Joseph didn’t have the heart to tell the Binderian that he still didn’t have what it took, or to reprise his advice that Obal’s talents would be better served elsewhere. Not now, after he had made such a hero of himself.
Unfortunately, there was more to security work than cataloging phasers or securing the shuttlebay. One had to have the respect of others, and Joseph just didn’t see how Obal could earn that respect.
“Yes,” the chief replied grudgingly. “That’s what a security officer does.”
Picard smiled when he saw the stars.
They were long, bright streaks rather than points of brilliance, a function of the Stargazer’s faster-than-light velocity. But they were a welcome sight nonetheless.
“You know,” said Ben Zoma, who was standing at the captain’s side, “I could go a long time without missing Beta Barritus again.”
Picard nodded in agreement. “A long time.”
“Sir,” said Gerda, putting a damper on the moment, “sensors are picking up a vessel.”
Picard turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of vessel?”
His navigator consulted her monitors. “It’s a Federation starship—the Antares. Two hundred million kilometers and closing.”
Normally, Picard would have treated this as good news. Or at the very least, not bad news. But after his experience with the Cochise, he couldn’t help feeling a little gun-shy.
“Hail them,” he said.
“Actually,” Paxton told him, “they’re hailing us.”
Picard nodded. “On screen.”
The viewer filled with the image of a Starfleet captain—a swarthy man with a neat dark goatee. Picard believed he had seen the fellow at the admiral’s soiree on Starbase 32.
“This is Captain Vayishra of the Antares,” the man said. “The Grissom and the Reliant will be here within the hour.”
“I see,” Picard replied.
Vayishra looked sympathetic, in a vaguely condescending sort of way. “Had trouble getting in, did you?”
Picard shrugged. “Some.”
“Don’t take it too hard,” Vayishra told him. “From what I’ve heard, it’s a mess in there.”
“That it is,” Picard confirmed.
“When we’re all here,” said Vayishra, “follow our lead. We’ll find the White Wolf no matter what it takes.”
“Actually,” said Picard, “we already found him.”
The other captain looked skeptical for a moment. Then he laughed. “Of course you have. You’ve got him in your brig even as we speak.”
“I’m afraid we don’t,” Picard told him. “However, we do have the cargo he lifted.”
Vayishra’s brow furrowed. “You’re being facetious, of course.”
“I’m not,” Picard assured him.
Vayishra shook his head. “But how did you—?”
“It will all be in my report. Picard out.”
As Vayishra’s perplexed expression vanished from the screen, giving way to the field of streaming stars, Ben Zoma moved to the captain’s side. “That was more fun than you deserve,” he said.
“Is it?” Picard responded. “I am the only captain who’s ever cornered the White Wolf.”
“Also the only one who’s ever let him go.”
Picard glanced at his first officer. “You would have done the same thing in my place.”
Ben Zoma smiled. “Probably.”
“Which makes us . . . what?” the captain wondered. “Soft touches?”
His friend considered the question for a moment. “I prefer to think of us as men who can tell where orders end and justice begins.”
“Very poetic,” Picard said appreciatively. “But what kind of captain ignores his orders?”
“In this case?” Ben Zoma said. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “The best kind.”
Chapter