Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [17]
They spent the next several minutes discussing the details of the Magnians’ transfer to the Stargazer. And of course, Dojjaron’s. Then they signed off.
It was strange putting aside their passion for each other this way. Nonetheless, it had to be done.
Leaning back in his chair, the captain considered another detail of the mission he had just undertaken. Unfortunately, this one was a little stickier.
His duty, at that juncture, was to get in touch with Starfleet Command and apprise Admiral McAteer of his intention to track down Brakmaktin. However, he knew that the admiral would never authorize Picard’s involvement in the matter.
Even if McAteer put any faith in Serenity’s story, which seemed highly unlikely, he would place the assignment in the hands of a more experienced captain. Greenbriar, for instance. Or Vayishra. Or Van Loon.
But Picard was the one who had crossed the barrier and seen Magnia. He alone, of all the captains in the fleet, knew what Serenity’s people were capable of. And he alone had a feel for how far they could be trusted.
Clearly, he was the captain best qualified for this undertaking. It was his duty to take the initiative—and assume the accompanying risk to his career.
After all, what did he have to lose? Thanks to McAteer, he was already on the verge of forfeiting his command.
Of course, he would still transmit a message outlining the situation. If Brakmaktin was indeed the threat Dojjaron made him out to be and Picard failed to defuse him, the rest of the fleet would need to know what had happened.
However, it would be strictly a one-way communication.
Nikolas searched the Iktoj’ni slowly and painstakingly, wandering through corridor after long, dimly lit corridor, but he couldn’t find his friend Locklear. He came across the corpses of a great many other crewmen—all of them stiff and dead, their bodies contorted and their faces drained of blood.
But not Locklear.
Seeing that his friend wasn’t in the corridors, Nikolas looked in the cargo hauler’s service shafts and cargo bays. But he couldn’t find Locklear there either. It was as if he had left the ship, impossible as that seemed.
Still, Nikolas had to find his friend. He couldn’t just let him lie somewhere, twisted and pale and forgotten. He had to find him and say good-bye to him.
There were fifty sleeping compartments on the cargo hauler, though he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have slept through an attack. But one by one, Nikolas went through those as well. He discovered a few more crewmen and a small horned quadruped that wasn’t supposed to be on board. But it was as dead as everyone else, so the breach hardly seemed to matter anymore.
He sat down with the animal and stroked its soft, furry back. It felt stiff and cold underneath its fur.
Suddenly, Nikolas realized that he wasn’t on the Iktoj’ni anymore. Somehow he was back on the Stargazer instead, wearing his cranberry-and-black Starfleet uniform, and the animal he had found was nowhere to be seen.
Allowing that he might have been confused, and that Locklear might have been on the Stargazer instead, Nikolas began his search anew. But he still couldn’t find his friend, no matter how hard he looked or how many places he checked.
Locklear wasn’t in the mess hall or the gymnasium. In sickbay, Nikolas found Greyhorse sitting in his office, but the doctor said that no one had brought Locklear in. Captain Picard and some of his officers were on the bridge, but none of them appeared to have even heard of Locklear.
Finally, as Nikolas was about to admit defeat, a sixth sense told him to look back over his shoulder—and to his relief, there was his pal Locklear. Miraculously, he wasn’t even dead. He was standing there grinning as if it were all a big game—the attack on the ship, the alien, even the bodies of their fellow crewmen.
“Why are you smiling?” asked Nikolas.
“I’m not smiling,” said his friend. “How can I smile? I’m dead.” And right before Nikolas’s eyes, the color drained from Locklear’s face until