Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [37]
But he knew he couldn’t abandon his mission. He had to see it through to its end—not only for the sake of the Federation, but for that of the galaxy.
And for Nikolas’s sake as well, if he was in truth Brakmaktin’s prisoner.
“What do you think?” asked Ben Zoma.
“I think we should follow the trail,” said Picard, “and hope we get to Brakmaktin before the Ubarrak get to us.”
“And that discovery you said would surprise me?”
“We will discuss it in my ready room.”
This time, Nikolas didn’t have to look very far to track down Brakmaktin. He was in the armory where the human had found him the first time.
But he wasn’t suspended in midair, luxuriating in his power. He was standing in a corner, his head hanging, the side of his fist resting against the veneer-covered bulkhead.
“Get out,” he jangled.
But it wasn’t with any real conviction. And if Brakmaktin had truly wished to be rid of Nikolas, he could have made that happen easily enough.
I don’t get it, Nikolas thought. A moment ago, he was slaughtering Ubarrak without a second thought. Now he’s standing in the corner like a mopey kid.
Suddenly, the alien turned to look back at him. He heard me, Nikolas realized, and wondered stoically what price Brakmaktin would exact for his insubordination.
But the alien didn’t lash out at him. He just gave him that pained look again, as if he were a child lost in a very deep and gloomy part of the forest.
“It is wrong,” he said again, and this time his voice was different as well—quieter and slower, as if he were thinking even as he was speaking. “It is an aberration.”
“What is?” Nikolas ventured.
Brakmaktin’s silver eyes narrowed. “I am. And any offspring who issue from me.”
Nikolas didn’t understand. Was the alien feeling sorry for himself? How was that possible when he had the power to do anything he wanted?
“You’re right,” said Brakmaktin. “You don’t understand.” And he inserted the explanation into the human’s mind—as well as a great deal more.
Nikolas had been wrong about where Brakmaktin came from. He wasn’t part of the invasion force that had penetrated Federation space—the one the Iktoj’ni had been warned about.
He was a member of a species called Nuyyad, whose name sounded oddly familiar to Nikolas. But where had he heard it?
Then he remembered. The Nuyyad was the species Captain Picard had encountered on the other side of the galactic barrier. Nikolas wasn’t serving on the Stargazer yet at the time, but he had read about the mission shortly after he came aboard.
The Nuyyad were aggressors, conquerors. And they had had their sights set on the Federation—apparently, even after the Stargazer crippled their preparations for an invasion.
Brakmaktin had been part of a scouting expedition—an attempt to gauge the strength and scope of the Federation, so the Nuyyad could strike without delay once they had replaced the depot the starship had destroyed.
But a portion of the vessel’s shielding had gone down at a critical moment. Brakmaktin had been exposed to the barrier’s energies, transformed into something that grew more insanely powerful by the moment.
The barrier, Nikolas thought. Of course.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before, when he was trying to decide if the alien could have been as powerful as those legendary superbeings? Maybe because no one on the Stargazer had been exposed to it or transformed by it, so it hadn’t seemed real to him.
But Brakmaktin was real. Real enough to make a husk of everyone on the Iktoj’ni except Nikolas. Real enough to erase the minds of one Ubarrak crew and obliterate three others.
And until now, he hadn’t seemed to have any regrets. But he had only been concealing them. He had regrets so massive even he couldn’t bear the burden they imposed on him.
Not because he had murdered and maimed—the Nuyyad had no strictures against that behavior. In fact, they encouraged it. No, it wasn’t what Brakmaktin had done that he regretted. It was what he had become.
In Nuyyad culture, a warrior had to be perfect in body as well as in spirit. Any attribute that diverged