Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [38]
Throughout primitive times, banishment from a Nuyyad community had inevitably resulted in death. But the banished one never protested, because he was repelled by his uniqueness every bit as much as his brethren were.
Brakmaktin was as radical a variation on the Nuyyad theme as anyone could have imagined. However, he had been so taken with his power and the rate at which it was growing that he hadn’t seen himself in light of the taboo.
Until now.
“I am an aberration,” he groaned.
Nikolas didn’t argue with him. Quite the contrary. “And aberrations are cast out.”
“Yes,” said the Nuyyad, his silver eyes narrowing even more. “Cast out—as they should be.”
Nikolas chose his words carefully. “My people have had some experience with what’s happened to you. Maybe we can do something to treat your condition.”
Brakmaktin tilted his head as he studied the human. “Treat…? Are you saying your people can make me as I was?”
Truthfully, Nikolas didn’t know if that was possible. But he didn’t say that. He didn’t even think it.
What he said was, “I think they could. But they would have to examine you first. Put you through some tests.”
Nikolas was fabricating his story as he went along. But he was careful not to make it sound too pie-in-
the-sky. Otherwise the Nuyyad would get suspicious.
Brakmaktin struck his chest with his fist and said, “I would do anything to be as I was. Anything.”
The human liked the sound of that. “We could rendezvous with a Starfleet ship. It wouldn’t take more than a day if we send a message out now.”
The Nuyyad regarded Nikolas, his brow deeply furrowed. “Starfleet is part of the Federation—I learned that from my captain. And we were to have waged war on the Federation.”
“You’re an outcast,” said Nikolas. “That’s our first concern. When we’ve addressed that, we can worry about war.”
Brakmaktin’s eyes screwed up. “You would help me after all I’ve done to you…and to your people?”
“That’s part of our job as officers in Starfleet. We’re trained to help people in need—regardless of who they are or what they’ve done.”
The alien stared at Nikolas. “What kind of warrior helps someone who killed his comrades and stole his ship?”
“We don’t consider ourselves warriors,” the human explained. “At least, not first and foremost. More than anything, we’re explorers. We’re after knowledge.”
“Knowledge is important,” Brakmaktin conceded. “Many a victory is built on it.”
“And not just victories,” said Nikolas. “Scientific discoveries. The kind that may be able to restore you to what you were before you crossed the barrier.”
“Your Federation,” the alien said thoughtfully, “is very different from the Nuyyad Alliance.”
“I imagine so,” said the human, pleased with where this was going. “With a little luck—”
“It is weak,” Brakmaktin added, “and vulnerable. I see now why my people made it a target.”
Nikolas swallowed. “I wouldn’t call it vulnerable, exactly…”
“Of course not. You are a product of it, which is why you yourself are weak.”
The human felt a surge of resentment, but he didn’t let it sway him from his objective. “Weak or not, we would like to help you. If you like, I can contact Starfleet right now.”
The Nuyyad mulled the offer for what seemed like a long time. Then he said, “I will consider it.”
Chapter Nine
PICARD LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR, having told his first officer about his experience on the cargo hauler. “I know it sounds strange,” he concluded, “but I think Brakmaktin took Nikolas with him when he left the Iktoj’ni.”
Ben Zoma, who was facing the captain across the width of his desk, was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Why would he do that? What could Nikolas do for Brakmaktin that Brakmaktin couldn’t do for himself?”
It was a fair question. Fortunately, Picard had already considered his answer.
“I’ve studied the actions of Gary Mitchell,” he said. “Gone over them in great detail, in fact. And one element jumps out at me more insistently