Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [49]
Gerda Idun had been returned to him, at least after a fashion. He was thinking in terms of survival now, even lasting happiness. It would be harder to sacrifice himself for the greater good under those circumstances. A lot harder.
In fact, he would have been fretting about it day and night if not for this feeling he had—an intuition that somehow everything was going to be all right. It wasn’t based on much—just one thing, really, and that was the expression on Brakmaktin’s face the last time he was on the bridge.
The Nuyyad had seemed eager to grasp at any straw, no matter how thin or brittle, or deeply buried in a stack of uncertainty. That considered, Brakmaktin might not blow up when he realized the Federation couldn’t help him.
He might settle for some other kind of peace. Nikolas didn’t have a clue as to what it might be, but he was sure the Nuyyad would have plenty of help finding it.
“And no sign of pursuit?” Gerda Idun asked.
“Not as far as I can tell,” he said.
It was curious, to say the least. Their vessel was escaping Ubarrak space unscathed, when it should have been seized or—failing that—destroyed for what they did to the squadron they had encountered. Obviously, Brakmaktin had found a way to guarantee them safe passage.
Gerda Idun moved behind him and put her arms around his neck. “So we might as well go back to our quarters.”
He smiled to himself. “Don’t you want to see the stars?”
She whispered in his ear, “I’ve seen plenty of stars in our quarters, thanks.”
Then she laughed. And as beautiful as her laughter was, he couldn’t help laughing with her.
Nikolas couldn’t imagine what it would be like having her back on Earth with him. What would the guys in the old neighborhood say? You’ve got to be kidding me, Nik. How’d she wind up with a deadbeat like you?
It made him smile just thinking about it.
Picard felt the muscles working in his jaw as he stepped out of the turbolift and made his way to Dojjaron’s quarters.
When he reached them, he placed his hand over the metal security plate beside the door. Then he waited for the Nuyyad to respond to his presence.
After a minute, the door still hadn’t slid aside. And yet, Dojjaron was on the other side of it—the ship’s computer had indicated as much to Picard en route. Just to make sure, he queried the computer again.
“Foremost Elder Dojjaron is in his quarters,” came the reply, based on another internal sensor scan.
It didn’t seem likely that it was in error. Dojjaron was the only Nuyyad on the Stargazer.
Given the volatile nature of the foremost elder, the captain began to grow concerned. It occurred to him that it might be wise of him to contact security.
He was about to engage the intercom system when the door finally opened for him. Moving past it, he saw Dojjaron sitting on the only chair in the room big enough to accommodate him.
“Foremost Elder,” he said, resorting to the Nuyyad’s title—but not as an earnest gesture of respect.
“What is it?” asked Dojjaron.
“You and I need to talk,” Picard said.
“About what?” the Nuyyad demanded.
“I understand you had an altercation with several of my officers.”
“That is correct,” said Dojjaron. But nothing more.
“What you did was unacceptable.”
“What I did was necessary. And if the circumstances are repeated, I will do it again.”
“In what way could such actions be considered necessary?” the captain wondered.
Dojjaron’s brow lowered over his black eyes. “Physical contact with a female, except during procreation, is taboo among the Nuyyad. Your crew member sullied me with her touch.”
Physical contact? With a female? No one had mentioned such a taboo. But then, Picard hadn’t thought to ask.
“I regret that you were insulted,” he said. “However, I assure you, it was not intentional.”
“Intent is not an issue,” the alien insisted. “All that matters is that she touched me. An elder, no less. She must