Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [50]
The captain asked the question, even though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “What did you have in mind?”
“Execution,” said Dojjaron, putting a cutting edge on the word.
Picard had known he wouldn’t like it. “We do not execute members of our crew. Not even for the gravest offenses.”
“Then how will you punish her?” the Nuyyad demanded.
“First,” said the captain, “I will study the situation. Then I will make a determination as to whether I will punish Ensign Cadwallader at all.”
Dojjaron’s mouth twisted with disdain. “Then I may need to deal with her on my own.”
Picard shook his head. “I will not permit you to engage in further violence on the Stargazer.”
The foremost elder glared at him. “Your crew has failed to show me the proper respect.”
“They treated you as they would have treated the highest-ranking officer in our fleet.”
“Then,” said Dojjaron, “your highest-ranking officer should demand more of them.”
The captain was on the verge of saying something he would surely have regretted. Taking a deep breath, he tried a more conciliatory approach.
“Make no mistake, Foremost Elder, your assistance is valuable to us. We will need it if we are to defuse the threat posed by Brakmaktin. However—”
“Let me make my position clear,” Dojjaron rumbled. “I am not here to help you or your people. If I could, I would crush you all single-handedly and take your star systems for my own. The only reason I came this way was to destroy the aberration. And when that is accomplished, I will be happy to leave you to your delusion of safety—at least for the time being.”
Picard absorbed the information, including the barely veiled threat. Then he answered, in a tone that was firm but also eminently reasonable.
“Let me make something clear, Foremost Elder. As a Starfleet captain, it is my duty to work with you toward our common goal. But do not mistake cooperation for weakness. I am not especially proud of what I did in your galaxy. I wish it had not been necessary. But if you attempt to conquer the Federation, be advised that we will meet you with every ounce of force at our disposal. And I will be in the vanguard.”
If his speech gave Dojjaron pause, the Nuyyad gave no sign of it. He just sat there, his gaze hard under the ledge of his brow.
“In the meantime,” the captain continued, “I suggest you remember that you are a guest here and behave accordingly. And in return, we will do our best to keep from giving you further offense. Fair enough?”
The foremost elder didn’t agree to the deal. However, he also didn’t voice an objection. Picard took that as a sign of acquiescence.
“Good day,” he told Dojjaron, and left the alien’s quarters.
Cadwallader hung on the horizontal bar dressed only in her black pants and white, form-fitting top, her boots and her cranberry-colored tunic lying on the mat beside the apparatus.
With a grace born of hours of practice, the com officer lifted her knees to her chest and kicked out to get herself swinging. Then she swung higher and higher, until she was exceeding the level of the bar each time.
More than once, she had been told by an enthusiastic observer that she was stronger than she looked. But it didn’t take much strength to work on the horizontal bar when one was as slender and small-boned as she was.
Just stubbornness. In fact, her stubbornness might have been her best quality.
That was why it had been so hard for Cadwallader to do what she did in the mess hall—to submerge her pride and apologize to the big oaf when she knew the incident was as much his fault as hers.
And yet, it hadn’t been enough. She was sure of it. There would be repercussions—and she would be the one responsible for them.
She got a lump in her throat. She had been so happy there on the Stargazer. Why couldn’t she have lost her appetite just that once? Why couldn’t she have watched where she was going?
What’s done is done, Cadwallader told herself. It was one of her grandfather’s favorite sayings. No taking it back now.
Kicking even higher, she swung forward and continued