Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [6]
He had barely completed the thought when the alien sent words into his mind: I don’t, actually. Not anymore.
“Nonetheless,” he added out loud, “assault me if you like. It won’t make any difference. We’ll still follow the course we’re following now.”
Nikolas’s heart sank in his chest. The alien might not have been as scary as the Ubarrak, with all their ships and their armaments, but he was starting to come in a close second.
Chapter Two
PICARD WAS STUDYING a block of text on his desktop monitor when he heard the sound of chimes, announcing the presence of someone outside his ready room door.
“Come,” he said.
The doors opened on command, admitting Picard’s friend and first officer, Gilaad Ben Zoma. As usual, Ben Zoma’s expression was a cheerful one—until he saw the captain’s.
“Must be pretty grim,” he observed, “whatever it is.”
“I am afraid so,” said Picard, leaning back in his chair. With a gesture, he indicated the monitor screen. “These are the charges Admiral McAteer will bring against me. He was nice enough to send them in advance.”
Actually, niceness had nothing to do with it. They both knew that it was a requirement of the proceeding.
“What does he say?” asked Ben Zoma, pulling out the chair opposite the captain’s.
“Nothing good, I assure you.”
Ben Zoma had had the pleasure of listening to McAteer’s objections in person, when he and the admiral were working together against the D’prayl. Still, he wanted to hear the specifics.
“For instance?” he said.
Picard sighed. “I never hailed the Nuyyad in accordance with Starfleet protocols, thereby depriving them of the opportunity to tell their side of the story. Instead, I destroyed the vessel pursuing us. Then I attacked another of their vessels—the one in orbit around Magnia. And to add insult to injury, I went after the Nuyyad’s supply depot.
“What is worse, according to the admiral, is my reliance on the word of Serenity Santana, whose information had already proven unreliable. In fact, he says, the Federation still has no concrete proof that the Nuyyad represent any threat whatsoever.”
Ben Zoma made a sound of disgust. “Starfleet itself was suspicious of the Nuyyad, or it wouldn’t have sent us to their galaxy in the first place. And we were attacked almost immediately after we crossed the barrier—a battle in which Captain Ruhalter and several others were killed.”
“It’s true that I was relying at least partly on the word of Serenity Santana,” Picard conceded.
“However,” Ben Zoma pointed out, “you received the same information from a second source—Jomar.”
“True,” said the captain. Jomar was a Kelvan, and therefore at odds with Santana’s people. Yet his description of the Nuyyad as unrelenting aggressors agreed with Santana’s.
“And you were hardly in a position to observe protocols,” said Ben Zoma. “The Stargazer was badly damaged—by the very people McAteer would have had you hail. If you hadn’t destroyed them, they would have destroyed us.”
Picard frowned. “Had the Nuyyad been less hostile to begin with, or had I enjoyed a wider array of options, or had the stakes not been so high…of course I might have proceeded differently. But under the circumstances, I do not see that I had a viable alternative.”
“Nor do I,” said Ben Zoma.
“Thank you,” said the captain.
“Don’t mention it,” said his friend. Unfortunately, Ben Zoma wasn’t the one he would have to convince.
“Captain?” came a voice over the intercom. It belonged to Elizabeth Wu, the petite but efficient woman who served as the ship’s second officer.
“Have we arrived at Pandril?” Picard asked.
“We have, sir. Lieutenant Asmund is establishing an orbit now.”
The captain turned to Ben Zoma. “Care to come along and see Vigo off?”
The first officer quirked a smile. “Of course. There should be someone there he actually likes.”
Nikolas had spent hours carrying out the chilling task of lugging corpses to the Iktoj’ni’s main cargo hold.
The lighter ones he had slung over his shoulder. The heavier ones he had dragged by their ankles. None of them were easy, and they