Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [61]
“The squadron,” he said in a voice like dry sticks rubbing together, “has been destroyed—its hulls riddled with holes and its crews drawn out through them into the void.”
Picard’s jaw clenched. “I am sorry.”
The Ubarrak’s eyes screwed up beneath his brow ledge. “If you know something about this, speak quickly.”
Picard was only too happy to oblige.
Nikolas watched the pit Brakmaktin had created in the center of the cavern fill with a fiery-hot soup of molten lava.
Only the most desirable caverns on the Nuyyad homeworld boasted firepits, and none had one so broad and deep. But Brakmaktin had the power to endow his cavern with the best of everything.
Nikolas knew that because Brakmaktin’s mind had opened to him again—just as it had on the warship, when the alien was summoning the human to the armory. And it was staying open, giving Nikolas access to Brakmaktin’s thoughts.
Not all of them—just those on the surface, waiting to be acted upon. But that was enough to answer some of the questions Nikolas had been asking since he woke on the Iktoj’ni.
Such as why it was so important to Brakmaktin to manufacture a cavern for himself. And why he had tried to do it in even the unlikeliest of places.
He wanted to reproduce. And unless Nikolas had misunderstood, the Nuyyad could do it asexually.
Nikolas had read about the Magnians. He knew that barrier-induced talents could be passed from generation to generation. And if Brakmaktin were the only parent, his children would be as powerful as he was.
He tried to imagine a dozen Brakmaktins. Two dozen. So far, Nikolas hadn’t seen anything stand up to the original. What could possibly stand against all those copies?
All the more reason for Brakmaktin to be stopped. But not by Nikolas. He had tried over and over again, and only succeeded in showing how ineffectual he was.
All he was good for was showing Brakmaktin around the galaxy. And how pleased he was to have made that contribution.
Nikolas’s only question now was, how had he obtained this window on Brakmaktin’s mind? The last time, it was a temporary side effect of the alien’s telepathic intrusion. But Brakmaktin wasn’t calling Nikolas just then. He was too busy creating a hellhole to warm his offspring.
So what was going on?
Nikolas didn’t know.
Twelve and a half hours from Epsilon Morazh III, Picard sat back in his ready room chair. “Then we are in agreement?” he asked the Ubarrak captain, whose name was Alartos.
The Ubarrak scowled from the captain’s monitor screen. “We are,” he said.
Alartos would guarantee the Stargazer safe passage through enemy territory. Then he would escort the Federation vessel back the other way—assuming she survived her meeting with Brakmaktin.
Picard counted himself fortunate. Alartos was a much more open-minded individual than most Ubarrak the Federation had encountered. Nonetheless, the fellow seemed ill at ease with the deal to which he had acquiesced.
In Picard’s experience, the best way to meet a problem was head on. “You look uncomfortable,” he observed.
“I am,” said Alartos. “We Ubarrak are accustomed to working alone, not collaborating with other species.”
“I know,” said Picard. “However, it is clear that you cannot handle Brakmaktin without help.”
“Quite clear. Nonetheless, there are those among my people who would frown on the concessions I have made.”
Picard thought of McAteer. “There are such people in every species.”
“Just so there are no misunderstandings,” said Alartos, “know that we will be monitoring your sensor equipment. You would do well to limit your scans to the superbeing’s location.”
Picard smiled. “I assure you, I did not bring my ship here to spy on you.”
“However,” said the Ubarrak, “you will have the opportunity to do so. Take my advice and avoid the temptation.”
The captain didn’t respond well to threats, even veiled