Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [7]
But it didn’t seem right to leave his crewmates where they had fallen—especially those stationed on the bridge, whom the alien telekinetically tossed aside whenever he felt they were in his way. So Nikolas had gone through the cargo hauler deck by deck and compartment by compartment, locating the deceased and laying them in rows, side by side.
One of the first bodies he discovered in the engine room was that of Shockey, the redheaded woman who had helped him stop a fight and then tended to the knife wound he had suffered. She had been lying at the foot of a console—more than likely her post in the event of an alert.
Nikolas had liked Shockey. She had been so direct, so down to earth, so clued in to the ways things worked on the Iktoj’ni. But then, a lot of his crewmates had been likable—back when they were still alive.
He had collected thirty-three bodies—more than two-thirds of the crew—and was about to pick up his thirty-fourth when he heard a proximity siren go off. It was a security feature the captain had never seen a need for, but Nikolas had set it before he left the bridge. After all, Rejjerin wasn’t in charge any longer, and he wanted to know if someone was approaching the ship.
Fortunately, the mineral formations hadn’t invaded the lower decks yet, so Nikolas was able to reach the turbolift at a limping, stiff-legged run. Moments later it deposited him on the bridge level, which had become even thicker with the alien’s obstructions and therefore necessitated slower going.
Still, he reached the bridge in a matter of minutes, bursting in to see that the alien was standing beside the captain’s chair. He seemed unperturbed by the sound of the alarm, his attention focused on the forward viewscreen.
As far as Nikolas could tell, there was nothing on it but the Doppler rush of stars. But if the alarm had gone off, there had to be something more.
Slipping into the embrace of the navigation station, Nikolas ran a sensor sweep. It showed him that a ship was indeed approaching. He polled the sensors for more information—and got it.
The vessel was Ubarrak—an Ayatani-class battle cruiser, as big and powerful as any warship in the sector. And her weapons batteries had been powered up, which meant that her captain was anticipating a fight.
“There’s a warship out there,” said Nikolas.
“I am aware of it,” the alien told him, his composure undisturbed.
“This is just a cargo hauler. We don’t stand a chance.”
His companion glanced at him, then shrugged his massive shoulders. “We shall see.”
He doesn’t know what he’s up against, Nikolas thought. And by the time he realizes his mistake, it’ll be too late.
“You can still turn back,” he said.
The alien grunted, as if the human had said something funny. But he made no move to turn their ship around.
Nikolas had tried it the easy way. Now he had to try something else. Without warning, he darted across the bridge to get to the helm controls, hoping to bring the ship about.
But as soon as he got near the console, he was greeted with a flash of blue-white energy—one that would have cooked him to a crisp if he had come a little closer.
His nostrils full of ozone, Nikolas glared at the alien. “You don’t know what you’re doing. All you’re going to accomplish is getting us killed.”
The alien didn’t seem moved in the least. He was still taking in the sight of stars streaming by on the viewscreen, his silver eyes gleaming majestically.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Nikolas demanded. “If we go up against that ship, we’ll be destroyed.”
“Perhaps,” said the alien. He turned a sidelong glance on the human, cold enough to turn his insides to ice. “And then again…perhaps not.”
Picard had been dreaming—something about the marathon on Danula II that he had won as a freshman at the Academy—when he was roused by his second officer’s voice on the intercom.
“Sir?” said Wu.
“Picard here,” he said, sitting up in bed and running his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but we’re being hailed by an unidentified cargo