Maker - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
“It’s true,” he began, “that Captain Picard acted on an incomplete knowledge of the facts—just as we are doing in judging him. But while we’re considering the damage he may have done, let’s also consider the good.”
Inwardly, Picard cheered Mehdi on.
“If the captain was correct in his assessment of the Nuyyad,” said the admiral, “he rescued a world full of human expatriates from a bloody oppressor. Then he went on to save the Federation and maybe this entire sector from war and the possibility of conquest. Not a bad thing, by any means.”
“But it’s far more likely,” said McAteer, “that he created an unnecessarily hostile situation, and it falls to us to hold him accountable for that.”
“If that’s what he did,” said Mehdi, “yes. Let’s strip him of his command. But what if this hostile situation existed prior to Captain Picard’s arrival on the scene?”
“There’s no proof of that,” McAteer noted. “Only the word of Santana and the other Magnians, and we have already established what that’s worth.”
Mehdi sighed out loud. “It would be nice if we could hear from someone who hasn’t tried to deceive us. Someone who has lied to neither Captain Picard nor anyone else.”
He stood there for a moment, apparently mourning the lack of such a witness. Then he walked to the back of the room, passing through the gallery, and pressed the stud in the wall that opened the door.
As it slid aside, it revealed someone standing in the corridor outside, flanked by security guards. He was tall and bulky, but he had tiny, dark eyes, and a fringe of lank hair encircling his otherwise hairless head.
Picard couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Dojjaron.
Chapter Nineteen
SLOWLY AND DELIBERATELY, the foremost elder carried his bulk into the courtroom, followed by an armed security guard, looking neither right nor left at the officers in the gallery. It wasn’t until he came within a couple of meters of the admirals’ table that he stopped.
“I have come to speak,” he said, as if that constituted a momentous event.
He looked every bit as self-assured as he had on the Stargazer, every bit as fierce and belligerent. He was only standing there, motionless except for the subtle flaring of his nostrils, but it was clear that he came from a martial culture.
The only new element in the Nuyyad’s appearance was his choice of garb. Instead of the breastplate he had worn back on the ship, he was wearing a loose black and white robe, cinched at the waist with a black sash. It spoke eloquently of formality—Dojjaron’s sole acknowledgment of the solemnity of these proceedings.
McAteer went red in the face. Obviously, the admiral had paid enough attention to the Stargazer’s logs to recognize a Nuyyad when he saw one.
Mehdi, on the other hand, seemed approving as he returned to the front of the courtroom. Obviously, he had known about the foremost elder’s entrance in advance, even if Picard hadn’t. And now that the captain thought about it, Dojjaron could have attended the hearing only if someone vouched for him. It didn’t seem likely that it had been McAteer.
As for Admiral Caber…he didn’t seem to have any reaction at all to the alien’s entrance. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t seething every bit as much as McAteer underneath that cool exterior.
“I protest,” said McAteer, shooting to his feet.
Mehdi looked at him. “On what grounds?”
McAteer pointed to Dojjaron. “This individual has no business attending this proceeding.”
“I disagree,” said Mehdi. “You have charged Captain Picard with creating a hostile situation. It’s our responsibility to examine the truth of that charge.”
“But he’s not a citizen of a Federation member world,” McAteer pointed out.
“Since when,” Mehdi wondered out loud, “is truth the exclusive province of the Federation?”
McAteer narrowed his eyes in frustration. “There’s no precedent for this and you know it.”
“There doesn’t have to be,” said Mehdi. “It’s not a court-martial. It’s just a hearing, remember?”
McAteer looked as if he wanted to launch another objection.