Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [10]
“I see,” said Steej. He consulted his padd again. “You’re here on business. A dealer in—”
“Duotronic relays,” said the captain.
It was his cover story, one he had concocted days before he actually set foot in Oblivion. And thanks to his Starfleet training, he actually knew enough to pass as someone who traded in such equipment.
“You have the relays on your ship?” Steej inquired.
“I do,” Picard confirmed. “But my ship is elsewhere at the moment, making a delivery.”
Actually, it wasn’t his ship at all, but an Ajanni trader the Federation happened to have in its possession. In fact, though it was hardly common knowledge, the Federation kept a great many non-aligned vessels on hand, never knowing when one of them might come in handy.
In Picard’s case, the trader had been used to drop him off, nothing more. No doubt it was already back in whatever obscure shipyard it had been plucked from.
“A pity,” the Rythrian said archly. “If your ship were docked here, it would have lent some credence to your story. As it is, you could be almost anyone.” He tilted his head again. “Even an assassin.”
“Which I am not.”
“Or so you say.”
Picard felt a pang of resentment. It was true that he wasn’t what he purported to be. But how could anyone believe him capable of setting off a bomb?
“Look,” he said, “you’ve got no real proof that I did anything wrong. Only the word of a single witness. For all we know, it was he who set off the bomb.”
“True,” the security director conceded. “But I know him. And I don’t know you.”
“But there’s no evidence,” Picard insisted.
“Which,” said Steej, “is no doubt as the guilty party intended. But we’ll find something. We always do. Until then you will be our guest.” His eyes hardened. “And if we find out you’re lying, Mr. Hill, you will wish you had never heard the name Oblivion.”
The captain forced himself to keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t let Steej’s threats provoke him into saying something that might expose him.
Unfortunately, the security director seemed determined to find proof of the charges against him. And even if he couldn’t, it might be months until he satisfied himself that Picard was innocent after all.
By then, Demmix would be gone—or worse. And the Federation would have lost the information the Zartani had offered them.
“No doubt,” said Steej, with a fluttering of his nostrils, “we will have occasion to speak again.”
With that, he got up and gestured to the lone officer outside Picard’s cell—a one-eyed Tyrheddan, like the wounded female in the plaza. The electromagnetic barrier was deactivated long enough for the Rythrian to exit, then restored to its previous intensity.
Steej paused to impart some instructions to the Tyrheddan. Then, with a last glance at his prisoner, he withdrew from that part of the detention facility—leaving Picard to stew over his circumstances.
Clearly, the captain thought, this Ioro Tajat is lying through his teeth, purposely trying to get me in trouble. But why? And for whose benefit?
And what about the bomb? Was Ioro Tajat in on that as well? And if so, had he set it off specifically to frustrate Picard’s mission here?
The captain hoped not. Because if Ioro Tajat knew what Picard was up to, it meant someone had received advance notice of his plans to rendezvous with the Zartani.
Who might that someone be? An associate of the Zartani? Or—Picard hated to even consider this possibility—someone on his own ship?
He shook his head. His crew was trustworthy, every last one of them. He refused to believe that any of his people could have betrayed him this way, regardless of whatever temptation might have been placed before them.
It had to be someone else.
But either way, the Zartani was in danger. His survival depended on his ability to keep his identity a secret, and it appeared that the secret was out.
As Picard faced that fact, he caught sight of someone entering his part of the detention facility—someone dressed not in the black and blue of the city’s security force, but in a charcoal gray dress with a large and unusual hat.
It was the