Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [15]
But Picard always found himself looking at them through the cluttered window of a curio shop or the translucent EM barrier protecting an exotic liquor emporium. One way or the other, they eluded the Rythrian’s dragnet.
Sometimes it required the exertion of a dash from one place to another. Sometimes they had to move so slowly and carefully that it seemed they would never get anywhere.
Finally, Picard’s companion guided him to a stark-looking hatch with a yellow sign plastered across it. The captain could read only one of the languages in which the sign forbade entrance to the derelict beyond it.
Ignoring the sign, the woman in the hat punched a code into the pad that had been installed beside the door. As it slid open for her, she said, “Come on.”
Then she led the way through a poorly lit but otherwise unremarkable airlock to another hatch, which didn’t seem to have been secured the same way. That one opened at their approach, revealing a large space that wasn’t illuminated any better than the airlock.
It was deserted except for an army of squat, gray containers, perhaps twenty of them sitting on a black metal superstructure while several times that number were scattered about the deck. A warehouse, Picard thought, though he couldn’t have said what was being stored there.
Not that it mattered. They needed a place to catch their breath and plan their next move, and his companion had obviously found them one.
As Picard followed the woman inside, habit compelled him to identify the structure’s origin. Mathenite, he guessed. Or perhaps Pygorian. Both species designed their cargo holds with exposed energy conduits.
As the hatch slid closed behind Picard, his companion wove her way to a place behind a flock of stacked containers and sat down with her back against one of them. Then she gestured for the captain to do the same.
He did as she suggested. Then he took out his “borrowed” phaser and checked its charge. Apparently, the device still had plenty of energy left—though, obviously, the captain hoped he wouldn’t need to use it.
The woman took a deep breath, then closed her eyes and let it out. Clearly, their flight from the authorities had worn her out. But then, Picard reflected, any effort was exhausting when a person was carrying a burden to begin with.
And she was most certainly carrying a burden. He just couldn’t say what it was.
“What is this place?” he whispered.
His companion opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. “It was last used as a warehouse. But at the moment, it’s…between owners.”
The captain looked around. “These containers must have been worth something. I’m surprised the last owner didn’t take them with him.”
“He probably would have, if he were still alive. Unfortunately, he owed someone a little too much for a little too long.”
“Then why didn’t that someone seize the containers?”
“Security got to him first.”
Picard nodded. “I see.” As he regarded the woman, something occurred to him. “If I may ask, how did you know the code to get in here?”
She looked away from him, her eyes glinting with reflected light. “People talk. I listen.”
He smiled. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she confirmed.
Whether his companion was embellishing the truth or not, Picard was grateful to her. “I’m just glad you didn’t listen to that Yridian when he accused me of setting off that bomb.”
“You have to know whom to listen to,” she noted.
Something occurred to him. “If you were so certain of my innocence, why not simply dispute the Yridian’s account? It could have simplified the situation immensely.”
“Because I know the security forces on Oblivion,” the woman said. “It’s more important to them to blame someone than to make sure it’s the right someone. Believe me, my account would have fallen on deaf ears.”
“So now,” said the captain, “they’re after two someones.”
She looked at him, the slightest, pale hint of amusement in her eyes. “I thought misery loved company.”
Picard had to smile at her counter. “It does.