Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [32]
It wasn’t that the Zartani would be happy to leave the city. After all, he had failed to pass on what he knew about the Ubarrak, and thereby achieve a measure of revenge.
However, his life would soon be forfeit if the Ubarrak found out what he was up to. With rendezvous no longer an option, Demmix would be forced to think of only one thing: survival.
Guinan looked at him. “You’re certain your friend would be on this flight?”
Picard nodded. “Reasonably certain.”
His companion shrugged. “Then why not just intercept him at the docking port?”
He had already considered the possibility. “I can do that,” he said, “if it becomes my only option. However, after what happened in the plaza, the authorities should be paying close attention to departing flights.”
Guinan didn’t know the whole of the problem, but she seemed to know enough of it. “You’re worried that you’ll draw their attention,” she surmised.
“Yes. Especially since it might take my friend a moment to recognize me.”
Also, whoever had set off the bomb in the plaza could arrange to be at the docking port as well. Picard didn’t want to invite a second such incident.
Guinan frowned. “Then you’ve got eighteen hours to get hold of your friend.”
“So it would seem,” the captain said.
And if he couldn’t, the Federation would lose the strategically critical information Demmix was carrying.
Picard was determined not to let that happen. He hadn’t undertaken this mission to let it slip through his fingers without a fight.
The question was where to start looking for Demmix. Oblivion was a big place, with lots of nooks and crannies, and the Zartani would be doing his best to stay out of sight.
Picard regretted now that he hadn’t insisted on a fall-back plan. However, Demmix had resisted the idea, saying that he didn’t want anyone to know his intentions in the event that the rendezvous went sour.
That way, he couldn’t be intercepted even if the captain were caught and interrogated. It had seemed to Picard to be an overly cautious position at the time.
But then, he hadn’t really believed that their scheme would go sour, much less that he would wind up in a detention facility.
Obviously, he had been wrong.
But now he had no way to contact Demmix, no way to let him know that his escape could still take place. It was unfortunate, to say the least.
Still, the captain had the gall to believe that he could salvage the situation.
By then, a Vobilite seemed to be waiting for the kiosk, so Picard and Guinan moved off. But as they did this, the captain was thinking.
All right, he told himself. Perhaps I cannot communicate with Demmix. But I know him—his likes, his dislikes, his needs. If I know those things, I should also be able to determine his whereabouts, shouldn’t I?
The first idea that came to him was the most obvious. “He’s a Zartani,” he said out loud. “They have unique needs with regard to respiration.”
It was an understatement.
The Zartani homeworld had an atmosphere that was much lower in oxygen and higher in carbon dioxide than that of Earth—and, for that matter, most other worlds that had given rise to sentient humanoids.
Guinan nodded. “I’ve seen those things they wear on their noses—some of kind of gas-supplement devices.”
“Indeed,” said Picard. “They cannot survive for more than a few minutes without them. And the devices hold only a limited supply—less than enough to see Demmix through the night.”
“So he would have to keep waking up and inserting refills,” Guinan noted.
He nodded. “Precisely.”
Fortunately, there were hotels in Oblivion that catered to species with special needs. The captain would have been surprised if at least a few didn’t cater to Zartani.
“I wonder,” Picard said, “how many hotels in this part of Oblivion have Zartani clienteles?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But I can find out.”
The hotel registry—another kiosk arrangement—was two old hulks away. When they got to it, Guinan called up the information they were looking for.
“There are three of them,” she announced. She moved aside