Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [40]
But he had enough Zartani in him to run this eatery. That was all the captain cared about.
“If I may…?” he said.
The Zartani looked up and registered surprise. “You’re not Tomani,” he said.
“That’s true,” said Picard. “Would you be the owner of this establishment?”
The Zartani tilted his head to one side—the equivalent of a nod in his culture. “I am.”
“Good,” said Picard. “We would like to ask your help with a matter of some importance to us.”
He might as well have said that he was going to burn the place down. The Zartani’s eyes grew wide with fear.
“Please,” he said, “leave me alone. Haven’t you done enough to us already?”
Picard didn’t know what he meant. And when he exchanged glances with Guinan, it was clear that she didn’t know either.
“I beg your pardon,” said the captain, “but we haven’t done anything at all.”
The Zartani looked at them, obviously uncertain whether he should believe Picard or not. “You’re not with the Cardassians?” he asked.
Picard looked at Guinan again. She shrugged.
He turned back to the restaurant owner. “We are not with anyone. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
The Zartani stiffened again. “That’s what they said.”
“They…being the Cardassians?” Picard ventured.
The restaurant owner nodded. “A few questions, they told me. And when they didn’t like my answers, they did this.”
He held up his right hand. It was swathed in a translucent steri-seal bandage, through which Picard caught a glimpse of angry, red flesh.
“I was boiling water to make soup. They held my hand in the pot until they were certain I didn’t know anything about this Zartani they were looking for.”
Picard winced. “I assure you, we are completely on our own. And we have no intention of hurting you, whether you help us or not.”
The fellow looked skeptical. But then, he had been burned before—quite literally.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” he demanded.
Guinan looked as if she wanted to intervene. No doubt she would have said something effective.
But in this case Picard didn’t need any help. “You don’t know,” he said. “So if it makes you feel better, stay right where you are—and we promise to stay right where we are.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Guinan staring at him. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” she muttered.
“Now,” Picard continued, “you’re under no obligation to help us. And if you refuse, nothing’s going to happen to you. But our friend is in trouble—and if you do help us, it might enable us to save his life.”
The Zartani frowned. “You’re looking for the same person the Cardassians showed me?”
“I would imagine so,” said Picard. “Lean, long hair twisted into braids, sharp features…?”
“That’s the man they showed me,” the restaurant owner confirmed. “But as far as I know, he hasn’t been in here.”
The captain was disappointed, but he believed that the Zartani was telling the truth. “Thank you,” he said.
“I wish I could be of more help,” said the Zartani.
So do I, Picard reflected.
But their visit hadn’t been entirely unproductive. They had learned at least one thing they didn’t know before.
There was a coldblooded bunch of Cardassians looking for Demmix just as he and Guinan were—and they couldn’t be allowed to find him first.
Otherwise, Demmix might receive the same sort of treatment that the restaurant owner had received. Or worse.
As Guinan and her companion left the Zartani restaurant, she couldn’t help admiring what she had seen in Picard.
After all, he was bucking a considerable amount of adversity—the kind that might have caused a lesser individual to start showing some cracks.
It would have been different if they were making any real progress. However, they weren’t much closer to finding his friend than they were when they started out.
And now their task had been made more complicated with the introduction of a mysterious pack of Cardassians—a pack that obviously had some idea of who the Zartani was and why he had come to Oblivion.
Guinan had a sneaking suspicion that it was the Cardassians