Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [60]
Nikolas didn’t know what to say.
“And,” his roommate continued, “I think she’s got feelings for me too.”
Oh, man, thought Nikolas. Do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?
“Part of me knows we’re headed for trouble,” said Paris. “But another part of me doesn’t care. I just want to be with her, no matter how difficult it may be.”
It sounded familiar.
“Do you know what I mean?” Paris asked, the tremor of real pain in his voice.
All too well, Nikolas thought.
“If you were me,” Paris asked, “what would you do?”
Nikolas’s first impulse was to tell his roommate to bark up another tree. Interspecies romances were common enough, but not when one of the partners was human and the other was basically a coherent ion cloud.
Then he remembered how much he wanted Gerda Idun—even when he knew she would eventually go back to her own universe, even when he knew what kind of mission she was on.
Nikolas had been willing to accept any hardship, any sacrifice, if it meant being with her. So who was he to tell Paris to play it safe?
“If I were you,” Nikolas said, “I’d follow my instincts—wherever they led me.”
Paris seemed to consider the advice for a moment. Then he said, “Thanks.” Just that.
But what it really sounded like was “I think you’re right. I’ll give it a shot.”
“No problem,” said Nikolas.
It was funny. Paris was about to embark on what had to be one of the unlikeliest love affairs in the history of Man. He was about to take on all kinds of frustrations, all kinds of disappointments.
And Nikolas envied him like crazy.
Enabran Tain scowled as he considered Picard in the confines of the abandoned shop.
From what he had seen of humans, they were soft, squeamish, and entirely too interested in their own preservation. In fact, it was a puzzle to him how they could even walk erect.
Picard, who was clearly human despite the purple dye in his skin, couldn’t have been blessed with much more fortitude than the rest of his species, and he had to know what kind of punishment his captors could dispense if they chose to do so.
So the last thing he should have wanted to do was anger them. And yet, he persisted in his claim that he didn’t know the whereabouts of the Zartani—and that only his companion, Guinan, could help Tain with that information.
The only reasonable conclusion was that Picard was telling the truth. But if that was the case, it presented the Cardassian with a rather sizable problem.
After all, Guinan was by now in the clutches of Commander Steej and his security people. That meant that she would soon be placed in Steej’s detention facility, if she hadn’t been already.
A couple of days earlier, it might not have been so difficult to break her out of the place. Indeed, she had broken Picard out of it all by herself.
But now that Guinan’s actions had highlighted the facility’s weaknesses, security measures there would be a lot more stringent. There would be more guards on hand, more supervision, and more attention paid to surveillance systems.
It seemed an impossibility that Tain and his men could free Picard’s companion. Were it not for the magnitude of the stakes, the glinn wouldn’t even have considered it.
But the human seemed to have a plan in mind.
“Elaborate,” said Tain.
Picard glanced at Beylen and Karrid, who were standing behind him, as if trying to make sure they weren’t going to kill him before he answered.
“Speak,” Tain told him.
“The detention facility,” said Picard, “is actually an old Chezzulid battle cruiser—I noticed that when I was inside. It was one of the vessels I was compelled to commit to memory when I studied ship design at Starfleet Academy.”
Interesting, Tain thought. “Go on.”
“Since then,” said the human, “I’ve had occasion to board one of them. It was a derelict, just like the one we are discussing. The crew was dead, victims of a radiation leak, so we had ample time to look around.”
“And what did you find?” asked Tain, less than interested in Picard’s adventures.
“They’re difficult to break