Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [69]
“No,” said Obal. “That’s not you speaking. That’s someone else. If you want to pull yourself out of this, you can do it—I know you can.”
The ensign was about to disagree when he realized there was someone standing behind him. And in the next heartbeat, the angle of Obal’s gaze confirmed it.
What’s more, Nikolas had an idea who it was. But, tired and foggy as he was, he would be damned if he would let Hanta get the drop on him.
“Hey, Ensign,” said the Bolian, finally making his presence known, “I want to—”
Nikolas didn’t give him a chance to finish. Instead, he pushed himself out from the table as hard as he could, making Hanta cry out with pain and surprise.
Then he got to his feet and drove his fist into the center of Hanta’s face, feeling something crack in the process.
The Bolian didn’t try to return the favor. He wasn’t in any position to do that. All he could do was stagger for a moment and collapse.
But he didn’t lose consciousness. Nikolas was glad of that. It gave him a chance to stand over Hanta and gloat.
“What happened?” he asked. “I thought you were going to paint a bulkhead with my guts.”
“You idiot,” the Bolian rasped, holding the sides of his broken, bloodied nose between his fingertips. “I didn’t come here to fight you. I came to apologize.”
Nikolas stared at him. “What…?”
“It was getting out of hand,” Hanta said. “I wanted to put an end to it.” His eyes sparked with animosity. “You’re an animal, you know that? You don’t belong on a starship.”
Nikolas swallowed. The words cut, and cut deeply—mostly because he didn’t doubt that Hanta was right.
He didn’t belong there anymore. And the sooner he accepted the fact, the better off everyone would be.
Tain hated the idea of meandering through Oblivion without any real destination.
Unfortunately, he had no choice in the matter. He had exhausted all the Zartani hotels and eating places he could find, and come away without any idea of Demmix’s whereabouts.
Most frustrating.
His only hope now of finding Picard and his companion was to patrol hull after hull, keeping an eye out for them—and in that regard, his eyes were just as valuable as anyone else’s.
As the glinn made his way through the crowd in Six Corners Plaza, where the bomb had gone off just a day earlier, he noted how quickly the site was returning to normal. The debris had been cleared away, the place was full of people, and a few of the vendors were already back in business.
He wished his own enterprise could have gone half as swiftly. He was beginning to loathe Oblivion.
Just then, the Cardassian felt the vibration of his communications device. Taking it out, he said, “Tain here.”
“Glinn, this is Jaiman.”
Tain turned away from the flood of foot traffic. “What is it?”
“We’ve tracked down the so-called Cataxxans.”
The glinn’s heart was filled with a fiery jubilation. “Where are they?” he demanded.
“At a hotel called the Emperor’s Eye. It’s on the same line as the Sillerac cruiser.”
Tain knew the place. “Stay with them. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“As you wish,” said Jaiman.
Tain felt a measure of satisfaction as he turned and headed back the other way through the crowd. He didn’t care who he had to push out of his way to get by, or how many curses they might hurl at him.
They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the prospect of finding the Zartani and snatching him out of Picard’s hands.
He had been relentless in his pursuit of Demmix, and now Demmix would finally be his—along with Demmix’s would-be savior. The human had deceived Tain, made him look foolish. But it was the Cardassian who would have the last laugh.
Anger churning in his belly, Tain picked up the pace as he plowed through the last of the crowd. After all, he wanted to be there when Picard realized he had been undone—and by whom.
The Emperor’s Eye was a massive, dome-shaped hotel fashioned from the remains of an opulent, old Denobulan pleasure cruiser.
Picard didn’t see a single Zartani in the large, tastefully decorated lobby, with its soaring