Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [7]
Typical of the species, the captain mused. And a positive survival trait. Without it, no Ubarrak bloodline would have lasted very long.
There were also plenty of humans, Yridians, and Vobilites at hand, not to mention a clot of Tellarites, a couple of silver-skinned Rigelians, and a squarish, elderly-looking Ajanni in a stately black robe.
But not a single Zartani—which meant that the individual the captain was seeking hadn’t arrived yet. It worried him. After all, he thought, I am right on time. He should be here.
Then again, the fellow might have decided to arrive a minute or so later than expected. That way, he could make sure he wasn’t standing in the plaza too long, exposing himself to observation and discovery.
Picard understood the sentiment. Had their positions been reversed, he might have been tempted to err on the side of tardiness as well.
The captain was still entertaining the possibility when he caught sight of the one he was looking for. There, he told himself, on the opposite side of the plaza…emerging from the triangular, red hatch of a Lurassin scout ship…
The fellow was a Zartani, as tall and angular as anyone of that species, but leaner than most. His eyes were a shiny black, his skin the color of bronze, and his mane of white hair was bound in braids that fell astride his sharply chiseled face.
Demmix, the captain thought.
He had been surgically altered, but not so much so that Picard wasn’t able to recognize him. As he stood there, he saw the Zartani’s eyes move in his direction—and lock on him with an expression of relief.
In keeping with their plan, Demmix began to walk across the plaza. When he reached the captain, they would depart together for a less crowded part of the station, exchanging meaningless pleasantries along the way.
Then Picard would contact the Stargazer with a com device he had hidden on his person. And before long, both he and the Zartani would find themselves safely aboard the Constellation-class starship, cruising at warp eight point five in the direction of Federation space.
Simplicity itself.
Or so the captain expected—until he was driven backward by a blinding white, shrieking burst of energy. Before he could even wonder what was happening, he slammed into something hard, rattling every bone in his head.
Then Picard felt a second impact and realized he had stopped moving. The floor, he thought, feeling its flat, reassuring presence beneath him. I’m lying on the floor.
It was only then that he opened his eyes and saw the vision of chaos that had flattened the landscape of the plaza. There were merchants and kiosks and food strewn everywhere, victims of the savage and unexpected blast.
For a moment, Picard feared they were all dead. Then, as the shock wore off, he saw them begin to stir. And as they stirred, they began crying out.
Some moaned in pain. Some cursed. Some called for help, and others demanded retribution against those responsible for their injuries.
Contrary to Picard’s first impression, everyone was still alive. But the majority of the merchants were hurt in one way or another, some of them rather seriously.
Remembering his mission, the captain darted a glance at the triangular hatch of the Lurassin ship. But Demmix wasn’t standing in front of it anymore. He had fled the plaza like a startled deer, and there was no telling in which direction he had gone.
Picard’s first impulse was to go after his old friend, to track him down. After all, the Zartani held the fate of a great many people in his hands. Then he saw a Tyrheddan female reaching out to him for assistance.
“Please,” she said, her single eye round with fear amid the brown folds of her skin, “please help me…”
The captain’s teeth ground together. He couldn’t ignore the woman’s plea. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to find Demmix later.
Dropping to the Tyrheddan’s side, he took a quick inventory of the wounds he could see. None of them seemed serious. However, there was a dark, wet spot in the vicinity of her ribs that seemed to be growing before his