Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [71]
“What do you think?” Guinan asked.
Picard recalled the observation port and what it had showed him of the cargo hauler. “I think we go straight ahead.”
Like its twin behind them, the hatch irised open, revealing a dimly lit enclosure. Taking out his stolen disruptor, Picard held it in front of him as he led the way inside.
The hold in which he found himself was about half the size of his ready room back on the Stargazer. It was cluttered with squat, dark supply containers, each one branded with a pale blue symbol to show they had been authorized for transport.
However, Picard doubted there was anything in them. The cargo hauler was three decades old if it was a day, and the containers had probably been standing there since the hulk became part of the orbital city.
Certainly, the dust on the floor around them seemed to indicate that. But that wasn’t all it indicated.
There were footprints in it—not Picard’s or Guinan’s, but someone else’s. Someone who had been here before them. And at least some of the footprints led to a cluster of containers against the wall.
The captain glanced at his companion, making sure he made eye contact. Then he glanced at the floor. Guinan followed his gaze, saw what there was to see there, then looked up and nodded ever so subtly.
Clearly, there was someone hiding there. Or there had been. If that person was still present, he might be armed—and watching the intruders from his concealment.
Waiting to see what they would do, perhaps. And if they did the wrong thing, it might be answered with a blaze of directed-energy fire.
“Looks empty,” Picard said. He looked at his companion. “Let’s try the other hatch.”
“I’m with you,” Guinan said, signaling that she understood what he was up to.
They started back toward the entrance to the place. But before they quite reached it, the captain turned and fired into the suspect cluster of containers, unleashing a beam of pale blue destruction—while Guinan ducked behind the containers arranged near the hatch.
Rolling to his right, the captain looked for return fire. But there wasn’t any.
Still, he had a feeling there was someone there. Raising himself up on one knee, he extended his weapon and said, “I know you are there.”
There was no answer.
“Come out where I can see you,” said the captain, “or I will fire again, and this time I will take my time.”
Still no response—at least, at first. Then a shadow separated itself from the other shadows in Picard’s sights.
“Now,” he said.
The shadow stood up. It was vaguely human-shaped, tall, slender. And as its face was revealed in a shaft of gray light, the captain caught a glimpse of black eyes, bronze skin, and white hair. That could mean only one thing.
It was a Zartani. And not just any Zartani, he realized, but the one he and Guinan had been risking their freedom to find.
“Demmix,” he said.
The Zartani looked wary. “Who are you?”
The captain smiled. “Not who I appear to be.”
Demmix tilted his angular head to the side. “Picard?” he said wonderingly.
“At your service.”
Uttering an exclamation of pure joy, the Zartani came out of hiding and embraced him. “I was afraid you had been killed in that explosion in the plaza.”
“No such luck,” Picard gibed.
Demmix regarded Guinan. “And who’s this?”
“A friend,” Picard assured him. “Without her help, I would never have found you.”
The Zartani smiled. “Then I’m glad to see her as well.”
The captain made an inclusive gesture. “How did you find this place?”
“I did some research before I left,” said Demmix. “As you can see, it came in handy.”
“I should tell you,” said Picard, “we are not the only ones searching for you. There is a pack of Cardassians on your trail as well.”
“Not to mention Steej,” Guinan added.
Demmix looked at her, then at the captain. “And who, if I may ask, is Steej?”
The captain tried not to sound too worried. “The director of security in this quadrant of Oblivion.”
The Zartani’s brow creased. “Why is the director of security looking for me?”
Picard sighed.