Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [77]
“Well done,” Tain told the Cardassian called Karrid, who was standing with his back to his superior.
Then, without warning, Tain pointed his weapon at the fellow and squeezed its trigger. The beam struck the Cardassian square in the back and thrust him over the console.
Tain’s other henchman whirled to face his superior, no doubt wondering what his comrade had done to arouse Tain’s wrath. But instead of telling him, Tain fired again and sent a second body flying across the room.
As the nauseating stench of burned flesh filled the air, Picard saw Tain survey his handiwork. He looked as if he had done nothing more offensive than move a couple of furnishings in his quarters.
“Why did you do that?” Picard asked.
“When things don’t go as smoothly as you’ve planned,” said Tain, “it isn’t a good idea to leave witnesses to the fact.”
Then, with the same casual demeanor, he turned his disruptor pistol on Guinan.
“No!” Picard cried out, instinctively interposing himself between the Cardassian and his companion.
Chapter Nineteen
“HOW TYPICALLY HUMAN,” said Tain, as he watched Picard take hold of the female, refusing to let the Cardassian kill her.
Of course, Tain had no intention of killing her.
He felt nothing but disdain for the two of them as he reset the intensity gauge on his weapon. Though he had to keep them alive, he couldn’t afford to let them remain conscious all the way from there to Cardassia Prime.
Abruptly, Guinan spoke up. “You pride yourself on being cold-blooded, don’t you? But you’re not the hard, unforgiving soul you try to be.”
Done resetting the guage, Tain laughed at her. “You don’t have the slightest idea of what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” asked Guinan. “Outwardly, you frown on the idea of showing compassion. But deep down, you’re as compassionate as anyone. You just don’t want to admit it—even to yourself.”
Tain regarded her. Clearly, she was trying to distract him—to buy time. But for what purpose?
He scanned the room, trying to find some evidence of what she was up to. Then he realized that they were standing by one of the vessel’s ancillary control panels.
He motioned with his disruptor for them to move to the side. “Now!” he barked.
They moved, however reluctantly, and exposed the small, black panel to Tain’s scrutiny. He eyed one monitor after the other, assuring himself that nothing had been altered.
Until he got to the screen that kept track of the vehicle’s navigational shields. They were down—deactivated. And Tain knew what that meant.
With a cry of rage, he tried to resurrect the shields. But it was too late. Picard and Guinan were already dematerializing, their forms being consumed by pillars of faintly shimmering light.
And so was Demmix’s.
Carried on a wave of rage, Tain fired at the human and his companion. But his beams of destructive force went right through them, striking the bulkhead instead. And a moment later, they and the columns of light were all gone.
And Tain was all alone.
One moment, Picard was in the control room of the Rythrian cargo hauler, facing an enraged Tain. The next, he was in one of the Stargazer’s transporter rooms, gazing at the grateful countenance of his first officer.
And he wasn’t alone. Guinan was standing on the pad alongside him. And Demmix was sprawled on the other side of him, still unconscious.
“Good to see you,” Ben Zoma said curtly, as he gestured for Greyhorse and a medical team to attend to Demmix.
But the first officer’s expression was one of surprise and dismay. It was understandable, given the captain’s gaudy color and lack of hair.
“Same here,” said Picard, resolving to save the explanation for later. He stepped down off the transporter platform.
“Is Demmix all right?” asked the first officer.
By then, Greyhorse had made a preliminary evaluation. “He’ll be fine,” said the doctor. Like Ben Zoma, he seemed inclined to ignore the captain’s appearance for the moment. “Just a concussion and a few bruises. I’ll take him to sickbay.”
“You do that,” said Picard. “But he’ll be under a security watch. And