Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [110]
As the captain turned back to the viewscreen, Worf entered the turbolift. “Computer,” he asked, “what is the location of Commander Idun Asmund?”
The response was quick and concise. “Commander Asmund is in a lift compartment in the vicinity of Deck Eight, primary hull.”
Worf straightened as if he’d been slapped in the face. The battle bridge was located on deck eight of the secondary hull. It would be a simple maneuver for Asmund to move from one hull to the next—and if she could rig the holodeck and the food processor, she could probably gain access to the battle bridge as well.
And she could control the entire ship from there.
She was clever. She had fooled him once, with her protestations of innocence. She would not fool him again.
“Deck Eight,” he said, his teeth clenching as he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation.
Had Morgen been more familiar with the layout of a Galaxy-class vessel, he might have had some prior idea of which cabin he was entering. As it was, he was almost as surprised to see the roomful of young children as they were to see him.
There were about a dozen of them, peering up at him with eyes fresh from crying. A couple still had trails of tears on their faces.
A woman who was kneeling among them—their teacher, apparently—looked up at Morgen. “Hello,” she said, unable to conceal the trepidation in her voice.
It wasn’t the first time he’d evoked that kind of reaction since he’d set foot on the Enterprise. Nor was it difficult to understand, given the imposing Daa’Vit physique and the fact that so few of his people were seen on Federation starships.
A moment later, noticing the pips on the Daa’Vit’s collar, the woman said, “Oh. You must be one of Captain Picard’s guests.”
“Yes,” he told her. “I’m Captain Morgen. Is everyone all right in here?”
She nodded. “We’re fine.” She scanned the faces of the children. “A little frightened, but fine.”
Just as she said that, a little girl began sobbing. And before the woman could comfort the child, a little boy followed suit.
Smiling, Morgen lowered himself onto his haunches. “Come on, now,” he said, glancing from the girl to the boy and back again. “If you cry, it’s going to make me start crying too. And when I start crying, I can’t stop.”
Then, before he lost their attention, the Daa’Vit opened his tear ducts and let the clear serum inside them flow copiously down his cheeks.
As he’d intended, it got the children’s attention. So fascinated were they by the sight of his tears, they forgot their own problems. A couple of them even started giggling.
Morgen mugged an expression of sadness, and they giggled some more. More mugging, more giggling. Before they knew it, they were laughing out loud.
The woman shot him a look of gratitude. He nodded a little and went on with his act—one that had become a favorite of the children on his own ship over the years.
One little boy even came over and put his arm around the Daa’Vit. “It’s all right,” he said. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
Morgen turned to him, still releasing great globby tears. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Uh huh,” the child assured him. “Captain Picard will take care of us. That’s what my mom always says.”
As if on cue, the Daa’Vit’s communicator beeped. Tapping it out of reflex, he opened the communications channel on his end. “Morgen here.”
“This is Picard,” the captain told him. “We’ve got a problem—or more accurately, another problem. Are you alone?”
“One second, please.” Standing, the Daa’Vit winked at the children. Then he retreated to the other side of the cabin. “All right. You can go on now.”
The captain didn’t waste any time. “Asmund has escaped her cell. She’s at large and she’s got a phaser.”
Morgen digested the information. “Acknowledged.”
“I want you to return to your quarters.”
The Daa’Vit made a sound of disgust. “I’ve spent enough