Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [111]
“My people,” Picard said, “will survive better without you.” The level of authority in his voice went up a notch. “You are a target, Morgen. And as such, you are a danger to everyone around you.”
The Daa’Vit looked back at the children.
“Report to your quarters, my friend. Or I will have a security team escort you there.”
The Daa’Vit forced himself to be objective—to see the wisdom in his former captain’s words. “As you wish,” he answered finally. “Morgen out.”
He lingered only another second or two—just long enough to consider the little ones and the woman in their midst. None of them had any idea what kind of dangers they faced—both from within and without. And that was probably just as well.
“Do you have to go?” a little girl asked.
He nodded. “I’m afraid so. But thanks. I feel a lot better now that you’ve cheered me all up.”
Then, before he could entertain any rebellious second thoughts, he took his leave of them.
The Klingon in Worf urged him to face Commander Asmund alone—but the security chief in him recognized he had a greater chance of success if he called in backups. In the end, the security chief won out.
As he reached Deck Eight, however, none of his backups had arrived. And the situation didn’t allow for delay. Drawing his phaser, Worf pressed his back against the bulkhead, and quickly but silently made his way along its curving surface.
At any moment, he knew, he might come face to face with the fugitive—though given the head start she had, it was far more likely she’d already gotten into the battle bridge. And that was the reason for his haste.
When he slid within view of the bridge doors, he noticed that they were closed. Nor did they show any signs of having been forced.
A neat job indeed. He’d hardly completed the thought when reinforcements arrived in the forms of Nevins and Loyosha.
“Is she in there, sir?” asked Nevins.
Worf was about to answer in the affirmative when he realized he was only going on a supposition. Turning his face upward, he queried the computer as he had earlier: “Computer—what is Commander Asmund’s location?”
Again, the answer was immediate. “Commander Asmund is in a turbolift on Deck Eighteen.”
Worf looked at his security officers. They looked back.
“Deck Eighteen?” Loyosha echoed.
What was she doing? Trying to forestall the inevitable?
Worf didn’t believe it. Asmund was too smart to believe she would elude them for long this way.
Putting himself in her place, the Klingon conceded he might throw a single curve at his pursuers—and the battle bridge would have served him well in that regard.
But Deck Eighteen? What was on Deck Eighteen except living quarters and—
He cursed. If he could locate Asmund, then Asmund could locate Morgen. Why didn’t he think of that before?
“Computer,” he barked, “where is Captain Morgen?”
“Captain Morgen,” the computer replied, “is in the educational facility on Deck Eighteen.”
Worf hurtled down the corridor, with Loyosha and Nevins in close pursuit.
“Commander?”
La Forge looked up from his workstation, where he’d been working feverishly to get the warp drive back online. On the other side of engineering, the Gnalish was standing at an identical workstation, complementing his efforts.
“Progress?” Geordi asked hopefully.
Simenon shook his lizardlike head, never taking his eyes off his monitors. “Not enough. I’ve still got a long way to go.”
Turning back to his own instruments, La Forge smiled. He was getting to know Simenon pretty well—he could tell when the professor had something on his mind. “Then what?” he asked.
A pause. “Tell me about the Romulans.”
La Forge was a little surprised by the request. Then he remembered that the Stargazer’s famous twenty-year voyage had taken place during the Romulans’ decades-long period of withdrawal. Very likely, he realized with a bit of a jolt, Simenon had never even seen a Romulan—except in tapes, and even those were bound to have been pretty old.
Nor was it hard to figure out what had prompted