Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [122]
Then he felt something grab his ankle, and his feet went out from under him. He hit the deck and Greyhorse whipped him around again toward the transporter platform. Clawing at the carpet, the captain managed to stop himself short of the live disk.
But the doctor had other ideas. Again, he drove a booted foot into Picard’s ribs, robbing him of what sense had been restored to him. Then, picking the captain up like a rag doll, he took a step backward, preparing to hurl him to his death.
He was stopped short by a sound like all the banshees of hell as the doors to the room burst open. Greyhorse whirled to see what had happened and the captain groped for the big man’s shoulder, trying to anchor himself against being flung into the transparent beam. But with what seemed like no effort at all, Greyhorse lifted him even higher.
The room was filling with a flood of security officers, led by Worf. To Picard’s surprise, Pug Joseph was right beside him. They pointed their phasers, but stopped short of using them on Greyhorse once they saw the situation. Numbed, battered, the captain could only watch.
“Go ahead,” cried the doctor. “Shoot me. And before I fall, I’ll see to it that Picard’s atoms are scattered through the void.”
Worf stuck out a hand to hold his people back. “Put him down,” he said, “and we will talk.”
Greyhorse laughed. “What is there to talk about? A rehab colony—maybe the same one where Gerda lost her soul?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Carter,” Pug interjected, taking a step forward. “What are you doing? He was your captain, for godsakes. He was your friend.”
The doctor’s mouth twisted. “My friend? Then why did he kill the only person I’ve ever loved—the only one who ever made me feel human?” He glared at Joseph. “Why did you?”
The security chief shook his head. “I didn’t kill Gerda, Carter.”
“Didn’t you?” the doctor asked. “You stood by like all the others and watched as they took her away. You—”
Picard wasn’t quite certain what happened next. But somehow, it seemed that Greyhorse was hit from behind. The deck rushed up and hit the captain hard, and a moment later Pug was kneeling at his side.
Twisting his head, Picard tried to see what was going on. What he saw was Greyhorse, crouching like a beast at bay—held there by a figure in black and gold wielding a phaser. It took the captain a moment to realize that the figure was Idun Asmund.
She glowered at the doctor. “You forgot to lock out the other disks,” she said. “You remembered everything else—but you forgot that.”
“Traitor,” he spat out. “How can you side with them? They killed your sister!”
Asmund’s eyes narrowed. She raised the phaser just slightly.
Picard saw that it was set for “kill.” The woman took a couple of steps toward Greyhorse.
“Idun,” the captain said, “stop and think.” With his arm slung over Pug’s shoulder, he got to his feet. “You don’t really want to do this.”
Worf was just a few feet behind Greyhorse. He had his phaser in his hand as well. Set on stun, it was pointed at Asmund’s breast—but he seemed unwilling to press the trigger. “It’s over,” he told her. “Your name has been cleansed.”
“No thanks to him,” she replied, taking another step toward the doctor. She was almost close enough now to reach out and touch him. “He would have stripped me of the only thing left to me—my honor. Knowing how hard I’d worked to disassociate myself from Gerda’s crime, knowing what it meant to me to be trusted and respected again…he would have obliterated that without a second thought.”
“Yes,” Greyhorse agreed. “That and more. For Gerda. Someone had to remember her—avenge her.”
The muscles in Asmund’s jaw worked. Her eyes narrowed a notch.
“Commander,” Worf entreated, “you have your honor. It is intact. Don’t blacken it now. Don’t finish the job he started.”
For a long moment she stared at her former comrade. Then, suddenly, she replaced the safety on her phaser and tossed it to the Klingon. Worf caught it in midair.
Greyhorse grinned derisively.