Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [178]
In the thirty-third hour, one of Gerda’s sweeps picked up a concentration of thermal and electromagnetic radiation on what appeared to be a M-Class planet. She knew the signs. This wasn’t a natural phenomenon. It was an installation of some kind—manufactured by a sentient civilization.
Just to be certain, Gerda checked its coordinates. Then she examined its sensor profile a second time. It was then that she noticed a second energy concentration—one so close to the first that it was almost indistinguishable from it at this distance.
But the second concentration wasn’t on the planet’s surface. The navigator could see that now. Unless she was mistaken, it was marginally closer than the first concentration.
In orbit above it.
Gerda turned to Commander Picard. “Sir?”
Picard approached her. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I think you should see this,” she told him.
* * *
Picard again found himself addressing a lounge full of officers. As before, he had convened them on the heels of a tumultuous event that had resulted in a new face among them.
But it wasn’t Werber’s mutiny that had spurred this meeting. It was something a good deal more ominous.
The second officer leaned forward in his chair. The captain’s chair, he remarked inwardly, correcting himself. “I called you here to apprise you of our most recent long-range sensor report. Though I normally steer clear of glib remarks, I cannot help describing it as good news and bad news.”
“First,” he said, “the good news. It seems the colony described by Serenity Santana exists after all. Furthermore, it is located at the coordinates with which she provided us.”
There were expressions of relief all around the table. If the long-range sensors hadn’t found Santana’s colony, their chances of survival would have been almost nil.
“You are certain of this?” asked Jomar.
“Quite certain,” Picard assured him.
The Kelvan’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “And how long will it take us to reach this colony?”
“Approximately nine days,” said the second officer. “Unless, of course, we can find a way to go faster than warp five.”
“Which isn’t likely,” Simenon interjected flatly.
“What’s the bad news?” asked Greyhorse.
Picard frowned. “There is a ship in orbit around Santana’s colony. We believe it is a Nuyyad vessel.”
He could feel the air in the lounge turning sour as his news sank in. He wasn’t surprised in the least. The Stargazer was in no shape to endure another battle with the Nuyyad.
And yet, the only way to make themselves battle-ready again was to go through the enemy. They were in a quandary, to say the least.
“Clearly,” he said, “we need a plan.”
Jomar shook his head scornfully. “What we need, Commander, are weapons. And we have very few of those.”
“Then we’ll make some,” Vigo interjected.
The Kelvan turned to him, his features in repose but his posture one of skepticism. “Out of what, if I may ask?”
“That is the question,” Picard agreed. He looked around the table. “Considering the ingenuity and expertise represented in this room, I was hoping to get some answers.”
It was a challenge, nothing more. However, there was an unexpected edge in Jomar’s normally neutral voice as he answered it.
“We could have had weapons specifically designed with the Nuyyad in mind,” he reminded them. “However, you turned down my offer to make them for you. Now it is too late for that.”
“With all due respect,” Picard told him, “there were reasons we turned down your offer. And as you say, it’s too late to contemplate making those weapons now, so let’s discuss something we can accomplish.”
He addressed the entire group again. “In nine days, we will reach Ms. Santana’s colony. If by that time, we cannot come up with a way to neutralize the Nuyyad presence there, we will have failed in our duty to the Federation—and I, for one, will not accept such an