Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [181]
Picard wasn’t a bloodthirsty man and never had been. However, he found himself nodding in approval as pieces of Nuyyad debris spun through space in an ever-expanding wave.
He glanced over his shoulder at the ruined aft consoles. Ben Zoma and a couple of other officers had gotten hold of fire extinguishers and were spraying foam over the flames, though the control panels themselves would require extensive repairs.
Ben Zoma seemed to sense that his friend was watching him. Returning the look, he smiled a big smile. You see? he seemed to say. I told you you could do it.
The second officer turned to Gerda. “Report.”
The navigator consulted her monitor. “Damage to decks three, four, and six,” she replied. “Photon torpedo launchers are off-line. Likewise, the starboard sensor array.”
Picard grunted. They were shieldless and half-blind, and their once-powerful arsenal was limited to a couple of battered phaser banks. But it could have been worse.
Much worse.
“Casualties?” he asked.
Gerda paused for a moment, then looked up at him. “None, sir. Everyone made it through intact.”
It was better than the second officer might have guessed—better even than he might have hoped. “Excellent,” he said.
There was only one thing left to do. After all, they had come all this way for a reason. He regarded the forward screen, which now showed him an unobstructed view of the planet.
“Mr. Paxton,” he said, “hail the colony.”
“Aye, sir,” came the response.
Almost a minute passed as Paxton tried one frequency after another. Finally, he seemed to hit on the right one.
“They’re returning our hail,” he told Picard.
The commander folded his arms across his chest. “On screen.”
Abruptly, the image on the viewscreen was replaced by that of a long-faced, middle-aged man with thick eyebrows and dark, wavy hair. He seemed to stare at Picard for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Then he smiled.
“You’re from Earth,” he concluded. “So Daniels and Santana must have reached you.”
“They did indeed,” Picard confirmed. He identified himself as the commander of the Stargazer.
“My name is Shield Williamson,” said the colonist. “I’m in charge here. Speaking for everyone, I have to tell you how grateful we are that you chose to help us.”
“Especially after you led us into a trap,” Picard expanded, hoping to nail down at least that bit of information.
Williamson’s smile faded. But far from denying the charge, he nodded soberly. “Yes. After that.”
“I trust the Nuyyad ship we destroyed had something to do with it?” the commander suggested.
The colonist sighed. “It had everything to do with it.”
“I would like very much to hear the details,” said Picard. “But first, I need to know if you will assist us. We have suffered considerable damage at the hands of the Nuyyad. We were hoping—”
“That we could help with repairs?” Williamson spread his hands out. “Absolutely—however we can. As I said, Commander, we’re grateful for what you did for us—especially in light of what happened before.”
“Thank you,” said Picard.
“It’s the least we can do,” the colonist told him. “And if I may ask, how are our people—Daniels and Santana?”
The second officer frowned. “Daniels was detained for security reasons by our Starfleet. There were suspicions about him and Santana, as you seem to have anticipated.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Williamson. “And what of Santana? Is she with you now?”
“She is,” Picard told him. “However, she was severely injured in the Nuyyad’s ambush.”
The colonist looked devastated. “Is she alive?”
“Yes. But she seems to have withdrawn into some sort of coma. Our doctor is at a loss as to—”
“Our physicians will know how to treat her,” Williamson assured him. “But we’ve got to hurry. Her condition sounds precarious.”
Picard had no intention of hanging onto Santana if there was any chance her people could help her. She may have led the Stargazer into a deadly trap, but it wasn’t his place to demand an eye for an eye.
“As you wish,” he replied. “I’ll notify