Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [186]
“In the city, you mean?”
The Magnian smiled again. “Very few people live outside the city. Despite the complications created by our telepathic abilities, we have come to enjoy the feeling of having others in close proximity.”
Greyhorse didn’t understand. “It seems to me that proximity would tend to preclude privacy.”
“Not here,” Law told him.
Picard saw Simenon’s blood-red eyes narrow in disbelief. “You promised them what?” he spat.
The second officer, who was sitting on the other side of the lounge’s black, oval table, frowned at the engineer’s response. “I made available our technical expertise to help them repair their shield generators. It seemed like an eminently reasonable offer, given their willingness to come up with the parts we need.”
Simenon harrumphed. “You call it reasonable to put your crew in the hands of the same people who led you into an ambush?”
Picard regarded the Gnalish, one of three individuals whom he had invited to this meeting. The other two were Jomar and Vigo, the acting weapons chief, who sat on either side of Simenon.
“It is true,” said the second officer, “that we may be placing the fox in charge of the hen house. Nonetheless, I am inclined to trust the Magnians’ intentions in this regard.”
“After what they did to us?” the engineer asked.
Picard nodded. “Shield Williamson could have denied his people’s role in the ambush, but he chose not to do so. He told me what they had done and why, without pulling any punches.”
Simenon’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t try to interrupt. The second officer took that as a good sign.
“Furthermore,” he said, “Williamson could have refrained from mentioning his mixed feelings about the Federation—but again, he chose the path of honesty.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I believe the Magnians will hold up their end of the bargain, Lieutenant. And I also believe that my people will be safe on the planet’s surface.”
The chief engineer folded his scaly arms across his chest, obviously still somewhat skeptical of the colonists’ motives. “You’re the one in command,” he rasped, recognizing the fact if not quite approving of it.
Next, Picard turned to Vigo. “You have been sending data as to what parts we require to bring our weapons systems back up to snuff?”
The Pandrilite nodded. “I have, sir.”
“And the Magnians’ response?”
“They don’t have anything like them on hand,” said Vigo. “However, they’re confident they can manufacture what we need in short order.”
“Excellent,” Picard replied. Last, he looked to the Kelvan. “I have not forgotten your concerns about dealing with the Magnians, Jomar. And as you are not technically a member of this crew, I am not in a position to give you orders. However, you are our expert in vidrion technology, which the colonists need desperately if they are to withstand the Nuyyad’s next attack. With that in mind, I hope you will honor the agreement I made.”
The Kelvan’s stare was as blank as ever. For a moment, he remained silent. Then he said, “I will help.”
It didn’t quite answer Picard’s question. But under the circumstances, he supposed it would have to do.
Twelve
“A spike?” Picard echoed. “In her brain waves?”
On the other side of Greyhorse’s desk, the doctor nodded. “It was difficult to miss, believe me. And it began before we were hit with enemy fire, so it couldn’t have been a reaction to the battle itself.”
“What are you saying?” asked the second officer.
“It’s just a theory, of course,” Greyhorse noted. “But when I saw the spike, it occurred to me that Santana might have been communicating with the other colonists.”
“Even in her comatose state?” Picard wondered.
The doctor nodded. “It’s the most viable explanation. I would’ve mentioned it sooner, but there wasn’t a chance to do so. I was too busy rushing my patient down to the planet’s surface.”
“I understand,” said the second officer.
He considered the implications—and didn’t like what he found himself thinking. “Doctor Greyhorse…you mentioned earlier that