Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [206]
Werber scowled. “To hell with my oath. Look where it got me.”
Ah, the commander mused. Progress.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he told the prisoner. “I need your help. I need to pick your brain the way Captain Ruhalter did.”
Werber looked at him askance. “Is it my imagination, or are you telling me you want to cut a deal?”
Picard shook his head. “No deals.”
The weapons chief lifted his chin, which had grown a golden brown stubble during the time of his incarceration. “Then why should I even think about helping you?”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” the commander answered. “Think about helping me, that is. But you might want to help this ship, or the crewmen who served so ably under you. Or you might want to get involved purely for the sake of your own preservation.”
Werber stared at him for what seemed like a very long time. Then he said, “All right. Tell me what you’ve got.”
Picard told him, holding nothing back.
He informed the prisoner of Vigo’s findings concerning the shuttle explosion. He described the way the ship’s shields had dropped without notice during the second battle for Magnia. And he spoke of Vigo’s second discovery, which only served to corroborate the first.
The prisoner considered the information, his eyes narrowing as he turned it over and over in his mind, inspecting it from different angles. But after a while, he shook his hairless head.
“I need more to go on,” he said.
The commander was disappointed, but he didn’t show it. “Right now, I’m afraid I haven’t got anything more. But if additional information turns up, you will have it as soon as I do.”
Werber grunted. “I can’t wait.”
“I will speak with you soon, I hope,” said Picard. “Until then, I hope you will keep what I’ve told you confidential—so as not to diminish our chances of catching the saboteur.” And he reached for the control panel that would open the doors to the corridor again.
But before he could press the padd, he heard the mutineer call his name. Turning again, he said, “Yes?”
Werber was on his feet, approaching the barrier. “I’m not surprised that the ship was sabotaged,” he remarked, “considering how trusting you are of people like Santana.”
The second officer allowed himself an ironic smile. “Interesting that you should say that, Chief. Mr. Ben Zoma is of the opinion that I’m placing too much trust in you.”
And with that, Picard opened the doors and emerged from the brig, allowing Pierzynski to resume his lonely vigil.
Gerda Asmund entered the turbolift ahead of her sister and punched in her destination on the control panel. Then, as Idun joined her in the compartment, Gerda watched the doors begin to slide closed.
“The end of another shift,” her sister commented.
“And an uneventful one,” said Gerda, as the turbolift began to move.
Idun glanced at her, her lip curled in amusement. “Another three such shifts and we’ll have reached the Nuyyad supply depot. That promises to be far from uneventful.”
Gerda nodded. “True.”
“And,” her sister added, “we haven’t exactly been idle for the last week and a half. We were hoping for just one battle, remember? And so far, we’ve gotten three of them.”
“I know,” said Gerda. “Still…”
“What?” asked Idun.
“I don’t know,” the navigator told her. “It still feels to me as if something is missing.”
“Something?” her sister echoed.
Gerda shrugged. “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just not as satisfying as I thought it would be…as I wanted it to be.”
Idun rolled her eyes. “Some saber bears aren’t happy until they’ve eaten the entire targ.”
Gerda looked at her. “You think I’m a glutton?”
“Honestly?” her sister asked. “Yes.”
Gerda knew Idun was seldom wrong about her. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe I ought to be grateful for what I’ve got.”
And yet, she couldn’t help feeling there should be more.
Pug Joseph stood at the entrance to sickbay’s triage area and watched Greyhorse press a hypospray containing psilosynine against Serenity Santana’s naked arm.
As far as the security officer was concerned, it was insanity. If Santana was