Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [213]
Eighteen
“Mr. Joseph?” said Picard.
The security officer looked as much in need of an explanation as the second officer. “Sir?” he responded.
Before Picard could clear up any of the confusion, he had the Kelvan’s other victims to think about. Locating Ben Zoma, he saw that his friend was trying to sit up—a good portent indeed.
Santana, on the other hand, was still stretched out on the bottom of the tube, a sweep of raven hair obscuring part of her face. Kneeling beside her, the second officer took her pulse.
Joseph knelt too, his brow knit at the sight of the stricken woman, his expression giving away his very genuine concern. “Is she…?”
“Her pulse is strong,” Picard assured the security officer. “I believe she will be all right.”
But she wouldn’t be participating in any battles anytime soon, he decided. And not just because of the beating she had taken.
Santana had never demonstrated the ability to create pink lightning bolts before—but Gary Mitchell had. Kirk reported that he had seen the man do it more than once. If the Magnian’s newfound ability was a side effect of the doctor’s psilosynine, the second officer was going to shut the experiment down as soon as possible.
Glancing at Jomar, he saw that the Kelvan was still unconscious. However, Picard was uncertain how long he would remain that way.
He tapped his combadge. “Picard to Lieutenant Ang. I need all the security officers you can spare, on the double.”
“Aye, sir,” said Ang. “Where shall I send them?”
“I’m in a Jefferies tube accessible from Deck Ten. Hurry, Lieutenant. I have injured to get to sickbay.”
“On our way,” Ang assured him.
“What happened?” asked Ben Zoma, holding the side of his mottled, swollen face as he staggered to his feet.
“We found our saboteur,” said Picard.
Gilaad Ben Zoma sat on a biobed in sickbay and allowed Greyhorse to inject him with a hypospray full of painkiller.
Eventually, he would need oral surgery as a result of the blow Jomar had dealt him. But for now, he couldn’t afford not to be up and about.
“How do you feel now?” asked the doctor.
“Much better,” said Ben Zoma.
“Then you agree?” asked Picard, who was standing beside Greyhorse.
Greyhorse nodded. “Absolutely. We can’t let the Magnians direct our tractor beam if even one of them is exhibiting unexpected side effects.”
Ben Zoma looked across the triage area at Santana, who was lying on the same biobed she had occupied during her coma. The woman was awake, but dazed—the result of a severe concussion.
Pug Joseph was standing beside her, theoretically to guard against her doing anything rash. But in truth, the security officer looked more concerned than watchful.
As Ben Zoma understood it, Santana had knocked Joseph out in an effort to reach Jomar before he could carry out his latest act of sabotage. When she found herself unequal to the task, she roused the security officer telepathically—something she couldn’t have done without the psilosynine amplifying her abilities—and summoned him to tip the balance.
Ben Zoma was glad she had. And he wasn’t the only one.
“For the time being,” said the doctor, “I’m going to get the other colonists down here and administer sedatives to them. But I can’t make any promises as to the drugs’ effectiveness—”
“So you’ll need security personnel,” Picard deduced. “I understand. Believe me, Doctor, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
The second officer had barely completed his statement when a handful of security officers, led by Lieutenant Ang, escorted Jomar into sickbay. The Kelvan had assumed human form again, Ben Zoma noticed, and didn’t appear to be offering the officers any resistance.
“Bring him over here,” Greyhorse instructed them, tilting his head to indicate an empty biobed.
Ang looked to Ben Zoma first.
“Do as the doctor says,” Ben Zoma told him.
“I am not in need of medical attention,” Jomar protested.
“I will be the judge of that,” said Greyhorse.
As the Kelvan was brought to the bed, Picard put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You are all right, aren’t you?” he