Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [78]
The situation dictated that Picard carry on the charade—that he continue to suspect Ben Zoma along with the others. But his instincts told him otherwise. And a starship captain, he had learned early on in his career, had to ultimately follow his instincts.
He took a deep breath. “You are quite correct,” he told his friend. “I am lying. In fact, Cadwallader was wounded by a phaser blast. And Morgen has become a hermit at my request—after he nearly lost his life in a sabotaged holodeck.”
Ben Zoma was silent for a second. Then he said: “Details. Please.”
Picard sketched out the situation for him. By the time he was done, the man’s eyes had narrowed to slits.
“So you see,” the captain said, “someone is trying to kill Morgen. And more than likely, the assassin is one of us.”
Ben Zoma frowned. “I wish I could disagree with you.” A pause. “Do you think it was Idun?”
“Personally,” said Picard, “no. It’s too obvious—especially after the way she has alienated herself from the group. Though I am sure the assassin would like us to believe Idun is guilty.”
“Obvious or not, she’s the only one with a clear motive,” Ben Zoma pointed out. “Revenge for her sister’s death.”
“Commander Riker came up with another one—the completion of Gerda’s mission.”
Muscles rippled beneath the other man’s graying temples. “I hadn’t thought of that—but he’s right.”
Picard shook his head. “No. I still think Idun is innocent.”
“A hunch?” asked Ben Zoma.
“If you like.”
“You can’t operate on hunches, Jean-Luc. Not in a matter like this one.”
The captain smiled grimly. “It was a hunch, Gilaad, that led me to trust you.”
Ben Zoma smiled back. “Good point,” he said.
Picard recalled something else from the meeting in the observation lounge. “Tell me about your mission to Daa’V. You were with Pug and Cadwallader, delivering medicines, as I understand it?”
The dark man looked surprised at the seeming non sequitur. “Yes. Decacyclene. The Daa’Vit were hit hard by Marionis syndrome, a virus that originated on Marionis Six—” He stopped as he saw what Picard was getting at. “You want to know if we came in contact with anyone opposed to Morgen’s return. And if they could have influenced one of us.”
“Exactly.”
Ben Zoma shrugged, his eyes glazing over as he gave the proposition some thought. “There were those who asked after Morgen—but no one who actually came out for or against him. Not in my presence, anyway. And as far as influencing the others…” He shook his head. “I couldn’t vouch for all the medical personnel—you’d have to ask my chief medical officer about that. But Cadwallader and Pug hardly left my side while we were down there. I doubt anyone could have tampered with them in any way.”
The captain looked at him. “In Pug’s case, it might not take much tampering at all.” He chose his words carefully. “Gilaad…you see him on a daily basis. Has his resentment gone so far that it would make him want to kill?”
Ben Zoma answered without even thinking. “He’s resentful, all right. And in some ways—small ways—it has affected his performance. Certainly, his drinking doesn’t help in that regard either. You’ve seen how he puts away the synthehol.”
Picard nodded.
“But I would bet my life that Pug has nothing to do with these murder attempts. Down deep, he’s a gentle man. He always was a gentle man.”
The captain sighed. “All true. But someone has designs on Morgen’s life. And if it’s not you or Cad or Pug…”
“I know,” Ben Zoma said. “It’s hard to imagine Simenon or Greyhorse practicing violence. And if Idun is innocent, as you say, that doesn’t leave a huge number of suspects, does it?”
Picard looked at him. “No. It doesn’t.”
Ben Zoma spread his hands. “I wish I could be of more help, Jean-Luc. I really do.”
For a fleeting moment he resembled Picard’s vision of Jack Crusher. The captain blinked.
“That’s all right,” the captain