Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [93]
“Revenge,” the younger man concluded, as if he had come to the end of an internalized dialogue. He turned to the captain. Judging by Riker’s expression, the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Revenge on everyone who had anything to do with her sister’s apprehension—and imprisonment.” He paused thoughtfully.
“But talk about a warped sense of justice. Gerda did what she did of her own volition; no one on the Stargazer twisted her arm. And once you knew about it…what else could you do but try to stop her?”
Picard frowned. “There was no other choice. You and I know that. But to Commander Asmund…who can say? It is not easy to accept the death of a loved one, much less a twin. Tragedy can do strange things to people’s judgment—make them see villains where there are none.”
Riker shook his head. “And not just tragedy.”
The captain looked at him.
“Sometimes,” the first officer explained, “the desire to protect will do that too. Look at us.” He smiled ruefully. “I was seeing assassins everywhere I turned.”
Just then the doors opened and the bridge was revealed to them. Though the command seat was empty, all seemed to be in order, so they proceeded to the observation lounge.
Once again a set of doors opened for them. They walked in and saw that everyone who was supposed to be there was there. With one exception.
The captain turned to Counselor Troi, who had chosen to wait for them by the door. “Simenon?” he asked.
“He’s in engineering—a can’t-wait kind of meeting, apparently. Geordi says that they may be on to something.” She paused. “Under the circumstances, I thought I would speak to the professor later—on my own.”
Picard nodded. “I agree, Counselor. You were correct to let them be.” He turned then to those positioned about the conference table. Morgen, standing by an observation port and frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. Pug, sitting at the table already, drumming fingers and looking more than a little leery. Greyhorse, waiting stoically with his hands locked behind his back.
“Ah,” the doctor said. “At last. Now, perhaps, we can find out what’s going on.”
“Indeed,” the captain assured him. “Please—all of you—sit down.”
They sat. Picard and Riker were the last to push their chairs in.
The captain gazed at the expectant faces of his former officers. And at Pug Joseph’s in particular.
“Before I go any further, Pug, I must tell you that the others here have an advantage over you—at least some knowledge of what has transpired. It was not by my choice that this became the case; it was dictated by circumstances.”
Joseph shifted in his seat. He seemed more curious than resentful.
“Nonetheless,” Picard went on, “I regret that it was not possible to let you in on the secret as well. I trust that you will understand—as a security officer and as a friend.”
He turned to the others. “I have bad news. Gilaad Ben Zoma was assaulted just a little while ago in a turbolift on deck seventeen. He is in sickbay now—in critical condition.”
Morgen cursed elaborately.
“My God,” Greyhorse whispered. “How critical?”
The captain regarded him. “Dr. Crusher says there’s no way of knowing at this point.”
Pug just sat and stared. He seemed lost, unable to connect with what he was hearing.
“On the other hand,” Picard added, “we have found the assassin. She is in the brig, under guard.”
To Morgen and Greyhorse it was fairly obvious to whom he was referring. Besides Cadwallader, Asmund was the only female in the Daa’Vit’s escort.
To Pug, however, it was not quite so obvious. The captain spelled it out: “Idun is the one who tried to kill Ben Zoma, Pug. Just as she tried to kill Morgen and Cadwallader earlier.”
The security officer leaned back heavily in his chair. Finally, he uttered his first word since Picard had entered the room: “Why?” He looked around for help from his Stargazer shipmates. “What the hell would she want to do that for?”
Picard told him—about the attacks, the suspicions, everything. By the time he was finished, Joseph’s complexion had darkened to an angry red.
“But now it is over,” the captain