Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [10]
The admiral held his hands out—a gesture of helplessness. “From what they tell me, their arrival was not a matter of design, but an accident. Their only intention, they insist, is to return home.”
“I see,” said Picard.
“I can send you the information they gave us concerning their arrival. You may find it helpful.”
“I would appreciate it,” the captain told him.
“In any case,” Kashiwada went on, “since these people seem to know you, and since Starbase 88 is more or less en route to your destination …”
“You thought I might come by and pick them up.”
The admiral smiled. “It might be a good idea for everyone concerned. At least one of our guests seems ill-suited to a Starfleet environment. And, given his rather … let us say surly disposition, I would be surprised if trouble did not ensue.”
Picard nodded. “That would be Wolverine,” he guessed.
“It would,” Kashiwada agreed.
The captain sighed.
Even if Wolverine weren’t threatening to become a problem, he would have felt compelled to help the X-Men. After all, they had proven themselves dependable and courageous allies in their own universe. The least he could do was stand by them in his own.
He turned to Lt. Rager, who was manning the helm. “Make the necessary adjustments,” he told her. “Warp six.”
Rager nodded. “Aye, sir. Setting course for Starbase 88.”
Picard regarded the admiral again. “The Enterprise should be there in a day or so, sir. In the meantime, I trust you’ll find a way to keep your guests properly entertained.”
“Oh, yes,” the older man assured him. “One way or the other. See you then, Jean-Luc. Kashiwada out.”
A moment later, the admiral’s image was supplanted by that of the starfield. The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully.
The last thing he had expected was to run into the X-Men again. However, he had to admit that the prospect intrigued him … especially when it came to one X-Man in particular.
As Erid Sovar entered the room, he took note of three things.
The first was the presence of a thickset, blue-uniformed administrator behind a large, blackwood desk. His name was Osan, or so Erid had heard. The man didn’t look the least bit surprised by Erid’s appearance. But then, by that time, he had probably seen even stranger transformations.
The second thing Erid noticed was the light streaming in through a large, oval window. It slashed across the only other chair in the room, which was positioned opposite Osan’s.
Erid’s third observation was that there were no guards in the room. The two who had escorted him from his room had remained outside. It was a sign of trust—one that seemed strange to the youth, as it stood in direct opposition to everything Erid had experienced over the last two days.
Ever since he had been discovered and taken into custody near the Vuuren Pass, he had been handled like a criminal. He had been transported by silent guardsmen and locked up in this old, stone fortress, where he was surprised to see others who had changed in bizarre ways.
In Erid’s case, maybe there was some justification for such treatment. After all, he had destroyed some of the ancient prayer perches at Otros Paar, even if it wasn’t his intention to do so.
But the others to whom he had spoken, or—more often—whose conversations he had overheard in the yard … they hadn’t destroyed anything. They had been incarcerated simply because of their transformations.
Because the government was afraid of them, some said—afraid of what they might do if they remained free. The fortress guards had told the transformed that wasn’t true. The guards said that they had been gathered here for their own protection.
To Erid’s mind, only one thing was certain: the transformed were inside the walls of the fortress and every other Xhaldian was outside them. Nothing else really mattered.
“Please,” the administrator said in an almost paternal way, “sit down.” He indicated the empty chair with a beefy hand.
Erid considered the chair. It gleamed in the shaft of light.
“What is it?” asked Osan, noticing the youth’s hesitation.