Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [52]
Isadjo grunted at her departure. “Ettojh,” he barked.
His third-in-command advanced to his side. “Implementor?”
“You are now second,” said Isadjo. “Serve well.”
Ettojh bowed his dark, rounded head. “While you permit it,” he replied, completing the ritual.
That done, the Implementor returned his attention to the scanplate. He tried to decide whether it would be better to go after the interloper now or wait for it to come closer.
Normally, he would have gone after it and would have relished the encounter. However, he had forces on the planet’s surface to take into account. Under the circumstances, it seemed the better choice was to remain in orbit.
Isadjo was not known for his patience. Quite the contrary, in fact. But in the long run, he reminded himself, it hardly mattered when he destroyed the interloper …
Only that he did.
Even before the captain uttered the words, the counselor felt the rush of urgency that always preceded them.
“Red alert,” said Picard.
The bridge was bathed in a lurid red light, signaling a new level of preparedness all over the ship. Weapons were powered up and shields were reinforced. Even the captain moved forward to the edge of his chair.
Troi knew it was only a matter of minutes before she would be able to sense the psyches of the alien aggressors—if they were aggressors. She was so focused on that eventuality, she almost failed to notice as the lift doors opened behind her—or as someone emerged from them who was hardly a member of the crew.
Then she felt the inner calm of the newcomer, the remarkable air of self-possession, and even without looking she knew exactly who had joined them. It could only be the mutant known as Storm.
Captain Picard, who was seated to the counselor’s right, turned to look at the X-Man. So did Commander Riker. However, their emotional reactions to Storm’s presence were quite different, Troi mused.
The first officer clearly didn’t quite approve of the situation. To him, the bridge was a place for uniformed officers only, except in those rare instances when a civilian had been recruited for his or her expertise. As far as he was concerned, the mutant didn’t fit that bill.
Picard, on the other hand, wasn’t at all perturbed by Storm’s entrance. On the contrary, he seemed to welcome it.
In fact …
Suddenly, Troi realized she was in danger of crossing a boundary she had set for herself a long time ago. As a ship’s counselor, her job was to monitor the feelings of her colleagues, to make sure they were sailing on an even keel—not to pry into their personal lives.
And yet, without meaning to, she had read a very personal emotion in the captain. An emotion she had no business knowing about.
The Betazoid couldn’t undo what she had done. She couldn’t erase the knowledge from her mind. She could only keep it to herself and make sure no one else found out about it.
As she thought this, Storm took up a position beside her and examined the viewscreen. “Ah,” the mutant said evenly. “We are almost upon them now.”
“Almost,” the captain confirmed.
“I see now why we couldn’t contact Xhaldia,” Sovar noted sourly from his place at the tactical station. “The communications booster satellites have all been destroyed.”
Troi frowned. More and more, she wished she could get inside the aliens’ heads. Perhaps there was a reason for their actions.
“Three hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” reported Rager, who was manning the Conn station.
“We should be close enough to scan them,” said Riker.
“Aye, sir,” replied Sovar. “I’m trying that now.”
After a moment, the counselor saw Picard look back over his shoulder. “Results, Lieutenant?”
Sovar grunted. “Their shields are making it difficult, sir. But I’m picking up some four hundred life forms. A single species, as far as I can tell … one we’ve never encountered before.”
The captain appeared to digest the information. “What about their tactical