Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [32]
And of course, they had those blades in their hands.
“Tell me Refsland got the coordinates wrong,” Ben Zoma whispered.
Joseph shook his head. “No such luck, Commander.”
“Don’t move,” Simenon told his comrades.
“Believe me,” said Greyhorse, “I hadn’t even considered it.”
Picard found himself wishing that they had brought phaser pistols. But Ben Zoma’s friend Tanya Tresh had been explicit about the need to leave such weapons behind.
“What now?” Joseph asked Simenon.
The engineer didn’t answer him. He just watched and waited.
Slowly and with great dignity, the Gnalish in the white robes advanced across the scarlet stones of the floor. And as they moved, they made hushed comments one to the other.
By the time they stopped in front of the away team, Picard could see that one of the Gnalish—the one who had pointed to them and initiated the stampede of black hoods—had a sickle-like blue mark on the front of his robe. The captain guessed that this one enjoyed a higher rank than the others.
The Gnalish with the blue mark regarded Simenon, ignoring the four humans and the Pandrilite. “Who are they?” he hissed imperiously, indicating Picard and the others with a sweep of his spindly hand. “And why in the name of Magdalassar have they come?”
Picard glanced at his first officer. He had an uneasy feeling that Ben Zoma’s friend Tanya hadn’t told them everything.
Elizabeth Wu felt awkward in Captain Picard’s chair.
She hadn’t expected to feel that way. After all, she had been in command of the Stargazer’s bridge at least once a day since the moment she beamed aboard.
So why the change?
In her heart, Wu knew the answer. To that point, she had felt like a legitimate part of the Stargazer’s crew. She had felt like she belonged there. Now she had one foot out the door, her return to the Crazy Horse imminent. It made her feel like an intruder, an interloper who had no right commanding these people.
Of course, she was the only qualified second officer present. In the absence of her superiors she had to command the Stargazer, and her subordinates had to obey her. But Wu didn’t feel right about it and she wouldn’t blame her officers if they didn’t feel right about it, either.
“Commander?” said Paxton, who had returned to the bridge only a few minutes earlier.
She turned to the comm officer. “Lieutenant?”
“I have a communication for you from Starfleet Command.”
Command? “Put it through.”
A moment later, the image of an admiral popped up on the viewscreen—a woman with long, gray hair gathered into a ponytail. She looked vaguely familiar to the second officer.
What was her name again? Reagan? Rayburn?
“This is Admiral Rayfield at Starbase Sixty-three,” the admiral said, putting an end to the commander’s speculation. She looked around the bridge. “Where’s Captain Picard?”
“The captain,” said Wu, “is on Gnala.”
“What’s he doing there?”
Wu frowned. She didn’t want to make Picard look like the kind of officer who abandoned his ship to take care of personal matters, no matter how well-intentioned.
“He’s pursuing a matter of some importance to the Gnalish,” she said finally. “First Officer Ben Zoma went with him. I’m Commander Wu. May I be of assistance?”
“I’d rather speak with Captain Picard,” the admiral insisted.
The second officer felt her spine stiffen. “Unfortunately,” she said truthfully, “any attempt on our part to contact the captain would be seen as a breach of Gnalish custom. And even if we were to ignore that consideration, it might take a while to get hold of him.”
Rayfield looked as if she were about to ask for details. After all, Wu’s responses to that point had been rather vague. In the end, however, the admiral seemed willing to accept the situation at face value.
“All right,” she said. “Commander Wu, you say?”
“That’s correct, Admiral.”
“An Andorian cargo vessel has relayed us a distress call from the Belladonna, a research vessel assigned