Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [33]
“I’ve heard of Oneo Madrin,” Wu told Rayfield. “Unfortunately, I’ve never seen it firsthand.”
Rayfield frowned. Obviously, it wasn’t the answer she had been hoping for. “It’s a binary system with an accretion bridge. You’ve seen those before, haven’t you?”
“I have,” the second officer assured her. “Twice, in fact. At Aescalapios and Wells-Parvat.”
The admiral seemed to take some comfort in that. “Good. Then you know how tricky they can be.”
“You think the Belladonna got too close?” Wu asked.
“It’s a reasonable assumption in the absence of any real data. The Belladonna’s distress call was garbled, to say the least.”
As would have been the case if the vessel’s comm system had been damaged by unexpected radiation from the accretion bridge. And if her captain had called for help, communications probably wasn’t the only system that had been damaged.
But if the Belladonna’s shields were functioning, her crew had a fighting chance. They could still be alive—as long as a rescue effort was launched in time.
Apparently, that was where the Stargazer came in.
“You’re the closest Starfleet ship,” said Rayfield. “You know how that works.”
“I do,” Wu replied.
“Keep me posted,” said the admiral. “Rayfield out.”
As the admiral’s face vanished from the screen and was replaced by their view of Gnala, Wu turned to her helm officer.
“Lieutenant,” she said, “take us out of this system.”
“Aye,” Idun replied.
The commander was under orders not to contact Picard and the away team. The captain had been crystal clear on that point. But with luck, they would be back before Simenon’s ritual ordeal was over.
“Navigator,” Wu said, “chart a course for the Oneo Madrin system.” She watched Simenon’s planet slide unceremoniously off the starboard side of the viewscreen. “Best speed.”
“Charting,” said Gerda, who had begun tapping out commands at her console as soon as she heard the admiral’s orders.
Leaning back, the second officer took a deep breath. She would have ample opportunity to get comfortable in the captain’s chair. After all, she was going to be seeing a lot of it.
Picard took his right leg, which had been lying across his left one for too long, and planted it on the floor. Then he picked up his left leg and laid it across his right.
Ben Zoma was sitting next to him on a ledge built into the wall. “So,” he said, “how do you like your visit to Gnala so far?”
The captain frowned. “Just fine, Number One.” He indicated the small, high-ceilinged chamber in which they had spent the last two hours. “I was hoping I’d be incarcerated in a windowless chamber while this region’s Council of Elders—”
“Assemblage of Elders,” Greyhorse interjected from his seat on the other side of the room.
“While this Assemblage,” Picard amended, “inflicts who-knows-what-sort of miseries on my chief engineer.”
Pug Joseph, who had steadfastly refused to sit since they were herded here, shook his head. “I still can’t believe those monsters in the black pajamas were Gnalish.”
“I know what you mean,” said Vigo, who sat beside the doctor with his massive arms folded across his chest. “I thought all Gnalish were small of stature like Mr. Simenon.”
“You learn something new every day,” Joseph remarked.
Suddenly, the door to the chamber creaked open. As the captain watched, he saw Simenon cross the threshold.
Picard sat up. “Where have you been?”
“Are you all right?” Joseph wanted to know.
“Of course I’m all right,” the Gnalish told him. “No one’s going to injure someone in my position.”
Vigo grunted. “What did they tell you?”
Simenon made a sound of disgust. “They didn’t tell me anything.”
Picard looked at him. “Then where have you been all this time?”
The engineer scowled. “I’ve been meditating. So has the Assemblage—so when we finally discuss your presence here, we can do it rationally and with all of our arguments clear in our heads.”
“And when will you make these arguments?” asked Greyhorse.
Simenon jerked his head in the direction of the open doorway. “That, I’m told, would be now.”
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