Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [77]
Wu would just have to hope that Jiterica noticed the change in the Belladonna’s situation and acted accordingly. Otherwise, the ensign and everyone else on that ship were doomed.
Chapter Twenty-three
JITERICA WAS PREPARED to spend whatever time it took to find the crew of the Belladonna.
However, she believed she would accomplish her objective more quickly if she headed for a place where survivors were likely to congregate. One such place, she decided, was the bridge.
Following the corridor, she stopped at the first turbo-lift she came to and summoned a compartment using the pad set into the bulkhead. But she didn’t have to take it to the bridge to make contact with the crew of the Belladonna. One of them was in the lift when the doors opened, ready to emerge into the hallway.
“Damn!” the scientist cried and took an involuntary step back, obviously surprised to see her there. He was a tall man with deepset eyes and a receding line of dark hair. Recovering, he said, “You’re the one who opened the hatch, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Jiterica confirmed.
He looked at her through the faceplate of her containment suit and his eyes narrowed. Her insubstantial-looking visage must have appeared strange to him. But then, it appeared strange to the ensign as well; she had only created it to make her colleagues feel more comfortable in her presence.
“What—?” the human began. Then he stopped himself. “No. Never mind that. Just tell me... are you here to help us? That’s what everyone seems to think, and I sure as hell hope they’re right.”
“I am indeed here to help you,” she told him. “My name is Jiterica. I hold the rank of ensign on the Federation starship Stargazer.”
The man nodded. “I guess that explains the Starfleet insignia on your containment suit.”
“How many of you are there?” Jiterica asked.
“Twenty-three,” the human told her.
She made a mental note of it. “Casualties?”
“A few injuries, but no deaths,” he said. Then he added, “So far.”
So far, so good, Jiterica thought, quoting an expression she had heard on the ship.
“My commanding officer has come up with a plan to get you out of here,” she said. “However, it will require your cooperation.”
Just then, someone rounded a bend in the corridor. It was an Andorian, a female. As she approached Jiterica, her brow creased and her antennae bent all the way forward.
“I guess you got here before I did,” the Andorian remarked.
“She’s with Starfleet,” the human explained before his colleague could ask. “They’ve come to help us escape this thing.” He turned back to the ensign. “What do you need us to do?”
“To begin with,” said Jiterica, “I need you to take me to your captain.”
Simenon steeled himself for yet another ordeal—one for which he was poorly equipped, to say the least.
“You’re sure we can’t help?” Joseph asked.
“Surely the Elders can see you’re in no shape for this,” Vigo pointed out.
Simenon shook his head. “Single combat, to take place immediately after the race. That’s the ancient law.”
Picard frowned. “Your arm—”
“Has felt better,” the engineer agreed. “But I’m going to try not to let Kasaelek know that.”
Not that it was likely to matter. In the few times his subspecies had been involved in such combats, they hadn’t even come close to winning. And as the captain had noted, Simenon wasn’t operating at full strength.
But there was no alternative. He had to face Kasaelek or concede the contest—and the prize.
The Elder who had announced the decision looked to Simenon. “Are you ready, ritual runner?”
“I am,” the engineer told him. As if to underline the fact, he moved into the center of the clearing.
The Elder looked to Kasaelek. “And you?”
The Aklaash moved into the center of the clearing as well. “Ready,” he said, obviously eager to get the combat over with.
The Elder regarded them. “Let it begin.”
Jiterica looked at the captain of the Belladonna, a thickset man with close-cropped hair and a full, blond beard, across