Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [25]
It was that difference that made up the captain’s mind. If he was in the hands of a friendly party, that party certainly wouldn’t mind if he tried to leave to sort out what was going on. If, however, he was in the hands of a hostile force, his best chance lay in getting away quickly, while his captors assumed—not incorrectly, he mused—that he would be incapacitated.
For Picard, the memory of his time as a Cardassian prisoner was too fresh for him to take the risk of remaining still if he was in the hands of an enemy. If he erred here today, it would be on the side of caution.
The captain determined that his right arm was not only injured, it was immobilized in some sort of a sling. Using his left arm to support himself, he slowly rolled onto his left side and pushed himself up. With only that arm, he forced himself into a half-sitting position.
Next came his legs, which he moved to the side of the bed. Working them over the side, he let gravity take them, using the resistance of his muscles only to control their descent. As a result, he found himself in a full sitting position—though his legs were still not touching the ground.
The price was a gradual increase in the pain, but in a moment that had subsided. When his head was once again clear, Picard could see that the floor was perhaps a foot beneath his feet.
Bracing himself against the pain he was sure would follow, the captain slithered off the bed. His feet found purchase immediately, and he kept his left hand on the bed to steady himself. Aside from a brief period of queasiness, Picard was gratified to note that he felt no ill effects from the effort. Perhaps he was in better condition than he had first thought.
Scanning the room again, the captain noted that his vision was improving, but the dim light prevented him from making out much detail. He could see that there were half a dozen empty biobeds like the one he had just occupied, as well as some additional equipment that he didn’t immediately recognize.
He also saw that the room seemed to have only one door. Keeping his good hand on the biobed, he took his first step toward that door. Another step and he was out of reach of the bed. He kept moving forward in slow careful steps, until he reached the door—which he could now see was red.
Before he could step through, however, he heard voices. He couldn’t be sure if they were speaking English, but he could tell that they were close and coming closer. For a moment he considered retreat, but knew this was probably his one chance at escape.
Picard stepped into the doorway and watched as the door slid open. Light poured in and partially obscured the two figures entering the room. Seeing one of the figures reaching out, the captain pressed forward, but recognized his mistake immediately: he didn’t have the strength or the balance for the task. Hitting the newcomers, he crumpled to the floor.
A moment later, he was looking into a face. Forcing his eyes to focus, Picard could see that the face was human. A closer look told him the face was friendly. In fact—he suddenly realized—it was quite lovely.
He heard one word: “hypo.” Then a brief hiss.
And then nothing.
Riker leaned forward from his place in the captain’s chair. “Mr. Data?” he ventured.
The android, who was manning the ops station, turned his head.
“Sir, as you requested, I have mapped out a search pattern for the captain, with an eye toward maximizing our efficiency. Given the size of the search area and allowing for a single-orbit search pattern of each world, total time for the mission is nine days fourteen hours.”
“That’s still about four days more than we have,” Riker observed.
“Yes, sir,” Data concurred.
The first officer noted that the bridge’s turbolift doors had opened. With his peripheral vision, he could see Geordi