Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [3]
“Mr. Vigo, shields up. Mr. Crusher, calculate the power of that shot, double it and feed the data to the weapons console. Mr. Vigo, fire now.”
The phasers leapt from the Enterprise and caught the Gorn ship aft, striking the vessel’s shields and creating a brilliant display.
“Return fire?” Picard asked.
“None, sir,” Vigo replied.
“Damage?”
“None, sir,” Jack Crusher replied. “Their shot was a very low power discharge, and ours was easily deflected by their shields.”
“We are being hailed, sir,” the communications officer announced.
“On screen,” Picard ordered.
As near as Picard could tell, the same Gorn as before snapped onto the screen.
The lizard-being spoke first. “Captain Picard, your challenge has been well met. Now we wish to meet with you.”
The Gorn seemed to be waiting for a response. The translator didn’t relate any tension in his voice, nothing to indicate that their two ships had just exchanged fire.
Picard took a step closer to the screen. “You honor us with this opportunity to know your people. I would like to prepare a team and meet with you as soon as possible.”
The Gorn’s face was nearly unreadable. “No, we would like to meet with you alone.”
Picard felt the tension on the bridge go back up a notch. He kept his voice measured. “It is our custom to meet unfamiliar races with a small number of individuals trained in different disciplines. It helps us to better communicate our diversity, and to better understand a new people.”
The Gorn’s face remained impassive, but its voice went up a notch in volume. “For the purposes of this meeting, others will be unnecessary. You may transport to our ship in exactly one of your hours. We will take you to a place for the meeting. Stand by to receive coordinates.”
“Acknowledged,” Picard said, as the viewscreen went blank.
Ben Zoma was at his captain’s side in a moment. His voice was an insistent whisper, his dark brows meeting over the bridge of his nose.
“Captain, I hope you are not considering going over alone.”
Picard sighed inwardly as he stepped toward the turbolift. Ben Zoma followed him.
“Number One, I understand your concern, but it seems that the Gorn have left us with little choice.”
Stepping inside the lift, Ben Zoma continued without a pause. “Sir, I can’t sanction this sort of action. Besides the obvious danger to yourself, having you in the hands of the Gorn places the entire Federation at risk. We don’t know their intentions are peaceful—”
Picard dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand.
“Sir,” Ben Zoma went on, “there is precedent here. In our first encounter with the Gorn, they launched a sneak attack on one of our outposts.”
“Starfleet Command ruled that they acted in self-defense,” the captain countered.
The color rose in Ben Zoma’s cheeks, and Picard could hear the arguments forming in his exec’s mind, even before he voiced them. “And maybe they did, sir, and maybe their motives are pure here. All I’m saying is that we need to be sure before we allow anyone as important as a starship commander to meet with them alone.”
Picard had already considered everything Ben Zoma had said. There was a risk, but the potential benefits were enormous. The Gorn could have destroyed the Stargazer when her shields were down if hostility was their sole intent. No, he wouldn’t let concerns over his personal safety destroy this opportunity. When he spoke, his voice was firm.
“Commander, I intend to comply with the Gorn’s request. I feel we must seize this opportunity. I will not be responsible for allowing another seventy-five years to pass before we make contact with these people again.”
Picard saw Ben Zoma forming his final pitch. “Captain—”
“Gilaad,” Picard interrupted, “I will take every possible precaution to ensure my own safety. That will have to be enough.”
The turbolift doors opened to his deck. “For the moment,” he continued, “I will be making preparations in my quarters. You have the conn.”
As Picard stepped into the corridor, he made a silent vow that he would not allow his next exec to mollycoddle him as Gilaad Ben