Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [32]
“Then allow me to tell you my story,” Picard replied. He would have to defuse the situation rather quickly, before the commodore made the encounter a confrontation. “I am the master of a small commercial transport called the Stargazer—a fast ship with which we did a fair business transporting rare metals, until we were set upon by Orion pirates. The Stargazer is, or was, almost completely unarmed; we had always depended on speed to avoid trouble. But the Orions used cloaking technology to get close, and it was all over in moments.”
“Your crew?” Travers asked.
“Dead.”
The commodore nodded. “But they left you alive?”
“This Orion commander was superstitious about killing the master of a ship. He approached this planet under cloak and then beamed me down.”
“Into a geologically unstable and dangerous area,” the commodore interjected.
“Yes,” the captain maintained. “I think the Orion’s superstition only prevented him from killing me directly.”
“Interesting,” commented Travers. “My sympathy for the loss of your ship and crew.” A pause. “I will have to file a report to Starfleet about the new threat represented by Orions with cloaking technology.” However, the commodore’s features did not soften. Clearly, he was still skeptical.
“I can attest to that threat,” added Picard.
Travers cleared his throat. The captain could see that the interrogation was nearly over, for now. “One minor detail, Mr. Hill. We couldn’t find a match for your retinal scan in our data banks. Are you from Earth?”
“Yes,” Picard answered. “Though I have not been back for some time.”
The commodore frowned. “I’m sure that Starfleet will have more complete records. I’ll order a search when I file my report.” He made a show of checking the chronometer on the wall. “I’m afraid I must be going, though I’m sure we’ll have time to talk again soon.” He turned to depart, but stopped partway and eyed the captain again. “By the way, Dr. Santos tells me you have a bionic cardiac replacement.”
Travers let the statement hang in the air. He watched Picard closely. Clearly, this was a matter of some importance to him.
“The result of a youthful indiscretion,” the captain replied.
The commodore’s eyes narrowed a notch. “What I find curious is that it matches no known model my people have ever seen. The power cell is, well … extraordinary. And the device seems to be engineered on the molecular level to mimic your cell structure, presumably to prevent rejection.”
Picard shrugged. “I bought the device from a Murani trader. Frankly, I don’t know how it works.”
Travers cleared his throat. “Well then, I hope you won’t mind if Dr. Santos runs a few more scans on it. My engineering staff is fascinated by the technology.”
“Of course,” the captain said, wondering if he had already damaged history. The power cell and molecular construction techniques used in it would not be invented for many years still.
“Excellent,” responded the commodore.
Picard held up a hand. “One question before you go, sir. What planet am I on?”
Travers seemed a little taken aback by the question, but he answered it nonetheless. “Cestus Three, of course.”
The captain’s breath caught in his throat. Cestus III? Suddenly everything made perfect sense. Both Santos and Travers had seemed familiar to him. Now he knew why. They had been mentioned in the history tapes on the Cestus III massacre. Picard fought to keep his voice steady while he asked his final question.
“And what is the stardate?”
The commodore looked at him. “Three-oh-four-one-point-six,” he said. “Anything else?”
The captain shook his head. “No. Thank you.”
Travers frowned. “In that case, good day, Mister Hill. Doctor Santos, could we have a word outside?”
Picard watched them go, while running the numbers in his head. The calculation took him only a split second, and confirmed his worst fears. In less than four days, the Gorn would attack the