Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [33]
Chapter Four
FOR PICARD, there was no question of what he needed to do. Escape was his only option. The events on Cestus III would have to unfold without him.
In fact, history would be served best if he kept his contact with the colonists to a minimum. The end was only three days away now and—though it was unfortunate that a colony full of fine people like Dr. Santos would meet such a tragic fate—that fate was nevertheless inevitable.
The only question that remained for him was how to proceed. In three days, the Gorn would arrive, and Picard needed to be far enough away to completely escape their notice.
The captain knew the colony would be ceded to the Gorn after Captain Kirk’s first encounter with the reptilian beings. But that agreement would be negotiated by subspace radio without a face-to-face meeting. And, as far as Picard was aware, no Federation personnel would return to Cestus III up until his own time. In fact, shared use of facilities was one of the items on his agenda for the upcoming Gorn summit.
Upcoming, the captain thought. It seemed to him to be only a few days away. In fact, he still felt the nagging need to make his preparations for the meeting—though he had a century, not days, to prepare.
Picard retained hope that he would somehow still be able to fulfill his mission. There was a good possibility that Commander Riker would deduce what had happened to him by examining the alien station and the ship’s sensor readings. But would Riker be able to trace his captain’s transport through time and space? Or would his Number One simply assume that Picard was dead?
Of course, it was possible that the station had been destroyed in the surge that sent the captain here. But if the station had survived, his crew might find a way to use the technology to retrieve him. To prepare for that possibility, Picard would need to find a way to leave a signal that could be found by Starfleet in the future. At the very least, he knew, he had a duty to record what had happened to him and make a final report. But how?
The questions were almost endless. In the midst of them, the captain realized that the only certainty was the fate of the colony. Unless he left the area quickly, his would be the same fate. He needed to begin collecting supplies and planning his escape.
He was almost certainly up to the task from a physical standpoint. After a full night of sleep, he felt refreshed. The pain in his head was gone, and though his immobilized right arm would be a handicap, it would not be a critical one.
Throwing his feet over the side, Picard got out of bed. The infirmary was perhaps seven meters across, with a total of five beds. At the front of the room stood the supply cabinet that Dr. Santos had indicated that morning, when she told him that they had cleaned his clothes—and that they would be returned to him when he was released from her care.
The cabinet was unlocked and full of dressings, bandages, slings, and other innocuous pieces of medical equipment—nothing that would be of much immediate value to him. However, there was a duffel bag on the upper shelf, which he opened to find his uniform neatly folded inside.
Taking the duffel bag with him, the captain ventured into Dr. Santos’s adjoining office. The space appeared to be empty—but to be certain, he called to the doctor in a low voice. When he received no response, he made his way behind her desk and tried the door there. It opened with a push, and Picard could see a small room lined with Santos’s more important medical supplies.
Moving quickly, he scanned the place for what he might need. Looking past the drugs and medicines, he located a row of neatly stacked tricorders. Taking one from the back, he moved on to the field medical kit—both pieces of equipment would be extremely useful. There was nothing else he could