Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [34]
Returning to Santos’s office, Picard carefully closed the closet. Next, he relied on a hunch and began opening the drawers in the doctor’s desk. He went through each of them quickly, making an effort not to disturb the contents. Finally, in the back of the bottom drawer, he found what he was looking for.
Pulling out the small type-I phaser, the captain studied the outmoded device—which until then he had only seen in the Fleet museum. The range, accuracy, and battery power would not be nearly as great as the equipment he was used to, but it would suffice for now. With any luck, he wouldn’t need to use it at all.
Picard then closed the drawer, making a note of the lax security procedures. The lack of precautions was not out of the ordinary in a small, closed community, where everything was based on trust. That thought caused him a pang of guilt. Not only was he stealing from the colonists, he was doing so in a Starfleet facility—and from a doctor who had been extremely kind to him.
The logical arguments to support what he was doing came quickly to him, but he brushed them aside. The issue was not what was logical or practical, it was a matter of right and wrong. And at the moment, despite duty and compelling necessity, Picard knew that what he was doing violated his personal code of conduct. For that moment, he felt as if he was bringing something dark and sinister to the small secluded colony.
Quickly putting the equipment into the duffel bag, the captain placed it back on the shelf in the supply cabinet near his bed. Then he sat at the desk set aside for patients and turned on the reader. The screen lit up with prompts, but he ignored them and sat in silence.
His wait was not long. In a few minutes, Dr. Santos entered, smiling warmly at the sight of him sitting at the desk.
“You’re out of bed,” she observed.
“Yes. How soon can we discuss my release?” he asked.
Santos feigned a frown. “I’ll assume you’re asking only because you’re anxious for activity—and not out of a desire to escape your harsh treatment here.”
Picard allowed himself a smile. “You’ve been very gracious, and my care has been excellent, but I’m anxious to do something.”
The doctor seemed genuinely pleased. “In that case, consider yourself released. Your shoulder doesn’t need any more attention, just a chance to heal naturally. Give me a moment and I will arrange for temporary quarters for you—although I don’t know how long temporary will be.” She looked vaguely apologetic. “It’s sometimes weeks between supply ships. And it may be longer than that before you find one going your way. The fact is, you may be with us for a little while.”
Picard nodded. “In that case, I will have to try to make myself useful.”
Santos shrugged. “If you have any technical skills, I know our chief engineer would love to get his hands on you. And if you stay for a couple of weeks, you’ll be here when our sensor array goes on-line. It’s actually an exciting time for us.” She turned and headed for her office. “Just give me a minute.”
The captain found that the smile remained on his face. The doctor had an enthusiasm that was undeniably infectious. But his smile faded a moment later when he realized how short her future would be.
Santos returned a moment later. From the serious cast of her eyes, Picard could tell immediately that something was wrong.
“Commodore Travers has assigned you guest quarters,” she announced, not without a hint of cynicism. “He has also assigned you an … escort. Lieutenant Harold will be here shortly.”
The captain could see what was troubling her. The same thing troubled him, though for different reasons—a Starfleet escort would complicate his own plans immeasurably. In the end he said, “The commodore is merely being cautious,” keeping his tone noncommittal.
“He’s a good commander, but a suspicious man,” Santos remarked. Evidently, she hadn’t foreseen this turn of events, and she was embarrassed by it.
Picard grunted. “I quite understand. I’m a commander myself, remember.