Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [38]
Several minutes later, Riker watched the planet fall away on the viewscreen. Then it was back to waiting, a state that more and more seemed to define this mission. Long periods of tense anticipation followed by short bursts of activity.
This time, however, the waiting was shorter than Riker had expected.
“Priority message from Starfleet,” Worf bellowed.
Damn, the first officer thought. He had been dreading this. Whatever Command had to say, he was sure it wouldn’t be good.
Already on his feet, he noted that Deanna and Ro were standing as well. He turned to them. “Ensign, Counselor, let’s see what they have to say.”
Moments later, Riker sat in the captain’s ready room. He flipped on the monitor. Admiral Kowalski’s face appeared instantly; the man’s expression confirmed Riker’s fears.
“Commander, we have what we consider a catastrophic situation on the Gorn homeworld,” the admiral said without preamble.
“What is it, sir?” Riker asked.
“There’s been an overt challenge made to the Gorn ruling body by a fringe group hostile to the idea of stronger ties to the Federation. Now, I can’t pretend to understand all of the ins and outs of Gorn politics. In fact, we don’t have the slightest idea of how their political machine works.
“However, all of the reports we’re getting from our Gorn contacts say the same thing: if the challenge is successful, this could mean the total dissolution of the peace process. And the outbreak of hostilities with the Federation.”
The admiral sighed, and for a moment seemed to age years in front of Riker. “It is critical that the Enterprise be at the summit on time. You have three days and no more. And if the situation deteriorates further, I will order you to suspend your search and proceed immediately to the summit. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Riker said evenly. Abruptly, the admiral’s face was replaced by the Federation symbol that signaled the end of the communication.
The first officer once again looked for that pit of certainty in his stomach that told him continuing the search was the right thing to do.
This time, he waited for some time before it came.
Picard and the doctor walked for a short time in silence. Then Santos led him nearly to the end of the residence side of the semicircle that defined the outpost compound.
“These are the kitchen and dining facilities, as you can see,” she said.
The dining hall was clearly marked on the outside wall of the low building, just as the residential area had been. It was, the captain noted, the most heavily trafficked area in the outpost.
He also noticed that just beyond the dining area, there was the slightly raised structure he recognized as a phaser bank. From his study, he knew that there was an identical unit on the other end of the compound’s semicircle. He also knew that the phaser banks would be destroyed by the first salvo of the impending attack. Santos didn’t explain, or even mention the unit, and Picard assumed that she was under orders not to discuss outpost defenses.
“If you’re hungry, we could stop in for something,” she suggested. Picard was surprised to find he was indeed hungry. He nodded.
Santos led him to the entrance of the low concrete structure. Ahead of them was a young ensign walking with an equally young woman—probably his wife. A small girl, no doubt their daughter, walked between them, holding her parents’ hands—alternately giggling and being swung by her parents.
Picard had known intellectually that children had perished—or would perish—in the attack. But again, it inexplicably surprised him to actually see a child.
“It must be difficult,” he said, flinching inwardly, “for a youngster to grow up here.”
Santos nodded. “It is, sometimes. But then, we’re all hardy souls. And on Cestus Three, at least, we’re getting somewhere. There are colonies that never achieve their goals—and a few that don’t even come close.”
The captain turned to her. In his time, no colony was ever set up that didn’t have a reasonable chance of reaching its objectives.
“Then why do they