Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [49]
“But that didn’t stop you from going into space,” the doctor observed. “It’s rare that people stay so true to their ideals.” Julia considered him for a moment. “Still, that’s not all there is to you, is it?”
The question made Picard uneasy. “What do you mean?” he asked evenly.
“You have secrets, though I’m not sure what they are yet.” Julia’s face kept the same slightly amused expression.
“But you don’t think I’m a danger, as the commodore does?” the captain probed.
“No,” she said. “I don’t. Call it physician’s instinct, but I think you’re a good man. Just something of a puzzle. Fortunately, it will be some time before you can get away from us, and I’ll have an opportunity to figure you out. That’s one of the things we have in abundance here in the middle of nowhere—time.”
Picard let her comment go without a response. He pondered how little time Julia and the others truly had left to them, and he could think of nothing to say to her. A moment later, they came to the commodore’s building. It was one of the three freestanding structures in the center of the compound.
“After you,” Julia said, gesturing inside.
Picard stepped through the automatic doors into a small hallway. Julia led him to another set of doors and then they were inside a well-appointed dining room. Travers, who was at the head of the table, stood as they entered. The five people with him immediately followed suit.
The commodore cleared his throat. “Captain Dixon Hill, I believe you already know Lieutenant Harold.”
Using the smile he reserved for delicate diplomatic functions, Picard inclined his head in the direction of the young lieutenant. Harold smiled uneasily, and the captain guessed that he was taking his first turn at Travers’s table as well. The captain also surmised that Harold was there primarily to keep an eye on him.
The commodore gestured. “May I also present my first officer and security chief, Hans Schmitter … my chief engineer, Michael Hronsky—whom you have also already met—my science officer, Rhonda Healy, and my communications officer, Benjamin Washington.”
Travers waited until his people had each greeted Picard with a nod. Then he indicated the two seats closest to him, both of which were empty. “Please be seated,” said the commodore.
Picard took his seat next to Lieutenant Harold while Julia took the one next to Security Chief Schmitter.
A few moments later, servers brought the soup out—an excellent cold gazpacho that the captain could manage easily with one hand. Travers broke the uncomfortable silence, directing his attention to Picard.
“So, Mr. Hill, where did you operate your merchant ship?” the commodore asked, keeping his tone casual.
Doing some quick calculations, the captain estimated the boundaries of legitimate shipping in this area during this period of time. “We confined our operation to sector one-four-five, as far out as the Chrysalis system, mostly rare minerals.”
Travers wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Really. And you had trouble with Orions out there? What could they have possibly been doing that far out?”
“I really cannot say,” Picard replied. “We were surprised to see them, and they never explained themselves to me. They merely took our cargo of Benzorite … and left.” The captain could see Julia bristling, but did his best to match the commodore’s casual tone.
“That begs the question of what they would be doing out here, after taking your Benzorite in the Chysalis system.” Travers waited for an answer.
“Again,” said the captain, “they gave no details.”
The commodore smiled. “Forgive me, Mr. Hill. But we get visitors only rarely, and none have ever come to us as mysteriously as you did.”
He let the comment hang in the air as the servers brought out the main course, a fish dish that Picard recognized as salmon in a cognac cream sauce. Next, the servers poured white wine from glass bottles.
Odd, thought Picard. Travers’s apparently refined tastes seemed at odds with his coarse exterior. No doubt, given time, the commodore would be an