Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [53]
Chapter Six
PICARD SAT on the edge of his bed and sighed. Since his arrival on Cestus III, he had received regular visits from Dr. Santos—but not today. Apparently, he decided, she was too embarrassed by the events of the night before.
Truth to tell, the captain was embarrassed as well. He could not blame his behavior on the evening’s beverage; he’d had more to drink every night with dinner as a child. No, it was not the wine that had intoxicated him to the point of forgetting—if only for a moment—who and where he was.
It was Julia who had done that. Picard had a diffcult time even thinking of her other than by her first name now. After all, she was already more than a doctor—she was a friend to him. And he knew she could have become even more than that, if he’d let her.
But like her, he was a professional. Not just a man lost in space and time, but an officer—with an officer’s responsibilities. And like it or not, he had to put those responsibilities first.
Which is why he’d dedicated this morning to pondering his situation—and the fact that unless he could alert his first officer to his whereabouts, he would never see his own era again. Unfortunately, though he’d gone over it and over it, he still could not see a solution.
Yet there had to be a way to contact Will. There had to be. It was only a matter of finding it.
The captain kept coming back to his communicator, useless as it was. If only there were a way of preserving its signal long enough for it to be detected a hundred years from now. Then Riker could recover it and know not only where he was, but—by virtue of the ship’s nucleonic dating techniques—when he was.
However, even in the twenty-fourth century, no one had developed a power source with that kind of staying power. There simply wasn’t a need for it. And if it wasn’t around in the twenty-fourth century, it certainly wouldn’t be around in the twenty-third.
Forget the communicator, he told himself. Think of something else. A signal that will be recognized by neither the colonists nor the Gorn, when they arrive—but will be seen and understood by your Number One a century hence.
Something detectable by long-range sensors. Something which could not be mistaken for a natural formation or phenomenon. Something that could only have originated with—
His thoughts were cut short by a whistling at his door. “Come,” Picard responded, appreciative that his visitor hadn’t just barged in, as he or she could have. After all, he was still under surveillance here.
As the doors hissed open, they revealed the identity of his caller. The captain found himself smiling before he could prevent it. But then, she was smiling, too.
“Julia,” he said, acknowledging her. So she had decided to come by after all, embarrassment or no embarrassment. And despite the ramifications, he found that he was very glad to see her.
“In the flesh,” she replied. “And I’ve got some very exciting news.”
Picard wondered a little warily what that might be. “Yes?” he prompted.
The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “No. Come to think of it, I won’t tell you.” She held out her hand to him. “I’ll show you.”
Accepting her hand, he allowed her to guide him outside—and in the direction of the sensor control facility.
The Bon Amar.
Riker rolled the name around in his head. Six spaceworthy ships, he thought, running his fingers through his hair. An opportunity to cut down their search time drastically, maybe even within the parameters established by Admiral Kowalski… .
Abruptly, a high-pitched beep intruded on his cogitations. Turning to the door, he said, “Come in.”
He wasn’t sure whom he’d expected, but it wasn’t Deanna Troi. He was surprised—and pleasantly so.
“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked.
Riker smiled wearily. “Absolutely not.” Leaning back in his chair, away from his computer console, he indicated an empty chair across the room.
The Betazoid shook her head. “No, thanks. I won’t be staying long. There is too much I still need to take care of today.”
It reminded the first officer that even during a crisis, life went on.