Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [71]
And he had to do it quickly, before Commodore Travers and his security people caught up with him. Everything rested on his success in this. If he valued the future—both his own and that of the Federation—he dared not fail.
“Captain?”
Tal Ephis, one of the founding members of the Bon Amar “trade consortium,” turned to look at his first officer—who also happened to be his wife. She was the only one on board who called him by that honorific, and even she meant it as a joke.
Still, he liked the sound of it. It made him feel, at least for a moment, that he was something more than the master of a third-rate transport vessel, which had taken its share of lumps to see the Cardassians pried loose from Bajor. It made him feel like a true captain, which is what he had dreamed of becoming at age five or six.
Of course, that was before reality had set in. Before the Cardassians took away his father and mother, and slaughtered them slowly in some prison camp too horrible to think about. Before he saw that he’d be lucky just to survive, much less help others to do so.
Not that his life as a pirate had been so bad. Hell, at least he’d been in space. He’d gotten to see the stars. And serve with the finest men and women anywhere. All in all, he’d come a lot closer to realizing his dream than most Bajorans.
The pity was, when the dust cleared, the Bon Amar had remained outlaws. Maybe most of the rebels had accomplished what they’d set out to do, or thought they had—but the “trade consortium“‘s work wasn’t finished yet. Nor would it be, until the Cardassians had paid at least a part of what they owed the Bajorans.
“Yes, Ilam?” he responded. “Don’t tell me you’ve found what we’re looking for.”
He was just joking back at her. But her expression told him that she might very well have found the thing after all. Rousing himself from his command chair, Tal crossed the ship’s cramped bridge and came to look over his wife’s shoulder.
According to her monitor, their sensors had picked up something interesting. Unfortunately, they weren’t Starfleet sensors. They were given to the occasional glitch, and one could only pray that it didn’t come at a crucial time. So now, as Tal peered at the computer screen, he wasn’t as confident as he would have liked.
“What do you think?” asked Ilam, looking up at him.
He shrugged and rubbed his chin. It was getting stubbly. He needed a shave. “I don’t know,” he replied at last. “That could be it. Of course, it’s probably just something similar.” Yes, he definitely needed a shave. “Still, I guess it’s worth checking out.”
His wife nodded. “I’ll get a group together. Pakris and Hatil, probably. That is, if they’re both awake. And Mison. She hasn’t been off the ship since who remembers when.”
“Neither have I,” muttered Tal, coming to stare again at the monitor. “But that’s all right. I have other prerogatives.” He glanced at Ilam and smiled. “I get to sleep with the prettiest first officer in the fleet.”
“Flatterer,” said his wife, but she was smiling, too. “I’ll try not to be gone too long.”
Then she was making her way toward the lift at the rear of the bridge. Tal didn’t watch her go. Instead, he found himself staring again at the tiny red blip on the screen.
What if it really was the thing they were looking for? What then? The Starfleet officer they were helping didn’t have the power to sanction their use of the shipping lanes. When this was over, no matter how it ended, they would still be outlaws.
But it would tickle him blue and purple to accomplish something that high-and-mighty Starfleet couldn’t. To put them in the debt of a lowly Bon Amar pirate and his hunk-of-junk ship. He chuckled. It would be a hoot, all right.
Not that it was going to happen. But he could dream, couldn’t he?
For a world capable of supporting life, Cestus III seemed to have precious little in the way of wind. Picard was grateful for that fact.
In a harsher