Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [73]
And saw Schmitter, Travers’s security chief, flanked by two redshirted officers. Noting how he’d missed Picard with his first attempt, Schmitter leveled his phaser again and fired.
Darting to his left, the captain narrowly avoided that blast as well. It tore a chunk out of the slope up ahead of him, but left Picard himself unscathed. Running for all he was worth, knowing that the comm badge in his hand could damage the timeline as easily as anything else, he again set his sights on the cleft—and hoped that Schmitter’s next shot wouldn’t be any more accurate than the last two.
His hope was answered. All at once, three ruby-red beams sliced through the hot, dry air—but none of them came closer than a couple of inches. Then he was through the cleft, squinting in the face of full sunlight, looking for the next leg of his getaway.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t given Travers enough credit. No sooner had the captain emerged from the valley than he spotted two more redshirts in the distance—and these were flanking the commodore himself.
Worse, Picard had just entered an even deeper valley, between two rather steep and featureless inclines. There was no room to maneuver, no place to hide, and no outlet. The captain’s only option was to try to make it up one of the slopes before either Schmitter’s team or Travers’s took him down with a well-placed phaser beam.
In fact, that wasn’t much of an option at all. But given the alternatives, he seized on it, starting up the escarpment on his left. Up ahead, the commodore’s security people did the same, in an attempt to head him off. Picard considered the angles and decided they’d catch him before he got anywhere near the top.
He’d failed, he told himself, feeling the sting of that realization. He’d failed completely and utterly. It was too late to hide his communicator from his pursuers, which meant he’d placed the timeline in jeopardy. What’s more, there was now a good chance the device would be destroyed in the colonists’ defense against the Gorn, making it unlikely that Riker would find it a hundred years later.
The result? No return to the twenty-fourth century. No Picard to talk peace with the Gorn. Nothing to prevent a war that would devastate both sides of the conflict—assuming that those two sides would even exist in the future that would be created.
All this flashed through the captain’s mind in the merest part of a moment. It didn’t cause him to break stride, however. If Travers wanted to stop him, he would have to knock him out. It wasn’t in Picard’s nature to surrender while there was even a glimmer of hope.
Then something happened. The captain wasn’t sure what it was, but the commodore suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, only partway up the slope. His security officers stopped with him.
A quick peek over his shoulder told Picard that Schmitter had stopped, too. It was as if something else had caught their attention, something more important than a lone fugitive. They looked panicked, almost terrified. What could be scaring them so much? What …
Damn. The captain felt the blood drain from his face as he realized what must have distracted his pursuers.
The Gorn were here.
In his mind’s eye, Picard could picture what must have happened. The colony’s sensor array had picked up the approach of an unfamiliar vessel, but discounted it as just another alien ship making use of its facilities.
At least, at first. Then, as the vessel had gotten closer, it had powered up its weapons banks—something no peaceful alien would do. And the officer in charge of the sensor array had instantly contacted Commodore Travers for instructions.
After all, the sensor reading could have been a mistake; the equipment might have malfunctioned. And even if the reading was accurate, it didn’t necessarily mean there would be hostilities.
Once again, Picard could see Harold’s face as it had appeared