Requiem - Michael Jan Friedman [74]
“They knocked out our phaser batteries with their first salvo. We weren’t expecting them; why should we? We didn’t have anything anyone would want.”
He could still prevent the massacre. He could warn Travers about the Gorn, persuade him to fire on the alien vessel. Of course, the commodore probably wouldn’t listen to him.
And in any case, the question was moot. The captain had made his decision, which was really no decision at all.
History had to take its course.
“Damn you, Hill!” Travers yelled. The commodore shot Picard a hot, angry look—one that he could read all the way across the valley. He wanted to catch the mysterious Mister Hill so badly he could taste it. But he had a more pressing matter at hand.
As the captain watched, amazed, almost giddy at his good fortune, the commodore’s security team went back the way it came. Looking back over his shoulder, Picard saw that Schmitter was doing the same, returning to the cleft through which he’d come.
Travers could have given his sensor officer instructions from here. He could have returned to the colony himself, and left Schmitter to continue the chase. But, practicing caution, he didn’t do either of those things.
It wouldn’t help the commodore preserve his colony. However, it had given the captain a second chance to preserve the timeline.
Ensign Ro Laren had thought to find her commanding officer in the center seat on the bridge. However, when she burst out of the aft turbolift, she saw that the captain’s chair was empty.
Turning to Worf, she asked: “Where is he? Where’s Commander Riker?”
The Klingon’s brows came together slightly: no doubt he was a little taken aback by her demeanor. Acting executive officer or not, he wasn’t used to Ro addressing him that way.
As a result, his only answer was a tilting of his massive, bony-browed head—in the direction of the captain’s ready room. But that was all the ensign needed to know.
Rushing past the circuitry access boards and the food dispenser, she stopped in front of the ready room door. Inside, Riker would be alerted to her presence by a series of chimes. A second or two went by, as she waited for the doors to slide apart.
Finally, they did just that—revealing the first officer, who peered at her from behind the captain’s desk with eyes as tired and red-rimmed as her own. Obviously, he hadn’t slept much during his rest period either.
“Ensign,” said Riker. “I’d planned to speak with you after I—”
“They found him,” she blurted out, physically unable to contain herself.
The first officer blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he replied. Obviously, she had thrown him for a loop.
“The captain,” she got out, forcing herself to speak slowly and calmly. “The Bon Amar found him—or at least, the terillium he was carrying in his communicator when he vanished.” She clenched her fists, flushed with their success. “We know where he is.”
Riker stood, his eyes narrowing as the significance of her words sank in. Had it really happened? When Geordi had first suggested how they could track down the captain, Riker had hailed the idea as brilliant. But after day after day of failure, he’d begun to wonder if it all wasn’t just a wild-goose chase. Now …
“You’re certain? he asked.
Ro nodded. “I can give you the coordinates.”
Slowly, a smile spread over the first officer’s features. Not his customary, devil-may-care grin, but an expression of sublime joy that the ensign had never expected to see there.
“Well, then,” said Riker, his voice growing stronger with each uttered word, “let’s give Commander La Forge the good news. You didn’t, by any chance, catch the name of the planet?”
Ro nodded again. “It’s called Cestus Three.”
Riker’s eyes widened. His eyes became large and round. “Cestus Three …” he muttered.
“You’ve been there?” asked the ensign.
Riker swallowed. “Only in a manner of speaking,” he replied cryptically. Tapping his comm badge, as if he were off-ship, he said: “Mr. Worf, get