Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [51]
She smiled-half sadly, he thought. “You care for her, don’t you?” He started to ask to whom she was referring—and then stopped himself. Denying something to Deanna was like denying it to himself.
“Yes,” he told her. “I guess I do.”
There was a time when he would have felt funny admitting that to her-a time when their own relationship was too fresh in their minds for them to talk about other lovers. But things had changed between them—comforthe better, as far as he was concerned. “Now I understand,” she said. “Understand what?” “The feelings I have been sensing in you lately. The conblelicts. As long as Cadwallader was a suspect, you had to submerge your feelings for the sake of the investigation.”
He said, “I had to break a date with her. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done-believe it or not.” “I believe it,” she told him.
Riker looked at the empath. “Deanna, be careful out there, all right? If this could happen to Cadwallader …”
She put a hand on his shoulder-a gesture of reassurance. “I am a big girl,” she told him, grinning. “But thanks all the same.” And gently but firmly she steered him toward the door. Worf turned as the turbolift doors opened, cursing inwardly. He had programmed the lift to bypass this floor until their investigation was over.
Then he saw the captain come out into the corridor, and he realized that his order had been overridden by one of the few individuals on the ship capable of doing so. Nor did he have any problem with that-the bypass would be back in place as soon as the doors closed behind Picard.
He squared his shoulders as the captain approached, making his way through the crowd of security personnel carefully analyzing the assault from all angles. “Sir,” said Worf. Picard gazed with distaste at the phaser burns on the bulkheads-samples of which were being taken by Burke and Resnick. Then he turned his attention to the Klingon. “At ease, Lieutenant.” He took a deep breath, let it out through his nostrils. “Anything to report-beyond the obvious, that is?”
The security chief extracted the phaser from his belt and handed it over. Picard’s eyes narrowed as he accepted it.
“The weapon used in the assault,” Worf explained, though it was all but unnecessary. “As we suspected, its communications module has been disabled.” He paused. “We found it in a refuse bin about twenty meters forward of here. Apparently, the assassin did not want to take a chance that it would turn up in a room search-but was in too much of a hurry to decompose it.”
The captain examined the phaser for a moment. Slowly, his eyes widened. “Lieutenant—this phaser-was Worf nodded. “It is one of ours. Stolen from the security section.”
Picard regarded him. “How could that have happened?” The Klingon looked past him, trying to contain his shame. “Loyosha-the officer on duty-was found unconscious shortly after the attack. He was drugged-something in his food, I believe. It appears he was eating his dinner when he passed out. Of course, it is only a theory. We have secured the remainder of the food so it can be tested.”
The captain frowned and returned the phaser. Worf replaced it on his belt. “Where did Loyosha’s meal come from? The food service unit outside Security?”
“That is the most likely possibility,” the Klingon confirmed. “We have secured the unit as well.”
Picard nodded. “Good.” He started to walk along the corridor, away from the main focus of activity, in the direction from which the attack had come. He would, of course, have been able to tell that from the phaser sears on the bulkheads. Worf walked along with him, silent at first.
Finally, the security chief swallowed. “Sir?” “Yes, Worf.” The captain wasn’t looking at him. He was looking back and forth from one end of the corridor
to the other, apparently trying to satisfy himself as to some aspect of the attack.
“Sir,” said the Klingon, “if the food service unit was tampered with, it is my fault. I insist on taking full