Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [59]
Troi nodded. “Ben Zoma said as much.” “Nonetheless,” the captain insisted, “we will do everything we can to maintain security. Any questions?” There were none.
“Very well, then. Let us turn to our investigation. Counselor Troi?”
“Unfortunately,” the empath said, “I have nothing of substance to report. A couple of our visitors-specifically Asmund and Joseph-have problems. But none I could point to as a prerequisite for murder.” Picard turned to Worf. “Lieutenant—your findings.” Worf scowled. “We analyzed the meal eaten by
Loyosha just prior to his losing consciousness. As we suspected, it was laced with a narcotic that induces sleep. The source of the meal was the food service unit near Security-which was programmed to include this narcotic in three of Loyosha’s favorite dishes.” He looked at Picard. “The unit showed no signs of tamper-+, sir. So it must have been reprogrammed from another location-just as you suggested.”
“Reprogrammed from another location?” Riker whistled softly. “Our assassin’s grasp of technology gets more impressive all the time.” Picard grunted. “What about the rest of your in-quiry?” he asked Worf.
The Klingon’s scowl deepened. “I personally traced the whereabouts of each visitor at the time of the blackout. Morgen and Cadwallader, as we know, were with Dr. Crusher. Professor Simenon was in engineering with Commanders Data and La Forge. Captain Ben Zoma, Dr. Greyhorse, Commander Asmund, and Chief Joseph were in their quarters. At least, that is the information recorded by the computer, based on the locations of the suspects” communicators.” “But,” Riker reminded them, “it’s a simple matter to remove one’s communicator. Then one need not worry about being located-either at the moment of the crime or later on.”
The captain nodded. “But thank you, Lieutenant. It was worth a try.” He regarded the others. “Suggestions?” No one seemed to have any.
“Are we beaten that easily?” he asked. “Perhaps we should just concede defeat now and get it over with.” That seemed to shake them up a bit.
Picard stood. “I do not care what it takes,” he insisted.
“I want this would-be assassin found. Before he becomes an assassin in fact. his
He scanned the faces at the table. For a moment he could have sworn Jack Crusher’s was among them. Then he looked again, and Jack was gone.
Steadying himself, the captain said: “This meeting is adjourned.” The holodeck doors opened on a majestic scarlet forest shot through with long shafts of golden sunlight. Wesley took a step inside, applying his weight to the seemingly mosslike substance that covered the open spaces between the trees. It was springy underfoot-so springy, in fact, that it was difficult to keep his balance. But after a few more steps, he found the way to negotiate it was to bounce along instead of trying to resist it. The Gnalish wasn’t immediately visible, but there seemed to be a path full of the springy stuff that cut the forest in two. Half walking and half bouncing, Wesley followed it, shading his eyes when the sunbeams got in them.
It was still along the path, windless and , empty of animal life. No doubt, his presence had sent all the earthbound creatures scurrying into the bushes.
But it hadn’t done anything to hamper the activity above him. Small flying things darted from branch to branch, looking carefree and idyllic. They weren’t a whole lot different from the birds Wesley remembered from his childhood on Earth-though no Terran bird ever made those deep-throated sounds, or shed so many feathers as it flew.
Smiling, the ensign watched the flight of one feather as it descended directly in front of him. It glistened in the sun, dark purple around its stem and green at its fringes.
Intrigued, Wesley knelt to pick it up—comand drew his hand back quickly as he felt the prick of something sharp. Examining