Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
“Too bad,” the Klingon remarked. “Yes. It is.”
Worf let a moment go by before he resumed his questioning. “Tell me … did Gerda try to take her life after she was apprehended?” Morgen looked at him. “I believe she did.”
The security chief nodded once. “Thank you. You have been most helpful.”
Picard sat in Geordi’s office and scrutinized the readouts on Geordi’s desk monitor. “Insufficient data,” he read. “That’s right,” said the chief engineer. “We can’t construct a really dependable model for the professor’s theory-we simply don’t know enough about subspace physics.” He sat back in his chair. “Of course, we’ve been able to come up with some relatively dependable models. But to do that, we had to make some rather large assumptions.” Touching a space on his keypad, he brought up one of the models to which he was referring. “This is an example. If all our assumptions are correct, we ought to be home free at twenty-six degrees. But if we’re off a bit here or there, we could need as much as thirty-six degrees.”
The captain looked at him. “However, you still think the basic theory is sound.”
Geordi nodded.
“And the warp engines are capable of bearing that kind of burden again?”
He nodded again.
Picard gauged his officer’s confidence level. It was about as high as he’d ever seen it-despite the trouble with computer modeling. “All right, then,” he told La Forge. “Let’s give it a chance.” Geordi leaned forward again. “You’ve got it, sir. I’ll just need a few minutes down here to finalize things.” The captain stood. “Take as much time as you need. I will be up on the bridge.” He paused, gazing in the direction of the master situations monitor, where Simenon, Data, and Wesley were fiddling with yet another set of variables. “Commander… how did the professor take the news?” Geordi shrugged. “Right in stride. But then, that’s more or less what I expected of him. He’s not one to let his feelings show-is he?”
Picard shook his head. “No. He’s not.” Another pause. “I just wondered.”
As the captain and the chief engineer exited La Forge’s office, the crisis team looked up. They waited for a sign. Geordi gave it to them. Thumbs-up.
“It’s about time,” the Gnalish commented. Wesley probably though the same thing, but he kept his sentiments to himself-and wisely so. He had a lot of dues to pay before he could get away with Simenon’s brand of antics. Only Data seemed to take the go-ahead in stride.
Without a comment, Picard left engineering and headed for the nearest turbolift. Stepping inside, he said: “Bridge.”
In the silence that followed, he had a moment to ponder his decision. To wonder if he was doing the right thing. He was still wondering when he emerged from the lift-only to be confronted by his Klingon security
chief. Judging by the expression on Worf’s face, there was a matter of more than routine concern on his mind. And with all that had occurred on the Enterprise lately, Picard was not eager to anticipate what it might be.
“You wish to see me,” Picard said. It wasn’t a question. The Klingon nodded his massive head. “Aye, sir.” He indicated the ready room with his eyes. “In private, if you don’t mind.” “Of course,” the captain responded, and led the way inside. As the doors closed behind them, he took a seat behind his desk. Worf sat down as well. “All right,” Picard said, leaning back. “I take it this is a security matter.”
The Klingon hesitated. “Yes,” he replied at last. “But perhaps not in the way you mean.”
The captain found his curiosity piqued, but he decided to let Worf proceed at his own pace. “I am listening,” he said simply. His chief of security frowned as he searched for the right words. “Sir,” he began at last, “I don’t believe Commander Asmund is the killer.”
The statement caught Picard off guard. “Not the killer,” he echoed, giving himself time to recover. He leaned forward. “Lieutenant, you yourself presented the evidence that damned her. Are you now saying that you were wrong?”
“Not about the knife wounds,” Worf explained. “They were made by a ceremonial blade-I would stake my