Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [89]
Picard nodded. “Lay in a course, Mister Crusher. When the use of our warp drive is restored to us, we’ll be that much closer to salvation.”
Sixteen hours, Wesley thought. There’s no way we can go unnoticed for that long.
Behind him, he heard Lieutenant Worf grunt-as if in agreement with the ensign’s unarticulated analysis. Then the Klingon spoke. “We have another problem, sir,” he said evenly. Picard turned away from the newly restored viewscreen to face his security chief. “Yes, Lieutenant?” Worf’s expression was grim. “Commander Asmund has escaped.”
Picard’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the information. “1 see,” he said, his voice level and controlled. “And her guards?” “Injured, but not badly.” The Klingon added: “The brig’s security systems were damaged in the escape from the slipstream.” “Is she armed?”
“She has a phaser, sir.”
He nodded. “And potential victims all over the ship.” The captain frowned. “Go after her, Worf. Find her.” His tone was decisive, authoritative-but his eyes were full of regret. “And give her no quarter. Commander Asmund is a most resourceful individual.” Worf nodded, already starting to move toward the turbolift. “On my way, sir.”
“Lieutenant . . dis”…com The Klingon stopped.
Picard opened his mouth to say something-but thought better of it. He shook his head. “Nothing. Just keep me posted.”
“Aye, sir,” said the security chief. But he knew what the captain had been about to say-something about not allowing personal feelings and beliefs to keep one from doing one’s duty. It would have been an unnecessary instruction; he was glad that Picard had kept it to himself.
As the captain turned back to the viewscreen, Worf entered the turbolift. “Computer,” he asked, “what is the location of Commander Idun Asmund?”
The response was quick and concise. “Commander Asmund is in a lift compartment in the vicinity of deck eight, primary hull.” Worf straightened as if he’d been slapped in the face. The battle bridge was located on deck eight of the secondary hull. It would be a simple maneuver for Asmund to move from one hull to the next-and if she could rig the holodeck and the food processor, she could probably gain access to the battle bridge as well. And she could control the entire ship from there. She was clever. She had fooled him once, with her protestations of innocence. She would not fool him again.
“Deck eight,” he said, his teeth clenching as he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation.
Had Morgen been more familiar with the layout of a Galaxy-class vessel, he might have had some prior idea of which cabin he was entering. As it was, he was almost as surprised to see the roomful of young children as they were to see him. There were about a dozen of them, peering up at him with eyes fresh from crying. A couple still had trails of tears on their faces.
A woman who was kneeling among them-their teacher, apparently-looked up at Morgen. “Hello,” she said, unable to conceal the trepidation in her voice.
It wasn’t the first time he’d evoked that kind of reaction since he’d set foot on the Enterprise. Nor was it difficult to understand, given the imposing Daa’Vit physique and the fact that so few of his people were seen on Federation starships. A moment later, noticing the pips on the Daa’Vit’s collar, the woman said, “Oh. You must be one of Captain Picard’s guests.” “Yes,” he told her. “I’m Captain Morgen. Is everyone all right in here?”
She nodded. “We’re fine.” She scanned the faces of the children. “A little frightened, but fine.”
Just as she said that, a little girl began sobbing. And before the woman could comfort the child, a little boy followed suit. Smiling, Morgen lowered himself onto his haunches. “Come on, now,” he said, glancing from the girl to the boy and back again. “If you cry, it’s going to make me start crying too. And when I start crying, I can’t stop.”
Then, before he lost their attention, the Daa’Vit opened his tear ducts and let the clear serum inside them flow copiously down his