Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [98]
“Commander? Are you all right?”
He turned and saw Pug Joseph making his way through a gathering crowd. The man’s face was lined with concern. “Fine,” the first officer replied, dusting himself off. He looked about, saw that the woman Greyhorsc had flung aside was recovering too. A couple of crewpeople were helping her up. “You didn’t by any chance see what happened to Dr. Greyhorse, did you?” Joseph’s brows came together. “Greyhorse? He did this to you?” Riker nodded. “I’m a little stunned myself-no pun intended.” “I don’t get it. What’s the matter with him?” The first officer met the other man’s gaze. “Greyhorse is the murderer, Mr. Joseph.”
Pug just stared at him.
By that time Worf was approaching from one end of the corridor, trailed by a couple of security people. The Klingon navigated briskly through the clot of onlookers, his expression one of urgency.
“He was here,” Riker said. “Unarmed, as far as I could tell.” Worf took in the scene at a glance, finally turning back to the first officer. “The turbolift?” he asked. Riker was about to plead ignorance when someone in the crowd spoke up: “Yes. He went into the lift.”
“No doubt,” Worf said, “before we restricted access to them.” He had begun to bark out a security clearance code to open the lift doors, when another voice cut in-over the intercom. “Commander Riker-please respond.” It was Data. And though Riker knew it was an impossibility, the android sounded … agitated. He tapped his communicator. “Riker here.”
“We have encountered a problem,” Data informed him. “What sort of problem? Not the Romulans?” “Aye, sir-the Romulans.” The first officer cursed inwardly.
“But that is not all, Commander. The captain has disappeared.” Worf looked at Riker. “Disappeared?” he echoed. “That is correct,” the android said. “Shortly after he established communications with the Romulan commander, he vanished-in what seemed to be a transporter effect.”
The first officer’s mouth went dry. “Speculation, Data.”
“We cannot rule out the possibility that the Romulans have captured him,” the android explained. “But with our shields up, even at partial strength, it seems highly unlikely.”
True. The Romulans didn’t have the technology to transport through shields. Hell-neither did the Federation. Then, what-his
Like sequenced grippers in a perfect docking maneuver, everything seemed to fall into place. Riker’s conclusion hit him even harder than Greyhorse had.
“All hands!” the first officer called suddenly-thereby opening the entire intercom system to his message. “Remove your communicators immediately! I repeat-remove your communicators!” It took those around him a couple of seconds to follow his line of reasoning-but follow they did. “Greyhorse,” Worf spat out, complying with Riker’s order.
“He’s gotten hold of a transporter,” Joseph expanded, complying also.
“That’s right,” Riker said, taking off his communicator and tossing it onto the deck with everyone else’s. Before his eyes, one of the badges-it was hard to know whose-shimmered with an unholy radiance and vanished. The sight sent a shiver through him. Not a moment too soon, he reflected. If they’d waited any longer, one of them would have been Greyhorse’s prisoner. Or worse-transporter soup.
“Data,” he called, opening up a channel through the intercom grid. “I’m coming up to the bridge. Just stay where you are-don’t do or say anything.” He turned to Worf. “Find out what transporter room Greyhorse has
occupied. Cut off his power, jam his annular confinement beam– whatever. Just stop him before he starts transporting away pieces of the hull:”
The Klingon looked at him. “What about the captain?” Riker frowned. What he was about to say went directly against his grain as first officer. “If he’s still alive, try to keep him that way. But as long as Greyhorse has an operative transporter in his possession, Captain Picard is