The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [12]
“Somebody must speak to the captain concerning this outrage.” The man’s emphatic statement was greeted with a murmur of consent from several of the other Farmers. “He must be made aware of our position.”
An outsider might have assumed that Tomas was volunteering for that task, but Patrisha knew better. Somehow, by the time a group consensus was reached, she would be the chosen delegate. She could refuse, of course, but in her own way Patrisha was just as predictable as the other Farmers. Rather than let Tomas antagonize yet another authority, she would take on the responsibility herself.
Andrew Deelor had lain flat on his back, staring up at a featureless sky for what seemed like a hundred years before gathering enough strength to turn his head. “Heaven is a transporter room. How quaint,” he said weakly.
“Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
With great effort he turned in the other direction and saw the blurred outlines of Ruthe sitting crosslegged beside him. He tried to fit her into his new world. “And you’re an angel now.” She made a beautiful angel, though a severe one; high cheekbones set in an angular face emphasized her large, dark eyes above.
“What are you talking about?” Ruthe asked sharply.
“I should be dead, but this place looks very much like a transporter room.” One which reeled and swayed from side to side, but Deelor suspected he was merely dizzy. He closed his eyes and felt the deck beneath him steady its wild movement.
“I heard someone say we’re on board a ship called the Enterprise.”
“Ah, that explains it.” He must have drifted out of consciousness for a time because when he next opened his eyes, his vision had cleared. He could see the huddled figures of other casualties on the deck Then an unfamiliar voice drew Deelor’s attention to the starship officer standing beside Dr. Lewin.
“I’m looking for the commanding officer of the Ferrel” announced the stranger. He stepped aside as Lewin directed the removal of a loaded stretcher out through the doors of the transporter room.
“Isn’t that you?” Ruthe asked Deelor, drowning out the doctor’s reply. Fortunately, Ruthe never raised her voice so the officer didn’t hear her. “Weren’t you in charge?”
“This isn’t the time to mention that,” Deelor whispered back. He fought against a wave of nausea. The side effect was typical of anticoagulants; he must have received medical treatment at some point. “Later, when I’m feeling better, I’ll let them know.” He would need a clear head to explain his presence on the Ferrel and to establish his authority on the Enterprise.
“Captain Manin has been sent to sickbay.”
Picard listened to Riker’s intercom report with unexpressed relief. Given thirty survivors out of the full crew complement of a constellation-class starship, there was no reason to expect any high-ranking officer had been saved. “Report back as soon as you’ve spoken to him.” Picard burned with the desire to conduct the questioning himself, yet he couldn’t leave the bridge so soon after an attack. The captain waited for his first officer’s return with impatience, masking the unruly emotion behind his usual facade of studied calm.
Ten minutes later Riker stepped out of the forward turbo, then quickly turned to urge another man in a dusty fleet uniform to step through the doors. The stranger was tall and lanky, with an untidy shock of salt and pepper hair.
“Captain Manin is in surgery,” explained Riker. “This is First Officer D’Amelio.”
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise,” said the captain, approaching the two men. Picard’s greeting brought a smile to D’Amelio’s face, but several seconds passed before he noticed the captain’s outstretched arm. Moving in slow motion, the officer reached out and limply shook hands. He stood in place until Riker pulled gently at the man’s elbow, ushering him into the adjacent Ready Room.
The captain followed. He waited until the door had closed