The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [97]
In under two hours, a freshman’s arrogant boast had been miraculously transformed into a confident prediction, adding another achievement to his growing reputation as a cadet to be reckoned with.
Picard opened the top drawer of his dresser and plunged his hands deep inside, but instead of pulling out clothes, he removed a small, flat case. He hadn’t opened it in years, hadn’t felt the need. A flick of his thumb triggered the lid.
The medal was shinier than he had remembered, and smaller. His fingers traced over the etched words.
It was cold, too.
Yes, of course I won.
Yet he had never taken any pleasure in this prize, only relief. The close escape from public humiliation had sharpened his recognition of the easy arrogance that courted such disasters. He had always been grateful that this lesson in humility had remained a private one. The empty boast wouldn’t haunt him for four solid years, tucked into the sly sneers and whispered insults of fellow cadets. Chiang had turned the remainder of that term into a living hell …
Stop it! I won. The rest was only a nightmare.
The false memories that followed that fall were surprisingly sharp. He took a deep shuddering breath, and they began to fade.
His fingers closed tightly over the metal disk, its thin edges cutting into his skin. The medal was real. It was proof.
I won. I must have won. The Heart had nothing to do with this.
CHAPTER 26
Keyda Chandat was robbed of breath as he contemplated the beauty of Dynasia as seen from space. Roiling white clouds ran like liquid glaze over the polished emerald gem that was his planet. He had been awed by images of Iconia in the ancient texts, but he had never dreamed that this new world was Iconia’s equal in splendor.
“Do you ever grow tired of this sight, Captain Mycelli?” the warden asked. “Is it now so commonplace that your people are not moved by such wonders?”
“No,” said the dapper Federation officer. His eyes were fixed on the bridge’s viewscreen as well. “And I shall resign my commission if it ever fails to thrill me.”
Ambassador Tommas was too clever a diplomat to miss an opening. “Perhaps continued visits to this starship will demonstrate some of the benefits of Federation membership to the Faculty.”
“And I would be delighted to personally conduct a tour of the USS Sullivan before the council convenes,” said Mycelli, graciously following her lead.
The warden accepted the offer with a bow. “If anything can melt the stony hearts of our conservatives, Captain, it would be your vessel.” The sentiment Chandat had just uttered was sincere, and therefore doubly disarming. They suspected nothing.
“Captain,” said First Officer Dier, approaching the trio that stood on the elevated aft deck. “The Dynasian delegation reports it is ready for transport.”
“If you will excuse me, Warden,” said Mycelli. “I must go greet our other guests.”
As soon as the captain and his first officer had departed for the transporter room, Chandat wrenched his attention away from the viewscreen and turned to face Tommas. He could not afford to let his attention wander away from the demands of the unfolding conspiracy.
“Ambassador, I very much appreciate the use of this starship’s conference facilities. The entire Faculty recognizes the need for neutral territory, not to mention that the safety of these accommodations will ease any tensions raised by the specter of insurgent attacks.”
“So, you are making some progress.”
“Of a sort,” sighed Chandat. “There is still no movement toward an agreement over the issue of admission to the Federation, but I have managed to reduce the size of the quarrel. By restricting each Faculty faction to one deputy, the noise level of our debates has been substantially reduced.”
The ambassador laughed in recognition of the value of even this small achievement, and Chandat regretted that their flowering friendship would soon come to an abrupt end. They continued