The Last Stand - Brad Ferguson [19]
Riker looked intently at the viewscreen. There was nothing to be seen there.
“Commander,” Ro said, “the analysis of the energy blip has just been completed.” She paused for a moment and then tapped another rapid series of commands, never taking her eyes off the panel. “The sensors say the phenomenon in question was a tightly contained pocket exposure of class-M environmental conditions for a duration of one point three seconds. I am already running the sensor diagnostics, Commander, because that sounds like nonsense.”
“I agree,” Riker said, walking back into the command area and reseating himself. “There’s nothing out there to support class-M conditions. Maintain yellow alert, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir,” Ro replied. A moment later, she said, “Commander, you’re not going to like this. The sensor diagnostic programs have completed running. All systems read nominal.”
Riker exhaled. “You’re right,” he said, scratching his chin. “I don’t like it. Not a bit. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sir?” Ro said, swiveling around to look at Riker. “If I may?”
“Yes, Ensign?”
“There’s one profile I can think of that fits these readings.”
“And what is that?”
“Temporary breach of a cloaking device, sir, as reported by U.S.S. Nemesis during its confrontation with Romulan warbird Night Raven. Sometime around stardate 42400, I believe.”
“The ‘open door’ phenomenon,” Riker said, remembering. “The Romulan ship briefly lost hull integrity due to a coolant line blowout along its inner hull. Night Raven’s cloaking device could not compensate quickly enough for the suddenly changed physical condition of the ship. Sensors aboard Nemesis picked up the resulting exposure of class-M environmental conditions inside the warbird.”
“As I recall, Commander,” Ro said, “the ‘open door’ lasted for about a second, until the Romulan cloaking device could compensate. We may be seeing something like that here, sir.”
The commander looked at the viewscreen for a long moment. There seemed to be absolutely nothing there.
“Keep a close watch on that sector, Ensign,” Riker said thoughtfully. “The captain is still in transit to the local government’s headquarters. I’ll call him.”
Chapter Six
THE DOORS TO THE MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM at Government House swung open, and the Council of Ministers entered, closely followed by the party of four from the Enterprise. Kerajem and the seven ministers took their places in front of seats that ran along one side of a large, highly polished oblong table. The table looked to Picard to have been made—no, to have been crafted—from a rich, reddish brown heartwood, something like mahogany. Such high-quality wood might be as common as charcoal here—Picard doubted that, but it might be so—but the craftsmanship evident in the making of this table bespoke an uncommonly high order of skill. People who were capable of doing this kind of work were to be reckoned with. Technology was gadgets; this was civilization.
Picard took his place at the center of the other side of the table, opposite Kerajem’s seat, and Data and Troi stood to his left and right, respectively. Worf stood next to Troi.
As Picard stood there, waiting for some sort of signal to be seated, he almost absently ran a finger along the intricately carved filigree that ran all the way around the rounded rim of the table. If the Lethanta were trying to make an impression on him with this thing, they had succeeded.
Kerajem had been watching him. “We’re proud of our craftsmanship here, Captain,” the First Among Equals said. “This conference table used to belong to the—the previous ruling class here. They used it for banquets, usually. It’s several hundred years old.”
“It is quite well preserved,” Data said.
“Thank you, Commander,” Kerajem said, smiling. “It’s been restored several times. We try to keep it in good repair.” He leaned slightly forward and looked down at the tabletop. “I sometimes find this restful.”
Picard looked, too. It was like gazing into a pool, with only his own mirror image guarding the border between the surface of the table