The Red King - Michael A. Martin [78]
Once again worrying the bracelet on his wrist, Frane lapsed into what seemed to Riker an almost sullen silence. Riker felt a deep sense of disappointment, which only increased by the hour; during the nearly two days since Titan had set out for the beleaguered Neyel homeworld—her crew taking care all the while to avoid potentially lethal interactions between the starship’s warp field and the Sleeper’s increasingly frequent stirrings—Frane had once again become extraordinarily withdrawn. He continued to refuse Deanna’s repeated requests that he sit for a counseling session, and he now seemed to endure even Riker’s company only reluctantly.
And yet he finally started rooting for his homeworld’s survival just the day before yesterday, Riker thought. After years of literally praying for its destruction at the hands of a native Magellanic god.
As among humans, old habits evidently died hard among the Neyel. Even, Riker realized now, among some of the younger ones.
Frane finally deigned to break the mess hall’s deafening silence. “We sought only atonement, Captain. The atonement of the Neyel people for being slavers and heirs to slavers, and atonement for the indigenous races who allowed themselves to have been brought to such penury for so many generations.”
“Seems like an overly harsh outlook to me,” Riker said, using one of his rooks to seize one of Frane’s bishops. “Does it leave any room for forgiveness?”
Frane shrugged. “Ask the Sleeper after He awakens,” he said with audible irony, which he underscored by castling, thereby moving the red king to a place of relative safety.
Riker scanned the board again, hoping his next move would present itself in short order. He was disappointed. “Your Sleeper doesn’t seem like the forgiving sort.”
“The Neyel know the universe is not a forgiving place, Captain.”
Riker considered the plight of the Neyel Coreworld of Oghen, and was forced to agree. He moved his rook to 6g, only two spaces from Frane’s king, which had eluded him thus far.
Gotcha. “Nor is the chessboard, Mr. Frane. Check.”
Frane wasted no time taking out Riker’s rook with a bishop that seemed to have materialized from out of nowhere. “You’re right, Captain. I’ll have you in check in two more moves.”
Riker’s combadge chirped. “Vale to Captain Riker,” it said, relaying the rich, mid-register tones of Titan’s executive officer.
Riker tapped the badge. “Go ahead, Christine.”
“We’re about five minutes from clearing the Oghen system’s Oort cloud, sir.”
“Any hails or challenges?”
“No, sir. The Neyel military evidently still have their hands full dealing with trouble on the homeworld. Long-range sensors are picking up multiple spatial disruptions and warp signatures in the inner system. As well as a number of antimatter detonations.”
The Neyel ships are suffering warp core breaches, Riker thought, his belly quickening with horror. My God, how much worse will this get?
Two moves later, Riker was indeed in check. He glanced back toward Nozomi, whose fearful stare silently accused him. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of those doomed, vaporized ships had already been laden with Neyel and aboriginal Magellanic refugees, panicked men, women, and children seeking only to escape the devastation being brought their way by the progressive awakening of the Sleeper….
“Sir?” Vale said. Riker turned away from Nozomi. He noticed that Frane, too, was staring at him.
Chess really isn’t my game, Riker thought as he tipped over his king, resigning from the match. Then he stood. “I’m coming up to the bridge now. Riker out.”
He excused himself, then walked past the Seekers After Penance and into the corridor. Moments later, the turbolift doors whisked open and admitted him. After he entered and turned back to face the corridor, he saw that he wasn’t alone.
Frane had followed him, his bare, opposable-thumbed feet incongruously quiet against the deck.
Riker grinned at the impassive Neyel.