The Red King - Michael A. Martin [80]
Frane looked down, apparently studying his large, gray hands. Then Riker realized that the Neyel was actually looking at the bracelet on his right wrist.
“It belonged to my father,” Frane said, raising his gray wrist so that Riker could clearly see the intricate weave of fabric, precious stones, beads, shells, and other less clearly identifiable objects. “And before that it belonged to his mother. Handed down through nine generations of Firstborn after leaving the hand of the revered Aidan Burgess herself.”
Riker’s eyes widened involuntarily. He gestured toward the bracelet, taking care not to touch it, since Frane had always seemed so disinclined even to show it; now the reason for the Neyel’s caution was becoming apparent.
“This used to belong to Ambassador Burgess?”
Frane nodded. “Ever since Aidan Burgess first gave it to Gran Vil’ja, each generation has added something new to it. A story, represented by new stones, or by new weaves of titanium thread. I had expected to bring it home someday. But I never dreamed that it would outlive that home.”
Glancing at Deanna, Riker saw that she was struggling not to weep as she regarded the increasingly despondent young Neyel. Frane seemed almost to deflate before his eyes, the hope the younger man had displayed earlier now fleeing in a great rush, like air escaping from a torn pressure suit.
Feeling fairly helpless himself, Riker resumed concentrating on the viewscreen and the carnage it revealed. The largest of Oghen’s several ancient, cratered moons, visible only as a faint and distant crescent thanks to the relative position of the sun, was beginning to drop below the horizon. Another rocky satellite, evidently much smaller and closer, rose nearby in an eccentric, retrograde orbit, white sunlight gleaming off the limb of its irregularly cylindrical shape.
“The most we can hope to do here is to beam a few hundred people up from the surface more or less at random,” Vale said. Riker saw only then that enormous tears stood in her eyes, though they seemed as motionless as boulders poised at a precipice. “Maybe we can save a couple of thousand, tops.”
Riker nodded, then returned his gaze to Oghen’s oddly shaped satellite as it continued to rise above the horizon. “If that’s really all we can do, then that’s what we’ll do. It’s better than nothing.”
“We are assuming,” Tuvok said, “that the spatial effects we are currently dodging will let us operate the transporters safely, and sufficiently often.”
Lieutenant Eviku looked up from the main science console. “The transporters should be fine. At least for the next few hours. But after that…” He trailed off meaningfully.
“But which people do we rescue?” Deanna said, gazing forward. Her large, dark eyes appeared lost in the terror that was gripping the planet.
“I suppose it’s going to be the way Christine described it,” Riker said. “We grab as many Neyel as we can at random. Then we return to the spatial rift and try to get back home. Or at least somewhere clear of this Red King effect.”
Riker fervently hoped that someplace would be clear of the phenomenon. What if it just continued to expand?
“But we’re not just talking about the Neyel here, Will. According to Excelsior’s records, there ought to be at least small populations of native species on this planet as well. What about them?”
Riker rubbed his brow and scrunched his eyes shut. He could feel a truly brutal headache coming on. Opening his eyes, he turned toward Eviku. “Scan indiscriminately with regard to species. Coordinate with Lieutenant Radowski and begin transporting as soon as you and the security and medical teams are ready. Mr. Tuvok, Mr. Vale, please see to all the security arrangements, and alert Dr. Ree of incoming injured.”
Tuvok and Vale chorused their acknowledgments while Eviku immediately