Three - Michael Jan Friedman [62]
But it didn’t look as it had on the forward viewscreen. It was fuzzy at the edges, indistinct.
“The problem,” said Kastiigan, “is not the quality of the image. It’s the anomaly itself.”
“It’s losing integrity,” Wu observed.
“That it is,” said the science officer. “And at a most unfortunate pace.”
Picard swore beneath his breath. “How long will it remain viable?”
Kastiigan shrugged. “Four or five hours, perhaps. But that’s just a guess, sir. It could be a good deal less.”
And without the anomaly to work with, Simenon couldn’t transport Gerda Idun back to her proper universe. Picard tapped his communicator badge.
“Mr. Simenon?” he said.
“Simenon here,” came the response.
“How far are you from finishing your work on the transporter mechanism?”
[186] The engineer made a sound of disgust. “Not as soon as I’d like. Another few hours, at least.”
“You will have to expedite that,” the captain said. Then he told him why.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Simenon said, clearly not happy about the new wrinkle in the situation.
Picard regarded his officers again, the image of the anomaly looming over them like a sword of Damocles.
“We still need a way to penetrate the Balduk formation,” he said, “or it won’t matter how quickly Mr. Simenon prepares his transporter system.”
Idun, Joseph, and Wu all came up with suggestions, but none of them seemed to the captain to have a reasonable chance of success. Then, just when the idea mill seemed to have ground to a halt, Paxton made an observation about the Balduk’s vessels.
It was the sort of thing only a com officer would have noticed. Normally, that didn’t constitute the basis for a promising combat strategy—but Picard believed this case might be an exception.
He glanced at Ben Zoma. “What do you think, Number One?”
The first officer shrugged. “I think Paxton may have something there. But let’s collect some more data to make sure we’re not jumping to conclusions.”
“I’ll get to work on it,” Paxton promised.
And with that, the meeting was adjourned.
But on Kastiigan’s way out, he paused to speak with the captain. “Sir,” he said, “if there is a point in our encounter with the Balduk when you feel the need to imperil me, please don’t hesitate to do so.”
[187] Picard smiled. “Not for a moment.”
The science officer inclined his head and said, “Thank you, sir. I am most grateful.”
Then he departed as well, leaving Picard alone in the room to consider the deteriorating anomaly and their chances of reaching it in time.
Vigo checked the digital chronometer on the cargo room wall. It told him that it was precisely two minutes before midnight.
If he were at Velluto’s in San Francisco, the manager would be telling him that it was closing time. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen. Have a very pleasant evening.
Time to leave, the weapons officer reflected. Time to take one’s friends and go elsewhere.
With a prolonged groan, he got to his feet and stretched—and saw his guards’ heads turn vigilantly in his direction. Sebring and Runj had noticed him too, but neither of them seemed to think anything of it.
And why should they? One or another of them had been standing up or sitting down every few minutes since they found themselves imprisoned. It hadn’t meant anything before. Why would it mean something now?
Why indeed, Vigo thought.
He walked across the room as if for exercise, passing close by the transparent barrier and the rebels outside it. But he didn’t look at them. Why should he?
He was working out the kinks in his legs. He wasn’t up to anything trickier than that. Just working out the kinks.
When he reached the far wall, he turned around and [188] walked back the other way. This time, when he peeked at the guards out of the corner of his eye, they took less interest in him.
No surprise there. After all, he was just walking around. It was understandable that someone forced to stay in a room would want to walk around now and then.
But as soon