Maker

by Michael Jan Friedman

  And charged into Joseph like a maddened bull.

  Dojjaron and the security officer both went hurtling into the wall. Somehow, Joseph managed to slip sideways, so that the Nuyyad took the bulk of the impact.

  It didn’t seem to matter—not to Dojjaron. He got up just as quickly as before and went after Joseph a second time, making a sound in his throat like grinding gears.

  The security chief tried to sidestep the alien’s lunge, but to no avail. Dojjaron hooked his adversary and drove him to the deck hard enough to stun him. Then he raised his clenched fist, obviously meaning to bludgeon the helpless Joseph.

  Cadwallader couldn’t stand and watch any longer. She went to grab the foremost elder’s arm, hoping to keep him from landing a blow. But she was beaten to it by Iulus and Refsland.

  Dojjaron strove against them, teeth grinding as he showered them with curses. In the meantime, a couple of other crewmen dragged Joseph out of harm’s way.

  Finally, the Nuyyad stopped struggling. Glowering at Iulus and Refsland, he shrugged them off.

  Joseph was safe. But what had started out as a little horseplay had blossomed into a full-fledged nightmare, and Cadwallader knew she had to do something about it.

  Going up to Dojjaron, who still looked angry enough to lash out at the slightest provocation, she said, “Please allow me to apologize. It was all my fault.”

  “That’s correct,” the Nuyyad spat, “it was. And culpability requires punishment.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. Still, she meant to endure whatever Dojjaron’s customs demanded.

  “What’s going on here?” someone barked, her voice echoing throughout the mess hall.

  Cadwallader’s head turned like everyone else’s, and she saw Commander Wu standing there at the entrance. A silence fell over the place, unbroken even by Dojjaron.

  The second officer walked into the center of the room, regarded Cadwallader and then Dojjaron, and said calmly but firmly, “I’m waiting.”

  Before Cadwallader could get a word out, the Nuyyad made a sound of disgust and spat on the floor. Then he stalked off, jostling anyone in his way.

  Wu watched him go, obviously less than pleased. Then she turned to Joseph, who was being helped to his feet, and said, “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

  “Fine, Commander,” said the security chief, though he still appeared a little shaken up.

  Next, the second officer turned to Cadwallader again. “Walk with me,” she said.

  Cadwallader nodded and said, “Of course, Commander,” and followed Wu out of the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  OBAL SIGHED TO HIMSELF as he made his way to the Stargazer’s security section.

  Iulus might have been trying to spare his feelings when he stopped Kirby from speaking of Nikolas, but he hadn’t taken into account the acuity of Obal’s hearing, which was far superior to that of most other species on the ship. So while the crewmen at Iulus’s table believed Obal hadn’t overheard any of their remarks, he had in fact heard everything.

  Of course, Nikolas had become the subject of a great many conversations since the captain’s discovery of his name on the Iktoj’ni’s crew manifest. Everyone who had known him was concerned about him and hoped to be able to help him.

  Obal hadn’t yet arrived on the Stargazer when she breached the barrier and clashed with the Nuyyad, but he had familiarized himself with the events of that time. So he knew how unlikely it was that the crew’s hopes would be realized.

  The Nuyyad were, after all, brutal, remorseless combatants. If Brakmaktin’s powers were anywhere near as impressive as people said, he was the single most formidable individual in history—not just Federation history, but the history of the galaxy.

  As Nikolas’s closest friend on the ship, Obal wanted to retrieve Nikolas more than anyone. And as an admirer of Captain Picard, he wanted to have confidence in the captain’s abilities.

  However, he did not have confidence. He was frightened for his friend. And though he would do anything—sacrifice anything—to get Nikolas back, he was afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

  Nikolas whistled softly at the reading on the Ubarrak control panel.

  Standing beside him, Gerda Idun took on a look of concern. “What is it?”

  “Nothing bad,” he assured her. “Just the opposite. We’re making amazing time.”

  Her hand on his shoulder, she angled a look at the panel for herself. “That is amazing. If our ships could go this fast for more than minutes at a time, we would never have needed to kidnap Simenon. How does Brakmaktin do it?”

  Nikolas shrugged. “How does he do anything?”

  He didn’t want to say more in case the Nuyyad was listening in on them. Brakmaktin had remained in the armory ever since Gerda Idun’s appearance, making his presence felt only in the velocity the ship was maintaining.

  As to how he was accomplishing it…it might have had something to do with their warp field geometry or the efficiency of their dilithium interface. Nikolas could probably have worked out the details if that were all he had to worry about. But he had to concentrate on the big picture, in case the Nuyyad emerged from his sanctum and threw Nikolas a curve.

  “I wonder if there’s a barrier in my universe,” said Gerda Idun, her eyes losing focus for a moment.

  The remark would have been cause for concern if she were truly from another frame of reference, and she could have challenged a Klingon-Cardassian alliance with a cadre of superbeings. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  “I don’t know,” Nikolas told her. “I suppose it’s possible. Probable, even.”

  “Then maybe,” said Gerda Idun, “we’ve got a barrier-enhanced Nuyyad as well, and he’s just too far away for us to have heard of him yet. And if there is someone like that, maybe he’ll find a Klingon world to his liking instead of an Ubarrak one.”

  Why not? Nikolas mused. He was on a ship that was maintaining a speed it had no right to maintain, sitting beside a woman who shouldn’t even have existed. And their unseen companion on this voyage was the unlikeliest component of all, in that he was responsible for the other two.

  So why not a Brakmaktin in that other universe? And a bride of Brakmaktin too, since Nikolas was in a generous mood?

  Of course, he still had no idea why it had been so important to the Nuyyad to reach that mining planet. But if everything panned out as the human hoped, he would let someone else figure it out.

  “No response from the helm?” Gerda Idun asked.

  Nikolas tried the pertinent controls—to no avail. “Not yet,” he replied.

  He would have felt better if Brakmaktin had unlocked the helm controls and allowed Nikolas to pilot the cruiser. But he imagined that would come in time.

  And if it didn’t, it didn’t really matter. All they had to do was get near Federation space and send a message. And even if Brakmaktin decided to keep them silent, for some arcane reason, Starfleet would still notice an Ubarrak warship in its backyard.

  The only fly in the ointment was the Federation’s lack of a “cure” for what had happened to Brakmaktin. Eventually, the alien would realize he had come a long way for nothing.

  What would he do at that point? Would he blow up and destroy everything in sight? There was no way to know. And before Gerda Idun’s appearance in the corridor, it wouldn’t have mattered to Nikolas either way.

  But things had changed. Nikolas didn’t want to die—and more importantly, he didn’t want Gerda Idun to die. Not at the hands of a resentful Brakmaktin, and not at the hands of an understandably cautious Federation.

  Gerda Idun had been returned to him, at least after a fashion. He was thinking in terms of survival now, even lasting happiness. It would be harder to sacrifice himself for the greater good under those circumstances. A lot harder.

  In fact, he would have been fretting about it day and night if not for this feeling he had—an intuition that somehow everything was going to be all right. It wasn’t based on much—just one t
hing, really, and that was the expression on Brakmaktin’s face the last time he was on the bridge.

  The Nuyyad had seemed eager to grasp at any straw, no matter how thin or brittle, or deeply buried in a stack of uncertainty. That considered, Brakmaktin might not blow up when he realized the Federation couldn’t help him.

  He might settle for some other kind of peace. Nikolas didn’t have a clue as to what it might be, but he was sure the Nuyyad would have plenty of help finding it.

  “And no sign of pursuit?” Gerda Idun asked.

  “Not as far as I can tell,” he said.

  It was curious, to say the least. Their vessel was escaping Ubarrak space unscathed, when it should have been seized or—failing that—destroyed for what they did to the squadron they had encountered. Obviously, Brakmaktin had found a way to guarantee them safe passage.

  Gerda Idun moved behind him and put her arms around his neck. “So we might as well go back to our quarters.”

  He smiled to himself. “Don’t you want to see the stars?”

  She whispered in his ear, “I’ve seen plenty of stars in our quarters, thanks.”

  Then she laughed. And as beautiful as her laughter was, he couldn’t help laughing with her.

  Nikolas couldn’t imagine what it would be like having her back on Earth with him. What would the guys in the old neighborhood say? You’ve got to be kidding me, Nik. How’d she wind up with a deadbeat like you?

  It made him smile just thinking about it.

  Picard felt the muscles working in his jaw as he stepped out of the turbolift and made his way to Dojjaron’s quarters.

  When he reached them, he placed his hand over the metal security plate beside the door. Then he waited for the Nuyyad to respond to his presence.

  After a minute, the door still hadn’t slid aside. And yet, Dojjaron was on the other side of it—the ship’s computer had indicated as much to Picard en route. Just to make sure, he queried the computer again.

  “Foremost Elder Dojjaron is in his quarters,” came the reply, based on another internal sensor scan.

  It didn’t seem likely that it was in error. Dojjaron was the only Nuyyad on the Stargazer.

  Given the volatile nature of the foremost elder, the captain began to grow concerned. It occurred to him that it might be wise of him to contact security.

  He was about to engage the intercom system when the door finally opened for him. Moving past it, he saw Dojjaron sitting on the only chair in the room big enough to accommodate him.

  “Foremost Elder,” he said, resorting to the Nuyyad’s title—but not as an earnest gesture of respect.

  “What is it?” asked Dojjaron.

  “You and I need to talk,” Picard said.

  “About what?” the Nuyyad demanded.

  “I understand you had an altercation with several of my officers.”

  “That is correct,” said Dojjaron. But nothing more.

  “What you did was unacceptable.”

  “What I did was necessary. And if the circumstances are repeated, I will do it again.”

  “In what way could such actions be considered necessary?” the captain wondered.

  Dojjaron’s brow lowered over his black eyes. “Physical contact with a female, except during procreation, is taboo among the Nuyyad. Your crew member sullied me with her touch.”

  Physical contact? With a female? No one had mentioned such a taboo. But then, Picard hadn’t thought to ask.

  “I regret that you were insulted,” he said. “However, I assure you, it was not intentional.”

  “Intent is not an issue,” the alien insisted. “All that matters is that she touched me. An elder, no less. She must be punished to the full extent of the law.”

  The captain asked the question, even though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Execution,” said Dojjaron, putting a cutting edge on the word.

  Picard had known he wouldn’t like it. “We do not execute members of our crew. Not even for the gravest offenses.”

  “Then how will you punish her?” the Nuyyad demanded.

  “First,” said the captain, “I will study the situation. Then I will make a determination as to whether I will punish Ensign Cadwallader at all.”

  Dojjaron’s mouth twisted with disdain. “Then I may need to deal with her on my own.”

  Picard shook his head. “I will not permit you to engage in further violence on the Stargazer.”

  The foremost elder glared at him. “Your crew has failed to show me the proper respect.”

  “They treated you as they would have treated the highest-ranking officer in our fleet.”

  “Then,” said Dojjaron, “your highest-ranking officer should demand more of them.”

  The captain was on the verge of saying something he would surely have regretted. Taking a deep breath, he tried a more conciliatory approach.

  “Make no mistake, Foremost Elder, your assistance is valuable to us. We will need it if we are to defuse the threat posed by Brakmaktin. However—”

  “Let me make my position clear,” Dojjaron rumbled. “I am not here to help you or your people. If I could, I would crush you all single-handedly and take your star systems for my own. The only reason I came this way was to destroy the aberration. And when that is accomplished, I will be happy to leave you to your delusion of safety—at least for the time being.”

  Picard absorbed the information, including the barely veiled threat. Then he answered, in a tone that was firm but also eminently reasonable.

  “Let me make something clear, Foremost Elder. As a Starfleet captain, it is my duty to work with you toward our common goal. But do not mistake cooperation for weakness. I am not especially proud of what I did in your galaxy. I wish it had not been necessary. But if you attempt to conquer the Federation, be advised that we will meet you with every ounce of force at our disposal. And I will be in the vanguard.”

  If his speech gave Dojjaron pause, the Nuyyad gave no sign of it. He just sat there, his gaze hard under the ledge of his brow.

  “In the meantime,” the captain continued, “I suggest you remember that you are a guest here and behave accordingly. And in return, we will do our best to keep from giving you further offense. Fair enough?”

  The foremost elder didn’t agree to the deal. However, he also didn’t voice an objection. Picard took that as a sign of acquiescence.

  “Good day,” he told Dojjaron, and left the alien’s quarters.

  Cadwallader hung on the horizontal bar dressed only in her black pants and white, form-fitting top, her boots and her cranberry-colored tunic lying on the mat beside the apparatus.

  With a grace born of hours of practice, the com officer lifted her knees to her chest and kicked out to get herself swinging. Then she swung higher and higher, until she was exceeding the level of the bar each time.

  More than once, she had been told by an enthusiastic observer that she was stronger than she looked. But it didn’t take much strength to work on the horizontal bar when one was as slender and small-boned as she was.

  Just stubbornness. In fact, her stubbornness might have been her best quality.

  That was why it had been so hard for Cadwallader to do what she did in the mess hall—to submerge her pride and apologize to the big oaf when she knew the incident was as much his fault as hers.

  And yet, it hadn’t been enough. She was sure of it. There would be repercussions—and she would be the one responsible for them.

  She got a lump in her throat. She had been so happy there on the Stargazer. Why couldn’t she have lost her appetite just that once? Why couldn’t she have watched where she was going?

  What’s done is done, Cadwallader told herself. It was one of her grandfather’s favorite sayings. No taking it back now.

  Kicking even higher, she swung forward and continued right over the bar, executing a three sixty. Then she did it again. And a third time. Finally, when she was at the apex of her swing, s
he leapfrogged over the bar and launched herself into the air.

  Her momentum carried her forward a good five meters before she touched down. And while it wasn’t the best landing she had ever made, it wasn’t the worst.

  It was only then that she noticed someone standing by the entrance to the gym. Turning, Cadwallader saw that it was Commander Ben Zoma, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Impressive,” he said.

  It would have been even more so in a bigger gym. However, Cadwallader wasn’t one to brag.

  She just nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I won’t drag this out,” said Ben Zoma. “What happened in the mess hall before…”

  Cadwallader steeled herself for a reprimand. And it was well deserved, wasn’t it? How could she have been so blind as not to notice someone the size of Dojjaron?

  “…was impressive as well,” the first officer finished. “Judging by Commander Wu’s report, you couldn’t have comported yourself any better if you’d been a twenty-year veteran.”

  Cadwallader wasn’t certain she had heard him correctly. “I…that’s kind of you to say, sir.”

  “I just wanted you to know,” said Ben Zoma, “that exemplary behavior doesn’t go unnoticed around here—even in the middle of a critical mission.”

  The com officer smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Ben Zoma smiled back. “I thought you would be. Keep up the good work, Cadwallader.”

  “I will, sir.”

  The first officer regarded her a moment longer. Then he turned and started for the exit.

  Cadwallader watched the door open for him and let him out. Then she dropped to the mat below her, rolled onto her back and laughed out of relief.

  She was still laughing when she realized that Ben Zoma had stuck his head back through the open doorway. Feeling a rush of blood to her face, she bolted to her feet.

  “Sir?”

  “By the way,” the first officer said, “feel free to replicate some gym togs. The last time I worked out in my uniform, I got a rash—and I’m not sure I should say where.”

  Cadwallader couldn’t imagine that coming from Captain Muirchinko. “Aye, sir,” she said. “I’ll try to remember that.”