Ben Zoma remembered catching a glimpse of his brother from the corridor outside Levi’s bedroom. Levi had looked so small in his dark blue bedcovers, so pale, that it didn’t seem possible he would survive another day.
Then their mother had shooed Ben Zoma away, lest he contract encephalitis as well. But he had seen enough of Levi to keep him blubbering under his blanket all night, afraid that his brother was going to die.
Fortunately, the disease wasn’t as serious as Ben Zoma’s imagination had made it out to be. Levi not only survived, he went on to run a Federation research colony on Bejarus III and have a couple of kids of his own.
Ben Zoma’s brother was no longer a cause for concern. Jean-Luc Picard, however, was a different matter entirely. It wasn’t that anyone expected the captain’s mission on Oblivion to hit a snag. In fact, there was every reason to believe it would proceed exactly as planned.
But there were no guarantees. Hence, the first officer’s inability to fall asleep.
With a sigh, Ben Zoma surrendered. Throwing his legs out of bed, he padded across the room on bare feet. Then he opened his closet, pulled on a clean uniform, and left his quarters.
There really wasn’t any point in his visiting the bridge. Elizabeth Wu—the Stargazer’s petite second officer—was perfectly capable of completing her shift there without any inteference from her superior.
Nonetheless, by the time Ben Zoma reached a turbolift, he had already decided on the bridge as his destination.
He was waiting for the lift compartment to arrive when he heard the echo of distant footsteps. Glancing down the corridor to his left, he saw a crewman come into view from a perpendicular passageway.
The first officer recognized the man as Nikolas, one of the ensigns who had beamed aboard with Wu, just prior to their pursuit of the White Wolf. But as Ben Zoma recalled, Nikolas had been assigned to the day shift. There was no need for him to be up at this hour.
The ensign paused at the joining of the corridors and returned Ben Zoma’s scrutiny. Then, like some kind of ghost, he picked up his pace again and was lost to sight.
Clearly, thought the first officer, a fellow insomniac. However, Ben Zoma had a reason to be up. He wondered if Nikolas could say the same.
He was still considering the question when the turbolift doors opened. Entering the compartment, he programmed in his destination. Then he watched the doors close, and felt the slight vibration that meant he was moving through the ship.
In this case, it was only a short trip. A few seconds later, Ben Zoma felt the vibration stop.
Then the lift doors opened and he stepped out, drawing glances from the officers on duty. They all looked surprised to see him, though no one commented on the fact.
Since Wu wasn’t in the center seat, Ben Zoma guessed that she was in the captain’s ready room. As it turned out, his guess was an accurate one.
Wu was sitting behind Picard’s sleek black desk as Ben Zoma entered. “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.
He plunked himself down in the chair opposite Picard’s. “Apparently not.”
The second officer gestured to indicate the captain’s desktop computer. “I was going over some more of those reports we received on the Ubarrak.”
Ben Zoma chuckled drily. “Fascinating, aren’t they?”
“Unquestionably,” said Wu. “It’s difficult to believe they used to eat their young.”
The first officer grimaced. If he’d had trouble sleeping before, that image wasn’t going to improve matters.
“I’ve heard,” he said, “that they only practiced that sort of behavior during famines.”
“Well,” Wu responded without missing a beat, “I guess that makes all the difference.”
Ben Zoma smiled to himself. “So what else have you learned about the Ubarrak?”
The second officer shrugged. “That they’re crafty, belligerent, and capable of holding their breath for several minutes at a time. And that they despise the Federation and the Cardassian Union in equal measure.”
“That’s because we’re in their way,” said Ben Zoma. “They’d like to annex the entire sector.”
“So would the Cardassians,” Wu pointed out. “But neither of them can become King of the Hill as long as there’s a balance of power here.”
She was right, of course. As long as there were three political entities in this part of space, it would be hard for any one of them to grab any more territory.
And the Federation would be content if it stayed that way. However, its Starfleet strategists were of the belief that the Ubarrak were about to break the stalemate.
If the Cardassians didn’t beat them to it.
Like the Ubarrak, the Cardassians were clever adversaries. But that was where the similarity between them ended.
The Cardassians were cold and aloof, a species that preferred its own company to that of others. Unlike the Ubarrak’s entry into the sector, the Cardassians’ had been a slow and subtle one—the result of political alliances and trade agreements rather than conquests.
But it was a presence nonetheless. And there was no question at Starfleet Command that the Cardassians could and would strike militarily, if they believed the situation called for it.
“Which,” the first officer said, “is why the captain’s mission is so important to us.”
The key to it was a wealthy, high-strung Zartani named Nuadra Demmix. A few years earlier, Demmix’s wife and two young daughters were visiting a Zartani colony when it was set upon by an Ubarrak assault force.
According to the colonists’ accounts, they didn’t even put up a fight. In a matter of minutes, their world became a possession of the Ubarrak Primacy—but not before the assault force took the lives of twenty-four innocent Zartani, Demmix’s wife and children among them.
Demmix was overwhelmed by a black tide of grief. As sometimes happens with members of his species in stressful situations, his metabolism shut down—so much so that he had to be placed on life-support devices.
It seemed like only a matter of time before he succumbed. But somehow, he hung on. And contrary to the expectations of his physicians, he recovered.
As Demmix insisted later, it was for only one reason that he came back from the dead: He wanted to pay the Ubarrak back for what they had done to him.
Before long, he came up with a way to do that. He would use his considerable fortune to find out more about the Ubarrak. After several months of paying off official after official, he wound up with key information on a new sort of tactical system being installed in the Ubarrak’s warships.
By sharing that information with the Federation, Demmix would place the Ubarrak at a severe tactical disadvantage—one they wouldn’t even know about until it was too late. It wouldn’t bring back Demmix’s family, but it would be a sweet revenge.
There was just one problem. The Ubarrak were reported to have designs on the Zartani homeworld, and it was their practice to hire spies in preparation for any major invasion.
With Demmix being a rather public figure, those spies could have gotten wind of his efforts. That meant that his plan—as well as life—was in grave danger.
So when he cut his deal with the Federation, he made sure that safe transport to a Federation world was part of it. In Ben Zoma’s estimate, that was only fair. If Demmix was going to give the Federation a leg up on the Ubarrak, the least Starfleet could do was help him survive.
On his own, Demmix could obtain passage as far as Oblivion, or so he had indicated in his coded transmissions. However, the orbital city had its share of Ubarrak, and he was concerned that they would be looking for a Zartani headed in the direction of Federation territory.
That was where the Stargazer came in. And even more so, her captain.
Five years earlier, Picard had obtained a special shore leave to run an elite, long-distance race on a barren planet in the Elyrion system. One of the favorites in the field of nearly fifty competitors from more than twenty different worlds was a young Za
rtani named Nuadra Demmix.
As it turned out, neither Picard nor Demmix won the race, or even finished in the top five. However, they ended up parting as good friends. In the short time they lived and trained together, the Zartani had learned to like the human—and, more important, to trust him.
As if that weren’t enough, Picard had gained a fair amount of experience with the Ubarrak in the course of his Starfleet career. He knew better than most of his colleagues how the Ubarrak acted and how they thought.
Under ordinary circumstances, Ben Zoma would have wanted to assume the risk of undercover work himself. After all, it was part of a first officer’s job to keep his captain out of harm’s way.
But in this case, Demmix had insisted on Picard. No one else would do. So if the Federation wished to go through with the deal, it would have to put the twenty-eight-year-old captain of the Stargazer on the line.
And all his officers could do was maintain a position outside the range of Oblivion’s sensors, but within communications range of Picard—a frustrating place, to say the least.
“How long until we’re scheduled to hear from him?” Ben Zoma asked.
“If all goes according to plan,” said Wu, “less than an hour from now.”
The first officer didn’t feel quite so bad anymore about getting out of bed. He would have been called to the bridge in less than an hour anyway.
He looked at Wu. “You can go back to those reports, if you like. You won’t even know I’m here.”
She made a face. “I was almost done with them anyway. Care for some coffee?”
Ben Zoma smiled appreciatively. “I thought you’d never ask. Light and sweet.”
As Wu got up to go to the replicator, the first officer took a deep breath. Waiting was always easier when one didn’t have to do it alone.
Besides, he added, he was probably worrying without cause. With a little luck, things would go as well for Picard as they had for his brother Levi.
Picard couldn’t help squinting as he emerged from the dimly lit hatch of an Ubarrak cargo barge into a large, six-sided plaza full of people and exotic food kiosks.
Situated at the juncture of half a dozen ships and their respective hatches, Six Corners Plaza was reputed to be one of the few enclosures in Oblivion that hadn’t originally served as part of something else.
Picard believed it. The plaza’s lofty ceiling, which framed a densely starred section of the void in its transparent, triangle-shaped panes, didn’t look capable of withstanding the stress of faster-than-light travel.
Fortunately, it didn’t have to. No one would be pulling Oblivion out of orbit any time soon—not when it performed so valuable a function for so many right where it was.
Picard peered through the ranks of the merchants who mingled and eddied in the plaza like a confluence of wild, colorful rivers. But two stood out from the rest.
They were Ubarrak, powerful and broad-shouldered, their slitted yellow eyes set deep beneath dark, overhanging brow ridges. They scanned the enclosure with tiny, animal-like jerks of their heads, as if they expected an attack at any moment.
Typical of the species, the captain mused. And a positive survival trait. Without it, no Ubarrak bloodline would have lasted very long.
There were also plenty of humans, Yridians, and Vobilites at hand, not to mention a clot of Tellarites, a couple of silver-skinned Rigelians, and a squarish, elderly-looking Ajanni in a stately black robe.
But not a single Zartani—which meant that the individual the captain was seeking hadn’t arrived yet. It worried him. After all, he thought, I am right on time. He should be here.
Then again, the fellow might have decided to arrive a minute or so later than expected. That way, he could make sure he wasn’t standing in the plaza too long, exposing himself to observation and discovery.
Picard understood the sentiment. Had their positions been reversed, he might have been tempted to err on the side of tardiness as well.
The captain was still entertaining the possibility when he caught sight of the one he was looking for. There, he told himself, on the opposite side of the plaza…emerging from the triangular, red hatch of a Lurassin scout ship…
The fellow was a Zartani, as tall and angular as anyone of that species, but leaner than most. His eyes were a shiny black, his skin the color of bronze, and his mane of white hair was bound in braids that fell astride his sharply chiseled face.
Demmix, the captain thought.
He had been surgically altered, but not so much so that Picard wasn’t able to recognize him. As he stood there, he saw the Zartani’s eyes move in his direction—and lock on him with an expression of relief.
In keeping with their plan, Demmix began to walk across the plaza. When he reached the captain, they would depart together for a less crowded part of the station, exchanging meaningless pleasantries along the way.
Then Picard would contact the Stargazer with a com device he had hidden on his person. And before long, both he and the Zartani would find themselves safely aboard the Constellation-class starship, cruising at warp eight point five in the direction of Federation space.
Simplicity itself.
Or so the captain expected—until he was driven backward by a blinding white, shrieking burst of energy. Before he could even wonder what was happening, he slammed into something hard, rattling every bone in his head.
Then Picard felt a second impact and realized he had stopped moving. The floor, he thought, feeling its flat, reassuring presence beneath him. I’m lying on the floor.
It was only then that he opened his eyes and saw the vision of chaos that had flattened the landscape of the plaza. There were merchants and kiosks and food strewn everywhere, victims of the savage and unexpected blast.
For a moment, Picard feared they were all dead. Then, as the shock wore off, he saw them begin to stir. And as they stirred, they began crying out.
Some moaned in pain. Some cursed. Some called for help, and others demanded retribution against those responsible for their injuries.
Contrary to Picard’s first impression, everyone was still alive. But the majority of the merchants were hurt in one way or another, some of them rather seriously.
Remembering his mission, the captain darted a glance at the triangular hatch of the Lurassin ship. But Demmix wasn’t standing in front of it anymore. He had fled the plaza like a startled deer, and there was no telling in which direction he had gone.
Picard’s first impulse was to go after his old friend, to track him down. After all, the Zartani held the fate of a great many people in his hands. Then he saw a Tyrheddan female reaching out to him for assistance.
“Please,” she said, her single eye round with fear amid the brown folds of her skin, “please help me…”
The captain’s teeth ground together. He couldn’t ignore the woman’s plea. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to find Demmix later.
Dropping to the Tyrheddan’s side, he took a quick inventory of the wounds he could see. None of them seemed serious. However, there was a dark, wet spot in the vicinity of her ribs that seemed to be growing before his eyes.
“Don’t leave me,” she told him, clutching at his arm in fear and desperation.
Picard placed his hand over hers, feeling the roughness of her alien skin. “I won’t,” he assured her.
Without medical instruments or expertise, there wasn’t much he could do for her. But he remained at her side, her hand in his, until security arrived in its black-and-blue uniforms and began tending to the woman’s injuries.
At that point, the captain began to consider his next move. He looked around the plaza and saw no sign of Demmix. But then, he hadn’t expected to.
As Pug Joseph, the Stargazer’s acting security chief, would have said, that horse had already left the barn.
Like Picard, Demmix would have suspected the timing of the explosion, which took place almost exactly at the moment the two of them were scheduled to rendezvous. It seemed
unlikely that it was a coincidence.
And Demmix had been skittish to begin with. He would be even more so now.
Picard would have loved to investigate the facts surrounding the explosion—who had set it, for instance, and for what arcane reason. But he didn’t have the luxury of the time that analysis would require. He had to focus on finding Demmix and getting him safely aboard the Stargazer.
All other considerations would have to wait. With that in mind, Picard got up and headed for the hatch of the Lurassin ship, reckoning it was as good a starting point as any.
But he had barely taken a step when he heard a guttural voice crack like thunder over the plaza: “Him! He’s the one who set off the bomb!”
Picard turned to see who had cried out—and, more important, to whom he was referring. What he saw was a tall, slope-shouldered Yridian, his tiny eyes ablaze with excitement in his long-eared, wrinkle-ridden face.
And to the captain’s surprise, the Yridian’s long, accusatory finger was pointing in a most uncomfortable direction.
At Picard himself.
“I beg your pardon?” he managed to retort—rather lamely, he was afraid.
But before he could finish, a couple of security officers—a ruddy, long-tusked Vobilite and a purple-skinned Cataxxan—converged on him with their weapons drawn. Picard thought about making a run for it, but the approach of two additional officers convinced him that he would never make it.
The Yridian’s lower lip curled with disgust. “The stinking human probably thought he would get away with it. But I saw him. I saw everything.”
“You’ve got the wrong man,” Picard protested evenly. “I’m not the one responsible for what happened here.”
“We’ll see about that,” the Vobilite rasped skeptically around his tusks.
The Cataxxan jerked his hairless head to indicate a direction. “The detention facility is this way. And don’t try anything—my weapon’s not set on stun.”
The captain noticed the gathering crowd of onlookers and cursed under his breath. He had hoped to avoid drawing attention to himself. Now, through no fault of his own, he had done a lot more than just draw attention.
Stargazer Oblivion Page 2