Stargazer Oblivion

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Nikolas turned around the rest of the way and said, “Did you just ask me something?”

  There was silence for a moment—almost long enough for Nikolas to believe he was mistaken after all. Then Paris said, “I was just asking what you thought of Jiterica.”

  Nikolas hadn’t given her much thought. He said so.

  “I mean,” said Paris, “have you ever thought about her as something more than…” He seemed to struggle for a moment. “More than a friend,” he said finally.

  Nikolas wondered if the guy was joking. If so, it would be a first for him.

  “More than a friend,” Nikolas echoed.

  “Yes. More like…” Another generous dollop of silence. “Like a romantic attachment.”

  Nikolas had to wonder if they were talking about the same Jiterica. The one he knew was a low-density being, who couldn’t even remain in anything approaching humanoid form without the help of a special containment suit.

  “Do you know what you’re talking about?” he had to ask.

  “I know,” said Paris. “It sounds insane. But I think I’ve got feelings for her.”

  Nikolas didn’t know what to say.

  “And,” his roommate continued, “I think she’s got feelings for me too.”

  Oh, man, thought Nikolas. Do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?

  “Part of me knows we’re headed for trouble,” said Paris. “But another part of me doesn’t care. I just want to be with her, no matter how difficult it may be.”

  It sounded familiar.

  “Do you know what I mean?” Paris asked, the tremor of real pain in his voice.

  All too well, Nikolas thought.

  “If you were me,” Paris asked, “what would you do?”

  Nikolas’s first impulse was to tell his roommate to bark up another tree. Interspecies romances were common enough, but not when one of the partners was human and the other was basically a coherent ion cloud.

  Then he remembered how much he wanted Gerda Idun—even when he knew she would eventually go back to her own universe, even when he knew what kind of mission she was on.

  Nikolas had been willing to accept any hardship, any sacrifice, if it meant being with her. So who was he to tell Paris to play it safe?

  “If I were you,” Nikolas said, “I’d follow my instincts—wherever they led me.”

  Paris seemed to consider the advice for a moment. Then he said, “Thanks.” Just that.

  But what it really sounded like was “I think you’re right. I’ll give it a shot.”

  “No problem,” said Nikolas.

  It was funny. Paris was about to embark on what had to be one of the unlikeliest love affairs in the history of Man. He was about to take on all kinds of frustrations, all kinds of disappointments.

  And Nikolas envied him like crazy.

  Enabran Tain scowled as he considered Picard in the confines of the abandoned shop.

  From what he had seen of humans, they were soft, squeamish, and entirely too interested in their own preservation. In fact, it was a puzzle to him how they could even walk erect.

  Picard, who was clearly human despite the purple dye in his skin, couldn’t have been blessed with much more fortitude than the rest of his species, and he had to know what kind of punishment his captors could dispense if they chose to do so.

  So the last thing he should have wanted to do was anger them. And yet, he persisted in his claim that he didn’t know the whereabouts of the Zartani—and that only his companion, Guinan, could help Tain with that information.

  The only reasonable conclusion was that Picard was telling the truth. But if that was the case, it presented the Cardassian with a rather sizable problem.

  After all, Guinan was by now in the clutches of Commander Steej and his security people. That meant that she would soon be placed in Steej’s detention facility, if she hadn’t been already.

  A couple of days earlier, it might not have been so difficult to break her out of the place. Indeed, she had broken Picard out of it all by herself.

  But now that Guinan’s actions had highlighted the facility’s weaknesses, security measures there would be a lot more stringent. There would be more guards on hand, more supervision, and more attention paid to surveillance systems.

  It seemed an impossibility that Tain and his men could free Picard’s companion. Were it not for the magnitude of the stakes, the glinn wouldn’t even have considered it.

  But the human seemed to have a plan in mind.

  “Elaborate,” said Tain.

  Picard glanced at Beylen and Karrid, who were standing behind him, as if trying to make sure they weren’t going to kill him before he answered.

  “Speak,” Tain told him.

  “The detention facility,” said Picard, “is actually an old Chezzulid battle cruiser—I noticed that when I was inside. It was one of the vessels I was compelled to commit to memory when I studied ship design at Starfleet Academy.”

  Interesting, Tain thought. “Go on.”

  “Since then,” said the human, “I’ve had occasion to board one of them. It was a derelict, just like the one we are discussing. The crew was dead, victims of a radiation leak, so we had ample time to look around.”

  “And what did you find?” asked Tain, less than interested in Picard’s adventures.

  “They’re difficult to break out of,” said Picard, “but not nearly as difficult to break into.”

  “Why is that?” asked the glinn.

  “There’s a raised spine that runs around the outside of the hull, designed to house certain power-distribution conduits. Of course, the Chezzulid needed access to those conduits in case something malfunctioned.”

  “And do you know how they arranged that access?” asked Tain.

  “I do,” said Picard.

  “So you can get us into that spine?”

  The human nodded. “Yes.”

  “How close can we get to your friend?” Tain asked.

  “Close enough to touch her,” said Picard, “if not for the bulkhead separating her from us.”

  “Which we can break through with our disruptors,” the glinn said, picturing it.

  “That is the idea,” the human agreed.

  “But we will have to move quickly,” said Tain. “Otherwise, Steej’s men will be on top of us.”

  “More than likely,” said Picard, “the majority of Steej’s officers will be deployed at the entrance to the detention facility. They will not expect a problem to emerge from the direction of my friend’s cell.”

  It makes sense, the glinn thought.

  “And even after they have determined what is happening,” said Picard, “it will not be easy for them. The entrance to the room that contains Guinan’s cell is a narrow one. Steej’s men will not be able to get inside it all at once—especially if they have to worry about being fired upon.”

  “And by then, we may be gone.”

  “Precisely,” said Picard.

  The more Tain heard, the more he liked the idea.

  “There’s just one problem,” said the human. “The Chezzulid are not exactly masters of warp-drive mechanics. The only way they can muster enough power for faster-than-light travel is to cheat in the area of life supports.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Tain.

  “It means they only have heat where it is absolutely necessary. The rest of the vessel is allowed to drop to a temperature well below freezing.”

  The glinn scowled. He found Oblivion cold enough, and it was generally kept at a temperature most species considered comfortable. He cringed at the prospect of moving through an environment with hardly any heat at all.

  On the other hand, he had a mission to carry out. He wasn’t eager to tell his superiors that he had let his personal comfort come before his duty.

  “That’s not an obstacle,” he said.

  Picard nodded. “Good. The other thing you will want to know is that the spaces we will be passing through are rat
her narrow.” He took in the Cardassians at a glance. “I doubt that all of you will make it through.”

  The glinn considered his men, of whom there were now six. A couple of them were rather fleshy, now that he thought about it.

  Fortunately, Tain himself was in good shape. He wouldn’t be one of those forced to stay behind.

  “Then we won’t all go,” he said.

  “As long as you accept that,” said Picard.

  “How soon can we do this?” asked the Cardassian.

  After all, time was a factor. If the authorities had closed in on Picard and his friend for asking questions, Tain and his underlings might become their next targets.

  Picard shrugged. “Now, if you like.”

  Tain nodded. “Let’s get started.”

  The human held his hand out. “I will need my weapon back.”

  “For what purpose?” Tain wondered.

  “We are breaking into a heavily guarded detention facility.”

  “And?” asked the glinn.

  “And what if Steej’s men fire at me?”

  “Then,” said Tain, “I expect you’ll die. Or at the least, sustain painful injuries.”

  The human made a face. “I am not terribly fond of either outcome.”

  “How fond are you of dying here and now in this abandoned shop?” the glinn asked.

  Picard glanced at Karrid and Beylen again. “Point taken,” he said.

  “Then we’re agreed,” said Tain.

  “Yes.” The human started for the exit.

  “Just one other thing,” said the glinn.

  Picard looked back at him.

  “If at any time I even suspect you’re trying to deceive me, I will put a burning hole in your back the size of your head. Is that clear?”

  “Quite clear,” the human assured him.

  “Then let’s go,” said Tain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  GUINAN SAT IN THE SAME CELL Picard had occupied the day before, looking out through a transparent barrier at a portion of Commander Steej’s dentention facility.

  It looked different from this perspective. And not in a good way, she remarked inwardly.

  She had known, when she set out to free Picard, that she might wind up in a place like this. But she hadn’t appreciated the hard, unyielding reality of it.

  For all Guinan’s experience and abilities, this wasn’t something she was going to be able to get out of. This was, quite possibly, the end of the line for her.

  She would be judged and, more than likely, found guilty of her crimes. And since Oblivion didn’t have the resources to keep people incarcerated on a long-term basis, she would be sent to a mining colony, where she would spend the rest of her days dragging useful minerals out of the ground.

  Then Guinan would die, because even El-Aurians died eventually. And that would be it.

  But the worst part, the absolute nadir of the entire ordeal, was that she couldn’t work up the emotion to care. After all, the one thing she had allowed herself to care about had turned out to be unworthy of the effort.

  Feeling more desolate than ever, Guinan drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. At the same time, she noticed that the guards outside her cell had been joined by another security officer.

  No, she realized. Not just another officer.

  It was Steej. She recognized him from their encounter outside the detention facility. And having turned toward her, he was peering at her through the energy wall of her cell.

  He seemed to be picking her apart with his eyes. She didn’t like it. However, under the circumstances, there wasn’t a great deal she could do about it.

  Steej waited until one of his officers deactivated the transparent barrier for him. Then he entered Guinan’s cell, sat down on its other chair, and met her gaze.

  “I am Commander Steej,” he said, in a serene, almost musical voice. “But then, you probably know that.”

  Guinan nodded.

  “And as you must also know,” he said, with the slightest undercurrent of anger, “you are in a great deal of trouble—not only with the law here in Oblivion, which is bad enough, but also with me.”

  She nodded again.

  Steej tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

  She couldn’t see what difference it would make if she gave it to him. “Guinan.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Guinan…?”

  “Just Guinan.”

  “I see.” He regarded her with his dark, protuberant eyes. “An interesting disguise, Guinan. One must look closely to see that you are not a Cataxxan.”

  Reluctant to go down that road lest she get her friend Dahlen in trouble, Guinan didn’t say anything in response. She just sat there, waiting for whatever came next.

  “You took a rather large risk,” the Rythrian observed, “first, in helping Mister Hill escape from us, and then in helping him to elude us.”

  Guinan remained silent.

  Her interrogator leaned closer to her. “What, exactly, is your relationship to Mister Hill?”

  She thought she had known the answer to that question. But obviously she had been mistaken.

  Steej was waiting for a response. “We’re just…acquaintances,” Guinan told him.

  “Acquaintances?” the security director echoed. “And yet, you went to the trouble of helping him break out of this detention facility. If you go to such lengths for your acquaintances, what do you do for your friends?”

  Not much, she thought. At least, not lately. But she had begun to diverge from that behavior when it came to Picard.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Steej told her. “What is your relationship to Mister Hill?”

  What could Guinan say? That she had encountered him hundreds of years earlier, and felt grateful for the kindness he showed her? That his very presence had given her hope?

  And that everything she felt about him had been ground to ashes when she saw him run away?

  “We met in a bar,” she said, “shortly before the bomb went off. Based on what I knew of him, I didn’t think he was the one who set it off.”

  The Rythrian nodded as if he understood. “His arrest offended your sense of fair play, your sense of justice. So you risked your life to set him free—this person you met in a bar just a few minutes earlier.”

  Suddenly, Guinan felt the sting of her interrogator’s hand striking her face.

  Steej leaned even closer. “If I were you, I would reconsider my situation, and the advisability of lying to someone who holds my fate in his hands.”

  Just then, one of his officers came to the barrier and gestured. Frowning, the security director gestured back, and the officer deactivated the barrier.

  “Luck is with you,” Steej told Guinan. “You’ve been given a respite. But I’ll be back.”

  And with that, he left the cell.

  Guinan touched her cheek where the Rythrian had hit her. It was hot and sore to the touch.

  But it could have been worse. And it would be, if she didn’t come up with an answer Steej liked.

  She sat back and closed her eyes, and thought, Picard, what have you done to me?

  Guinan understood why he had left her—or thought she did. It was for the sake of his mission.

  But the Picard she knew back in San Francisco had placed her above his mission—above even his life. At least, that was the way she remembered it.

  I guess I was wrong about him, she conceded with a pang of regret. I gave him too much credit. I believed in him.

  And now she was paying the price for her credulity.

  Ben Zoma looked across the captain’s sleek, black desk at Lieutenant Kastiigan. “So,” he said, like a man about to activate a phaser while peering blithely into its emitter, “what did you want to talk about?”

  He knew the Kandilkari well enough to have some idea of where their conversation was headed. However, Kastiigan was the chief science officer on the Stargazer, and Ben Zoma couldn’t deny him a chance to speak—as much a
s he might have wanted to.

  Kastiigan looked vaguely conspiratorial as he leaned over the edge of the desk. “It’s no secret that Captain Picard’s mission in Oblivion has gone awry somehow. The only thing we don’t know yet is how far awry.”

  Ben Zoma nodded. “Fair enough.”

  The sciences chief seemed encouraged by the comment. Of course, Ben Zoma mused, he would probably have found a way to continue even if Ben Zoma had told him he was crazy.

  “As the captain himself informed us,” said Kastiigan, “he is the only individual capable of carrying out this mission. That is why he entered Oblivion alone. However, if we have not heard from him—neither at the appointed time nor since—should we not be considering the notion of sending in a rescue team?”

  Ben Zoma looked at his colleague askance. It hadn’t taken him long, had it?

  Ever since his arrival on the ship, Kastiigan had been lobbying for a chance to risk his life. The reason for it almost didn’t seem to matter why. All that mattered was that his hide would be in jeopardy.

  “I take it,” said Ben Zoma, “that you want to be part of this rescue team?”

  The science officer blinked. “Actually, no.”

  The first officer wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “You don’t?”

  “Not at all,” Kastiigan said. “There aren’t any merchant traders among my people. A Kandilkari in Oblivion would stick out like…what is the expression you humans have? Like a damaged appendage?”

  “A sore thumb?” Ben Zoma suggested.

  “Yes,” said Kastiigan. “Like a sore thumb, exactly. So you can see why it might not be advisable for me to participate in the captain’s rescue.”

  Ben Zoma nodded. “Absolutely.”

  The Kandilkari’s brow furrowed. “I hope you weren’t counting on me in that regard—as part of a rescue team.”

  “No,” the first officer assured him. “Not at all.”

  He didn’t get it. Kastiigan was declining an invitation to risk his neck even before Ben Zoma had extended it to him. It made him wonder why Kastiigan had bothered to raise the topic in the first place.

  He asked the science officer that very question.

  “Because I’m concerned about the captain,” Kastiigan said congenially, “just as everyone else is.”