Stargazer Oblivion

by Michael Jan Friedman

  “I don’t,” Tain conceded. “But then, I don’t have any particular desire to return to Oblivion either.”

  “What are you saying?” the captain asked, though he was afraid he knew.

  “We’re in a warp-cabable ship,” said the Cardassian. “Why not shoot for a more challenging destination? Suddenly, I’m homesick for Cardassia Prime.”

  “And why would you want to go there?” the captain asked.

  “My superiors sent me to Oblivion to get information,” said Tain. “As a starship captain, you must be full of information. Now step away from that panel and give me that remote-control device.”

  Picard frowned. He wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of being interrogated on Cardassia Prime.

  “And if I don’t?” he asked, trying to buy himself time to devise a countermaneuver.

  The Cardassian smiled. “If you’re not concerned about your own health, think about your friend’s.” And he swung his weapon over until it was pointed at Guinan.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said bravely.

  But the captain was worried about her. Grudgingly, he handed Tain the device.

  The Cardassian took a moment to examine it. Then he dropped it on the floor and fired his disruptor, incinerating the device.

  “All right,” he told his underling at the control console. “Bring us about, Karrid.”

  A moment later, the captain felt a subtle change in the vessel’s thrust. The cargo hauler was turning, adopting a new heading.

  “Well done,” Tain told the Cardassian called Karrid, who was standing with his back to his superior.

  Then, without warning, Tain pointed his weapon at the fellow and squeezed its trigger. The beam struck the Cardassian square in the back and thrust him over the console.

  Tain’s other henchman whirled to face his superior, no doubt wondering what his comrade had done to arouse Tain’s wrath. But instead of telling him, Tain fired again and sent a second body flying across the room.

  As the nauseating stench of burned flesh filled the air, Picard saw Tain survey his handiwork. He looked as if he had done nothing more offensive than move a couple of furnishings in his quarters.

  “Why did you do that?” Picard asked.

  “When things don’t go as smoothly as you’ve planned,” said Tain, “it isn’t a good idea to leave witnesses to the fact.”

  Then, with the same casual demeanor, he turned his disruptor pistol on Guinan.

  “No!” Picard cried out, instinctively interposing himself between the Cardassian and his companion.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “HOW TYPICALLY HUMAN,” said Tain, as he watched Picard take hold of the female, refusing to let the Cardassian kill her.

  Of course, Tain had no intention of killing her.

  He felt nothing but disdain for the two of them as he reset the intensity gauge on his weapon. Though he had to keep them alive, he couldn’t afford to let them remain conscious all the way from there to Cardassia Prime.

  Abruptly, Guinan spoke up. “You pride yourself on being cold-blooded, don’t you? But you’re not the hard, unforgiving soul you try to be.”

  Done resetting the guage, Tain laughed at her. “You don’t have the slightest idea of what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I?” asked Guinan. “Outwardly, you frown on the idea of showing compassion. But deep down, you’re as compassionate as anyone. You just don’t want to admit it—even to yourself.”

  Tain regarded her. Clearly, she was trying to distract him—to buy time. But for what purpose?

  He scanned the room, trying to find some evidence of what she was up to. Then he realized that they were standing by one of the vessel’s ancillary control panels.

  He motioned with his disruptor for them to move to the side. “Now!” he barked.

  They moved, however reluctantly, and exposed the small, black panel to Tain’s scrutiny. He eyed one monitor after the other, assuring himself that nothing had been altered.

  Until he got to the screen that kept track of the vehicle’s navigational shields. They were down—deactivated. And Tain knew what that meant.

  With a cry of rage, he tried to resurrect the shields. But it was too late. Picard and Guinan were already dematerializing, their forms being consumed by pillars of faintly shimmering light.

  And so was Demmix’s.

  Carried on a wave of rage, Tain fired at the human and his companion. But his beams of destructive force went right through them, striking the bulkhead instead. And a moment later, they and the columns of light were all gone.

  And Tain was all alone.

  One moment, Picard was in the control room of the Rythrian cargo hauler, facing an enraged Tain. The next, he was in one of the Stargazer’s transporter rooms, gazing at the grateful countenance of his first officer.

  And he wasn’t alone. Guinan was standing on the pad alongside him. And Demmix was sprawled on the other side of him, still unconscious.

  “Good to see you,” Ben Zoma said curtly, as he gestured for Greyhorse and a medical team to attend to Demmix.

  But the first officer’s expression was one of surprise and dismay. It was understandable, given the captain’s gaudy color and lack of hair.

  “Same here,” said Picard, resolving to save the explanation for later. He stepped down off the transporter platform.

  “Is Demmix all right?” asked the first officer.

  By then, Greyhorse had made a preliminary evaluation. “He’ll be fine,” said the doctor. Like Ben Zoma, he seemed inclined to ignore the captain’s appearance for the moment. “Just a concussion and a few bruises. I’ll take him to sickbay.”

  “You do that,” said Picard. “But he’ll be under a security watch. And when you are finished with him, I want him in the brig.”

  Greyhorse looked at him. “I beg your pardon? Isn’t he your friend?”

  “The brig,” the captain repeated. Then he used the ship’s intercom to contact Joseph and let him know.

  “Whatever you say,” Greyhorse muttered. Then he directed his team to place Demmix on an antigrav gurney.

  Picard turned to Guinan, who was still standing on the platform. Holding his hand out to her, he brought her down beside him.

  “This is Guinan,” he told Ben Zoma. “Without her help, I would be quite dead now.”

  The first officer inclined his head. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” said Guinan.

  Picard addressed Ben Zoma. “I was hoping you had tracked our progress when we broke off from the rest of Oblivion.”

  “We did,” the first officer confirmed. “Hard not to notice when a piece of a city goes flying off on its own.”

  “Any trouble picking up our biosigns?”

  “None. The only problem was deciding how to retrieve you. We couldn’t get a transporter lock as long as the vessel’s shields were up. And we didn’t dare try using a tractor beam. It might have pulled that thing apart.”

  “Then you saw our shields go down,” Picard suggested.

  “At which point, we knew you might not have much time. So we got you and Demmix out of there as quickly as possible.” Ben Zoma indicated Guinan with a lift of his chin. “And your friend here as well. After all, you had your arm around her. We figured you might want her along for the ride.”

  Picard smiled at Guinan. “Your intuition was impeccable, Number One.”

  Abruptly, Wu’s voice came to them over the intercom. “Wu to Transporter Room One. That Ubarrak warship is coming after us. One hundred thousand meters and closing.”

  Picard swore under his breath. The Ubarrak…! They were still coming after Demmix. But he wasn’t going to let the Zartani go without a fight.

  “Battle stations,” said Ben Zoma, without waiting for the captain’s authorization. He looked at his friend. “This would be a good time to put Demmix’s strategic tech data to work.”

  Picard sighed. “Unfortunately, Number One—”

 
“Don’t tell me,” said Ben Zoma. He glanced at the medical team that was carting the Zartani out of the room. “Demmix didn’t have the information he said he did.”

  The captain clapped his first officer on the shoulder. “We’ll have to face the Ubarrak without it.”

  Ben Zoma managed a smile, if a tense one. “That’s all right. You know how much I like a challenge.”

  Turning Guinan over to the transporter operator for the moment, Picard led the way to the bridge. When he and Ben Zoma got there, Wu was sitting in the center seat and there was an Ubarrak warship fixed on the forward viewscreen.

  Wu arched an eyebrow as she caught sight of the captain. But like her colleagues, she refrained from remarking on his appearance.

  Relinquishing her chair to Picard, she said, “Weapons range in ten seconds.”

  “Hail the Ubarrak,” Picard said as he sat down.

  “No response,” Paxton reported from the com station.

  “Then send them a message,” said the captain. “Tell them the game is over, and they have lost. But if they want to fight us anyway, we will be happy to oblige.”

  The Ubarrak kept coming—undaunted, it seemed.

  “Phasers and torpedoes,” said Picard, “full spread, on my mark.” He raised his hand. “N—”

  But before he could get the word out, he saw the Ubarrak ship veer off and excecute a long, powerful loop. Then she went back the way she came, without taking a single swipe at the Stargazer.

  Like a dog denied a juicy bone, the captain thought. He smiled to himself.

  He would keep his people at battle stations until he was certain that the Ubarrak were gone. But it seemed that they had dodged a very large and deadly bullet.

  Dixon Hill would have been proud of them.

  Chapter Twenty

  PICARD CONSIDERED his old friend through the energy barrier that contained him in his cell. “Demmix,” he said, by way of a greeting.

  The Zartani said nothing in return. But then, what could he say? What could he impart to the captain that would even begin to repair the rift Demmix had created between them?

  Picard looked past the prisoner at the bed with which he had been provided. “I apologize for the quality of the accommodations,” he said. “We would have preferred to offer you one of our guest quarters. However, you betrayed my trust and tried to use me as a pawn against my own people. Those who do that hardly ever end up in our guest quarters.”

  Demmix frowned. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I’ve been giving that some thought,” said Picard. “My first officer suggested I throw you out an airlock.”

  The Zartani’s brow creased. “You wouldn’t.”

  “But instead,” the captain continued, “I think I’ll drop you off on some neutral planet—one that is not too far from Zarta, so you can find your way home.”

  Demmix didn’t seem to like that option either. “Why not take me back to the Federation for judgment? After all, I tried to kidnap one of her captains.”

  “So you did,” Picard agreed. “And as the captain in question, I wouldn’t mind that. But the Federation has no jurisdiction over what happens in a place like Oblivion. And with tensions already running high in this sector, the last thing we want is a political incident.”

  Demmix’s features knotted with something very much akin to fear. “But the Ubarrak—”

  “Will find you,” the captain interjected, “and perhaps extract a price for your failure. It’s certainly possible. Then again, maybe you’ll be lucky.” He smiled. “Who knows?”

  “Jean-Luc,” said Demmix, “we were friends once. Surely that still means something.”

  Picard nodded. “It certainly does. It means I’ll be up late the next few nights, trying to figure out how I could have misjudged you so badly.”

  And with that, he left the brig.

  Enabran Tain sat with his back against a bulkhead and considered the company he was forced to keep—a couple of staring, openmouthed corpses, both of them the direct result of his own ruthless ambition.

  He didn’t relish the prospect of spending his entire trip back to Cardassia Prime with such silent and accusing company—and a long trip it would be, considering the limited capabilities of his vehicle’s antiquated engines.

  Nor did he dare return to Oblivion. Steej and his people would be inclined to ask some rather uncomfortable questions of him.

  And then there were the Ubarrak. Their warship hadn’t thought enough of him to pry him loose from the cargo hauler, but they couldn’t be happy that their plans had been ruined.

  Tain sighed.

  If he could fix the cargo hauler’s communications system—one of the few systems on the ship that no longer worked—he might be able to cut his time in it to a few weeks. Otherwise, it would be months before he reached the nearest Cardassian-controlled star system.

  A damned eternity.

  In any case, Tain mused, a slow passage might work to his advantage. After all, he had suffered a crashing defeat at a critical juncture in his young career—a defeat at the hands of a mere human, no less—and he would need some time to figure out how to make it sound like a victory.

  This time, Paris didn’t just show up at Jiterica’s quarters. He called ahead to let her know he was coming.

  He only waited for a few seconds. Then the doors slid open and he saw Jiterica standing there. She was wearing her containment suit, as he had expected.

  Her features were placid, accepting. And maybe a little curious. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Mind if I come in?” Paris asked.

  “No. Not at all,” she said, and stood aside so he could walk past her.

  Her quarters looked as they had the first time he saw them—sparsely furnished, but otherwise not unusual. There wasn’t any mist in them, dazzling his senses, making him feel things he hadn’t wished to feel.

  “Do you wish to sit down?” Jiterica asked.

  “Thanks,” he said, “I’ll stand.” That way, she didn’t have to maneuver herself into a chair.

  “All right,” she said.

  Paris licked his lips. He had practiced what he was going to say, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings.

  “The other day,” he began, “when I was here in your quarters…I rushed out because I thought I had violated your privacy. And maybe even more than that.”

  “I understand,” she said. “But there was no violation. I thought I communicated as much.”

  Paris smiled. “You did.”

  His reply only seemed to confuse her. “Then why are you speaking of it again?”

  This wasn’t going to be easy, he told himself. “Because I want to say…what I mean is…”

  “Yes?” she said.

  Paris could think of only one way to say it. “Before I left your quarters, when I was standing in your midst…I felt something. Something good.”

  Jiterica gazed at him, expressionless. It was impossible to tell how she had taken his remark.

  Nonetheless, Paris plunged on. “If it’s all right with you, I wouldn’t mind feeling it again.”

  For a time, she just stood there, appearing to absorb what he had told her. The ensign began to wonder if he had overstepped his bounds after all.

  Then, just as he was about to tell her to forget he’d said anything, he saw a grin spread across her ghostly face. “I would not mind it, either,” she told him.

  Paris let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. It was the best thing she could have said. He wanted to embrace her and share his happiness with her.

  But it wasn’t possible. The only thing he could embrace was Jiterica’s containment suit, and Paris didn’t find that option especially appealing.

  This wasn’t going to be easy, he told himself. Still, he wanted to try to make it work. And as he looked into her eyes, pale and insubstantial as they were, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t regret this.

  Any of it.

  Nikolas sat on
the edge of his bed and shook his head.

  To take another shot at a fellow crewman, even if he thought it was in self-defense…it was about as stupid a thing as he had ever done. Even more stupid than fighting with Hanta in the first place. And Nikolas couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t do something just as stupid tomorrow.

  Or the next day.

  Neither could Ben Zoma. That was why he had relieved the ensign of duty pending an investigation of the incident with Hanta in the mess hall.

  Nikolas didn’t disagree with the first officer’s decision. If he were in command of the ship, he would have done exactly the same thing.

  Even when he wasn’t fighting, he was walking around like a zombie and shirking his responsibilities. He was useless. And he didn’t see the situation changing anytime soon.

  Not when he couldn’t make himself forget Gerda Idun. Not when there were two living reminders of her sitting on the bridge, torturing him with their very presence.

  Sometimes Nikolas would see them glaring at him, and realize that he had been staring. He didn’t even know for how long. He just knew they didn’t like it.

  He couldn’t blame them, either. It wasn’t their fault that they looked and sounded and walked the same way Gerda Idun did, or that she had left while they remained.

  Once, Nikolas wouldn’t have believed himself capable of such feelings. Other guys fell head-over-heels in love, not him. He had always been too wild, too fickle to let himself get sucked into something like that.

  Until now.

  He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t go on this way. He needed to do something before he went nuts altogether.

  And it seemed to Nikolas there was only one thing he could do.

  As Picard entered the lounge, he saw Guinan and Ben Zoma standing by an observation port and chatting. And from the look of it, she was feeling anything but uncomfortable in the first officer’s company.

  “Sorry,” Picard said as he approached them, “but I had some ship’s business to take care of. I trust Commander Ben Zoma has been a good host?”