Tales from the Captain’s Table by Keith R.A. DeCandido Page B

air?”
    “We have a high resistance to radiation,” the insectoid explained. “The gases aren’t harmful to us.”
    Picard was glad the vents weren’t open at the moment. His hosts may have had a resistance, but he did not.
    Moments later, he found himself in a tall, windowless hall, standing before three wizened insectoids. They introduced themselves as T’torric, Ch’sallis, and K’kriich, governors of the Rhitorri, the first two being males and the third a female.
    “We are pleased you’re alive,” said T’torric. “When we saw your shuttle crash in the forest, we didn’t know in what condition we would find you.”
    Picard cut to the chase. “How long have the Skellig been going at you?”
    “This is the third day,” said K’kriich.
    And yet their shields had held. Clearly, they possessed an impressive power source. “What are they after? Minerals?” That was often the raiders’ objective.
    “No,” said T’torric. “We refine minerals here, but none of them is especially valuable. What the raiders want are our people—to sell as slaves.”
    “It’s our resistance to radiation,” Ch’sallis explained. “It makes us valuable as workers in mines and refineries, where there may be significant quantities of radioactive materials.”
    “I imagine it would,” said Picard.
    “Unfortunately,” said T’torric, “the energy that drives our defense systems is nearly depleted. We shut down our weapons some time ago in an effort to conserve power, but our shields won’t stay up much longer.” He looked at the human with desperation in his hooded black eyes. “Can you help us?”
    “I have already sent out a call for assistance,” Picard said, assuming that was what the councillor meant. Obviously, there was nothing one person could do against the likes of the Skellig.
    “How long will it take to arrive?” asked Ch’sallis.
    Picard told him the truth: he didn’t know. It didn’t exactly inspire relief in the Rhitorri, but what else could he say?
    He didn’t have a Constellation -class starship at his disposal anymore. He didn’t have a complement of security officers. He didn’t have anything .
    K’kriich looked at her fellow councillors, then at Picard again. “The shields will not last much longer, Captain. What will we do when they fail?”
    Ch’sallis and T’torric turned to him as well. Their eyes asked the same question.
    Why are you asking me? Picard thought.
    All he could do was fight side by side with the Rhitorri, try to defend their city as if it were his own. But when the Skellig beamed their soldiers down, Picard’s phaser wouldn’t make a difference. The insectoids would fall in the plazas beneath their sky-piercing towers and be—
    “Wait,” he said out loud, an idea taking him by surprise. Perhaps there was a way to stymie the raiders after all—at least for a while.
    “What is it?” asked K’kriich.
    Picard looked at her. “Those vents I saw in your towers, the ones that release radioactive gases from your refinery. How wide can they open?”
    “Very wide,” said Ch’sallis. “Why?”
    “I have a notion…” Picard told them.
     
    As the council had predicted, the Rhitorri’s shields didn’t hold much longer. Perhaps an hour later, power to the emitters petered out, leaving the city undefended.
    The Skellig ships were too big to negotiate the narrow spaces between the towers. However, their transporter technology could reach anywhere. And no doubt it would have, except something happened almost immediately after the loss of the city’s shields.
    The vents in the Rhitorri’s towers opened and spewed a radioactive white gas, which the breezes spread eagerly from one end of the city to the other. Before long, the air was full of it.
    And with so much radiation in the atmosphere, it was impossible for the Skellig to beam their soldiers down to the planet’s surface. Their vessels crisscrossed above the city impatiently like serpents hungering for