“I have no choice but to help Grelun and his people,” Zweller said. “And all I ask is that you keep an open mind.”
They came to a stop before a partially demolished wall. The squat ruin offered them some small respite from the raging winds. Zweller watched as Riker’s boyish face changed, settling into hard planes and angles. An aurora crackled far overhead, like an electrical arc jumping between the uprights of an old-fashioned Jacob’s ladder.Zweller handed the tricorder to Riker, who immediately began scanning the wall and the surrounding terrain. The dour-eyed guards stood by quietly while Riker pored over the readouts.
The wall bore a small humanoid silhouette. A child’s shadow, rendered in a micrometer-thin layer of carbon atoms. Several other nearby structures bore similar marks.
Riker’s mouth was moving. Lip-reading, Zweller thought he made out a “My God.”
Zweller shouted into the wind. “Chiarosan weaponry isn’t all ceremonial flatware, Commander. Especially among Ruardh’s people.”
Zweller paused, smiling mirthlessly before continuing. “Sometimes those folks use disruptors.”