Imzadi_ Triangle Part 33

"It is daunting, sir."

"What brings you out here, of all places?"

"To be perfectly honest, sir ... as you say, with all that time on my hands, I had nothing else to do. Starfleet said this is where you were. I figured I'd come join you. Spend some time together without having to worry about the day-to-day business of running the Enterprise."

"Well, that's a splendid idea, Will, but I admit to being a bit surprised. Starfleet led me to believe that they were going to be keeping my whereabouts rather quiet."

"I can be persuasive, sir."

"I've always known that about you, Number One."

They chatted for a while about things of varying consequence. All the while, Tom wished desperately that he could see into the man's head, know whether this was some sort of elaborate ruse or whether Picard was genuinely a trustworthy individual. It was truly disturbing to Tom that his own actions had rendered him so unable and unwilling to trust others. Indeed, it was the first thing that he had ever felt truly disconcerted about in regards to his joining the Maquis. As they chatted, Tom noticed-of all things-a book lying on what appeared to be Picard's nightstand. "A paper book, Captain? Don't see those very often."

"I've always been a fan of such antique objects. You know that, Number One."

"Yes. Yes, of course I do, sir. Do you mind-?" He picked it up and made no effort to hide his surprise. "A Christmas Carol?"

"What can I say? I have a fatal weakness for d.i.c.kens."

"So do I, actually. Funny. I was just discussing that with someone not too long ago."

"Oh? Do I know him?"

Tom thought of Saket and wondered how differently things would have gone for him if Saket had not died. "No," Tom said after a moment. "No ... I don't think so." Quickly trying to change his tone, he said, "Why A Christmas Carol, of all things?"

"It deals with themes I find attractive. Redemption. The thought that no soul is so completely beyond hope that he cannot turn things around for himself. In some ways, it doesn't matter what you did in the past. Only what you do in the future."

"Of course the past matters, Captain. Why else would there be punishment? Otherwise every day would be a clean slate." He put the book down.

"Hopefully, Number One, someday as the human races continues to develop ... the very fact of the wrongdoing will be sufficient punishment, so that-yes-we can have a clean slate every day. Why, what's your favorite d.i.c.kens work?"

"A Tale of Two Cities. One man... identical to another ... sacrificing himself so that those who are important to him have a second chance at life and happiness."

He thought of what he had done to that point...

... and thought of what he intended to do tomorrow...

... and he murmured, " 'It is far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to ... than I have ever known.'"

"Are you all right, Number One?"

"Quite all right, sir."

"Very well. If it's all the same to you, Will... I think I'll turn in early tonight. My discussions with Gowron and Kahless thus far have been less than exemplary. I'm hoping that tomorrow might be better. Who knows? Perhaps with you here as well, we can be twice as convincing."

"That," Riker smiled, "is certainly my plan."

They were scheduled to meet with Gowron, Kahless, and whomever else at fifteen hundred hours the next day, Gowron apparently having other business to attend to before he could meet with them.

Riker sat in his guest quarters, the bottle of Romulan ale nearby. There was a computer screen in front of him. He said, "Computer..."

"Working," came a harsh, guttural voice. He wasn't sure why he had expected anything else, considering where he was.

"Computer ... I am about to record a message. It..."

Riker stopped. He thought he had heard a noise, something rather odd and liquid, as if there was a leak somewhere. He turned in his chair and looked behind him, checking to see if something was dripping. Nothing. Place was completely dry. Weapons and such up on the wall, the same as in Picard's quarters. Uncomfortable furniture. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He turned back to his computer. "This message is to be delivered to Jean-Luc Picard tomorrow at precisely sixteen hundred hours. Alert him that a message is waiting for him via his combadge. Is that understood?"

"Understood."

"Message as follows." He paused a moment and then said, "Captain ... I am not William Riker. I am Thomas Riker. It is my mission to poison Chancellor Gowron tomorrow. The reasons are... my own. I intend to carry out this mission. But I want you to be informed that the ... real..." The word had stuck in his throat.".. . William Riker ... along with Deanna Troi, Worf, and Worf s son, Alexander, are being held captive on the moon of Lintar Four. Please dispatch a vessel to retrieve them as quickly as possible. This is Tom Riker ... out."

He leaned back, rubbing his eyes and feeling exhausted. There was so much he had wanted to say, so many explanations to give. But he hadn't dared risk it, just in case Picard was in fact a traitor. That way, if Sela did see the message, she wouldn't for a moment think that Tom hadn't been giving it his all... and, ideally, wouldn't take revenge on the others because of it.

The universe would go back to having one, and only one, William Thomas Riker. And that was probably for the best.

With that in mind, and knowing that this was to be the last day of his very odd life, Tom Riker went to bed and-to his surprise-slept soundly.

When Will Riker came to in the closet, dressed in the clothes that he had seen Tom Riker wearing not all that long ago, he thought for a moment that he had completely lost his mind. But Will was no dummy, and within moments he had figured out exactly what had happened. He couldn't believe it, but he had figured it out, just as Tom had suspected he would.

Will emerged from his room to find no Romulan guards standing there. This was too perfect. He smoothed his shirt and looked around, trying to decide the best course of action. Obviously the first priority was to get Deanna, Worf, and Alexander the h.e.l.l off this place. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to accomplish it, but he was reasonably sure he could doit.

He walked down the corridor, his arms moving in a relaxed and easy rhythm, and then he saw Sela coming toward him from the other direction, accompanied by several Romulan guards. "Where did you get off to, Will?" she asked, walking up to him and putting her hands on her hips.

"Just feeling a little ... worn out," he said.

"Now, Riker," she said, touching his chin affectionately. "Are you implying that I'm the one who wore you out?"

"I wasn't going to say that." He grinned.

"Oh, good." And then she turned to the guards and said, "Take him."

Before Riker could move so much as an inch, the guards were on him from all sides. "What are you doing?!" he shouted as they dragged him down the hallway. Sela followed, looking amused at his confusion.

Moments later they had brought him to the cell where Worf, Deanna, and Alexander were being held. Without a second's hesitation, they shoved him in with the others. He thudded to the floor.

"You can pick him up," Sela said. "I know he's dressed like mine ... but he's yours."

"What?" said a confused Deanna.

As if explaining to an idiot, Sela said patiently, "That's Will Riker. But he's not my Will Riker. He's yours. The one who almost got his head handed to him by your beloved Klingon over there."

"What?" Deanna said again, not comprehending any more than she did before.

Sela let out an impatient sigh as Riker got to his feet. "The man who was here before, representing himself as Will Riker ... the man whom we rescued from a Carda.s.sian prison colony... was actually Tom Riker. This man ... who apparently decided to go along with the charade when he and you first arrived here ... is Will Riker."

"You knew all along," said an astounded Deanna.

"Not all along. Not when I first... acquired him. But I'm not stupid. I did further checking, discovered that one Lieutenant Tom Riker had been sentenced to Lazon Two. Did still more checking and discovered his origins. Intelligence-gathering happens to be one of my specialties, Deanna."

"But then why did you let the masquerade continue?"

"Because I felt that he would be useful to me. In the short term, I found him ... amusing. Although on our first 'date,' Kressn was kind enough to 'push' him in my direction. Oddly, he didn't need any extra urging after that. In the long term I intended to use him all along for my plan with Qo'noS. When you entered the picture, I simply adapted it to accommodate your presence. I didn't truly expect Worf to agree to cooperate. Believe me, I know the Klingon mindset all too well. One Riker or the other, in the end, it makes no difference to me."

Something Sela had said earlier suddenly dawned on Deanna. She looked at Worf and said, "You and Will had a fight?"

"It was a disagreement," Worf said stonily.

Riker snorted and then turned back to Sela. "So at the moment... you've allowed your lover to take my place, to very likely go to his death ... in order to have him poison Gowron. And you don't care about it."

To his surprise, Sela laughed.

"Poison Gowron? Is that all your imagination can handle? This has never been about simply poisoning Gowron."

Riker looked at her in confusion, as did the others. "Then what-?"

"Tom Riker thinks that he's carrying a bottle of poisoned ale. He's not. He's carrying a carefully prepared airborne virus, genetically engineered and crafted, developed by a little-known race called the Redeemers, who reside primarily in Thallonian s.p.a.ce, and obtained for me by an old friend and mentor named Saket. The moment that he opens the bottle, in Gowron's presence, the virus will erupt from the bottle. The genie"-she smiled as if at some private joke-"will emerge and fulfill all my wishes. It will kill Gowron and everyone else in the council chamber. It will then spread throughout the immediate area and, by my estimates, obliterate every Klingon on the face of their homeworld within thirty-six hours."

Worf gasped audibly. Even the stoic Klingon seemed horrified by the scope of what Sela was discussing so calmly.

"Now, of course, the Klingon Empire is far-reaching. Not all of the Klingons will die. But I a.s.sure you, they will know who to blame. I will personally make sure of that. So you see, Tom gets to sacrifice himself on your behalf... you three I will set free, into a galaxy where what remains of the Klingon Empire will be eager to annihilate anyone or anything having to do with Starfleet, including counselors and Klingons in uniform ... and I get my fondest desire. Everybody wins."

When Tom Riker and Jean-Luc Picard were escorted into the council chamber, Tom's heart fell as he saw that the entire council was there, along with Gowron and Kahless himself.

Terrific.

"Riker!" growled Gowron. "This is an unexpected... pleasure. What are you doing here?"

Riker stepped forward, the bottle of Romulan ale in his hand. "I'm here to add my sentiments to those expressed by Captain Picard... and to present a further token of esteem which I think you may find amusing."

He hold it up for Gowron to see. Gowron uttered a curt laugh. "Romulan ale!" This engendered further laughter from the other Klingons in the council. "Where did you get it?"

"Off a captured Romulan ship. It was the commander's private stock, I believe."

This prompted another round of guffaws and cheers, and several Klingons thudded their fists on their armrests in approval.

Gowron stepped down to receive the bottle. He took it from Riker, looking the bottle over ...

.. . and then Riker said loudly, "What did you say, Chancellor?"

Gowron looked up at him in mild confusion.

Before he could get a word out, Riker cut him off, with clear anger in his voice. "I am hurt, Chancellor! I bring you this gift... and you would imply such a thing?"

"What did you say, Gowron?" demanded Kahless.

Gowron turned to Kahless, clearly befuddled. "I said-"

Before he could get the word "nothing" out, Riker jumped in once again. "He said, 'It's probably poison!'"

Immediately there was an outcry from the Klingons, shouts of surprise. Riker caught Picard's surprised look from the corner of his eye.

Gowron stood there, dumbfounded.

"What would you suggest, Gowron?" demanded Riker. "What would put your mind at ease? Are you going to insist I drink it first?"

And for just a moment... just a brief moment... he made full and direct eye contact with Gowron, and put as much desperation and as much of an unspoken cue into his look as he could. He could try and bluff the thing the rest of the way through ... but he prayed that Gowron picked up on it.

Gowron's eyes narrowed.

"Yes!" he suddenly said. "Yes, I insist. If you bring this gift so freely, then you should not have any problem having the first drink!"

"Gowron!" Kahless said reprovingly.

I M Z A D.

II.

Gowron turned toward Kahless and shot back, "These are dangerous times, Kahless! One cannot be too careful! You should know that!" He looked back to Tom Riker and said, "You first, Riker." He handed the bottle back to him. "Here. Open it. For all I know," he added, "it might explode when you do so."

And Tom Riker, convinced that he had managed to stave off an intergalactic incident... thought, Good-bye, life. Good-bye, second chance. Good-bye everything that I ever wanted to, or hoped that I would be able to, accomplish. Good-bye, Deanna. Good-bye, Will... and for G.o.d's sake, don't screw our life up this time...

... and he twisted the cork.

CHAPTER.

sat in the communications room, awaiting word from her sources on the Klingon homeworld.

She could not recall a time when she had been happier. She knew that, thanks to the distances involved, it would be some time before she heard about the occurrence of the actual event.

She envisioned the planet cluttered with Klingon corpses. Klingons, dead and dying, old and young, tangled together in heaps of rotting flesh. It was going to be her calling card, her ticket back into the good graces of her people. No longer would she be Sela the ronin. No longer would she be without any true ties to her people. No longer would she be a failure and, most important, no longer would she be a disgrace to the memory of her father.

Her mother, of course, could rot in h.e.l.l. Weak woman, that's what she had been. If she'd any strength in her, she would have stayed alive.

"Sela..."

Nearby, a Romulan woman named Beji, who was on far-sweep sensor duty, suddenly turned in her seat. Her color had gone several shades of white.

"We have a problem," she said.

The bottle wouldn't open.