Star Trek - Unification Part 4

"Let's use the process of elimination," Mot continued. "Where might you need to go on a particularly sensitive diplomatic mission? Not a Federation plan-et, that's for sure. And if your real business were with the Klingons, you wouldn't be needing a Romulan disguise. So we're heading for the home world for another purpose-probably for something you need."

There was silence at this. Mot felt that was implied acquiescence. "Romulus, as I've said, is too obvious. Who else does that leave?"

He stopped clipping for a moment as he pondered. It was hard to ponder and trim hair at the same time. One of Picard's eyes looked out from under the Romulan hair; the other was still draped in the brown fringe. Mot looked into the one eye. "The Talarians? I don't think so. No need to go to all this trouble, you'd just go talk to them. The Breen? They're bad ones, all right, but there hasn't been so much as a whisper of any negotiations with them; I don't think we're close to that. The Cateloxes? They've been pretty quiet lately-word is they're having enough trouble with drought on their planet that they're focusing their energies on surviving."

Mot was aware that the captain seemed to be moving a little restlessly in his chair. Awed, no doubt, by this insightful a.n.a.lysis of the Federation's adver-saries.

"Now," he continued, "who does that leave? The Murdoth? Too pa.s.sive. The Pbylosians? Vanquished. The Skorr? Irrelevant. The Ferengi? Inconsequential. The Pakleds?"

Picard stirred in the chair. "Forgive me, Mr. Mot, but I really must meet Commander Riker shortly."

"Right, Captain, we'll have you there," said Mot, moving back to his clipping. "Now, where was I? Oh, the Pakleds. Well, I think we'd have to agree there's no problem there." And he threw back his blue head and laughed heartily. The captain smiled.

"So. Where does that leave us?" He tapped the captain's head gently. "I think we both know." Mot leaned in and whispered pointedly. "The Carda.s.sians. "

He stood back to a.s.sess the captain's response. Picard stared up at him, his second eye now almost uncovered. "The Carda.s.sians," said the captain. His voice gave nothing away-but of course that's what Mot would have expected. Never admit what you know.

"That's right, Captain. I know you didn't think anyone would figure it out-but it's all pretty clear to me. You're going into Carda.s.sian s.p.a.ce but you're going as a Romulan. There's an unholy alliance brew-mg there, I'm wflhng to bet. So the Carda.s.sians will talk openly with you about their dealings, and you'll get the real story for Starfleet!"

Mot beamed in triumph. Captain Picard gazed up at him with what was clearly admiration. "Mr. Mot," he said, very softly, "I must ask you to keep this information absolutely confidential. To do otherwise would jeopardize the security of the mission."

"Me? I wouldn't so much as breathe a word about it. I'm very good at keeping my mouth shut."

"I'm sure of it."

Mot began snipping at the hair form once more. "Now," he continued, "I've had some thoughts about just how to deal with the Carda.s.sians. Seems to me, the mistake that's always made with these people..."

He told the captain his entire philosophy about handling the Carda.s.sians, and followed up with a few observations about the potential alliance between Romulus and Carda.s.sia. Picard was impressed, all right, and even if he was a little late for his appointment with Commander Riker, Mot was certain that he was glad for the briefing. It probably wasn't that often that he got the results of such clear and precise thinking.

Riker couldn't have articulated exactly why he was feeling more enthusiastic about this investigation. It was an instinct. When La Forge and his team had finally pieced together the metal fragments and had realized what the object was, its ident.i.ty was so unexceptional that it would seem likely to have dampened Riker's zeal rather than stimulated it. But that's exactly what made the puzzle alluring to him-the very mundane nature of this piece of equipment.

Now that Captain Picard had finally arrived in the cargo bay-forty-five minutes late-Riker stood with him and Geordi, surveying the hunks of metal arranged on the floor, which had a.s.sumed at least partial shape. There were missing sections everywhere, but the chief engineer and his men had done a remarkable job of piecing together this jigsaw. "What we seem to have here, sir," reported Geordi to the captain, "is a navigational deflector array. Or at least what's left of one."

Picard gazed out over the unlikely piece of equipment. "Why would anyone want a Vulcan deflector array?" Riker smiled inwardly. His question exactly.

"Beats me, sir," replied Geordi. Every question we answer here seems to bring up two more."

"You're certain it is Vulcan?"

"Yes, sir. A metallurgical a.n.a.lysis confirmed it, and by running a molecular pattern trace, we even identified the ship as the T'Pau. It was decom-missioned years ago and sent to the surplus depot at Qualor Two. As far as anyone knows it's still there."

"Worf to Captain Picard." The Klingon's voice boomed throughout the cargo bay. The captain touched his communicator. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"A Klingon vessel is decloaking off our port bow. Compliments of Gowron."

Picard and Riker exchanged an amused glance. "Please convey our grat.i.tude, Mr. Worf. Advise the captain that Lieutenant Commander Data and I will be transporting aboard shortly." "Aye, sir."

So the last obstacle to crossing the Neutral Zone had been conquered. The captain would soon be on his way. Riker turned to face him.

"If it's all right with you, sir, I'd like to take the Enterprise to Qualor Two. See what I can find out there."

The captain didn't take even a moment to consider the request. "By all means, Number One."

Picard extended his hand and Riker shook it. "Good luck, Will."

"And you, sir." Picard nodded and headed for the exit. Riker felt a momentary twinge of regret that he wasn't the one to be embarking on the venturesome journey into the Neutral Zone, but it was quickly replaced with the thought that was to become a refrain for him in the next few days: Who would want a Vulcan deflector array?

Chapter Six.

CAPTAIN K'VADA GROWLED as he ate his bowl ofgagh. It wasn't fresh. A few of the wormlike creatures still stirred, but most were already dead and lay liraply in the dish. The best part of eating fresh gagh was the sensation of the still-squirming slugs; even after he had bitten through them, they spasreed for several minutes afterward in their death throes, and the unique fluttering continued in his stomach throughout the meal. There was no point to eating them already dead; the taste was dreadful.

He flung the bowl to the side; it bounced and rattled across the bridge of his ship, the Klingon Bird of Prey Kruge. Bits of gagh splattered onto the deck and the bowl finally rolled under the navigator's console. No one on the bridge reacted with so much as a look; to do so would have been risking severe punishment.

The stale meal was just one more annoyance in a day that was full of them. He had had a terrible fight with his mate, K'kam, and as a result was nursing a painful shoulder. K'kam was strong and agile and possessed of a terrible temper; it was probably a mistake to fight with her. But she made it impossible to avoid. K'Vada growled again as he remembered her obstinate insistence that she leave for an extended tour on a science cruiser bound for the Lambdor system. He was not about to have his mate disappear for such a long time.

He had lost that argument, however, when she dislocated his shoulder. In agony, he agreed to her expedition, and she helped him snap the shoulder back into its socket, but the pain was still intense. And now she would be leaving and he would not have her in his bed again for nearly a year. That is what he would miss; K'kam was as violent in bed as she was in combat, and the experience was incredible.

But by far the worst thing that had happened was his being called by his commanding officer and informed that, by personal order of Gowron, he was to ferry two Starfleet officers to a secret destination. If they failed to return no mention would be made of their deaths; if they came home safely the effort would not be acknowledged. There was no honor in such a mission, and K'Vada resented it deeply.

He had brought his ship alongside the huge starship Enterprise and uncloaked, awaiting the transfer of the two officers. He had no idea who they would be; everything about this mission was veiled in secrecy. He didn't like secrets. They made his shoulder ache.

"Two to transport directly to the bridge, Captain," said his first officer. K'Vada nodded and seconds later two men in Starfleet uniforms appeared before him. To his astonishment, one was the captain of the Enterprise, Picard, and from the looks of him the other was the android, Data. Whatever mission this was, it was of supreme importance if it required these two senior officers to enter the Neutral Zone.

"Welcome aboard, Captain Picard. I am Captain K'Vada."

"Thank you, sir. This is Lieutenant Commander Data." K'Vada noted that the android was already looking around the bridge, as though a.s.sessing its capabilities. He eyed Picard, determined to get some information from him. He a.s.sumed his most confronting and challenging tone.

"When ! received my orders, Captain, I was not told where we were going." He glared at Picard, demanding an answer.

But none was forthcoming. The distinguished Starfleet officer simply looked at him calmly, making no offer of information. K'Vada pushed on.

"But the heading I was just given takes us into the Neutral Zone-and directly to Romulus."

"That's right." Simple confirmation of the obvious. Nothing more. K'Vada's shoulder throbbed.

"I know my duty, Captain. When I'm given orders, I follow them." He paused and a.s.sumed his most intimidating countenance. "But I do not like secrets. They make my shoulder ache." He hoped Picard would think the pain in his shoulder represented a wound received in battle. "I want to know why we are on this mission."

"I'm sorry. It is a confidential matter." Picard seemed not at all intimidated, or even unsettled. His manner was calm, even polite. He was beginning to irritate K'Vada.

"You're going after the defector, aren't you?" K'Vada watched closely to see what impact this state-merit had. He was sure Picard wouldn't have expected it.

But Picard revealed nothing, his face impa.s.sive. "Defector?"

"You think information like that stays a secret? Amba.s.sador Spock has gone to Romulus-and you're going after him." K'Vada stared at Picard, daring him to deny the statement.

But Picard's voice was even as he replied, "Your orders are to take us to a set of coordinates near Romulus, and to bring us back. That is all I am prepared to discuss."

"if we are discovered near Romulus, it means death for all of us."

"I realize that."

K'Vada glowered at Picard, his heavy eyebrows almost meeting in the center from his scowl. But Picard's composure was unshaken. K'Vada realized he would be getting no information from this man. He turned to his helmsman and snapped an order for him to set a course. Then he turned back. "Very well, Captain. We are on our way to Romulus."

"Thank you, Captain. And I do hope your shoulder gets better." K'Vada looked for a hint of sarcasm, but there was none.

Picard had realized within minutes of beaming onto the Klingon ship that Captain K'Vada was spoiling for a fight. He saw nothing to be gained, however, by giving him one. K'Vada looked to him like one whose days of warrior glory were probably behind him, and he had no doubt that the captain of the Kruge was rankling under the menial task of providing transportation for Starfleet personnel. He resolved to resist the impulse to rise to argument with the burly Klingon.

When K'Vada flung open the door to the quarters provided for him, however, Picard realized it might be hard to keep that resolve. Judging from the size of the room, K'Vada must have converted a storage closet into a bedroom. It was small, cramped, and bleak. A desk and two chairs were the only furnishings -that and a shelf recessed in the wall, which presum-ably served as a bed. It had a dank, unused odor, and Picard guessed it hadn't been occupied in a long time.

"Here it is," intoned K'Vada. Then, with thinly veiled sarcasm, "It may not be what you're used to on a Starfleet ship."

Picard took a breath and turned to K'Vada with an even smile. "Quite nice. Thank you." He could see that K'Vada was disappointed in his response, which told him he was correct in adopting this mien.

Data had been inspecting the room with android calm. "Is this the captain's quarters, or mine?"

"Both." Picard couldn't contain a surprised reaction at this. The room was cramped for one person; that two would share it was ludicrous. He saw a spark of victory in K'Vada's eye. "We have limited s.p.a.ce. We're a military ship, not a pleasure craft." "Of course. This will be fine."

Picard noted that K'Vada was feeling better now that he'd scored a hit. The Klingon circled the room, enjoying their momentary discomfiture, pointing out the features. He smacked his hand on the shelf-bed, which bore no mattress, no pillow, no piece of bedding.

"You'll sleep Klingon style. We don't soften our bodies by putting down a pad." Picard walked to the shelf and smacked it with gusto. "Good. I prefer it that way."

K'Vada eyed him challengingly. "You'll take your meals with us. And we don't serve Federation food."

"I haven't had gagh in a long while. I've been looking forward to it. Fresh, if you have it."

K'Vada refused to look at him. "I regret to say, Captain, that my patahk of a cook has not stored the freshest of gagh. I hope you would not be displeased to have it as I myself eat it."

Picard inclined his head politely. "It would be an honor." Picard sensed that K'Vada was listening carefully for the sound of any revelatory emotion- dismay or disgust-and he was careful to keep his voice neutral.

K'Vada turned to survey the room once more, then started toward the door. He hesitated, and Picard wondered uneasily what this gruff, threatened man had in store now. When K'Vada turned back to them, there was what pa.s.sed for a smile on his face.

"One more thing. Our pa.s.sage into the Neutral Zone is illegal and hence dangerous. I will require all nonessential personnel to remain in their quarters at all times."

Picard felt astonishment rising in him and fought it back. Stay in these miserable quarters? He tried to keep his features composed, but from the flash of satisfaction in K'Vada's face he knew he had not completely succeeded. "Surely you can't mean the two of us, Captain. We are Starfleet personnel. We are accustomed to the dangers of combat."

But K'Vada knew he had scored a touch, and he would not yield that slight advantage. "As captain, I am responsible for all persons on my ship. For your own safety I must require you to stay confined." He smiled, showing small, stained teeth in which bits of his lunch were still imbedded, and withdrew.

Picard turned to see Data's imperturbable face regarding him calmly. "It would seem, sir, that we are to see a great deal of one another. May I suggest that an amusing way of pa.s.sing the time would be to play a game? It involves arranging higher polynomials into sets of rational coefficients. I have found it so absorbing at times that the hours seem to pa.s.s like minutes."

Picard let out a sigh. He walked to one of the chairs in the room-an ill-formed piece of furniture with no cushioning-tugged at his jacket, and sat down. "By all means, Mr. Data. That sounds captivating."

Chapter Seven.

SEEN UP CLOSE in the subdued lighting ofTen-Forward, Gretchen Naylor's eyes were even more remarkable than they had seemed before. A pale green, almost translucent, framed by heavy, dark lashes, they were almost otherworldly. But Naylor was human, born and raised on Earth, in the North American agricultural paradise of Indiana. Riker had visited Indiana once as a schoolboy, and had been struck with the rural beauty of the rolling hills and verdant plains. With the advent of sophisticated replicator technology the need for vast acres of corn and soybeans had been obviated; land in the state had been converted to huge agricultural parks devoted to the production of flowers, herbs, and medicinal plants. A patchwork of color extended as far as the eye could see- burgundies, corals, silver greens-and the air was sweet with heady fragrances.

Perhaps it was living in such an Eden that produced people of such bountiful friendliness and generosity. Riker could still remember thewarmth and affection of the family he stayed with, the immediate accept-ance with which he was welcomed, and the friendships he maintained for many years. The people of his native Alaska were decent and honest, to be sure, and above all hardworking; but more of their energies had to be devoted to simple survival, leaving less time to the nurturing of friendships. He wasn't sure he would have traded his childhood in Alaska, for it gave him disciplines and strengths for which he was grateful. But his visit to the balmy, fragrant hills of Indiana would stay with him all his life.

Gretchen Naylor was typical of Indiana natives in her straightforward honesty, but she didn't have the easygoing, relaxed quality that he remembered from his youth. There was a drive to this woman, an underlying eagerness to achieve. That would have been a necessity, of course, for her admittance to Starfleet Academy. One did not beat out the twelve thousand applicants for each position by hanging back.

"... and then I was posted to the Reliant. I served there for two years as junior security officer. When a position opened on the Enterprise I couldn't believe it. Everyone wants to be here. When I applied I didn't really think there was a chance. But I got it-and my friends said they could hear me whooping all over the ship." She smiled, a wide, bounteous smile that illuminated her face. She bent to sip her fruit drink, and little wisps of her dark hair fell forward over her face. Just as Riker had imagined.

"I'm sure it's our good fortune to have you here, Ensign." Riker was being careful to preserve the formality of the relationship. Naylor had been a.s.signed-by Worf-to provide research and intelligence on the Zakdorn, the race who operated the surplus depot at Qualor Two. Riker had been secretly pleased with her choice, and the selection of Ten-Forward as a location for the briefing had been his; but he was still wary of the dangers of shipboard romance, and this green-eyed woman stirred him too deeply to ignore those risks.

"Would you like to hear what I've learned about the Zakdorn, sir?" She had picked up on the businesslike tone of his voice and was responding in kind. Bright woman. If they could have met in other circ.u.mstances... "By all means." He settled back as she placed a padd on the table and began keying instructions.

"The Zakdorn are one of the more recent species to be admitted to the Federation. They are a peaceful race with no real enemies. They achieved warp-drive capacity relatively early in their development because all their resources could be channeled toward scientific development." Unlike Earth, Riker thought. He nodded for her to continue.

"Their strengths seem to lie in their penchant for organization and efficiency. They lack a creative imagination and have almost no native art forms. They are superior accountants, bookkeepers, and mapmakers."

Riker grinned. "They sound like a dull lot. A planet of bureaucrats." She smiled back, nodding. "My thoughts exactly. But perfect for receiving and storing out-of-use s.p.a.ce ships."

"I guess that's why they have the largest of the surplus shipyards." There were three other depots that the Federation maintained in various sectors, but the one at Qualor Two had swollen mightily in the last twenty years. :Several thousand ships, in varying states of repair, had found a resting place there, ranging from proud vessels rendered inoperable in battle to ships that had simply become outmoded as new designs took their place. Riker had never visited one of these graveyards, and he was curious to see it.

But most of all, he was curious to see the T'?au, to find if the Vulcan ship offered any clues as to how its deflector array could have wound up in the hands of the Ferengi.

He pushed back his chair. "Good work, Ensign. We should be in orbit of Qualor Two by tomorrow at eleven hundred hours. This information will be put to good use."

Naylor nodded and pushed her chair back, collected her padd, and stood.

"Fll be happy to escort you to your quarters," offered Riker.

"Thank you, sir, it's not necessary," she said, to his disappointment. Then she paused and gazed at him with those strange pale eyes. They seemed to spark and flash as they reflected light from the room. "I'm happy you're pleased with my work, Commander. Please don't hesitate to ask for anything more you might need."

Suddenly Riker felt himself as insecure as a schoolboy with a crush. Was there a double emendre in her statement? Or was he projecting his own feelings, reading something he wanted to be there? That there was something needy emanating from Gretchen Naylor he didn't doubt. Just what it was, he couldn't define. "Thank you, Ensign," he said formally, and she turned and walked toward the door. Riker watched, trying not to be affected by the sight of her willowy form swaying in front of him.