Star Trek - Unification Part 7

The reflection he saw revealed a startling transformation. Most immediately noticeable was the hue of his skin, which had lost its android paleness and was now an earthy, ruddy tone. His yellow eyes had been changed, with lenses, to a medium brown, and a prosthesis gave his skull and forehead the angular bony structure of the Romulans; a blunt-cut hairpiece completed the effect.

The cleverness of Beverly Crusher's prosthetics had become apparent when Picard and Data applied their Romulan ears. Made of a synthetic biopolymer material, they were able to mold directly into the skin with gentle pressure. No seam line was visible; they were as natural looking as their own ears.

Data took a full minute to inspect himself, and finally announced, "I am very pleased, sir. I would not have thought it possible." Picard admitted to himself that he had shared the same anxieties, and he breathed a silent thanks to Beverly for her expertise.

His own changeover had been as successful, he felt, and though the synthetic ears continued to give him a vaguely uncomfortable feeling, he was sure he would grow accustomed to them. He had been startled at first by seeing himself with hair; it had been a long time since he'd had a full head, and looking in the mirror was rather like looking at a portrait of himself as a young man.

They were both dressed in Romulan clothing, Data in a gray, square-cut jacket and Picard in a brown cape with a stand-away collar-replicated for them from accurate designs provided by Starfleet Command.

"I am eager to test the success of our efforts, sir. It does remain to be seen if the Romulans will accept US."

Picard smiled. "We'll soon find out," he replied. He knew that Data was incapable of feeling either eagerness or apprehension, yet he seemed to have something that pa.s.sed for one of those emotions. Picard knew exactly what his fellow officer meant-he, too, was glad that the waiting was over and they were nearing Romulus. Biding time was difficult; Picard had no doubt that the several days of inactivity on the Klingon ship had helped to contribute to his aberrant dreams. He hoped, now that they were about to launch into the heart of the mission, those dreams would abate.

In the dreams, Sarek never appeared, and yet Picard knew he was there, lurking behind some vaporous curtain, just out of comprehension. Every morning, Picard would wake shivering and chilled, remembering almost nothing of his dreams except the sensation of cold and a near avalanche of overwhelming emotion.Occasionally he would come to consciousness with the name of Perrin on his lips.

In each of those dreams, he dreaded the thought that Sarek might appear and he would have to look into those tortured dark eyes once more.

"Sir," said Data, "you have seemed unusually pensive since we received the news of Amba.s.sador Sarek's death."

Picard began packing away the materials Beverly had provided them to complete their Romulan transformations. He knew what Data had said was true. He had felt himself turn inward when he read that message on K'Vada's padd; he had not wanted to examine or to talk about the effect that Sarek's death produced in him. Now Data's calm observation asked him to reflect on it.

"Sarek and I shared a particular bond," he began. "Our lives touched in an unusual way. I admit that I feel the effects of his loss."

Even as he spoke these words, Picard realized that he was intellectualizing the response, a.n.a.lyzing the situation and presenting a nonemotional reply. He tried to obscure the acknowledgment that he had no desire as yet to explore his feelings about the matter.

"The tenor of our mission has changed, at least for me," he continued, beginning to feel on safer ground by shifting the discussion away from himself and onto their journey. "We were sent to confront Spock about his disappearance. Now, we must also tell him his father is dead."

"I am afraid I do not entirely understand, sir. As a Vulcan, would not Amba.s.sador Spock simply see death as a logical result of his father's illness?"

"It is never quite that simple. Not even for a Vulcan. Certainly not for Spock, who is also half human." Talking about Spock and Sarek certainly was more comfortable than talking about his own ambigu-ous relationship with them, and he tried not to listen to the nagging voice in his mind that told him he was avoiding something significant. "They spent a lifetime in conflict... now the chance to resolve their differences is gone."

Data took a moment to process this statement. "Considering the exceptionally long lifespan of the Vulcans," he said presently, "it does seem odd that Spock and Sarek did not choose to resolve those differences in the time available."

"Yes," acknowledged Picard. "It really is quite- illogical." He looked at Data, envied him briefly for the fact that he would forever remain innocent of the tangled agonies of human emotion. "A father and son... both proud, both stubborn... more alike than either would care to admit. They can't easily break down the emotional barriers they've spent a lifetime building."

Picard closed the satchel containing Beverly's implements. "And then the time comes when it is too late to try. When one realizes that all the things he had planned to say will go unsaid."

He looked into Data's guileless face, and wondered if the android grasped even a part of what he was saying. "That is a difficult moment. And a lonely one. Spock will now have to face that moment." Data tilted his head in an effort to understand the complex undertones of familial relationships. Picard felt a draft of cold air and turned to see what had caused it. But as he suspected, nothing was there.

When Captain K'Vada saw the two Starfleet officers walk onto his bridge disguised as Romulans, he could not help but laugh. He thought they looked absurd, but then he thought Romulans themselves looked ridiculous, with their pointed ears, upswept eyebrows, and strange-colored skin.

"Don't you two look sweet?" he chortled at the two of them. Picard accepted the jibe without responding, as usual, and the android never changed expression. K'Vada couldn't resist pushing it a little further. He strolled toward Data and circled him, eyeing him up and down. "Be careful, android," he murmured. "Some Romulan beauty might take a liking to you... lick that paint right off your ears..." He was pleased to see that the now brown eyes blinked a bit at that.

Enjoying the discomfiture he felt he was creating, K'Vada moved to Picard, gave him a scrutinizing glance. "You know what the Romulans would do to you if they found you out?" "I have a pretty good idea," replied Picard. K'Vada wondered if he did. If he himself had not seen the results of a Romulan interrogation, he would not have believed it.

Picard eyed him coldly and announced, "We are ready to be transported to the surface, Captain." The brusque tone of his voice grated on K'Vada. He thought the Starfleet officer needed to be reminded of his place on this ship. "Just so we understand each other," he said in a voice he hoped was just dark enough to be menacing, "my orders don't include rescue missions."

For the first time, he saw something harden in Picard's eyes; it affected him more than a raised hand might from another man. K'Vada looked right into those flinty eyes, and after a moment convinced himself that he'd frightened Picard enough. He gestured casually to his tactical officer. "yIghuHlup!" he ordered. Then he turned back to Picard and Data. "Good luck, Captain," he said without rancor, and gestured once more. The two false Romulans dematerialized in front of him.

You'll need it and then some, he thought. Then he turned and sat in his command chair, and decided to devote the next hour to erotic thoughts of K'kam.

Chapter Ten.

THE PLANET OF Romulus had throbbed below them like a live bacillus.

A planet could not throb, of course, but that's what it had seemed like to Picard as they had looked at it from the bridge of the Kruge. It was a gray, bleak sphere, from which occasional and spectacular erup-tions of red fire blistered their way toward the upper atmosphere-the famed Firefalls of Gath Gal'thong. This ma.s.sive area of constant volcanic activity was one aspect of Romulan geology that had become known outside their binary star system. On the unstable continent of Dektenb, tectonic plates ground and shifted against each other, and the molten interior of the planet sought the weak points of the crust. Flare-ups were frequent and immense, as plumes of flame shot miles into the sky; fires and lava flows glowed red and orange in serpentine patterns.

From s.p.a.ce, the effect was that Romulus appeared to throb with malevolent, palpitating life. Romulus was the third planet of a binary star system comprised of Romulus and Romii. All the planets maintained a highly elliptical orbit; for that reason, geologic development was erratic. Dektenb was unpredictable and volatile; in the other hemi-sphere, the continent of Masfarik was barren and rocky except in a few oases where cities and towns struggled for survival. The population of the planet was jammed into these cities, which tended to grow upward rather than outward, and population density reached intolerable levels.

But if the planet, from s.p.a.ce, throbbed with malig-nant, pulsing life, there was no sense of that muscular vitality on the streets of the capital city of Dartha. Now that he and Data had transported to the surface, and into the teeming neighborhood known as Krocton segment, Picard was overwhelmed with a sense of deadness. Ma.s.sive structures of steel and gla.s.s climbed toward the skies, creating narrow tunnels below where sunlight seemed not to penetrate. An eternal dusk prevailed, relieved sporadically by artificial lights that had been installed at periodic intervals and whose pale green light seemed ineffectual against the relentless gloom.

At street level there was no evidence of steel or gla.s.s. Dartha was an ancient city, and had grown upward from the ground. Here at its lower depths the founda-tions were of timeworn granite, stained with age and use. The harsh angles of the architecture were punctuated with occasional touches of strange whimsy; Pi-card noted two leering creatures like gargoyles carved in stone, peering down from a high lintel.

But the most desolate component of the city was its people. Dressed in dark, drab clothing, they moved along the streets with heads down, rarely speaking, not even making eye contact. No one seemed in a hurry, no one seemed even to have a purpose; clumps of them would stand on corners, congregated for no apparent reason or function. Some spoke in low tones, but there was no sense of joy, of ambition, not even of anger. There was only an overriding pall of grim despair.

Picard knew that life was difficult in Krocton segment, and everyone very much looked out for themselves. They would have to be constantly vigilant; this was not a situation in which they could expect any quarter given. He recalled ancient laboratory experi-ments in which rats were crowded into smaller and smaller cages; eventually, stripped of s.p.a.ce, they began eating each other.

He and Data stood quietly for a few moments, inspecting the situation. They attracted no attention by doing so, for many others stood silently in the same way. Picard saw Data gazing ingenuously at the surroundings, and knew that he was memorizing every detail.

Picard drew his cloak about him more closely. He wasn't cold; in fact, Dartha was exceptionally warm. Perhaps he was trying to keep the insidious spirit of hopelessness from invading his soul.

Proconsul Neral of Romulus stood at the windows of his office and gazed contentedly at the spectacular views. In the foreground, the city spires rose proudly toward the skies; beyond them, dark, jagged mountains erputed in fierce grandeur. Neral loved those mountains, and would spend long moments staring out at them, enjoying their majestic, dreadful beauty. Such views were rare in Dartha; only the upper echelons of the Romulan hierarchy could aspire to them. His office, likewise, was large, and stately, with a quiet elegance. The marble fixtures, the exquisitely tooled leather chairs, the ma.s.sive, hand-carved desk -all these amenities were comforting to him. He worked hard on behalf of the Romulan people; he felt justified in enjoying the environment in which he did that work.

The door opened and Neral smiled pleasantly at the rotund figure who entered. "Ah, Senator Pardek. You received my message." "I got here as quickly as I could, proconsul." Neral smiled and gestured toward the monitor on his desk. "What do you know of this human, Jean-Luc Picard?"

Pardek looked puzzled. "Picard," he repeated.

"Yes. Have you seen him recently?"

"To my knowledge, I've never seen him."

"I have received intelligence that says he's on his way here. Perhaps here already," Neral said.

This produced a truly surprised response. Pardek looked amazed as he responded, "Here-on Romulus?"

"Yes. Curious, isn't it? I suppose we'd better find out if the report is accurate-or merely rumor." Neral eyed the old senator briefly, considering his next move. "Circulate his likeness to the security forces," he ordered. "Remind them that if he is here, he is probably disguised as one of us."

'TII see to it," said Pardek, and scurried toward the door. Relieved that Pardek was taking this disquieting responsibility from him, Neral turned once more to contemplate the stark beauty of the black mountains.

Picard felt as though they had been standing in the same place for an hour, though he knew that only minutes had pa.s.sed. Time in this dank, dreary place seemed elongated, as though the unpleasant minutes moved more slowly. When Data spoke to him, he felt jolted from a reverie.

"This is definitely the street on which the intelligence scan of Spock and Pardek was taken, sir. Adjusting for the optical distortion, I am able to verify the architectural features."

"Where were they standing?" asked Picard. That might offer them a clue as to where to start looking for either Pardek or Spock. He waited while Data did some processing, looking up and down the street. Picard was afraid that his movements seemed too androidlike and might attract attention. He stepped toward him and casually draped his arm around Data's shoulder. "Data," he began. "Yes?"

"You're moving about in a very-android man-ner."

"I am sorry, Captain," replied Data immediately. "I will be more careful."

"And don't call me 'Captain.'" "Yes, Cap-" Data cut himself off. "I understand." Then, looking around in as human a manner as he could summon, he said, "I have located the spot where they were standing."

Picard removed his arm from Data's shoulders. He realized that such camaraderie was not typical of the Romulans. "Where?" he asked.

To his surprise, Data now put his arm around Picard's shoulders and led him a few doors down the street. "It is here," he said. "At this doorway."

Picard looked at a small sign near the door, which, being written in Romulan, was indecipherable to him. To his relief, Data dropped his arm and moved forward to read the sign. "A legal intercessor's office," he announced. "The name is similar to Pardek's. It would appear to be one of his relatives."

Picard reached out and tried the door; it didn't yield. "Not open for business yet," he guessed.

"Nevertheless," Data ventured, "it would be my recommendation that we keep this location under observation. I have clearly determined Pardek's routine. On days when the Senate is not in session, he invariably comes to this section after the median hour."

Picard quickly glanced around, looking for a reason they could stay close to this office without attracting attention. He saw, within close range, people eating at a cl.u.s.ter of tables-a dinglh, or food center. He turned back to Data. "Very well, why don't we take the opportunity to try some of the local cuisine."

They moved casually toward the food court, pa.s.sing as they did some Romulan soldiers. They were hard-looking men who strolled indolently along the street; Picard and Data kept their eyes straight ahead, and had no idea if the soldiers took notice of their pa.s.sing.

Every patron of the food court was standing at the small tables that dotted it. Picard and Data did the same, and were immediately approached by a dour woman with small, piercing eyes. She inspected them carefully.

"What do you recommend?" asked Data easily.

"Soup," was her terse reply.

"That sounds very appealing," Data a.s.sured her. "I will have soup."

The woman's stern look swung to Picard. "Soup is fine," he said.

She moved off and Picard turned nonchalantly and glanced toward the soldiers. They were still nearby, talking in hushed tones. He turned back and saw the woman approaching them with two bowls. Picard looked at her and asked in a friendly voice, "Do you know what time the intercessor's office across the way opens?" "Why do you want to know?" Her voice was flat. "I need his services. He was recommended."

There was a brief pause, and then the woman said, "I haven't seen you here before."

"We are here for the day," Data interjected smoothly. "From the city of Rateg." "Rateg," she said. "I don't think so."

Picard tried to stay calm. If this woman was suspicious, and the soldiers only a few feet away... "Why do you say that?" asked Data.

"You don't sound like you're from Rateg."

"Ah," said Data, on sure ground here, "it is a misconception that all Rategs speak with a particular inflection. In fact, there are twelve different-"

"We come from several kilometers outside the city," interrupted Picard evenly. If Data got into the detailed complexities of his voluminous research, they would be quickly uncovered.

The woman drew back and studied them for a moment. "Or perhaps," she offered, "you come from the security forces, to watch the intercessor's office. Is he in trouble?" "Madame, you are mistaken." Picard was genuinely surprised.

"It doesn't matter to me," she shrugged. "I don't know when he opens. Eat your soup. Courtesy of a loyal establishment. Jolan tru."

She moved off and Picard breathed a silent sigh of reliefi He noted that Data was already drinking the broth that the woman had set before them. He looked down at his own. It was a thin, greasy gruel with a rancid smell. He had read of this popular dish, gletten, in his research, and wished now he had not. It didn't help to know what was in it.

He took a sip and, as he did, looked up to see that the soldiers had been looking at them; when he glanced up, they quickly turned their heads.

Picard took another swallow of the distasteful liq-uid, and then said quietly to Data, "We can't stay here long."

"We may not have to," Data answered. "Direct your view to the far corner. Is that not Pardek?"

The bowl to his lips, Picard shifted his glance in the direction Data had indicated. There, just having entered the area, was a round-faced man in a brown cloak, moving to talk with several people cl.u.s.tered together. He had the same kindly visage as the man they had seen on the Barolian tape.

"I believe you're right," said Picard. He set down the bowl and concentrated on watching Pardek. But he heard Data's voice in his ear. "Perhaps you should appear to enjoy your soup."

He turned and realized that the foot soldiers were staring at them again. With a subtle show of enjoy-ment, Picard lifted the bowl and drank deeply. As he swallowed the slightly gelatinous broth, he noted that it was undoubtedly a far easier task for Data to feign enthusiasm for this dreadful mixture. He realized he'd better stop thinking about it or he might not be able to finish it.

Uneasily, he noticed that the foot soldiers had moved into the food center and were now standing only a few meters behind them, talking easily. Picard kept his eyes on Pardek, who now bid farewell to his colleagues and began to move further on down the street.

Picard and Data unceremoniously put down their bowls and turned to move after him.

But the soldiers were right there, blocking their way, disruptors drawn. "Do not move," said one.

Picard was aware that the patrons of the food court had drawn imperceptibly away, heads down, ignoring the confrontation as though it weren't happening. "What is it?" demanded Picard. "You've made a mistake."

"Quiet," said the other soldier, his voice menacing. "Come with us."

Strong hands grabbed them and shoved them up the street, and within minutes they were sitting inside an antigrav pod, streaking along the labyrinthine streets of Dartha, toward a fate that Picard was sure would be unpleasant.

Picard's sense of alarm was heightened when he realized the soldiers' vehicle was taking them out of the city. This did not portend well. The proconsul's secret security forces were known for their ability to extract information from spies, and it seemed not unreasonable that there were particular locations for such activities. Captain K'Vada's dire warning flashed uncomfortably through Picard's mind.

When they disembarked at the mouth of a cave, his dark suspicions grew stronger. The soldiers prodded them into a tunnel lit at intervals by the intense white light of kekogen lamps. Picard knew that, within the bowels of this cave, one could scream for days on end and never be heard except by those whose ministrations he suffered.

The soldiers pushed them down a ramp, at the bottom of which was a subterranean chamber of some size. There was a small group of Romulans a.s.sembled in the room, and Picard noted briefly that they seemed to be civilians; that seemed anomalous.

"Wait here," said the soldier gruffly.

"For what?" asked Picard, hoping the challenge would help to still the heightened beating of his heart.

But there was no answer. The soldiers watched them carefully, disruptors still aimed; the civilians regarded them curiously.