Star Trek - Unification Part 8

Then there was a sudden movement at the top of the ramp, and everyone in the vaulted chamber turned toward it.

Pardek strolled down the ramp, his cheerful face somehow out of place in these dark surroundings. "Welcome to Romulus, Captain Picard."

Picard's mind reeled, embracing the possibilities. He didn't want to speak before he had his bearings in this unexpected circ.u.mstance. He saw that the Romulan soldiers were now stripping off their uniforms-revealing civilian clothing underneath. "Don't let our 'soldiers' alarm you," said Pardek. "We had to get you off the streets quickly. Romulan security knows you are here."

Picard looked quickly around the room, trying to a.s.sess the situation. Were these people an underground movement of some kind? One that operated with Pardek's support and approval? Or was this some kind of ruse, intended to throw him off balance and force him to reveal his true purpose?

Pardek's voice was rea.s.suring. "I am Pardek. You are among friends, Captain."

He looked into the man's eyes and knew he must take the risk. He had not come across three sectors to Romulus and into the midst of the Federation's enemies because he intended to play it safely. The stakes were too high for that.

"I have come on an urgent mission from the Federation," he announced. "I am looking for Amba.s.sador Spock."

There was silence.

Then, from the depths of the cavern, through a tunnel shrouded in darkness, came a voice.

"Indeed," it said.

All heads turned toward the sound.

Footsteps began to echo on the cave floor, emanating from deep within the tunnel, the measured steps ringing with amazing magnitude in the silence of the cave.

The steps grew closer. Picard strained to see into the tunnel, but there was only gloom. The footsteps echoed louder and louder in the stillness.

Then a shadowy figure began to emerge, a tall person, regal and poised, his face still shrouded in darkness. The man stepped into the light.

It was Spock. "You have found him, Captain Picard," he intoned. There was no warmth to his voice, and his piercing eyes were cold. He stared at the man who had traveled so far to see him, but there was no welcome in the look.

Chapter Eleven.

WHAT SEEMED LIKE several minutes pa.s.sed in a strange kind of suspension. Picard was aware of the hushed silence of the onlookers, the eerie glow cast by the kekogen lamps in the cave, of Data's curious gaze and Pardek's puckish face in the shadows. He was aware of all those things. But he saw only Spock's eyes.

Dark and probing, they held Picard's in a look that caused him to feel the blood pounding in his head. There was no outward indication of anger; Spock's face was expressionless. But those eyes were black fire, a window to some deep and unfathomable part of the man where anger churned and seethed.

Picard was fascinated, held in that grip like a bird mesmerized by a snake's eye. It was not until Spock uttered his next words that Picard felt released from the hold of that powerful gaze.

"What are you doing on Romulus?" No preamble, no niceties, just blunt frontal a.s.sault. But the words restored Picard to a sense of himself, and when he spoke, his voice was clear and calm.

"That was to be my question for you, sir."

"It is no concern of Starfleet's."

"On the contrary, Starfleet is most concerned." Picard was finding the dialectic comfortable; debate put him on familiar ground. "You are in a position to compromise the security of the Federation."

Spock's look hardened. "You may a.s.sure your superiors that I am on a personal mission of peace, and will advise them when appropriate."

Picard's voice echoed Spock's resoluteness. "That will not be satisfactory." And he saw a flash in Spock's eye, felt the conflict growing, knew they were polarizing.

"You cannot remain, Captain," retorted Spock, as though that final statement ended the dispute.

"And I cannot return without a full explanation." Picard took a breath, then plunged ahead. "Amba.s.sador, with the greatest respect for all you've achieved on behalf of the Federation, this sort of cowboy diplomacy is not easily tolerated any more."

Picard noted that he had scored with that. Spock seemed almost amazed as he repeated, "Cowboy diplomacy?"

"If you wish to undertake a mission with potential repercussions to the Federation, it is appropriate to discuss it with the Federation. I am here as their representative. You will have to discuss it with me. NOW."

Spock moved away from him, frowning with frustration. "This is precisely what I wanted to avoid."

Picard felt Spock's backing off was perhaps an effort to constrain rising emotions. He sensed it was time to move from confrontation, although he was reluctant to introduce the next subject. But it had to come.

"I also have the responsibility of bearing some unhappy news."

Spock turned back and fixed him with those penetrating eyes. "Sarek is dead," he said.

Startled, Picard thought for a moment that the news had reached Romulus somehow, then realized that it was simply Spock's prescience.

There was a long silence. Picard could hear others breathing, shifting position, feeling uncomfortable about the nakedness of this intimate moment. Finally, Spock gestured toward a pa.s.sageway. "Walk with me, Captain Picard."

Picard glanced at Data, letting him know it was all right to stay behind, and followed Spock out of the chamber. They walked quietly through the rough pathway and then emerged into another, smaller section, one where water oozed from the walls and dripped into unseen underground rivers. It was warm and moist there, and Picard was reminded of the vineyards of southern France just before a thunder-storm.

Spock turned and gazed at him. Whatever might be going on inside him, there was no hint of it on the surface. His voice, when he spoke, was as composed as ever. "I know of your mind meld with my father. It enabled him to complete his last mission."

"It was an honor. He was a great man."

"He was a great representative of the Vulcan people and of the Federation."

Picard gave him a glance. It sounded as though Spock meant that as a qualifter, and not a compliment. But with his dry intonation, it was impossible to be sure.

Picard thought of Sarek, a feeble, trembling man with tears staining his face, unable to hold his hand in the Vulcan salute. His last words were a plea to Picard to convey to his son what he felt, but now in Spock's presence Picard felt inadequate to the task. How to tell Spock of Sarek's love for him? How to convey a lifetime of feelings unspoken? Yet he felt bound to try.

"I was with him before coming here," he began. "He expressed his pride in you, his love..." The words sounded hollow in Picard's ears, and his mind struggled to find better ones.

"Emotional disarray," replied Spock dryly, "is a symptom of the illness from which he suffered."

"No, the feelings were in his heart, Spock. He shared them with me. I know."

Spock turned away and Picard knew he was uncomfortable with this emotional discussion. He would prefer to mourn Sarek's death in his own way, some rational acknowledgment that all living beings die; Picard was making him uneasy with the message from his father.

Spock moved back to business. "Sarek would no more approve of my coming to Romulus than you do, Captain." He began to pace the small, humid chamber, organizing his thoughts, gradually becoming caught up in his ideas, eager to communicate.

"For some time, I have been aware of a growing movement here... of people who seek to learn the ideals of the Vulcan philosophy. They have been declared enemies of the state. But there are a few in the Romulan hierarchy, like Pardek, who are sympathetic." Spock paused and looked solemnly at Picard.

And then he said something that Picard would never, in his wildest thoughts, have imagined to have been at the heart of Spock's clandestine journey to Romulus: "He asked me to come here now because he believes it may be time to take the first step toward reunification."

Picard stared at him, genuinely stunned at this revelation. His mind whirled to process the ramifica-tions. "Reunification... after so many centuries... so many fundamental differences that have evolved between your peoples..."

"It would seem unlikely to succeed," Spock agreed. "But I cannot ignore the potential rewards that a union between our worlds would bring."

Picard took a moment to reflect. He was familiar with the history of the Vulcans and Romulans, who were once one people-a pa.s.sionate, raging, violent race whose emotions were untrammeled. The Vulcans, fearing the consequences of unbridled sensibilities, consciously opted for a life of control and orderliness, a life in which meditation was used to conquer rampant feelings, a life of contemplation in which reason and logic were lifted to an exalted position.

The Romulans made no such effort. Their pa.s.sions raged unchecked. They were violent, turbulent, vicious, and cruel. They channeled their native intelligence into warfare and conquest, their productivity into armament and weapons-instruments of death.

Centuries had pa.s.sed since the original separation. Was it possible, after all that time, that the two nations could find a rebirth in unification? Picard's mind scrambled to understand the nuances of this monumental plan. "What is this 'first step' that Pardek suggests?" "There is a new proconsul of the Romulan Senate, Neral. He is young and idealistic. He has promised many reforms. Pardek believes he may be receptive to discussing reunification."

Picard digested this. "Why would you not bring something this important to the attention of your people-or the Federation?"

He could see Spock's mind reeling backwards-one hundred thirty years of memories, how could one contain them all?-and light on a painful incident. "A personal decision, Captain. Perhaps you are aware that I played a small role in the first overture to peace with the Klingons..."

"History is aware of the role you played, Amba.s.sador."

"Not entirely. It was I who asked Kirk to lead that peace mission. And I who had to accept the responsibility for the consequences to him and his crew." Spock's dark eyes held his for a brief moment. "Quite simply, I am unwilling to risk anyone's life but my own on this occasion. I would ask you to respect my wishes and leave."

Picard had to suppress a smile. "Amba.s.sador, your logic escapes me. If I didn't know better, I would say your judgment had been influenced by emotion."

There was a new timbre to Spock's voice as he replied. "You speak as my father would if he were here, Picard."

Hearing the bite to that speech, Picard retorted in kind. "I speak as a Starfleet officer. And I cannot ignore the risks to you-" "I was involved with 'cowboy diplomacy,' as you describe it, Captain, long before you were born," Spock came back. They were polarizing again.

"Nevertheless, sir, I am not prepared to leave until your affairs are completed."

Spock hurled him a look of withering disdain. "In your own way, you are as stubborn as another captain of the Enterprise I once knew."

Picard repressed the smile. "Then, sir," he stated calmly, "I am in good company."

Spock stared at him for what felt like an hour and was probably only seconds. Finally, he nodded- which Picard was only too glad to take as acquiescence.

Chapter Twelve.

CAPTAIN K'VADA'S SHOULDER was not healing well. At night he suffered awfully and could not find any position in which the lancing pains did not interrupt his sleep. Each time he adjusted his body his shoulder felt as though a fiery brand were being jabbed into it, and he had to force himself not to cry out.

He would mutter vile oaths toward K'kam, willing the most ghastly catastrophies to befall her for having caused him this grief. When he saw her again he would punish her himself, and he briefly derived some satisfaction from a vision of K'kam, her strong, sinewy body glistening with sweat, begging him for mercy.

Days brought some relief from the pain, which seemed to ease with activity, but lack of sleep made him irritable, and his crew was beginning to dread his appearance on the bridge. He had already ordered disciplines for several and had had another locked in chains for several days without food or water. He had finally relented when he visited the wretch and found him near unconsciousness from thirst, his lips cracked and bleeding, but who refused nonetheless to beg for mercy. He glared at K'Vada with burning eyes, proudly silent, and K'Vada was moved by his courage.

Now K'Vada sat in his command chair, shoulder throbbing with each beat of his heart, and listened to what the absurd-looking Commander Data, still in his Romulan guise, was telling him. And it made him even more irate.

The Starfleet creature was telling him that Picard was remaining on the surface for an undetermined amount of time, and that the Kruge would be required to stay in orbit, cloaked, until such time as he chose to return.

K'Vada glared at Data. "We have more important things to attend to than acting as your nursemaids," he grumbled.

Data's voice was annoyingly calm. "Captain Picard regrets that he must detain you but it is necessary for a while longer. In addition, I will be requiring access to your ship's computer."

This statement caused K'Vada to lean forward abruptly, and he winced as a fierce pain lanced through his shoulder. "Access to our computer? For what purpose?"

"I am going to attempt to penetrate the Romulan central information net."

In spite of the misery of his shoulder, K'Vada smiled. "Don't bother," he warned. "We've been trying for years."

"I have unique skills that may permit me to succeed."

The nagging suspicion that that was true annoyed K'Vada. He felt compelled to offer obstacles. "I can-not reveal cla.s.sified Klingon entry codes to Starfleet."

"Your entry codes can be easily reconfigured after we depart." With great effort, thought K'Vada, and was prepared to refuse permission until Data added, "And Captain Picard has authorized me to share with you any information we obtain from the Romulan data banks."

Captain K'Vada frowned and grunted, but his mind was giddy with the prospect of tapping into Romulan intelligence. This would bring him praise and commendation from the High Council. Romulan data banks! Never had the Klingons had such information. His mind accommodated a brief image of K'kam, in awe of her remarkable mate, aroused and growling, promising him any pleasure he wanted...

"Anything else?" he asked sarcastically, still trying to save face.

To his surprise, the android replied, "We will also need to communicate with the Enterprise in sector two-thirteen."

"You do and the Romulans will instantly know our coordinates," shot back K'Vada. Was the android mad? Surely he knew there could be no communication out of the Neutral Zone.

But Data's equanimity was undisturbed. "Using conventional means, that would be true; however, I propose that we piggyback our signal on Romulan subs.p.a.ce transmissions."

"Piggyback?" K'Vada had never heard the phrase; it sounded faintly silly. "A human metaphor-pardon me. We would use a Romulan signal as a carrier for our own, thus disguis-ing its origin."

It was a stunningly simple idea. K'Vada cursed inwardly that it had never occurred to him. "It won't work," he announced.

"I believe it will." The android, unaffected by K'Vada's curt reply, proceeded to explain his ration-ale with measured calm. "During the last hour, I have conducted a systematic review of the entire Romulan subs.p.a.ce grid and compared my findings with the specifications of your transmission array. It would appear they are compatible."

K'Vada studied him for a long moment. Something had occurred to him, something that was likely to bring him even more honor than information from the Romulan data banks. He brusquely nodded his approval to Data, who politely replied, "Thank you for your cooperation," then exited the bridge.

K'Vada turned his new thought over in his mind for a few moments, and it was sweet. Almost smiling now, he moved to a comm panel and tapped in his entry code. "Captain's notation," he said confidently. "Recommend we study the potential for a Klingon artificial life ent.i.ty."

He had mused on the idea for several moments before he realized that his shoulder had stopped aching.

Spock saw the boy from the corner of his eye, running down the street, already out of breath, clutching the rose-colored lagga flower in his fist. It was D'Tan, a Romulan child not yet past p.u.b.erty. Spock recognized him from his whippet body and smooth, gaited run; he had marveled at the boy's boundless energy on several occasions. That is one thing age gives us, he thought. An appreciation of things the young take for granted.

D'Tan paused near a line of Romulans who were queued for a goods dispenser, and handed the flower to one of the men standing there-a man Spock knew as Jaron.

The man took the flower, glanced furtively around, then stepped out of line. Spock knew Jaron was headed toward him, but he kept his eyes resolutely forward.