Strike Zone Part 11

"The Honorable Kobry." Tron sighed.

"Quite correct. Kobry is one of our most revered statesmen," said the commander. "Thinker, philosopher. His background, his history, is legendary. No matter that, before the Great Awakening, we were a savage, warrior race ... much like the Kreel, if truth be known."

Tron spat.

"That is difficult to face," said the commander, "but it is the truth, as I have said. What you, or I, may feel about the current destiny of the Klingon Empire is irrelevant. We must abide by the wishes of the Emperor, and those wishes are now that full-scale war between the Kreel and Klingons is to be considered an absolute last resort. Something that is to occur only if all negotiations have completely dissolved; if the Kreel prove themselves to have nothing but disdain for everything that the Klingons revere and honor."

"They've already proven that," said Tron impatiently.

"Not sufficiently," said the commander, and now there was something else in his tone. Something not quite identifiable. And then, curiously, he did something he never did. He repeated himself. "Disdain for everything that the Klingons revere and ... honor."

At first Tron didn't get it. "We honor battle," he said. "We honor n.o.ble death. We honor ... "

"Individuals," said the commander.

And then, slowly, what he was saying, or implying, began to sink in. And, not to put too fine a point on it, the commander said, "Specific ... honorable ... individuals."

"Such as ... the Honorable Kobry," said Tron slowly.

"Such as he." All that time the commander was not looking at his first officer. "Now if something were to happen to the Honorable Kobry ... something that the d.a.m.ned Kreel were responsible for ... that would be an insult to Klingon honor that no amount of talking could put to rights."

"Yes ... yes, it would."

"Why, full war would be a given. Almost instantaneous. A war that the Klingons would surely win, advanced Kreel technology or not. War is inevitable, you know. It is only the Kreel's luck that the Great Awakening prevented their extermination at our hands decades ago. Now they have weapons that can make our lives difficult. Who knows where they will be several decades hence. While we chatter away, making promises of peace and good fellowship, they can arm themselves further, to the point where they are actually formidable. None of us wants that."

"No, of course not." Tron could barely comprehend the enormity of what was being said, or not being said. "I fully understand your implications, sir."

"Implications?" And now the commander did look at him, with an expression of innocence that hardly seemed natural for a Klingon. "What implications, Tron? This is merely an informal discussion, between commander and subordinate. I don't claim to see the future. I have no idea what's going to happen. And I would certainly think that you would not know either."

"How could I know?" said Tron carefully. "I'm no fortune teller."

"Nor am I," said the commander. "Nor am I a diplomat, or a wise man, or a great thinker or philosopher. I am merely a humble soldier. A patriot, hoping to see the Empire travel along the road to its first, best destiny. As are you. As are all great heroes."

"I am honored, Commander, that you think of me that way."

"No more than you deserve, Tron. Indeed, it is my hope that all Klingons receive exactly what they deserve." He turned away again. "That's all."

Tron turned to go, mind still reeling over the unspoken implications. The unstated threats, the machinations, the back-door dealings that might lead to war, with casualties numbering in the millions and ma.s.s slaughter of a hated enemy. A chance to live with dignity and/or die with glory.

Just like the good old days.

Chapter Eight.

"I'VE HAD IT," said Jaan. "I'm finished. I'm through."

In disgust he threw down his cards. "Busted flush. And"- he looked at the other players around the table-"it's all your fault."

Data stared at him with his gold eyes, his cards held serenely in front of him. "I am afraid I do not follow your train of thought."

Seated at the table, all with varying heights of chips stacked in front of them, were Data, Geordi, and Deanna Troi. Jaan was shaking his head. "I mean, look at this group. The android who never changes expression. Geordi, whose eyes I can't see. And an empath who can sense if I'm happy about my hand or not."

"I would never use my abilities to play unfairly," said Deanna stiffly.

"I think he's kidding, Counselor," said Geordi. Despite her uncanny ability to sense emotions (or perhaps because of it), Troi was one of the most serious-minded people on the crew. She sometimes made Data look like a laughing hyena.

"No, he's not," replied Troi.

"Yes, I am," Jaan now said, smiling lopsidedly.

And then Troi stared at him, and she said nothing, but what she was thinking was quite clear. No, he's not.

"Either way, I'm folding," he said. "I'm kind of tired, actually." He got up and walked out of the lounge.

Moments later, he stopped in the corridor and leaned against the wall. He could feel his heart racing and forced himself to take slow, steady breaths. Then he tapped a wall comm unit. "Sickbay?" he said.

"Sickbay, Doctor Pulaski here," came the crisp reply. "Is that you, Jaan?"

"Yeah." He forced himself to stand a bit more straight, as if Pulaski could see him and would frown on his posture. "I'm feeling a little woozy."

"I'm not surprised. It's time for your medication. I was about to send out a med team to look for you. Where are you?"

"Near Rec Room D5."

"I'll send up an escort."

"No," he said quickly, with just a touch of anger. "I can make it. I'm not going to be some d.a.m.ned cripple who has to be taken everywhere. I'll be along shortly, on my own."

She seemed to hesitate and then said, "All right. You have five minutes. Plenty of time. But if you're not here by then, I'll send out someone to find you and bring you down here."

"Deal."

He walked away from the comm link panel, heading toward the turbolift. Then a voice behind him said, "Jaan."

He kept going. "I'm on my way down to sickbay, Counselor. I've been given a deadline ... appropriately enough, I suppose. So if you want to chat, you'll have to do it while we're walking."

"Fine." Troi fell into step next to him. "I have been a bit concerned about you lately, Jaan."

"Captain told you about my little problem, did he?"

"As the ship's counselor, I'm responsible for the mental well being of everyone on this ship."

"Is that your roundabout way of saying 'yes'?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes. But I just wanted you to be aware that the captain isn't simply spreading it all about the ship." She didn't add that Bobbi Chase had already done that.

She stopped next to a door. "As it happens, Jaan, this is my cabin. I was hoping to be able to discuss this in private."

He made a sort of vague gesture downward. "They're expecting me at sickbay. If I don't show up there, they'll send out the hounds."

Troi considered this a moment, and then tapped her insignia. "Troi to sickbay."

"Sickbay. Pulaski here. What's the matter, Deanna?"

"It's my understanding that you were expecting Jaan in sickbay."

"That's right."

"He's with me, and I was hoping to detain him for several minutes if that's all right with you."

"I'm not certain how all right it'll be with Jaan. He sounded in less-than-outstanding shape a little earlier."

"I can make it a few minutes more, Doctor," Jaan now spoke up. He smiled ingratiatingly at Deanna. "Elves have remarkable powers of recuperation."

"So I've heard. All right, Deanna, but you're responsible for him."

"Absolutely. Troi out."

She turned to him and he was still smiling, and stars, she hadn't realized just how captivating a face he had.

"I must confess," she said slowly, "that I'm not as conversant with Selelvians as I should be. With over a thousand people on board ... "

"No problem," he said. He took a step toward her. "No problem at all."

At that moment her insignia beeped, this time indicating an incoming page. She gave an apologetic half-smile and tapped it again. "Counselor Troi here," she said.

"This is Captain Picard," came that very distinctive voice. "We have rendezvoused with the Klingon ship and are preparing to meet the Klingon amba.s.sador and his party. I think it would be best if you were there."

"Captain ... " Uncharacteristically, she hesitated. "I'm in a private conference at the moment."

"Is there any way it can be delayed?"

She glanced at Jaan, about to tell him that the captain sounded most insistent.

Jaan was slowly shaking his head and mouthing the word "No." His eyes twinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt.

And of course, the answer was no. After all, here was someone who immediately needed her help. The captain was certainly capable of handling whatever might arise with this Klingon until she got there.

"Troi?" Picard said after an annoyed pause.

"I think, Captain, that delaying would be most unwise."

She could practically see Picard's surprised expression. "Very well, Counselor," he said. "Use your best judgment. Just be along as soon as you can."

"Absolutely, sir. Absolutely."

"Very well. Picard out."

Slowly, her hand dropped from her insignia, and Jaan took it in his. His nearness was overwhelming.

"Now," he said, in a musical voice, "what did you wish to speak to me about?"

"That was d.a.m.ned peculiar," said Picard on the bridge. He turned toward Riker. "Didn't you think so, Number One? And by the way, Mr. Riker," he said, without giving Riker a chance to answer, "that's a very annoying habit you've picked up."

Confused, Riker said, "What habit, sir?"

"That stroking your beard every time you're asked a question. It makes it appear as if you're indecisive."

"Does it?" said Riker innocently. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll try to watch that. As for your question, well ... Deanna can be very single-minded when she believes that she is needed."

"Indeed."

"I'd like to think that's what makes her a good counselor."

The aft turbolift opened, and Geordi and Data entered, having received calls from the bridge previous to Deanna.

Data went to the ops station and sat down, staring with interest at the Klingon battlecruiser that hovered on the monitor. Once, the presence of such a vessel would have been a guarantor of, at the least, yellow-alert status. That, however, was before Data's time.

Then he turned and looked at the conn station, now occupied by Lieutenant Marks. "Where is Wesley?" inquired Data.

"Data," said Picard, "do not, under any circ.u.mstances, ask me again where Wesley Crusher is."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain," said Worf from his security console, "I'm receiving an incoming hailing frequency from the vessel."

Picard couldn't help but notice that Worf had not said "Klingon vessel," as he would have qualified virtually any other. "This is Captain Picard, of the U.S.S. Enterprise," he said.

The viewscreen shimmered, and now the image of the Klingon commander appeared. "Greetings, Captain Picard," he said in his gravelly voice. "In another time, I might have called you enemy."

"A time long past," responded Picard.

"We are prepared to beam our amba.s.sador and his party aboard. We ask that you take extraordinary care of the Honorable Kobry."

"As we would any guest."

"But the Honorable Kobry is not just any guest," said the commander. "He is one of the most revered figures in our Empire. Certainly the Kreel must be aware of that."

"I'm sure they are," said Picard. He already had a suspicion where the conversation was going but allowed it to proceed.

"Your ship will have Kreel diplomats being given free rein. Do you know what the definition of a Kreel diplomat is?"

Picard shook his head and, from behind him, Worf spoke up. "A Kreel who has run out of ammunition."