Strike Zone Part 17

Picard wondered fleetingly if, racial considerations or not, it mightn't have been a good idea to have Worf on hand, anyway.

"I am Aneel," he said.

"You are the amba.s.sador?"

His grin exposed jagged teeth, a couple of which, on the right side, were broken. "That is the rank to which I've risen, yes."

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

"You are in charge?"

"That is the rank to which I've risen, yes," said Picard dryly.

"Excellent. Where is the Klingon swine?"

Picard's jaw set for a moment. "The Klingon amba.s.sador is in his cabin, and would like to meet with you at your convenience."

"Oh, would he?" There was the sound of snorting, derisive laughter from the others.

"Now, you listen here, Captain," said Aneel, and he roughly grasped Picard's shoulders in his three-fingered hands.

That was all he did, for the next second Riker's fist slammed in to the side of his head. Aneel released Picard, turning toward the first officer, and Riker shoved him back with a well-placed kick. He stumbled backward and was caught by the other Kreel in the group.

Picard tapped his communicator and snapped, "Picard to security."

And the Kreel laughed.

It was an unpleasant sound, like a pack of wild dogs.

Picard, who was behind Riker, watched in astonishment as the Kreel envoys chortled among themselves.

"Excellent," said Aneel. "Excellent! This worthy gentleman, Captain ... is he your head-of-security?"

Worf's voice came over the communicator, actually sounding concerned. "Security here."

"Stand by," said Picard cautiously. "Amba.s.sador ... "

"Aneel," he said, dusting himself off. "Merely Aneel. We Kreel are not as caught up in t.i.tles as the Federation and the Klingons"- and they all spat-"seem to be."

Picard walked around Riker, ignoring the first officer's restraining arm. He went straight up to Aneel.

In no uncertain terms, and looking the Kreel right in the eyes, he said, "There will be no spitting on my ship. There will be no fighting on my ship. And diplomatic mission or no, if you can't be trusted, there will be no freedom for you on my ship. Is that understood?"

Aneel once again smiled that toothy smile. "Perfectly, Captain."

As if his manhandling of the captain moments ago had been forgotten, he casually introduced the other members of his group. It seemed to Picard that whereas the Klingons accompanying Kobry had been an honor guard, the Kreel who had materialized with Aneel seemed to be his drinking buddies. Aneel may have been the amba.s.sador, but the rest of them appeared to be little more than rabble-rousing troublemakers.

Picard decided to take no chances. Whereas with the Klingons he'd waited until he could discuss the matter with Kobry in private, with the Kreel it would be best if he acted immediately.

"I need to take your hand weapons in to protective custody."

That stopped the chuckling and good-time att.i.tude immediately. Aneel frowned. "Why?" he asked dangerously.

"Because I want to make sure no one blows someone else's fool head off while you're on my ship" was the terse reply.

"And if we refuse?"

"Then we send you back to your ship."

At that moment the transporter chief said, "Captain, the Kreel ship has already moved beyond transporter range."

Aneel grinned fiercely. "And now if we won't give you our weapons?"

Picard stepped closer until he was practically nose-to-nose with the Kreel, although Picard had to crane his neck.

"Then you walk home."

There was a strained silence for the moment.

Aneel pulled out his large disruptor, and Riker immediately started toward him, ready to yank the captain out of the way. But Aneel quite calmly reversed the weapon, preferring the b.u.t.t-end to Picard. "Be my guest," he said.

Riker breathed an inward sigh of relief as Picard, taking the gun, said calmly, "Actually, you are invited to be our guests. As long as you behave in a manner befitting guests."

Aneel gestured that the others should likewise hand their weapons over to Picard. It was Riker and the transporter chief, though, who actually went through and collected the weapons. Aneel half-bowed, with a graciousness that seemed completely inappropriate to him.

As Picard watched all this, Worf's voice came over the communicator. "Captain ... security still standing by."

"It's all right, we have a handle on it here. Picard out." He cut off the communication before the Kreel could notice it and identify the voice coming over the communicator as that of a Klingon.

"All we wish is to make successful, peaceable inroads," said Aneel. He smiled again, that same unpleasant smile.

"My att.i.tude precisely," replied Picard.

"Good. Now ... where is the Klingon swine?"

Picard sighed inwardly. What's the use? he thought.

"Follow me," said Picard, and led them out of the transporter room.

They made a bizarre procession. Picard and Aneel in the front, a troop of lightly-clad Kreel behind them, and Riker and Troi bringing up the rear, Riker laden down with an a.s.sortment of Kreel hand weapons. They attracted stares from everyone they happened to pa.s.s, and Riker was so self-conscious he was starting to get an idea of how that academy instructor had felt.

"Truly a magnificent ship, Captain," said Aneel.

"Thank you."

"Despite our recent advances, we Kreel have nothing compared to this. Or, for that matter, to that marvelous transporter. What a pity that technology is not shared equally by all, wouldn't you say?"

"Technology," replied Picard, arms folded behind him, "is usually developed by a people when they are ready to handle it. Not before that."

"That is the convenient excuse given by all advanced cultures to make certain that those less fortunate remain so."

"That is simply not true, Aneel. There have been too many instances in our history of a people advancing before they were ready, because of outside interference."

"Such as ourselves?"

Picard glanced out of the corner of his eye as they continued to walk. "You said that, not I. What I was leading to, Aneel, is that we are governed by a prime directive which compels us not to interfere with the development of a culture. It would be doing you a ma.s.sive disservice."

"Pretty words. The Kreel are not much on words. We prefer results."

"Aneel ... let me explain something. There was a time, only a few centuries ago, when the people of Earth had very much the same att.i.tude as you do. Any advancement was thought of in terms of how it would best be used to aid the military. Even the beginnings of the s.p.a.ce program-the technology that eventually resulted in that which you see around you-that was thought of in terms of how the needs of war could best be served. Instead of putting all money and investigation in to creating s.p.a.ce stations on which people could work and experiment and learn, governments were interested only in creating orbiting weaponry."

"So?"

"So?" Picard said incredulously. He turned and stopped walking, facing the Kreel. "So those beloved orbiting weapons provided the tools for mankind to launch World War Three. We almost didn't make it out here because of shortsightedness, wrong-headedness and stupidity."

"But what's wrong with military applications?" demanded Aneel.

"What's wrong is this: If someone had come from the future, or from another more-advanced culture, to Earth in those days and offered, say, transporter technology to our ancestors ... it would have been misused. Hideously. The chances are the first thing our ancestors would have done was use transporters to materialize bombs in selected places, and we wouldn't have made it out of the twentieth century."

And Picard privately congratulated himself that he had thought, before the Kreel came onto the ship, of tapping the computer banks and putting a temporary seal of confidentiality on all information pertaining to technology the Kreel did not already possess. They would not, for example, be able to call up research articles and specs on the workings of the transporter.

At that moment, they rounded a corner and ran into four Klingons.

The reaction was automatic. They all reached for their weapons.

Fortunately, the weapons weren't present. More Picard foresight.

"I take it you all know each other," said Picard laconically.

"All too well," said Aneel slowly.

The Klingon who had introduced himself as Tron earlier looked at Aneel, and his eyes narrowed. "I remember you. I only heard that d.a.m.ned voice of yours, but I wouldn't forget it. You were on DQN 1196."

"As were you?"

"I was part of the Klingon landing party you attacked."

"Really?" Aneel grinned maliciously. "And you're still here to tell of it? My aim needs improving."

Tron lunged toward Aneel, and the others started to converge on each other.

Riker, thrusting the disruptors into Troi's arms, grabbed Picard to pull him out of harm's way, so that he himself could intercede. But Picard pulled away and, to Riker's shock, thrust himself between Tron and Aneel, who were just getting their hands on each other. With more strength than Riker would have credited Picard with, he shoved the two of them apart.

"That's enough!" he thundered with such fury that it brought everyone up short. "This is a diplomatic mission, d.a.m.n it, and if there is so much as one more disturbance, no matter how minor, I'll have the lot of you clapped in irons! Is that understood!"

The seething anger between the two groups was practically something you could touch, but Picard's presence had created a barrier between the two that neither was willing to breach. At least not yet.

"All the Kreel have ever wanted," said Aneel calmly, "is respect. All Klingons have ever wanted is dead Kreel."

"All the Klingons have ever wanted," replied Tron, "is for the Kreel to cease acting like the parasites that they are."

"Parasites?" said Aneel hotly. "Parasites!"

"Gentlemen," Picard's tone was dangerous, "I have the leg irons being prepared."

"Captain," Aneel was saying, turning toward Picard, "we are supposedly your guests here. Yet these ... persons ... insult us with impunity."

"No one can insult a Kreel," said Tron smoothly.

Riker reached for his communicator, prepared to call security. He hadn't wanted strong-arm tactics this early in the game, but Picard's safety was the most important concern right now. He also noticed, to his annoyance, that other crew members were rubber-necking, as if oblivious to the danger of the situation.

And at that moment, a low, slightly bemused voice said, "Is there a problem here?"

The onlookers parted as the Honorable Kobry and Gava stepped through.

Aneel took one look at Kobry and started to laugh. A loud, raucous, disgusting laugh, and the others joined in. The Klingons bristled, furious at this cavalier treatment of one of their most honored individuals.

Now, the Kreel were laughing so hard that Aneel and several others were clutching at their stomachs, spasms shaking them. Picard and Riker looked from one group to the other and felt mortification for the small Klingon diplomat. Picard even took a step forward, but Deanna Troi placed a hand on his forearm and said in a low voice, "No, Captain ... it's all right. The Honorable Kobry is ... at peace with himself."

And indeed, Kobry did not flinch from the hysterics his appearance elicited. He merely smiled that same, enigmatic smile that Taka Nagai had found so intriguing, and walked slowly forward toward the laughing Kreel, right up to the doubled-over Aneel.

And he waited. Arms folded, face serene, he simply waited.

The Klingons looked at each other, uncertain of what to do. If the Kreel had attacked Kobry they would have been ent.i.tled to defend him-which is what they wanted. But as long as the Kreel made no move, and as long as Kobry was on the scene and refused to order them to do so, the Klingons were stymied.

And, as Kobry knew they would, the Kreel eventually laughed themselves out.

When the dust settled, and the Kreel had laughed for as long as they could sustain it without any further provocation, they stood there wondering what they should do next.

Kobry didn't give them time to think. He simply said, "If you wish to laugh some more at my deformity, I can wait."

Aneel shook his head, staring in wonder at him. "Who are you?"

"I am called the Honorable Kobry." He thudded a fist against his chest and held it out, knuckles down. "You are Aneel?"

"Yes."

"And the one who was with you in the original party that explored DQN 1196 ... Deni. He is here, too?"

Nearby, Deni half-raised a hand.

"I see." Kobry paused a moment. "You have my sympathy for the Kreel loss of life in this meaningless conflict."

This caught Aneel flatfooted. From anyone else, it would have seemed some sort of admission of weakness. But Kobry seemed so self-confident, so self a.s.sured, that weakness seemed out of the question.

"My ... sympathy for the loss of Klingon life as well," said Aneel slowly, not quite believing what he was saying. Neither could any of the other Kreel. He stared at Kobry. "What ... are you?" he asked.

Kobry bowed slightly. "A humble servant of the Emperor, as are we all. This is my aide, Gava."