The Romulan Prize Part 1

The Romulan Prize.

by Simon Hawke.

Prologue.

DEANNA TROI wrenched herself free from the nightmare with an unaccustomed force of will, gasping for breath. She sat bolt upright in bed, disoriented and confused. She could feel the dampness on her skin and on the twisted sheets, but it wasn't her sweat, and the accelerated pulse rate she seemed to feel was not that of her heart. In fact, it hadn't even been her dream, and the force of will that had exerted its iron control to wrench her out of it was not her will.

Had she been fully human, Deanna Troi might have felt frightened and confused by such a strange and powerful experience, but she was half Betazoid, and Betazoids had a more profound understanding of the phenomenon of empathy than humans did. Humans were certainly capable of empathy, but not to the same extent as Betazoids, whose senses and levels of psychic awareness were much more developed and fine-tuned than those of humans. Being half human, however, Deanna experienced a brief moment of fear and disorientation. Then she realized what had happened and was up and running toward the door, pausing only long enough to pull on her robe.

As she ran barefoot down the deck's long, curving corridor, she quickly noted that it was still night watch, for the corridor was illuminated in a soft red glow. Beyond the night-watch lighting, Deanna had no clear idea of the time. She hadn't paused to check; she had simply reacted instantly to the profound empathic link she'd just experienced. She knew whose dream she had shared.

She was capable of forging an empathic link with any member of the Enterprise crew, but only one man had a force of will so strong that a link could be formed spontaneously, unconsciously, and with such force and intensity. She stopped at the door to the captain's quarters and pressed the small panel that activated the chime inside.

The door slid open, and from within she heard a weary yet strong and resonant voice say, "Come." She entered, and the door automatically slid shut behind her. It was dark in the captain's quarters, but there was light coming from the bedroom. Deanna hesitated. "Captain?" she said uncertainly. "Captain, are you all right?"

"A moment, Counselor, and I shall be right with you," he replied, from the bedroom.

She stood and waited, moistening her lips nervously. The effects of the empathic link were now diminished, and her heart was no longer racing. She gathered her energies and centered her concentration, allowing a calm to descend upon her. She brushed her dark hair back away from her face and checked to see that her robe was properly belted. Then the light came on, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard entered the room.

He had put on a short robe, but his feet were bare. Otherwise, except for his somewhat haggard expression, he appeared every bit the commanding presence he always was on the bridge of the starship Enterprise.

"May I offer you something to drink, Counselor?" he said. "My throat feels a bit dry."

"Perhaps some water." Deanna sensed that the captain still felt some distress, but was trying to conceal it.

He got each of them a gla.s.s of water.

"You know why I am here, of course," she said.

He nodded. "Please, sit down, Deanna."

His unaccustomed use of her first name gave her some comfort. While not a stickler for military protocol, Picard usually addressed his crew members formally. His use of her first name indicated that he wished this to be an informal discussion. And a private one.

"It seems I have unwittingly alarmed you," he said. "Please accept my sincere apologies. It was merely a nightmare, nothing more."

"With all due respect, Captain," she replied, "it was much more than merely a nightmare. What I felt was far more profound."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. "Very well. How much did you feel, and exactly what did you sense?"

She paused a moment to consider her reply. "I sensed ... fear. Profound anxiety. A sense of helplessness and loss of control. Almost ... panic. All emotions I generally do not a.s.sociate with you."

He nodded and took a sip of water. "A forced empathic link," he said. "Unconscious on my part, of course. I would never do that consciously; I hope you realize that."

"I do," replied Deanna. She hesitated. "I also realize that what happened was very unusual and, in a way, const.i.tuted a subconscious call for help."

"Was it only my feelings that you shared, or did you experience the dream, itself?" Picard asked.

Deanna had to stop and think about that. It had all happened so quickly and she had reacted so instantaneously that there hadn't been time to a.n.a.lyze exactly what she had picked up. "Only the feelings," she said after a moment. "If I experienced any part of your dream, I cannot recall it now."

He nodded once again. "Just as well," he said.

"However, everything is fine now. I appreciate your concern and your timely response, and I apologize once again for having unconsciously impinged upon your rest."

"Perhaps it would help if we discussed the dream." Deanna didn't like to push, and though she knew the captain valued her counsel, he was and always had been a very private person. She had never experienced a forced empathic link with him before, and the fact that it had happened argued strongly in favor of discussing what had prompted it, even if he was reluctant to do so.

"I really don't think that will be necessary," he replied with a smile that seemed to her forced. "I have disturbed you enough for one night. I am perfectly fine, I a.s.sure you."

He was not entirely convincing, however, and Deanna sensed that the dream was still bothering him. "Sir," she said uneasily, "I sense that your dream disturbed you greatly, and you are not generally disturbed by nightmares. I strongly suggest that we discuss it."

He seemed about to protest, then reconsidered. "Very well, Counselor," he said, reverting to formal address, a direct reaction to her reminding him of her role aboard the ship. He drank the remainder of his water and set the gla.s.s down. "I dreamed that I had lost control of this ship," he said. "The dream itself was somewhat disjointed, as dreams often are, so I cannot describe the exact circ.u.mstances. However, through some error or malfeasance on my part, I exposed the crew to grave danger, and I was utterly helpless to do anything about it."

"What sort of danger?" asked Deanna.

Picard compressed his lips into a tight grimace. "I cannot say," he replied. "I only know that through some action, or perhaps inaction, I lost control of the ship, and my crew... ." He frowned and shook his head. "Something terrible was happening to the crew, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I felt a strong sense of impending disaster, and there seemed to be a heavy weight on my shoulders." He smiled suddenly. "Doubtless the symbolic burden of my responsibilities." He shrugged, attempting to minimize the importance of the dream. "It was merely a stress reaction, nothing more. I imagine this sort of dream comes frequently to those in command."

"Perhaps, sir," she replied, "but it does not come frequently to you. I have seen how you react under stress. We have both been in situations where the stress was considerable, and you have never reacted with fear or panic."

"Well, Counselor, I am only human, after all," Picard said, with a self-deprecating smile.

"You are a human who has never been known to panic in any situation," she replied. "Panic is simply not in your nature. Such a response is an anomaly. And you have never before had any dreams or feelings, either conscious or subconscious, strong enough to trigger a forced empathic link. It is a highly profound and unusual occurrence, even among Betazoids. With all due respect, Captain, this dream cannot be dismissed casually." She seemed to sense something, a brief impression, a guarded one, then just as suddenly it was gone. She decided to pursue it. "Tell me, sir, have you ever had a precognitive dream?"

Picard grimaced. "There is not much point in trying to keep anything from you, is there?" he replied.

"Sir, it is not my intention to be intrusive, but my role aboard this ship is-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Picard replied impatiently. "Forgive me, Counselor, I am annoyed with myself, not with you. There are some thingsss I am hesitant oo discuss with anyone, things of a private nature. However, where they may concern the safety of the ship and its crew, I should not shy away from them."

"So the answer is yes," she said.

Picard nodded. "Yes," he said. "I have had precognitive dreams, but only twice before."

"And in those rare occurrences, did the dreams come true?" she asked, pressing him in spite of her natural reluctance.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, they did. One involved the death of my mother. I dreamed that she came to me to say good-bye. The next day I found out she had died during the night. She had been ill for quite some time. The other one ... well, I would really rather not discuss that."

Deanna nodded. "The important thing is that you have had precognitive dreams."

"A coincidence," Picard said.

"The first dream concerned your mother, with whom you naturally had a strong empathic link. I am not so much concerned with the details of the second dream, but would I be correct in a.s.suming that it also involved someone with whom you had a strong empathic link?"

"Yes," Picard said. "You would be correct in a.s.suming that."

"You have a strong empathic link with the members of your crew," she continued. "Some more than others, but the welfare of everyone on board is of paramount concern to you."

"What are you suggesting, Counselor?"

"That it may be important for you to try to recall the details of tonight's dream," she said.

Picard took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then shook his head. "I cannot. For a moment after I awoke, there was something ..."

"What was it?" she asked. "Try to remember."

"Lightning," Picard said suddenly, a strange expression on his face.

Deanna frowned. "Lightning?"

Picard shook his head. "It was a fleeting image... . I'm afraid I have no idea what it means."

"This disturbs you," she said.

"Yes, it does," he admitted. "We have made a great many strides in science and technology, but we are only beginning to understand the human mind. I am tempted to dismiss this as merely a nightmare, something of no consequence, but the fact that it has happened before ..."

"Perhaps if you try to remember ... ?" she said.

"It's no use," Picard said. "Whatever it was, I can recall only what I told you."

"If it should happen again-"

"I will call you," said Picard. "And now you really should go back to bed and get some rest. We are both due to go on duty in another few hours, and I have disturbed you enough for one night."

She nodded and got to her feet. "With your permission, then, I will say good night."

"Good night, Deanna," he said. "Sleep well."

She looked at him curiously. "And you," she said.

Deanna Troi went back to her room and got back into bed, but sleep eluded her.

Chapter One.

THE CENTURIONS AT THE DOOR did not move so much as a muscle as Valak approached, nor did they acknowledge his presence in any way. He did not speak to them or even look at them. They might as well have been statues. If Valak had no business being there, of course he would have had no hope of trying to get past them. Romulan security was strict, and protocol was complicated and explicit. He outranked them both, but they would have challenged him if they had not been instructed to expect him. And Valak would have known better than to try to see the Praetor of the Romulan Empire without a formal summons.

He did not bother to knock on the door but simply went inside. He had been commanded to appear before the Praetor at precisely this time, and he arrived not one moment early and not one second late. And that was as it should have been. In human society it was considered polite to knock before entering. Humans had such curious social customs, Valak often thought. It amused him to study them, but at the same time he took his research very seriously. He had made an exhaustive study of human cultures, especially of Starfleet personnel, protocol, strategy, and regulations. He was a warrior, and he believed it was part of a warrior's duty to know his enemy.

Many Romulans a.s.sumed their superiority to humans as a matter of course and dismissed humans as insignificant, but Valak believed it was important to know how the humans lived and how they thought. He often told his crew that no warrior, racial superiority notwithstanding, should ever take anything for granted. Even a superior intellect could make mistakes, and an inferior one could get lucky. Valak brought a hunter's sensibility to his military duties. He had grown up in the outer provinces of the Romulan Empire on one of the recently colonized worlds, a primitive planet that was still in the beginning stages of development. There had been no civilized indigenous culture to defeat and subjugate, but there were plenty of large, wild, and highly dangerous life-forms that were not at all impressed with the inherent superiority of Romulans.

Valak had learned to hunt almost as soon as he had learned to walk, and his father had instilled in him a hunter's respect for his prey. Valak's father still held to many of the old values and the old ways of Romulan culture, which were now considered outmoded on the civilized worlds of the empire. The old ways were mystical and profoundly philosophical. In some ways the old Romulan traditions were similar to the Vulcan belief systems, which was not surprising, for they sprang from common racial and cultural roots.

In an almost literal sense, Valak regarded humans as prey. In that, he was completely in line with Romulan thinking. He departed from it, however, in his respect for humans, and that made him something of an anomaly in Romulan culture. Most Romulans considered humans weak and decadent, an inferior species that would inevitably be subject to Romulan authority. Valak was not so sure.

He had studied humans, and concluded that they were simply different. They subscribed to a system of morality and social structure that was beyond the understanding of most Romulans because most Romulans did not make an effort to understand them. Valak had made that effort and through long and exhaustive studies of their history, their writings, and their social customs, had come to respect their culture and their way of thinking in the same way a hunter might respect the natural behavior of his prey.

He had even written several papers on the subject, which had won the approval of Romulan scholars, but his fellow officers considered his interest in humans a puzzling eccentricity. Early in his career, he was not taken seriously. However, though he was still young, and had only recently been promoted to command rank, his record spoke for itself. His summons to the presence of the Praetor was dramatic evidence of that.

He could think of only two reasons why the Praetor would wish to see him personally: either he had made some grave error that was cause for serious disciplinary measures-and he knew that was not the case-or his service record and qualifications had brought him to the notice of the Praetor. He was anxious to discover just what that reason was.

He stopped the required distance from the Praetor's command throne and waited, his posture erect yet relaxed, taking the formal stance of the Romulan warrior-legs slightly spread apart, back straight, shoulders squared, looking straight ahead, arms crossed in front of him at about belt level, right hand gripping left wrist.

The command throne was turned away from him, its high back obscuring the Praetor from Valak's sight. The throne faced a giant screen on which the face of a senior member of the Romulan High Council was visible. A conference was in progress, but Valak could not hear what was being said, which meant the Praetor was communicating over his remote security channel on a scrambled frequency. A moment later the face on the screen disappeared, and then the screen itself disappeared, quickly fading from black to opaque to transparent and becoming a floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the sprawling capital.

Without a sound the throne slowly swiveled around to face Valak, revealing the Praetor, his forearms resting lightly on the arms of his command throne, which had small consoles built into them. The secure channel comm set partly obscured the Praetor's face. The set consisted of a small metal arm containing the shielded mouthpiece and transmitter, which were attached to a headset receiver. As the throne came around to face Valak, the entire comm set a.s.sembly swung away from the Praetor's face, swiveling around its pivot and retracting into a panel in the back of the command throne.

"Commander Valak," the Praetor said. He made no mention of Valak's promptness-that was to be expected. Valak uncrossed his arms, allowing the left one to hang straight at his side while with the right he gave the Romulan salute, fist thumping the left side of the chest. The Praetor did not return the salute, which was simply his due and required no acknowledgment on his part. However, he did incline his head slightly, which surprised Valak and pleased him enormously. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it const.i.tuted a gesture of respect.

"I am deeply honored, my lord," said Valak. The Praetor was addressed not by his t.i.tle, but by the honorific befitting his caste and rank.

As a young warrior, Lord Darok had achieved a record of military victories that remained unsurpa.s.sed. He had not traded on his high-caste birth to gain rank, but had chosen the warrior's way and achieved his current position purely on merit. He was no longer young and had not held a field command in years, but age had not diminished his powers to any visible extent. His face was lined, and his hair white, but the features were still strong and full of character, his eyes still clear, their gaze forceful. There was no trace of hesitation in his speech, and his posture was still that of the warrior he had been. Everything about Darok bespoke a shrewd alertness and, standing in his presence, Valak could feel his power. It was the first time they had ever met face to face, and Valak was impressed. This was a Romulan indeed!

There was no chair for Valak to sit on, and this, too, was to be expected. One did not sit in the presence of the Praetor. Valak simply stood and waited while Lord Darok gave him a long, appraising look. For what seemed like a long time, Darok did not speak, but merely gazed at Valak, as if measuring his worth. Valak calmly returned his gaze. Finally Lord Darok nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw.

"You are no doubt curious as to why I sent for you, Commander," Darok said.

Valak made no reply. It was a statement rather than a question, and no reply was called for.

"You have been selected for a special mission," Darok continued. "A mission for which you are uniquely qualified. Your record of command, though relatively brief, speaks for itself, but that alone does not qualify you for the mission the council has in mind."

Valak's pulse quickened. A mission ordered by the high council itself had to be of great importance. Being chosen for such a mission was not only an honor but a tremendous opportunity as well.

"You are something of a scholar, I understand," said Darok, "with an expertise in human culture. In particular, you have made a study of Starfleet Command, its history, regulations, procedures, ordnance, and personnel. I am told the papers you presented on the subject before the Romulan Academy were very favorably received and regarded as models of scholarly research. I realize there are those who regard such academic pursuits as irrelevent preoccupations in a warrior of the empire. I, however, am not one of them. A warrior who has many interests is a warrior whose mind will always stay alert and sharp." He paused briefly. "You were born and raised on Abraxas Nine, were you not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Have you ever hunted the syrinx?"

"Yes, my lord. I have taken three."

Darok raised his eyebrows. "Three? That is, indeed, an achievement. I have succeeded in taking only one myself, and that nearly at the cost of my own life. The syrinx is a most elusive and dangerous prey. To what do you attribute your success?"

"In part, my lord, to the training I was given by my father, who taught me the way of the hunter," Valak said. "Also, to having been born and raised on Abraxas Nine. As a native, I had the advantage of knowing more about the habitat and behavior of the syrinx than those who came from off-world to hunt the creature for sport."

Darok smiled faintly. "A most diplomatic answer," he said. "However, it would be closer to the truth to say that you had made a thorough study of the behavior of the syrinx in preparation for your hunt, is that not so?"

"That is true, my lord. I was taught that proper preparation is a vital part of a successful hunt. My father believed a hunter must respect his prey, and that to respect it, he must know and understand it."

Darok nodded. "My father, too, believed in the old ways. Sadly, we have strayed from many of them in our march to progress and conquest. I was still young when I visited Abraxas Nine, and I sought merely a trophy and the excitement of the hunt. In my eagerness, and in the arrogant self-confidence of youth, I had failed to properly prepare myself. It was a mistake I was never to repeat. Early training as a hunter can be of great benefit to a warrior. Hunting teaches care, patience, and respect for one's quarry. I have read the papers you presented before the Romulan Academy. You seek to understand the humans, and you obviously respect them. Do you not consider them an inferior race?"