Taking Wing

by Michael A. Martin

  For the moment, the result was peace, however fragile it might be. And that was infinitely preferable to the alternative.

  “Admiral, do you think you could see your way clear to allow Ambassador Spock to return to his work with the Unification movement and the Remans?” Riker asked, posing the question that he felt was the elephant in the room that Akaar had so far ignored.

  Seated in the tall chair before Riker’s desk, Akaar regarded him with a testy expression. “You are fully aware of the Federation Council’s wishes, Captain.”

  “As am I, Admiral,” Spock said calmly, looking Akaar in the eye. The ambassador was sitting, hands folded in his lap, in one of the ready room’s other “visitor” chairs.

  Riker knew well that Spock was fully capable of defying authority if the stakes were high enough. Spock’s hijacking of one of the earliest starships named Enterprise to the forbidden world of Talos IV, and his subsequent acquittal by a Starfleet court martial, were common knowledge. Therefore Riker could empathize with the respectful yet wary expression he saw on Akaar’s lined face.

  “I believe that I shall return to Earth to meet with President Bacco and the Federation Council,” Spock continued. “Such was my plan prior to the upheavals caused by Shinzon, after all.”

  “But what about your ongoing Unification work on Romulus?” Riker asked. “Commander Tuvok tells me that when he first tracked you down, you weren’t willing to leave Romulus, even for a short time.”

  “Given the presently changing fortunes of the Romulan Star Empire, logic dictates that workable solutions will require expansive minds. Perhaps my views will be seen as expansive.”

  “But what if the president or the council tries to keep you from going back to Romulus?” Akaar asked.

  “I have returned to Earth on more than one occasion since I began my association with the Romulan dissident movement. Federation authorities have never attempted to interdict me.”

  “But suppose they decide to do it this time?” Akaar asked. “Do you plan to return to Romulus afterward, regardless of whatever the council or President Bacco decides?”

  Spock put his hands in front of his face and steepled his fingers against his lips. “My mission is infinitely more complex and dangerous than it ever was before, Leonard. Where once my task was to reunite the Romulan and Vulcan cultures via the logical teachings of Surak, I must now do so while helping the Romulans and Remans overcome their long-standing mutual hatreds. To adopt the ways of Surak, the removal of hatred is a necessary first step.”

  “I will take that as a ‘yes,’ ” Akaar said, smiling grimly.

  “If you must,” Spock said, sounding like a patient teacher working with a willfully obtuse child. “However, I have faith in my ability to persuade both the president and a council majority to resume the Federation’s support of the Unification movement.”

  “Faith, Mr. Ambassador?” Riker said. “Are you sure that’s entirely logical?”

  Spock nodded, as though acknowledging at least the appearance of a paradox. “There were times, Captain, when faith in the power of logic was all that sustained Surak himself. It will suffice, I should think.”

  “I hope you are right,” said Akaar. “You may find Councillor T’Latrek of Vulcan difficult to persuade. Not to mention Councillor Gleer of Tellar. That one would surely tax the patience of even Surak himself.”

  “Indeed,” Spock said, his craggy face taking on a determined cast. “But if logic was an easily attainable goal, there would be little need for diplomats.”

  Akaar inclined his head. “Or for Starfleet.”

  “Admiral, will you be joining your advisers and Ambassador Spock on Der Sonnenaufgang?” Riker asked, unable to suppress a smile himself. All three of the convoy’s Starfleet cargo vessels were due to depart for re-supply in Federation space within the hour. Very soon, Starfleet vessels would be making regular freight and personnel runs to assist Romulan and Reman alike in rebuilding the infrastructure of their respective worlds—under the watchful eyes of both Starfleet Command and Klingon Governor Khegh of the newly instituted Reman Protectorate.

  Akaar’s small smile widened. “You will not get rid of me quite that easily, Captain. I intend to stay aboard Titan until her stopover at Starbase 185.”

  “If you must,” Riker said dryly.

  Akaar let out a hearty laugh, while Spock turned to regard Riker with a raised eyebrow.

  Deanna Troi walked toward sickbay slowly, unable to suppress a slight feeling of trepidation. It was one thing to see a Reman from the safe remove of the bridge view-screen. But it was quite another thing to know that a Reman was aboard Titan, waiting for her. He had specifically requested to speak with the ship’s diplomatic officer.

  Entering sickbay, Troi gently rapped her knuckles against the plasteel wall beside the biobed where the creature lay. “Commander Deanna Troi. You asked to see me?” she said, willing a professional calm into her voice despite the restless churning of her belly.

  The large Reman opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. He was draped with a powder blue blanket, but she could see deep scars crisscrossing his torso, giving his fish-white flesh a texture reminiscent of broken concrete.

  “Thank you for coming, Commander,” he said, his voice low and deep as a gravel pit. “Pardon me for not getting up to greet you, but your captain has had me restrained as a security measure. Over the objections of your healers. And your Commander Tuvok, I might add.”

  Troi noted that the Reman was, indeed, restrained by a forcefield. She knew that Will was taking a reasonable precaution in keeping a former Vikr’l Prison inmate confined in this fashion. But she also wondered whether she would have felt shock rather than relief at the sight of his treatment had he been a member of some other species.

  “I hope you can understand our caution, given the circumstances, Mister. . .” She trailed off, eyeing him inquisitively. She’d heard his name spoken only once.

  “Mekrikuk,” he said. “My name is Mekrikuk. Like the mountain range on my homeworld. And I certainly do understand why Starfleet personnel might distrust me, given the actions of Shinzon and his Reman followers. Although I have become somewhat used to confinement, I must say you are more civilized in your treatment of prisoners than were the Romulans.”

  “You are not technically our prisoner,” Troi said, moving to stand near a side wall. “You will be released to the Remans as soon as you’re judged well enough to travel.”

  Mekrikuk bared his fangs in what she thought might be an approximation of a smile. “And what if I do not wish to rejoin my people?”

  “I’m sorry,” Troi said. “I just assumed. We can return you to the Romulans if you would like. Though why you would wish to return to a people who imprisoned you—”

  “I don’t wish to be returned to either,” Mekrikuk said, interrupting her. “Did Tuvok not tell you?”

  “Tuvok is in surgery right now, having his . . . facial alterations removed,” Troi said. She was intrigued now. “What was he supposed to have told me?”

  Mekrikuk looked back toward the ceiling, but he was clearly focusing on something much farther away. “I hope to see Tuvok when he has recovered. When we were imprisoned together, we talked of many things. He told me much about the space beyond what I have known. Though I have been to other worlds, to fight in the war against the Dominion, I have known no life other than my existence serving the Romulan Star Empire. Tuvok gave me hope that I might seek a new life were we to escape from Vikr’l.

  “Hope that I might find refuge within the Federation.” He turned to look at her again. “I hereby renounce all ties to my life as a Reman and to the Empire. I ask you for political asylum, Commander Troi.”

  Troi struggled to keep the look of surprise off of her face. “Well, we can certainly take that under consideration. I will discuss the matter with the captain. I think I can at least guarantee you a fair hearing.” She knew from previous experience that once any sentient being made a formal
asylum request, Federation law required a starship captain to grant a formal asylum hearing unless another government could demonstrate a lawful claim of custody. She had to wonder, though, how Mekrikuk’s former status as a prisoner of the Romulan justice system would factor into the proceedings.

  “That calms my spirit,” Mekrikuk said, smiling again, his sharpened teeth bared.

  Troi flinched involuntarily, then did her best to return his smile.

  “May I ask you something else, Commander?” Mekrikuk said.

  “Certainly.”

  He looked back toward the ceiling. “I sense that you are uncomfortable around me. Have I done something to offend you? Or is it because I am Reman?”

  Troi felt twin fires of anger and embarrassment flare within her. “I understand that some Remans have telepathic abilities, Mekrikuk. Most cultures consider it a violation of privacy to use them on others without permission.” The irony of her own words hit her a moment later. I read people’s emotional states all the time without their permission.

  “You misunderstand me, Commander,” Mekrikuk said, frowning. “I did not use the mind-touch to perceive your distress. The mind-touch requires much effort. But noticing your behavior in my presence does not. You seem to shrink away from me, as though repelled. I apologize if my question was intrusive.”

  Troi blinked slowly, realization dawning on her. Throughout this entire mission, the horrific memories of the telepathic assault she had suffered at the hands of Shinzon—an act made possible by the psionic abilities of his Reman viceroy—had never been very far from the surface. Ever since it had happened, she’d managed to hide her feelings from everyone except Will. But this Reman had seen right through her pretenses, and her empathic talents told her that his denial of having used telepathy on her was sincere.

  So much for my sanctimonious lectures on diversity, she thought. That’ll teach me to tease Will about being afraid of Dr. Ree. She had never felt so deeply ashamed of herself before.

  “No, Mekrikuk, I should apologize to you,” she said. “I have allowed a past ordeal to color my view of all Remans, yourself included.”

  Mekrikuk shrugged. “I suspect that Remans are no more like one another than are the members of other species. I have seen members of my people who were beauty personified. I have seen those who were pure, distilled hatred. And I have seen those who cross from one side to the other, and every shade in between.”

  He looked back at her, and she saw an apparently bottomless well of pain in his hard, dark eyes. “But I believe myself to be unique. Not because I am a Reman who chooses to leave his people. Nor because of the experiences that have shaped who I am today. I am unique because I am Mekrikuk. Just as you are unique because you are Deanna Troi. Neither of us could be anyone else.”

  Haltingly, trusting her empathic sense of his lack of ill intent, Troi approached the biobed more closely and deactivated the restraining field. She reached toward him and grasped his hand in hers. It felt cool and rough, like unpolished marble. Its nails were long and sharp, reminding her of the delicately tapered claws of Dr. Ree, whom she knew was one of the gentlest souls she had ever encountered.

  “We’re all unique, Mekrikuk,” Troi said quietly. “And I will try to do my best to remember that in the future.”

  “Will Uncle Ranul ever wake up?” Noah Powell asked, his eyes as big as saucers.

  Alyssa Ogawa stood behind her son in the isolation room, stroking his sleek black hair. “We don’t know yet, sweetie,” she said. “Sometimes people in comas wake up, and other times they just sleep forever.”

  “Rule of Acquisition Number One Hundred and Three: Sleep can interfere with. . . well, a whole lot of things.” The voice behind them was grating and female. Ogawa knew that it belonged to Dr. Bralik before she even turned around.

  “Hello, Bralik,” she said agreeably.

  “Hi, Alyssa,” Bralik said, pulling something from her tunic. She held it out toward Noah. “And how are you, little grub? I brought you some candy!”

  Noah scowled. “I didn’t like that last stuff you gave me. It tasted yucky.”

  Bralik’s eyes popped wide. “The honey beetle clusters? Oh, I’m hurt.”

  Ogawa tapped her son on the shoulder. “Noah, I thought I taught you to be more polite than that.”

  Noah sighed dramatically and held out his hand. “Thank you for the candy, Aunt Bralik.” She deposited a hard bar of a translucent, greenish substance in his hand. He sniffed at it tentatively. “What is it?”

  “Slug Slime,” Bralik said, smiling. “Now why don’t you go get Auntie Bralik some water, and she’ll forget your lapse in manners.”

  As soon as Noah had scampered out of the room, Ogawa asked, “What was that?”

  Bralik shrugged. “Slug Slime? I don’t have any idea what’s in it. But grubs of all species seem to like it.”

  Ogawa snorted as Bralik sat on the chair that Noah had vacated, bringing herself level with the biobed where Ranul Keru lay.

  “How is the furball, really?” Bralik asked, putting her hand on Ranul’s, atop his chest.

  “We were able to get the tool out of his chest without causing much additional damage,” Ogawa said. “But he also sustained a significant head injury during the collision. There’s a good deal of brain swelling. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.”

  Bralik squinted back at her. “There’s not a question of if he’ll wake up, is there?”

  Ogawa sighed, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to admit, either aloud or even in her own mind, the possibility that Keru might die. He’d become a great friend to her aboard the Enterprise, and a wonderful “uncle” for Noah, and their relationship had grown even stronger since they had come aboard Titan.

  “That’s the spirit,” Bralik said, winking broadly and aiming her words in Keru’s direction. “He’ll definitely wake up then. It’s just a question of when.” She turned back to face Ogawa and said, “Rule Number Two-hundred and sixty-seven: If you believe it, they believe it.”

  Noah returned with the glass of water he’d been sent to fetch. “Here, Aunt Bralik.”

  “Thanks, grub,” Bralik said, taking it. “I’m gonna need it, since I’m going to read your Uncle Ranul a story.” With her free hand, she extracted a book from her tunic.

  Noah grinned. “A pirate story?”

  Bralik smiled. “Of a sort. Not for little boys, though.”

  Ogawa looked at the spine of the book. She was only able to make out a few words of the title, but they were enough to tell her that it was definitely too steamy for young ears.

  “Come on, Noah, we need to check in with Dr. Ree before we leave. Mommy’s had a long shift today.”

  “Okay. ’Bye, Aunt Bralik. ’Bye, Uncle Ranul.” Noah left the room ahead of Ogawa.

  “ ’Bye, grub,” Bralik said.

  “Good night,” Ogawa said with a smile. As she exited, she heard Bralik behind her, talking to Keru.

  “Now before I start this story, I’ve got to warn you that Kent will be by later, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to hold your hand or anything. Once you wake up, I’ll help you find a way to let him down gently. You know me. The soul of tact.”

  As she walked away, Ogawa heard the sound of Bralik’s book falling to the floor, followed by the Ferengi’s soft, ragged, uncontrolled sobs.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Christine Vale asked.

  Dr. Xin Ra-Havreii rubbed his temple. “Becoming your chief engineer? Well, some of my colleagues would undoubtedly think it beneath them. But they haven’t had quite the thrill-ride of a career that I’ve had.”

  Vale sat on the edge of Ledrah’s desk. She still expected to see the Tiburon woman sitting there, her bluish hair spiked upward. In her place sat the middle-aged Efrosian male who had designed Titan and had overseen her construction.

  “I heard about what happened aboard Luna,” she said quietly. “But I also know you were cleared of any culpability.”

  Ra-Havre
ii offered her a wan smile. “Cleared of all culpability is very different from being found innocent, Commander. You may not blame me, and Starfleet may not blame me, but the men and women of Utopia Planitia don’t share that magnanimity. Nor do the families of Luna’s crew.”

  Or yourself, Vale thought, as Ra-Havreii lapsed once again into woolgathering.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea at all,” Vale said. “Being a starship’s chief engineer isn’t quite the same as working at Utopia Planitia. Thanks for offering to take over in engineering, but—”

  Ra-Havreii suddenly came out of his funk. “I think I need to do this job, Commander. At least until you find a permanent replacement.”

  “But why?”

  “Perhaps to maintain what I have helped to create,” he said. “And perhaps . . . to atone,” he said. Once again, he lapsed into pensive silence—though he was staring straight at her chest. Deanna, you just may have your work cut out for you, Vale thought. I hope I don’t regret this, but I need a good chief engineer.

  She knocked on the desktop, then pointed to her eyes with forked fingers. “Hey, eyes here.” Once she had the engineer’s attention again, she continued. “Okay, so the first rule, now that I outrank you, is this: no pity parties on my watch. I’ve never worked in engineering, though I’ve helped the SCE on a few missions. But I come from a long line of peace officers, and let me tell you, they were none too happy when I left the family business to enroll in the Academy.

  “It didn’t seem to matter to them that I went into security while in Starfleet. Or that I’ve gotten a whole pile of commendations over the years. Hell, I haven’t even told them that I’m the first officer of Titan yet. I may not be exactly living up to their expectations, but I’m damn well doing a good job at something I think is important.”

  Ra-Havreii stared her straight in the eyes, almost defiantly. “Having your peers think you’re a dangerous failure is a bit different from disappointing your family.”

  “Yes, it is,” Vale said. “But the biggest difference is how you react to it. So you’ve had two tragedies on your watch? This ship, your ship, held together today, and you’re a big part of the reason for that. And there’s no reasonable way you can blame yourself for Nidani’s death. You didn’t dump that hull debris on top of Titan, and it’s awfully hard creating a contingency plan that’ll be of any use when something like that happens. An earlier class of ship might not even have survived today’s battle.”