The Amazing Stories

by M. Shayne Bell

  Picard glanced up at the peak. “Admiral Brackett informed me that even the Legarans have sent a delegation to honor the man who helped them negotiate formal ties to the Federation.”

  Geordi La Forge wiped his forehead again. “Well, the Legarans ought to like it here. It's fifty-one-point-six degrees at the moment, and they only need another hundred degrees to make their tank just to their liking.”

  Picard nodded. Nobody knew more about the Legarans' requirements for life support than La Forge. It had been the chief engineer's unenviable duty to prepare the tank of bubbling, varicolored slime for the Legarans during Sarek's last negotiation.

  “Cheer up, Geordi,” Data said. “As is typical of desert environments, the temperature should decline rapidly after sunset.”

  “Yeah, by that time we'll be gone,” La Forge said. “Or I'll have melted into a puddle of goo myself.”

  “Let's go,” Picard said. Shoulder to shoulder, the three Starfleet officers walked forward, passed through the security scan, and began climbing the ancient steps.

  The steps themselves were carved deeply into the rock, but generations upon generations of Vulcan feet had worn them, made them slightly uneven. Picard, who was on the outside of the steps, had to watch his footing, because there was no railing. He resisted the urge to look over the increasingly precipitous dropoff that yawned to his left.

  Twice during the ascent the captain signaled a break so he and La Forge could catch their breath. Both officers were in excellent physical shape, but the heat and the thin air were taking a toll. Each time, they had to step aside to allow Vulcans to pass them. Even the oldest of the Vulcans climbed tirelessly and without pause. Picard was reminded forcibly of Vulcan superior strength.

  Yes, indeed, he thought, recalling his conversation with Admiral Brackett, the Romulan invasion force would have had its hands full with these people. . . .

  He found himself wishing that Ambassador Spock had accompanied him back to Vulcan, even briefly, to attend the service, but he knew that the danger of crossing the Neutral Zone made that notion impossible. Still, it would have meant a lot to Sarek to have his son present today.

  Thinking of Spock's stormy relationship with Sarek made Picard recall his own father, dead now many years. He and Maurice had never gotten along, either. Picard's father had strongly disapproved of Starfleet and all advanced technology. He'd wanted his son, Jean-Luc, to stay home in Labarre and tend the family vineyards. He'd been quite vocal in his displeasure when Jean-Luc had disobeyed him and entered Starfleet Academy.

  Picard frowned as he pushed himself to keep climbing. Last year, he'd had a very strange vision when his artificial heart had failed, and he'd actually “died” for a few minutes, until Beverly had managed to resuscitate him. During his “death” he'd imagined that Q was there in the afterlife, tormenting him. Q had produced an image of Maurice Picard, and once again Jean-Luc had been forced to relive how he'd disappointed his father.

  Even after all those years, remembering the day he'd told his father of his decision still had the power to make Jean-Luc Picard's jaw clench, his mouth tighten.

  I am sorry I was a disappointment to you, he thought, remembering his father's craggy features, his accusing stare. But I made the right decision. Robert took over the vineyards, after all . . . and he resented it, all these years, he resented it. So would I have, if I had done as you wished, mon père. . . .

  Would it have done any good to explain, to try to talk to his father? Every time he'd tried to talk to Maurice after his admission to Starfleet Academy, there had just been another fight, and the gulf between them had widened still further. Should I have tried harder? Been more patient? Picard didn't know. And now . . . it is too late. Death is the most final argument of all.

  Picard was wheezing for breath, and Geordi La Forge was in little better shape, when they finally mounted the last step. Picard stepped aside and stood there, trying to catch his breath. He was drenched in sweat.

  “Here, Captain, Geordi,” Data said, unfastening a small case he wore on his belt. “Dr. Crusher gave me these in case they were needed.” With two deft motions, the android pressed the injectors against the officers' arms.

  Picard's breathing immediately eased. He smiled at Data and nodded. “Thank you, Commander. I needed that.”

  “Me, too,” Geordi said. “Thanks, Data.”

  Picard and La Forge, on Crusher's advice, had each carried a small flask of water, and they paused for a moment to drink some. Then, feeling somewhat more alert, Picard gazed at the vista before them.

  They were at least a thousand meters higher than when they had begun. Mount Seleya's flank had been flattened, here, and paved. Behind them, buried in the bulk of the mountain, was the Hall of Ancient Thought and the quarters of the Vulcan mental adepts.

  Before them lay the gathering ground for the crowd. The immediate family, Sarek's closest friends, and the highest-ranked dignitaries would cross that slender tongue of stone to stand in the most sacred spot of all, the amphitheater. Some buried part of Sarek's memories told Picard that the amphitheater was where Spock's re-fusion had taken place, seven, almost eight decades ago.

  “Where should we stand, Captain?” Data asked.

  “Well, we're not part of the family,” Picard said. He squinted into the setting sun. “How about over there, not far from the Legaran tank? We should be able to see the proceedings from there.”

  The three officers began making their way over toward the Legaran tank. Picard could see a faint shimmer above the tank and on each side, and realized that the Legarans' special environment must be protected by an energy field. Otherwise, the tank would give off so much heat that it would be like standing in an oven.

  As Picard made his way through the crowd, he inadvertently brushed against one of the robed Vulcans. Knowing that Vulcans were touch-telepaths, the captain halted and turned to face the person he'd bumped. “My apologies—”

  The tall young Vulcan facing him was staring at him intently, and then recognition dawned for both of them at the same time.

  “Captain Picard.”

  “Sakkath!”

  Last year, the Vulcan had accompanied Ambassador Sarek during his last mission to complete the negotiations with the Legarans. Sakkath had tried and failed to keep Sarek's uncontrolled emotions, a result of the Bendii Syndrome, in check.

  Violent altercations had begun erupting all over the Enterprise after crew members had been exposed to Sarek's inadvertent telepathic broadcasts of his raging emotions.

  When a mind-meld had proved necessary to complete the negotiations, it had been Picard, with his experience in diplomacy, who had volunteered to share his mind with Sarek, to allow the Vulcan ambassador to “borrow” his own emotional control.

  Now, a year later, Picard studied Sakkath, seeing that his features seemed drawn, thinner. Sakkath had aged far more than a year. “I'm glad to see you, Sakkath,” Picard said, nodding to La Forge and Data and motioning the Vulcan aside so they could speak in private. “How have you been?”

  The Vulcan inclined his head gravely. “I am well, Captain,” he said. “I am . . . gratified that you could attend today.”

  “So am I,” Picard said. “It seemed fitting.”

  “Indeed,” Sakkath said. “Sarek spoke of you many times this past year, Captain, during his increasingly infrequent lucid moments. He was very grateful to you for helping him complete his final mission.”

  “You . . . cared . . . for Sarek during his final illness?” Picard said, marveling a little. He could only imagine how painful it would have been for a Vulcan to be constantly assaulted by Sarek's emotional storms.

  “Perrin and I attended to him,” Sakkath said. “It was all I could do for him to make up for my inability to help him during the Legaran mission.”

  “You did your best,” Picard reminded him.

  “But, Captain, it was you who mind-melded with him, not I,” Sakkath said. “I should have been strong enough to do that
. . . and I was not. I failed him.”

  “Nonsense,” Picard said. “We discussed that at the time, and you would have been risking your health and sanity to undertake that meld. Humans are far more equipped to handle violent emotions than Vulcans.”

  “True,” Sakkath admitted. He regarded Picard intently, then did something no Vulcan had ever done before in the captain's experience—he held out his hand, human-style. “I will always be grateful to you, nevertheless, Captain Picard.”

  Hesitantly, Jean-Luc held out his own hand, and felt the young Vulcan's hot flesh grasp his own. Vulcans had a higher body temperature than humans. Gravely, they shook hands, and, as they did so, a fleeting expression crossed the Vulcan's normally impassive features. An expression of . . . what? Recognition? Discovery? Picard couldn't be certain.

  “Captain,” Sakkath said in soft tones that held a note of urgency, “You must come with me. Perrin will wish to see you.”

  Picard realized from the direction of Sakkath's gaze that he was proposing to lead him across the bridge, to the section reserved for family and close friends. “I don't want to intrude,” Picard said. “I can see her after the service.”

  “No,” Sakkath said, and there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. “You must come, Captain. It is necessary . . . that is, proper . . . that you be there.”

  “Well, I . . .” Picard hesitated. “Let me speak to my officers,” he said.

  Sakkath nodded, and followed him back to where Geordi and Data were waiting, not far from the Legarans' tank. “I'm sure you both recall Sakkath, Sarek's aide,” Picard said, and the officers and the Vulcan exchanged greetings.

  Picard explained that he was going to go and speak with Perrin, and would be back after the service. He turned away, ready to follow Sakkath, but he'd only gone a few steps when Geordi La Forge caught up to him. “Captain!”

  Picard swung around. “What is it?”

  “Sir . . . you warned us to keep an eye out for potential problems with security. . . .” Geordi said softly, keeping his voice low. “I think we have one.” The Chief Engineer nodded over at a Vulcan who stood not far from them, wearing the typical homespun Vulcan robe that so many of his people favored. “Does that man over there appear to you to be a typical Vulcan?”

  “Yes,” Picard said. “Why?”

  “Well, he's not,” La Forge said, still speaking in low tones. “His temperature is three degrees cooler than the lowest temperature for a normal Vulcan.”

  Picard frowned. “What does that mean? That he's ill?”

  “I don't think so, sir,” La Forge said. “I think he's a Romulan. I've seen Romulans before, and his heat patterns match theirs exactly.”

  The captain knew how easily a Romulan could be altered to visually pass as a Vulcan. The two species shared a common genetic heritage, after all, and looked very similar. If Beverly Crusher could easily disguise Picard to pass as a Romulan, as she had done during the captain's latest mission, how much easier would it be to disguise a Romulan to appear as a Vulcan?

  “In this crowd of Vulcans, he sticks out like a sore thumb in my VISOR,” La Forge added.

  “I see,” Picard murmured. “A Romulan. It's difficult not to imagine he's here for some ulterior purpose. Why else would he disguise himself? He could be a saboteur or an assassin. The place is certainly rife with targets. . . .” The captain thought fast. “We need to question him, verify his identity. You and Commander Data circle around and get behind him in case he resists. Sakath and I will approach from the front. We shall accost him as quietly as possible. If he is here legitimately, he'll be able to prove it. If he's not . . .”

  “Right, Captain,” La Forge said, and gestured to the android.

  Picard and Sakkath waited until the two officers were in position; then they moved forward purposefully. The “Vulcan” looked over, saw the Starfleet uniform coming, and turned to bolt back toward the steps.

  Data and Geordi grabbed him before he had gone more than a meter or two, however. He struggled briefly, but uselessly. Data's grip was inexorable.

  Sakkath motioned two of the temple guards to come over and restrain the Romulan. “Search him,” Picard ordered.

  Quickly, efficiently, the two officers searched the Romulan. “He is unarmed, Captain,” Data said.

  Picard faced the man, and his last doubts that he was an innocent Vulcan died. He stood facing them, eyes defiant, and his expression was filled with emotion that no proper Vulcan would ever have permitted. “Who are you?” the captain demanded. “Why did you come here?”

  The Romulan faced him in silence. Picard glanced at Sakkath. “We must discover what his mission was,” he said. “If he managed to smuggle a bomb up here . . .”

  “Agreed,” Sakkath said. He flexed his fingers. “I believe I can discover his intentions.”

  As Sakkath started purposefully toward the Romulan, the man suddenly erupted into violent motion, catching the two Vulcans holding him by surprise. Lashing out with hands and feet, he managed to pull away from the guards. They sprang after him, blocking his escape.

  But escape was not his intent.

  As Picard stood staring in horror, the Romulan turned, sprinted the few meters to the edge of the cliff, and leaped off. Picard was frozen with shock. The saboteur's action had been so fast, accomplished in such deadly silence, that it was as though he had never been.

  Recovering himself, the captain glanced over at Sakkath, saw the Vulcan's eyes narrow with concern. “The question is, Captain, did he accomplish his mission . . . whatever it was?”

  “We should evacuate the area,” Picard urged.

  “The ceremony will begin in just a few minutes, Captain! We cannot evacuate everyone quickly.”

  Picard knew the Vulcan was right. We can beam them up, he thought, assessing his options.

  La Forge came over, looking a bit shaken. “Captain, if only I had been quicker . . .”

  “We've all seen what Romulans will do to avoid capture,” Picard said. “Don't blame yourself, Mr. La Forge.” He glanced around at the Vulcan guards, heard Sakkath giving them orders to conduct a quick sensor sweep of the area, to make sure the Romulan had not managed to smuggle in a bomb.

  “Mr. La Forge, where exactly was the Romulan standing when you first noticed him?”

  La Forge indicated the Legaran tank. “Right over there, Captain. He—” He tensed. “Captain! I think I know what he did! The temperature of the Legarans' tank is down to one hundred twenty degrees!”

  Picard, Data, and the chief engineer moved hastily through the crowd until they reached the environmental controls of the Legaran delegation's tank. Picard found himself thinking how ironic it was that these beings could actually die of hypothermia in temperatures that would boil a human alive.

  Geordi pried off the panel and took a look inside at the controls. “Captain, have Lieutenant Philbas beam down with a portable energy field generator, and a heating unit, plus my tools. And we'll need Dr. Crusher to check out the Legarans themselves.”

  Picard nodded and tapped his combadge. “Picard to Enterprise,” he said crisply.

  Moments later Geordi was busy, with Philbas's and Data's help, replacing the smashed environmental control unit for the Legarans' tank. Picard heard the whine of a transporter beam again, and Dr. Beverly Crusher materialized, dressed in a protective environmental suit.

  Cautiously, Picard and Crusher stepped to the front of the Legarans' tank and peered in through the narrow viewing orifice in the field. Picard had never actually seen a Legaran.

  The four creatures huddled together shivering in the center of the tank resembled a nightmare cross between an Earth mud puppy and a Regulan bloodworm. But they stared back at Picard with huge, anxious eyes, and he knew that, despite their appearance, these were decent people who had come to honor Sarek— and almost paid for their gesture with their lives.

  “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. A Romulan saboteur damaged your tank's controls, but we are restoring them,�
�� Picard said, hoping they would understand him. During the negotiations aboard the Enterprise, the Legaran delegation had understood Standard English. “Our doctor is here, and she has prepared a hypospray for each of you that will help you until your tank is again at the proper temperature. Can you understand me?”

  The foremost of the shivering beings slowly nodded its wattled, spotted and fringed head. Its jaws opened, revealing large, squarish yellow teeth. A computer-generated voice spoke. “Yes, Captain Picard. I am”—an incomprehensible hiss emerged— “Minister of State. I understand your language.”

  “Good, Minister,” Picard said. “Hold on. We're doing our best to help.”

  After deactivating a portion of the protective field, Picard helped Crusher over the lip of the tank, and held his breath as the suited doctor waded through the multicolored bubbling slime. Her injector hissed four times, and the violent trembling of the four beings slowly eased.

  Picard glanced over at Geordi. “We're almost done here, Captain,” the chief engineer reported.

  “Excellent, Mr. La Forge,” Picard said, thinking that he should put the chief engineer in for a commendation. He and his VISOR had saved the Legarans' lives.

  The captain helped Crusher back over the lip of the tank; then the doctor began monitoring the Legarans with her med-scanner. She nodded reassuringly at Picard, and her voice issued from inside the suit's external speaker. “Hypothermia has been averted. They should be fine in a few minutes.”

  “Captain Picard . . .” the Legaran minister spoke again. “You say it was a Romulan who attempted to murder us?”

  “Yes,” Picard said. “My chief engineer spotted him. But he chose to leap to his death rather than face interrogation.”