“Aye, sir.”
The captain rose from the command chair and straightened his uniform. “Mister Worf, I’d like you to join me in my ready room.” Then, gazing to the main systems display at the aft section of the bridge, he addressed the ship’s second officer. “Mister La Forge, you have the bridge.”
As the chief engineer acknowledged the order, Picard crossed to the forward doors on the starboard side of the bridge. Worf followed. Inside his ready room, the captain moved behind his desk, while his first officer took a chair opposite.
“Commander,” Picard said, “what is your analysis of the situation?”
“It is difficult to judge with certainty,” Worf said, his careful words matched by his manner. “It may be that the Romulan vessel has indeed endured an accident of some kind, or an act of sabotage, as Commander T’Jul’s message indicated.”
Picard noted how his first officer did not rush to accuse the Romulan commander or her crew of deception. Not for the first time, Picard marveled at how much Worf had grown in his Starfleet career. Impulsive and outspoken as a junior officer, he had learned to measure not only his words, but the thoughts behind them. Worf had served as Picard’s exec for nearly four years, and the captain could not have been more satisfied with his performance.
“I’m afraid that the question I have to ask,” Picard said, “is whether or not you believe that the message we received is truly a distress signal.”
Worf looked away and shook his head, clearly not answering the question, but showing his obvious doubt. Peering back at the captain, he said, “I am unsure about the validity of T’Jul’s message, mostly because of what took place at the carbon planet.”
After one of Enterprise’s scientists had discovered physical evidence that a small vessel—possibly one of Eletrix’s shuttlecraft—had landed on the carbon planet, Worf had been conflicted about what action to take. He did not wish to jeopardize the mission—and with it, the prospect of peace—either by withholding information from the Romulans or by accusing the Romulans of withholding information themselves. At the same time, he had explained to Picard, the safety of the Enterprise crew remained his top priority.
Ultimately, Worf had simply handed over to the crew of Eletrix all of the data that the Enterprise away team had collected while on the carbon planet, doing so without comment. Later, when the Romulan crew reviewed it and notified their commanding officer of the indications of a prior landing, T’Jul contacted Captain Picard to discuss the matter. She recognized what the evidence must have looked like to him, but she claimed that her crew had not set down on the carbon planet until it had done so with the Enterprise crew. Offering up a possible explanation, T’Jul suggested, just as Worf had, that perhaps another vessel had landed there, possibly one of the Romulan civilian craft that had entered the Gamma Quadrant during the previous couple of months.
Picard had accepted her denial, in part because T’Jul had seemed sincere and convincing, but also because he’d wanted her explanation to be true. The Enterprise crew already exercised caution in working with their counterparts aboard Eletrix, so he saw no reason to modify existing procedures. In the days that followed, Picard let the incident go.
But then, even before receiving the distress call, something else had happened. “There is also the matter of the encrypted transmission,” Picard reminded Worf. The Enterprise crew had been unable to decode a brief message they had detected.
“But I feel that neither that nor the situation on the carbon planet, even considered together, are compelling enough evidence that the Romulan distress signal is not real,” Worf said.
“Agreed,” Picard said. “I think it is important for the success of this mission that we treat Commander T’Jul’s message as genuine.” He paused, unwilling to ignore his concerns. “But I think that we must also prepare for the alternative possibility.” The captain breathed in deeply, then expelled a heavy sigh. “Of what possible benefit could it be for the Romulans to dupe us into thinking that they are in danger?”
“It could be an attempt to lure us into a trap,” Worf proposed.
“It could be,” Picard said, “but even if it is, the question remains: to what end? The Romulans need not have participated in this mission, but allegedly did so in the spirit of cooperation and establishing a friendship. If they have other aims in mind—if they wish to sow ill will, trigger a war, or something in between—then why the intricate subterfuge? The recent attempts at entente notwithstanding, suspicion and antipathy are rife among the nations of the Khitomer Accords and the Typhon Pact. The Romulans didn’t have to tempt a Federation starship crew into the Gamma Quadrant in order to stir up trouble; politically and militarily, it takes a great deal of effort these days to prevent trouble.”
“All of that is true,” Worf said. “But perhaps Commander T’Jul is acting on her own, rather than according to the instructions of the praetor.”
Picard shook his head slowly. “That could be,” he said. He stood up, and as he considered the idea, he paced toward the near corner of his ready room, to where a reproduction of an ancient Taguan amphora sat on a pedestal. He peered at the tapering neck and curved handles of the clay piece, then turned once more to face his first officer. “Even if T’Jul is operating based upon her own interests, I still don’t see what she hopes to accomplish. The capture of the Enterprise crew? Appropriation of the ship itself?”
“The execution of our crew?” Worf posited.
“But how would any of that benefit the Typhon Pact, or the Romulan Star Empire, or even just T’Jul herself?”
“There is always the motive of revenge,” Worf said. “And Tomalak is aboard the Eletrix.”
“Yes, he is,” Picard said, recalling his misgivings about the former starship commander taking part in the mission. The Enterprise captain had certainly encountered Tomalak often enough through the years, and had frustrated enough of the Romulan’s plans, to make an enemy out of him. “Revenge can be a motive,” he said, “but it is so mindless. We may not consider Tomalak a genius, but neither is he an empty vessel. I can’t see him seeking retribution in this situation without there being some other objective.”
“I see your point,” Worf said. “It is also true that counterfeiting a distress call hardly guarantees that the Eletrix will be able to defeat the Enterprise in any sort of confrontation.”
Picard agreed, but his imagination conjured up another scenario. “Perhaps the many civilian Typhon Pact ships that have traveled here through the wormhole in the past couple of months managed to secrete away weapons, or perhaps they acquired them here in the Gamma Quadrant. Perhaps when we arrive to assist the crew of the Eletrix, we will find an armada waiting for us.”
“While that is at least conceivable,” Worf said, “it still does not answer your fundamental question about this situation: why? The capture or even the destruction of the Enterprise will have no impact on the current balance of power, and it can only cause the deterioration of the political situation. Even if the Romulans could somehow convince every nation in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants that the Enterprise crew were the aggressors in such a confrontation, that would not sway any of the major powers to switch their affiliations.”
Picard paced away from the corner and into the center of his ready room, out past Worf. When he reached the end of the room, he looked back at his first officer. “Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with us,” he said. “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the Federation, or even the Typhon Pact.”
“The Romulans?” Worf said, clearly trying to follow Picard’s train of thought. “Praetor Kamemor has been in power for twenty months, and in that time she has shown herself to be a far more moderate leader than any of her recent predecessors.”
“Precisely,” Picard said. “But there must still be anti-Federation hard-liners on Romulus, and likely in Ki Baratan.”
“If so,” Worf said, “then it is likely that they are the praetor’s political enemies. Perhaps they wou
ld seek to use the failure of our joint mission to undermine her labors in the cause of peace—and to undermine Gell Kamemor herself.”
“That, Number One, sounds less like the approach of a Romulan starship commander,” Picard said, “and more like that of a Romulan agent.”
“It does.” Worf nodded, his eyes widening in realization. “And we know the identity of the current chairwoman of the Tal Shiar.”
“Not exactly one of our admirers,” Picard said. “We know from experience that Sela would have no problem attempting to use this ship and its crew to her own ends, which she would no doubt proclaim the best interests of the Romulan Empire. That she could simultaneously avenge herself on us would no doubt make the prospect sweeter still for her.”
“It might be of value for us, then, to learn more about Praetor Kamemor,” Worf suggested, “and if possible, about Sela’s leadership of the Tal Shiar.”
“Agreed,” Picard said. “Fortunately, we happen to have a valuable resource on board.” The captain strode back across his ready room and sat down behind his desk again. “Picard to Ambassador Spock,” he said.
26
Captain Ro sat at the desk in her office, a padd in her hand, long past the end of alpha shift. She had managed to ease up on her excessive, subconscious efforts to justify her promotion, thanks in large part to Counselor Matthias, who had helped her understand the nature and cause of her anxiety. It had also been of no small consequence that Captain Picard had revealed his own such struggles to her. Just knowing that a man of his stature had experienced his own crisis of confidence, and that he’d overcome it to achieve such great success, had allowed Ro to finally move past her insecurity—for good, she hoped. Since Picard’s visit, she certainly felt stronger and more capable than ever.
None of which gives me any extra time to complete all my duties, she lamented. Since the civilian Typhon Pact vessels had begun arriving at Deep Space 9, the amount of work for Ro and her crew had grown considerably. The increased traffic through the station meant scheduling arrivals and departures almost around the clock, as well as conducting many more ship inspections. The number of reports Ro needed to read and approve—for the Bajoran Ministry of Commerce and for the Federation Interstellar Affairs Department, not to mention for Starfleet—had begun to take up more and more of her time. She gladly would have delegated some of her responsibilities if any of her staff weren’t already overworked.
“I just have to press my requests for more personnel,” she said aloud. In the past two months, Starfleet had assigned seven new officers to the station—including one from the Cardassian Guard and two from the Ferengi Treasury Guard—but she had asked for thirty. “This is why they promote you, Laren,” she told herself. “So you can’t quit.”
For all of that, though, DS9 had been running relatively smoothly. The number of vessels and their crews from the Typhon Pact induced her to intensify security throughout the station, and Chief Blackmer and his team had met the challenge. And despite having to deal with higher volumes of ships, goods, and visitors, Ro and her crew had somehow kept up.
Still at her desk, she tried once more to focus on the report on her padd, but when her gaze passed over the same sentence three times without her actually reading it, she gave up. She dropped her hand down more forcefully than she’d intended, and the padd skittered across her desk and off the other side. “I wish I could make all the reports go away that easily,” she said. Ro got up and went to retrieve the padd. Just as she placed it on her desk and prepared to leave for the day—Maybe get some dinner at the new Argelian place—the comm system chimed.
“Ops to Captain Ro,” said a female voice.
Rather than reply, Ro took the three steps to her door and entered ops. “What is it, Zivan?” she asked of the station’s tactical officer.
Dalin Slaine glanced up from her console, as did the rest of the crew. “Captain,” she said, sounding a bit surprised. “I wanted to inform you that we’ve just received the latest communications packet from the Robinson.” Although the Cardassian officer had made friends during her time on the station, she tended toward formality while on duty.
“Anything requiring my immediate attention?” Ro asked, moving over to Slaine’s station.
“Negative, Captain,” Slaine said. “The ship just left the world of the—” She had to peer back at her console to read the name. “—the Vahni Vahltupali. There’s a full diplomatic report for Starfleet Command and the Department of the Exterior, and a précis for you.”
“Thank you, Zivan,” Ro said. “I’ll take a look at it in the morning.” She leaned in to Slaine’s console and glanced at its chronometer. “Shouldn’t you be off duty?”
The dalin looked down, and Ro thought she seemed embarrassed. “Everybody on alpha shift should be off duty now, Captain,” she said. “Since you weren’t, I thought I should stay as well.”
“Zivan, just because I work late doesn’t mean that you have to,” Ro told her. “I appreciate your dedication, but if I need your support, believe me, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I prefer my officers to be well rested.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Anyway, I was just about to leave ops myself,” Ro said. “I was considering trying the new Argelian restaurant.”
“I’ve eaten there,” Slaine said with a trace of excitement. “They have an incredibly eclectic menu—even a Cardassian dish—and the food is excellent.”
“You’ve convinced me,” Ro said. “Would you care to join me?”
“Thank you, Captain, but I already have plans this evening.” She tapped at a control on her panel, securing her station.
“Some other time then,” Ro said. She started around the outer, raised section of ops, headed for the turbolift. Slaine walked beside her.
A cab arrived in ops a moment later, carrying one rider: Prynn Tenmei. She did not appear completely hale and hearty, but Ro thought she looked better than she had in quite some time. The captain knew that Tenmei had recently moved her father from DS9’s infirmary to a hospice on Bajor, and she guessed that had everything to do with the improvement in her appearance.
“Captain,” Tenmei said. “Are you leaving?”
“Are you here to see me?” Ro asked.
“I was, but if you’re done for the day …” She left her sentence unfinished.
“A captain’s work is never done,” Ro said, making sure to punctuate her words with a smile. “Let’s head into my office.” As she started back in that direction, Slaine took a step that way as well.
“Captain, if you’d like me to stay too—”
“No, definitely not, Zivan,” Ro said. “Please, enjoy what’s left of your evening.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Slaine stepped into the cab of the turbolift and specified a destination in the habitat ring—a destination nowhere near Slaine’s own quarters. It pleased Ro to think that somebody so new to the station—and a Cardassian—had already made friends—and perhaps more than friends.
Ro walked back to her office with Tenmei beside her. When the doors had closed behind them, she offered the lieutenant something to drink, but Tenmei declined. Ro motioned to the sitting area to one side, and the two women sat down on the padded, built-in bench there. “I have to say, Prynn, you look well.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Tenmei said. “I feel better, so I’m glad the outside matches the inside.” She smiled hesitantly, but after the continuous emotional pain she’d endured for more than two years, she might as well have been turning cartwheels, so dramatic was the difference in her.
“So what did you want to speak with me about?” Ro asked.
“You know that I took my father out of the infirmary,” Tenmei said. She twined her hands together in her lap, clearly uncomfortable despite her more positive demeanor.
“Yes, of course,” Ro said. “You moved him to Releketh, I believe.”
“Yes, to the hospice at the Vanadwan Monastery,” Tenmei said. “Vedek Kira arranged it for me.�
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Ro nodded, but Tenmei didn’t continue. Ro didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She waited as Tenmei stared down at her tangled fingers.
Finally, Tenmei said, “I’m going to take my father off the feeding and hydration tubes.” She looked up at Ro with eyes mercifully dry, but still seemingly filled with doubt. Ro could only nod again. “When he … when he dies … I want it to be somewhere nice.” She paused, and then added, “Not …” She lifted her hands from her lap and gestured to their surroundings, which Ro took to mean the entirety of the former mining facility, built by an occupying army and originally staffed with slave labor.
“Of course,” Ro said. “I understand.”
“I’m also hoping that the people who meant the most to him will come and say good-bye.” Tenmei awkwardly reached forward and took Ro’s hands in her own. “I know I don’t have any right to ask anybody to do this, but I really hope you’ll consider coming. My father thought a great deal of you. He talked about you a lot, and I think he saw something of himself in you.”
Ro could not help but smile. “I take that as a high compliment,” she said.
“Don’t feel too admired,” Tenmei said, the side of her mouth rising up to form half a smile. “I think, particularly when he and I were estranged, he saw a part of me in you too. You were like another daughter to him—and, for a while anyway, like his only daughter.”
Ro had thought before that Vaughn had seen her sometimes as a surrogate daughter. But hearing it from Tenmei, she unexpectedly felt her own eyes moisten. “We worked so closely together, especially after he took command of the station and offered me the position of first officer. But it was so much more than that. He was a … a calming, steadying influence on me.” A multitude of memories rose in Ro’s mind. Unable to focus on any one of them, she simply laughed, happy to see the vital form of Elias Vaughn in her recollection. “I loved that old man,” she said.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact 06: Plagues of Night Page 34
