He decided it was time he changed the subject.
"What's Jean-Luc Picard like in your universe?"
Even without seeing her, he could sense the way she tightened at the mention of that name,
"What makes you think he has a counterpart?"
"The way you and T'Val recognized his name. Hold on!"
The runabout seemed to rise up, hang motionless, then drop precipitously. It was all an illusion in the directionless void of space, Kirk knew, brought on by the complex interplay of the artificial gravity and inertial dampers. But it felt as if they were in a small craft in heavy seas, nonetheless.
"Picard's like you," Janeway said, taking Kirk by surprise. "If there were still a Terran Empire, he'd be running it the way you did."
"Tiberius was your emperor," Kirk said firmly. "Not me."
He felt Janeway's eyes on him. "You were born in Iowa, weren't you?"
Kirk confirmed it.
"When you were thirteen, you were living in the colony on Tarsus IV."
"It was supposed to be a summer trip," Kirk said, suddenly uncomfortable with her questioning, wondering what any of this had to do with anything. "But there was trouble in the Neutral Zone. I ended up being caught there when the food shipments stopped."
"So you formed a gang. Took over the warehouses. Killed Governor Kodos."
"Not in my reality," Kirk said. "Kodos killed half the colonists to try to make the food last until relief could arrive."
"That's what you told the authorities in my reality, too," Janeway said. "Kodos did it. But it was really you and your gang."
Kirk felt his discomfort begin to turn to anger, and he knew there was no reason for it. "You know the histories of our two universes are different," he told her. "So why are you doing this?"
"Because you're not being truthful," Janeway persisted. "You feed me this great philosophy about trusting in your crew, being part of a team, deferring to the better skills of others, and you say that's what it takes to be a starship captain.
"But I've seen you in action, Kirk. You're not just the person you describe. You're Tiberius, too. Whatever's in you that was in your counterpart, that drove him to be the most corrupt—and the most powerful—emperor of human history, is in you, too. It's only because your historical context was different that you became a starship captain, not a tyrant.
"At your core, you and Tiberius are the same. And you don't have the honesty to admit it."
Shaking off the unwelcome implications of Janeway's argument, Kirk took his eyes off his console and glared at her. "I'm getting tired of people telling me what I really think and who I really am. Don't you think I know myself?"
"No. I don't think you have a clue about who you really are. I think you're closer to Tiberius than you want to believe. And by denying that, you're denying yourself, and any chance you might be someone different."
Kirk felt his pulse begin to race, knew his face was flushing. How dare this woman, this refugee from a war zone with no personal skills that were remotely apparent, attack him in this way?
"You don't know what you're saying," Kirk told her, jaw clenched, holding his temper in check only by a force of will.
"I studied you in school, you know," Janeway told him, as if her buried anger were the equal of his own. "And you can't hide behind platitudes of being part of. . . of one big happy Fleet."
If not for Teilani, Kirk would have left his controls to finish this unsettling confrontation with Janeway. And as if sensing the tension that had developed on the flight deck, Spock was suddenly behind Kirk, one hand on the back of his pilot's chair, looking ahead through the viewports.
"My counterpart and I could not help but notice the rather intense conversation you appear to be having," Spock said calmly.
"It isn't a conversation," Kirk told him. "It's a series of groundless accusations."
"It's a series of truthful observations," Janeway insisted.
"In any event," Spock said, and Kirk sensed the Vulcan's desire to change the subject if only to maintain proper piloting efficiency, "in our conversations, my counterpart and I appear to have identified the period of history in which our two universes may have diverged. It is a fascinating prospect."
Kirk instantly abandoned his growing resentment of Janeway's probing, and, just as quickly, she appeared to set her argument aside.
"Well, what is it, Spock? Where does the branching point Her
"As best as we can determine," Spock said, "approximately three hundred years ago, when—"
And then alarms blared and the runabout shuddered as the first torpedo hit, and the Starship Voyager rose up in the forward viewports, phasers already firing.
TWENTY-THREE
"Don't kill her," Picard said.
In the bleak interior of the overseers' barracks, his mirror counterpart kept his disruptor pointed at the woman in silk. But he looked back with interest at Picard. "Is that a general plea for mercy, symptomatic of the invertebrate worms you Terrans have become in this reality? Or do I detect a soupçon of recognition in your tone?"
Picard steeled himself. He was prepared to play his counterpart's game, no matter how demeaning, if he could save this woman's life.
"Her name is Teilani," he said.
His counterpart twirled his disruptor around his finger, then dropped it, grip facing backward, into a low-slung holster. Picard noticed a second disruptor in a matching holster on his counterpart's other leg.
"So," the regent said, "I was right again." He stared critically at Teilani as if the silks she wore were nonexistent, making no attempt to disguise the fact that he regarded her as little more than property. "You do know her."
"We've met," Picard clarified.
His counterpart shook his head. "Such concern with the preciseness of words. Are you all lawyers in your universe?"
Picard decided it was time to address another subject. "Why am I here?"
"Why do you think you're here?"
"So you can gloat."
The regent shrugged. "I can do that anyway. Try again."
Picard looked around the open space of the barracks. Though, to be accurate, it wasn't really a barracks. There were no cots, no facilities for food or waste. Just a bare metal floor and metal walls stamped with Cardassian-designed structural supports. And the one corner furnished with a couch, table, chairs, and cabinets, all of Klingon manufacture. Tall candlesticks of burnished metal stood on the table, caked with melted wax.
"I said, try again," his counterpart repeated.
"You want to question me again."
The regent folded his gloved hands behind his back and walked slowly toward Teilani. "Jean-Luc, I'm so disappointed in you. I have your ship. It does whatever I ask it to. Did you know the quality of our voices is that exact? The degree of correspondence so identical that not even the Enterprise computer can tell the difference. I find that fascinating, don't you?"
He bent forward, a finger extended as if to trace Teilani's scar. Her hands came up in what Picard recognized as a Klingon defense posture. It was only then that he saw that her wrists were bound with ODN cable.
The regent leaned away from Teilani as if he had come too close to a flame. Teilani looked beyond him, silent, as if refusing to acknowledge his right to confine her.
"Women don't behave this way in my reality . . . for long," he said lightly, wandering back to Picard as if he had nothing more important to do than engage in idle conversation. "We're much more effective in breaking their spirits. That's why I had to tie her up. Did you know she's tried to kill me seven times since she was brought here. Seven times. Your friend, Tiberius, is fortunate to have such a spirited captain's woman. And that scar. The stories it tells . . ."
"Tiberius?" Picard asked.
The regent leaned close, pronouncing the name with sarcastic care. "Kirk. James T. I believe he's a friend of yours."
Picard couldn't waste such a perfect opportunity. He swung his right hand toward the regent's temple,
thumb folded so his knuckle would crush the side of the regent's skull.
But the regent's hand was there to grab Picard's in midswing.
"Don't you understand?" the regent said. "There is nothing you can plan, nothing you can even imagine, that I cannot anticipate."
The regent pushed Picard's hand away. "You're a disappointingly pale reflection at best, Jean-Luc. I've skimmed through your tediously pure service record, struggling to keep myself from dozing off at the sterility of it all, and . . . frankly, I'm quite let down that you're my counterpart."
"I am appalled that you are mine."
But the regent went on as if he hadn't heard Picard. "Now, Teilani. She has no counterpart in the real universe. I suppose she did at one point. But when the Romulans were in retreat, and tried to activate the Children of Heaven on Chal as part of a most ineffectual last stand . . . well, what could the Alliance do but wipe out her planet? The planetary sea boiled for weeks, I'm told. It took a month for everyone to perish from the heat." He looked at her again, this time making no effort to disguise his desire for her. "A shame to have lost another one such as her. A few years in a Theta camp, and she would have been much more . . . compliant. As this one shall discover, with my help." He smiled at Teilani.
Teilani spit in the regent's eye.
Unconcerned, Picard's counterpart removed a folded cloth from the cuff of his glove and wiped his face clean, as if he were dabbing at sweat and Teilani no longer existed.
"Is there some reason for my being here?" Picard asked, hoping to distract the regent's attention.
The regent studied Picard, and Picard wasn't sure if it was a prelude to his being beaten, or if there was indeed something important on his counterpart's mind, which he had yet to reveal.
"What was it like for you to have a brother?" the regent asked.
Though nonplussed by the question, Picard saw no need to evade it. Every moment's delay was a moment closer to his crew's attempt to retake the Enterprise.
"Fulfilling," Picard said, thinking of Robert. "Sometimes exasperating. But. . . it serves to bind a family. A united front against the progression of time."
"And what would your brother have thought of me, the real Picard?"
"I wouldn't know," Picard said coldly. "Robert is dead."
Clearly, the regent was prepared for that revelation. "You assassinated him?"
"He died in a fire," Picard said.
"Which you set, of course?"
Picard's jaw tightened. He still saw no point to these questions. "It was an accident."
The regent nodded sagely. "Clever. That's what I said when I killed my Robert. An accident. It was simpler that way. And his daughter? Your niece. What happened to her?"
Picard's hands became fists as he fought to remain unreactive in the face of this sadism. "Robert had a son. René. He died in the same fire."
The regent rubbed thoughtfully at the back of his head, making his long queue of hair sway back and forth. He appeared puzzled. "A son . . . a son . . . that's different. Your Robert, he married Louise?"
"His wife's name is . . . was Marie."
The regent gestured with empty hands. "Well, then, there you go. The universes continue to diverge. I can't be certain, but I would guess that whoever this . . . this Marie is, or was, in your universe, she doesn't exist in mine. So your brother's history is different here. Different children, different fates. Another few generations, and I doubt there will be any counterparts left. At least, among Terrans. Do you agree that's a likely progression?"
"Why am I—"
Picard never got a chance to finish the question, because the back of his counterpart's gloved hand smashed across his face.
"I did not give you permission to question me, Jean-Luc. Now answer my question. In three generations, will there or will there not be any counterparts left among the Terran race?"
As the pain faded from Picard's face, and he saw the spittle spray from his counterpart's lips, he realized in one chilling moment that he was no longer dealing with a sadistic soldier. He was facing someone who was truly insane—one whose next move even he might not be able to predict. No matter how much he and this creature outwardly resembled one another.
Carefully, Picard chose his words. "If the conditions you've described exist throughout your universe, I would say you were correct."
"Good! Good! You don't know how long I've been trying to make this point to the Alliance. If we want to invade this alternate reality, enslave its population, employ its technology, then we must act now!" The regent abruptly stepped closer to Picard to stroke his cheek with compassion. "Did I injure you? I could call a doctor."
"I'm fine." Picard kept his tone unemotional, but within he recoiled from his counterpart's touch. Invade Enslave. Whoever these people were, they weren't the self-absorbed Alliance described in the Deep Space Nine logs. These vandals wanted nothing more to do with their universe—and everything to do with his.
"That's the spirit," the regent said. He began to wander away again and as he turned his back, Picard risked meeting Teilani's gaze.
And in her dark eyes he saw the same terrible knowledge.
Their lives were in the hands of a madman.
"So . . . to continue, you killed your brother to gain control of the family shipping line," the regent said.
"With your permission, Regent," Picard said politely, "in my reality, the Picard family business is a vineyard."
"Really? How very interesting. In France, I take it?"
"That's right."
"Well, if there were still a France on Earth, no doubt that would have been my family business as well." He scratched at his chin, then stared at his right-hand glove as if seeing it for the first time. "Here, look at this. I know you'll appreciate it."
Picard watched in confusion as his counterpart peeled off his heavy Klingon glove, then held up the back of his right hand for Picard to examine.
There were three red scars there, as if something sharp had tried to rake the skin from the back of his counterpart's hand.
"It looks as if it was painful," Picard said noncommittally.
"Oh, it was, it was. She did the same to my face." He leaned forward to point to his lower left eyelid. "Nearly tore this off. I had a Vulcan healer restore it, though. Odd, those Vulcans. We destroyed their world and their culture, but if one of them is a doctor, they'll cure anyone."
Picard's counterpart shook his head at the absurdity of the universe, both of them. Then continued.
"But I had him leave the scars on the back of my hand. A souvenir of sorts." He looked directly at Picard. "From Beverly Crusher."
Picard stiffened. He had just seen Beverly a few minutes ago. She had seemed fine. But could it be possible that—
The regent waved his hand dismissively. "Not your Beverly Crusher. The real one. Honestly, Jean-Luc, you flatter yourself."
The regent moved back to Teilani, walked around her, hands behind his back. "My Beverly, ahh, there was a woman. Trained as an apprentice to a Vulcan healer. There were always suspicions about her, though. Was she working for the Terran resistance? Was she working for the Vulcan resistance? The smart Terrans always face that kind of innuendo.
"But I took a fancy to her. Saw there was something there. Unawakened passion. Fires only my love could provoke and quench. Like you and your Beverly, don't you think?"
Picard refused to give this monster any power over him. "I have no such relationship with Dr. Crusher."
The regent smiled archly. "That's what you say now. But if I brought her here, draped her in Argelian silks, held a disruptor to her head . . . I wonder what you'd say then, hmm?"
The regent moved as if to touch Teilani's scar again, but quickly withdrew his hand as she shifted stance to strike him. He smiled as if he enjoyed the game.
"Getting back to my Beverly. The moment I saw her in the camp, I had no doubt. She was going to be mine."
Picard felt momentarily sickened. Hadn't there been a time
in his past when he had thought exactly that of Beverly? That they would be together no matter what?
"So, I did what any young swain in love would do. I set out to win her. And, at first, it went well. I challenged Jack Crusher to a duel. Fought him to the death, and won, of course. All his possessions, including Beverly, then became mine. But. . . you know Beverly, single-minded to a fault, her pretty head full of her own ideas. She actually took some exceptions to the Alliance's property laws as they applied to Terrans."
The regent made a fist of his right hand, studied his own scars there. "I don't want to bore you, but I had to dispense with her, as well. On our wedding night, no less. At least, when it was over. I regretted it. I had been so certain I could win her over in time. But. . . you of all people will understand this, Jean-Luc, my honor was at stake, and I am a regent of the Klingon Dependencies. There're not a lot of Terrans who have risen to that station. I'm under a great deal of pressure."
Picard had had enough of this monster's rantings. He wanted no more knowledge of the hideously distorted reflection the mirror universe had become.
In his mind, he paced off the distance between himself and his counterpart. Three quick steps, a running leap, and then all he would have to do was unholster one disruptor before his counterpart could draw the other.
But without even looking at him, his counterpart said, "You'll never make it, Jean-Luc. And all that will happen is you'll get to watch me punish Teilani for your transgression. Very slowly and very thoroughly."
"Punish me?" Teilani said proudly. "You haven't even been able to put a hand on me since I came here. You're a coward, Regent. A pathetic Terran puppet whose masters only let him dress up in the uniform of a real warrior."
Picard saw the dark red blotches that rose to stain his counterpart's face as he drew a disruptorr.
"Teilani," Picard cautioned.
But the regent faced Picard instead of the woman. "Oh, don't worry, Jean-Luc. She still has her uses, alive. The Alliance has something quite special planned for the consort of Tiberius."
Then he swung his disruptor around to aim at Picard. "You, on the other hand, have no purpose to serve other than to amuse me. But you don't amuse me, anymore. You repel me."
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