“I am not aware of having chosen death over love in the past.”
“On the mountainside, you could have chosen Saavik.”
Spock narrowed his eyes. Whoever this woman was, he was beginning to suspect she wasn’t Romulan after all.
“That was an illusion.”
“No,” the woman argued. “It was sensory input directly fed to your brain, indistinguishable from those signals processed by your own eyes and ears, pressure receptors, olfactory nerves, pleasure centers.”
“Except,” Spock pointed out carefully, “the situation itself was not logical, and thus unreal.”
The woman shook her head as if confused. “Love and logic?”
Spock was utterly baffled by the conversation. “Madam, am I to understand that you have abducted me for philosophical reasons, not political ones?”
“Ambassador, I have abducted you to save you. To save Romulus and Remus. To save Vulcan. The Federation. The Klingon Empire. The four galactic quadrants, all worlds known and unknown. Life itself.”
Spock’s logical decision tree underwent a sudden pruning as he realized the woman was insane.
“Save us from what?” he asked politely.
She smiled sadly at him, as if she saw through his attempt to humor her. “From your loneliness. From your despair. From your…ignorance of the true reality of existence.”
Spock had dealt with fanatics before. Indeed, it was remarkable that the unsettled conditions on Romulus had not resulted in many more irrational movements achieving prominence.
The secret, he knew, was not to challenge a fanatic’s beliefs, but to gently inquire about them, showing one to be open to enlightenment, encouraging the fanatic to see a chance to bring another into the fold.
“You speak of things I do not understand,” Spock said, “and it is not my intent to cause offense. But may I ask, with respect, what the true reality of existence is?”
For a moment, Spock could see that his tactic worked exactly as he had planned. The woman’s smile transformed, going from a pained and solemn expression to beatific transcendence.
She reached out to stroke his cheek, as if blessing him.
Spock waited for her to define the nature of her insanity, confident he could then work within her belief system to achieve his freedom.
“Ambassador,” she said softly, “the true reality of existence is everything that is around you, that you do not see.”
Spock blinked as it seemed her hand, so close to his face, had gone out of focus. He concluded his eyes were dry. He made his inner eyelids slide out to better lubricate his corneas, but when his vision cleared, her hand was even less distinct, as if it were dissolving into something black and formless.
“The true reality of existence,” she said, “is the Totality.”
And with that single word, Spock knew.
“Norinda…” he said in a strangled gasp as the breakdown of the woman’s hand continued, dissolving into small black cubes that dissolved again into smaller cubes, and smaller, until what had once been her flesh roiled like a cloud of dust.
“Good,” Norinda whispered seductively. “You remember.”
Then the living dust swept into Spock’s nostrils and past his lips to suffocate him far more efficiently than any Reman soldier could, and he faced death once more at the hands of a woman he had met more than a century ago, and whatever she was, she was anything but insane.
8
S.S. CALYPSO, STARDATE 57483.3
On the cramped passenger deck of the Calypso, Picard paused at the small metal door of his cabin, quickly looked up and down the narrow, conduit-lined corridor to check for any unwanted observers, then carefully ran his finger along the edge of the door’s upper surface.
He felt the delicate ridge of the tiny thread he had left there ten minutes earlier, when he had left to use the shared sonic shower and head. That meant his cabin had not been entered. He was safe from Joseph for another day. Or, at least, another few hours.
Picard placed his palm against the security lock and the cabin door clicked open. He stepped inside, remembering to duck his head. A week ago, on the first day of this voyage, the first two times he had stepped inside his cabin he had banged his head, the second time hard enough to require Beverly to use a plaser to reduce the swelling. But after that jarring reminder, he had finally learned his lesson.
And the truth was, he enjoyed it.
The cabin, one of the ship’s two VIP suites according to Admiral Janeway, was barely four meters long and three meters across, and had been intended for two passengers, with fold-down bunks, a small desk and smaller wall cabinet, most of its storage space already filled with two emergency vacuum suits. And the whole cabin fairly resonated with the constant drone of the Cochrane generators only four decks below.
Even as a cadet on survival training missions to Charon, Picard had not had quarters as minuscule and as austere as this. But after decades on starships with broad, well-lit corridors, plush carpet, anti-noise technology, gymnasiums, theaters, concert halls, even social lounges, the conditions on this small ship brought back something Picard suddenly realized had been missing from his life and his career—the romance of space travel.
Over the years, he had undertaken the obligatory holorecreations of the early days of exploration beyond the Earth. He had spent three days in an Apollo command module and landed at Tranquility Base with Neil Armstrong. He’d spent a week—all the time he could spare one vacation—on the Ares, living and working with its crew on their five-month voyage to Mars. And he had hot-bunked with the crew of Jonathan Archer’s Enterprise as that fabled ship had made humanity’s first harrowing foray into the Delphic Expanse.
And each time he had emerged from those pioneering adventures, he had felt an indefinable sense of loss.
But not on this ship.
He only wished his reasons for being here were more positive. If not for young Joseph Kirk keeping all the adults on their toes, the entire voyage thus far would have been little more than a somber, weeklong funeral service.
Picard pulled his oversized civilian communicator from the pocket of his terry robe, then switched off the robe’s current, making its fibers lose their repelling charge and thus collapse in on themselves so that the robe took less storage space. Children, he realized, were the force that kept death at bay. Was it wrong of him to think that this late in his life, they might still be an option for him and—
The annunciator chimed.
Picard smiled, knew who it was. “Yes?” he called out.
But instead of Joseph’s voice, he heard another.
“Jean-Luc—it’s Jim.”
Picard tugged on his trousers and a large, burgundy sweater. “Just a moment,” he said. Then he slipped his communicator under the pillow of the undisturbed top bunk, and straightened the thin blanket and sheets of his lower bunk.
The door wasn’t automatic and required him to physically release its latch from the inside.
Kirk was waiting for him, one arm braced against the bulkhead. The engine noise was louder in the corridor. “Is this a good time?” Kirk asked.
“Certainly,” Picard said, and stood to the side so Kirk could duck down and step in. He pointed to the small stool wedged under the desk. “Pull up a chair.”
Kirk tugged the three-legged stool with its triangular seat from under the desk, was just about to sit down when Picard suddenly stopped him.
“On second thought, let me check it.” Picard ran his hand over the seat, felt around the edges.
Kirk watched in amusement. “Let me guess, your enemies are everywhere.”
Picard slid the stool back to Kirk, pronouncing it safe. “Not enemies. Your son. Pressure sensors that emit certain embarrassing sounds have been known to spontaneously appear on seating surfaces.”
Kirk laughed as he sat down. “What’s the latest?”
“Short-sheeting is still his favorite,” Picard said as he sat on the edge of the bunk. “If it�
��s funny once, it’s twice as funny the second time.”
“I heard about the antigrav in the cupboard.”
Picard couldn’t help smiling at that one. “Very inventive.” He had opened his cupboard only to have everything inside suddenly leap out at him as if mounted on springs, because Joseph had set an antigrav unit on the cupboard floor with a delay timer on the switch. “The clothes I could take. But the evac suits unfolded and came at me like very skinny alien attackers.”
“I think he had help with that one.”
“I think he’s had help with all his pranks. Geordi and Scotty his chief co-conspirators, I would say.”
“I could tell him to stop,” Kirk offered.
But Picard shook his head. “And spoil my plans for revenge?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Picard leaned back, nodded. “It’s making me nostalgic for my Academy days. If I had expended half the creative thought I applied to practical jokes toward my studies, I’d probably have been Fleet Admiral by thirty-five. How about you?”
Kirk shrugged. “Actually…I was never really involved in, uh, extracurricular activities.” He smiled sheepishly. “At least, not that kind.”
“Well, your son is as delightful as he is a nuisance. You should be proud of him.”
Kirk nodded. “Immensely.”
The two old friends looked down at the thin beige carpeting on the deck as the silence grew awkward between them.
Picard broke first. “I’m going to guess that you didn’t come here to check on how your son was treating me.”
“In less than an hour we’ll be through the Neutral Zone.”
Picard nodded. “And we haven’t been challenged once.”
Kirk chewed his bottom lip, as if judging how to proceed. “Makes me think that someone knows we’re coming.”
“That goes without saying. This must be the most public espionage mission Starfleet has ever launched. The Romulan Fleet has been alerted of our arrival by Starfleet Command, by the Federation Diplomatic Mission, by the Vulcan government, and our own navigation beacon.” Picard saw the shadow of concern in Kirk’s eyes. “What is it, Jim?”
“I came into this knowing there would be two different agendas—mine, and Starfleet’s. I have no trouble with that.”
“But…?” Picard said.
“Admiral Janeway…”
“A very persuasive officer…”
“She left me with the strong impression that there was a third agenda. A mission I wasn’t to be told about.”
Picard reached back into that part of his mind that still retained the influence of Spock’s father, Sarek. It helped him keep his expression composed, made it easier to lie to Kirk. “If there is, I’m not aware of it.”
Kirk kept his eyes on Picard, long enough for Picard to begin to feel uncomfortable. “We’ve been through a lot together, Jean-Luc.”
“Indeed, we have.”
“My son is on this ship.”
Picard forced all thought of Joseph from his mind, especially the conversation he had had with Janeway just before boarding the Calypso.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Picard said, “and as far as Starfleet’s concerned, this is a fact-finding mission. Nothing more. None of us are in danger. Otherwise, Starfleet would never have allowed Joseph to be on board.”
“Then what else is Janeway up to?”
Picard tried to deflect the question. “You’re certain she’s up to something?”
“Haven’t you ever been lied to by a superior officer?”
Picard knew he had to get Kirk off this topic soon. “Starfleet officers don’t lie, Jim. They might not share all that they know, but that’s a matter of security protocols and our ‘need to know.’ ”
Kirk gave a tight smile, lightly bounced his fist on the narrow desktop beside him. “Starfleet officers don’t lie…” He sighed. “Look at this ship we’re in, Jean-Luc. On the outside, a sixty-year-old hunk of junk, with mismatched hullplates, three sensor grids down, and an out-of-balance impulse drive. But on the inside, a warp core lifted from a Defiant- class vessel, an undetectable, distributed phaser system that could put a dent in your Enterprise, and shields that could probably let us punch a hole through a main-sequence star. What is this ship but a Starfleet lie?”
“This ship is different, Jim.”
But Kirk shook his head, gave a more forceful punch to the desktop to emphasize his words. “No it’s not, and this is why. This ship is designed to fool people outside of Starfleet. So even if I accept that Starfleet officers never lie to other Starfleet personnel, can you honestly tell me that for the sake of the mission, a Starfleet officer would never lie to a civilian?”
Picard respected Kirk too much to argue the point with him. “Which, of course, you are.”
“ ’Captain’ Kirk,” Kirk said dismissively. “My last rank. An honorary title. A show of respect. But I’m still a civilian. And I still think I’m the only one on this ship who doesn’t know all the reasons why we’re going to Romulus.”
“Jim, if there is a third mission, you’re not the only one who doesn’t know about it. I don’t, either.”
Picard could see that Kirk wasn’t convinced. “Which means Starfleet somehow bypassed its greatest starship captain—” Kirk suddenly flashed a smile. “—let’s make that, its greatest starship captain still on active duty, and put the responsibility of a critical espionage mission in the hands of…” Kirk held out his hands questioningly. “…Doctor Crusher? Commander La Forge? Surely not Scotty or McCoy, they’re civilians now, fair game for…misdirection.”
Picard tried another tack. “Though I have no firsthand knowledge of anything you’re suggesting, I admit it is possible that Will or Worf might have knowledge of another mission.”
But Kirk didn’t accept that, either. “Will and Worf are back on the Titan, trailing us by ten light-years, with orders to stay well outside the Romulus system.”
“But they are accompanying us with a cover story of their own,” Picard reminded Kirk. “Since the coup, Will has served as a key negotiator in many of the discussions the Romulans have had with the Federation. The Romulans do prefer soldiers to diplomats.”
“Jean-Luc, I’m going to be blunt. Have you lied to me about your mission?”
Picard kept his eyes locked on Kirk’s. “No.”
“Have you been instructed to lie to me?”
“Janeway would know better than that.”
“Have you?”
“No, Jim.”
Kirk suddenly went from displaying the demeanor of a stern officer, to that of a nervous parent hiding nothing.
“Because I could take it, Jean-Luc. I could understand. But when it comes to my child…my son…if he’s put in danger by whatever Janeway alluded to, then…friendship aside, you’re going to have to watch your back.”
Picard wanted to admit everything, bring Kirk into the total mission, but like Kirk, Picard had a clear dividing line between friendship and the one thing that was more important. To Kirk, it was Joseph. To Picard, it was his duty.
“I understand, Jim. And your concerns won’t be necessary.”
“Okay,” Kirk said. “Okay. I said what I needed to say.”
“And I accept it.”
Kirk stood up, held out his hand. “I liked it better when we were on vacation.”
Picard ignored Kirk’s hand, pulled his friend close for a hug of support. “I didn’t. I still have nightmares.”
“About orbital skydiving?”
“About you being eaten by a Bajoran sea monster.”
Kirk’s expression told Picard he was just filling time, now. He had gotten the information he required, or at least had concluded he had gotten all the information Picard was going to make available right now.
“See you on the bridge in an hour?” Kirk asked. “Should be interesting.”
“I’ll be there.”
Kirk nodded, at once eager to leave, reluctant to go
. “Thank you, Jean-Luc.”
Picard patted his friend’s shoulder as Kirk left. Then he closed the door, latched it, and waited in case Kirk had one last question to ask.
Picard gave him a minute.
Nothing.
He went back to the upper bunk, pulled his civilian communicator out from under the pillow, held his thumb to the battery slot till he heard an inner mechanism click, then twisted the back off the device and pried out the smaller, triangular-shaped object within.
He put the object on the deck, sat back on his bunk.
“He’s gone,” Picard said.
The small object leapt into the air and then locked into a fixed position, apparently floating unsupported less than two meters off the deck.
A moment later, the air shimmered as the circuitry in the tiny holoemitter came online. A moment after that, the holographic doctor, late of the Starship Voyager, took solid form, absolutely indistinguishable from reality.
“You heard what we discussed?” Picard asked.
The Doctor had the surprising decency to look uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“I don’t like it,” Picard said.
The Doctor snorted. “Would you rather spend a week locked up in the back of a communicator?”
“As I understand it, you have the capacity to create virtual environments at will. You are your own holodeck.”
“It still leaves me talking to myself. Not that I’m not fascinating company.”
“What are we going to do?”
“About Kirk?”
“He obviously suspects something.”
“Captain Picard, I’ve read his service record. The man distrusts anything that wears a Starfleet uniform. His best friend is dead. Murdered. He’s concerned for his son. I heard nothing he said, detected no untoward tension that is not completely understandable in terms of the stress he’s enduring. Don’t worry about him. He trusts you.”
“And I am betraying that trust.”
“No, Captain, you are not. You are showing respect by not troubling him with…petty details.”
“Interplanetary war is not what I would characterize as a ‘petty detail.’ ”
“It can be,” the Doctor said with unexpected compassion. “If you’ve lost your best friend. If you’re concerned for your child.”
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