Norinda and Nran left through one personnel door. The three Remans directed Picard and Joseph to another. Picard was intrigued to see that the guards had to duck their heads to step through the door. This facility had not been built with Remans in mind, but for Romulans.
The corridors here were also much different from the first ones Picard had encountered when he and La Forge had escaped with the help of Norinda and her mysterious mercenary—the apparently self-propelled suit of combat armor.
Picard still hadn’t reconciled those events with Norinda’s protestations of love and peace. The armored unit, or hollow robot as Picard was coming to consider it, had killed the Reman doctor—hardly the act of a follower of the Jolara. But if it had been a robot, little more than a tool, then perhaps Norinda hadn’t understood the nature of its programming.
Or maybe Norinda is simply lying about everything, Picard thought, then sighed, dismissing his paranoia with a wry smile.
“What’s so funny, Uncle Jean-Luc?”
Picard gazed down at the holographic child, remembered a phrase from his own childhood. “When you’re older.”
Joseph grinned maliciously. “Awww, geee, you always say that!” Then he began to skip along the corridor to join the guards and pester them with childish questions.
Picard passed door after door, none of them hidden as they had been on the nightside, many of them marked in Romulan script, which Picard regretted he did not have the skills to read properly.
He did recognize some engineering terms, though, and one door was clearly marked for orbital operations—likely the flight control room. But other doors seemed to be identified simply by numbers and a single icon, as if in code.
Then the Remans stopped before a specific door, and one of them operated a control pad on the wall beside it.
The door opened, and it was clear from their body language to Picard that the Remans wanted him and Joseph to step inside. The guards would not be following.
Picard had no choice but to trust Norinda, so he took Joseph’s hand and together they stepped inside where—
—Beverly Crusher ran into his arms and held him as closely as Kirk had held Joseph.
Picard was so startled, and suddenly so fearful that this was another of Norinda’s manifestations that he actually pulled away.
But when he saw Crusher’s expression of hurt surprise, he immediately regretted it, knew it was her.
“Jean-Luc, what’s wrong?”
Honesty was always best, no matter how strange, so Picard told her the truth. “There is an alien here who is a shapeshifter, and she once appeared to me as you.”
Crusher narrowed her eyes, put her hands on her hips. “Details, Jean-Luc.”
“It was for just a few seconds,” he said reassuringly.
“If ye don’t mind, I’ll just settle for shakin’ your hand, Captain Picard.”
Picard turned to see Mister Scott, hale and hearty. He shook the engineer’s hand with enthusiasm.
“This is a most unexpected and welcome surprise,” Picard said with great relief. “The last any of us had heard, you were both in need of extensive surgical treatment.”
“The Remans excel at repairing traumatic injury,” Crusher said. She ran a finger along her forehead and under her right eye. “I’ve seen the before and after imagery on my skull fracture, broken nose, and cheekbone. But look, not a scar.”
Scott tapped his jaw. “Same for me. Quick treatment. But no pretty nurses.”
Picard looked around the room they were in, and was surprised by how pleasant it was. In addition to a bookcase full of Romulan scrollbooks, through which Joseph now pawed, there were plants, several groupings of what looked to be comfortable furniture, and woven wall hangings, which Picard recognized as stunning examples of a Romulan craft style about a thousand years old. These were the furnishings he would expect in a senator’s country home on Romulus, not in an Assessor facility on Remus.
“When did you arrive?” he asked.
“This morning,” Crusher said.
“Aye, there were a crowd of others,” Scott added. “The Jolan people. But if you’ll pardon me interrupting, is there any word on the captain and the others?”
“Jim’s fine. We just left him back on the Calypso with La Forge.”
Scott grimaced. “Och, th’ poor lad’ll have his work cut out for him.”
“Actually, the ship’s in better shape than we thought. It’s a long story, but there’re no surprises up there.”
Crusher was in tune with him. “But surprises down here?”
“Many,” Picard said. “Each with an equally long story.”
“Which you will tell us another time, no doubt,” she said.
“No doubt at all.” Picard looked past her and Scott to see Joseph intently reading a scrollbook. “Joseph? You’re being rude not saying hello to your Uncle Scott and Doctor Crusher.”
“Sorrr-eee,” Joseph said, but he made no move to stop reading.
“Why is he down here?” Crusher asked.
“Aye, I thought the captain was dead set against th’ lad setting foot on Remus.”
Picard knew he couldn’t risk saying anything, or even hinting what the real story was. “It’s a favor to me. I’ll explain later.”
“Any idea when that might be?” Scott asked. “Have they said anything about how long they might be keeping us here?”
“I…would hope we’ll be back on the Calypso within the day.”
“That’s good to know,” Scott said.
“But why the delay?” Crusher asked.
“Norinda—she’s the woman, actually, she’s the shapeshifting alien who founded the Jolan Movement—she’s arranging a meeting for me. Then we’ll go.”
Scott scratched the back of his head. “Norinda…I know that name…but a shapechanger?”
Before Picard could remind Scott where he had first encountered Norinda, the door swung open, and a Romulan entered carrying a small silver case.
“Farr Jolan,” he said. “I am Zol. I am here to see the child.”
As if they had discussed what to do beforehand, the three adults turned to form a wall, shoulder to shoulder, blocking Zol from Joseph.
“For what reason?” Picard asked.
Zol placed his silver case on a table and opened it, as if there were nothing Picard or the others could say or do to keep him from Joseph. “I am here at the request of the Jolara.”
“I understand that,” Picard said. “But I ask again: What do you want with him?”
Zol held up a slender, silver object and made an adjustment to it. It looked familiar to Picard, but Crusher recognized it right away.
“That’s a blood extractor. Are you a physician?”
Zol took another instrument from his case, laid it out beside the first. “I am.”
“Well, so am I,” Crusher said. “And Joseph is my patient. And I absolutely forbid you to perform any procedures on him until you gain the consent of his father.”
“Consent has been given.”
“Show it to me.”
Zol gestured to Joseph, who now stood behind Picard, looking past him as if he were truly frightened. “The child is here.”
Picard had no intention of letting the Romulan anywhere near the holographic boy. “Joseph is here to meet his mother’s relatives and for no other reason.”
Zol approached the adults with a larger instrument in hand. “How are we to know his kin without having his genetic profile? You will stand aside.”
“I will not.”
Zol didn’t argue. He simply raised the instrument he carried and the moment Picard recognized it as a disruptor, Zol fired.
The setting was low stun, and Picard fell back onto a chair, gasping for breath, without the muscle coordination to stand. Two more quick shots took care of Crusher and Scott, and no one was able to shout at Joseph to run.
Joseph was doing his best to act the part and keep the Romulan away. He screamed in terror, threw every
object he could find—including Zol’s own medical case—and ran back and forth with speed that Picard could see bordered almost on the impossible.
Another doctor might have given up, affected by the child’s reaction. But Zol wasn’t that kind of being. Distress in others did not concern him.
So he did what Picard knew he would do.
He shot Joseph.
The disruptor blast made Joseph’s form shimmer, like a faulty holodeck image, and Picard saw Zol’s shocked reaction.
The disguised Doctor tried to cover for his mistake, spoke into his wrist as if he wore a communicator there, and shouted, “Beam me up!” A moment later, he disappeared in a curtain of light, as if he had been beamed away.
But Zol appeared to be prepared for that subterfuge, and immediately pulled a tricorder from his belt, scanned the room, and fired a wide burst.
Picard saw the sparkling outline of the Doctor take shape, as if he were a sculpture made of water.
Zol fired again, this time with pinpoint accuracy, hitting the one part of the Doctor that wasn’t illusory—his holoemitter, no larger than a combadge.
A flash of sparks burst from the small device, and the outline vanished as the holoemitter dropped straight to the floor.
Zol walked back to Picard, looked down on him with a sneer.
“Jolan True,” he said.
And then he left.
24
S.S. CALYPSO, REMUS, STARDATE 57488.2
Kirk enjoyed seeing Riker’s and Worf’s reaction to the bridge of the Calypso. They were both as aghast as he had been.
“This is not a Starfleet vessel,” Worf had grumbled.
“Is too,” Joseph had countered.
And then Worf had fixed the boy with a steely glare and growled, “Is not,” and that had been the end of the debate.
In the briefing that followed, Kirk was determined to bring together all the information the participants in this mission had previously kept compartmentalized. So La Forge again recounted, for Riker’s and Worf’s benefit, everything he and Picard had learned from Norinda about the Tal Shiar’s plans for war. Riker relayed Admiral Janeway’s analysis of the situation as established by Starfleet Intelligence. Kirk explained what he knew of Norinda’s first arrival in this galaxy.
And when they had shared all that they knew, Kirk could see that each of them, McCoy and Worf and even Joseph included, felt stronger, more secure. Stronger because, no longer in opposition with one another, they could now face the enemy together. More secure, because their stories fit together. They at last knew the truth.
But afterward, Riker still felt the need to take Kirk aside by the steps on the bridge. Kirk knew why, and asked McCoy to join them.
“Aren’t you feeling used?” Riker asked.
“By Starfleet?” Kirk said. “Always.”
“But Janeway sent you to search for the people who murdered Spock, even though Starfleet already had that information.”
“No, they didn’t,” Kirk said.
McCoy supplied more explanation. “Jim means Starfleet might have known the group responsible—the Tal Shiar—but they didn’t and still don’t know the individuals who did it. Those are the people we have to find.”
Riker shook his head, still conflicted. “But Starfleet’s going to make a deal with the Tal Shiar,” he said. “At least, the captain is going to attempt it.” He studied Kirk closely. “If I was asked to be part of a mission to negotiate with the murderers of someone close to me, I don’t think I could do it.”
Kirk pitied and envied Riker’s relative youth—the passion of a freshly minted starship captain. “The deal Jean-Luc wants to make with the Tal Shiar isn’t to reward them, Will. It’s a way to contain and diminish them. Is it the best way? I don’t know. But what’s important, and what Spock would want, is that Starfleet isn’t turning a blind eye to what happened.”
Kirk put his hand on Riker’s shoulder, as if giving a benediction. “You’re a starship captain, not a god. There are going to be times when you won’t be able to find solutions for the problems you face; you’ll only be able to choose directions that someday, maybe, if you’re lucky, will take you where you want to go. I think even Jean-Luc would agree with me that most of the times, it’s the journey that’s important, not the destination.”
Riker’s quick smile was infectious. “And the rest of the time, it’s the waiting, right?”
“Until you’re my age,” McCoy said. “Then it’s all waiting.”
As the men laughed, their discussion over, Joseph apparently deemed the moment right to hold Riker to his promise.
“Captain Riker—can you show me your yacht now?”
“Is that how you got here?” Kirk asked sharply. “Captain’s yacht? Not a shuttle?”
Riker grinned. “The yacht can do warp nine. Rank hath its privileges.”
But Kirk didn’t share Riker’s levity. “Weren’t you challenged?”
“I filed a flight plan from Latium. I was already in Romulan space.”
Riker hadn’t understood the point of his question. Kirk quickly made it clearer.
“We’re a civilian ship,” he said, “and we had to hold position at the Neutral Zone, at gunpoint, until we were escorted here. A captain’s yacht is not a diplomatic vessel—it’s a nicely appointed troop carrier. I don’t see how the Romulans let you into their home system without firing a shot across your bow.”
Kirk had gotten Riker’s attention. Riker swirled the liquid in his coffee cup, thinking. “Maybe the difference was…you originally had a flight plan for Romulus, and mine was for Remus.”
“So all of a sudden the Romulans don’t care who shows up around their sister planet?” Kirk asked.
Now even McCoy looked thoughtful, trying to make sense of the idea that the Romulans, renowned for their paranoia and sense of intrigue, apparently saw no need for either in Reman space.
“In fact, gentlemen,” Kirk continued, “when you think about it, if the Tal Shiar are planning to take action against Remus, then they’d have to be watching every ship arrival and departure here. Because if their enemies have discovered their plans, this is where and when an enemy would take action to stop them.”
“And here we are,” McCoy said slowly, “an abandoned Federation-registry vessel allowed to remain on orbit, and a Starfleet captain’s yacht docked with us…and no one’s even been by to shine a searchlight on our hull.”
“It is as if we’re being deliberately ignored,” Riker added.
Kirk didn’t agree. “Ignored? Highly unlikely, especially among Romulans.”
“Or else,” Riker offered, “they already know all about us, and know we aren’t a threat.”
But Kirk pointed out the flaw in that reasoning, too. “There’s only one way anyone could know who we are and what we’re doing here, Will. Instead of Norinda’s Jolan Movement having infiltrated the Tal Shiar, the Tal Shiar has infiltrated them.”
McCoy intervened abruptly. “I hate to use this kind of language, but if that’s true, then…then logic dictates everything Norinda has told us about the Tal Shiar and their plans is a lie, unknowingly, or otherwise.”
“Which means,” Kirk said, “we’ve just gone from having all the information about what’s going on here, to having none of it, in less than five minutes.”
Their somber and discouraging realization was interrupted by La Forge calling out from communications. “Captain Kirk! We’re getting a hail. It’s Norinda.”
Kirk reached out to rub his son’s head, thinking with a guilty start that his young son had again perhaps heard more than he needed to. “Sorry, Joseph. Captain Riker’s tour has to wait. And you have to stand way over there by Geordi and keep out of sight.”
When Joseph was dutifully beyond the range of the bridge’s visual imagers, Kirk called down to La Forge, “On screen.”
Norinda appeared in the center viewscreen on the forward bulkhead. The banks of exotic, multihued flowers behind her strongly reminded Kir
k of the greenhouse deck of her ship, where they had first met in person. If she had chosen the backdrop for that reason, she’d done so in vain. He was immune to such nostalgia now.
“Listen carefully, Kirk.” Norinda’s tone was cold, implacable. “We discovered your deception. Steps—”
“What deception?” Kirk interrupted as innocently as he could.
“The holographic replica of your child.”
“What? That’s impossible. You think I don’t know my own son?”
Norinda’s voice hardened. “Steps are being taken to punish Picard, and Crusher, and Scott. However—”
“Harm them and I’ll—”
This time, Norinda cut him off. “However! They will be returned to you, and Picard will be free to contact the Tal Shiar, once you have sent T’Kol T’Lan down to me—to learn of his true heritage on Remus. In exchange, I offer you the lives of Picard and your friends and the billions of others who will be drawn into the civil war. In nineteen minutes, your ship’s orbit will bring you within transporter range of the Jolan Segment. Beam down T’Kol T’Lan then, or everyone dies.” She pressed a control off-screen. “Transmitting coordinates. Nineteen minutes.”
Norinda’s image winked off the screen, replaced by a forward sensor view of Remus, the terminator on the horizon, the dayside glowing brilliantly beyond.
Kirk was left staring into the expanding field of light, and slowly he became aware that everyone on the bridge was waiting for the captain to give the word; fearing that the father would be unable to do so.
But what the others didn’t understand, Kirk knew, was that this was not a decision that belonged only to him.
“Joseph,” Kirk said.
His son stood up beside La Forge. “Yes, sir.”
Kirk chose his words carefully. “Did you understand what that woman said?”
Joseph chewed his lip for a moment, troubled. “If I don’t beam down, then she’s going to hurt Uncle Jean-Luc, and Uncle Scotty, and Doctor Crusher. And there’s going to be a war.”
Captain's Blood Page 24
