They had been so focused on Data, Crusher hadn’t paid attention to the comm.
The screen showed a beach dotted with tide pools, the waves calm and steady. Lavender water, a rich purple sky.
“Bluster Beach?” Crusher asked. “Where the initial attack took place?”
“Yes,” Malisson said flatly.
“That’s what I was trying to explain,” Riker said. “Data reacted to whatever the comm was doing.”
Malisson stared at the screen, reached over, and turned it off. “I’ll see if I can make sense of this.”
Crusher found Data’s off switch again and pressed down hard. Immediately she had the sense of life coursing through him. His fingers twitched. His eyes opened.
“Doctor Crusher,” he said. “What happened?”
Crusher took one long, thankful breath. “I don’t know, Data. I just don’t know.”
22
“Shields up. Red alert,” Worf ordered.
The lighting shifted as the red-alert lights turned on. Standing up, Worf ordered, “Open a channel. This is Lieutenant Worf commanding the Federation Starship Enterprise. Deactivate your cloak, drop out of warp, and prepare to be boarded.”
“Ship is decloaking,” Officer Szczepinski said from the tactical station. Then, a second later: “The ship is responding.”
“On-screen.”
A Romulan woman filled the main viewscreen. Troi saw the same Romulan woman that she had seen in Virox’s memories. High cheekbones, angled eyebrows, and long, sleek dark hair wound up in a thick braid tossed across her shoulder.
Troi caught Worf’s eye and nodded.
“What the hell do you want?” she snapped. “I have permission to be in this sector. Just sent it over.”
Worf wasn’t as suited to diplomacy as the captain. Troi could feel the tension, his annoyance with the Romulan surging up inside him.
“Confirmed, sir,” said Szczepinski. “Her name is Thuvetha. She’s a merchant delivering medical supplies.”
Thuvetha offered them a cold smile. “I’m sure the Romulan government will be very interested in hearing that Starfleet is stopping an authorized merchant.”
“You were cloaked, a suspicious action for an ‘authorized merchant,’ ” Worf said. “We’re investigating a kidnapping. The victim states that her kidnapper was a Romulan woman.”
Thuvetha’s expression gave nothing away. But Troi could sense her caution, her—not fear, not exactly, but something… the need to protect a secret.
“I’m only guilty of being a Romulan,” she said.
“Why would an authorized merchant carrying medical supplies need to be cloaked?”
“Orions.” She smirked.
“Really?” Worf was getting agitated, but he was doing a good job of hiding it. Troi could feel his frustration bubbling underneath the surface.
“Really.” Thuvetha narrowed her eyes.
Troi knew of Worf’s disdain for every Romulan.
“Do you have any evidence to detain me?” Thuvetha asked coolly.
Worf glanced at Troi. The commander stood up, her heart hammering inside her chest. “Yes,” she said.
For half a second, Thuvetha’s face flashed with a wild, unbridled panic, intense enough that Troi felt it reverberate down her spine. The Romulan recovered quickly, but not quickly enough.
“Aviana Virox showed me the face of her kidnapper,” Troi said. “It was you.”
The viewscreen showed only stars.
“What happened?” Worf asked.
“She cut the transmission. Warp nine, sir.” Szczepinski shook his head. “I don’t know how that’s possible. It’s an old merchant vessel. They aren’t capable of that speed.”
“We’ll worry about the how later,” Worf said. “Follow her. Lock onto her warp engines. Be prepared to fire if necessary.”
The Enterprise jumped to warp, matching the Romulan’s speed.
Thuvetha’s ship had not raised its cloak, and it looked like a green smear. Sitting back down, Worf glared at the viewscreen. Thuvetha’s ship was getting smaller.
“A decades-old merchant vessel,” Troi observed.
“With an advanced warp engine.” Worf stared at the viewscreen. “How long?”
“She’s pulling ahead,” announced Szczepinski.
Worf ground his teeth together.
“She’s cloaked.” Szczepinski studied his readouts. “Initiating tachyon sweep. I don’t… I’ve got her.”
Worf said, “Get a lock on her, and plot possible destinations.”
“Yes, sir.”
How was the Enterprise was falling behind?
“Lieutenant,” Worf demanded.
“I’ve lost her again,” Szczepinski said. “Wait.” He swiped through his controls. Troi held her breath. “Got her, sir. There’s only one place she could be headed.” He looked straight at Worf. “Issaw II.”
* * *
“I demand to speak to that Romulan ambassador. Get him now.”
Picard let the door swing shut behind him and found himself staring into the angry face of yet another Betazoid. He didn’t recognize him. Somehow the House leaders, who had been listening to the communications with Ambassador Hakruth, had multiplied.
“Sir, that isn’t possible right now,” Picard said with as much benevolence as he could muster.
“Isn’t possible?” The Betazoid threw up his hands, nearly hitting Picard in the face with a fluttering flag of purple sleeves. “Isn’t possible? Who were you speaking to just now?”
“Lord Oreste!” Lwaxana’s voice sailed over the din. How had this conference room gotten so crowded? Picard inched back toward a door. It led into a closet that had been converted into a communications station, and it was small, hot, and airless. A welcome refuge right now.
“Lwaxana.” Oreste tossed the draping sleeves of his dress coat back behind himself with a flourish as he turned to greet her. “This… person is refusing to allow me to speak to the Romulan ambassador!”
“As well he should.” Lwaxana swept up and slipped her arm into Picard’s, pulling him back into the room. “We’ve already determined this is not a matter to discuss with the Romulan government officials.”
“How could that be?” cried Oreste. “Jarkko and Enni and the entire Third House are already talking about preparing for war!”
“Jarkko and Enni are terrible gossips,” Lwaxana said. “Literally. They are terrible gossips; none of their information is up to date.” She smiled. “Let’s speak to Auni Kazmera. She can tell you everything.”
And with that, she flung open the door to the communications room and pushed Oreste in.
“I never liked him,” Lwaxana said when the door swung shut. “Far too ostentatious for his own good.”
Picard looked at her sideways, trying to keep his thoughts to himself.
Lwaxana dragged the captain out of the conference room and onto the balcony overlooking the temple floor. “My apologies for intruding uninvited.” She looked at him, her dark eyes deep and intense. “You can talk to me, Jean-Luc.”
Picard sighed. The communication with his away team had ended so abruptly: freezing and fragmenting until it cut off. Picard didn’t have a full picture of what they were facing. A threat of total system failure, he’d gotten that much. Then, the request for immediate extraction. They couldn’t be under attack; Will had said they could survive for a few more days.
“Jean-Luc?” Lwaxana said gently.
Picard pulled himself out of his thoughts. “I have an away team helping out a Starfleet science team,” he said. “And they seem to be in some sort of danger. The transmitter cut out before they could give me the details.” He paused. “They requested an extraction.”
Lwaxana nodded along to his words. “You’re worried about them.” She smiled. “No, I’m not reading you. I can see it on your face.”
“They’re experiencing some kind of equipment malfunction. I’m concerned for their safety.”
“Who’s
commanding the mission?” Lwaxana said.
Picard softened a little. “Will Riker.”
“Oh, Will!” Lwaxana clapped her hands together. “I always liked him.” She beamed. “They’ll be fine.”
“Captain’s burden. I’m worried about how much worse it might get.”
Lwaxana stepped closer to him. For a moment, Picard was sure she was about to say one of her usual outlandish things. But instead she asked, “Did my daughter ever tell you the story of Xiomara?”
“Excuse me?” It took him a moment to place the name: Xiomara. The reason for all this madness. “No, she didn’t.”
Lwaxana tsked softly. “Well, she should have. Once you accepted the position of High Guest—but I digress.”
“I felt I got the gist of it from the performance before the—” Picard wasn’t sure what to call it. “Incident.”
“Oh, no.” Lwaxana waved her hand. “Sildar took quite a few artistic licenses in the choreography.” She drew herself up, straightening her shoulders. “The performance was all about the founding of the Houses. He had to do that, to keep the House leaders happy.”
Picard snorted a little.
“Yes, exactly. You see how they are.” Lwaxana tossed the loose curls of her hair over her shoulder. “But the real story is in the treasures. Xiomara was a Betazed leader over a thousand years ago. Before we made it into space.” Lwaxana flicked her wrist with a flourish. “Her rule was under threat from a rival leader, and she was preparing for war. And then the unthinkable happened.”
“She lost her telepathic ability,” Picard said, thinking back to the flashes of the performance he had seen backstage: swirling dancers, the constant fluttering curtains. A backdrop to a robbery that threw the celebration to a halt.
“Yes. How could Xiomara lead her armies into battle if she could not communicate with them?” Lwaxana shook her head. “Was she supposed to use words? In those days, it was unthinkable that a woman of her standing should speak. Her armies would never have obeyed her commands.”
“I’m glad you no longer hew to that custom,” Picard told her.
“Well, of course not!” Lwaxana said. “We are part of the Federation. But this was long ago.”
Picard nodded.
“However, Xiomara was a clever woman. Like all Betazoid women.” Lwaxana winked and Picard felt his face pink in spite of himself. “She knew she couldn’t march on her rival. Instead, she sent an emissary to challenge the rival to a contest of wits.”
“A contest of wits when she’s at a clear disadvantage?”
“It seems so, doesn’t it?” Lwaxana’s dark eyes glittered. “No one who had lost their telepathic powers would do such a thing. Which is exactly why she did it: to stave off the rumors that would follow if she refused to fight her rival.” She looked up at Picard. “A traditional Betazoid battle of wits is fought by pitting one’s mind against another’s.” Lwaxana shook her head in disgust. “A brutal, disturbing affair. It usually ends with the loser going mad.”
“I’ve read about it,” Picard said.
Lwaxana laughed. “Do you think we would celebrate anyone who drove her opposition mad? No, Xiomara saw the battle as an opportunity to flex her wits in another way: by faking her telepathy.”
Picard was amused in spite of himself.
Lwaxana continued. “The day arrived. Her rival traveled into Xiomara’s land with a great deal of pomp and circumstance. Giant feathered callowbirds draped with jewels, dresses with fifteen-foot trains, and so on. Xiomara came out to greet her rival in a simple white serving dress, carrying a platter of butter cakes that she had prepared herself.”
Butter cakes. Sh’yan had been eating one before the performance, a thick golden disk dripping with honey. “I’ve had one,” he said.
“Oh, yes, every vendor was competing to be named the best,” Lwaxana said. “But it’s not the butter cakes that are the important part of this story. Xiomara was dressed as an attendant because, in those days, attendants and leaders would not interact directly.”
“Ah,” Picard said. “I see. So the rival would be thrown off.”
“Exactly!” Lwaxana’s smile deepened. “Xiomara had one of her most trusted attendants dress in her clothing and communicate with her rival. That attendant went on to become the founder of the Third House, and was given the platter on which Xiomara served the cakes.”
“The Enshrined Disk,” Picard gasped. “It’s a serving platter?”
“It was hand carved by artisans,” Lwaxana said, rather defensively.
“Anyway, the rival demanded to know how they could possibly have a battle of wits when Xiomara wouldn’t communicate with her directly. The attendant, acting on Xiomara’s coaching, deflected the challenge back at the rival. What are you so afraid of? Don’t think you’re strong enough to get through me? And so on. Taunting.”
“And?” Picard asked.
“Now, there was a great deal of ceremony whenever someone requested a battle of wits—”
“To be expected,” Picard said.
“—Xiomara used that to her advantage. She found an old urn that had been gathering dust. During the ceremony, she swapped out her old urn with the beautiful, delicate urn that her rival had brought to make her offerings to the old gods of Betazed. With the help of her attendant, they convinced her rival that her beautiful urn had been transformed into an old, rusted one by the gods themselves.”
“It was my understanding,” Picard said slowly, “that Betazoids don’t see the point of lying.”
“Well, why should we?” Lwaxana gave him a stern look and then started to laugh. “But Xiomara had no choice! This was a battle of wits. There were no draws. Someone had to win.” She wrinkled her nose. “The past can be distasteful.”
“I agree.”
“Now,” Lwaxana said, “that urn came to be known as the—”
“The Hallowed Urn of Rus’xi,” Picard finished. “Because she gave it to Rus’xi as a dowry. I remember that from the ceremony.”
“So that leaves us with one last item.” Lwaxana grinned devilishly. “The most important of them all. The Sacred Silver of Xiomara. It is, in reality, a spoon. It’s a fragile, flimsy spoon,” Lwaxana explained. “Practically worthless for eating with, but it had a curious property.”
Picard raised an eyebrow.
“It glows,” said Lwaxana. “If that dreadful Romulan hadn’t stolen it, you would have seen it glowing during the unveiling. We understand now that the reason for the glowing is because the metal it had been forged with was tainted with iclonide—”
“So it glows when heat is applied to it,” Picard said.
Lwaxana nodded. “But at the time, the Betazoids hadn’t yet discovered the properties of iclonide. Things simply didn’t glow. During the ceremonial dinner, Xiomara swapped out her spoon, so that when she began to eat her soup, it looked as if she were holding starlight in her hand.”
“Let me guess,” Picard said wryly. “Her attendant claimed she had been chosen by the gods?”
“Of course. And at that point, the rival decided that she simply could not engage Xiomara in a battle of wits. Xiomara was too powerful—so powerful, in fact, that she lived as an attendant rather than risk harming her subjects with the power behind her thoughts. The gods were warning the rival off, and she signed a treaty right then and there. Eventually that led to the formation of the Fifth House.” Lwaxana touched her chest humbly. “Of which I am a descendant. But that is a different story.”
Picard laughed. It was the easiest he’d ever felt in Lwaxana’s presence. He realized with a start that he had been so involved in learning what happened that he had, just for the few moments it took her to tell the story, allowed himself to forget about Kota, the Enterprise, and the Romulan, and simply relax.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said. “I can— Well, I can see where Troi gets her talent for counseling now.”
“Oh, Jean-Luc! What an odd compliment. And thank you.” She stood up, sm
oothing down the lines of her dress. “You should share it with your team on Kota, when you get through to them. We all need a reminder sometimes that we can exist without those things we take for granted.” She tapped her temple. “Like telepathy. Or Starfleet’s technology.”
“An important thing to remember,” Picard said softly.
“Your people will be fine until the extraction,” Lwaxana said. “They are yours, after all.” She held out her hand, her nails painted a shimmery gold. “Now, let’s go back out into the conference room and convince the House leaders we have everything under control.”
23
It looks so much like Betazed, doesn’t it? Aviana Virox turned away from the port. When Troi had come to update her on their progress, she found the House leader watching the planet as they entered orbit.
Most Class-M planets do. Troi sat down beside the House leader and looked out at Issaw II. The surface was a swirl of green and blue, brown and white. More blue than green.
Are they down there? Virox asked, and an image of the three treasures flashed in Troi’s mind.
We don’t know, Troi thought. But that’s our working theory.
Virox stood up. She had changed out of her traveling dress and into a pair of rather un-Betazoid-like coveralls.
I thought we were being attacked earlier, she said.
* * *
Troi felt the start of a headache throbbing behind her eyes.
“Do you mind if we speak aloud?” the commander asked. “I’m not used to communicating this way.”
I don’t mind. She felt Virox’s warm pulse of reassurance.
“Thank you.” Troi smiled. “The red alert is why I came to talk to you.”
“You found her. The Romulan.” Virox’s face darkened and she turned back to the port.
“Yes,” Troi said. “We believe she’s here.” She nodded toward Issaw II. “We’re preparing an away team.”
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