by Peter David
His head started to hurt.
"Come on, then," one of the guards said, and they escorted" Tom Riker down the hallway, leaving an unconscious Wilt Riker crunched up unseen in the closet.
Moments later, Tom was face-to-face with Sela. He looked for some hint of suspicion in her eyes, but there didn't seem to be any. "So, Tom ... we understand each other?"
"Perfectly."
She presented him with the bottle of Romulan ale. "You are not to open it before you present it to Gowron. If he sees that it was tampered with-even by someone who is as theoretically trustworthy as you-he might have some trepidation about drinking from it."
"And we wouldn't want that."
"No," she said significantly. "We wouldn't."
"How am I going to get there?"
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"We have a Federation runabout, which we captured some time ago. It will be more than sufficient. Once you arrive there, arrange for a meeting with Gowron and do what needs to be done. Believe me, I will know if you do not. And I will know if you seek help or try to betray us. We have eyes and ears there."
"What if something happens I can't control? Deanna, Worf, and Alexander shouldn't suffer if I try but fail."
"You're right. They shouldn't." Her voice turned hard. "So unless you intend to die in the attempt... I suggest you don't fail."
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CHAPTER
23
w,,
rill!" Picard said in amazement. "I didn't expect to see you here!"
And standing in the doorway, Riker replied, "That, Captain . . . makes two of us."
Slowly Tom Riker entered Picard's guest quarters, pretending to look around in as casual a fashion as he could. The fact was, his mind was racing fast and furiously.
This was it. Here was Jean-Luc Picard himself, capable of helping Tom Riker save the day.
When Tom had arrived on the Klingon homeworld, unannounced, he had gotten a fairly surprised greeting from the local officials. He had come up with an involved cover story explaining that he had journeyed to Qo'noS, purely on his own, as a gesture of friendship to let Gowron know that not everyone in Starfleet approved of the recent overtures to the Klingons. That would very likely appeal to Gowron's vanity. He would certainly welcome him on that basis.
Tom, however, did not have the opportunity to so much as open his mouth. For the first words that he was greeted with upon his arrival were "We assume you're here to join Picard."
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Tom had done everything he could to cover his surprise. "Yes. Yes, that's correct." And the next thing he knew, he was being ushered into the presence not of Gowron, but of Picard. It left Tom in something of a lurch. There was now no politic way for him to inform Gowron that he wanted an audience, because the obvious question would be, why did he want to meet with Gowron separately? On the other hand, matters did become a bit easier. As it was, he was assured of seeing Gowron since, obviously, he was going to be meeting with Picard as well.
But even better ... all he had to do was tell Picard the truth. Confide in him, tell him where the others were being held, and Picard could take it from there. He could contact Starfleet, they could send a rescue ship, and that would be that. It was perfect.
It was too perfect.
He didn't know whether he could trust Picard or not.
He didn't really know the man, not really. Will Riker knew him well enough, of course, but if Tom Riker was living proof of anything, it was that one cannot always trust the surface. Sela had taken pains to hold Picard up as trusted by the Klingons. Was that her expressing distaste for an opponent... or had he been turned by the Romulans? Or what if this wasn't even really Picard, but a shapeshifter of some kind, and the real Picard was gone? Was the fact that he was trusted by the Klingons something that she was boasting about because it worked to their advantage? Sela had said repeatedly that they had people there on Qo'noS, watching every move. Was that true ... or was it simply something she was saying in order to make sure that Riker-any Riker-did as he was told to do?
But if Picard was on the Romulan side, then why in the world was someone else needed to try and poison Gowron? Well, that was obvious, of course. By having someone as key as Picard in their corner, it gave the Romulans a tremendous advantage not only in terms of their involvement with the Klingons, but in Starfleet itself. Tom could make the attempt on Gowron's life and Picard could easily claim that he knew
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nothing about it, that Riker had acted completely on his own. Picard's hands would remain clean.
Tom had absolutely no idea what to do. It was ironic: He was judging the entire world through his own perspective of skewed morality.
The tilling was, he knew how to save Gowron.
And the fact was that the hostages should be able to save themselves. Because it was, in fact, William Riker who had been left behind in the Romulan outpost. But it wasn't William Riker who Sela thought was a traitor. Instead it was William Riker, the Starfleet officer, who-like Tom-would be in the odd position of having to impersonate himself. Sela trusted Will Riker-the Will Riker she knew, in any event. And because of that trust, Will would certainly have the opportunity to find a way to get them off of there. Hell, they might even be free already.
So he didn't have to trust Picard.
Except... he couldn't be one hundred percent sure that Will Riker could get Deanna, Worf, and Alexander off the Lintar moon. He needed to provide a fallback, but had to do so in such a way that, if Picard were a traitor-and Sela later found out about it-she wouldn't think that Tom had been dealing in less than good faith and had been planning to betray them from the get-go.
It was all very complicated. But Tom was becoming increasingly sure that he knew how to deal with it. The only downside was.. .
... it was going to cost him his life.
But he had come to regard that as a very small price to pay.
"Sit, Will! Please, sit," Picard said, gesturing for Tom to join him. Tom sauntered over to a chair, swung it around, and straddled it. "I must admit, I'm a bit confused. I thought Starfleet assigned you to the Academy for the interim."
"There was a last-minute rearrangement of schedules to accommodate another professor," Tom said easily. "It turned out he was available now, but not later. So they flip-flopped us. Actually, I start six months from now."
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"Good heavens. All that time on your hands."
"It is daunting, sir."
"What brings you out here, of all places?"
"To be perfectly honest, sir ... as you say, with all that time on my hands, I had nothing else to do. Starfleet said this is where you were. I figured I'd come join you. Spend some time together without having to worry about the day-to-day business of running the Enterprise."
"Well, that's a splendid idea, Will, but I admit to being a bit surprised. Starfleet led me to believe that they were going to be keeping my whereabouts rather quiet."
"I can be persuasive, sir."
"I've always known that about you, Number One."
They chatted for a while about things of varying consequence. All the while, Tom wished desperately that he could see into the man's head, know whether this was some sort of elaborate ruse or whether Picard was genuinely a trustworthy individual. It was truly disturbing to Tom that his own actions had rendered him so unable and unwilling to trust others. Indeed, it was the first thing that he had ever felt truly disconcerted about in regards to his joining the Maquis. As they chatted, Tom noticed-of all things-a book lying on what appeared to be Picard's nightstand. "A paper book, Captain? Don't see those very often."
"I've always been a fan of such antique objects. You know that, Number One."
"Yes. Yes, of course I do, sir. Do you mind-?" He picked it up and made no effort to hide his surprise. "A Christmas Carol?"
"What can I say? I have a fatal weakness for Dickens."
"So do I, actually. Funny. I was just discussing that with someone not too long ago."
Tom thought of Saket and wondered how differently things would have gone for him if Saket had not died. "No," Tom said after a moment. "No ... I don't think so." Quickly trying to change his tone, he said, "Why A Christmas Carol, of all things?"
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"It deals with themes I find attractive. Redemption. The thought that no soul is so completely beyond hope that he cannot turn things around for himself. In some ways, it doesn't matter what you did in the past. Only what you do in the future."
"Of course the past matters, Captain. Why else would there be punishment? Otherwise every day would be a clean slate." He put the book down.
"Hopefully, Number One, someday as the human races continues to develop . . . the very fact of the wrongdoing will be sufficient punishment, so that-yes-we can have a clean slate every day. Why, what's your favorite Dickens work?"
"A Tale of Two Cities. One man . .. identical to another . . . sacrificing himself so that those who are important to him have a second chance at life and happiness."
He thought of what he had done to that point. . .
... and thought of what he intended to do tomorrow . ..
... and he murmured, " 'It is far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to ... than I have ever known.'"
"Are you all right, Number One?"
"Quite all right, sir."
"Very well. If it's all the same to you, Will... I think I'll turn in early tonight. My discussions with Gowron and Kah-less thus far have been less than exemplary. I'm hoping that tomorrow might be better. Who knows? Perhaps with you here as well, we can be twice as convincing."
"That," Riker smiled, "is certainly my plan."
They were scheduled to meet with Gowron, Kahless, and whomever else at fifteen hundred hours the next day, Gowron apparently having other business to attend to before he could meet with them.
Riker sat in his guest quarters, the bottle of Romulan ale nearby. There was a computer screen in front of him. He said, "Computer. . ."
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"Working," came a harsh, guttural voice. He wasn't sure why he had expected anything else, considering where he was.
"Computer ... I am about to record a message. It.. ."
Riker stopped. He thought he had heard a noise, something rather odd and liquid, as if there was a leak somewhere. He turned in his chair and looked behind him, checking to see if something was dripping. Nothing. Place was completely dry. Weapons and such up on the wall, the same as in Picard's quarters. Uncomfortable furniture. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He turned back to his computer. "This message is to be delivered to Jean-Luc Picard tomorrow at precisely sixteen hundred hours. Alert him that a message is waiting for him via his combadge. Is that understood?"
"Understood."
"Message as follows." He paused a moment and then said, "Captain ... I am not William Riker. I am Thomas Riker. It is my mission to poison Chancellor Gowron tomorrow. The reasons are . .. my own. I intend to carry out this mission. But I want you to be informed that the . . . real. . ." The word had stuck in his throat.".. . William Riker . . . along with Deanna Troi, Worf, and Worf s son, Alexander, are being held captive on the moon of Lintar Four. Please dispatch a vessel to retrieve them as quickly as possible. This is Tom Riker . . . out."
He leaned back, rubbing his eyes and feeling exhausted. There was so much he had wanted to say, so many explanations to give. But he hadn't dared risk it, just in case Picard was in fact a traitor. That way, if Sela did see the message, she wouldn't for a moment think that Tom hadn't been giving it his all... and, ideally, wouldn't take revenge on the others because of it.
The universe would go back to having one, and only one, William Thomas Riker. And that was probably for the best.
With that in mind, and knowing that this was to be the last day of his very odd life, Tom Riker went to bed and-to his surprise-slept soundly.
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When Will Riker came to in the closet, dressed in the clothes that he had seen Tom Riker wearing not all that long ago, he thought for a moment that he had completely lost his mind. But Will was no dummy, and within moments he had figured out exactly what had happened. He couldn't believe it, but he had figured it out, just as Tom had suspected he would.
Will emerged from his room to find no Romulan guards standing there. This was too perfect. He smoothed his shirt and looked around, trying to decide the best course of action. Obviously the first priority was to get Deanna, Worf, and Alexander the hell off this place. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to accomplish it, but he was reasonably sure he could doit.
He walked down the corridor, his arms moving in a relaxed and easy rhythm, and then he saw Sela coming toward him from the other direction, accompanied by several Romulan guards. "Where did you get off to, Will?" she asked, walking up to him and putting her hands on her hips.
"Just feeling a little . . . worn out," he said.
"Now, Riker," she said, touching his chin affectionately. "Are you implying that I'm the one who wore you out?"
"I wasn't going to say that." He grinned.
"Oh, good." And then she turned to the guards and said, "Take him."
Before Riker could move so much as an inch, the guards were on him from all sides. "What are you doing?!" he shouted as they dragged him down the hallway. Sela followed, looking amused at his confusion.
Moments later they had brought him to the cell where Worf, Deanna, and Alexander were being held. Without a second's hesitation, they shoved him in with the others. He thudded to the floor.
"You can pick him up," Sela said. "I know he's dressed like mine . . . but he's yours."
"What?" said a confused Deanna.
As if explaining to an idiot, Sela said patiently, "That's Will Riker. But he's not my Will Riker. He's yours. The one who
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almost got his head handed to him by your beloved Klingon over there."
"What?" Deanna said again, not comprehending any more than she did before.
Sela let out an impatient sigh as Riker got to his feet. "The man who was here before, representing himself as Will Riker ... the man whom we rescued from a Cardassian prison colony .. . was actually Tom Riker. This man . . . who apparently decided to go along with the charade when he and you first arrived here ... is Will Riker."
"You knew all along," said an astounded Deanna.
"Not all along. Not when I first. . . acquired him. But I'm not stupid. I did further checking, discovered that one Lieutenant Tom Riker had been sentenced to Lazon Two. Did still more checking and discovered his origins. Intelligence-gathering happens to be one of my specialties, Deanna."
"But then why did you let the masquerade continue?"
"Because I felt that he would be useful to me. In the short term, I found him . . . amusing. Although on our first 'date,' Kressn was kind enough to 'push' him in my direction. Oddly, he didn't need any extra urging after that. In the long term I intended to use him all along for my plan with Qo'noS. When you entered the picture, I simply adapted it to accommodate your presence. I didn't truly expect Worf to agree to cooperate. Believe me, I know the Klingon mind-set all too well. One Riker or the other, in the end, it makes no difference to me."
Something Sela had said earlier suddenly dawned on Deanna. She looked at Worf and said, "You and Will had a fight?"
"It was a disagreement," Worf said stonily.
Riker snorted and then turned back to Sela. "So at the moment. . . you've allowed your lover to take my place, to very likely go to his death ... in order to have him poison Gowron. And you don't care about it."
To his surprise, Sela laughed.
"Poison Gowron? Is that all your imagination can handle? This has never been about simply poisoning Gowron."
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Riker looked at her in confusion, as did the others. "Then what-?"
"Tom Riker thinks that he's carrying a bottle of poisoned ale.
He's not. He's carrying a carefully prepared airborne virus, genetically engineered and crafted, developed by a little-known race called the Redeemers, who reside primarily in Thallonian space, and obtained for me by an old friend and mentor named Saket. The moment that he opens the bottle, in Gowron's presence, the virus will erupt from the bottle. The genie"-she smiled as if at some private joke-"will emerge and fulfill all my wishes. It will kill Gowron and everyone else in the council chamber. It will then spread throughout the immediate area and, by my estimates, obliterate every Klingon on the face of their homeworld within thirty-six hours."
Worf gasped audibly. Even the stoic Klingon seemed horrified by the scope of what Sela was discussing so calmly.
"Now, of course, the Klingon Empire is far-reaching. Not all of the Klingons will die. But I assure you, they will know who to blame. I will personally make sure of that. So you see, Tom gets to sacrifice himself on your behalf. . . you three I will set free, into a galaxy where what remains of the Klingon Empire will be eager to annihilate anyone or anything having to do with Starfleet, including counselors and Klingons in uniform . . . and I get my fondest desire. Everybody wins."
When Tom Riker and Jean-Luc Picard were escorted into the council chamber, Tom's heart fell as he saw that the entire council was there, along with Gowron and Kahless himself.
Terrific.
"Riker!" growled Gowron. "This is an unexpected... pleasure. What are you doing here?"
Riker stepped forward, the bottle of Romulan ale in his hand. "I'm here to add my sentiments to those expressed by Captain Picard . .. and to present a further token of esteem which I think you may find amusing."
He hold it up for Gowron to see. Gowron uttered a curt
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laugh. "Romulan ale!" This engendered further laughter from the other Klingons in the council. "Where did you get it?"
"Off a captured Romulan ship. It was the commander's private stock, I believe."