by Peter David
There was also the question of ransom. It was entirely possible that they might try to barter something in exchange for him, operating under the belief that they had in their possession the legendary Commander William Riker. Will Riker might indeed be a useful bargaining chip. Tom Riker, on the other hand, was useless.
That was a hard fact for Tom to deal with, but there it was. Tom Riker was someone whose capture and possible death in captivity was of no weight to anyone. He was already a disgraced traitor. Who in Starfleet would possibly put themselves on the line for him? He was a freak of nature, a transporter malfunction with a soul…someone else’s soul. He had nothing. No freedom, no honor, not even the single most fundamental property possessed by every living being, sentient or otherwise, in the known galaxy: uniqueness. Out there, roaming free in the galaxy, was someone who was in every way identical, except when it came to career and regard by his peers; in those matters, he was far superior.
And Tom Riker, in trying to carve out his own niche in the galaxy, had paid for it dearly. Life in a Cardassian labor camp, and that was under a sentence that had been commuted.
Better that they had killed me, he thought bleakly.
It was while he was in this dark mood that Sela came to him.
She stood on the other side of the forcefield, regarding him for a moment as he sat on his uncomfortable piece of furniture. Then she nodded to the guard, who deactivated the forcefield. She stepped through, stood there with her arms folded, and waited.
Tom said nothing.
Nor did Sela.
They stood there in that way, in silence, for ten minutes. Then Sela turned on her heel and walked out without so much as a word having been exchanged.
The same thing happened the next day, the exact same thing happened, except this time it was for twenty minutes.
The day after that, thirty.
Still there was not a word spoken between the two of them. It had become an almost perverse test of will. She would stand there, and he would sit on the bed/seat, and that would be the extent of their interaction. If they had been telepaths, it might have made some sense. As it was, even the guard seemed mystified. Every time Sela departed the cell, he would look at her questioningly, but she didn’t even return his glance.
During the third visit, as Sela was preparing to leave, Tom decided to amuse himself. Just as she began to turn away, Riker winked at her. She looked back at him, but his face was impassive once more. Not so much as a crack in the stone-faced façade that he had carefully crafted for himself. She hesitated ever so briefly, and then walked out once more.
When she came back the fourth time, it was with a proposal.
“We found it.”
Truthfully, it had not taken Tok all that long. He had found it within twelve hours after beginning the autopsy, and he was mentally kicking himself for it having taken as long as it did.
Pieces of Saket lay scattered about the autopsy room, but Sela’s attention was upon the eye that stared up (unblinkingly, of course) at her. “His left eye, to be precise,” said Tok proudly. “It was a phenomenal construct, fabricated from actual living tissue. Designed to elude detection by even the most advanced of techniques. Fully functional, and indistinguishable from his living eye. You’d never know which one was the fake.”
“In his eye,” Sela said wonderingly.
Tok nodded eagerly and, using his medical tools, gently turned the eye over. Using a scalpel, he set the harmonics within to vibrate at a certain frequency that was apparently encoded into the eye’s microcircuitry. Within moments there was a very soft, barely audible “click” and then the back of the eye opened. Ever so delicately, Tok removed a chip which glistened silver, except for one area which was dark blue.
“Is that it?” asked Sela. She tried to keep her voice calm and neutral, but there was clear excitement in her tone.
“I believe so. Yes…definitely. The circuitry of the chip keeps the chemical sample in a sort of stasis: inert and harmless.”
“He did it.” There was envy and awe in her voice. She looked in the direction of his heart, which sat by itself on a silver tray. “Saket, you old bastard, you actually did it. You found it. I didn’t think it was possible…but if anyone could do it, you could.” She considered eating the heart out of a sense of respect to Saket, but decided that it probably wasn’t the appropriate time for such actions.
She cast a glance over her shoulder as if somehow she could actually see the Cardassians, their homeworld or their prison, from the Romulan warbird’s medical facility. “How long will it take you to synthesize it?” she asked Tok without looking at him. “Synthesize it…and test it.”
“I have no way to know, Sela,” Tok said apologetically. “There are simply too many unknowns. Since I don’t know what the compound consists of, I cannot say for sure what will be required to synthesize it…and whether it works or not has to be completely computer simulated. Unless, of course,” he added, “you’re volunteering to test it yourself.”
“Don’t be snide, Tok, unless you’d like me to pick you as someone upon whom we can try it…out…”
Her voice trailed off as she looked thoughtfully into the air.
Sela was oftentimes a mystery for Tok, but this time he thought he had an idea what she was thinking about. “Riker?” he guessed. “You’re thinking that we test it on Riker?”
She glared at him in a way that indicated he had totally missed, once again, what she was considering. “You think too small, Tok. No, we’re not going to test it on Riker. That would be an extraordinary waste of material. Take the time you need, Tok. We’re in no hurry. No one is going anywhere. As for Riker…I have other thoughts in regards to him.”
She had found him a most curious case. When she had first walked up to him while he was in captivity, she had had no idea that they were going to have so much difficulty just getting beyond initial contact. But somehow she had just expected that Riker was going to commence the festivities. That he was going to threaten, or cajole, or plead, or bluster…something, anything that would be oh-so-typical for the arrogant second-in-command of the Enterprise.
Instead there was nothing. Perhaps he was trying to show her that he held her in such disdain that he had no desire to talk to her…or else it was a massive show of bravado…or else he really just didn’t give a damn. All of those options seemed rife with their own possibilities.
But she realized she wasn’t going to get anywhere if matters continued as they were. So she was going to have to do something to move them to the next level, since it was becoming obvious that Riker wasn’t about to.
“Saket is dead…in case you were wondering.”
He almost jumped when she spoke, since it was the first time she had done so. But he very quickly regained his outward impassiveness.
“I was wondering, yes. Thank you for telling me.” He paused and then added matter-of-factly, “I considered him a friend. My condolences to you, for whatever your relationship may have been to him.”
“So how did you wind up there?”
“There? Where?”
“In a Cardassian labor camp, fool,” Sela said testily. She was leaning in what appeared to be a leisurely fashion against one of the walls of Riker’s cell. But Riker had the feeling that she was, in fact, battle-ready. If he made the slightest wrong move, she’d be ready to take him apart. At least, she probably presumed she could. Whether she really would be able to accomplish that feat was another matter, although considering Riker’s condition after all these months, he wouldn’t have wanted to bet against her.
He also noticed another Romulan standing in the corridor in a manner that was clearly supposed to suggest that he had no particular reason for being there. He was taller than the average Romulan, with a high forehead and uncommonly dark eyes that swam against a rather pale face. When the Romulan appeared to notice that he had caught Riker’s attention, he moved off slightly to remove himself from Riker’s field of vision, but Riker was certain
he was still there. And whoever this Romulan was, not for a moment did Riker buy that he was there purely by happenstance. Romulans were far too methodical a people. Every word out of their mouths was carefully measured, and every action they took was done with meticulous planning. The pasty-faced Romulan hadn’t been there before, and now he was. There was definitely a purpose for it.
Curiously, Riker was surprised to find that he didn’t give too much a damn about what it was. Sela was the one to watch out for. To that end, he focused his thoughts purely on the conversation at hand, not letting himself wander off into mental byways. It was not difficult for him to do. Many years ago, Deanna had spent long hours teaching him the mental discipline that the Betazoids had honed to such a fine art. Riker was hardly a telepath, although he was able to communicate with Troi mentally when the circumstances were right…and even then it was a haphazard proposition. However, Riker’s mental focus was second to none; when he was zeroed in on something, nothing could distract him. There was no way he was going to allow Sela to trick him into revealing something that he didn’t want her to know. The trick was to be guarded, so the wrong thing didn’t get said, but not to appear as if he were being guarded so that Sela wouldn’t suspect if he was being less than candid.
“I was on a mission,” Riker said. “A mission that would have been a major strike at the Cardassians.”
“On behalf of Starfleet and the Federation?” she asked.
He tried to sound grimly humorous. “Let’s just say they didn’t disapprove.” That much was true. At the time that Tom Riker had switched his allegiance to the Maquis—the underground terrorist group that had declared a private war on the Cardassians in defiance of Federation treaties—Starfleet had no awareness that he was not at his new post on the Starship Gandhi. Therefore, of course, they did not disapprove.
Sela nodded slowly. “Ah. Let me guess: Good luck to you, Riker, and if it doesn’t go well, don’t expect us to help you.”
He said nothing. He figured it would benefit him more to keep his mouth shut and allow Sela to put forward the suppositions. That was even easier than trying to be careful with what he said.
“And the Cardassians caught you at it.”
“That they did.”
“And the Federation did nothing to help you?”
“That they did not.”
“But of course,” said Sela, walking with an odd little swagger, “if you had it to do over, you’d do the exact same thing. Because you are dedicated to your beloved Starfleet, aren’t you, Riker?”
“Isn’t this the point where you’re supposed to be shining hot lights on me and breaking down my loyalty?”
She considered his level gaze, and a small smile actually played along the corners of her mouth. “Is that what you want me to do?”
Once more he said nothing.
“Is that what it would take,” she continued, “to sever your allegiance to Starfleet?”
He’d known a question such as this one would likely be coming. He didn’t hesitate, instead speaking with calm, deliberate candor. “The truth is,” he said slowly, “that I’ve had time to reflect a good deal on my life. And if I had it to do over again…there’s a lot I’d do differently.”
“Really. Anything having to do with…oh…Deanna?”
This seemingly innocuous, offhand comment caught Riker momentarily off-guard. Tom looked up at her, startled. He made no attempt to hide his confusion. “How did you know…?”
“You talk in your sleep. Did no one ever tell you that? Two nights ago during your stay here, you murmured the name ‘Deanna.’ Muttered it somewhat; we had a bit of trouble understanding you at first. Would that be Deanna Troi, by any chance?”
This time he didn’t ask how she knew, even in an abortive way. But she supplied the answer anyway: “One should always have a basic knowledge of who one’s enemies are. She caused quite a bit of embarrassment to our intelligence service, the Tal Shiar. We captured a dissident not too long ago and he told us a number of tales in hopes of his life being spared. One of them was of one Deanna Troi of the Starship Enterprise— your vessel, as I recall—who passed herself off as a member of the Tal Shiar and helped M’ret and several top aides to escape their alleged persecution at the hands of our government. Oh yes, Deanna Troi made quite an impression on us, I assure you. So”—and she folded her arms and regarded him in an amused, even faintly smug manner—“are you enamored of her? Is that the case? Your concerns about her—”
“Are my concerns alone,” Riker said sharply…so sharply, in fact, that the guard outside the door automatically took a defensive stance as if he was expecting trouble. Riker reined himself in and then said with impressive calm, “She wasn’t what I was referring to.”
“What, then?”
This was it. He took a deep breath and said, “I owe nothing to Starfleet. I’ve had to watch others no more deserving than I get all the breaks in life, while I was treated as if I was nothing special. I’ve been dealt one lousy hand after another, and if I never have anything to do with Starfleet again, I really couldn’t give a damn.”
He had said it all in one breath, as if he couldn’t wait to get it out of his system. When he stopped speaking he simply glared at her for a few moments. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he finally asked her.
“I wanted to hear the truth.”
“You did.”
She walked toward him with that same swagger that she effected so well. With each step she would hesitate just a moment before placing her foot down, as if trying to sense whether there might be a mine or some such device planted in the floor. “Are you saying…that you would not be opposed to a bit of payback to the Federation? That you feel as if you owe them nothing?”
“Oh, I know I owe them nothing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I have to make my own way in this galaxy. I have to be my own man, whatever it takes, and I certainly can’t be that if I stick with Starfleet.”
She nodded, looking quite noncommittal. He wondered what was going through her head, but she was inscrutable.
“And if you could strike back at Starfleet,” she said abruptly, “and at the Federation by doing something that would hurt their interests…would you?”
“Depends,” he said.
“Mmm.” She nodded again, but this time she looked approving. “Good response. If you had simply said ‘Yes,’ I would know that you are lying, or desperate to say anything in order to endear yourself to me, regardless of its veracity. You are a man of annoyingly deep-rooted morality, Riker, that much I know. Most of your ilk are, even the disaffected ones such as yourself. Do you know what the parameters of those ‘depends’ might be?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. I suppose I’d know it when I saw it.”
“Would you draw the line at killing?”
He didn’t hesitate in his response. “I’ve killed when I had to. I’d kill again. If I’d had my way, the mission that landed me in prison would have resulted in a hell of a lot of dead Cardassians had I managed to accomplish that.”
“Could you kill Picard?”
For some reason, Riker rose from his “couch,” as if the mere mention of Picard required that he stand at something vaguely approximating attention. “If I had to,” he said after a moment. “I’d rather not…he see…he’s a decent enough man.” Mentally he kicked himself, since he’d almost slipped by saying, “He seems a decent enough man.” Phrasing such as that might very well have tipped her off, or at least given her suspicions. Recovering quickly, he added, “I don’t feel any overwhelming loyalty to him. Sometimes I feel as if I hardly know the man.”
She seemed to take all this in. And then, without a word, she turned and walked out. As she passed the guard, she nodded slightly and he activated the forcefield once more.
Riker sat back down on his uncomfortable couch. Well, that had gone about as well as could be expected.
Sela was up to something, of that much he was certain. Saket had spoken
any number of times of his favorite student, his greatest pupil, but he’d never mentioned her name. Riker chalked that up to discretion that was practically ground into Saket. But he’d certainly described this mystery pupil in sufficient detail that Riker felt as if he knew her. It had since become clear to Riker that this Sela was that pupil, and more, that Sela had had dealings with Picard, Will Riker, and the Enterprise.
Furthermore, he was positive that she would not have staged the breakout if she hadn’t had some sort of plan in place. And if that was the case, then it was imperative that Tom Riker get himself involved in it. Of course, if it was an attack or plan that was aimed at the Cardassians, he would zealously participate with a clear conscience. On the other hand, if it was indeed a mission that was directed at the Federation, then he would have to do everything he could to stop it.
Wouldn’t he?
That dark thought crossed his mind for the briefest of moments, and then Tom Riker brushed it away with determination. Of course he would stop it if it was going to harm Starfleet or the Federation in some way. There was no question about it.
And he spent the rest of the day, and well into the night, convincing himself of that.
Sela sat in her quarters, drumming her fingers impatiently on her desk. Then there was a chime at her door. “Come,” she said.
The door hissed open and the tall, rather pale Romulan who had been hovering in the corridor outside the lockup entered. He inclined his head slightly in greeting. Sela, for her part, did not seem particularly interested in cordialities. “Well?” she asked.
The Romulan she was addressing was named Kressn, and he was an empath.
It was a matter of some curiosity that Romulans, an offshoot race of the Vulcans, possessed none of the formidable mind powers that their parent race displayed with such facility. No one was entirely certain why that should be the case. Some felt it a matter of mere genetics, but that did not seem a satisfactory answer. For others it came down more to a matter of societal upbringing.