by Peter David
“We could try and communicate with the captain.”
Riker shook his head. “We’re too far away, and the comm system in this vessel is too weak. Anything we send out is going to be intercepted by a Starfleet vessel, and we may be worse off than when we started. Still, the captain is our best bet….”
Worf’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Let me check our position.” He did a quick scan, and then nodded. “Yes. I know of someone who can be trusted to get a confidential message to the captain.”
“You do? Way out here? Are you sure he can be trusted?”
“I have it,” Worf informed him, “on the highest authority.”
Twenty
Jean-Luc Picard was extremely concerned.
When he had arrived on the Klingon homeworld, he had not been at all certain of what sort of reception to expect. The request to speak to Picard had come directly from Gowron, but Picard was uncertain as to the reason for it. Gowron had been uncharacteristically vague, and Starfleet had not been able to supply Picard with much in the way of details beyond the concept that Gowron was apparently bothered about something and wanted to deal directly with Picard.
What concerned Picard, at this particular moment, was the sound of combat. It didn’t seem to bother the Klingons who were escorting him to the council chamber, but Picard was wondering if he was about to walk into the middle of yet another civil war.
He heard Gowron cry out loudly, and at that point Picard couldn’t take it anymore. He hurried several steps ahead, pushed open the council doors…
…just in time to see Gowron swing a bat’leth with such speed that he could barely track its course. And the thrust was intercepted by Kahless the Unforgettable with his own bat’leth.
“What the devil—?” Picard called out.
“Not now, Picard!” called Gowron as he advanced on Kahless, who was giving ground, retreating before the rapidly whirling blade of Gowron. The chancellor of the High Council let out a triumphant laugh as the emperor and head of the Klingon spiritual community appeared on the brink of defeat. Gowron brought his blade down with what he hoped was going to be sufficient force to knock Kahless’s weapon from his grasp.
And suddenly Kahless dropped his bat’leth, brought his hands around, and slapped them together on the descending blade. The move had been perfectly timed; he held the bat’leth immobile. A stunned expression crossed Gowron’s face, and then Kahless ripped the bat’leth right out of Gowron’s grasp. Before Gowron could move, Kahless whipped the curved blade around and brought it right to the base of Gowron’s throat.
For a moment there was utter silence in the council chamber…and then Gowron let out a coarse laugh. “I almost had you! Admit it!”
“I let you think you almost had me,” Kahless replied, lowering the bat’leth. “You will keep to your word.”
“Of course I will keep to my word!” He turned to Picard. “You have just seen the emperor successfully negotiate a land deal for the Boreth monastery. As always, Emperor, a challenge doing business with you.”
“And with you, Gowron.” He lowered his voice and said, “In point of fact, you almost did have me…and if you repeat it, I will of course deny it utterly.”
“Of course. Just as I will deny that, since childhood, I have fantasized what it would be like to hold my own against Kahless.”
“It’s good to see that the two of you have found a means of cooperating with each other successfully,” said Picard. “As I recall, there was some friction initially….”
“We all learn to adapt, Picard. You, Kahless…even I, when absolutely necessary. Kahless…I have matters to discuss with Picard. I am interested in your input.”
Kahless nodded in deference to Gowron as the chancellor gestured for the three of them to retire to a conference room just off the main council chamber.
Picard was truly relieved to see the level of cooperation between Kahless and Gowron. When the legendary, and long-dead, Klingon leader had first made his return, Gowron had seen it as nothing less than a direct challenge to his authority. Eventually it had turned out that Kahless was, in fact, a clone of the original, created by the Klingon clerics of Boreth, but once the subterfuge was uncovered, Gowron had agreed to install Kahless as the emperor and spiritual leader.
“You see cooperation between us, Picard…between myself and Kahless,” said Gowron, once they had settled down in the conference room.
“Yes, I do. As I said, it is most pleasing to me.”
“You might say that we have had…incentive.”
“Incentive?” Picard looked questioningly from one to the other. “And what might that incentive be?”
“We have shared concerns that are outside of the empire,” said Kahless.
“And those would be?”
“You.”
Picard blinked in polite confusion. “Me?”
“Not you specifically, Picard,” amended Gowron. “The Klingon Empire has had no more consistent ally than you. If it were not for you, I feel safe in saying that…my ascension to chancellor would have been a bit more difficult.”
No comment was forthcoming from Picard, but they both knew what he was thinking: If it hadn’t been for Picard and the Enterprise stepping in at key times during the Klingon civil war and Gowron’s struggle with the house of Duras, the odds were sensational that Gowron would never have gained control at all. Instead Picard simply asked for a clarification: “If not me in particular, than to what are you referring?”
“I am referring to the Federation’s current flirtation with the Romulans.”
Picard was not entirely unprepared for that. During his trip out to Qo’noS, he had had more than enough time to go over in his mind all the possibilities of things that might be disturbing Gowron. The recent Federation involvement with the Romulans, and acquisition of a cloaking device, was certainly foremost among them. “Ah,” said Picard. “If that is all that is bothering you, Chancellor, I can assure you…our alliance with the Klingon Empire remains one of the centerpieces of our current state of peace.”
“Current state of peace?” Gowron snorted. “Picard, are you looking at the same galaxy that I am? There is more consternation, more tumult nowadays than ever before. At times such as these, any alliance is in question.”
“Not alliances forged with the Federation,” Picard said firmly.
“You speak for the Federation, do you?” Kahless inquired.
“I’m simply a Starfleet captain. If you wanted a Federation negotiator, you could easily have sent for one. In point of fact, however…I do not see anything that requires negotiating. You are simply stating concerns, which you are more than entitled to do. Since you requested my presence, I would assume that—at this point—you feel more in the need of a friend for a sounding board, rather than someone to speak with you in an official capacity. Am I correct?”
“Quite correct,” confirmed Gowron. “And as a friend…we can speak with you, friend to friend, and tell you what it is we desire.”
Picard leaned forward, elbows on the table and wearing a look of patient amiability. “And what would that be? Friend to friend?”
“We desire that the Federation immediately cut off any talks with the Romulans,” Gowron informed him. “That they return the cloaking device given them by the Romulan Star Empire. And that they make clear to the Romulans that there will be no further congress of any kind.”
“The Romulans are not trustworthy and we, as allies of the Federation, feel threatened that they are being dealt with in any capacity,” Kahless added. “Furthermore, we consider it not only an insult to our honor, but a threat to our internal security.”
“We have not forgotten that the Romulans aided the Duras family in their attempts to overthrow me. You should not, either.”
“Gowron…people who were once enemies can become allies,” Picard said patiently. “I should not have to point that out, for if that were not the case, then obviously you and I would not be sitting here today.”
“I agree,” said Gowron. “And allies…can also become enemies. That is the status between the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Star Empire. And it is our opinion that the Romulans are manipulating the Federation for the purpose of continuing their vendetta against us…against the Vulcans…and, ultimately, against the Federation itself.”
“A Federation that is apparently too foolish to realize that it is being played for a fool.”
“I do not appreciate being thought of as a fool, Kahless. And Gowron…you have voiced your concern. I understand that. But there is simply no way that I can assure you that the Federation is going to break off its current contact with the Romulans. I admit, it is a dangerous galaxy out there. The Federation is at peace, but you are correct: It may very well not remain so. With that being the case, doesn’t it make sense for us to have as many allies as possible?”
“The Federation’s concerns are its own, and our concerns are ours,” Gowron said. “And right now, our concern is the Federation and the Romulans. We do not approve of the direction that this relationship appears to be going. We do not wish it to continue.”
“I take it,” Picard said slowly, “that you are merely stating a concern?”
There was a long pause, and suddenly there was a knife in Kahless’s hand. He swung it up, around, and down and it slammed point-first into the tabletop with a deafening thud. It quivered there long after Kahless removed his hand.
“Kahless,” Gowron observed, “has something of a flair for the dramatic. He prefers to express himself with visual aids.”
The symbolism of the knife in the table was not at all lost on Picard. “You are saying that you would sever relations with the Federation if we continue to seek improved relations with the Romulans?”
“There is no retaliation that we will rule out,” Kahless replied, “up to and including a declaration of war.”
Picard couldn’t believe it. “Are you insane?”
“Far from it. I am the emperor, and the spiritual guide of my people. It would be an affront to our very spiritual core to think that the Romulans—the instigators, the assassins, the betrayers—are to be considered allies. For that is what we are speaking of, Picard. If the Federation is our ally, and the Romulans are the Federation’s ally, then we are supposed to be allied with the Romulans. That is intolerable.”
“And if the Romulans were to turn and attack us, the Federation would be split in its loyalty. We could not look to you for aid. Indeed, we might have to look upon you as an enemy. Perhaps better, then,” said Gowron, “to declare war now and get right to it.”
“Gowron…Kahless…you have stitched together an entire array of possibilities and are reacting to them before any of them have occurred.”
“That, Picard, is how one avoids ambush and sneak attack. When one is a Klingon, that is how one stays alive.”
“I appreciate that, Gowron. But I can tell you what will not be appreciated. You are, in essence, delivering an ultimatum to the Federation. The Federation, as a rule, does not generally respond well to ultimatums.”
“ ‘Ultimatum,’ ” repeated Gowron. “Ultimatum is such a cold, passionless word.”
“We prefer the term ‘threat,’ ” said Kahless.
And the two Klingons smiled.
Which was definitely not a pleasant sight.
Picard had been given rather generous quarters by Gowron to reside in during his stay on Qo’noS. There was one thing that Picard was rather certain of: If he suddenly felt himself in need of a bladed weapon, he need look no farther than the nearest wall. Knives, and swords of every possible shape and size, seemed to be everywhere.
He had communicated the situation to Starfleet, and the response he had gotten back was exactly what he had suspected he was going to hear: Try and keep a lid on things. Federation resources were stretched thin enough as they were; the last thing they need was a flare-up with the Klingons. When Picard asked if there was any likelihood that a professional diplomat might be sent out to deal with the situation, the response he received was that they could think of no diplomat better qualified to deal with the situation than one Jean-Luc Picard, who—as happenstance would have it—already happened to be out there.
In truth, Picard wasn’t exactly surprised. If a formal diplomatic team was sent to Qo’noS to discuss it, Federation mandate would require several member species as part of the group. That meant that a cross-section of Federation governments would be apprised of the Klingons’ concerns, and what was at present simply a bit of Klingon angst over the current state of Federation affairs would immediately be elevated to the level of “sit-u-a-tion.” And a “sit-u-a-tion” could morph into a “crisis” more quickly than anyone could give it credit for. “Crisis” led to “incident,” “incident” to “confrontation,” and from there…
Well…far better not to go there.
Some time later, there was a knock at Picard’s door.
Picard glanced toward a book on the nightstand, then looked back at the door and said, “Come.”
The door slid open and Picard blinked in surprise.
“Will!” he greeted him enthusiastically. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”
And standing in the doorway, Riker replied, “That, Captain…makes two of us.”
Twenty-one
Piloting the scout ship, Worf had been somewhat concerned as he watched Riker seated next to him. After their initial discussion, Riker had lapsed into not only silence, but a state of semi-sleep. This was somewhat frustrating to Worf, because he couldn’t help but feel that Riker had been less than candid about his motivations for going to Betazed. But it might very well be that now was simply not the best time to discuss it anyway.
Riker had remained that way for hours. In a bleakly amused manner, Worf wondered just how long he would keep the ship going while waiting for Riker to make a further pronouncement as to Deanna’s whereabouts. After all, at present heading and speed, they’d hit the edge of the galaxy in another fourteen years. He hoped that Riker might choose to speak up sometime before then.
The entire thing still made Worf uneasy. It had been his intent to conduct a thorough search…go to possible suppliers, individuals to whom Sela might have turned for supplies…endeavor to scan the area for warp signatures that could be traced, either from Lazon or Betazed. But this…this operating on the strength of a psychic connection that he couldn’t even begin to understand…it bothered him tremendously.
Not only that, but he also had to admit to himself that he felt a certain degree of jealousy. Not enough that Riker and Troi shared their early relationship with one another, but now they had some sort of intense mental relationship that had been magnified by Lwaxana? Here, after Deanna had told him how he should not feel in competition with Riker, he now had to deal with the concept that Riker was closer with Deanna than ever. And he hadn’t even worked for it! Lwaxana had just…just inserted it into his head. It hardly seemed fair.
Part of Worf’s conscience told him that he shouldn’t be concerned about such things. He should just be thankful that they might indeed have some means of tracking Deanna and Alexander that was quick and direct.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t help it. And he could feel resentment of Riker building within him.
And then Riker abruptly sat up, his eyes wide. “Just ahead,” he said. “Bring us out of warp, Mr. Worf.”
“Taking us out of warp,” Worf confirmed. In response to his powering down of the ship, space around them settled back to normal.
“Where are we?”
Worf looked at him in surprise. “You are the one leading us, Commander. I would have thought you knew to where.”
“I’m linked to her, Worf, not to a starchart. Now where are we?”
“We are,” he checked quickly, “in the Lintar system. Four planets, none habitable…although…Lintar Four does have a moon that has minimal…”
“That’s it. I can feel it, just ahead.”
He could feel it.
Worf had a sudden, unreasonable urge to slam Riker’s head against the front console while shouting. “Could you feel that?!” It was not worthy of him, he knew that. But he felt that way nonetheless, a surge of jealousy such as he had not thought possible. To a certain degree, it almost impressed him. It proved that he must really love Deanna.
Either that…or he felt threatened and angry that his property was being trespassed upon.
Moving at impulse, the scout ship approached the moon of Lintar IV. Will Riker was way forward on his seat, leaning on the control console, as if trying to push himself right through the front of the scout. Worf ran a quick sensor scan of the moon. “Sensors not providing us with any life readings thus far.”
“They could be shielded. Would take a while longer to locate them.”
“True. You are certain they are down there, though.”
“Positive.”
Worf pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I have a plan for how to locate them.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You guide the vessel to the planet’s surface. There are two environment suits in storage in the rear of the vessel. We put the environment suits on, bring hand scanners for backup, and survey the surface of the moon. Once we have located the entrance into their lair, we sneak in, find Sela, capture her, use her in a hostage exchange to retrieve Alexander and Deanna, return to the scout ship, and leave the area after alerting Starfleet to their presence.”
And suddenly the sensor array lit up. Directly in front of them, space seemed to shimmer, and then a Romulan warbird materialized directly in front of them, packing approximately twenty times the fire power possessed by the scout ship.