by Peter David
“Or we could surrender,” suggested Will.
“That,” admitted Worf, “would probably work also.”
Tom Riker woke up and touched the other side of the bed, expecting to find the sleeping Sela. Instead it was empty, the sheet cold. She hadn’t been there for a while. It was her absence that truly caused Tom to fully awaken as he sat up and rubbed his eyes in the darkness. Then the door slid open and he saw Sela standing there, fully dressed. Her arms were folded and she was regarding him with open curiosity. “Will,” she said. “There’s been an interesting development.”
“Really,” said Tom. He sat up, the covers still around him. “Have we finally determined what use we’re going to put Deanna and Alexander to?”
“Actually, yes. Yes, I think we have. Get dressed and meet me at the interrogation room on level three.”
“All right.” There was something in her tone that he was less than enthused about, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was.
He dressed quickly and headed down to where Sela had instructed him to go. As he did so, he passed assorted Romulans and noticed that they seemed to be glancing at him oddly. He wondered what their problem was.
He entered the interrogation room. The room was actually divided into two sections. The area where Tom was entering was used for fairly straightforward, one-on-one questioning. Adjoining was a room, visible through a plexi shield, where questioning of a more intense nature, oftentimes requiring assorted medical equipment, was set up.
There were several Romulans there, including Kressn, to whom Tom had learned to take an intense dislike. For one thing, Tom had absolutely no idea how Kressn had managed to pull that little disappearing act of his, and Sela hadn’t been forthcoming in telling him. Perhaps Kressn had some sort of personal cloaking device, but if that was the case, why didn’t they all have them? Tom was certain that it was important, and he disliked missing that key piece of information.
Sela was there. And…
Tom came to a halt as he stood face-to-face with Will Riker. Next to Will was Worf, nodding grimly to himself.
“Isn’t this cozy,” Sela asked. “Most, most intriguing.” She did a slow circle of the room. “We did a DNA scan on our new arrival here and matched him against yours, Will. He’s an exact duplicate. Care to explain?”
“I would have thought he would have been more than happy to do it,” said Tom.
“Oh, I’m sure he would. But we haven’t asked him anything yet and he, being a good Starfleet officer, hasn’t volunteered anything. So I’m asking you, Will: Who is this?”
Tom didn’t hesitate.
“His name is Tom Riker,” said Tom. “At least, that’s what he calls himself.” As he spoke, he watched Will’s face, but Will kept his expression carefully neutral. Obviously Will, still uncertain about the situation, was allowing Tom to take the lead, at least for the moment. And Worf, good junior officer that he was, was looking to Will as to how to handle things.
In quick, broad strokes, Tom outlined the bizarre set of circumstances that had led to the creation of a second Riker. He only made one minor substitution and one omission: He claimed that the other was Tom when, in fact, the other was Will. And he stated that Tom Riker had been given the rank of lieutenant and assigned to the Gandhi… both of which were true enough. He did not make any mention, of course, of Tom—i.e., himself—having joined the Maquis. The concept of two Rikers going wrong might be too much to try and convince her of.
Gone wrong.
Odd…he had never thought of himself in those terms before. He had always been able to rationalize up one side and down the other why he had taken the actions that he had. But now, seeing the unrelenting and openly contemptuous gaze of Will Riker upon him, he felt…
…lost.
“Incredible,” Sela said at last. She glanced at Kressn and Tom couldn’t help but notice that Kressn, ever so slightly, nodded. “And he is Tom…and you are Will. Correct?”
“When you get right down to it, to be perfectly truthful…we’re both Will Riker. One just calls himself something different for reference.”
And again, damn…Kressn nodded. It was very subtle, but something that Sela could easily have seen out of the corner of her eye and made a mental note of. Somehow, Kressn was keeping her apprised as to truth and falsehood. Perhaps he was some sort of mind-reader or telepath. That would explain how he pulled his vanishing stunt; he convinced people that he wasn’t there.
Which meant that Tom was now extremely vulnerable: If Sela asked for further clarification, there was no way that Tom was going to be able to dodge it.
Instead Sela turned to Will and said, “Is his description of the events on Nervala Four true?”
“Reasonably.”
“My. What a curious universe we live in.” And then, to his relief, Sela simply nodded, apparently satisfied with the responses she had gotten. “All right. This is most intriguing. We’ve gone from having no options…to several. Most, most useful. Gentlemen…” She stopped her circling directly in front of Worf and Will. “I’m going to offer you a deal.”
“Klingons do not deal,” Worf informed her.
“Nor do Starfleet officers,” added Riker.
“I see. That being the case, do you mind telling me how you expected to get out of here? Were you going to shoot your way out? Or perhaps you thought you’d simply ask us to turn over the Betazoid and the Klingon child to you out of the goodness of our hearts.”
“We have backup that will be here within the hour,” Will informed her. “They’ll be attuned to your warp signature and will easily be able to trace you. Nothing will be accomplished by holding us here. If you’re wise, you’ll pack up your people and get the hell out before Starfleet arrives.”
As bluffs went, it wasn’t bad. But Tom’s heart sank as he saw Sela look once more to Kressn. Kressn very subtly shook his head and Sela turned back to Will with confidence. “We’ll all wait together, I think. In fact…tell you what…I’m going to go on the assumption that that was a lie. That you’re here on your own…although you obviously had your troubles getting here. Did someone beat you up and take your uniform, Tom?”
Will shrugged and said nothing. Tom mentally congratulated his counterpart for keeping his mouth shut.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sela continued. “Worf…Tom…here is what is going to happen. We want one of you to act as our agent in a small matter. It is a high-risk proposition and, possibly, a suicide mission. Nonetheless, it is necessary. We need you to attempt to assassinate Gowron.”
Worf and Will looked at one another. “You tried something similar once…trying to reprogram Geordi’s mind so that he would assassinate then-chancellor Vagh,” Worf said.
“Apparently you weren’t listening,” Sela pointed out. “I didn’t say you had to succeed in killing him. If you do, so much the better, but it’s not required. You will attempt to poison him. You will use a bottle of Romulan ale which you will present to him, claiming you took it off a captured Romulan vessel. He will appreciate the irony of that, the smug bastard. He will trust you, of course…either Worf, whom he regards so highly, or you, Tom Riker, who will be able to pass easily for Will Riker, trusted second officer of the blessed Picard. Either way, you are to see that he drinks from it. One swig will make him deathly ill rather quickly. Two will likely be fatal. If they are unable to save him and he dies, that will obviously be the best situation…for us. If he survives, it will still come across as an obvious assassination attempt. Such obviousness can only be regarded as highest contempt on the part of the Federation. Not even a subtle attempt at assassination—instead, overt and unsubtle. As if daring the Klingons to do something about it.”
“I see. And since it’s quite likely a suicide mission,” Will said, his gaze never leaving Tom, “naturally the original Riker wouldn’t be willing to stick his neck out. Although I’m surprised, Sela,” and he turned to her, “that you didn’t try to rewire his mind, as you did with Geordi, and simply force him to do it.”
“Actually, truth be known,” and Sela smiled sweetly at Tom even as she addressed Will, “that was exactly what I was going to do. But he was so…pretty…and had his amusement value. I was in no rush; sooner or later, had I gotten bored with him, I could indeed have done just that. But now it won’t be necessary. Everyone wins.”
“Is that what you call it?” Worf sneered.
“Well…everyone who matters wins,” she amended it. “If it puts your minds at ease, gentlemen…you would simply be hastening a situation that is deteriorating anyway. Gowron is already suspicious of the Federation due to the current talks being held with the Romulan government. Think of this as…an insurance policy.”
“If you think,” Worf told her, “that either of us would willingly poison Gowron…and damage the relationship between the Federation and the Klingon Empire…you are sadly mistaken.”
“Mr. Worf speaks for both of us,” said Riker.
“Does he. My, my, Will,” she said to Tom, “it appears that your duplicate has more dedication to the Federation that you do.”
“He can afford that luxury,” Tom said grimly. “He hasn’t been through what I have.”
“Do you have any other excuses on hand for your behavior, or is that the extent of it?” Will said contemptuously. Tom met his gaze, although for some reason his impulse was to look away.
Sela slowly walked up to within a few feet of Worf and Will. “You understand that, if you refuse…there will be torture involved. However, if you agree to go…well, as I said, for whomever goes, it will be a suicide mission. But we will release Deanna, Alexander, and whichever of you is left behind. We have no reason to keep you. Oh, we’ll erase your memory of our whereabouts, but other than that, you’ll be intact.”
“Nothing you can do to us is going to change our mind.”
“Now, Mr. Riker…who said anything about torturing you?”
That was when they saw Deanna and Alexander hauled into the room on the other side of the plexi.
Both Rikers and Worf reacted with similar shock. In addition to the guards who were dragging Deanna and Alexander, there was another, fairly heavyset Romulan who seemed in the process of preparing a hypo.
When Deanna and Alexander saw Worf and Riker, their faces filled with momentary hope. Then they realized that their rescuers were as much captive as they. Tom saw Will and Worf looking utterly helpless and frustrated as they watched in impotent fury while the people they loved were strapped down to tables in the other side.
“Let them go!” Will said forcefully.
“Right, right, I know. The fleet. Backup. Last-minute rescue. This is just to have something to do while we wait, then. Tok…go ahead.”
The heavyset Romulan whom she had addressed as Tok nodded, took the hypo he had prepared, and injected the contents into Deanna’s arm. Then he reset it and did the same to Alexander.
“What are you doing? What did you do to them?” snarled Worf.
“Will,” Sela said to Tom, “I must admit to being intrigued. I want to see if your duplicate has stronger feelings for Deanna Troi than you did. You see, gentlemen…and Worf…your loved ones have just been injected with poison. It is rather slow-acting. You’re going to be able to watch them die, bit by bit, over the next few minutes. The antidote is close at hand and can easily be administered…if the terms are agreed to. By the way, you’ll notice that it’s soundproof in there. You can’t hear them; the comm system is only one way. Don’t worry, though, I’ll attend to that. Tok…activate the two-way, if you would be so kind.”
Tok nodded, stepping over a console. A moment later there was a click……and then began the longest minutes of Tom Riker’s life.
For the poison that had been injected into the systems of Deanna Troi and Alexander was not some simple, painless toxin that slowly killed them. No, it ripped through their veins like liquid fire. Deanna cried out first; Alexander managed to hold out a little longer but, in short order, he too was moaning.
And their cries only increased in intensity.
Deanna’s eyes were closed, and Tom immediately knew why. She didn’t want to look at them…look to Will and Worf. She knew that they were helpless, that they were likely being asked to do something terrible, and that she and Alexander were being used as leverage. If she looked at them, if she let the pleading in her eyes show, it might unduly influence them, and she couldn’t bear to do that to them. She would clearly rather die than put them in that position. Either that…or perhaps she just couldn’t determine which of them she would look to for succor, and so looked at neither.
But Alexander…his eyes never left his father. Alexander was doing everything he could to repress the shouts of agony. He did not simply howl away; every so often, a scream would force itself out through his reluctant teeth, but for every one that he was unable to hold in, there were ten that he bit back. And Tom could see he was looking to his father…for help? For approval? He couldn’t tell.
“Sela, is this necessary…” Tom began.
“Yes, Will, it is…unless you’re going to volunteer to go,” Sela replied. “Are you?”
Tom couldn’t think, couldn’t move. His mind was frozen. He had nothing to lose, really. Discredit the Federation…why not? Why not?
But…he had made a pledge to the Maquis. He had work yet to do. And…sacrifice himself…for what? For Deanna? He remembered the cold contempt that she’d had for him, the way she’d spoken to him. She had been all too ready to think of him as nothing but a traitor, even though he had tried to put across to her, as subtly as he could, that he’d actually been trying to thwart Sela’s plan, to keep Worf out of it, to find a way where it could wind up just being him and Deanna, together….
No, she’d made it all too clear. She was too good for the likes of him.
To hell with her.
She’s dying…look at her…she’s dying….
He shut it out of his mind and forced himself to watch.
The cries of the victims grew in volume, Deanna’s shrieks being louder, and even Alexander unable to hold back the agony as much as before.
“Time is ticking, gentlemen. They’re not getting any healthier.”
Deanna’s skin was ashen, Alexander’s not much better. Their eyes were glazing over, their bodies beginning to convulse.
“Well?” prompted Sela.
Will Riker looked as if his heart was being torn from him.
Worf was stoic. He turned to Sela and said flatly, “Death before dishonor. Deanna is Starfleet. My son is Klingon. They…will understand. If the situation were reversed…and I were in their place…they know I would rather die than see them suffer the humiliation of bowing to terrorists such as you. That…” He nodded grimly. “…is the Klingon way. A Klingon child…and a woman who would be the bride of a Klingon…understand that.”
“I see,” Sela said mildly. “Well then…Tom…it’s up to you, then. You’re the final arbiter of their fate. Will you cooperate? Or won’t you?”
Alexander and Deanna were in their death throes. Within moments, even with the antidote, it would be too late. Deanna arched her back, seized with convulsions, and she let out a shriek that was the most hideous thing either Riker had ever heard.
And from the depths of his soul, Will Riker cried out, “All right! I’ll do it. I’ll do what you want.”
“Tok!” Sela immediately called. Tok, for his part, had been prepared and immediately injected the antidote into both of them, first Troi and then Alexander. For a long moment—the longest moment in the lives of both Rikers—it didn’t seem to have any effect. And then, slowly, the trembling which had taken over their bodies began to subside. The proper colors of their skin started to return.
“Heart…respiration…returning to respective norms,” Tok announced calmly, checking his instruments. “The antidote worked…barely,” he added with a slight tone of reproval. “Next time, Sela, try not to cut it quite that thin, if you please.”
“It wasn’t up to me,�
�� Sela replied, “but to them. Or rather…to Tom Riker here,” and she nodded to Will. “You understand that, if you fail to cooperate…if you try some sort of trick…they will die.”
“I…understand,” said Will.
Tom Riker, for his part, didn’t even know what he was feeling. Relief? Contempt for Will…or gratitude? Relief? What was it?
Will was unable to meet Worf’s gaze. And as the two of them were ushered away, Tom had the feeling that all was definitely not going to be well between the two of them. Because Worf did not appear conflicted.
He was clearly and obviously angry.
Tom couldn’t help but wonder why. Will had just saved not only Worf’s fiancée, but his son. They and Worf, thanks to Will’s sacrifice, were going to get away; Tom himself would see to that if Sela tried to renege on her promise. All in all, it had worked out rather badly for Will, but great for Worf.
What was the problem?
Twenty-two
“You call yourself a Starfleet officer!” Worf shouted.
Will and Worf had been tossed into a room together, apparently to wait while the Romulans scrounged up, somehow, a Starfleet uniform for him. There was nothing of particular interest in the room to look at. Will had found a door on one side against the wall, but when he had slid it open all he found was a closet with some uniforms stashed in it. Riker considered trying to don the uniforms and sneak out in disguise. But he didn’t think he would pass for Romulan, and he was sure as hell positive that Worf didn’t have a prayer of doing so.
So Riker leaned against a wall, trying to sort through his thoughts, and he didn’t even bother glancing at Worf. “Not now, Worf.”
“How could you agree to their demands!”
“I said not now, Lieutenant Commander,” Will said with a far sharper tone.
“Not this time,” Worf said hotly. “This time…no ranks…if you have the stomach for that.”
Will’s face grew flushed as he turned to face Worf. “All right,” he said, in a slow, deliberate voice. “No ranks. Man to man…you watch yourself.”