by Peter David
“No,” Tom replied calmly. He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Will…I know you don’t think much of me…”
“Is this where I’m going to hear another lecture about how difficult it’s been for you? Of the hand that you didn’t get dealt. Are you going to try and rationalize away the fact that you’re a traitor?”
“A traitor to whom, Will? A traitor to what?” Tom grinned raggedly. “I’m doing my duty, just as you are. But I have a different duty. So I became a member of the Maquis while you stayed with Starfleet. So what? Someone had to be the evil twin.”
Will, to his own surprise, laughed at that. “I don’t think of you as evil. Stupid, perhaps…and a traitor…but not evil.”
“That’s damned decent of you. We’re no different, Will. I watched you stand there and throw away your Starfleet oath—risk interplanetary warfare—for the life of a single woman. How does that make you any less of a traitor?”
“It is different.”
“The reasons may be different, but the result is exactly the same. Don’t tell me it’s not, we both know it is.” He crouched down next to Will and lowered his voice. “You can fool Sela…but you can’t fool us. Don’t even bother trying to lie to me. I know what you’re going to do. You’ll try and pull some sort of double-cross, some sort of last-minute stunt. You’re playing for time, and—unlike Worf—you don’t mind lying or losing face or bending to the pressure. You just couldn’t let her die.”
“Really. Tell me this, then: If we’re so much alike…how come you could let her die?”
Tom looked down. He actually appeared ashamed. “You know…when I first met you…and I saw that you had let Deanna just be there, part of your life but outside of your life all those years…I felt nothing but contempt for you. Perhaps some of that carried over to this day. But I think…to a degree…you are stronger than I ever could have been. Stronger because you resisted the impulse to pursue her, to reignite the relationship, even though you must have wanted to…just because you felt it was the right thing for her.”
“Mr. Worf seems to feel that it was a sign of cowardice,” Will said.
“From what I’ve seen of Mr. Worf, he would. You see, the thing that Worf hasn’t learned yet is that just because you can do something doesn’t always mean you should. He acts on impulse a good deal.”
“Worf’s impulse was to save Deanna and Alexander. He resisted it in the pursuit of a greater cause. I didn’t. What does that make me?”
“Cagey,” said Tom. “Because, as I said, I know that you wouldn’t give in just like that. You must have something in mind.”
Will was about to reply, but then he stopped. A look of caution crossed his face. “You must think I’m seriously stupid.”
“No. No, I don’t think that at all. Why would you think I do?”
“If I were planning something…if I was hoping to make a grandstand play…do you seriously think I would tell you?”
“Oh, of course. I’m the traitor.”
“Yes. You are. You have no idea what it’s like, Tom…to be ashamed of myself…and unable to do anything about it, because it’s not myself…but it is.”
“I suppose. After all, why would I have anything to be ashamed of when it comes to you, right? Will Riker, the great, Will Riker the wise. Will Riker who, even when he betrays his ideals, doesn’t do it out of some nasty, dirty political cause. No, no. He does it…” He made a thumpa-thumpa gesture with his hands over his chest. “…for love.” He paused and then said, “You know, Will…so many people ask themselves, if they had it to do over differently, would they? When the question had to do with your relationship with Deanna, you were probably the luckiest bastard in the galaxy. My existence gave you the opportunity to find that out. And the answer was, No, you wouldn’t do it differently. How very gratifying.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is…how do I get to find out? If I had something to do over again, would I do it differently? I don’t get to have a convenient re-creation of me through a transporter accident. So if I want to find out if I’d do things differently…there’s only one way to find out. I have to do it myself.”
And before the full meaning of Tom’s words managed to weigh on him, Will suddenly felt a pinch in his arm. He looked down and saw two, small dartlike objects nestled in his right biceps. Then his gaze swiveled over to Tom’s hand, where a small weapon was held.
“Good night, Will,” he said.
The world moved sideways around Will Riker. He tried to pull his head together, but he couldn’t do it. A moment later he slumped over onto the floor.
“After all,” Tom asked Will’s insensate body, “how easy is it to betray one more person…when you’ve betrayed before?”
When the Romulans showed up, they saw only one Riker sitting in the middle of the room…the one with the Starfleet uniform.
“Where’s Will Riker?” they asked.
“How do I know where he is. Am I my brother’s keeper?” said Tom. “He said he had other matters that he needed to attend to. That’s all I know. You want him so much, you go find him.”
For all the seriousness of the moment, Tom was finding it somewhat amusing. For what seemed ages now, Tom Riker had been masquerading as Will Riker, hoping not to be found out. His impersonation had been so perfect that he had convinced the Romulans he was, in fact, Will Riker. Yet now he had to pass himself off as Tom Riker…which should have been simple, considering that he was Tom Riker, but even that was going to be slightly tricky since he had to remember to answer only to the name of Tom rather than Will…even though Will wasn’t really his name…except it was.
His head started to hurt.
“Come on, then,” one of the guards said, and they escorted Tom Riker down the hallway, leaving an unconscious Will 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?”
“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.”
Twenty-three
“Will!” 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 mo
uth. For the first words that he was greeted with upon his arrival were “We assume you’re here to join Picard.”
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 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 thing 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 fall-back, 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.”
“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.”
“Oh? Do I know him?”
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?”
“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 Kahless 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…”
“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, somethin
g 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.
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 do it.