Worf looked troubled. “Why should the Ferengi want to sell the artifact? Why not examine it themselves, come up with defensive strategies, and sell those instead?”
Data responded. “The sum of known Ferengi science and technology is basically an elaborate collection of devices and knowledge which they have acquired from other cultures. They have no strong research and development capability of their own.”
“So,” Riker continued, “it’s to their advantage to sell it to us because we stand a better chance of unlocking the Borg’s secrets before anyone else.” He smiled at the captain. “Our position is looking better all the time.”
But La Forge raised an objection. “There is another possibility, Commander. What if the Ferengi have already examined the artifact and found out it’s just junk? Instead of throwing it away, they’re trying to cheat us.”
“ Or,” Dr. Crusher added, giving Picard a skeptical look from beneath her vibrant red hair, “the Ferengi are attempting to sell the same artifact to a number of different buyers at the same time.”
Troi looked surprised. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“You’re not as devious as the doctor,” Riker said with a grin.
“But the Ferengi are,” Picard stated. Then he saw his officers’ amused expressions. “Um, sorry, Dr. Crusher. Not quite what I meant.”
“In any case,” Troi suggested, trying not to smile, “I recommend we ask DaiMon Pol to let us see the artifact for ourselves. To be certain no one else has made off with it.”
“And,” La Forge added, “to be sure it’s something more worthwhile than a twisted hunk of old Borg plumbing.”
Picard looked around the table. Each of his senior officers had stated his or her view, and he sorted them now to determine the best course of action. He had found that that was generally the one course which did the least to limit future options.
“Very well,” Picard concluded. “We shall ask DaiMon Pol to take us to the location of the artifact so we can examine it prior to making our offer.”
“And if he refuses?” Riker asked.
Troi answered. “Then I would tell him that we interpret his refusal as an indication that the artifact is no longer in his possession, or is a fraud, or contains nothing of value. If it is any of those things, the DaiMon will continue to refuse, and we will have lost nothing. If it is a legitimate Borg artifact of scientific interest and the DaiMon does take us to it, then we will have cost him time. And the longer he remains in that stolen ship, the more anxious he will be to sell.”
“I agree,” Picard said. “And since we’re not due at Betazed for at least two more weeks, we have some time to pursue this negotiation.” The captain folded his hands on the table before him. “So … now that we know what we’re going to do, all we need is a negotiating stance to get us the best possible deal. Any suggestions?” he asked.
As he expected, everyone spoke at once.
“Impossible!” DaiMon Pol exclaimed. “If we tell you where the item is, you will steal it!”
Riker leaned close to Picard and whispered, “What he means is, in our position, the Ferengi would steal it.”
The DaiMon obviously overheard Riker’s comment and appeared shocked. “It would not be stealing, hew-man. It would simply be exploiting a negotiating advantage. There is no crime in that.”
Picard remained seated in his chair at the center of the bridge. Troi, now in her Starfleet uniform, and Riker were in their usual command positions, Dr. Crusher was to the side, and all three officers also remained seated. Riker had suggested that standing up to address the Ferengi might indicate an unseemly eagerness to close the deal.
“We have stated our concerns, DaiMon,” Picard said flatly. He covered his mouth as he yawned, one of Troi’s contributions to their negotiation tactics. “We do have an interest in acquiring the artifact you have shown us, primarily to see if it might be a smaller part of the other pieces of Borg technology already in the Federation’s possession.” That had been Dr. Crusher’s suggestion, implying that the Ferengi’s offer to sell the artifact did not represent an all-or-nothing opportunity for the Federation.
DaiMon Pol narrowed his tiny eyes skeptically. “If the Federation has other pieces of Borg technology, then why has the Alliance not heard about it?”
Picard saw Riker lean forward with a wide smile and let him take the rejoinder. “Perhaps because the Federation pays Ferengi spies more than the Ferengi do,” he said.
DaiMon Pol clamped his mouth shut, outraged by Riker’s suggestion.
“I repeat, DaiMon Pol,” Picard said. “We are willing to buy the artifact. And we are authorized to act on behalf of the Federation in this matter. But we must examine it—ourselves—in order to be certain it is what you represent it to be.”
“I am crushed, Captain Pee-card, that there is so little trust in you.”
“And I am in a hurry, DaiMon Pol. Do you wish to sell to us or not?” Picard made a show of turning around and saying, “Mr. Worf, alert Engineering to prepare the warp engines. We’ll be on our way soon.” Picard could see it took Worf a moment to realize the odd request was part of the negotiating tactics. Except during scheduled maintenance, the Enterprise’s warp engines were always on standby mode. And Mr. La Forge was sitting almost directly behind Worf at the propulsion station.
“Aye-aye, Captain Picard,” Worf replied heartily. “I shall certainly inform Engineering that the engines must be ready for immediate departure at once. I will do so now.”
Picard frowned at the Klingon’s overacting, but decided it would do no harm. He turned back to the screen.
“This is not a question of trust,” Picard explained to the Ferengi commander. “It is a question of timing. The Enterprise has a schedule to keep and unless we become involved in serious negotiations, we must keep it. However, in the interests of fairness and better relations between the Federation and the Ferengi Alliance, we can make arrangements for another Federation starship to rendezvous with you, in say …” Picard glanced at Riker. “Four weeks, would you say, Number One?” The time delay had been Mr. La Forge’s contribution. He said the DaiMon would froth at the mouth to see a deal slip through his fingers because of a scheduling conflict.
“More like five weeks,” Riker said seriously.
Picard nodded, as if disappointed. “Five weeks it is, Number One.” He looked expectantly at the screen. “If that would be convenient?”
Apparently, it wouldn’t be. “Very well, very well,” the DaiMon complained. “I shall escort you to the artifact’s location. But there will be conditions.”
“How can there be conditions if we haven’t even begun to negotiate?” Riker said in surprise. He turned to Picard. “Captain, we really should leave this to a Federation commercial negotiating team. Besides, they’ve been trained on Vulcan so they’d probably be able to get a better deal than we ever would.” Mr. Data had come up with that particular addition to the overall strategy. Why should the DaiMon want to wait for experts if he might be able to get a more generous price right now?
“Conditions? Did I say conditions?” DaiMon Pol said quickly. He laughed quickly, insincerely. “I meant to say suggestions. Just a few suggestions to make things go … more smoothly. Faster, even.”
Picard gave the Ferengi a cheery smile. “Ah, splendid. And what suggestions might those be?”
DaiMon Pol looked pained. “Um, so I can be sure there is no … ill intent on your part, you will not use your ship’s main sensors to examine the artifact. After all,” he added quickly, “that could tell you everything you need to know and then where would I be?”
Picard frowned. “DaiMon, really—the whole point of this exercise is that we must examine the artifact before we buy it.”
“And you shall,” the Ferengi said hurriedly. “But with handheld tricorders. Optical sensors, even. You can crawl all over it if you wish to. But if you don’t buy it, you … will have to give the tricorder records back to us.”
&n
bsp; Picard looked at Troi and Riker. Though no one else would be able to read the subtle signals, both officers agreed.
“Very well,” Picard said. “We accept your ’suggestions.’”
The Ferengi emitted a large sigh for such a small being. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he asked, almost plaintively.
“Not for us,” Riker said quietly through unmoving lips.
“Now,” Picard said, “how far away is this artifact?”
DaiMon Pol waved a finger at someone offscreen. “ Transmitting coordinates now, Captain Pee-card.”
Data spoke up from the conn. “We have received coordinates for a point approximately three light-years distant, sir. It appears to be deep space. No astronomical bodies of note have been charted there.”
“DaiMon,” Picard asked, “is this the location where you found the artifact, or where you have hidden it?”
The Ferengi grinned as for the first time in an hour he clearly realized he was truly back in control. “When you have completed your purchase, Captain, I shall of course be more than happy to answer all your questions. But for now, I ’suggest’ you follow me.”
The transmission ended.
Picard stood up and stretched his back. “How did we do?” he asked his officers.
“I believe the threat of a Vulcan-trained negotiating team strengthened our position considerably,” Data offered.
“I’d say it was the time-constraint issue that really got a rise out of him,” La Forge suggested.
“I was watching him carefully,” Dr. Crusher said. “When he heard that the Federation had other pieces of Borg technology, that’s when he started to fold.”
Picard eyed his officers, each having given credit to her or his own tactic. “And what is your opinion, Mr. Worf?” The Klingon’s suggestion had been to send a boarding party to the stolen Romulan vessel, capture the Ferengi crew, then offer them immunity from extradition to the Romulan Empire in return for the artifact’s location. In the meantime, the Romulan ship could be taken back to the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards for reverse engineering. He had offered to lead the boarding party personally.
Unfortunately, Picard had told him, Starfleet tended to frown on acts of piracy, even when they were committed against pirates.
“My opinion,” Worf answered, “is that we are being led into a trap.”
Troi looked up at the Klingon. “Worf, you think that about everything.”
“It is my job to be prepared,” Worf conceded. “But why should the Ferengi leave a potentially valuable artifact unguarded in deep space?”
“We don’t know that it’s unguarded,” Riker said.
Worf gave him a withering stare. “ I know it is unguarded. I have scanned the coordinates the Ferengi provided. There are no vessels of appreciable size anywhere near them.”
“Can you detect an artifact there, Mr. Worf?” Picard asked.
“If it is of the mass DaiMon Pol told us, it would not register at this distance.”
“Then how can it be a trap?” Riker asked.
Worf frowned grimly. “The Ferengi are an exceptionally tricky species.”
“Does anyone have any other interpretations of events?” Picard asked. Sometimes when his senior officers went after each other like this, he felt more like the captain of a debating team than a starship. But their quest for excellence could not be faulted, and they were always supportive.
“I’d say it’s a test,” La Forge said.
“A test?” Riker repeated.
“Makes sense,” the engineer continued. “The Enterprise is at least two factors faster than a D’deridex-class Warbird. If we wanted to, we could get to those coordinates a good five hours before DaiMon Pol, and he’s got to know it.”
Picard had to admit that assessment did make sense. “So you’re suggesting that he’s just giving us what is no more than a rendezvous point. To see if our intentions are pure.”
La Forge nodded, then patted Worf on the shoulder. “Either that or it’s a trap.”
Captain Picard surveyed his officers with appreciation. “I am in awe of your ability to think devious thoughts, every one of you,” he told them. “You must have brutal poker games.”
“Always room for a fresh victim,” Riker said charmingly, “if you’d ever care to join us.”
Picard opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. There was something in the sudden juxtaposition of thoughts of poker and a victim … he had seen a deck of cards … a knife held high. He put his hand to his eyes, shook his head. Counselor Troi was beside him in an instant, looking up at him with concern.
“Captain, I’ve never felt you react like that. Are you all right, sir?”
Picard allowed himself to be helped to his chair, still overcome. “It must be an aftereffect of my mind-meld with Ambassador Sarek,” he said. “Some memory not my own.” He looked into Troi’s questioning dark eyes. “But what a memory. Something to do with a poker game and a knife … it makes no sense.”
“There are no known games extant on Vulcan involving both playing cards and cutting weapons,” Data said helpfully, turning around in his chair at the conn. “However, among the Ecklarians, there is a ritual form of recreational surgery which is played with—”
“That will be all, Mr. Data,” Picard said. “Thank you.”
Data fell silent, blinking innocently in a behavior that told those who knew him well that his programming had been interrupted for no reason which he understood.
Picard knocked his hand in the air, as if beating time for an imaginary orchestra. “I think the ambassador once played a poker game with someone who … who had been injured by a knife … a victim? I think that’s the connection. The ambassador was quite impressed with the way the victim conducted himself. Most satisfactory.”
“Any idea who it was?” Riker asked.
Picard tried to call up a picture from the memory but nothing came to mind. The impressions were fading as quickly as they had come. “There’s something about an Andorian,” he said. “But that’s all.” He sighed. “The ambassador has been in contact with many minds in his career. Many different beings.”
“Captain,” Data announced, ”the Warbird is preparing to leave orbit.”
“Give it a comfortable lead, Mr. Data. Just in case they press the wrong control on their intervalve.”
“A wise precaution,” Data agreed. A moment later he said, “They have gone to warp.”
“Are they still in one piece?” Riker asked cynically.
“And continuing to accelerate,” Data confirmed. “Holding at warp seven.”
Picard shook his head again. The flashback incident had passed. “Mr. Worf,” he said, “send a follow-up message to Starbase 324 and advise Admiral Hanson of our intentions. Be sure to give him our destination coordinates.”
Troi sat back down by the captain. “Do you think there’s a chance this is just some plot to draw us into a trap?”
Picard didn’t have a straightforward answer for the counselor. “All I know is that whatever’s waiting for us out there, it involves the Romulans, the Ferengi, and quite possibly the Borg.” He settled back in his chair. “Therefore, I believe it is incumbent upon us to be ready for anything.” Picard glanced up to the side. “Would you agree, Mr. Worf?”
“A wise decision, Captain.”
“Number One?” Picard asked.
“Without question, sir.”
Picard smiled. Whenever Worf and Riker agreed on the same course of action, then he could be certain he had achieved consensus on his bridge.
“Mr. Data,” Picard said, “take us out of orbit and match course and speed with the Warbird.”
“Should I hold a course slightly offset from theirs, sir? So we don’t run into them in case they come to a sudden stop?”
“Make it so,” Picard agreed.
Then he settled back into his chair and did the hardest thing it was for any starship captain to do—he waited.
And despite what any
of his officers predicted was going to happen, Picard felt certain that whatever the Enterprise discovered at the coordinates the Ferengi had provided, it was going to be unexpected.
The universe, Picard had found, generally tended to work like that. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
TEN
LONDON, OPTIMAL REPUBLIC OF GREAT BRITAIN, EARTH
Earth Standard: June 21, 2078
Cochrane lunged at Thorsen, both hands outstretched, aimed for his throat.
But he never reached the madman. Instead, Thorsen seemed to blur, to shift, sidestepping easily even as a rigid hand scooped up to strike Cochrane beneath his sternum, changing his angle of attack just enough to carry him past Thorsen and into the desk behind.
Cochrane saw stars of a different kind explode before him as the edge of the desk slammed into his stomach, knocking his breath from him in a wrenching gasp. Before he could even think to try to breathe again, the side of Thorsen’s open hand slammed into the back of his head, smashing his face onto the writing surface.
The pain was unlike anything he had felt before, fiery needles shooting up through his nose, behind his eyes, into the back of his head.
He tried to moan, but his lungs were off-line. He tried to push himself up, but Thorsen’s boot crunched into his side and with a crack he felt more than heard, Cochrane rolled from the desk to the floor.
Thorsen stood over him. His face was in darkness against the overhead light. Cochrane tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn’t catch his breath. He felt he was smothering, enveloped in pain.
The door to the office was open again. Two zombies stood inside it, vacuous, drug-puffed faces staring at him with dull indifference, fistguns pointing at him.
“You are only a scientist,” Thorsen said. “I am a leader of men. I trust the lesson will not have to be taught again.”
He reached down to Cochrane, grabbed his hand, pulled him up as if he were without mass.
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