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Federation Page 20

by Judith Reeves-Stevens

The alarms ended as the viewscreen image changed, once again showing the interior of a Romulan bridge. But, for a change, a Romulan was present. She wore a standard military uniform and her black hair was pulled back tightly to her skull in a warrior’s queue, making her vulcanoid ears more pronounced. Her heavy, angular brow threw dark shadows across her eyes, but Picard could tell that unlike most Romulans he had encountered, she was not attempting to hide anything. She was clearly anxious, though about what, he did not know.

  “Captain Picard,” the Romulan began. “I am Tarl, commander of this vessel. I apologize for the subterfuge that was used to bring you here.”

  Picard was aware of Troi standing behind him, out of sight of the optical sensors that were relaying his image to the Romulan ship. “I’m picking up worry, Captain.”

  Picard turned to face Troi, his back to the screen. “Is this a trap?” he whispered.

  Troi shook her head. “I do not sense she means us harm. Only that she fears others wish to do her harm.”

  “I see,” Picard said. He turned back to the screen.

  “Commander Tarl, I must ask for an explanation of this subterfuge. Am I to take it that there is no Borg artifact?”

  “Oh, but there is, Captain,” the Romulan said. “Though it does not belong to the Ferengi.”

  Picard waited expectantly. “Please. Continue.”

  The Romulan lifted her chin defiantly.

  “This is difficult for her, Captain,” Troi said softly behind him.

  “I have stolen the artifact from my people,” the Romulan said. “I wish to give it to the Federation in exchange for a ship and supplies for myself and my supporters.”

  “She’s hiding something,” Troi whispered.

  “May I ask why?” Picard said.

  The Romulan appeared deadly serious. “I am not a traitor, Captain. But I know the threat the Borg represent to my people. And I know that the politics of the central command preclude any chance of understanding the nature of the artifact before the Borg reach our borders.” She sighed. Even Picard could tell that what she said was painful for her. “I want your Federation scientists to study the artifact, to devise some kind of defense against those creatures, and to share it with us. Otherwise, the Romulan Star Empire will not survive.”

  “Then why go through all this to sell the artifact to us?” Picard asked. “And why involve the Ferengi? Why not just give it to us?”

  The Romulan’s face darkened in anger. “Understand my situation! I have stolen from the Empire! There is no escape for me except what you can provide. A ship, supplies, a chance for my crew and me to survive, in exchange for a chance for your people and mine to survive. The Ferengi are my brokers, Captain, no more than that. I needed them to seek you out and entice you here in a way that would not alert your Betazoid counselor. DaiMon Pol has received a Warbird in partial payment for his services. When you give me a new ship, he will have this one as well.” She clasped her hands before her, a most human gesture of supplication. “I am not bargaining with you, Captain. The artifact is yours without conditions. I only ask recognition that I have not acted against the best wishes of the Empire, and a chance to live.”

  Picard chose his next words carefully. “Your proposition is extremely compelling, Commander. But I must confer with my staff before giving you what you have asked for.”

  “Then be quick about it,” the Romulan said. “The compliance divisions are searching for me even now.”

  She disappeared from the screen. Two green Warbirds hung against the stars. Picard went to Data.

  “Well, Mr. Data, it appears your analysis of the Federation’s generosity was not only correct, it is shared by the Romulan commander,” Picard told the android.

  Data turned to Troi. “I would be interested to know if the counselor feels Tarl was telling the truth.”

  Troi looked thoughtful. “For the most part, yes, I believe she is. But she is holding back something.”

  “Something harmful?” Picard asked.

  Troi shook her head. “I don’t think so, Captain. But she is afraid of what will happen to her if her mission fails.”

  Riker stepped up beside Picard and Troi. “It would be nice to know exactly what that mission is.”

  Worf added his opinion. “I see no need to try and second-guess a Romulan. She has said that there is an artifact. Let us demand to see it. There is still the possibility that this is nothing but an elaborate hoax.”

  “That seems most reasonable,” Picard said. Riker and Troi agreed. “Put the Romulan commander back onscreen, Mr. Worf.”

  When Tarl had appeared again, Picard laid out his conditions. “So you see,” he concluded, “it is imperative that we examine the artifact in order to know how to proceed past this point.”

  Tarl looked impatient. “I do not understand how people so cautious have accomplished all that you have. If you had been Romulan, this business would have been completed within a minute of our meeting.”

  “If we had been Romulan,” Picard observed, “you would already have been executed for treason, and the Borg would still threaten your Empire. Now, where may we find the artifact?”

  “Assemble a scientific team, then beam them to my hangar deck. The artifact is there.”

  “On your ship?” Picard asked.

  The Romulan’s lip curled in a sneer. “I have already answered that.” She made a curt gesture and the transmission ceased again.

  Picard turned to Riker and Troi. “Well, this should be most interesting. I have never seen the hangar deck of a Warbird.”

  “And you’re not going to see it today,” Riker said with an edge to his voice. “With all respect, sir, there is no way I’m allowing you to beam over to a hostile vessel.”

  “That is not a hostile vessel, Number One. Commander Tarl is no longer part of the Romulan Empire.”

  But Riker remained unconvinced. “We’ll transmit images of the artifact as we examine it,” he said. “Data, Worf, you’re with me.” He touched his communicator. “Mr. La Forge, report to Transporter Room Four. Bring a field engineering diagnostic kit.”

  Riker headed toward the aft turbolift. Data and Worf were already falling into step behind him as La Forge acknowledged.

  “Will,” Picard said just before the lift door closed. “Be careful over there.”

  Riker smiled at his captain. “That’s my job, sir.” Then he was gone.

  Picard was left on the bridge, feeling removed from the action once again. That was the problem in dealing with the unexpected, he decided. It never worked out the way he hoped.

  The Romulan D’deridex-class Warbird was almost twice the length of the Federation Galaxy-class starship, and her hangar deck was at least three times the volume of the Enterprise’s main shuttlebay. Even on the bridge viewscreen, the structure was impressive to Picard, and he couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to walk its green metal deckplates himself.

  The image Picard and Troi watched from their command chairs was being transmitted by a small optical sensor carried by Data. For the moment, the android was using it to scan the entire hangar deck. Picard lost track of the number of smaller Romulan craft he saw, some ready for launching, others stacked in metal grillwork on the distant walls. He was hopeful that no matter what information they recovered about the artifact, these interior views of the Warbird would be useful to Starfleet Intelligence.

  Data’s voice came over the bridge communication system. “Are you receiving the images clearly, Captain?”

  “We are,” Picard answered. “Is the artifact nearby?”

  The image on the screen began to shift as Data pointed his sensor in a new direction. “Commander Tarl is directing us to it now. Can you see it?”

  Picard felt his heart rate quicken. The artifact was there, at least the size of three Federation runabouts crushed together, encased in green metal scaffolding and ringed by portable lights. It grew larger on the screen with each step Data took toward it. From time to time, the b
acks of La Forge, Riker, and two Romulans intruded on the scene, but that did nothing to lessen the visual impact of the object.

  Troi smiled at Picard. “I can sense your excitement without even trying, Captain.”

  Picard nodded. He was not embarrassed to admit it. What could be more exciting than discovering something that could save the Federation? “The survival of the Federation might be about to be dropped in our laps,” he said. “This could be a pivotal moment in our history.”

  “In the galaxy’s history as well,” Troi agreed.

  “Captain,” Data transmitted, “Commander Tarl is permitting us to examine the artifact now. Initial scans confirm its composition closely matches that of the Borg vessel we encountered at System J-25.”

  “Wonderful,” Picard said under his breath, hoping his excitement was not as apparent to Tarl as it was to his counselor. “May I speak with the commander?”

  The viewscreen image swung to the side until Tarl appeared. She looked into the optical sensor. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Commander, can you tell me where you obtained this specimen?”

  The Romulan looked grim. “ I obtained it when I took command of this vessel with a small group of supporters. As for where the Empire obtained it, I am too much of a patriot to reveal all the details. Suffice it to say a Borg vessel attacked one of our most distant outposts. In the ensuing battle, a fleet of twenty ships was lost, five of them Warbirds. At the height of the battle, a freighter managed to collide with the Borg ship and some debris was knocked free. This artifact is part of that debris, removed by mechanical force and not energy weapons. That is all I can tell you.”

  “That is enough,” Picard said compassionately. “I have no wish for you to compromise the security of the Empire.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Commander Tarl stepped away and Data returned the optical sensor to a view of the artifact. Then the image jiggled beyond the capability of the ship’s computer to steady it.

  “Captain Picard,” Data said, “I am going to mount the optical sensor on a light stand so that you may monitor our activities. I will be more useful working on the artifact myself.”

  “Carry on, Mr. Data,” Picard approved.

  Data’s back appeared on the screen as he walked toward the Borg monstrosity. Riker, La Forge, and Worf were already on the scaffolding, scanning the artifact intently with tricorders. Picard turned to Troi. “Was there much equivocation in the commander’s story about the origin of this artifact?” he asked.

  “Some,” Troi said. “But mostly she was hesitant about revealing the location of the outpost. Also, she was feeling a great deal of frustration over the number of ships that had been lost in the attack.”

  “Twenty,” Picard repeated. “And five Warbirds. A significant loss. But I do have to wonder why such an armada was available for the defense of one of the Empire’s farthest outposts.”

  “Perhaps they had some warning that the attack was imminent?”

  “If they do have some way of detecting the Borg at great distances, perhaps the commander can be persuaded to share that secret with us as well.”

  La Forge’s voice came over the communications system. “ Captain, this chunk of machinery is in better shape than it looks. The outside is pretty banged up, but the interior structure seems to be intact. And I am picking up a low-level energy reading.”

  Picard grew anxious. “You’re certain there are no defensive systems in the artifact which you might inadvertently trigger?”

  “Fairly certain, Captain. If the Romulans have been poking around this thing as much as this scaffolding suggests and they haven’t run into anything, we’re not going to either.”

  “Just the same, monitor that energy reading continuously and withdraw if it starts to increase.”

  “Understood, Captain. I’m going to try to squeeze in between two conduits here and take a look inside. But I’m almost positive that this is a legitimate piece of Borg technology.”

  “Thank you, Mr. La Forge. Carry on.” Picard looked over at the counselor.

  “I agree,” she said, responding to his emotional state.

  For the next few minutes, little happened. Picard overheard some of the conversation among his away team, mostly exhortations to hold something still, or to shine a light in a different direction, but what exactly they were doing was impossible to see from the optical sensor’s angle. Commander Tarl contacted Picard once to ask that the process be accelerated. But Picard politely declined to interfere with his people. La Forge had said he was “almost positive” about the artifact’s origin. When he said he was absolutely certain, that was when Picard would act.

  More silent minutes passed, until Troi commented on the fact that they had heard nothing for quite a length of time.

  Picard frowned. “Enterprise to Commander Riker. Status report, please.”

  Uncharacteristically, Riker replied, “Just a moment, Captain. We’re in the middle of a … tricky measurement.”

  “That was, without question, a lie,” Troi said.

  But Picard knew Riker would never lie to him. “Are they in danger?”

  Troi shook her head. “On the contrary, sir. They seem to be giving absolutely no thought to the fact they’re on a Romulan vessel inside a piece of potentially deadly technology.” The Betazoid counselor looked perplexed as she struggled to understand the impressions she received. “If anything, sir, they’re even more excited now than they were when they first saw the artifact.”

  “More excited?” Picard said.

  As if in answer, Riker finally replied to Picard. “Sorry for the delay, Captain. Commander Tarl is here beside me and I think we should go ahead and make our deal with her. But I also think you should probably take a look at the artifact yourself, just to confirm its … condition.”

  Picard looked to Troi. “He’s concealing something, Captain. Extremely powerful emotions of … discovery.”

  “But no sense of danger?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  “Commander Riker,” Picard said, “could you move into range of the optical sensor?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  As Picard asked his next question, he saw Riker, La Forge, Worf, and Data step in front of the artifact. Tarl was with them. Two other Romulans were at the side.

  “Lieutenant Worf,” Picard began, “as security officer, have you any objections to my coming aboard the Romulan vessel?”

  Tarl frowned in disgust at the question. But Worf stepped forward.

  “Absolutely none, Captain. The vessel is secure.”

  Troi confirmed the Klingon’s statement. “He is convinced there is no threat, sir. I pick up no sense of coercion or mind control of any kind. However, I do get the impression that they have obtained some knowledge which they do not wish to share with Commander Tarl.”

  Picard stood up and tugged at his tunic. “How extraordinary. What do you suppose they’ve found over there?”

  Troi smiled at her captain indulgently. “There’s only one way to find out, sir.”

  Picard understood the amused expression she wore. It was just that for all the wonders the Enterprise encountered, he sometimes felt a prisoner upon her, his well-being so fervently guarded by Riker and the rest of the crew. But now, to be free to go aboard a Romulan vessel, to take part in something of obviously great import, he felt such elation that he really was embarrassed to consider what his counselor might think of him if she sensed the depth of his emotional response. He wondered if she knew how frustrated he so often felt to merely be an observer and advisor during his colleagues’ adventures.

  “No need to be embarrassed,” Troi said, proving his point. “I think you should do what Will suggests and go over to the vessel.”

  “I look forward to it, Counselor, very much. Alert the transporter room. You have the bridge.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Then Jean-Luc Picard walked up the ramp to the aft turbolift, trying to imagine what could intrigue his cre
w even more than a piece of Borg technology. As he did so, he had a sudden wave of misgiving, even of danger. Yet, upon reflection, he could discover no reason for it, other than some deep-seated feeling of distrust for the Romulans, a distrust which he was suddenly surprised to find was not his own.

  Then Picard smiled in the privacy of the turbolift as he realized the source of the unease he felt. Somewhere deep inside of him, a small part of Ambassador Sarek, the best part, he hoped, was giving him warning.

  The Romulans were not to be trusted.

  THIRTEEN

  LAZY EIGHT RANCH, MICAH TOWNSHIP, CENTAURI B II

  Earth Standard: ≈ Early April 2117

  Zefram Cochrane removed the woven hat from his head and let the early evening breezes of the secondary winter dry the moisture there. His scalp was bare, darkened from the suns, spotted with age, ringed by shaggy gray locks. Monica had teased him about the look, said it had made him seem quite the authentic gentleman fanner. But Cochrane knew the style reminded her of her grandfather, Sir John, gone these many, many years.

  So much had gone with him, then and now.

  “Mr. Cochrane, sir?” Cochrane recognized the voice. Montcalm Daystrom had arrived from the Foundation. The youth was Cochrane’s personal assistant, a promising student, part of the family. But he was twenty Earth years old, seventeen Centauri, and like all the first children of this world, treated Cochrane with a respect and deference that made the old scientist cringe and wonder when he had stopped being a person. Instead, somewhere in the past decades, he had somehow become an icon, a symbol for this brave new era of humanity.

  Cochrane could hear Micah Brack laughing at that label, even as he thought it. No era of humanity was new, according to Brack. Simply a succession of new skins for old ceremonies. Cochrane missed his friend. No word of his fate had ever come back to him, though he doubted a man of Brack’s age would still be alive.

  Looking at Montcalm’s far too solicitous smile made Cochrane also think that the first children of Centauri could stuff it, and he told Montcalm so.

  But Montcalm only smiled and stepped closer to Cochrane. He was used to the fabled scientist and his ways, both in the lab, where the young man excelled, and in Cochrane’s private life, where more and more he needed an extra pair of arms. Together, student and teacher, they stood on the crest of a rich purple-green hill from where the Landing Plains stretched out to the edge of the Welcoming Sea. At this point midway in the planet’s bizarre orbit in the ternary system, Centauri B was setting even as Centauri A rose. Centauri C, as always, was nothing more than a bright star, lost among the alien constellations, and the sea shimmered on the horizon with light of two different hues coming from two different directions.

 

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