by Peter David
Crusher nodded. “I’ll bet,” he said sincerely, “that you’re an excellent father, Tuvok.”
The ensign cocked his head just a millimeter or so. “I am indeed,” he replied simply.
The commander chuckled. There was no bragging in the statement, just a flat proclamation of fact.
Impulsively, he leaned forward. “I’d like your opinion on something, Tuvok. That is, if you don’t mind.”
The Vulcan inclined his head. “Certainly.”
“I hate being away from Beverly,” said Crusher. “I mean, I really hate it. And Wes—damn it, he’s practically growing up without me. I have these nightmares about going home and finding out he’s graduating from the Academy, and there I am holding a stuffed Circassian cat and looking like an idiot.”
Tuvok’s expression remained impassive.
“Anyway,” the commander went on, “it struck me that there could be a way to accommodate crewmembers with families.”
The Vulcan’s brow creased ever so slightly. “Explain.”
Crusher shrugged. “I thought maybe we’d take them with us.”
What little openness there had been about Tuvok’s features closed up.
“Think of the psychological benefits to the crew,” the human went on. “We would be living full lives instead of just carrying out our assignments.”
The Vulcan frowned. “It would not be wise,” he said. “Starships are military vessels. They are often involved in battle and other dangerous activities. They are not places for children.”
Crusher found he was eager to win Tuvok’s approval—though why that might be, he couldn’t exactly say. “Well, not right now, they’re not,” he answered reasonably. “We’d have to plan for their presence…take advantage of the ship’s ability to separate into a primary hull and a stardrive section. Then, if we anticipate danger, we can deploy all non-essential personnel to the primary hull and get them out of harm’s way.”
The Vulcan’s dark eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the plan. But the commander couldn’t read him at all, couldn’t tell if Tuvok liked the idea or thought it foolish.
Damn it, Crusher thought, I’m actually nervous! I feel as if I were standing up in front of my third-year class back at the Academy, presenting my thesis again….
“I see no flaw in your logic,” Tuvok concluded suddenly.
The human felt a grin begin to spread over his face. He tried to stop it, but he didn’t stand a chance. After all, it wasn’t every day that one received a compliment from a Vulcan.
“I’m glad you approve,” he said.
“Your approach will need some refinement, of course,” said Tuvok. “And you should be aware that others may have certain emotions tied up in their analysis of your plan—unlike myself.”
Crusher stood up. “But…it would be nice to have the family with you, wouldn’t it?”
The Vulcan hesitated, then met the commander’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “It would be…nice.”
Crusher grinned again. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Tuvok. Maybe we can talk again sometime.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll leave you to your message. Sorry to have interrupted.”
Before he realized what he was doing, he had clapped the Vulcan on the shoulder in a display of camaraderie. Tuvok stiffened slightly—and inwardly, the commander cursed himself.
Physical contact was a violation of a Vulcan’s privacy. He had just committed a terrible faux pas.
Oh, well, he thought, it was done.
Of course, the commander still felt an impulse to apologize. But in the end, he thought better of it. It would only make things more awkward. Instead, he turned and walked out of the lounge.
Despite his unintentional error in interspecies courtesy, Crusher felt pretty good about the conversation. In a peculiarly Vulcan way, Tuvok clearly loved his family. So did the human.
It was a start.
Chapter Four
AS PICARD ENTERED the five-sided Grand Council Chamber on Debennius II, he decided that it was as beautiful as any venue he had ever seen. And yet, as he had been told, beauty was not its chief virtue.
After all, the chamber had been built to allow opposing forces to clash over and over again without violent incident. In that respect, it had to be a lot more than easy on the eyes.
Looking up, the captain saw the overarching, transparent dome that let the natural light of the sun shine in, albeit through a glare-softening filter. When debates continued into the evening, it was Picard’s understanding that artificial illumination would be employed—but that it mimicked the sun’s light so well as to be completely non-distracting.
Soft, muted colors were the rule in every aspect of the decor. Pale blues, delicate greens and purples seemed to dominate, but there was a hint here and there of a metallic hue such as silver or gold. Still, the overall effect was profoundly soothing.
Even the chamber’s walls were constructed of sound-absorbing materials. And its thick carpeting was designed to feel soothing to the feet—for those diplomats and observers who had such appendages.
Picard smiled appreciatively. It was a wise collection of decorating choices for a chamber in which so many disparate voices were liable to argue over so much.
However, it wasn’t just the decor that impressed the captain. Plainly speaking, the place was enormous. It easily sat the several hundred Benniari, Melacron, Cordracites and other interested species who were taking their seats for the morning’s peace talks—including a few avian visitors who perched on pedestals of native woods along the walls.
The captain was impressed with the power and ingenuity of the Benniari’s vision. It was for good reason, it seemed, that they were known all over the quadrant for their sensibilities in art, architecture, and music.
“Some place,” commented Ben Zoma, who had accompanied him there along with Commander Crusher and Ensign Tuvok.
Picard’s first officer was dark and lanky with a rakish smile. He had a way with women the captain couldn’t help envying and loved a good joke, but was all business when he had to be.
“Indeed,” said Picard.
Jetaal Jilokh, aide to First Minister Cabrid Culunnh, looked up at the captain. At a meter and a half in height, the Benniari was somewhat on the tall side for one of his people.
“Our council chamber meets with your approval?” he asked, his Benniar voice soft and breathless to human ears.
Picard nodded. “Very much so.”
“I am pleased,” said Jilokh. He looked about the room with what was clearly a flush of pride. “Both the Melacron and the Cordracites were extremely generous in donating funds to build this hall. However, the design is strictly a Benniar invention.
“Before it was built,” the aide went on, “the sector was headed for war. Despite the obstacles, which were many and varied, we managed to craft a foundation for peace within these walls…a foundation that until recently seemed as solid as bedrock.” He shook his head with obvious sadness. It was an oddly human gesture, the captain thought.
“Unfortunately,” Jilokh concluded, “that foundation is proving to be as fragile as blown glass.”
“But that’s why we’re here,” the captain said assuringly. “To see to it that that foundation becomes rock-solid again.”
Jilokh looked at him. “Of course,” he responded. With a clawlike hand, he gestured to the two-level speaker’s platform at the other side of the chamber. “Let us proceed. The First Minister awaits us.”
The universal translator built into Picard’s communicator badge translated the Benniari’s voice as thin and reedy. That, combined with his typically Benniar appearance—evocative of a small, furry Earth animal known as a koala bear—might have made those who didn’t know his people dismiss them as docile and ineffectual.
The captain, of course, knew better. “By all means,” he told Jilokh, “lead the way.”
Turning to face the speaker’s platform, the Benniari trundled down the chamber’s central aisle with
a rocking gait. Picard and his people followed, glancing with curiosity at the assembled delegates as more and more of them filled the chamber.
The captain noted the presence of not just Melacron, Cordracites, and Benniari, but Denesthians and Shera’sha-sha and Banyanans as well. There was even a Thallonian official, a tall, poised individual dressed in expensive-looking clothes that marked him as a man of high station.
He met Picard’s gaze and their eyes held for a moment. Then the Thallonian nodded cordially and took his seat.
Commander Crusher leaned closer to the captain. “Seems the Melacron-Cordracite situation has many interested observers.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Picard noted.
Jilokh looked back over his furry shoulder and chirped a couple of times—the Benniar equivalent of a chuckle, if a dry one. Obviously, he had overheard the commander’s remark.
“Many interested observers indeed,” he said. “Not the least of them you yourselves, representing the Federation. And each one has his own peculiar reason for monitoring our proceedings.”
“No doubt,” said the captain, “they are all a little concerned.”
“Quite concerned,” Jilokh confirmed.
By then, they had reached the two-stage speaker’s platform. Ascending to the first level and then the second, the Benniari led them to a door in the far wall. Then he touched a pad beside the door, causing it to slide into a pocket aperture.
“Please,” said Jilokh, indicating with a gesture that his companions were to enter.
Picard complied…and found himself face to face with the renowned Cabrid Culunnh. The First Minister of Debennius II was seated behind a sleek, rounded desk made of dark wood. As he rose, the captain could see evidence of the Benniari’s considerable age.
“Captain Picard,” said Culunnh, as Jilokh slid closed the door to the room. He held his hands out, leathery palms exposed. “I rejoice that you were able to answer my summons.”
Always aware of protocol, Picard mimicked the palms-out gesture. “I only regret we were not able to arrive sooner,” he replied. He indicated his companions with a sweep of his hand. “Commander Ben Zoma, my first officer. Commander Crusher, my second officer. And Ensign Tuvok.”
The First Minister took special note of the Vulcan. “You are the first of your people I have ever had the pleasure to meet,” he told Tuvok. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“As do I,” said the ensign.
Picard regarded Culunnh. “I understand you are in need of some assistance, First Minister.”
The Benniari chirped. “To say the least.”
Reaching down under the surface of his desk, he manipulated some kind of control. A moment later, a section of wall beside the door turned transparent, affording them a view of the council chamber—although the captain had a feeling the transparency was a one-way effect.
Culunnh looked past Picard and regarded the assemblage of diplomats. “As you know,” he said, “this congress’s stated goal is still to try to resolve disagreements over territory. However, there are moments when it would be difficult to discern that.”
“There’s been discord, I take it,” said Picard.
“To say the least,” the First Minister responded. “Every day, we see more shouting matches, more veiled threats and accusations flung back and forth. Unless we do something, and quickly I might add, I fear we are headed for the war we built this chamber to avoid.”
The captain absorbed the information. Obviously, Admiral Ammerman hadn’t exaggerated the seriousness of the situation.
“If I may ask a question or two?” Tuvok suggested, asking permission of Picard and Culunnh simultaneously.
“Of course, Ensign,” said the First Minister.
The captain nodded. He still felt strange hearing someone address Tuvok in that fashion, considering the Vulcan’s age and experience. And yet, that was his official title.
“You have said,” Tuvok began, “that you do not believe that this fresh wave of terrorist incidents was caused by either the Melacron or the Cordracites. However, the intervention of a third party seems unlikely, given the history of the various races in this sector.”
“You wish to know if I have any proof?” asked Culunnh.
“I do,” the Vulcan responded flatly.
The First Minister regarded him with a faint, hissing whistle. “You have an incisive mind,” he told Tuvok. “A wonderfully Vulcan mind, I would guess. As to your question…I have no real proof. However, the methods and equipment used in the terrorist assaults are clearly not in keeping with the methods and equipment used before.”
“The terrorists could be dealing with arms merchants,” Crusher suggested. “If war really does break out, weapon dealers would be the first ones to reap the benefits.”
“A possibility, Commander,” admitted Culunnh, “but a rather unlikely one, I am afraid. We have seen weapons in these assaults from nearly every sector in the galaxy, well beyond what our local arms merchants would normally have available to them.”
It was an interesting point, Picard conceded. And it seemed that Culunnh wasn’t finished speaking.
“The two established terrorist presences—the Cordracite Qua-Sok and the Melacronai Me’laa’kra—have traditionally incited fear in their enemies, but have seldom actually killed anyone. They have demonstrated a preference for destroying property rather than people.”
“But that has changed?” asked the captain.
“Yes,” said Culunnh. “Now we are seeing brutal acts perpetrated upon beloved public figures. Public figures with families…even young children, I might add. This is a level of barbarism to which neither the Me’laa’kra nor the Qua-Sok ever stooped.”
“I see,” Picard replied.
“Previously, the terrorists wanted sympathy for their causes,” the First Minister noted. “They wanted allies. None of these more recent attacks has stirred up anything but anger and hatred.”
The Vulcan nodded. “And that is why you believe there is a third party involved in the attacks?”
“Correct,” Culunnh told him. “Mind you, as I said, I have no hard evidence to back up my belief at this time…nor do I have any suspects in mind. I just look at the data and cannot help feeling as I do.”
Tuvok frowned. “I understand.”
Culunnh eyed him. “But you still have your doubts?”
The Vulcan nodded. “I still have my doubts.”
Ben Zoma gave the captain a look. “I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us, sir.”
“That we do,” Picard agreed.
Suddenly, a gong rang loudly enough to be heard in Culunnh’s office. It seemed to reverberate in the captain’s bones. He looked inquiringly at the First Minister.
“That was the three-cycle bell,” Culunnh explained. “It means the morning session will begin shortly.”
Jilokh spoke up. “I have set aside seats for Captain Picard and Commander Ben Zoma, First Minister.”
Culunnh picked up a metal medallion on a chain and hung it from his short, furry neck. Then he glanced at Crusher and Tuvok. “And his other companions?” he asked his aide.
“They merely wished to meet with you,” said Jilokh.
“That’s correct,” Picard chimed in. “Commander Crusher and Ensign Tuvok will be beaming back to the Stargazer to take the lead in our investigation.”
The First Minister seemed to approve. “Our hopes go with you, gentlemen. May your endeavor be a successful one.”
“Thank you,” said Crusher.
Tuvok merely inclined his head.
Culunnh turned to Picard and Ben Zoma. “As you observe our meeting,” he told them, “you will see for yourselves the passions raging on both sides. I think you will agree, they are considerable.”
The captain nodded. “Thank you for the warning.”
He watched as Culunnh toddled off on his bowed Benniar legs, followed closely by Jilokh. Both Benniari exited the room. Then Picar
d turned to Crusher and Tuvok.
“What I’ve heard from Cabrid Culunnh,” he told them, “leads me to believe his theory of a third party is worth investigating. He mentioned that the methods and equipment used in the recent terrorist incidents were different from those employed by the Qua-Sok and the Me’laa’kra. I want Joseph, Vigo and Simenon to take a look at this. And Dr. Greyhorse as well.”
“Aye, sir,” said Crusher.
Joseph, Vigo, Simenon, and Greyhorse were individuals of uncommon intelligence and insight. The captain had no doubt that they would be able to confirm or refute Culunnh’s suspicions in no time.
“Work closely with them,” Picard said. “I want at least some useful information by the time I return to the ship.”
“Aye, sir,” Crusher replied again.
The captain turned to his new, rather aloof ensign. “Mr. Tuvok, I don’t believe you’ve met our chief engineer, Mr. Simenon. You’ll find he’s a bit outspoken, but he certainly knows his business.”
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “Then we should get along admirably.”
Beside Picard, Ben Zoma hid a grin. Like the captain himself, he was no doubt trying to picture the tall, elegant Vulcan working alongside the cranky, arrogant, lizardlike Gnalish.
Picard held the image in his mind for a moment—the long gray face, the mobile tail, the bright ruby eyes fastened on Tuvok’s implacable visage. Simenon would no doubt consider it a personal challenge to get some kind of rise out of the ensign.
The captain glanced at his second officer again. “See you back on the Stargazer, Mr. Crusher.”
“Aye, sir,” said the commander. Then he tapped his comm badge. “Crusher to transporter room. Two to beam up.”
“Ready, sir,” came the response.
“Energize,” Crusher ordered.
Almost instantly, the commander and Tuvok were enveloped in the shimmer and sparkle of the transporter effect. A moment later, they were gone as if they had never been there in the first place.
Nodding approvingly, Picard tapped his own comm badge. “Stargazer, this is the captain,” he said.