“But—” Raynr protested, holding up his hands.
“But after we tell her that,” Ogawa continued, despite the lumps in her throat, “we have to tell her that her father is probably dead. This much you can do with me ... since it’s something we all have to admit to ourselves.”
“Okay,” he answered, has face drooping with sorrow. “But I’ve got to get Dr. Crusher’s permission before I ... change again.”
The sickbay door opened, and a whirlwind blew through in the person of Admiral Nechayev. In her wake came Dr. Crusher, who pointed to both Alyssa Ogawa and Raynr Sleven. “In my office, please.”
A few seconds later, they were gathered around the diminutive admiral in Crusher’s private consultation office, but all eyes were on the big Antosian, especially the admiral’s. “Lieutenant Sleven,” she began, “I know you’ve had a rough time of it lately, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be the sole survivor of an entire starship. On top of that, you went through radical medical treatment. The doctor tells me that you’ve experienced a known side effect of cellular metamorphosis.”
The Antosian looked mortified. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt the child ... just make her feel better.”
“This isn’t about Nurse Ogawa’s daughter,” said the admiral. I’m going to be blunt. If you can make yourself look like other people—for [245] even a short time—we need that ability. It’s a life or death matter involving the anomaly that claimed your ship ... and the Romulans.”
A shy smile came over his face. “You want me to do it again?”
“If your medical advisors agree,” said the admiral.
Ogawa looked doubtful. “I’m not sure this is good for his recovery. ...”
“He has to learn to control it, anyway,” said Crusher. “Perhaps it would be easier if he had an outlet.”
“Before I put much faith in this, I’ve got to see it in action,” declared Nechayev, crossing her arms and staring expectantly at Raynr.
Crusher reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a photo of Captain Picard, which she handed to the Antosian. He looked at the photo and smiled. “I would probably be able to do this without a reminder. Has something happened to the captain?”
“He’s on a mission,” said Nechayev. “But we need him to make an appearance for our Romulan friends.”
“Uh, can you turn away for a moment?” asked the Antosian.
“All right,” muttered Nechayev, motioning to the other two women to turn around. Ogawa felt singularly uncomfortable about compelling this sick patient to perform an act that might become addictive, even leading to insanity; but she wasn’t surprised that Nechayev would make use of such a skill. Like everyone else, she had heard the Captain Picard rumors, followed by his abrupt departure.
“You may turn back,” he said, showing a remarkable vocal adaptation, too. The three women turned around, mute with surprise. Before them stood Captain Picard in an oversized uniform with the wrong rank, but Captain Picard, nevertheless. Ogawa was now in awe and fear of this disturbing talent, so reminiscent of what the Changelings, moss creatures, and other dangerous beings were able to accomplish. If his ability could be harnessed, it could have great benefits, but at what cost?
“Excellent,” proclaimed Nechayev, studying him closely. “And you can maintain this façade for how long?”
[246] “Indefinitely, as far as I know,” answered Raynr Sleven. “To be truthful, I’ve never done it for more than a few minutes at a time, and I’ve never tried to sleep like this.”
“Dr. Crusher, you will coach him to behave like Captain Picard,” ordered Nechayev, “and he is to keep this appearance for as long as he can.”
“All right,” said Crusher, “but can Ogawa monitor his vital signs and brain patterns? If he’s going to do this, we need to gather information and watch for stress. You don’t want him snapping out of it at a bad moment.”
“Agreed,” said Nechayev with a forceful nod. “There are other things I’d like to know, too. Such as, can he change from this into another identity? And how often?”
She touched the fake Picard, as if to make sure he was real. “But don’t bother yourself with that now, Lieutenant. For now, just get this one impression down, and we’ll see about the others. Practice hard with the doctor, and we’ll meet again later.” With that, the admiral marched out the door.
“Yes, Sir,” answered Crusher belatedly. She turned to face a Jean-Luc Picard who was grinning like a fool. “Save that smile for something special, like a rare wine for your birthday. Captain Picard is more reserved than that.”
“Yes, Doctor,” he answered, coming to reserved attention.
Crusher gazed into his eyes. “You know, Sleven, I don’t know what the admiral is planning, but I’m sure it’s going to be dangerous.”
“That’s all right. I feel lucky,” said the bogus Picard with too much of a smile.
Teska walked quietly into the brig on the Sequoia. Before she even got halfway across the floor, the Romulan looked up from his cell and gave her a welcoming smile. As was her custom, she knelt down in front of him, so that their heads would be on an even level.
[247] “Hello,” he said softly. “This is’ a good surprise.”
“Are they treating you well?” she asked.
“Well, they could let me out for more exercise,” answered Jerit. “The area outside the cell—where you are—is the only area I’m allowed. I can’t really run, like I’m used to.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Of course, I’m not accustomed to spending much time on a starship. I might suffer from claustrophobia even if I could go anywhere on the Sequoia.”
“I wish I could grant you free rein,” replied Teska sincerely. “I am troubled for two reasons and need your advice.”
“You’re troubled. Must be serious.” Jerit got off his bunk and knelt in front of her, their eyes locking with unspoken communication.
“Because of the urgency of our mission,” she began, “I may soon be forced to perform a mind-meld on an unwilling subject. I fear I must do this, because time is so short. There will be another Genesis detonation in a day-and-a-half.”
The murderer grimaced and looked down. “You know what you have to do, Teska. Genesis is an affront to the natural order. It cannot be used at all, even against a rock or a lifeless cloud. You might think you can control it, but you can’t. Nobody has been able to control Genesis yet. So if your mind-meld contributes to shutting down Genesis, then do it. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
Teska cocked her head, as if considering his every word. “I have one more question. Due to thoughts you shared with me, I have a good idea where on the Romulan ship they might be storing the Genesis device. Do you mind if I use that information?”
Jerit smiled wistfully. “I’m beyond worrying about being called a traitor. The Romulan Star Empire has gotten good value from its investment in me—far more than I got out of it. If you promise to bury Genesis in the deepest hole you can find, use my mind. Use anyone’s mind.”
“Your ruthlessness,” said Teska, “I could use some of that, too.”
[248] “You’ll pay to use it ... eventually.”
With reluctance, she rose to her feet. “I may not be back for some time, or I may need to talk to you again soon.”
Jerit stood, too, and he motioned around his stark cell. “Although my body is here, my mind and soul are with you. Even if I should die this minute, I continue with you. It gives me much comfort knowing that.”
The Vulcan extended her hand then brought her fist back to her chest in the Romulan salute, perfectly executed. Then she turned on her heel and marched toward the door.
nineteen
“Hmmmm, a D’deridex-class warbird,” said Regimol admiringly from the copilot’s seat of the runabout. The Romulan studied the short-range scans of the rendezvous point, where they would be coming out of warp in a few seconds. There were three starships in close proxim
ity, but only one really captivated him. “Now that is a warship,” enthused Regimol, “and it has a cloaking module I helped design. It’s hard to cloak a ship that big—it’s much easier to cloak one this size.”
“I wish you could cloak this runabout,” muttered the Coridan in the pilot’s seat.
Regimol felt a certain Ferengi gazing over his shoulder at the warbird. “Come on,” said Chellac, “if you build a ship that big, you don’t want it cloaked. You want people to look at it and be afraid.”
“You sound just like a Romulan general I know,” observed Regimol. “ ‘You don’t hide a warbird,’ he used to say. ‘You terrify your prey with it.’ The Federation doesn’t have anything that quite matches her.”
“We still outnumber them,” said the pilot, “two to one.”
“I still don’t like those odds,” replied the Ferengi worriedly. “We’ve got to lower shields to dock inside the Enterprise, and so do [250] they. Then we’ve got to get some great piloting. No offense, Ensign, but I don’t know how well you fly under fire. That warbird could blow us away with a sneeze.”
Regimol glanced back at Chellac, then past the Ferengi’s big ears at their Bajoran prisoner. He was a defiant hard case who had not said two words since falling into their hands. Even Bakus might have trouble breaking him.
The Romulan said, “It might be a good idea to transport our crew off the runabout as we come in, as long as the shields are down.”
“Now we’re talking!” said Chellac. “I volunteer to transport off just as soon as we get close!”
“I appreciate the offer,” replied Regimol, “and you’ll be taking our Bajoran friend with you.” He patted the Coridan pilot on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but you can’t leave until we’re in the shuttlebay.”
“That’s all right—I prefer to fly in.” The pilot checked his instruments and made a few adjustments. “We’re coming out of warp in less that a minute. Anybody else have any strategy they want to talk about? What do we do if the Romulans hail us?”
“Ignore them,” replied Regimol. “Use an encrypted channel to talk to the Enterprise. Chellac, you and our friend get on the transporter platform.”
The Ferengi jumped at the chance to get off the little ship early, and he drew a phaser and pointed it at the Bajoran, who was shackled to one of the passenger seats. Two brawny security officers unlocked the prisoner, dragged him to his feet, and shackled his wrists behind his back. Then they deposited him on the transporter platform beside Chellac.
The little Ferengi waved his phaser and snarled at the sullen assassin. “Don’t try anything funny, I warn you. You got caught, so take your punishment like a Bajoran. Unless ... is there anybody willing to pay a ransom for you?”
The Bajoran growled loudly at Chellac, and the Ferengi jumped back. “Just asking.”
[251] “Coming out of warp,” announced the pilot. Regimol moved to the transporter console and sat down. “The Romulans are hailing us—telling us to go away.”
“Keep shields up until we enter transporter range,” ordered Regimol. “Go in at one-half impulse until you have to slow down.”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sending encrypted requests to the Enterprise transporter room as well as the shuttlebay.” The Coridan glanced at his readouts and squirmed in his seat. “The Sequoia is taking matters into their own hands. They’re powering up phasers.”
Now the three starships loomed ahead of the runabout, looking like fantastic works of art hanging from a child’s mobile—the massive green knife blade, the three-dimensional chess set, and the silver snowflake. What made the sight even more disturbing was the sparkling debris field and the jagged black rip outlined against the starscape.
“Are you sure it’s not too late to turn back?” asked Chellac with a gulp.
“We’ll be fine once we get to the Enterprise,” answered Regimol. “You two are going to be the first ones aboard. Hold on for another second while I—”
Suddenly the small vessel was jolted, and Regimol nearly fell out of his chair. Chellac did fall off the transporter platform, and the prisoner leaped off and kicked a security guard. It was suddenly chaos inside the cramped cabin, with guards tussling with the Bajoran and the ship shaking like a leaf in a storm. Twisting, straining her thrusters, the runabout began to slip toward the massive warbird.
“There’s a tractor beam on us!” barked the pilot.
An expanding blue beam, barely detectable to the eye, shot from the Sequoia and swept over the Javlek, dealing the Romulan vessel a severe blow. The runabout broke free and careened toward the Enterprise, But the Romulans retaliated with a brace of quantum torpedoes, which struck the Enterprise and Sequoia with impressive fireworks but did little damage against their shields. As the battle [252] raged, the runabout was like a fly caught between two charging bulls. Still the pilot soared bravely onward, oblivious to the danger.
“When do I get off?” whined Chellac, bounding back onto the transporter platform. The security officers were still struggling to subdue the shackled prisoner, but they were getting the upper hand. All of them were bloodied.
“We can’t beam anyone anywhere yet,” answered Regimol, studying his instruments. “Nobody but the Romulans have dared to lower their shields. And their shields are back up.”
“That was a pretty good phaser blast they took,” said the pilot.
“Yes, magnificent ship,” observed Regimol.
The Sequoia maneuvered to insert itself between the warbird and the Enterprise. As soon as the Sequoia was in place, she lashed out with an array of multiple phaser beams, which raked the Javlek’s shields and kept the Romulan ship at bay.
“Sit down, Chellac,” said Regimol, “they’re not going to make it easy on us. So we’re all going in together. Ensign, you keep flying, and I’ll drop the shields ... as soon as the Enterprise drops her shields. You just land this bird.”
“Is that all?” asked the Coridan dryly.
While the Sequoia continued to pummel the Javlek with phasers, doing little harm but forcing them to keep power diverted to their shields, the runabout swooped around the battling ships. The small craft leveled off and slowed to take an approach to the aft of the Enterprise’s dorsal section, where the shuttlebay doors waited. So far, they were still closed. Under bombardment, the warbird tried to reposition itself, but the Sequoia moved quickly to intercept, all while pounding the Javlek.
“If they keep up those phasers,” said the pilot, “they’re not going to have any warp core left.”
“Enterprise shields are down!” announced Regimol. “And now ours are down, and the doors are opening. Brace yourselves!”
The Romulans unleashed a phaser attack of their own, thinking [253] the broader firepower would circumvent the Sequoia’s shields, but the smaller starship bravely took the brunt of it. Still the runabout bounced like a runaway wagon careening down a hill, and sparks flew everywhere in the suddenly smoky cabin. Even the Bajoran and the security officers paused in their scuffle to see what would happen next.
“Impulse engines out!” shouted the pilot. “We’re on landing thrusters.”
Somehow the quivering, quaking runabout held together long enough to spin through the open shuttlebay doors. As it skidded across the deck, foam shot from emitters, and nets stretched between the deck and ceiling, catching the runabout and preventing any serious damage to the craft, its inhabitants, or the shuttlebay.
Chellac was still screaming when the craft finally came to a complete stop, and he touched his chest, amazed that he was alive. He rushed to the pilot and kissed him on his partially bald head. “Great job! Beautiful flying! Pop that hatch.”
The Coridan tried popping the hatch, but it remained steadfastly closed. “I guess the hull is pretty badly damaged,” he muttered. “Just before we came in, Regimol, I heard them say your name over an open channel.”
“Is that so?” asked the Romulan with curiosity. “Normally the admiral doesn’t announce my presence.”
“
Maybe she wanted to rub it in,” said Chellac. “So how are we going to get out of here?”
Suddenly, sparks flew all around the recalcitrant hatch, while technicians outside cut through it. A few minutes later, the hatch was pulled off the damaged vessel, and they were met by a dark-skinned human with opaque devices over his eyes.
“Welcome to the Enterprise,” he said cheerfully. “I’m Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge. The security detail can take your prisoner to our brig, and the admiral would like to see Regimol and Chellac on the bridge.”
[254] “Well, of course she would,” declared the Ferengi importantly as he brushed past La Forge.
Regimol stepped outside the craft and looked forlornly at his banged-up runabout. “Ah, it was nice while it lasted.”
“We’ll fix it up good as new,” the engineer assured him. “Come with me, please.” He led the way toward double doors marked with exit symbols.
“Are they still fighting out there?” asked the Ferengi.
The human shook his head. “No, they stopped just as soon as you were safely inside. We’re back to a stalemate, although they are demanding that we turn Regimol over to them.”
“I’m always so popular with my own people,” replied the thief dryly.
On the crowded bridge of the Enterprise, a tight-lipped, bald-headed human stood before the viewscreen, addressing his attractive counterpart on the Javlek. When La Forge, Regimol, and Chellac stepped off the turbolift, they caught the eye of Admiral Nechayev in the corner, who motioned them to her side. The gray-haired human put her finger to her lips in the universal sign for quiet, and the Romulan and Ferengi did as they were told. The stunning Vulcan, Teska, stood at the admiral’s other side.
“I’m sorry to have displeased you, Commander Kaylena,” said the human captain apologetically. “On the other hand, there wasn’t any reason for you to fire at the runabout, which was only attempting to dock in our shuttlebay.”
STAR TREK: TNG - The Genesis Wave, Book Three Page 25