by Dayton Ward
“It’s called a universal translator,” Picard explained. “Essentially, our ship’s computer has been studying the data files stored aboard this vessel in order to interpret the native languages and build a database which it can then use in collaboration with our communications systems. By the time you and I spoke while you were en route here, our computer had constructed a comprehensive language database it could reference during all our subsequent interactions.”
For the first time, the Golvonek officer emitted what Picard took to be a laugh. “I will not even pretend that I comprehend any of what you just described, Captain.”
Though her demeanor was warm, he still sensed an underlying tension. No doubt she harbored at least some small fear that all might not be what it seemed. Perhaps her perception was guided by the knowledge or at least suspicion that her two ships, impressive though they may be by Golvonek and even Raqilan standards, would be bested by the Enterprise if the situation devolved to a point that an altercation was the only option. Then there was the Arrow, which carried more than enough power to destroy his ship and the Golvonek vessels.
Mynlara introduced her second-in-command, a male Golvonek named Vedapir who held the rank of “foctine,” and the rest of her party. As he introduced her to Worf and his security detail, Picard noted Mynlara’s fascination with Worf and T’Sona.
“You truly represent a number of different worlds, Captain.”
“Indeed. I am a human, and my home planet is called Earth. Commander Worf is a Klingon, a proud warrior race. The Federation and the Klingon Empire once were bitter enemies, but we now are allies, and Mister Worf is one of the finest officers with whom it’s been my honor to serve. I implicitly trust him with my very life. And Lieutenant T’Sona is from the planet Vulcan. Representatives from her world were the first to travel to my homeworld and make their presence known, and our two civilizations have been allies for centuries.”
Once Mynlara had introduced her own escorts, Picard said, “Fleet Legate, I know that you probably have any number of questions about us, and I’m happy to answer to the best of my ability. We also have questions, not just about your people but the Raqilan, as well.”
“What I know of the Raqilan comes from our history texts,” Mynlara replied, “and my experience fighting against them.” Her tone lost some of its warmth. “In truth, Captain, I have never even seen a Raqilan face-to-face. Such meetings are . . . rare.”
Nodding in understanding, Picard realized that the hostilities between the Golvonek and the Raqilan seemed to possess at least some of the same characteristics as the twenty-second-century Earth-Romulan War. No ground battles were fought, even on planets or moons which had been disputed during the conflict, and according to official records no meeting had ever had taken place between a human and Romulan. Indeed, according to those same accounts, the first true meeting had taken place more than a century later. Picard had always found that hard to swallow, believing as many amateur and professional historians did that such a far-reaching conflict had to have included head-on confrontations by at least some of the people who had waged those battles.
Suppressing an urge to comment on the nature of a war in which the identity of one’s enemy is kept in shadow, Picard said, “The two Raqilan aboard this vessel are currently in the care of my chief medical officer.”
“They have been revived?” Mynlara asked. “I was not aware that the process had progressed to that point.”
Picard replied, “It happened rather quickly. We are still endeavoring to understand this ship’s onboard systems, and my people have proceeded with extreme care so as not to damage anything, to say nothing of wishing to avoid harming the Raqilan. However, I have ordered that the crew not be disturbed, pending your arrival.” He still was uncomfortable with the fact that he and his people appeared to have walked into the middle of the decades-long conflict between the Raqilan and the Golvonek, and that was before taking into consideration the complication presented by the Arrow and its mission.
“This ship and its crew are now my responsibility, Captain,” Mynlara said. “I trust this will not be an issue?”
Shaking his head, Picard replied, “Certainly not, although I am concerned with the health of the Raqilan crew members. My medical officer informs me that their recovery may be hindered by the lingering effects of their prolonged hibernation.”
“I must confess to some confusion on this point. While I understand the basic concept of placing someone into . . . hibernation . . . I was not aware that such technology had advanced to common use by the Raqilan.” Mynlara glanced around the landing bay. “Of course, this vessel, if it also was developed by the Raqilan, comes as something of a surprise, as well. Our best intelligence reports do not indicate such a ship even being constructed. My superiors will be most interested in studying it and questioning its crew.”
Doing his best to sidestep, at least for a time, questions about the Arrow, Picard said, “You mentioned before that the crew would be considered prisoners of war. Does that mean that they’re entitled to certain rights and protections?”
Mynlara replied, “Of course. Though very few prisoners have been taken by either side, at least during my tenure in the Protective Directorate, we have very strict laws and other guidelines regarding the treatment of such persons. They will be questioned, of course, but they will not be mistreated.”
“A far better fate for them than if the circumstances were reversed,” said one of her escorts, and the fleet legate did not attempt to hide the glare of disapproval she cast in his direction. Duly chastened, the male Golvonek officer bowed his head and said nothing else.
Returning her attention to Picard, Mynlara said, “Though we are at war, Captain, we are not without principles. The crew will be well treated. Now, please take me to them.”
* * *
Turning at the opening of the medical facility’s main door, Crusher suppressed a smile. Jean-Luc was accompanied not only by Worf and a security detail but also several Golvonek. Having been briefed on the captain’s interactions with the commander of the approaching alien vessels, it took her just a few seconds to realize that these were Golvonek military officers.
“Fleet Legate Mynlara,” Picard said after everyone had entered the room, “please allow me to introduce my chief medical officer, Doctor Beverly Crusher. She has been overseeing the Raqilan’s revival.” Turning to the doctor, he asked, “I trust your patients are doing well?”
Crusher replied, “Their metabolic functions have all stabilized, Captain, and they’re currently resting in what I suppose is a patient recovery area.”
“Fleet Legate Mynlara has requested to see them,” Picard said. “Will doing so interfere with your efforts?”
“I can’t really call them our efforts, Captain.” She gestured to the workstations and other equipment crammed into the room. “Most of the hard work is being handled by the ship’s computer. This facility is fitted with something similar to our biobeds. There are a dozen of them in what I’m calling the patient ward, and while the technology is different from our own, of course, thanks to the translation matrix we’re able to interpret most of the readings, though I’m still leaning pretty heavily on our own computer interface.” The doctor paused, drawing a breath before proceeding into what she knew might quickly become a sensitive topic. “As I said, the Raqilan are resting, but they’re still sedated following an incident after their revival. Though we’ve found no indications of any problems which might stem from their prolonged hibernation, I’d request that they be given sufficient time to fully recover before subjecting them to anything too strenuous.”
She emphasized the last word while studying Jean-Luc’s face, but her husband’s features betrayed nothing. As expected, he was maintaining a professional demeanor in the presence of the Golvonek, not just for the sake of proper protocol but also—she knew—as something of a simple security measure. The practice
had been born out of a brief discussion that had taken place at the outset of their marriage with respect to how they would interact in front of the crew. Jean-Luc had been a stickler for rules, regulations, and decorum since she had first met him all those years ago, but Crusher had witnessed the measured softening of the rigid, often unwavering façade he had fashioned at the start of his Starfleet career. Loath as he might be to admit it to anyone—save a handful of close, trusted friends—he had become a happier, more content person during his tenure as captain of the Enterprise, even before he and Crusher had finally allowed their true feelings for each other to guide them toward an even richer, more fulfilling life together.
Of course, now Jean-Luc’s concern likely revolved around another aspect of that brief conversation he had shared with her, about not wanting to alert strangers such as Mynlara and her escorts that Crusher and he shared a relationship beyond that of doctor and captain. As Worf had stated it in his usual blunt fashion, it was a poor tactic to offer such personal and potentially exploitive information to someone who had not yet achieved a level of trust.
Good old Worf, she mused. I can always count on you to keep me paranoid.
“It is not my intention to disturb them, Doctor,” Mynlara said, her tone crisp and formal, “but I have a duty to ascertain the crew’s condition and determine whether they can answer questions regarding this vessel and their mission.”
Feeling her ire rising, Crusher replied, “If you’re talking about interrogation, I’m afraid I cannot allow anything which might harm their recovery.”
“Doctor,” Picard said, and she noted the unspoken warning in his eyes. “Let’s at least allow Fleet Legate Mynlara to ascertain for herself your patients’ conditions, so that she might prepare a report for her superiors.”
Mynlara nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Very well,” Crusher said after a moment. “Please follow me.” She started for the patient ward, but upon noticing Mynlara’s entourage following behind her, she raised a hand. “I’d ask your security detail to wait here. The Raqilan are restrained and sedated.”
After appearing to consider this for a moment, Mynlara turned and gestured toward a tall Golvonek male whose sleeves sported more decorative braiding than that of his companions save her own. “Savon, you and the others stay here. I will be fine.”
In turn, Picard said to Worf, “Number One, you also can remain here.”
Though he bristled at the order, the Klingon offered a single, terse nod. “Aye, sir.”
Satisfied, Crusher led Picard and the Golvonek officer into the adjoining room. Unlike the medical facility’s main compartment and indeed most other sections of the colossal vessel she had seen, the patient ward was not crammed to overflowing with computer stations and other equipment. A modest work area situated along the room’s forward bulkhead contained a computer console and a series of display monitors, which Commander La Forge and his team of engineers had determined were intended to communicate information from the equipment mounted at the head of each of the ward’s twelve patient beds. The setup was similar to what was available to her on the Enterprise, though there were obvious gaps in the technology. As for the beds, two of them were occupied, each hosting one of the Raqilan crew who now were restrained by portable medical force fields retrieved from the shuttlecraft by Lieutenant Konya and the security detail. The illumination in the room had been reduced, highlighting the displays from the different monitors and computer screens.
“As you can see,” Crusher said, indicating the beds with a wave of her hand, “the patients are resting as comfortably as we can make them. They appear to have suffered no ill effects from their hibernation.” She pointed to the Raqilan male sleeping in the closest of the beds. “However, we were forced to stun this one. He was the first to wake up, and I’m afraid we startled him.”
Mynlara asked, “How long were they in this hibernation?”
Pausing, Crusher looked to Picard, who shook his head with such subtlety that only she would have noticed it.
“We’re not certain,” she answered. While it was not technically a lie, it was close enough that it made her uncomfortable, even though she understood the need to withhold such information at this time. “We’re still learning how to navigate the onboard computer system, and although our translation protocols are good, even they have their limits.”
“Perhaps the Raqilan will be able to provide that information themselves,” Mynlara said. “Have you determined which of them is the leader?”
Crusher pointed to the closer of her patients, who still lay unmoving on the bed. “No, but we suspect he might be. He apparently was supposed to be revived ahead of the others.”
Stepping closer, her hands clasped behind her back, Mynlara said after a moment, “Are you able to wake him?”
Once more glancing to her husband, Crusher was not surprised to see him nod in approval at the request. “Yes,” she replied. “I can do that.” To Tamala Harstad, she said, “Doctor, please administer four cc’s of formazine.”
Seconds after Harstad pressed a hypospray to the sleeping Raqilan’s neck and injected the mild stimulant, his eyes began to flutter. When he opened them, he spent several seconds blinking as though to clear his vision. He moved his head until his gaze fixed on Crusher, at which point he flinched and only then seemed to realize that he was bound to the bed by the invisible force field.
“Please,” she said, holding up both hands to show that she meant no harm, “I won’t hurt you. We’re trying to help you.”
“Who are you?” the Raqilan asked, his voice low and weak, and he punctuated his question with an audible clearing of his throat. “What are you?”
“I’m a doctor,” Crusher retorted, “and right now I’m looking after you and your crew.” In a softer tone, she added, “My name is Doctor Crusher. We found your ship adrift in space and your crew in hibernation. From what we were able to tell, your ship suffered extensive damage, which likely interfered with your onboard computer’s ability to revive you. We were able to repair or minimize some of the damage, which is why we’re talking now. Do you feel all right? Are you in any pain?”
The Raqilan’s features remained fixed as he listened to her explanation, but after a moment he replied, “I am experiencing no pain.” He strained against the force field holding him to the bed, but remained held in place. “However, I do not appreciate being bound like a prisoner aboard my own vessel.”
Moving so that he stood beside her, Jean-Luc said, “That was my doing. I’m Captain Picard, commander of the ship that found you. I regret the restraints, but when you were first awakened, you attacked Doctor Crusher. You were sedated, for your protection as well as ours.”
“I have no memory of that.” The Raqilan blinked several more times, and his expression changed as though he was attempting to recall the incident. He appeared to give up the attempt after a moment and instead lifted his head to look around the room. When he saw the other Raqilan lying atop an adjacent bed, he said, “There were eight of us. Where are the others?”
“Unfortunately,” Jean-Luc replied, “six of your hibernation chambers malfunctioned at some point prior to our finding you. Those members of your crew did not survive.”
For the first time, the Raqilan offered an emotional response, his eyes closing and his lips pressing together as he absorbed this new information. Then, he drew a deep breath before returning his attention to the captain. “I will want to see them.”
“Of course,” said Jean-Luc.
“And I want us freed from these beds.”
Before the captain could reply, Mynlara stepped around Crusher so that the Raqilan could see her. “All reasonable requests will be accommodated in time, but first there are other matters to attend. I am Fleet Legate Mynlara of the Golvonek Protective Directorate. This vessel and its crew are now in my custody. In accordance with the protocols of engag
ement agreed upon by our respective governments, I hereby inform you that you are bound as prisoners of war and will be treated in accordance with the directives as outlined in the covenant. Do you understand your current status as I have described it to you?”
Crusher forced herself not to react as the Raqilan directed accusatory glares to Jean-Luc and then her before his gaze locked on Mynlara.
“I understand,” he said, his voice tight.
Apparently satisfied, the Golvonek officer asked, “What is your name?” When the Raqilan hesitated, she added, “Proper identification is mandated by the covenant, so that we can notify your government of your capture.”
With a questioning look at Jean-Luc, Crusher mouthed the words, “Now what?” but her husband said nothing. Did he not realize the danger of allowing this line of questioning to continue? She opened her mouth to say something but stopped when she felt his hand on hers. When she looked at him again, she saw him shaking his head.
“My name is Jodis,” said the Raqilan. “Spra Jodis Neradin, commander of the combat vessel Poklori gil dara, in service to the Raqilan Military Forces.” He paused, once more glaring at Crusher and Picard. “I see the Golvonek have acquired some new allies.”
Stepping closer, Jean-Luc replied, “You misunderstand. We have not allied ourselves with the Golvonek, or the Raqilan, for that matter. We are explorers, and we’ve only recently arrived in your star system. We’ve only just become aware of the conflict between your two peoples.”
Though Crusher thought he might be confused with this explanation, Jodis seemed to take it well enough. Then his expression darkened.
“There is much that does not make sense here. How long have we been asleep?”
Heeding her husband’s earlier warning, Crusher swallowed a nervous lump before answering, “We’re still trying to determine that.” With a glance to her husband, she added, “But our initial calculations indicate you’ve been in hibernation for far longer than intended.”