CHAPTER 9

Picard was growing weary of McCoy’s company. Painfully weary.

Playing host to the old gentleman was fraying the captain’s nerves, which might be put to other and better uses. At the moment, the man was standing among the aft stations, harassing the officers posted there.

Out of desperation, Picard turned to Worf and asked the Klingon the same question he’d asked of him a half dozen times already.

“Any word from Romulus, Lieutenant?”

The Klingon grunted. “None, sir. Perhaps if I we to—”

He stopped in midsentence and looked at one of his monitors. Smiling grimly, he turned to the captain again.

“I have received a response, sir. The Romulans have granted us a secure link to their governmental center.

“With whom will I be speaking?” asked Picard.

Worf consulted his monitors, his dark eyes moving beneath even darker brows. Finally he obtained the information he needed and looked up.

“The respondent is a proconsul named Eragian.”

The captain had never heard of the man. But then, his knowledge of Romulan politics was fairly limited. And except for the Senate, the hierarchy seemed to change quite often.

“All right,” he told Worf finally. “Proceed, Lieutenant.”

In the next moment, the viewscreen filled with the image of a lean and wolfish countenance. It was a look not uncommon among prominent Romulans. However, in this case, it was especially pronounced.

For some reason, Picard had the feeling that the Romulan was on his way somewhere—that he’d remained only long enough to take part in this conversation. But of course, it was only a feeling.

“I am Proconsul Eragian,” the Romulan said by way of a greeting. “And if you command the Enterprise, you must be—”

“Jean-Luc Picard,” the captain interjected, preferring to supply his own identification.

Eragian measured him with his gaze. “Yes, of course. And what is the occasion that has prompted this communication?”

Picard prepared himself. It was time to lay his cards on the table—at least, those he was willing to show.

“The Federation,” he said, “is aware of the capture of some forty Romulan unificationists on Constanthus. As a strictly humanitarian gesture, I have been empowered to take them off your hands.”

A smile played at the corners of the Romulan’s mouth. “A humanitarian gesture?” he echoed. “I fear you’ve lost me, Captain.”

“Allow me to explain,” said Picard. “As the Federation sees it, your empire is in a no-win situation. If you keep the prisoners, they become symbols of oppression to all those who already sympathize with their movement, if you kill them, they become martyrs, and the pot of discontent gets stirred even more quickly. But if you turn them over to us

“

“I see your point now,” Eragian replied—though of course, he must have seen it right from the beginning. “If I release the prisoners, they will be seen as exiles. Examples of Federation weakness, who couldn’t make it in the Empire.”

“Precisely,” the captain confirmed. “Not that it will provide a long-term solution to the unificationist problem, but at least it will buy you some time to think of one.”

The Romulan tilted his head. “Then you believe this … unification movement… will be an ongoing difficulty for us? Even with this group gone?”

“I do,” Picard told him.

That much was the truth. What came next was the lie

“Nor is Vulcan any happier about it than the Romulan are.”

Eragian’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “What ha Vulcan got to be unhappy about… if I may ask?”

“Perhaps I misspoke,” the captain said. “Certainly few individual Vulcans are in favor of unification. How ever, most believe that their society will be corrupted by an influx of Romulan ideas and want no part of it. Hence the dispatch of the Enterprise.”

“In other words,” the Romulan commented, “this is embarrassment to your side as well as mine.”

“Yes,” Picard answered. “And my job is to eliminate it—preferably before it gets out of hand.” He paused for effect. “What I am offering,” he emphasized, “is a graceful way out of this mess. If I were you, Proconsul, I would give it some thought.”

Eragian seemed to be doing that already. Finally he said, “I will take it under advisement, I assure you. We will speak again, Captain. Eragian out.”

A moment later, the image on the viewscreen reverted to the grid they’d seen before, with its red blips moving slowly from one quadrant to the next.

Picard frowned. It wasn’t easy to tell what effect his advice had had on the proconsul. However, he was reasonably confident that he’d made some headway.

The captain had barely completed the thought before he heard an exclamation from the vicinity of the aft stations. Turning, he saw Admiral McCoy glaring at him.

“Dammit, man,” the admiral rasped, making his way around the sweeping curve of the tactical station. “Are you out of your mind?”

Again, the captain thought. On my bridge. In front of my officers.

Picard could feel a gout of anger rising in his throat. With an effort he fought it down.

“If you have something to say to me,” he responded, “I’d suggest we discuss it in my ready room.” Then, before McCoy could suggest otherwise, he turned to Riker. “You have the bridge, Number One.”

His executive officer nodded sympathetically. “Aye, sir.”

The captain led the way into the familiar confines of his ready room, took a seat behind his desk, and waited patiently for the admiral to join him. He didn’t look at McCoy until he’d shuffled in and the door had closed behind him. Then he raised his eyes to meet the admiral’s.

“Now,” said Picard, “what is it you wished to tell me?”

McCoy cursed lavishly beneath his breath. “My question,” he declared, “is why you don’t know these things for yourself. I mean, you’ve dealt with the Romulans before, haven’t you? You’ve seen what they’re like?”

The captain felt his lips compressing into a thin, hard line. “And your advice?” he prodded as gently as possible.

That brought forth another string of curses. “My advice,” the admiral hissed, “is not to trust those bastards. Dollars to doughnuts, they’ll find a way to stab you in the back—unless you stab them first.”

Picard leaned forward. “What, exactly, are you suggesting? That I carry out this negotiation without speaking to the Romulans?”

McCoy’s face reddened. He came forward until he was standing directly in front of the captain.

“What I’m suggesting,” he snapped, “is that you do what you set out to do—help Spock. And the only way to accomplish that is to go in there and get him out.”

The captain stared at him. “In other words, you’d like me to take on an entire enemy fleet, not to mention whatever defenses they enjoy on Constanthus, without any regard for diplomacy.”

“In other words,” the admiral replied, “you’re damned right. In fact, I—”

McCoy was cut short by a sharp bleep from the ship’s intercom system. “Picard here,” the captain replied.

Data’s voice filled the ready room. “Sir, I have obtained some information concerning Romulan ship movements, which may shed light on the inadequacy of their numbers at the Neutral Zone border.”

“Go ahead,” said the captain.

“In tracking their engines’ ion emissions,” the android explained, “it became clear to me that a large number of their vessels have been deployed to a particular sector of the Empire.”

“I see,” Picard acknowledged. “And why that sector in particular?”

There was a brief pause. “I do not know, sir,” Data admitted. “However, I will continue to attempt to find out. In the meantime, I will make this information available to your terminal, so you may consider it at your leisure.”

With the admiral around, the captain didn’t expect to have much leisure. Still, he thanked the android for his thoughtfulness—after which Data signed off.

In the silence that followed, McCoy glowered almost accusingly at Picard. “Ship movements,” he muttered. “And this patty-cake you’re playing with the Romulans.” He sighed. “I expected more from you, Captain.”

Without waiting for a reply, the admiral turned his back on the captain and headed for the door, which opened obediently at his approach. Picard bit his lip as he watched McCoy walk out onto the bridge.

It was difficult enough dealing with the Romulans in so delicate a matter. Dealing with the admiral only increased the captain’s difficulties.

He wondered who at Starfleet Command had believed McCoy would be an asset on this mission.

Scotty turned at the sound of footfalls. Standing, he looked out across the energy barrier separating his cell from the ship’s corridor outside it.

A moment later, he found himself face-to-face with three Romulan officers. The one in the middle was the commander he had seen on the Yorktown’s viewscreen.

Of course that had been hours ago, before the Romulans had beamed him onto their ship and brought him to their brig. Obviously they didn’t know how to treat a guest. A Starfleet captain would never have kept him waiting so long.

The delay was probably purposeful. Give the human time to think, he mused, and he’ll be that much more eager to talk when the time comes.

The commander took a step forward, until his face was half a meter from the engineer’s. “I will have my explanation now, human,” the Romulan told him.

Scott returned the commander’s unblinking stare, and his scowl as well. “I have nothin’ to say,” he replied.

“If I were you,” the commander advised, “I would reconsider.” He frowned and started again. “You are alone on a ship that is a century out of date. And yet you dare to enter Romulan territory. Tell me why.”

Scotty tried to size the commander up—to divine his intentions. Why hadn’t he destroyed the Yorktown on the spot? Was it simply to be sure the human wasn’t a threat before disposing of him?

He repeated his earlier remark. “I have nothin’ to say.”

“You must be mad, even for a human,” the commander spat.

Suddenly, Scotty had an idea.

If nothing else, it might buy him some time. And though the engineer wasn’t sure it would do him any good, he knew he had to hold on as long as he could. After all, as long as he lived, Spock still had a chance.

“You’ll nae win,” Scotty snarled. “Nae as long as I draw breath.”

“Win what?” the commander asked, his brow furrowing. “We are not at war, your people and mine. At least, we weren’t until you made your pathetic incursion into our space.”

Leaning toward the commander suddenly, Scotty was gratified to see him flinch—despite the barrier between them. “Dinnae think ye can pull the wool over my eyes, ye treacherous Romulan pig.”

Hyperventilating, he could feel the color rising in his cheeks. He imagined that he was quite a sight. By the look on the commander’s face, he was right.

“I see what ye’re trying to do,” he growled, adding an uncontrollable blink in one eye, for effect. “Ye scheme yer little schemes, and ye think the Federation will be yers for the taking. Even if the fools at Starfleet canna make out what ye’re up to, I can. And I’ll nae rest until I destroy every last one of ye!”

Obviously repelled by the display, the Romulan withdrew a few paces to confer with his officers. Finally, he came to a conclusion.

“Interrogate him,” said the commander. “Find out if he has some hidden purpose, or if he really is as crazy as he appears. If he turns out to be insane in truth, you may put him out of his misery—and mine.”

Though he maintained his manic expression, Scotty blanched inside at the prospect. He knew he wouldn’t last long at the hands of a Romulan interrogator.

And then something incredible happened. The voice of a Romulan officer came from the room’s intercom system.

“Commander,” the voice said, “we have new orders regarding the prisoner.”

“What new orders?” the Romulan demanded.

“He is not to be harmed, sir.”

“What?” The commander was livid now.

“Sir, the orders come directly from Proconsul Eragian himself. We are to bring the prisoner and his vessel to a station in this sector. Eragian is en route and will deal with the matter personally.”

The commander grunted. Turning to Scotty, he managed a resentful sort of smile.

“So there is something more to your story, human. Whatever it is, I can assure you the proconsul will find it out.”

Scotty didn’t reply. He was too lost in his own thoughts. However, that only seemed to annoy the commander further.

“Watch him carefully,” the Romulan said. Then he departed, his officers falling into line behind him.

As he watched them go, Scotty wondered what the Romulan proconsul could possibly want with him. Had the Romulan hierarchy somehow connected his appearance to the unificationists … or to Spock?

The engineer doubted it. If they’d made that connection already, they’d have no need to question him. Yet the proconsul was sufficiently interested in him to come personally.

He couldn’t see why—at least not yet. But as he sat down again in his cell, he had the distinctly unpleasant feeling that he’d soon find out.