Chapter Six

“WE’RE TAKING DAMAGE, Commander,” La Forge called from engineering. “I can’t guarantee how long before shields fail.”

“Another volley coming from port,” Vale said from behind Riker.

“Deltan ships three, five, and six are coming at us, one-quarter impulse,” Data added.

“We’re in over our heads,” Riker muttered. It wasn’t the most brilliant observation he had ever made, but it was essentially accurate. For the last hour, the combined Deltan and Carreon forces had managed to put aside their differences and took on the Enterprise as a common enemy. Both captains had stopped accepting the commander’s hails and he now considered his last stratagem a spectacular failure.

He had tried to avoid direct shots, merely phaser blasts that would divert the ships away from the hulking starship. Rather than move the battle, he kept the vessel in its position, avoiding complicating the targeting process by being constantly in motion. The other ships were not as courteous and darted through space like angry bees. And they were going for direct strikes wherever they could. Vale had reported no contact between the races, so they weren’t sharing information. At least it gave him some hope for getting out of this mess intact.

The ship shuddered under the current round of pounding as Vale fired back, picking off what she could, missing on occasion. Riker noted that damage-control teams were on over half the decks and Dr. Crusher was already complaining about the increasing number of injured.

Vale looked at him with concern. “We’re hitting the sixty percent mark on torpedoes, shields down to fiftyfour percent.”

It was long past time to put an end to the fighting. He just didn’t have an idea that would get the Deltans’ and Carreons’ attention.

“Data, time to get out of here,” Riker began.

“Agreed.”

“Ensign Perim, Z minus fifty thousand kilometers, as soon as we’re clear, engage at warp one. Plot us a circular course that will bring us back as quickly as possible.”

Perim nodded in acknowledgment and set about her station.

“Vale, open a channel to Starfleet.” He heard the telltale beep and began, “This is the Enterprise. Situation has grown out of hand. Request backup from whichever vessels are closest to this position.”

The Enterprise began dropping as instructed, but two Deltan craft dropped with it, firing continuously. Riker, with little choice, instructed that both ships be disabled. Concentrated ruby light struck from the ship’s underhull, making contact first with one ship, then the other.

On the bridge, Riker saw the hits register on the tactical display and congratulated Vale. He saw the ship continue to lower, putting enough distance between them to form the warp bubble required to leave the area.

Two more ships, one Deltan, one Carreon, replaced the injured vessels and renewed the attack. Once more, the Enterprise struck back; a great wounded animal fighting to escape. It was not a pretty situation for the commander, one he was unused to. It grated against him and already regretted the report he would have to make when Picard returned. He had barely thought about his friend’s own mission, not allowing himself to worry about things he could not change.

“Distance,” he asked.

“Thirty-seven thousand kilometers,” Data answered.

“Geordi, what’s the minimum safety for going to warp?”

“You’re right about there, Commander, but it’s going to be tough with them still firing.”

“Understood, out.” He turned to Data, prepared to give the order, feeling like he was running away from a fight he started. Before he could issue the order, Vale interrupted.

“Signal coming in, Commander, it’s the captain!”

“Will, what in hell is going on there?”

Riker grinned at the tone, glad if someone had to come haul his butt out of trouble, it was his friend. “My strategy backfired, Captain. How far away are you?”

“We’ve pushed it to warp eight, Number One. We should be there in minutes.”

“Four minutes, thirty-seven seconds,” Data offered cheerfully.

“I missed that precision, Mr. Data,” Picard said.

“Captain, we’ll send you complete tactical reports so you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Try not to lose my ship until then, Commander. Picard out.”

This time, when Riker took his place in the command chair, it didn’t feel so burdensome. “Perim, evasive course, full impulse. Make us a moving target and let’s get some distance between us and that damned planet.”

The Trill ensign began piloting the starship in an erratic pattern that seemed to confuse the smaller ships. Not that they stopped firing, but they were missing more than they were making contact. As a result, Riker could hear reports coming in a little faster as repairs were finished. Even La Forge said the shields were finally holding steady, back toward the seventy-five percent mark. Riker let out a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and not get too excited about his captain coming to the rescue.

“We have visual, Captain,” Chan announced.

Picard put the fuel consumption report down and saw the image of his starship moving like a drunken boxer, having taken one shot too many. Its flight pattern seemed evasive and they were not firing back at the ships, which kept dipping in and around the vessel. From the tactical report sent by his crew, Picard figured out that Riker somehow made the Enterprise the focal point of all hostilities. While questioning the strategy, he did note no ships had been lost.

“Red alert. Captain Picard to Captain Grekor,” Picard called out.

“Grekor here,” a rough voice replied on the audio system.

“I’m transmitting a pattern I would like your two ships to follow. I’m asking the others to hang back and give us room to maneuver. You are to shoot only if fired upon, and shoot to disable, am I clear?”

“Bah, that’s not a battle, it’s target practice.”

“Still, our mission is to preserve the peace, not let the gateways sow unnecessary trouble.”

“ Chargh out.”

Despite a few decades of peaceful coexistence, Picard thought, few truly understood the complex warrior culture that dominated the Klingon people. After being thrust directly into it, and as a duty to Worf, Picard had immersed himself in its intricacies. Their codes and mores were fascinating reading, and he understood how they united under an ideal. Some of their conquered worlds went unwillingly, but an equal number liked the way of life and were proud to be a part of the Empire.

“Chargh and Qob in position,” Chan reported.

“Mr. Rosario, we’re going in at full impulse. Target the ships closest to the Enterprise. Let’s move them off while our friends start pushing the two sides apart. They just might think twice when staring down several phaser banks and disruptor turrets.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Engage,” Picard said and then took a sharp breath, readying his mind, from diplomacy to battle.

Dropping out of warp, the three ships seemed to materialize from nowhere and immediately went about their business. With precision phaser shots, Carreon craft were moved away from the Enterprise’ s nacelles while the Klingon ships bracketed Deltan ships with fire, giving them only one course to take.

On the bridge, Picard watched his adopted crew perform and was impressed. They took little joy in the battle but did as they were told and kept the usual side comments to a minimum. Even through the red haze of combat lighting, he could tell from the tactical displays that the plan was working. The sudden arrival of so much firepower scared off the much smaller ships and they easily scattered to two clusters, far from the Federation starships.

In all, it was over in five minutes.

“Go to yellow alert, stand down from firing. Mr. Rosario, patch me through to captains of those lead ships. Link the Enterprise so they can listen.”

“Aye, sir, it’ll take a moment,” the curly-haired man replied.

While waiting, Picard once more sought to adopt the more placid tones of a diplomat, a role he had played more and more often these last few years. During the Dominion War he was either soldier or diplomat and had come to miss the exploration aspect of his mission. Even this Iconian situation cried out for an explorer but first he had to be a fighter. It just didn’t seem fair.

“On screen, Captain. The Deltan is Captain Oliv and the Carreon is Landik Mel Rosa.”

“Thank you,” Picard replied.

Both captains appeared on the screen and Picard could tell at a glance that neither one looked happy to see the Federation’s best-known defender. Oliv had a smug look, one born out of superior numbers, while his counterpart’s eyes spoke of his devotion to the fight.

“I expect all defensive weapons placed on standby while we sort this out.”

There was no question that they had to comply. Powerful as they were, neither side wished to anger the superior firepower represented by more than one Federation starship, not to mention the Klingon battle cruisers. He saw both captains nod to off-camera personnel and he spared just a glance backward to tactical. He got a double nod and smile from the relieved lieutenant.

“You both traveled through gateways to arrive in this disputed area. While I recognize the risks inherent in using them to return, I urge you both to go home. Your disputes may be legitimate, but are minor compared to the bigger issue facing us all. If you wish, once this is over, the Federation can dispatch a mediator to settle this once and for all.”

Before either captain could react, Picard forged ahead. “This problem will only escalate, which is why I am trying to ascertain exactly what the Iconians really want. If I accomplish nothing else, I want them to close the gateways to prevent further bloodshed. To demonstrate our peaceful intentions, I am assembling a representative fleet. I would welcome one or more ships from the Carreon to join us. An equal number of Deltan craft could join if it makes Captain Oliv feel better about your problems.

“We’re moving out, meeting with other ships. You can coordinate with Lieutenant Rosario and Commander Davison. You have ten minutes, Picard out.” With a hand gesture, he signaled to cut the signal.

“Didn’t give them a moment to breathe,” Davison observed.

“Absolutely not,” Picard said, relaxing just a little. “We don’t have time for posturing or arguments over a dead world. There are times, Commander, when having a reputation can be put to good use.”

“And,” she added, with a smile, “having two Klingons for emphasis never hurts.”

“Never,” Worf agreed.

“Mark me,” Picard concluded, “there will be two of each and we can go to warp on time.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Chan said, clearly happy order had been restored. A stern look from Picard reminded her to stay focused on her duty.

To anyone looking at the warp signatures, they would have scratched their heads in wonderment. Why would there be a Federation starship, flanked by two Klingon vessels and two Romulan ships, followed by two ships from Delta IV and two ships from the Carreon, then a ship with an unrecognized signature, and followed by a smaller Federation ship? These eleven vessels were streaking through space, forming a fleet that few would dare challenge.

Picard suppressed a small smile at the accomplishment, having four (or five, counting the Nyrians) governments represented before even arriving at the rendezvous point with Counselor Troi. The smile was also due, in no small part, to his return to the
Enterprise. With the mission complete and now under way, he could leave the Marco Polo under Davison’s watch and assume his rightful place on his ship.

Riker was waiting for him as he materialized in the transporter room. He looked worn, the captain thought.

“Will, exactly what have you done to my ship?” he demanded with a smile.

The first officer shook his head, but couldn’t keep the twinkle from his eyes. At least he hadn’t lost his good nature, Picard noted. They strode off at a brisk pace, heading for the nearest turbolift. “Actually sir, a lot less damage than the last time I was left in command this long.”

“Oh, so I still have a warp core?”

“Absolutely, sir. Wouldn’t leave the sector without it.”

“Excellent idea. Damage report.”

“Minor structural damage, but Geordi says it won’t slow us down. He’s also got crews replacing blown circuits. One ODN is still giving him trouble, but it’ll keep him occupied and happy.”

“Very good.” They stepped into the lift and headed straight for the bridge. Riker had already assigned crew to retrieve Picard’s belongings from the other ship.

“Miss us?”

“Maybe,” Picard said. “Not a bad ship, the Marco Polo. Smaller crew, fewer headaches.”

“Less glamorous assignments,” Riker added.

Picard nodded. “For a patchwork crew, they performed well, which gives me hope. We’ll need them. But, I don’t quite know about leaving Davison in command. She’s logged very few hours in such a position and I’d rather have someone with more experience.”

“I see you picked up a stray or two,” the first officer added.

“The Romulans happened to be on the way, which adds import to our group, but also some complications.” toward the men. Worf recognized it as a spiced soup, one Martok liked.

“The Romulans think us weak after the war,” Martok said, looking at no one in particular. “We lost many warriors, many ships. To have the ability to walk from one room on Qo’noS to Rura Penthe in a second would mean much for the Empire.”

“Oh, there’s little doubt that anyone controlling the gateways would find their culture transformed,” Picard said. “It would revolutionize your economy and place within the galactic community. But what if it was not the Klingon Empire or the Federation that gained control?”

“Bah, then we’d be picking Ferengi out of our teeth every day,” Martok spat.

“We need to show solidarity, need to show the Iconians that they cannot divide us. I cannot do that alone, Chancellor.”

Martok strode over to the side table and looked at the food. He nodded once in approval and gestured toward Worf and Picard. The ambassador hoped Picard took Wu’s advice and had come prepared. He knew Riker could handle the raw meats, but Picard always struck him as preferring things . . . cooked.

“Try the soup first, Captain,” Martok said. “ Something I learned to live on as a young warrior.”

Picard filled the bowl, letting the steam fill his senses before taking the first sip. Worf was amused by the way his former captain tried to contain the reaction. If anything, the soup’s spices were even more potent than habañero peppers from Earth. Picard breathed in again and then took a sip, smiling all the while. Worf was proud of how well Picard handled himself, but also felt himself grow hungry.

“Such as keeping the Klingons from firing.”

“I have no doubt Captain Grekor will maintain order, and having Worf aboard the Marco Polo will be an additional asset.”

Riker raised his eyebrows at the news that an old friend was coming along for the mission. Before he could follow up on this, Picard succinctly filled him in on the Nyrians, the Cardassians, and the lack of success Ambassador Lojal had with the Tholians. There was little time to waste, he felt. By then, they had left the lift and taken their customary places on the bridge. He was pleased to see his alpha shift in position, his most trusted officers ready for the dangers ahead. And he knew all their names.

“There’s always Data,” Riker suggested as they each picked up a padd and began catching up on reports.

Picard shook his head. “I will need him when we deal with the Iconians. If he were to be in command, I’d scarcely let him off that bridge.”

“Spoken like a true first officer,” Riker quipped.

Picard gave him a small smile, then handed two padds to a young officer. “Ensign, these reports should be routed to the quartermaster before coming to me.” The younger man nodded and hurried off.

“And that leaves Dr. Crusher out, in case this turns into a fight,” Riker observed.

Staring at another padd, from an engineer, he doublechecked some figures, then added his thumbprint for approval. “Very true. I suppose Geordi could handle it,” Picard said.

Riker handed the padd to a waiting officer and looked at his commander. “Same argument as with the doctor. There’s always Deanna.”

“Number One, I thought you said we shouldn’t give her another command after she crashed the Enterprise-D.” Picard tried to look overly shocked at the suggestion but couldn’t keep the small grin from his face.

Riker put on a look of mock surprise. “Me? Couldn’t imagine saying something like that about a capable Starfleet officer.”

Picard cocked an eyebrow and let the comment go without rejoinder. In many ways, having Troi command the other ship made sense and she would still be close enough to offer guidance. She certainly had proven her ability with people and there was plenty of support, in case of trouble.

“Let’s make it so,” he said finally.

As Riker busied himself, Picard spotted Crusher entering the bridge. He stood to greet her and she seemed pleased to have him back but also a little worn. Her hands were tucked into her jacket pockets and her reddish hair looked unkempt.

“Good to have you back, Captain. Your first officer seemed determined to fight like a Klingon.”

“I’m sure Commander Riker’s experience aboard their ships gives him a rather unique perspective on interstellar politics,” he replied seriously. “Any serious injuries?”

“Nothing I couldn’t fix although they were starting to stand in the halls with all the shaking going on,” she continued, looking determinedly at Riker. He ignored her, consulting with Data on something, and this amused Picard.

“I’ll try and keep things under control for the duration,” Picard said.

“Thanks. A meal later?”

He looked into her green eyes, feeling warmed by her smile. “Absolutely,” he promised.

As the two continued talking, Riker had Vale put a tactical chart on the screen, showing the fleet and the rendezvous point. From there, he and Picard busied themselves with contingency plans, trying to anticipate how to move so many ships should trouble occur. Picard also had Data assemble a report on further troubles caused by the gateways and also asked for an update from Captain Solok’s attempts to create a map. As the crew busied themselves and he lost himself in the planning, a part of Picard’s mind noted the comfort and ease he had with his crew. They had served together longer than most command crews and that gave Picard the confidence to take them further than he might with another crew, such as that of the Marco Polo. Yes, he was spoiled, but he took full advantage of that which kept him and the Enterprise in the forefront of the Federation’s exploration and defense.

“Ambassador, I wish to consult you on the tactical planning.”

“That is between you and Captain Picard,” Worf replied, bristling. He sat in his quarters, staring at the viewscreen and the obsequious captain.

Grekor was hunched over a table, studying the flowing diagrams that charted possible battle scenarios. Grekor and Krong, the first officer, were trying to see how quickly the two Klingon battle cruisers could pivot and fire cleanly, without placing any other ship in the crossfire. When the two disagreed, they turned to Worf for his input.

“Ambassador,” Grekor began slowly, “we merely plan our defense in case of treachery. There’s little you can offer when the disruptors begin firing.”

Worf gritted his teeth, frustrated by wanting to offer complete help with his extensive experience but needing to remember his role as the ambassador. “Actually, Captain,” he said as casually as possible, “if they do break formation in this manner, you can take the first shot between the Nyrian and the Marco Polo because a ship of that nature can react faster than you. The Federation craft will, by routine, rise, opening an opportunity.”

Grekor studied the board a moment, then nodded as an officer reprogrammed the simulation, watching as the purple blip representing the Marco Polo moved as Worf suggested. Sure enough, there was a clear shot awaiting the fastest ship. Armed with this knowledge, Grekor could strike first, and Worf hoped, respect what he had to offer.

“Excellent, Ambassador. That’s the kind of thinking we need more of.”

Worf stalked his room, not caring if he moved away from the camera. While he liked things spare, the ambassador did wish to have room for a holocube so he could look at rotating pictures of his son Alexander, his now-dead wife Jadzia, and a recent portrait of his adoptive parents. Still, he hadn’t packed for a vacation but a vital mission.

He wished for the luxury of a holodeck, but Sabre class vessels didn’t have room. His alternative was to find a sparring partner and use a workout chamber, but he did not know any of the Marco Polo crew well enough to share such an experience.

“Ambassador, your help has been immense. We will be better prepared thanks to you,” Grekor said by way of signoff. Worf felt his frustration mounting.

Before he could indulge himself and put a fist into the bulkhead, his communication terminal beeped. The Klingon letters crawling across the screen indicated it was from the Enterprise. Hastily, he stabbed the activation button. Riker’s perpetually cheery face awaited him.

“Ambassador, how good of you to make time for a lowly commander.”

Worf nodded and replied, “Ambassadors are trained to speak with the high . . . as well as the low.”

Riker winced at the barb, continuing to smile.

“It’s good to have you with us,” the human said, bringing a feeling of calm to Worf. “You know enough of the Iconian situation to recognize the more experienced hands the better. How’s the diplomat business treating you?”

“As one might expect.”

“I see,” Riker replied knowingly. “If that’s the case, maybe I should arrange a small reception in honor of our ambassador.”

“Thank you, no . . . Will,” Worf replied, still trying to get used to using the first name. “The last one was sufficient.” Then, with sudden inspiration, he looked intently at the screen. “Actually, Commander, allow me to entertain you. We shall re-create the battle of Malkir, readying our limbs for the battle ahead.”

Riker looked at his friend and Worf could tell he was being read like an open book. Try as he might, he could rarely keep from such scrutiny by those who knew him well. Finally, the first officer smiled and replied, “Sure thing. If I recall the battle, it was two against a dozen, over an active hot steam geyser. Did you bring one?”

“We shall improvise,” Worf added and cut the signal.

Twenty minutes later, the two men were on an
Enterprise holodeck, stripped to the waist, their skins slick with sweat. All around them were swords and bat’leths, some still attached to their opponents’ hands. The dead around them might have been holograms, but there was a joy pounding in Worf’s chest. It had been too long, he realized, since he had the chance to cut loose like this.

Riker was grinning, which Worf found annoying more often than not. Still, Riker comported himself well and could display any emotion he wanted.

“Guess ambassadors don’t get to do this too often, even on Qo’noS, eh, Worf?” Riker ducked and swung his sword, one-handed, to his left, keeping an attacker at bay.

“Indeed.” Worf jumped right over the geyser, ignoring the stinging steam, and punched an attacker in the side of the head. It seemed to only stagger him and as he whirled about, Worf butted him again, this time with his bat’leth, which forced him to his three knees.

The first officer lunged low, aiming the sword up, and the rushing attacker impaled himself on the tips.

Riker stepped closer, wiping his twin-tipped sword on the pant leg of a fallen foe. “You’re enjoying this almost too much so I know something’s on your mind.”

Worf leaped high, avoided a swipe from an attacker, then landed. With both hands gripping the bat’leth, he thrust it so one end was in the enemy’s forehead and the other point in his abdomen. Removing the weapon, he watched the figure fall in a heap, atop two other bodies.

Riker’s question remained unanswered. While he was able to share many of his concerns with Wu these last few months, he and Riker had endured so much together, even going so far as to love the same woman. While his heart mourned for Jadzia, it was also glad to see Troi and Riker back where they belonged: together. His friends aboard the Enterprise were always getting him to open up, something he did with reluctance. And yet . . . and yet it usually did help.

“My name, my accomplishments . . . they are a matter of public record, yet Grekor sees me as nothing but a career opportunity.” He whirled as the final two attackers rushed him. He held the weapon horizontal, ready for the final movement.

Riker ran toward Worf, jumped onto one pile of bodies, and sprang from it so he could swing his sword from a high angle, cleaving one of the final enemies almost in two. The action provided sufficient distraction so Worf needed just one swing from his blade to decapitate the final one. The battle was over.

“Most commanders have a natural dislike for diplomats, comes with the territory.” Riker was thoughtful for a moment then added, “You’re just not used to being the center of attention. And, you’re a man of action so sitting on the sidelines hurts.”

Worf nodded in silence, staring at the ichor dripping from his bat’leth, recognizing the words’ validity.

“I’m impressed, though,” Riker offered. “To put aside those warrior tendencies to take on an even greater mission for both your people takes quite a man. I don’t know if I could have done it. Martok’s lucky to have you close at hand on Quo’noS.”

Although the commander had said nothing Worf did not already know, hearing it from a trusted compatriot did take some of the sting out of the mission. He let out a deep breath and nodded once in appreciation.

“Now,” Riker said, reaching for his uniform jacket, “I want to know something about the Qob’ s captain, Tarnan. The captain and I need to make sure he won’t take the opportunity to gut a Romulan during all this.”

The next hour slid by as the two talked ships, armaments, and strategy. Worf hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

Picard turned command over to Data and left the bridge for his ready room. As the android took the center seat, Geordi La Forge strode across the wide space to join him. To La Forge, Data seemed a little off his game, reacting to orders just a little slower than usual.

“Something wrong?”

Data looked at him, paused and turned his head to stare into space, and less than twenty seconds later replied, “Internal diagnostics show everything performing within optimal guidelines.”

La Forge chuckled and shook his head, knowing he should have been more specific with the question. “No, Data, you seem distracted.”

His mechanical friend looked at him with some concern.

“It’s okay, if you have other things on your mind. Happens to everyone.”

“I am not everyone,” Data said. “But you are right. In addition to the mission, I have allocated portions of my brain to continue working on long-standing issues. You might be happy to know I am almost done with my latest poem.”

La Forge rolled his eyes, recalling the last poem was over one hundred stanzas long and involved a most technical explanation of a sunset. He put a sympathetic hand on Data’s shoulder and walked off, heading back to his console. On the way, though, he looked over his shoulder and sure enough, Data seemed to be staring off into space, not at the status reports coming through to his station.

He’d have to keep an eye on his friend.

Picard watched Taleen appear on the transporter pad and smiled as she looked around in wonder. She wore a hat that covered much of her dark hair and tapered several inches higher. Her uniform tunic was of a similar shade of brown, which went down to her thighs, with matching brown pants. She seemed to be in her midthirties with a wide-eyed expression. Clearly she remained rattled by her ship’s arrival in the Alpha Quadrant and the captain wanted to make certain they were able to operate as part of the fleet.

“Welcome, Taleen, I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard,” he said by way of welcome.

“Thank you for having me to the meeting,” she said. He noted her voice was rather pleasant but betrayed a lack of experience as one in command.

“I have invited all the captains,” he said as he escorted her from the room.

“I still don’t feel like much of a commander,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t trained for it and this was never supposed to happen.”

Picard pointed out some of his ship’s features to her as they walked along the curving corridor. He watched as she took everything in with round eyes, but also noted how intently she stared at anything technological.

“You will find, as have some of my crew, that extreme situations can bring out the best in a person, crew, or ship,” Picard said encouragingly.

“Or the worst,” she countered.

“The Federation tends to be on the optimistic side of things.”

“Captain Janeway certainly never gave up,” she said.

“So tell me, how did you encounter Voyager?”

Picard saw her hesitate, clearly reviewing the incident, and finding the best way to explain it. She certainly didn’t look happy about it.

“My people tried to, well, that is, we were trying to relocate the Voyager crew and use the ship.”

The captain looked at her with some alarm, worrying that he might have misread the woman and her intentions. Still, she seemed genuinely abashed by the mere mention of the incident. She went on to explain how their people took other ships for their own use, finding a proper place for the crews to live. Janeway and her people had managed the rare feat of escaping and negotiated not only the return of Voyager, but also the freedom for the other races in similar captivity. Picard was once more impressed with the growing legend of Kathryn Janeway.

Finally, they found themselves at a pair of doors, which he explained was the turbolift, which would bring them to deck twelve and the briefing room. “With so many people, I felt it best to use a larger room,” he explained as they stepped in.

As they emerged, Riker was waiting for them and the captain made quick introductions as they walked to the room a short distance away. It had been just an hour since the Mercury and the Ferengi Marauder Kreechta arrived, followed by the four Gorn ships. Seventeen ships meant just as many captains plus an ambassador. He decided to bring aboard the primary leaders from each government.

In attendance were Captain Oliv of the Deltans, Landik Mel Rosa from the Carreon, Commander Desan for the Romulans, Captains Grekor and Tarnan for the Klingons, DaiMon Bractor from the Ferengi Alliance, Ralwisssh from the Gorn Hegemony, Taleen—who seemed woefully out of place—and the Federation’s Brisbayne, Troi, and Riker. Ambassador Worf had a seat near Picard and he sat there, speaking with Troi in hushed tones.

Before speaking, he took a moment to truly look at this polyglot of races, all with one goal: get to the truth. An undercurrent to all that remained keeping the hostile factions—Deltan vs. Carreon, Klingon vs. Romulan— from open warfare. Still, he remained suffused with pride that this many different worlds willingly came together.

It took a few moments, but all eyes finally settled on the Picard. He was not the tallest or broadest in the room, but it was unmistakable who was in command. He prided himself on how he comported himself and felt he could not give in to any pettiness.

“For everyone’s benefit, let me sum up our situation: the Tholians, Breen, and Cardassians have rejected our offer. Our Romulan friends have joined us. So much the better,” Picard began. “Essentially, all the major Alpha Quadrant governments have been asked to be a part of this mission. Now we must move forward, in unison.”

“Tell me, Picard,” Mel Rosa said, interrupting. He was not terribly tall, with dusky skin, bright blue eyes and a frame that seemed totally out of human propotion so the head seemed smaller than it actually was. Picard noted, though, that the man wore a bright, crisp uniform with signals of his command running up the center flap of the jacket. He didn’t know much of the Carreon, having rarely encountered them, so he tried to retain an open mind despite their belligerent tendencies. “Why don’t you just blow up these portals?”

“There’s no profit in that,” Bractor, said. He was the shortest of the captains, clad in a formfitting monochromatic gray uniform with just gold circles at his sleeves, denoting his rank. Picard personally met him in the transporter room a little while earlier. The conversation was tense at first since the last time they had seen each other, the DaiMon was trying to blow up a Federation starship during a training exercise. Along the way, he had dealt the Enterprise-D some severe damage, all the result of a serious misunderstanding.

“Because, Captain,” Picard interrupted, ignoring Bractor’s comment, “they all seem to possess defensive fields that dampen weapons.” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“It’s true enough,” Grekor agreed. “We fired torpedoes at one and their guidance systems failed. Disruptors were also rendered useless at close range.”

“What are they? Magicians?” Mel Rosa asked.

Briefly, Picard sketched out what was known about the Iconians, and asked for his guests to compare experiences of dealing with the Iconian representatives. He watched as Troi made herself some notes and was curious for her analysis when they were once again under way.

“Actually, Captain,” Desan began, “my Praetor has already made two offers. One several days ago and another within the last few hours. It seems the Orions are bidding aggressively through an agent of theirs.”

“Are you here, then, to insure the Iconians are treating your offer seriously?”

“Captain, I am here to make certain that what they have to offer is genuine and that they deal fairly with one and all. I think we’re agreed, should the Orions or Kreel get it, none of us will be safe.”

“Sooner the Pakleds than them,” Grekor said with a sneer.

“As if our worlds would be safe if you obtain it?” Desan questioned.

“Or our worlds,” Mel Rosa interrupted. That earned him an annoyed look from Oliv, the Deltan captain who had tried to snatch a world away from the Carreon. Picard watched carefully, wanting to avoid a fistifght.

So many agendas, most public but some still hidden. One baits another, more out of habit than anything else, which earns a rebuke. The task Ross gave him was feeling heavier by the minute.

“We’ve run the simulations,” Bractor said, catching people’s attention. “If any one government gains control of the gateways, all the spacelanes will have to be redrawn, avoiding floating apertures and potential tolls. The cost of either is immeasurable.” For a Ferengi to say that, meant it was serious to all.

“No one will be safe if just one government has control,” Taleen said, her small voice almost lost among the rumblings.

“Go on, Commander,” Troi said in an encouraging tone.

“You’re all worried about species against species here,” she continued. The others began to look at her intently. “I’m from the other side of the galaxy. If the Hirogen find their way here, the damage could be insurmountable. Or if your more aggressive races, these Orions I suppose, come to my world, we wouldn’t have the first clue as to how we can defend ourselves. Captain Picard, no one government should ever control this much power.”

The captain nodded in understanding. He looked at the others, watching each consider what might happen if the others in the room were to gain the gateway technology. All had their own fantasies, all looked extremely uncomfortable.

Good. It would help keep them working in unison.

“It’s a damned big universe,” Brisbayne said. “There are dangers everywhere. Friends become enemies, enemies become allies, and then the unknown creeps up to bite you. Anyone getting this for themselves will invite as much trouble as they cause.”

“The Federation has done much to maintain the peace,” Oliv said. He was, Picard imagined, an older Deltan, the skin a little less perfect, crow’s feet forming around the eyes. It struck Picard that this was an experienced space commander but, as he was also a member of the Federation, pledged to support their goals. “It was the Federation who first began mobilizing all of us against the Borg threat, or once more pulled us together to oppose the Dominion. But even they should not be allowed sole access to this much power. What we need is a way to make a pact within ourselves and with the Iconians so the technology is shared.”

“Words,” Ralwisssh said. His translated tones focused attention on him. “We need to know everything about the technology, how it works, how it has lasted this long. When they tell us that, then we can find a price worth paying.”

“Should an enemy government get the device, the Cardassians say,” Grekor said, “nothing will stop us from annihilating them before they could attack us. Self-defense is a universal right.”

“And so it seems, is starting a needless war,” Ralwisssh said slowly. “You say you are a people of honor. Attacking because you are a sore loser is not honorable.”

“The Klingons would attack in the name of selfdefense which is their right, but to start a war that may involve us all, is not,” Desan said coolly.

“We have no interest in supporting something so disruptive to our neighbors,” Bractor added, a tone of salesmanship in his voice.

Worf leaned forward, wearing his ambassadorial robes, and waited for attention. He saw Grekor gesture to stop Oliv from making a comment. His eyes were bright, and his great brow furrowed. Clearly, Picard saw, the ambassador had something to say but felt the weight of so many counting on his wisdom.

“Klingons do not fight wars just to fight,” he began. “We save that for after. Romulans rarely allow themselves to get dragged into something so messy as a war. The Gorn fight to protect what is theirs, but they do not provoke others. The Ferengi may have armed those seeking war, but have never declared it themselves. All of that might change should one government acquire this technology.

“Clearly, that cannot happen. One race cannot and should never dictate terms to other races. The Federation has asked you all to come together and seek nothing more than the truth. Together we can keep the peace, be allowed to pursue our own destinies. That is the way it has been and should always be.”

Picard watched the emotional temperature change in the room. He could have said those words and it would have meant one thing. But for a Klingon to say them, one who represented not Qo’noS but the Federation, that had a much stronger impact.

Finally, the Carreon captain broke the silence. “These Iconians of yours, Picard, are they real?” This from Mel Rosa, strategically located away from Oliv, seated between Taleen and Troi.

He looked across the room for a moment, making sure he had their attention. “Oh they are real,” he said. “They ruled here with a reach we have yet to fully chart. Two hundred millennia after they were last seen, their equipment still works and is plentiful. Those we are negotiating with claim to be their descendants. And that is what we are here to discover while restoring the peace.

“We’re to set out for the Iconian ships in two hours. Commander Riker has already transmitted flight patterns to your crews. In order to avoid internal conflict, and to best protect one another, do not deviate from this. Additionally, I am asking that all ships maintain an open channel to the Enterprise. We need to make absolutely certain we can react instantly to any adversity.”

There were some mumbled comments from Mel Rosa and Ralwisssh, but he let them pass.

Looking over the table once more, he added, “Since I will be taking command of the Enterprise once more, the Marco Polo will need a mission commander. For your information, I am temporarily reassigning Counselor Troi to that position.”

She looked surprised and couldn’t hide the reaction. The Betazoid looked at Riker, who merely grinned, and then back at Picard. “Of course, sir,” she stammered. “I’ll make you proud.”

“I expect so, Counselor. Report to your ship and be ready to move out. Unless there are any other questions, we’re done.”

“Just one, Captain.” All heads swiveled to the scaly visage of Ralwissh. “We’re a mighty force, but what if these Iconians, in addition to superior technology, also have superior weapons?”

Picard stared hard at the Gorn and didn’t have an answer. The question did, though, make him stifle a shiver.