Chapter Ten

MATERIALIZING ON THE TRANSPORTER pad, Picard hurriedly accepted Data’s updated report as he angrily strode from the transporter room to the turbolift. He looked over anxiously as Crusher guided the heavily sedated Riker to sickbay. Dr. Eardman was also alongside the stretcher. The meeting with Murat had been fruitless. Its only result was a colorfully issued order to journey to the surface of the planet whereupon they reestablished contact with the Enterprise and beamed aboard with the help of Admiral Jord. The journey had been harrowing. The party was nearly caught in a Tarn raid. Picard let Crusher and Riker take the lift first in order to have a moment alone with Data, who crisply informed him that Worf was on the planet’s surface. The captain rubbed his eyes tiredly. It occurred to him that Lucian Murat probably never suffered the inconvenience of an officer interpreting his orders so . . . creatively. Of course, Murat had metastasized from hero to genocidal maniac. And if that was the price a captain had to pay for lockstep discipline, then Picard preferred his own somewhat less authoritarian style.

“Mr. Data, be ready to contact the Tarn again if we need to get Worf out of there and be certain to convey my thanks to Admiral Jord for beaming us up. Have Dr. Crusher contact me if there’s any change in Commander Riker’s condition.”

With a curt nod of dismissal Picard indicated that he wanted to be alone, and stepping into his quarters, he collapsed in a chair. He was vaguely aware of his own stench, the dirt, filth, and blood streaking his uniform.

The stench of war, he thought grimly. We’ve made it too clean up here in space. Usually it’s a matter of a shield going down, a high-energy burst hulling a ship, the engulfing by a sterile vacuum, and then the long silence.

Swinging his viewscreen around, he punched in a wide-angle scan of the battlefield below. Flames still licked out of the wound torn into the ground. Flashing red blips indicated Tarn troop movements. Another orange blip showed where the Tarn were loading their third nuclear device up at their main base three hundred kilometers away.

Failure, he thought bitterly. If only Lucian had cooperated, as he should have cooperated, this insanity would be over. But he had not, and Picard saw his mission as a failure.

“Captain?”

Annoyed, he looked back at the screen. It was Data.

“Sir, Dr. Crusher just reported that Commander Riker is doing well. She is putting him under for twelve hours so that he can get some rest. She also suggested, sir, that you consider standing down and getting some sleep.”

Picard shook his head and switched the screen off.

Seconds later there was a knock at the door.

“Enter.” There was a sharp edge to his tone, for he knew who it was.

Data came into the room and Picard wearily rose to his feet.

“Data, I don’t need you.”

“Sir, Dr. Crusher informed me you have gone over thirty hours without sleep. My circuitry allows such excesses but, sir, I must remind you that higher-level functioning in humans starts to suffer serious degradation at that point.”

“Just get me a cup of tea, Data. I need to think. Go ahead and get something for yourself if you want.”

Data went over to the food replicator and, seconds later, brought over a cup of tea and a drinking horn. Picard wrinkled his nose disdainfully.

“Don’t tell me you’ve started drinking Hammasi.”

“Well, sir, I must confess that it does have a most curious taste. I find I rather like it.”

“Data, at least in human company, you’ll find very few companions with that stuff on your breath.”

“Really, sir?”

Picard was silent, staring off while sipping his Earl Grey.

“A suggestion, sir.”

“Yes, Mr. Data.”

“Talk to Admiral Jord.”

Picard awaited an explanation.

“Sir, I have observed that he appears to be carrying a similar emotional burden to your own.”

Picard fell silent and nodded for Data to leave.

Collapsing back in his chair he looked off vacantly. For some reason he recalled the woods near his childhood home. What did that mean? He smiled grimly. In a way, there was something natural about his reflecting upon childhood at this point. After all, the people he had recently left on the planet, Federation and Tarn forces alike, were behaving like children playing a particularly vicious nasty little game.

He closed his eyes. “They are children . . .” Strange, snatches of poems came to mind: “I was a child and she was a child, in the kingdom by the sea.”

Curious thought to now form, he thought. He had once enjoyed that poet . . . “Some sepulcher, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone.”

He stirred uncomfortably. “. . . thrilling to think, poor child of sin; it was the dead who groaned within.”

Why that poem? he wondered. And then he knew. Suppose the portal doors were opened. Suppose the child were given permission to gaze in full horror upon that which she had disturbed, and there was no escape.

He sat upright and reached over to activate his console.

“Mr. Data, get me Admiral Jord immediately.”

 

Julia Murat advanced into her husband’s chambers to find Lucian seated in the dark.

“Lysander?” Murat queried, the sound of the door stirring him from his thoughts.

“No, my husband, it is I.”

“Julia.” His voice was nearly tender. “Where is the boy?”

“Our son has been kept in a meeting with the staff officers,” she replied without affect.

“The staff? Whatever for? He is to discuss strategy with me before going to them.”

“Perhaps the time for strategy is past,” Julia stated somberly.

“You too?” he snapped wearily. “I’ve had my fill of this nonsense from Picard. Is he off the planet?”

“As you ordered, Lucian.”

“And you disapprove.”

“Yes.”

There was a long drawn-out silence. Across all the years she had never dared to disagree for he was not just her husband, he was the Commodore, the legend.

“We lost our granddaughter today, you do know that, don’t you?”

“I have lost dozens, hundreds.”

“Damn you.” The words were barely whispered, half in fear, but they were meant to be heard.

He turned his sightless gaze to her. She expected an explosion, but there was nothing, only silence, then a sigh.

“You will live to understand,” he finally said, “live as long as me and you will understand.”

“Lucian, I will stand with you no longer. I will fight for you no more.”

The cloudy eyes flinched with pain. Murat tipped his head as if he did not understand. “If you do this, you will die a traitor.”

“And what about all the others who wish to end the fighting?”

“You know that to defy me . . . to defy us,” he added softly, “is to be named traitor. I would see any and all hanged for such a crime.”

Julia faced him squarely. “Then it is a blessing that you are blind. . . . Excuse me, I will bring Lysander to you.”

 

As the transporter beam coalesced, Picard stiffened formally.

“Admiral Jord, thank you for coming over.”

Jord grunted, looking around at the bridge.

“I still think you have too much room here, Captain. The living is too soft.”

Picard smiled and said nothing. He felt a bit self-conscious, having no chance as of yet to change out of his uniform. Perhaps there was a note of stage playing to stay in it. Jord looked at him and sniffed.

“Even a Tarn might find your scent unpleasant.”

“The smell of war, Admiral.”

“I need a drink to mask that smell.”

When his Hammasi was brought to him, Jord drained half the horn in a single gulp, nodding with approval as Data followed suit.

“Your plan, Captain, is outrageous beyond belief.”

“That’s why I think it will work.”

“And you really expect me to go along with this?”

“Sir, you have seen the damage that the Tarn have inflicted. They are but hours away from completely destroying the Federation fighters.”

“An unfortunate scenario,” Jord replied, his intent unclear.

“But you are unaware of the Federation’s plan for a counterattack.”

Jord turned quickly to face Picard. He hesitated a moment and then replied slowly, “I did not believe they had a working nuclear bomb.”

“They do not. But a few dozen kilograms of enriched uranium sprayed over the concentration of Tarn troops and their living areas will be similarly affected.”

“And they would go that far?”

“To keep themselves from being annihilated? I have no doubt of it.”

Jord paused in reflection. Clearly, he had not anticipated such news.

“This compounds the problem, Captain.”

Picard struggled to keep a sarcastic reply from escaping. “Yes, the Tarn no longer have the sole advantage.”

“But perhaps this is better?” Jord suggested. “It would result in a balance of power.”

“It’s hardly a balance, Admiral. There will be mass destruction, count on it. But neither side will have delivered a full killing blow,” Picard added with emphasis. “They will be locked in a deadly embrace of slaughter that will spiral downward while you and I orbit above. Then our governments will send more ships to reinforce. Sooner or later there will be a mistake, Admiral, we both know that.”

Picard allowed the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. “If you don’t agree with my suggestion, we both know what will happen down there and finally up here as well. I believe, Admiral, that you see the madness in this as clearly as I do. Both of us want it to stop, both of us are constrained by our orders. And neither one of us can convince our side down there to stop fighting. So we stare at each other up here, just waiting for the provocation of the other side to give us the excuse to offer some form of aid. You know as well as I do that, given enough time, this incident down on Torgu-Va will escalate into a general war.”

“And you really think this mad suggestion will stop it?”

Picard nodded. “Give a child too much of what they want, let them see what their desire leads to . . . sometimes that’s the only way they can learn. Let them unleash the darkness and maybe they will learn.”

Jord barked a short laugh. “I understand the point. ‘I wanted a war, and for my sins the gods gave it to me.’ ”

“Admiral?”

“From a sacred text, never mind.” Jord paced the deck for a moment sipping the rest of his drink, then finally nodded.

“I agree to your plan.”

Picard sighed with visible relief and then smiled. He’d be willing to bet that the old admiral had made his decision before even coming over and had simply wanted to play out the drama.

“But Captain, if this doesn’t work. If they go ahead?”

“Well then, Admiral, I think we’ll both lose our commissions.”

Jord laughed. “It might be a commission for you. For the Tarn, it involves a ceremony with one’s own dagger.”

Picard looked appraisingly at Jord. He knew he was asking a great deal. Jord knew the risks and was willing to play along. For this, Picard admired the Tarn commander.

“Mr. Eddies?” Picard asked, touching his commbadge.

“Sir, it’s inanimate, I think we can handle this, latest diagnostics indicate we’re stable at least for the moment.”

“Fine, then, beam the transmitter down to Commander Karish and make sure the second package is ready to go. It must arrive simultaneously with the Tarn’s . . . gift.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Viewscreen, Mr. Data.”

The forward viewscreen shifted to a split image. The better part of an hour had been spent intensively scanning the old-style frequencies in an attempt to get a lock on the command net of the Federation forces on the surface. Repeated calls for Lucian Murat had been sent in before a reply was indicated.

“Mr. Karish, please hold for a moment.”

Karish looked at the screen and Picard sensed his discomfort at the sight of Admiral Jord standing by his side.

“Commander Karish, I believe you know Admiral Jord.”

An unintelligible comment flickered between the two and Jord shook his head. Picard sensed his anger.

“Mr. Karish, I have only two questions. First, I expect that Commander Worf is safe?”

“Yes, the Klingon is safe.”

Picard was silent.

“And the second question is, will the Tarn forces on the surface agree to order a cease-fire?”

“No, Captain Picard, that is impossible here. Further, I do not recognize Admiral Jord’s right to order us to cease this fight as long as the Federation forces refuse to surrender. To follow such an order would be a dishonor after two hundred years of struggle. The honor of my circle demands victory.”

“Fine then,” Picard announced, and looked over at Data, who nodded. The second half of the screen activated. It contained Lucian Murat, his wife and son standing in the background.

“Commodore Murat, I have one more transmission, sir.”

Murat wearily waved his hand in bored dismissal.

“I take it this message is your notice of departure from the system.”

“Commodore, your screen is showing my image and that of the Tarn leader, Karish. Commander Karish, you can now see Lucian Murat, the commander of the Federation forces on the planet.”

Both started to sputter their outrage but, with an angry gesture, Picard cut their protests off.

“Listen, both of you. I have tried persuasion and it has failed. The Federation has forbidden me to forcefully interfere. Admiral Jord here of the First Circle of the Tarn Empire has similar orders. We are both ordered as well to make sure that neither one of us attempts to aid our respective sides in your fight.”

“Is that all, Captain Picard?” Murat snapped. “I have more important things to do than to listen to your weak pleadings.”

“No, sir, that is not all,” Picard snapped. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer to the screen.

“Both of you can have your fight. I’m finished with it.”

Murat, who had been reaching forward as if to switch his communicator off, hesitated.

Picard smiled. “Gentlemen, there is one technical point here that we have all overlooked.” Picard looked over at Jord, who nodded, tapped his own communicator, and spoke something softly.

“You see, gentlemen, there is one order neither Admiral Jord nor I ever received from our superiors.”

“And what is that?” Karish asked.

“We were never forbidden the right to provide aid to the other side,” Picard announced smoothly.

Picard looked away from the screen. “Commander Data, is the transporter room ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then engage.”

Picard looked back to the screen. Shouting erupted behind Karish and he turned away, then looked back at Picard.

“What are you doing?” Karish asked.

“Commander Karish, compliments of the Enterprise. The first batch of fifty photon torpedoes with short lift rocket stages attached, along with instructions on how to manually activate them, are being beamed down. You should be ready to launch within six hours. That’s fifty torpedoes. We have also provided you with full targeting data on every Federation base that we’ve been able to locate while in orbit. Fuses on the rockets are set for deep penetration before detonation. Karish, there’s more than enough to blow all Federation forces out of existence, though I’d suggest pulling your personnel back by at least five hundred kilometers if you decide to use them all at once. They’re going to cause a firestorm.

“Traitor!” Lucian roared.

Jord stepped in front of Picard. “Commodore Murat,” Jord began. “I am commander of the Tarn forces in orbit above your planet. Any second now you should be receiving a report from your security forces outside access tunnel number twenty-two. They will inform you that fifty photon torpedoes, similarly equipped and preloaded with targeting data, have just materialized. I send them to you, compliments of the Tarn. You should be ready to launch in six hours. I hope you enjoy them.”

Picard chopped the air with an open hand and Data switched the screens off. He exhaled noisily and looked over at Jord.

The two retired to Picard’s suite, and without bothering to ask, Picard drew another drink for Jord and a snifter of Napoleon brandy for himself.

“I’ve delayed relaying a report of this to my superiors,” Jord said.

“Same here.”

“Do you think it will work? I must say that the sight of a hundred photon warheads detonating down below will be quite a show.”

“Mad,” Picard whispered.

“Madness, is that what you mean?”

“No. MAD. An old acronym from long ago. Mutually Assured Destruction. We’ve given the children the chance to go all the way, but now they know the other side will do it as well.”

“MAD. I like that. Perhaps they will see that darkness is not restricted to the enemy’s heart alone. Let us hope that what they find is a desire to live rather than to perpetuate the madness. Because if it is the latter, Captain, you can come visit my ashes when you are a civilian and they let you out of jail.”

Picard drank deeply and nodded. All they could do now was wait.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. . . .

 

“Captain Picard?”

Startled, Jean-Luc sat upright, momentarily befuddled. He looked at the console screen; over five hours had passed while he had been asleep. Data was on the screen.

“Sorry, sir. I thought it best for you to sleep.”

“Fine, Data, any word?”

“Yes, sir, a hail from Karish.”

Picard looked over at the couch in the corner of the room. The stench was appalling. Half a dozen empty drinking horns lay on the floor. Admiral Jord was snoring loudly.

“On my way, Data.”

Picard shook Jord, the admiral waking, bleary-eyed.

“You make a good brew,” he announced.

“We should be on the bridge, Admiral.”

“Coming.”

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Picard wondered if he should change and shave but realized that there wasn’t time. Stepping out onto the bridge, he walked down to his chair, Admiral Jord by his side.

“Report, Data.”

“Sir. The Tarn forces have been pulling back rapidly. Air transports have been moving nonstop.”

“Any action?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“The missiles?”

“Both sides have activated the arming systems, the weapons are powering up and should be ready for launch on schedule.”

“Put Karish on the screen.”

“Captain Picard, why did you do this?” Karish asked.

“Why not?” he said with a smile.

“Captain,” Data interrupted, “Commodore Murat.”

“Put him on and downlink the signals to the opposing sides.”

A grainy image filled the other half of the forward viewscreen.

“This is an outrage,” Murat snapped. “We could have settled this on our own, Picard.” He stood in the center of the screen, his son standing uncomfortably to his side.

“We wanted to help you out,” Jord interjected.

“I’ll not talk to a bloody Tarn admiral,” Murat snarled.

“Sorry, Commodore, he’s your ally now. You have to talk to him.” Picard hesitated before adding, “So, if you’re seeking technical advice, it’s Admiral Jord who will provide it, not I.”

Murat shifted uneasily.

“Well, gentlemen, you should both be ready for launch in exactly seven minutes and ten seconds.”

Karish looked away from the screen. There was loud shouting behind him, arguing.

“Half of the staff here are screaming to launch immediately,” Karish announced.

“And the others?”

“Some want to hold,” Karish finally replied after a nervous pause.

“That’s a lie. You’ll launch,” Murat snapped.

“Hear him out,” Picard snapped back. “So, Commander Karish, why not?”

“If they launch first we all die and they win.”

“Well, Commander, I’ll tell you what we can do. The moment I detect a launch by the Federation I will warn you. That will give you time to get your missiles up in the air. I am certain that Admiral Jord will provide the same service to you, Commodore Murat, or will you not accept his friendly gesture?”

There was a long, awkward moment of silence.

“Five minutes, gentlemen,” Picard announced. “Flight time should take under three minutes. So, eight minutes from now both of you will achieve your dream, the total annihilation of your enemies.”

Picard held his breath, waiting. “Not to impose my values, but I’d suggest, in all fairness, that you tell the children and hatchlings what’s about to happen so they have time to pray and say good-bye. They can be the final generation burned on the altar to avenge the deaths of their parents.”

Murat covered his sightless eyes.

Lysander, silent to this point, stepped up quietly.

“Stand down,” Lysander whispered.

“What was that?” Picard asked.

“Stand down, I said. We will not launch if the Tarn don’t.”

Lucian raised his head as if prepared to offer a final protest. Julia came up to his side.

“Husband, it is over,” she whispered. “Lysander has ordered an end to it.”

There was a drawn-out moment and finally the old man nodded and turned away.

Picard looked over at Karish.

“Did you hear that, Commander Karish?”

For the first time since he had met Karish, Picard felt that he could read an emotion. It was relief.

“We stand down,” Karish replied.

“That means that a cease-fire is in place?”

Karish and Lysander both nodded.

“Fine, then. Admiral Jord, did you hear and witness their statements?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Admiral, I think you will agree with me that we can send down negotiating and observation teams to both sides.”

“But of course.”

“Admiral, your team will meet with Commodore Murat and his son, my team will meet with Commander Karish.”

Protests started to sputter from both but Picard cut them short.

“Understand who is now allied to which side, gentlemen. We will contact you shortly.”

Picard started to turn away as if the meeting was ended, and then paused and looked back.

“Oh, by the way. Neither my away team nor Admiral Jord’s will disarm the photon warheads. If either side violates the cease-fire you can do what you want with them, though we will provide a remote sensing monitor to both of you so that there will be sufficient warning of a launch.”

“Captain, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Lucian Murat replied harshly. “I think your point has been sufficiently noted.”

Picard stepped forward, wishing that Murat still had his vision so that he could see the anger and not just hear it.

“Commodore. You wanted a war, and you had it. All I did was offer you ultimate war, total victory and total defeat simultaneously. If you people want to figure out how to disarm the weapons, do it together. You’ll get no help from me.”

Murat lowered his head and Picard struggled not to show pity or remorse. Not now. Discipline, the path to truth, was more often than not a path of pain as well.

Murat started to say something, then fell silent. Finally he lifted his head.

“Long live the Federation,” he whispered.

“This is Picard, transmission has ended.”

Picard looked back over at Jord.

“Never thought I’d be sending my personnel to serve as negotiators for Federation forces.”

“Travel offers all sorts of opportunities for new friendships,” Picard replied, still trembling inside from the emotion of the moment and the dealings with Murat.

“Another drink, Captain?”

Picard wanted to say no but the look in the Tarn’s eyes made him smile.

“Of course, my friend, of course.”