The disruptor in my hand signals its readiness: its green telltale pulses rapidly, in time with the pounding of my heart. But I may as well be holding a pirum flower. How can I have let this happen? A moment ago Spock was safely under my protection. Now he and Picard are disappearing somewhere into the labyrinth of tunnels, their voices fading with their footsteps.
Thinking only that I must go after Spock, I quickly descend the short flight of steps. Pardek catches sight of me and blocks my path.
"Get out of my way," I say, and try to go around him.
He touches my shoulder, as if he thinks he can restrain me. I shove him roughly aside. "Wait, Ambassador--" he begins.
Several of his comrades move quickly towards him. For an instant I'm tempted to stun them all where they stand, flattening them like a row of training-targets. "Move aside!" I order them. "Picard may be armed--"
"It's all right, Ambassador," Pardek says. "Meril, show her the tricorder record."
A tall young man comes forward, carrying a tricorder. The bright green circle embossed on its case identifies it as a Fleet-issue machine specifically calibrated for medical analysis. This, then, must be one of the people dispatched in "Fleet getup" to retrieve Picard; it appears that he has access to more than just a Fleet uniform. Deliberately, I do not make a mental note of his face.
He offers the tricorder for my inspection. The screen shows the standard biological readouts for a Terran humanoid, and records the indisputable fact that the humanoid in question is not carrying a weapon. More relieved than I care to show, I hand the tricorder back without a word.
"Let them be," Pardek says quietly. "They will return here after they've talked."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because" --he points to the far end of the chamber-- "Captain Picard's companion is still with us."
And he is. Hadrea is evidently doing her best to interrogate him. But the stranger--who even from this distance looks distinctly odd, though I can't quite say why--seems unimpressed. He waits, patient and polite, for her to finish speaking, which she shows no sign of doing.
"Come and meet him," says Pardek. "We've finally identified him. You're not going to believe this." He leads me across the room.
Hadrea and the stranger turn towards us as we approach. Pardek beams at them both. "Your pardon, Lady Hadrea," he says. "Forgive the interruption. I should like our two guests to meet each other. Ambassador Tayva, may I present--"
But one close look at the stranger is all I need to make my own identification: no facial prosthesis, no hairpiece, no substitution of green skin for gold or dark eyes for pale can make this creature appear truly organic. "Lieutenant-Commander Data," I say, trying not to show the surprise I feel. "Of the Federation's Starfleet." I've seen enough holoscans and security vids of the android to recognize his face even beneath layers of paint and plastic. Another of Sela's antagonists--can this really be coincidence?
Data is staring at me as intently as I am at him. "Ambassador Tayva," he says by way of greeting. Then, as if he can't help himself: "There was a Commander Tayva aboard the Romulan flagship Eidolon, first encountered by Captain James T. Kirk and Commander Spock on Stardate 5027 during the mission that was commonly referred to as 'the Enterprise incident'--"
I lift my hand to stop his recital; I don't care to hear the details of my life regurgitated from whatever positronic memory bank is hidden beneath his cheap wig. Besides, the revelation of his identity has suddenly placed Picard, and therefore Spock, in even greater jeopardy. "Gods, Pardek," I say without taking my eyes from Data's face, "you've got to get them offworld immediately. High Command and the shiar'rim will be clawing at each other's throats to win possession of this android!"
"Excuse me, Ambassador," says Data, "but by the decision of the Judge Advocate-General's office, Sector 23, Stardate 42523.7, Captain Philippa Louvois presiding, my right to personal autonomy is coextensive with that of any other sapient being, and I am not susceptible of 'possession' by anyone--"
"Yes, of course," I say impatiently. "'Capture,' then, if it pleases you. Regardless, if the authorities find you they won't let you go." Not until they've disassembled and replicated every last one of your components and neural fibers.
"Ambassador Tayva is correct," says Pardek. "You would be viewed as a very great prize indeed. There's no question that you and Captain Picard must leave Romulus at the earliest opportunity."
"I do not believe that Captain Picard will wish to leave without Ambassador Spock," Data observes.
"We know that," Hadrea says. "But he'll just have to accept that Spock is staying here, with us!"
"Captain Picard may not agree with you. Regardless, we must remain on Romulus until our mission is completed."
I interrupt before Hadrea has a chance to respond: "Commander Data," I begin, not wanting to say too much in front of the others, "I have heard something of your ... technological abilities."
"Madam?" To the extent that his facial structure permits, Data looks puzzled.
"What does that have to do with anything?" demands Hadrea.
"Your skill with computers," I continue carefully. "Your ability to interface with complex systems, and to ... to manipulate, oh, say, astrographical or economic databases. Is this true?"
"I was designed in part to provide a user-friendly interface
to such systems," says Data, apparently not offended at being
asked. Hadrea, perhaps bored with the turn of the conversation,
perhaps unwilling to spend time in my presence, excuses herself.
Pardek, smiling apologetically, follows her. Their departure
suits me: I may not have much time to get the answers I need.
"Extensive experience. The government of the Cetan
Commonwealth once seconded me to assist in an emergency
systemwide upgrade of their defense grid. I made one thousand
trillion corrections to a legacy quaternary code within two point
seven solar days. Another time I supervised the reconstruction of
the entire transactions net on a Ferengi colony world after a
total security breach--"
"Yes, that's exactly the kind of thing I was thinking of.
Tell me, Commander, have you ever--"
A sudden stir at the other end of the room distracts me:
Spock and Picard have returned.
Hadrea hurries over to them, followed by Pardek and a few
of the others. From where I stand it's impossible to hear
anything. Nevertheless, when my eyes come to rest on Spock's face
a chill passes over me. Something is wrong, warns the
inner voice, on the basis of no evidence at all. Very
wrong. "Commander Data," I say, "will it be possible for us
to speak privately at some point? You and I and Captain Picard.
And, of course, Ambassador Spock."
"I will inform the captain of your request," says Data. "May
I inquire what you wish to speak about?"
"Why, your mission on Romulus, Commander. And how I may
be able to help you conclude it successfully."
* * *
Several minutes pass before I can even approach Spock. The
unificationists have surrounded him and Picard, asking questions
and offering opinions about what should happen next. Apparently
no decisions are reached, for the group eventually breaks up into
smaller units. Pardek and Spock are in a far corner, talking with
Picard and Data. Three too many people are in that little circle,
but it's as close as I'm likely to get to Spock. Abandoning all
courtesy, I insert myself into the group uninvited.
"Ah, Ambassador," says Pardek. "Good. I need to talk to
you for a moment. Captain Picard and Commander Data have decided
to remain with us for a while longer."
"I advise you not to do so, Captain," I say to Picard.
His stern face, every bit as recognizable as Data's
beneath the paint and prosthetics, appears tired. "You have me at
a disadvantage, madam," he says, which almost certainly isn't
true: he probably already knows who I am, thanks to Data's
information storage capacity.
Pardek belatedly remembers his manners: "Ambassador Tayva,"
he says hurriedly, "allow me to present Captain Jean-Luc Picard."
"Captain," I say, inclining my head. "Welcome to Romulus.
I mean no offense when I say that you must now bid this planet
farewell."
Picard looks as if he's half-prepared to enter into a debate
with me, but Pardek isn't finished. "They traveled here in a
Klingon ship," he says, "and it's cloaked in high orbit above us!
How long before the Fleet finds it and blasts it to atoms?"
I consider the question. "A new ship?"
"Not very," says Picard. "A Bird of Prey, the Kruge."
The name rings a faint bell. "Kamsarr'ha class?"
"Yes."
"Then unless it's been refitted recently, its cloak is,
one might say, full of holes. The moment a routine sensor sweep
detects even a trace of antiproton residue, the game will be up.
Again, I advise you to get yourselves back to the Federation
immediately."
Spock's voice is no warmer than it was when he first greeted
Picard: "Captain Picard has decided to remain here," he says, "at
least until I have met with Proconsul Neral. Should that meeting
prove fruitful, he will return to the Federation to report."
"Oh, yes? And if it should prove fatal instead of
fruitful?"
"Then," says Spock, fixing Picard with an unreadable look,
"he will return to the Federation to report."
"And how do you propose to keep him safe while he's here?
Hide him in one of the maglev tunnels? Granted, it's a better
accommodation than a Bird of Prey--"
"We won't jeopardize the safety of your followers," Picard
says to Spock. "When we're not needed here we can beam back to
the ship--"
"Captain," I say, striving for patience, "you command a
starship. You must know that you can't transport back and forth
at will. The moment the ship drops its cloak and shields to
receive you, you're vulnerable to detection!"
"That's a risk we'll have to take." Picard looks
pointedly at Spock: "We have no other choice."
"Ambassador Tayva," says Pardek. "About this matter of
transport--"
His face reveals what he's afraid to say out loud. "No," I
say. "Oh, no. Out of the question. Absolutely not."
"Consider the facts, Ambassador," Pardek pleads. "If they
don't have to rely on the Klingon ship to initiate transport, the
ship's cloak and shields will be compromised for a much shorter
time. Those milliseconds may well make all the difference."
I look from one to the other, seeking support. But Picard
and Data clearly have no idea what Pardek is talking about, and
Spock's face is, if anything, even more impassive than it was a
moment ago. Something's happened to him. But I have no
time to discover what it might be. Pardek is right about the risk
of transport, and I hate him for being right. As long as Picard
is determined to stay on Romulus until Spock's meeting with Neral
is over, there is only one way to guarantee his safety.
"Captain Picard," I say, glaring at Pardek, "Lieutenant-Commander Data. Will
you honor me by lodging at my house for the
duration of your visit?"
* * *
Spock, Picard, and Data are waiting to depart with Pardek and me,
and Hadrea is no happier about the situation than she was a day
ago. I can see her side of things: she doesn't trust my motives
any more than I trust Pardek's, and Pardek's continued refusal to
disclose our destination, or indeed any information about our
plans, amounts to a personal insult. Spock bids her a courteous
farewell, but she isn't mollified.
When we emerge into the street, I'm all for returning to
the transit hub and transporting directly back to the house.
Spock is of the opinion that his charade has run its course;
Picard and Data are simply too odd-looking to pass as house-managers or anything
else except possibly inmates of a sanatorium
out for a therapeutic stroll. Pardek urges us to proceed to the
public garage at the end of the street and take the ancient
groundcar, but at that point I draw the line.
"Since I'm providing the accommodation," I announce in my
strongest command voice, "I say how and when we arrive. We're
transporting, and I don't care what the neighborhood thinks."
Spock must feel it isn't worth arguing about, because he
doesn't reply. And in fact there's no reason for concern. The
morning crowd of commuters has died away; only a few stragglers
and the lone attendant watch us board the platform in the transit
hub. When the attendant returns my credit chit after deducting
the passage fee, he makes no objection when I key in the
coordinates myself. I draw in a deep breath as the transporter
effect begins, and my last thought as the room fades is that I
wish I would wake up and find that this was all a dream.
© 1999, 2000 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.
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