Part 15 (2/2)
”If only it were the same as yours,” she said, moving to his side, first scanning him up, then down. ”But your antidote won't work with this variety. It's specially coded to your DNA.”
T'sart nodded, as if listening to a piece of music he was well familiar with and was noting the chords had remained the same. ”That will mean an exceedingly long duration before death.”
”But not before symptoms arise,” Beverly said, moving a long strand of red hair that had fallen before her eyes. ”Painful symptoms.”
T'sart smiled, more a ghoulish smirk than anything else. ”I see your Klingon pets hadn't the skill to change enough of the virus.”
The doctor closed her tricorder and put the hand scanner away. ”They had enough. This will kill you.”
T'sart shrugged elaborately. ”Eventually, we all die.”
”How long?” Picard asked Beverly.
She slid into her desk chair and tapped at her computer console. ”Depends on his metabolism. I may be able to slow it. He could help if he fasts. Perhaps a week. If we're lucky.”
The Romulan chuckled darkly. ”Preservation of my life, and 'if we're lucky.” There's something I don't hear every day.”
”We're going to try to save your life, T'sart. We'll do everything we can.” Picard leaned toward him. ”But now you'll have to tell us everything you know. Everything you've left out, and it's a great deal more, I'm sure.”
Leaning back, T'sart breathed in slowly through his nose, then back out. He folded his hands across his stomach, steepling his fingers in a motion Picard considered rather stately and Vulcan. ”It is a great deal indeed, Picard.”
He wasn't sure if T'sart would speak truly. He thought he might, then in the next moment knew he wouldn't. ”Tell us.”
”Why? So you can save the galaxy? Without me in it, of what worth is the galaxy?”
Beverly harrumphed. ”There's a sick thought.”
”He's being quite serious.” Spock's voice.
Picard turned to see the Vulcan was just through the doorway. He handed the captain a padd and then stood to the side, looking at T'sart.
”Yes, I'm very serious.” T'sart was matter-of-fact. He continued reclining as he spoke. ”Why should I care what becomes of the galaxy after my death?”
”Everything is about you?” Crusher asked.
T'sart nodded. ”All the interesting things, yes.”
”You won't help us.” Picard wasn't asking a question.
”I'm not the helpful sort, Picard. I'll help myself. If that helps you, well, I'll have to live with that. But, 'live with' is the key. If I'm not alive to enjoy it... then I'm also not alive to have the problem that needs solving.”
”A logical argument,” Spock noted.
Beverly looked up at him, unintimidated by his cool Vulcan visage. ”Then why isn't that your philosophy?”
Spock ignored the accusatory tone. ”Because we have different core values. An argument can be logical while the premise is not. Vulcans prefer to have rational premises as well.”
”Vulcans prefer to be arrogant and insufferable,” T'sart said with a chuckle.
”You're to talk about arrogance?” Beverly wasted no bedside manner on T'sart.
”I, at least, gain pleasure from my own arrogance.” He turns to Spock. ”Do you?”
”There is nothing about you from which I gain pleasure,” Spock said.
The Romulan grinned, probably sincerely. ”You're extremely good at veiled insult.”
Spock lowered his head slightly in a gesture neither of denial nor acceptance, something Picard had come to recognize as a Vulcan ”if-you-say-so.”
Suddenly the captain realized how lucky he was to have Spock on hand. What a vast array of knowledge and experience he could offer. Knowledge ... experience abilities. Picard turned in his chair toward the Vulcan. ”I don't suppose ...”
”A mind-meld?” Spock shook his head doubtfully. Amazing that he knew what Picard was considering. ”I don't think that would satisfy our needs.”
”Reason?” The captain knitted his brows.
”Because,” T'sart offered, adjusting himself in his chair and straightening his tunic, ”I'm a high-level Romulan official. It is mandatory that we are trained to be quite skilled in blocking mental attacks. Especially Vulcan mental attacks, considering the ease with which Romulan and Vulcan brain chemistry work together.”
”We need to know what you know,” Picard said.
T'sart smiled. ”No one has that much time to learn.”
The captain was unamused.
T'sart sighed, perhaps exasperated at his un adoring audience. ”I'll help, Picard ... and you'll help me. As long as I'm alive. You'll get no more than that.” He turned to Beverly. ”I'd get to work, if I were you.”
Dr. Crusher pursed her lips, almost sneering as she handed him a tricorder. ”I don't suppose you'd like to help?”
”For such a good cause?” T'sart smiled as he gracefully took the instrument. ”But of course.”
Kalor looked out Picard's office window and cradled his drink awkwardly at his side. Picard watched him, and wondered what he thought. Did he see his vessel's tractor beam reaching around Enterprise and wonder just what he'd done? Was there any awe at his own actions? Did he know how foolish he'd been?
”I want the cure for this disease,” Picard said finally, breaking the long silence.
”I told you, there is none.” Kalor's voice was thick and slow.
”Are you drunk?”
”No. Part gets drunk.”
”And you?”
Kalor chuckled. ”I just drink.” Picard saw nothing fruitful if he pressed that, so he remained on task. ”T'sart didn't have a cure for the Klingons, yet his virus killed only seven thousand.”
”Only?” Kalor rasped.
<script>