Part 7 (2/2)
”Precisely,” said Westerby. ”The Klingons and the Kreel have both come to realize that full-scale war is imminent. It's our belief the Kreel didn't bargain for that. We think they stumbled onto these weapons and are now over their head, and they're looking for a graceful way out. What they've agreed to is a full sharing among all parties of the weapons they've found.”
”Balance of power,” Data said. ”All sides having the same weaponry, so that no one will wish to employ them since mutual destruction is a.s.sured.”
”We know what balance of power is, Data,” said Picard, who was still a bit irritated from the long and badly told joke Data had inflicted on them in the turbolift.
”And the agreement,” continued Westerby, ”is that both Klingon and Kreel diplomatic contingents will be transported aboard a Federation vessel to the site of the initial discovery.”
”Site? What site?”
”Well,” said Westerby, ”our records show it as DQN 1196.”
”That's in Klingon territory,” Worf said.
”Or Kreel,” replied Westerby. ”It depends who you talk to. At this point, the Kreel have another name for it, which translates out roughly into 'h.e.l.lhole.' ”
Picard nodded. ”As near as we can tell, the netherworld might indeed be the source of these weapons.”
”What's frightening is that we've only seen the ones they had the resources to figure out,” said Westerby. ”The Federation doesn't want to even consider the untapped potential of that planet. That's why they've decided that Starfleet has to maintain a major presence right in the midst of the situation. In fact, the request for the Enterprise, specifically, came straight from Taka Nagai's office.”
The Enterprise officers looked at each other in surprise. ”We are, of course, honored,” said Picard. ”Still, perhaps the Klingons and Kreel could each travel in their respective s.h.i.+ps, with the Enterprise as an escort.”
Westerby was already shaking his head. ”We consider it unwise to have a Klingon and Kreel s.h.i.+p in proximity to each other. The results could be ... unpleasant.”
”Then perhaps we could transport one group while another stars.h.i.+p transports the other.”
”We suggested that. Unfortunately, the Klingons and the Kreel want to keep an eye on each other.”
”So we have to keep them close enough to watch each other, but far enough away so that they don't kill each other.” Picard shook his head wearily. ”Admiral, with all due respect, there must be another way.”
”Perhaps there is,” said Westerby evenly. ”But this is the way we have chosen. Is there a problem with that, Captain Picard?”
Again that emphasis on rank. Making no effort to keep the annoyance out of his voice, Picard said, ”No problem we cannot handle, Admiral.”
”As I thought,” said the admiral cheerfully. ”You'll be picking up the Klingon contingent first, and then the Kreel group. Coordinates for your rendezvous will be forthcoming shortly. Starfleet out.”
The holopic obediently vanished. As if prearranged, Riker and Troi slumped slightly with a ”Whew” sound. Picard leaned forward, his fingers interlaced. ”Well ... that's just marvelous,” he said.
”Sir, I wish to protest for the record,” Worf said with remarkable stiffness.
Picard looked at him bemusedly. ”So noted. I'll be certain to file it right after my protest.”
”Why are you so adverse to this mission, Captain?” Data asked. ”Certainly shuttling races with disputes is hardly new for the Enterprise.”
”It's the nature of the races, Data. Plus the nature of the disputes. Plus the civilians ... ” Picard shook his head in dismay. ”Civilians. To this day it's the one major policy decision Starfleet has made that rankles me. And I see you're shaking your head, Mr. Riker.”
”We've disagreed on this before, Captain, and I think we'll continue to do so,” said Riker. ”Many people aboard the Enterprise are scientists, geologists, explorers who are doing the kind of work that can only be done aboard a stars.h.i.+p.”
”Not to mention the spouses and children of Enterprise crew members,” Troi added. ”Part of the movement toward integrating families began when studies showed that long separations from their loved-ones was detrimental to the health of Starfleet personnel.”
”My second-in-command and my counselor, of one mind once again, eh?” Picard said. Troi and Riker glanced at each other and quickly turned away, Troi maintaining her professional detachment, but Riker permitting a small smile. Picard continued, ”But we keep coming back to one overwhelming problem. You, Mr. Riker, and you, Counselor Troi, and everyone in this room, has been through Starfleet Academy. We've had special, extensive training to handle all sorts of situations.
”Now when we encounter difficulties that can be handled by the bridge crew, all well and good. But Starfleet is thrusting us into an arrangement where a problem with lethal potential is going to be wandering the corridors of this s.h.i.+p. I'd like to confine the Klingons and Kreel to their quarters for the duration of the trip, but the Klingons are too proud and the Kreel too nasty. The last thing we want to do is take the members of a diplomatic mission and put them in a foul mood right at the beginning. But if difficulties start, I'm extremely concerned that all the civilians are going to find themselves caught in the middle of a crossfire.” He conjured up images of children lying phaser-burned and dead or dying in the hallways while rampaging Klingons and Kreel carried on their race war, oblivious of the consequences. Not a pretty picture.
”What I resent,” he said, ”is that Starfleet has seen fit to take the Enterprise and turn her into a ... a ... ”
”A tinderbox?” offered Data hopefully.
Picard considered that and nodded slowly. ”As always, I'm impressed by your learning abilities, Mr. Data. Yes, indeed ... a tinderbox. And we have to keep the matchbook out of their hands.”
”Absolutely,” said Riker.
”I agree completely,” said Worf.
”What's a matchbook?” said Data.
Wesley stood over the diagnostic bed looking down at the unmoving body of his friend. He watched the slow, steady rising and falling of Jaan's chest, and then glanced up at the monitoring board. He did not even look when Dr. Pulaski came up behind him. ”He seems to be resting comfortably,” he said.
”Really,” she said. ”Any recommendations, Doctor?” The words might have been sarcastic, but the tone was carefully neutral. It was as if she were testing him.
She tests everyone, he thought. Then he realized that that was an oversimplification. Katherine Pulaski didn't ”test” people to see if she could catch them or see how much they knew. Rather, she seemed eternally interested in trying to see just how far humans were capable of bringing themselves, of what sorts of intuitive leaps in knowledge and logic they could make when challenged. An unselfish, altruistic point-of-view for her to have.
Also a d.a.m.ned irritating one.
All right then. Without removing his gaze from the monitor he said, ”Fifty cc's of andromorphine.”
His brisk prescription hung in the air before Pulaski seemed to pluck it out. Nearby stood a medic-aid who, naturally, was not acting upon Wesley's diagnosis. But Pulaski now said in her no-nonsense tone, ”You heard him.”
The dosage was quickly administered and, within moments, Wesley could imagine that his friend's breathing actually seemed to be less strained.
Then Jaan opened his soft, slanted dark eyes. They blurred for a second and then cleared and he smiled up. ”Hi, Orange,” he said weakly. ”C'mon ... let's blow this mausoleum.”
”I'm afraid,” was Dr. Pulaski's stern order, ”that you'll have to stay put for some time. At least twenty-four hours for observation.”
Jaan's voice seemed to turn to honey. ”Oooohh, now you don't have to keep me here that long, do you? Now of course you don't. I just had a little problem and certainly you don't have to-”
She leaned forward on the edge of the diagnostic table and placed a finger against his lips, stilling them. ”You're not my first elf,” she said. ”So you can just forget 'the Knack.' I know about it, I'm ready for it, and that pretty much puts it out of commission. Correct?”
He sighed. ”You're well-read.”
Wesley looked from one to the other in befuddlement. ”The Knack? What's the Knack? I don't understand.”
”The Knack,” said Dr. Pulaski, looking away from her patient, ”is a little-doc.u.mented aspect of the Selelvian makeup. When they look at you with those marvelous dark eyes of theirs, they have a way of cajoling listeners into doing whatever they, the elves, want them to do. They say they have a knack for getting things done. However, if you're aware of it and”- she smiled-”you have a fairly strong sense of self, then you can manage to resist their ... suggestions?”
”A fair-enough a.s.sessment,” replied Jaan, and he was smiling but there was a twinge of pain in there that he obviously was trying to screen out.
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