Part 12 (2/2)
”Ah yes,” said the Klingon. ”It seems like only yesterday, Captain, that if a Klingon was in the hands of Starfleet, the farthest he would go would be a prison planet.”
”The Federation never had prison planets,” replied Picard stiffly.
”Of course not,” said the Klingon deferentially. ”I am Tron, first officer to the glorious Klingon commander with whom you were speaking earlier.”
”First officer. Then you will be returning directly to your s.h.i.+p?”
”No, not at all. I was one of the 'fortunate' few Klingons to have survived the initial skirmish with the Kreel on planet DQN 1196. As such, my expertise is required here. My commander will have to try to muddle through without me.”
”And where,” asked Picard, ”is the amba.s.sador?”
”We had to secure the s.h.i.+p first,” Tron explained.
Picard, ever the diplomat, masked the sour feelings that statement gave him and said, ”I a.s.sured your commander, and I will a.s.sure you ... this s.h.i.+p is quite secure.”
”That is because the Kreel are not yet aboard.”
”It will be secure either way.”
”As you say.” He touched a communicator that was on his wrist. ”This is Tron. The way is clear.”
The commander's voice came over the communicator and said, ”Good hunting.”
The other Klingons stepped off the platform and, within moments, the Honorable Kobry had materialized aboard the Enterprise. Standing next to him was another Klingon, an attractive female, even by human standards. She was tall and slender, yet her shoulders were square and her exposed arms looked quite muscular. The rest of her figure was hidden in black and brown leather. She also sported a gold doublet. Her eyes were almond, both in shape and size, and her hair hung loosely around her shoulders.
Still, for all her beauty, it was the Honorable Kobry who was receiving the majority of attention. Picard stared at him openly for only a moment, impressed both by the Klingon's advanced years and negligible height. How in the world did someone so small, so physically helpless, come so far in the Klingon Empire? It was ludicrous.
Yet Picard managed once again to cloak his inner thoughts as he stepped forward, extending a hand. ”Honorable Kobry.”
”Captain Picard,” said Kobry, and smiled.
Smiled!? Picard could scarcely believe it, and he actually heard Worf gasp behind him.
He shook Kobry's small hand, and for someone so diminutive, he had a h.e.l.l of a grip. ”It is indeed an honor,” said Picard.
”Yes, isn't it?” He chuckled. (Chuckled!) ”Forgive me, Captain. A small joke. But then, most of mine are.”
Picard realized that this was going to be some trip.
”This”- and Kobry gestured toward the young woman-”is my aide, Gava. Gava, the inestimable Captain Picard and his equally inestimable staff.”
She shook hands with each of them, a good, firm grip, but she lingered longest with Worf.
”This is a pleasure,” she said, and her voice was low and throaty, with a certain raspiness to it that lent a suggestive air. ”Much has been written of you in our journals. I had a.s.sumed that a good deal of it was exaggeration, however.”
”None of it,” replied Worf with authority.
”How nice for all of us,” she said.
The transporter chief now spoke up. ”Sir ... we're receiving a call from Kothulu. They wish to know if all hands are aboard.”
”Tell them”- and Picard glanced at Tron-”tell them everything is secure. They can move off at their leisure, and we wish them best of luck on their next a.s.signment.” He gestured toward the door. ”I'll show you all to the quarters we've arranged for you.”
The honor guard promptly formed a semicircle around Kobry, keeping him serenely in the middle of it. Kobry appeared to take no notice of it whatsoever. ”Lead the way, Captain,” he said.
Data, while sitting at the ops station, heard the beep of his communicator. Tapping it he said, ”Data here.”
”Data”- and the voice from the other end sounded fatigued and a bit raspy-”this is Wes. Look, I need some help.”
”Is this related to why you've been temporarily relieved of duty?” Data said.
The conversation was already drawing surrept.i.tious glances from around the bridge. Everyone was secretly somewhat curious about what was going on with Wesley. They all thought he was a bit precocious as it was. But when he started to act downright odd, well ...
”I wasn't relieved of anything, Data,” came the annoyed response. ”I just needed time to work on something else. Now can you come down here and help me?”
”Down there? No,” said Data firmly. ”I am on duty now. I cannot leave the bridge.”
And Geordi who, as was everyone else, was listening in, spoke up, saying, ”I can find a sub for you, Data.”
”No, Geordi,” and Data couldn't be swayed. ”It is my responsibility. I cannot leave. But is there something I can help you with now?”
”Sure. Sure, okay, listen ... you know the ... hold it. Look, at least go into the conference room so it'll be private, okay?”
Data turned questioningly toward Geordi who said, ”It's not like you're actually leaving the bridge. If we need you, I'll knock.”
Moments later Data stood in the conference room, addressing Wesley's image on the computer/speaker. ”What is the difficulty, Wesley?”
”You know a disease called 'the Rot'?”
Data had been working lately on making his answers more succinct. On some things he knew absolutely nothing, and on others he knew so much that he still had difficulty sorting out trivialities from important aspects. He was trying to learn to distinguish between the two. ”Yes. I know of it.”
”Good. Okay, look, I've found this one drug they used to crack cancer back a century ago.”
”Solicyclin?”
”No, the other one.”
”Nembitol?”
”Yes!” Wesley seemed to be frantically flipping through notes. ”I've been reading on it and it seems to have properties that make it incredibly applicable to the Rot. It's so perfect that I can't believe it's never been tested before. What I wanted to know from you is if it-”
”Twenty-three years ago. It was ineffective.”
All the blood seemed to drain from Wesley's face. ”Are you sure? I mean, are you absolutely sure? I've been combing the journals and haven't found any reference to Nembitol at all.”
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