Huge thanks to Beardy, my fellow fleetie, for the generous use of his toon, T'Beera Regal (and for the Club Orange!) You rock, sir.
Chapter 1
A transporter beam, shimmering and silent, cut through the darkness of the late night, its focal point the transport pad positioned on the boardwalk that reached out into the sea. After a moment, the beam coalesced into a single form - then faded back into the nothingness from which it had come.
Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the USS Enterprise, drew a deep breath - then felt a fine mist cover his face.
Rain, he realized, then frowned. It doesn't rain on Risa.
Of course it rained, he admonished himself. Covered with lush vegetation, towering trees and vivid flowers, regular rainfall would have been necessary for maintaining the verdant surroundings - but the planet's administrators would have carefully scheduled the showers to least interfere with the activities of the tourists who visited the world, limiting the downfalls to those times when vacationers were in their rooms, exhausted from their activities of the day – or preoccupied with their activities of the night.
By morning, every trace of the rain would have faded, absorbed into the ground, or evaporated from the sandy beaches, the shower having passed unnoticed and unnoted by the tourists.
As would the arrival of one more guest.
Jean-Luc shivered as a breeze, cool and damp, blew in from the ocean, and was glad for the trenchcoat he was wearing. It was the same one he had worn on his holodeck adventures as Dixon Hill, and given the circumstances in which he now found himself, seemingly appropriate. With a glance at the cloudy night sky, he pulled his collar up against the freshening wind, hunched his shoulders, and began to cross the boardwalk toward the entrance of the resort.
Judging from the size of the building, the resort must have entertained thousands of guests at a time, but on this night, it looked strangely deserted. The kiosks that dotted the walkway were empty now, silent ghosts outlined by the rain pattering off their roofs, powerboards and floaters locked away for the night, the vendors and entertainment coordinators catching a few hours of well-deserved sleep.
The entry hall showed a little more indication of the usual activity within. A display of wooden figurines – hor'ghans, according to the sign – had been left open to inspection, though no one stood on duty. Either its owner was a trusting soul, or, more likely, simply taking a short break from his duties, knowing that a late night sale was a rare event, but not so rare as to allow him to close the shop.
Jean-Luc entered the vast lobby, his footfalls echoing throughout the nearly empty room, drawing rote greetings from concierges who, after a quick assessment, dismissed him as just another vacationer returning to his room or aiming for a late night visit to the dabo tables.
Hearing the murmured words, the dabo girl looked up from her work, hoping for a new mark – but as he passed her by, her attention returned to the patrons who were studiously losing credits at the wheel while she monotonously recited well-practiced words of encouragement.
No more noteworthy than any other guest traipsing through the lobby at that hour, his passage was quickly forgotten as he made his way toward the arched doorways that led to the enclosed porch at the back of the resort.
Quiet and cool, the enclosure was a gathering place for groups heading out or returning from floater trips, hikes along the island paths, or adventures to the rope bridge that led to the island's vast cave system – but tonight, silent but for the faint staccato of the rain, it was deserted.
Almost deserted, he amended a moment later.
A lone figure – a Kesran, he decided, judging from her deep blue skin and long auburn hair – lounged on one of the large couches, gazing out through arches that led outside, watching the rain fall in private contemplation. At the sound of his steps, however, she turned, studying the intruder who had disturbed her reverie.
After several moments, she rose to her feet. Tall and lithe, she walked with the slow sway of her people, her every step seductive and enchanting, gliding toward him with unmistakable intent.
"You," she murmured as she reached him, her low voice almost a purr, "are looking for someone."
Picard stared at her for a moment, taken aback by the sultry voice and open sexuality of her tone. "Err...yes," he managed awkwardly.
"Perhaps," she continued, one finger, long and graceful, reaching toward him, the polished blue nail tracing a line on the collar of his coat, "you are looking... for me?" she tried, drawing close to him.
Uncomfortably close, he decided. Pulling back, he replied, "I'm afraid not," he said. "Please excuse me for disturbing you..."
He started to move away, but the finger brushing his coat snapped out, grabbing his collar, pulling him to her. "You did not disturb me... Jean-Luc," she added.
His eyes narrowed in surprise – then widened in recognition. "Commander Regal," he said quietly.
T'Beera Regal, late of the Imperial Romulan Navy, occasional liaison to the Federation, infrequent agent for Section 31, rumored operative for the Klingon Defense Force, and hired gun for anyone with the wherewithal to afford her talents - laughed softly.
"Jean-Luc, Jean-Luc, why are you always so formal?" she admonished him softly. "I'm Beardy... to my friends... and business partners."
"Business..." he began, then understanding dawned. "I see. You're my contact. You've changed," he added.
"All part of the cover," she explained. Smiling, she touched the small brooch that decorated the knot on her brightly colored sarong - and suddenly the Romulan he had met a few months before appeared before him.
Like most Romulans, she carried herself with a military bearing, straight and erect, her carefully cropped black hair a sharp contrast to the long auburn waves of the Kesran whose image she had worn– but unlike most Romulans, she bore a mischievous smile and twinkling eyes. "A personal holoemitter – a thank you gift from your Section 31 for services provided," she explained.
"Faster and easier than cosmetic surgery – and rather necessary. After all, no one would question a Kesran and a human having a rendezvous on Risa – but a human and a Romulan?" She' tsked' softly, shaking her head. "Tongues would wag – and we can't have that, now can we?" she asked.
"I wouldn't know," he replied.
T'Beera raised a brow. "Ah! Then Starfleet hasn't told you why you're here, have they? No," she decided for herself an instant later. "Of course they didn't. They just gave you your orders, and like a good little officer, you went on your way, no questions asked. You probably told your Commander Riker that you had a personal matter to address, gave him command – and here you are," she concluded.
He frowned at the accuracy of the remark, but said nothing, knowing that his protests would only serve to confirm her opinions.
"So sad," she continued. "I expected more from you. You had so much potential," she sighed, her finger still tracing lines on his collar. "And perhaps you still do – but that matter will have to wait a bit longer. Come: my ship's in orbit," she said, reaching for his hand, starting to lead him away, only to stop as he resisted her pull.
She looked at him disapprovingly. "Jean-Luc, we do need to leave," she insisted. "We don't have much time..."
"Commander Regal, I'm not going anywhere until I know what is going on," he retorted, his voice low so as not to draw attention, but his tone unmistakable.
"Jean-Luc, this is not the place..."
"Then make it the place," he countered.
She stared at him for a long moment, then moved close once more – though every hint of the languid Kesran glide was gone now, replaced by the stride of the experienced warrior that he knew she was. "First of all," she said firmly, "this goes no further. What I am going to tell you is one of the most closely guarded secrets in Starfleet and Imperial Romulan Navy. If it were ever to become widely known, it might destabilize both of our governments.
"Two years ago, one of your ships encountered a new lifeform which, within a year, managed to infect dozens of members of Starfleet and suborn your chain of command. They would have succeeded in taking over Starfleet but for you and your Commander Riker."
He gave a short nod, acknowledging the facts.
"What you don't know – what no one outside a few select people know – is that there was a simultaneous attack on the Imperial Romulan Navy. They, too, managed to defeat the parasites – but it was a far closer thing than they will admit," she added grimly.
"After an extensive debate in the Romulan Senate," she reminded him, "the Empire approached the Federation with a proposition to mount a joint effort to find the source of our common foe – and to either eliminate them or to find an agent to prevent infection," she explained.
"Both sides would provide experts and equipment, with the effort led by the foremost xeno-biologist in the quadrant."
Picard shook his head. "I still don't see..."
"Six days ago, the team failed to check in as scheduled," she said bluntly.
"Ah," he replied, understanding. "And now you need my assistance in planning a rescue mission."
Beardy shook her head. "Not planning. That's been done. No, Captain, you and I are to execute that plan. Me, because I know the mission details..."
"And I was selected because...?" he asked.
"Because Starfleet wanted one of their own on the mission – and if I had to have someone with me, I wanted it to be someone I could trust."
He frowned. While he had been honored to have been involved in the first peaceful contact with the Romulans in over seven decades, both sides had used that successful interaction to proclaim him their primary liaison – and then thrust him into a series of missions, both covert and overt, involving the Imperial Romulan Navy, Starfleet – and Commander T'Beera Regal.
His concerns, however, had nothing to do with his Romulan counterpart: despite a rough start, he had come to admire her intelligence and wisdom, technical knowledge, political insight, calm demeanor, and, he had to admit, even her occasionally scathing wit. Certainly there was no questioning her military and martial abilities: he had seen her take on opponents twice her size, defeating them with both weapons and bare hands.
If he had to go on a covert operation, he could think of no finer companion than T'Beera Regal – but even so, he found the idea of clandestine missions – even ones that were as seemingly innocent as this one - troubling.
As if reading his thoughts, she smiled. "No ulterior motives this time, Jean-Luc; this is just a rescue mission," she assured him.
"Then why not take a MACO team - or someone from Section 31?" he pressed.
She pouted, feigning hurt feelings. "You wound me, Jean-Luc – and here I was, thinking we made such a fine pair."
He met her eyes, refusing to yield.
Beardy laughed at his expression. "Oh, you do know me – as I know you," she said, then sobered. "I know you will keep your mouth shut, Jean-Luc, regardless of what happens. But there is another reason I asked for you: it's possible the researchers have had to abandon their lab. If that is the case, I wanted someone who knew the team leader: what she would think, how she would act under duress, where she would go - and not a mass of soldiers blundering about."
"My 'personal knowledge'?" He shook his head, frowning. "Commander, this is the first I have heard of this project; I have no idea who's in charge, let alone know anything her," he protested.
She shook her head, bemused. "Actually, you do, Jean-Luc," she said quietly.
"The team leader is Beverly Crusher."