"Oh! I wasn't aware that the Praetor had any meetings this early in the morning!"
"Well, it appears so."
"Sorry, Captain Picard, sir. I've been away for a little bit," the young woman at the desk apologized.
"It's perfectly alright, Miss. We all make mistakes," Picard said. The woman nodded and tapped a few keys.
Two uhlans came out and led him into the Praetor's office. Hiren sat at a large desk, his grey hair disheveled and a stack of printouts in front of him. He looked up.
"Ah. Come in, Captain Picard. You'll have to excuse the mess. I've been here all night," he said.
"I completely understand, Praetor. I remember many an all-night study session," Picard replied, carefully choosing his words.
"As do I, Captain. Has Doctor Talia informed you of the situation yet?"
"Yes. She also said something about a ransom note?"
"Ah. I almost forgot about that with all of this," Hired replied, gesturing to the printouts, "We recently found a centurion dead, with a dermal chip implanted in her arm. It carried an audio file. I'll have one of my aides give a copy to you when you leave."
"My counselor has detected an underlying sense of fear and anger here. She requests your permission to talk to a few people," Picard asked.
"Of course. Romulus needs all the help it can get to fight these terrorists," Hiren said, sounding rather distracted.
Picard wondered if he had meant to say that, so asked, "How bad is it, really? I know that there have been fatalities, but I have a feeling that there's something I'm not being told."
Hiren sighed.
"It's in the ransom note," he said simply.
"Thank you for your time, Praetor. My people will do everything we can to help," Picard said.
Two different uhlans led him out and gave him a data chip. As he flagged down a civilian transport, he couldn't help but to wonder if Hiren was worried about the involvement of a government official or just plain concern about the people.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
Geordi LaForge waited next to his Romulan friend for whoever was on the shuttle.
Bochra seemed vaguely interested in Geordi's conversation about engineering tricks, but Geordi got the feeling that this was going over his head.
"You don't understand a word of what I'm saying, do you? Just an engineer's lingo that only we can understand," he said.
Bochra gave a guilty start, "Yeah. I've always been more of a tactical officer than an engineer. I guess that's why I'm in command of a ship now."
"Could be. Speaking of which, how is it?"
"Oh, it's alright. The crew still doesn't trust me. They're all convinced that I murdered their former commander to get the post. I keep telling them that I was happier as a tactical officer than as a warbird commander," Bochra said, a faint look of displeasure on his face.
"Clearly you are giving them the wrong impression. Simply tell them that you did not commit such a crime and to move on. You will find that things run much smoother on your ship."
Both men turned to see a Vulcan woman with blonde hair and blue eyes standing right behind them.
"Oh!" Bochra said, startled, "Hello, Mother. Talia's already waiting in the groundcar."
"Indeed. I have already placed my bag in the 'car. We waited for 15.6 minutes for you to arrive before I decided to seek you out myself," Admiral T'Mir Elizabeth Tucker said, admonishing her son.
"Sorry."
"Your apologies are not necessary. I can understand your delay. You were talking with a friend," T'Mir said, her facial expression never changing.
"Hello, Admiral. Imagine seeing you here," Geordi joked. Bochra stifled a laugh.
T'Mir lifted a vaguely confused eyebrow and followed the snickering pair to the groundcar.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
"I think I would rather beat my head against a wall than listen to your complete and inane rambling, Talia!"
"Oh, come on, Maya! It's not inane, it's logical!"
"Oh, Elements help me, are you turning Vulcan on me?"
"Hell no!"
Beverly listened with half an ear to the loud argument in the lab. She was sitting in the sitting room, attempting to have a conversation with Geordi, but he was suddenly focused on the front door.
T'Mir noticed his rapt attention and sighed.
"Husband, please do not chase these guests out like you did the last ones," she warned.
An answering thud sounded from the foyer. Beverly lifted an amused eyebrow at Geordi as he choked on laughter.
Captain Picard's voice sounded from the foyer, "Well hello, Commander. It's a pleasure to see you again."
The reply was curt and irritated, "I would say the same, Captain Picard, but that would imply my having knowledge of your presence in my home."
T'Mir sighed and lifted her whisk, waving it lightly at the pair in the foyer, "Manners, both of you. It would be illogical to halt the progress of relations between our peoples simply because you two cannot get along."
"If you say so," Commander Tomalak retorted acidly, striding into the kitchen.
"Good."
Picard stepped past them and sat down across from Beverly.
"Fascinating," he commented, emulating Ambassador Spock.
Geordi could no longer hold it in and his loud laughter drew the ladies up from downstairs.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
"You could have told me earlier."
"For what logical purpose?" T'Mir asked her husband as she put away the last of her luggage.
"So that I would not be surprised to see Picard walking into my house with his people," Tomalak replied, reading over some report as he sat at their desk.
"They were invited by the Praetor and we had room. Besides, I happen to have known the captain and his crew since each of them was in the Academy," she retorted.
He sighed, "How can I fault your logic, my wife?"
"You cannot," she replied sotto voce.
He laughed softly, "Perhaps I cannot. But I can flatly refuse to deal with them."
"As long as you don't cause any fights," she warned him, a tone of light humor tinging her words.
As she finished putting away her belongings, he set his tablet down and stood up.
T'Mir moved over to the window and he met her there. They said nothing more for the time being, just simply savored their time together, as it was few and far between.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
Sela carefully worked the panel out from the wall and checked on Soleta. The half-Vulcan woman was tucked into a small area, working on some sort of old gear for a comm array.
"How'd it going?" she asked, unconsciously echoing her mother.
Soleta muttered a Reman profanity.
"Not well. This equipment is so dated, Surak could have used it," she replied angrily.
M'Rue stood at the door casually, keeping an eye out for any guards who might pass by. So far, they had been left alone for a couple of days now.
That, however, could change at any second.
Idly, Sela wondered what her father was doing before quashing the errant thought.
"Guard!" M'Rue hissed, causing Soleta to scramble out of the panel, help Sela put it back, and cover herself with a blanket to hide the grime and to pretend she was asleep.
Sela lounged on her bunk and M'Rue pretended to be fascinated with her fingernails.
A large, rather bulky Romulan man stood in the doorway.
"Which of you is the half-breed?" he snapped.
Sela ignored him and whistled a tune that she had heard from somewhere once.
The words ran in her mind, 'Trouble seems to follow. I only tuned in to save rock and roll.'
"Shut up! I asked a question," the man growled.
"There are two half-breeds here," M'Rue pointed out coldly. The guard fixed an arrogant glare on her. She didn't even flinch.
"I'll take the blonde," he ordered. Sela sighed and stood.
"Why exactly am I wanted?" she asked snidely.
"Call it a test, if you will," the man told her sharply before falling silent once more.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
Commander Liviana shot straight up in her bed with a small gasp. A lone figure sat in a chair at the foot of her bed and watched her sleep.
Her hand withdrew the gun from under her pillow and pointed it at him.
"That won't be necessary, Commander," he said calmly, his features shadowed by the dark.
Clawing wild curly hair from her face, Liviana shouted, "Lights!"
The room brightened at once and she saw a human man in a nondescript black bodysuit. He didn't even blink at the sight of her admittedly illegal disruptor.
"Who are you?" she demanded, suddenly self-conscious about her attire, which was a tank top and some shorts.
"My name is Luther Sloan, Commander, and I'd like to ask you a favor," he introduced himself.
"What kind of favor?" she replied warily.
"My division would like you to perform your own investigation into the current civil unrest on Romulus. Picard and his people might miss a few things," Sloan told her.
Liviana snorted, "And why should I go all the way to Romulus and deviate from my patrol route?"
"Because your dear friend is one of the people who've been taken by the attackers."
She glared at him, not believing a word he said.
"You're Section 31, one of the people who put Senator Cretak into a dark prison cell and that bastard Koval on the Continuing Committee," she hissed, her disruptor never wavering.
"You're remarkably well informed for a simple military commander, Liviana. I hope you don't mind that I call you Liviana," Sloan said calmly.
"Go to hell," she snapped, "You're Three-One, you figure it out."
"Indeed, Liviana. Before I go, I think you would find one piece of information important. A man named Lerik."
With that final parting shot, he walked straight out of the door and disappeared in a shimmer of transporter particles.
Liviana swore fiercely and stumbled out of her bed and to the closet, pawing around for a clean uniform. She had a report to make to her mother.
! #$%^&*())(*&^%$# !
Deanna Troi busied herself in the kitchen, mixing a batch of pancakes. They were the guests here, why shouldn't they cook the breakfast like Vulcan tradition.
A startled yelp sounded from behind her and she turned to see Bochra, one hand hidden behind his back and a shocked expression on his face.
"You look like a kid who was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar," Deanna commented drily.
"I thought you were my mother," Bochra explained, his face flushing green, "She's usually up about now."
"Want to help?" Deanna asked.
Bochra nodded, "Sure."
They chatted about current political issues as they made breakfast. At one point, Beverly came into the kitchen and made some rather strong coffee she liked to call "Wake-up Call".
As the others trickled one by one into the kitchen and dining room, there were various expressions of surprise at the cooperation. T'Mir didn't even comment on the small mess on the stove where Geordi had accidentally spilled some pancake mix when he was cooking them.
Picard and Tomalak were being polite to each other, but Deanna could sense an underlying current of mistrust and wariness.
Well, at least they hadn't killed each other yet. That was a start.
AN- Well, this is a rather interesting ending to a story, don't you think? Some foreshadowing in there, with a touch of angst and a pinch of fluff.