Chapter 9
Stolen Runabout-Rigel System
He had fallen asleep again, and when he awoke the interior of the small runabout smelled like the cold sweat that covered his body. Feeling disoriented and clammy he got up and walked to the back of the ship where he knew there was a sonic shower, and made use of it. Afterwards he felt almost fifty percent better, and stood in front of the replicator for a dazed few minutes wondering how to make himself look more presentable. In less than an hour he would be at Daystrom, and one didn't enter those storied halls looking shabby. It was the Federation's most prestigious science and research institution, and he absolutely needed confirmation from an expert archaeologist before he proceeded further. He blinked a few times trying to clear his brain. Come to think of it, he hadn't thought any further ahead than his meeting with Duchamps. But he was sure that once Duchamps confirmed the origins of his find, he would be able to decide his next steps.
Entering the Rigel system, sir. Incoming message from the Daystrom Archaeological Council.
Frowning, he walked to a wall panel. "On screen."
The face that blinked onto the screen was very familiar, if not quite as he remembered. The raven hair of Emil Duchamps' youth had gone mostly grey. A perfectly manicured beard framed his still handsome face. "Professor," Picard greeted the man with a professional nod. "I am on my way to see you, and can assure you that I will be there on time."
"Jean-Luc...may I still call you that, or do you adhere to military formalities at all times?"
He still hates me. "Jean-Luc is fine," he said with a forced smile.
"Funny you should put it that way, because I was going to ask you...are you well?'
Something like doubt made him hesitate. "Yes, I am fine," he said evenly.
"Good. Well, I'm sorry for the short notice, but something has come up."
A feeling of nausea knifed through his gut. "Oh?"
"I've been called to fill in as a speaker at the quarterly archaeology conference this afternoon, and can't possibly see you until afterwards."
"But-"
"I'm sorry, Jean-Luc, I know you've come a long way to see me."
He rubbed his forehead. "It's fine, I just...it's fine. Where and when shall I meet you then?"
Duchamps blinked. "Come and attend the conference, I'll arrange a seat for you at the luncheon. Once I'm done speaking, I'll meet you in the corridor at junction A."
"How can you possibly examine it in a dark corridor, Emil? I want you to have a chance to thoroughly identify this-"
"And I will. Look...leave the artifact with my assistant this morning, and I'll examine it and give it back to you after the conference."
"You just said you didn't have time to meet with me..."
Duchamps looked away and his expression was harder, more arrogant when he faced the screen again. "You still argue every point, don't you? Look, Picard...what exactly if anything do you know about this artifact?"
"It's of Vulcan ore. A piece of a bladed weapon I believe, possibly 4th century."
Duchamps' eyes flashed with curiosity. "Beverly Crusher told me it was Romulan, when she called."
"Yes, well, I may have been unsure when I first spoke with her about its origins."
Duchamps smiled thinly. "You're lucky she called me. She's an old friend."
"I'm an old friend as well, Emil. Don't you remember?"
The professor laughed. "Oh, yes...I remember." He leaned in. "I heard your ship had a run in with Dr. Manheim a few years ago. He always was reckless with his work to the point of obsession. But I have to say, I'm glad to have learned Jenice ended up with someone who was at least smarter than me. I'm sure you feel the same. How is she these days?"
He felt an irritating heat rising to his neck, but kept his expression calm. "She seemed well."
"Do you have any idea how inconsolable she was when you ran off to Starfleet all those years ago?"
"Ran off! It was my career, Emil. Surely you of all people understand something about ambition..."
"She wouldn't talk to anyone for days. Not even me."
"Jenice and I have made our peace with this, Emil. I apologized for my actions. That's all you need to know."
"Fine. It seems as though you have moved on."
"Emil we were teenagers. I apologized to you years ago. Can we let this go?"
"I've given you a meeting, haven't I? Leave the piece with my assistant and I'll see this afternoon, Jean-Luc."
USS Enterprise
Beverly paced around her quarters. She'd been summoned to the bridge by Riker for yet another meeting, but they would reach the Daystrom in less than two hours, and she had an important call to make. But the call hadn't gone as well as she had wished, and now, she couldn't escape the reality that she would be helping to trap Jean-Luc. Finally she stopped pacing in front of the small view screen. "There has to be another way, Emil."
"I'm sorry, Beverly. Starfleet security already contacted me. It's out of my control."
"I don't believe that for a second, Emil. A person with your kind of influence? Besides, Jean-Luc is your friend!"
Emil Duchamps gave his friend a tight smile. "I did what I could to set this up so that he won't be embarrassed, Beverly. I know him and his pride."
"Embarrassed? He could be sentenced to life of incarceration for a crime he didn't commit! Is that really what you want?"
"Beverly, you are in denial. Jean-Luc is mixed up in something you don't truly understand. And if I were you, I would take a step back and open your eyes."
A few minutes later...
"Thank you for researching this, Data," Riker said, taking the data pad as the android moved back to his seat.
"Of course, sir."
Riker looked around the table at the rest of his command officers. "Mr. Data is going to give us a briefing this morning. Put simply, this afternoon we will be participating in the arrest of Captain Picard, and I know that... that is almost incomprehensible. But I value and truly need your cooperation right now." The officers remained silent, only staring vacantly back at him. They were in shock, just as he was. He should have been defiant, and defending Picard, but instead his mind was filled with doubt.
"And there are other developments," he continued. "The Romulans are somehow involved in this, and have presented us with some interesting information, which is what Mr. Data is going to discuss. Data?"
"Based on Doctor Crusher's report of her meeting with Romulan Commander Tomalak, I researched Tomalak's description of what he termed terrorist elements within Romulan society. Very little is known about modern Romulan culture outside of its military forces. However I was able to find some declassified reports from two Federation spies who infiltrated Romulan society within the last decade."
"We actually sent spies to Romulus?" LaForge looked skeptical.
"Only one operative survived the experience," clarified Data. "But the reports she transmitted back to Headquarters provide a picture of Romulan society that is quite nuanced and complex. Those reports describe a growing divide between authoritarian traditionalists, who have sought increased isolationism, moderate Romulans who seek expansion into Federation territory through military action and eventual trade, and a smaller group of so-called extremists who advocate the elimination of any remaining vestiges of Vulcan culture within Romulan society."
"The Romulans have no honor," offered Worf. "I am not surprised they would reject the only honorable aspects of their history."
"Now, wait a moment, Worf," said Troi. "The Romulans are very proud. I would hardly say they lack honor..."
"That is your opinion," Worf shot back.
"So these so-called extremists-are these the terrorists Tomalak was telling me about?" Beverly asked Data. She had been staring out of the view port, half listening to the conversation.
"That is very likely. As Tomalak noted, he is opposed to the extremists, which is corroborated but the intelligence reports."
"He actually said he was a moderate, but that to us he might seem more extreme. He's hard to figure out," said Beverly. "It's almost as if he is speaking in code."
"Maybe he is," said Troi. "Maybe he is unsure of how much information he can safely send our way. Romulan society is quite restrictive by our standards. There is no such thing as free speech."
"Yes, but everything he's done has been out in the open-there's no way his superiors aren't aware of his antics down on our colonies," said LaForge. "Anyway, what is the connection between the Romulans and what is happening to the Captain? If he's being accused of something he didn't do, we need to help him...but how?"
"Tomalak asserts that Captain Picard is working with the extremist elements of Romulan society, to try and bring some kind of weapon of mass destruction to Vulcan."
Beverly crossed her arms and glared at Data. Even though she knew he was merely repeating words she had told him, she still couldn't fathom how all of this had happened, and how it had happened so quickly. "Tomalak wants us to find the Captain before he does. He threatened that if we don't stop Captain Picard and bring Tomalak the artifact, we'll find ourselves at war."
"My concern is that he's proven before that we can't trust him," Will said. "If it's true that this artifact the captain is carrying is a weapon, how do we know Tomalak doesn't intend to use it against us?"
Romulan Warbird Tavix-edge of Neutral Zone
Commander Tomalak stared up into the hologram floating above his private study. Tiny ships raced around a miniature battlefield. He knew each pass by heart, and had even memorized the audio narration, so much so that he had muted it, as he watched. "Just over a century ago marks the last notable military engagement between the Romulan Star Empire and the Federation..." He murmured. "Romulan Commander Darnak faced down the treacherous but worthy Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise 1701...Darnak's warbird was destroyed, but his family rejoiced in his stalwart defense of Romulus." He frowned, as the hologram unexpectedly skipped, and the tiny battle shimmered and disappeared.
Irritated, but by nature slow to anger, Tomalak spun his chair around to stare out of the port. His hand hovered over the communications link. "Report," he ordered.
"Power surge, Commander," came the engineer's reply. "We are running those propulsion tests you asked for."
"I want actual performance TuVal...the testing is over. Get me level five propulsion. Anything over and we risk detection. I want complete cloaking during our journey."
"Yes Commander. Are we heading for glory?"
"TuVal we are headed for Federation territory. What we find there remains to be seen." He swiped his hand, cutting the link, just as a new call came through. He hesitated to answer, putting off the inevitable. He had to hold back the sneer that came naturally upon seeing the fat face on the view screen. Just as Senator Pardek's pinched expression appeared on screen, Tomalak's holographic battle scene reappeared behind him. Constantly aware of the need to save face, Tomalak didn't bother to hide it. Nevertheless, Pardek jumped at the chance to insult him.
"Play time, Commander? I'd heard of your peculiar fascination with all things Federation, but I'm surprised at the lack of shame at such an odd hobby."
"Spend sixty cycles out in the depths of space like I have, and see what hobbies you pick up, my fat friend," shot back Tomalak. "Something you would not be familiar with, lounging and plotting in your comfortable senate seat."
"Now now, I am most certainly fat, but friend to you, I am not," said Pardek. "But your point is taken, Tomalak. You are a sad, lonely man, driven by ambition, yet never able to fulfill-"
"What do you want?"
"I want to know your progress in retrieving the blade from Picard. Is that plain enough for you?"
"I will retrieve the blade, as I said I would."
"Have you captured Picard yet?"
"In due time."
Pardek laughed. "In due time? Your daughter has a death sentence hanging over her head for her...illegal activities. If she is to live, or die without shame, you will deliver this weapon to me in three days. That is your due time, Tomalak. Think about how your storied career would end in ashes, if your daughter were revealed to be the terrorist criminal that she is."
Daystrom Institute Approximately 1pm
Jean-Luc took a sip from his glass of water, glancing around him at the hall full of conference attendees. The conference was a somewhat lavish affair, and the room was filled with long tables covered in elegant white table cloths, and exotic foods. But Captain Picard was not hungry. He had yawned through the first two speakers, and now after a networking break, the other attendees who had been milling around, were now heading back to their seats. Professor Duchamps was up next, and he just entered the conference hall, stopping to shake a few hands before taking the stage to polite applause.
All Jean-Luc could think at that moment, was that he had reluctantly left the artifact with Duchamps' assistant that morning, as agreed, and he wondered what she had done with it. As he briefly locked eyes with Emil Duchamps for the first time in years, he saw a look of recognition in the mans eyes turn quickly to shock. He glanced down at the grey civilian business suit he had replicated with some difficulty, not often out of uniform and in a formal setting. Did he look a mess? Vaguely it mattered to him, but not really. The only thing that mattered was hearing from Duchamps, and getting the artifact back into his possession. Now self-conscious about his appearance, he became dimly aware that his left hand was stuck on the tablecloth. Glancing down, his stomach roiled at the sight of a pool of congealed blood underneath his palm. Had Duchamps seen? Feeling faint, he pulled his hand away and placed it under the table, moving a nearby napkin to cover the crimson stain. He glanced around anxiously, but all eyes were on the speaker. Rubbing his eyes with his good hand, he pulled his chair forward, making a concerted effort to sit up straighter.
"I'd like to talk today about the method...we scientists must protect the tried and true processes by which we advance in our respective fields. We have the benefit of many cultures and points of view at this wonderful institution, and yet that variety must be balanced with consistency." There was a murmur of assent through the crowd.
Jean-Luc tried to focus, taking another shaky sip of water. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a gold and black uniform move quickly through the crowded room, but when he fully turned his head in that direction, all he saw were civilians and the occasional blue and black uniform of Starfleet science personnel. that made him think of Beverly. He wondered if she was angry at him. He really couldn't blame her if that was the case. But he felt as though he were inside of a dream, only partially able to control his own actions and the outcome. Until he finished moving his way through the dream, he could not return to his normal wakeful state of being.
"Take this little object," Duchamps was saying, and to Picard's immense anxiety, Duchamps pulled the artifact out of his pocket, and held it up for the audience to see. "Something like this can inspire fascination...even obsession in the untrained mind."
The restrained laughter around him sounded almost thunderous, as the blood rushed in his ears.
"But as a scientist I have the training and the duty to keep a clear head," Duchamps continued. "To perform my due diligence until I have properly identified this item. Of course, it only took me about an hour to determine this was a fake..." more laughter, even louder now, seemed to press into his skull.
Picard found himself gripping the knife that had lain so neatly on his folded napkin. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of the knife, he stared down Professor Duchamps, as sweat rolled maddeningly down his back. But the professor didn't look his way. Another deliberate slight. How humiliating, and Duchamps had probably planned it all from the start. He slid the knife into the inner pocket of his suit, just as he felt a cool hand drop onto his shoulder. He jumped, and looked up to find Beverly Crusher staring down at him.
There was a look of fear in her eyes. Not of him, but for him. Something was going on. Why was she here? She tightened the grip on his shoulder. "May I sit down here, Captain?" she asked in a low voice, with a nervous smile pasted on her face. Swallowing, but unable to say a word, he felt the knife grow warm against his skin, and nodded silently in agreement. She left go of his shoulder and sat down slowly next to him. Turning to look at him squarely she said, "we really need to talk."
