Chapter 19

"For an officer who disobeyed my direct order, you seem quite smug, Zatha. I could have your head, you know."

Commander Zatha sat stiffly in her personal office, on her ship, the Ishran. She was facing off, so to speak, with General Thran, whose head and shoulders appeared as a hologram on her desk. "I told you, sir, the Starfleet captain escaped. He was quite capable, despite his being human," she said.

The hologram's eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps you are too smug for an officer who was bested by her own prisoner!"

Commander Zatha resisted the urge to remind her superior that Picard had actually been her guest, before Thran had ordered her to imprison him. They were not at war with Starfleet, and she had no desire to see the entire Federation ripped apart because Thran and other bureaucrats like him were stupid and greedy for power. However, she was very smug, she admitted it. "My personality flaws are my own," replied Zatha. "Sir," she added.

"The result of Captain Picard's escape is that he has reunited with his ship which is now on its way to Vulcan," said General Thran.

"I am not concerned about Picard, General. I am concerned about the Vulcan Defense Force, which is amassing as we speak. Their small craft are very swift, like knives."

"But your ship, all our ships are like hammers, Zatha. You have but to crush them where they stand before they draw their knives."

Zatha sat back in her chair. The metaphors were starting to bother her. "Yes, General," she said simply.

"Captain, we are approaching the rendezvous point with the Horatio," Riker's voice announced via the communications panel.

Picard sat up abruptly in his hospital bed. He had been drifting off. As much as he wanted to get back to work he knew he was still not one hundred percent. More than anything he felt fatigued. "Understood, Commander," he said trying to keep the grogginess out of his voice. "Please invite Captain Keel aboard so that we can meet before proceeding to Vulcan," he ordered.

"Aye sir."

"What time is it?" he asked hoarsely to no one in particular.

"0700 hours," the computer replied serenely.

Picard sat back and rubbed his eyes. In order to get out of recovery and back on the bridge, he knew that he would need Dr. Crusher's permission. Would she be willing to give it, he wondered? The first step was to stop looking so damned pathetic. Perhaps that would help to convince her that he was well enough and fit for duty. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Yawning and stretching his body, he was amazed at how stiff he was, just having been in bed for two days. He needed a warm shower. There was an odd partial numbness that was centered below the belt, and he decided for now he would do his best to ignore it.

Heading to the cramped bathroom, he shed his hospital pajamas and stepped into the sonic shower. As the warm waves rushed over him, he actually began to feel his body relax a bit. Opening his eyes to avoid falling asleep again he examined his arms and chest. There were a few minor bruises that would fade completely over the next day. He finally looked down at his right thigh where the Andorian had grazed him with the knife. A long thin blue-ish ragged line was still etched in his skin. He poked at it, and found it to be tender but not painful, although an uncomfortable tingle persisted. Realizing he had been in the shower for longer than he had intended, he turned it off, and stepped out onto the cold floor. Finding a towel and wrapping it around his waist he shuffled out into the recovery room.

He supposed he really should not have been surprised. Walker Keel stood with his back to him, examining the book Picard had been reading. Walker turned around with a quizzical expression on his face. "Jean-Luc, really? 'Archeological Methodology During the Twenty-Second Century?' No wonder you are still in recovery; you're slowly boring yourself to death." He tossed the book back on the bed.

Picard sighed and walked toward his friend. He snatched the book off the bed and placed it carefully on the table. "When I ordered Riker to set up a meeting, Walker, I didn't mean in my hospital room," he said with some annoyance. He looked around for his uniform but it was nowhere to be found.

"Well, I told Riker I would find you myself, and he didn't seem to mind. Looks like you're going to have a fine crew." He paused. "Have I mentioned I am very happy to see you alive, my friend?" said Walker with a smile. Picard could not help but return the smile, even though he was still irritated.

"Yes, and I am very glad to be alive," said Picard. Still not seeing his clothes anywhere, he adjusted his towel and sat down on a chair. "Why is there no replicator in this room?" he muttered. He stood up again as it just occurred to him that Dr. Crusher or her staff would be looking in on him soon, and he needed to get dressed beforehand.

"Replicator?" said Walker. "Why? Are you hungry?"

"No…I'm looking for my uniform," he replied testily, looking under the bed. "And if it's not here, it would have been just as acceptable to replicate a new one. You know, you could help me look," his muffled voice came from somewhere near the floor. Suddenly his head jerked back up at the sound of the door chime.

"Come in," Walker called out to the visitor casually. Picard cast him a deadly glance and quickly readjusted his towel, standing as straight as possible in an attempt to look professional.

"Oh no", thought Picard as she walked in. On the bright side, she was carrying a carefully folded black and red uniform and a cup of something hot to drink.

Beverly Crusher appeared mildly surprised upon entering the room. Whether it was Walker's sudden reappearance or his own state of undress that surprised her, Picard might never know. To her credit, she hardly missed a beat. She smiled up at Keel. "Walker, how lovely to see you. Commander Riker said we would be meeting up with the Horatio, but it's too bad we have to meet again under these circumstances."

"Beverly, you look wonderful as ever, and horrible circumstances will never change that," said Walker smoothly and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Beverly gave a small chuckle as she gave Walker a brief hug.

She turned to Picard, and he noted that her gaze dropped ever so subtly before re-focusing on his face. Her smile was still there, but seemed a bit forced now. She held out the uniform for him to take. "Captain, I thought you might like a change of clothes. After our conversation the other night, I know how important they are to you…." He marveled at how she made sarcasm seem so endearing. "And, in case you were wondering, I already recycled the uniform you were wearing when you were brought here. It wasn't salvageable."

"Oh. Yes, thank you," said Picard trying to sound casual. "I had figured as much," he lied, gripping the uniform to his bare chest somewhat over-protectively.

Beverly took a step back, and set the cup carefully down on a nearby table. She smoothed out her lab coat, suddenly seeming a bit self-conscious. "I thought you might like something to help wake you up. If I recall, you enjoy hot Earl Grey tea," she said, gesturing to the steaming cup of liquid.

Picard's eyebrows rose. "Indeed…I do, thank you."

Beverly flashed a quick, very professional smile. "Alright then, I'll leave you to get dressed." She turned to leave.

"Oh, Doctor," called out Walker with a slightly mischievous grin. "Does this mean he's now fit for duty?"

Crusher turned back and her eyes flicked from Walker to Picard, and back to Walker. Realizing she was being teased, she tilted her head and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "Yes," she said as professionally as possible, before she turned to leave again.

Picard picked up the tea cup and sipped it carefully. "I can't believe she remembered what tea I like after all these years," he murmured somewhat absently.

Walker looked at his friend with disbelief. "Forget the tea, Jean-Luc. Did you see the way she was looking at you?"

"Hmm? What way?"

"She's attracted to you, that's what way. Don't you see it?"

Picard sighed and put the mug down with a clatter. This again. "Walker you are tiresome, do you know that? I have no intention of discussing my personal life with you. We'll meet with my staff in forty-five minutes to discuss the Andorian-Vulcan situation. Now go away and let me get dressed," he said grumpily.

"You sound like you are forgetting we're the same rank, Jean-Luc. You certainly don't have to order me to get out." Still Walker didn't budge and they both continued to stand there in stubborn silence.

Suddenly Picard shrugged. "Alright, I'm just going to get dressed now," he threatened.

"Okay, I get it, you don't have to drop the towel," said Walker putting his hands up in surrender. "I'll see you in 45 minutes," he said and finally turned to leave.

T'Pel sat cross-legged on the observation deck. She had to drive the trouble from her mind. She knew that this ship was on its way to her home world, and that the political forces had failed. Now the two militaries would come face to face. Somehow the people who had decided to declare war, or certainly had done little to avoid it, had forgotten about the children who had been rescued by the Enterprise and were now on their way back home. And still, T'Pel had her mission to complete.

She had also learned that Captain Picard had recovered from his near death escape from the Ishran. Now she knew that he was well, she felt her focus return. "Lower lights seventy percent," she said softly and the room darkened considerably. Light from the stars outside the viewport streamed in and caused shadows to play upon the wall behind her. She had no time to study them. Right now it was the inner shadows that she needed to study, to control. If she failed, he would not come, and he would not allow himself to be drawn out.

She closed her eyes and relaxed her facial muscles and then gradually the rest of her body. She kept her hands folded loosely in her lap, she focused until that was the only sensation she felt. In her mind her hands reached out and opened a small window and she reached out and pulled herself through. She was in darkness, but her hands reached out again and pulled open a heavy wooden door. The hallway was long and narrow, and the writings of Surak covered the clay walls. His writings led all of Vulcan to freedom through logic in the 4th century. As every child learned from a young age, and T'pel was no exception, Surak's writings had reformed a society and created the way forward. There was little else more sacred to most Vulcans than Surak's ideas made real.

She heard a scraping noise, at first faint and it seemed to grow louder as she focused her gaze down the hallway. She halted and squinted, looking down the long corridor. She began to walk forward, and the scraping sound increased. She saw a crouching figure at the end of the hallway. He was using a metal tool to scrape the walls. His shape was almost as familiar to her as her own, even though she had seen him only once as an adult. "Ra'Val!" she shouted out to him. He dug methodically at the writings that covered the walls. His intent she knew was not just to erase Surak's writings from the walls, as the vision showed her, but to erase Surak's impact on society. She knew that his aim was not to teach a different way, but to destroy what was.

Slowly Ra'Val stood up. Unlike in their youth he towered over her by nearly a foot. He smiled down at her and dropped the tool on the ground almost carelessly. "You have found me my sister. Now what do you intend to do to stop me?"

T'Pel's eyes snapped open and in front of her stood the little boy, Thar. Even in the dark room, his eyes seemed to be enveloped in a deep blackness. "Answer me," the boy demanded, but his voice was not his own anymore; it was that of her brother.