Chapter 31
Commander Zatha sat in a stark cell on the Andorian ship the Striker, commanded by General Thran. After key members of her bridge crew had mutinied against her, she had attempted to fight them, striking down her tactical officer, but clearly they had been ordered to take her prisoner, and some coward had shot her with a weapon set on stun. Then, judging by the fact she woke up on the Striker in a dingy cell, she had been moved off of the Ishran. She would have preferred a quick death, or even a relatively quick death to capture by that toad Thran.
What a fool she was. She silently placed at least some of the blame on Picard, for his moral counseling. She wondered whether she would have acted in the same fashion, by disobeying Thran's order had she never met Picard. But she knew the answer was that he had only confirmed a decision she knew was going to be inevitable, since she had found out about his real motivations. Thran was always going to give the order to attack Vulcan, and she was going to have to refuse, certainly not because she loved the Vulcan people, but she did not hate them either. But because she now knew the reason for attacking Vulcan had little to do with protecting the Andorian people from further attacks, nor was it even about vengeance.
Perhaps she should have killed Ra'Val herself when she had been on board the Enterprise, but she'd been too concerned with feeding Picard information she could have used herself. And, she had also been concerned that he would lose his life. Briefly she wondered if meeting Picard had made her soft, but rejected the idea. Why should she care about the opinion of a human? In any case, she needed to plan her next steps. Now that her subordinates had betrayed her, she knew that revenge would be her most trusted and possibly her only friend.
Riker left admiral Imhoff on the bridge to mull over the Andorian/Vulcan dilemma. It was mid-evening and he was finally off duty, but instead of going to Ten Forward he headed for sickbay in the hopes of getting a response to another unanswered question. He found Dr. Crusher in her office studying some requisition orders. She glanced up from what she was doing, stylus in hand. "If you've come to check on the status of my sickbay, Commander I can now report that we're as ready as we'll ever be for battle-if there is one. Now let's hope we don't need to use all of those extra beds," she added before returning to what she had been reading.
"Sounds as if you and your staff have been working hard Doctor, but that's not why I'm here", he said sitting down across from her.
"Oh?" She said still not looking up and sounding as if she was taking great effort to appear interested.
He cleared his throat. It wasn't as though he had known the ship's doctor for long but it seemed unlike Beverly Crusher to avoid eye contact. But if she thought he was going to leave that easy, she was mistaken. He tried a bit of humor to soften her sullen demeanor. "Admiral Imhoff turned up on the bridge a few minutes ago, looking as though he had just been head-butted by a Klingon," he said with a slight grin. He couldn't imagine Crusher liked Imhoff any better than he did.
Crusher pursed her lips and carefully put her data pad down. "Did he say what happened to him?" she asked slowly.
"Actually, no," said Riker. "He refused to say anything about his broken nose, which had clearly been recently treated, and just mumbled something about having been to sickbay." He watched her closely.
"Well, I didn't treat him personally, Commander but I can confirm that he was treated earlier this evening in one of the minor sickbays. But unfortunately that is all I can tell you."
Riker frowned. "You didn't treat him? Seems pretty strange that an Admiral wouldn't have gone straight to the CMO to get fixed up."
To his surprise, Beverly pressed her lips together, and it appeared that she was trying not to laugh. She quickly grew serious again. "Yes, odd isn't it? But no more odd than an Admiral sustaining a broken nose in the first place," she added, and stood up from her seat. She turned around and fiddled with something on a shelf.
Riker stood up as well. "So…you're not going to tell me how he broke his nose? Come on, Doctor, help me out here."
Crusher turned back to him and shrugged. "Commander, you know I would tell you if his broken nose in any way affected his fitness for duty, but it doesn't—it's been fixed. Besides, you said yourself he refused to discuss it, Will. Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?" she said with a slight smile and tapped him lightly on the shoulder with her tricorder as she passed by. Despite his annoyance at her evasiveness, he laughed.
"Doctor, wait," said Riker growing serious again. "How is Tasha doing?"
Crusher stopped and nodded. "She's much better and I think by tomorrow morning she will be fine for limited duty. But she had a serious head injury, Will. And, she's been taking the deaths of her officer quite hard. I think she feels guilty at having survived the ordeal with Ra'Val."
Riker shook his head. "It's a shame we lost anyone that day. But now we need her well. Please have Deanna meet with her before she goes back on duty?"
Crusher nodded, and they stepped out of her office together.
His breath came quick but steady and the sound of his footsteps thudding on the moist ground was the loudest sound around, save for the call of an occasional tree frog. The moon rose in front of him at the top of the hill, and the cool spring breeze whispered over his face and neck. As strong as his injured leg felt, he felt his right quadriceps and knee straining as the incline of the hill grew steeper. He had planned to try and forget about everything that was presently happening, things that he could do nothing about until he was restored to command. The more he became distracted and allowed these thoughts to creep in, the more difficult the climb was, and it seemed almost a miracle when he reached the top.
He slowed and gripped his right side just over his hip. He'd developed a cramp, and instead of picking up speed on the way down the hill, he just let his momentum lazily take him down to the finish. He was somewhat startled to see that waiting at the bottom of the hill was a slender, shadowy figure. He squinted, but it was too dark, and the moonlight alone was not enough to make out the person's features. "Doors," he called out, and the holodeck doors appeared quite literally on command.
He slowed and then came to a stop at the bottom of the hill. The figure stepped out of the shadows. "Hi sir," said Wesley Crusher cheerily. Picard's mouth opened slightly in surprise. Wesley was dressed for a run, it appeared, complete with a towel around his neck, a jogging suit that looked three sizes too big, and a ridiculous looking sweatband around his forehead. He stuck out his arm abruptly offering Picard the towel, which the Captain took, with a grateful yet bemused expression.
"I hope you don't mind, sir, but I saw you a little while ago in the corridor on my way back from class. And, well I'd never seen you wearing shorts before, sir, so I sort of assumed you would be going for a run…and I remembered how you said we could go running together, and well…here I am," he said nervously. "But I can see you've already finished sir, so if this isn't a good time—"
Picard put his hand up to stop the boy from continuing to rattle on. "Mr. Crusher…I mean, Wesley," he said attempting to soften his tone. Why did he always sound so harsh? "If you'd like to run this course, it is wonderful. Let's stretch for a minute and I will run it with you."
"Awesome! I mean yes, sir."
Picard looked at him, and a feeling of what he now recognized must be affection began to creep into his head and heart again. Looking at the boy, he wondered if he had ever felt these feelings for Wesley when the boy was younger. He couldn't remember. He did remember feeling uncomfortable around Welsey as a toddler, and frankly that feeling was still there, but now he felt something else; a kinship. He'd been estranged from his own brother for years, and his parents were dead. The amount of close friends he had who were still living could be counted on his hands.
And yet, here was this teenage boy, who he never would have imagined having much in common with, and he could feel that a definite bond was growing. And he could see that Wesley was trying so hard, perhaps too hard, to impress him. He had to be careful, given his…attraction to the boy's mother, not to muddle the situation and give the boy the idea that he could be a reliable father figure. Wesley was likely to end up disappointed. Oh hell, he thought, so much is so uncertain right now. What would Walker have said? "Just go with the flow, Jean-Luc," or something or other of that nature.
"No, no," he said correcting the gangly teen, who was attempting to stretch out. "You've got to stretch this part here in front, or you will get shin splints. Here, watch me," he said showing the boy the correct way to stretch. If he had looked up to see the happily adoring expression on Wesley's face, he would have likely been embarrassed.
After the run, Picard walked Wesley back to the Crushers' living quarters. They didn't talk much on the way. When they reached the door, Wesley looked up at Picard. "Have you eaten yet sir? Mom had some reports to catch up on, so she said to just go ahead and eat without her since it's getting kind of late."
Picard shifted his gaze back and forth contemplating a means of escape. "Er…I really should be getting back," he said, as Wesley ignored him and walked into the living area. For some reason, Picard stepped in behind him. He glanced around, feeling as though he was intruding on Beverly Crusher's privacy. The fact that she wasn't there, didn't help. He consciously avoided even looking in the direction of what he assumed was her bedroom.
"When Mom's not here I get to eat whatever I want," called out Wesley from across the room. He turned to Wesley, who was walking back toward him holding two bowls of something. He put the bowls down on the dining table, and shoved one of them in Picard's direction. "This is my favorite thing to eat," he said and without further explanation began to demonstrate.
Picard hesitated to sit down, and decided against it. After all, he was completely covered in sweat and he doubted Beverly would appreciate it on her chairs. Still standing, Picard poked at the contents of the bowl, shoving circular pieces of some kind of grain around in a sea of cold milk. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.
Wesley looked up wide-eyed with his mouth full, looking as though he never thought he would hear that question coming from anyone. "Cheerios, sir," he said, and a thin stream of milk dribbled down his chin. "It's an ancient Earth delicacy, sir."
"Ah," said Picard, eyebrows raised. Well, he was rather hungry. He picked up the bowl, and had just taken a spoonful of the surprisingly delicious cereal into his mouth when Doctor Crusher walked in.
She didn't see him, as she came in and threw her coat and tricorder onto a nearby chair. He watched, taking quick mouthfuls of the cereal, as she stormed around the living area.
"So get this, Wes'. Wilson says to me, Doctor, we've only got two full body scanners in the ER in sickbay four, and I need at least one more. Can you believe that? In my hospital at Starfleet Medical I only had two scanners and he's on a damn starship! I mean, we're doing the best we can with what we have. The real problem is that there are too many doctors on this ship, and most of them seem to think they know better than I do…well I said to him—" She stopped short as she turned around and saw the Captain standing there, staring at her, eating cereal and wearing running shorts.
"Oh," she said, because nothing else came to mind. She looked at her son for some kind of explanation, but he was munching cereal with abandon, and staring at her blankly. Why is he wearing that silly headband? she wondered.
Picard was apologetic. He carefully put the cereal bowl down on the table. "My apologies, Doctor. I didn't mean to intrude. Wesley had joined me for a run, and…"
"I see that," she said, looking him up and down with a slightly impish expression. "And now you're encouraging him to eat cereal for dinner when I expressly told him that he had to eat something more," she said walking behind her son and placing her hands on his shoulders. "Right, Wesley?"
Wesley froze. "Uh huh," he said, putting down the bowl full of milk he had been slurping from. "Sorry Mom. But don't blame Captain Picard. He didn't even know what Cheerios were," he said.
Crusher was unable to hide her amusement. "Oh, really?" she said straightening up. Wesley got up and moved around his mother. He grabbed both bowls and brought them across to the recycler.
Picard suddenly felt completely self-conscious in his shorts and sweaty shirt. "He's right. I had no idea what a cheerio was. But they are quite delicious," he added.
Crusher smiled softly. "You can have a seat, Captain. You don't have to stand on my account."
"Oh I wasn't. I mean I would stand on your account to be polite, that is, but at the moment I was just…"
She raised her eyebrows and bit her bottom lip, but said nothing.
He sighed, frustrated. "I hadn't been to your quarters before and I thought it rude to sit on your furniture in my current state. As you can see, I'm not very suitable at the moment."
Crusher sat down at the table and looked up at him. "Do I look like I mind?"
He didn't know what to say and as he caught her gaze, he immediately thought back to the moment, or several moments when she had kissed him. It had been just earlier in the afternoon, and it was less a memory than a present sensation in his mind and body. Her mouth curled into a small smile as she looked at him, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
"Mom?" Picard's gaze snapped up as Wesley was speaking, and realizing suddenly that he had come back to join them at the table. "Are you hungry? What about you, Captain? I can replicate you both something—"
Picard backed away uneasily. "Actually, I really must be going. Thank you for the run, Wesley, and for the dinner. Doctor," he said with a slight bow of his head as he turned to exit her quarters.
"Captain," said Crusher matching his formal goodbye as she watched him leave. "Nice shorts," she added faintly, as the doors hissed shut.
T'Pel stood staring out the observation deck. Her wounds had healed well enough and she felt much stronger. But she was concerned that her brother seemed to be healing just as fast, and that a strong Ra'Val was good for no one. She was not certain how he intended to accomplish his goal of uniting Vulcans under his new philosophy which appeared to worship the power of emotion, but she knew his first step would have to be the destruction of the council.
Suddenly a flurry of green flashes caught her eye out the viewport and she moved forward swiftly. Placing her hands on the glass she leaned out to get a better view. Immediately she saw that the Andorians ships had begun firing on the defensive perimeter set up around Vulcan. The smaller Vulcan defense force fighters flew at incredible rates of speed, twisting in and out between the bulky Andorian ships and racing back again.
She saw the largest and lead Andorian ship issue weapons fire down at the planet itself, and she could only guess that they were targeting the Council building complex. The Council was heavily fortified inside and out and for now at least, protected by a defensive shield. T'Pel shut her eyes. How ironic that her brother would be aided in his goal by the Andorians. She knew it was a matter of time before he made a move. And she doubted if she would have the power to stop him this time, which meant that she would have to die trying.
Picard had just finished showering and dressing, when the alarm sounded. "Red Alert, Red Alert," announced the computer. "This is Admiral Imhoff. All crew to report immediately to battle stations." For some reason, Picard thought of Beverly Crusher. I should have stayed for dinner, he thought, as he rushed out of his cabin.
When he reached the bridge, the place seemed in chaos. Riker and Imhoff were both barking orders at the crew. Imhoff turned for a moment to regard him coldly as he stepped on to the bridge. He resisted the urge to demand a report. Instead, he stood silently next to Worf at tactical.
Riker walked over to Imhoff. "Admiral, we've just received a message from T'Pel. She is recommending an increased security presence down in cargo bay 4, sir. She's there herself right now, sir."
"Why?" demanded Imhoff.
Riker straightened. "The Council is under attack Admiral, and T'Pel seems to think that as soon as its defenses are weak enough Ra'Val will launch his own attack."
"That's preposterous! He's in a fortified energy prison."
"One we all agreed will not hold indefinitely," interrupted Picard.
Imhoff turned to him. "Are you predicting that a single man is going to destroy the entire Council complex, Picard? Come now," he said condescendingly and turned back to Riker.
"I say we follow her recommendation, sir," said Riker. He tried to breathe normally. He knew that if Picard had been in command, the decision would have been made minutes ago, and they would have moved on to other concerns. But Picard was not in command.
Picard spoke up again. "Admiral, I will go to the cargo bay and assess the situation with T'Pel. I can send you a report from there," he offered.
Imhoff turned to him again, with a bare look of anger. "Trying to be the dethroned hero, Picard? I'll go with you to see for myself," he snapped.
Riker turned red. "Admiral, with all due respect, even though we don't appear to be the target of any fire from either side right now, there is a battle raging just a few thousand meters away. You should not be leaving the bridge at this time, sir."
"Handle it, Riker," snapped Imhoff, following Picard into the turbo lift. "You're too old to need a babysitter."
"That was unnecessarily harsh, Admiral," said Picard stonily once they were headed down in the turbo lift. "The man was merely offering his recommendation and you just attempted to humiliate him in front of the crew."
Imhoff smirked. "Don't act as though you wouldn't have said something similar, Picard. Don't forget I've seen you in action."
"Actually, I would not have said something similar, Admiral, because as Captain I would not have left the bridge during battle."
"Yes, and from what I recall, you won't leave a burning ship on the verge of destruction even when ordered to."
"Is this always going to be about the Stargazer Admiral? You seem unable to trust me because of what you believe I did, or rather what you believe I didn't do that day when my ship was falling apart. That was nine damn years ago."
Imhoff fell silent, and Picard for the first time noticed a thin red line, across the man's nose. How strange, he thought. Imhoff shifted uncomfortably, as he noticed Picard looking at him. "Whatever she told you isn't the full story," he said suddenly.
Picard's brow furrowed. "Who?" The turbo lift stopped and they stepped out in unison, heading for the cargo bay. Picard's gaze was still fixed on Imhoff. "What are you talking about? What story?"
"I suppose I deserved to get hit, but a broken nose? I didn't think she had it in her. Of course I didn't try to do anything to Beverly you haven't fantasized about yourself," he added almost lazily.
Picard stepped in front of him suddenly, which caused Imhoff to stop abruptly to avoid bumping heads with Picard. He tried to step around Picard, but Picard moved at the same time blocking his path. "What are you talking about?" he demanded in a low, voice. "Why did she hit you? What did you do to her? Did you touch her?" He stared into Imhoff's eyes and neither of them moved.
"Oh no," said Imhoff. "But I would have liked to. Does that bother you?"
"Stay away from Beverly Crusher," Picard threatened. They stood outside the cargo bay now, and he could feel his anger beginning to overcrowd his mind.
"Or what? Are you going to hit me too? Maybe I'll see you both court-martialed and you can finally spend quality time together in a prison cell."
The cargo bay doors opened and the security officer stood there with T'Pel. "Everything alright here, sirs?" said the officer looking from one man to the other. The officer had a faraway look in his eye.
T'Pel was gazing at Picard serenely, and he felt his mind immediately calm down. He didn't try to stop the Admiral again as Imhoff stalked in to the bay ahead of him. T'Pel took him aside. "Captain," she said quietly, "it is extremely important that you heed what I am about to tell you. My brother is exerting his influence over all who come into this cargo bay. The security officer here does not know it, but his casual attitude and lack of concern are being caused by Ra'Val. No matter what Imhoff says to you, you must not react in the way that feels most natural to you at that moment. Most importantly you must reject your aggressive feelings."
Picard blinked and nodded. He had been only half listening. He could not believe what Imhoff had told him. Beverly hadn't said anything to him. Had she been hurt? She had looked well, but her feelings were often a mystery. At least physically she had appeared unharmed and clearly she had gotten the better end of the deal, considering Imhoff's rather severe injury. He smiled slightly. She was a person of many hidden strengths and abilities. Unconsciously, he touched the bridge of his own nose.
Focusing on clearing his mind, he stepped into the bay and walked over to the generator. He checked the strength of the beam being projected from the generator. It was only at eighty-eight percent of what it should be, yet the generator itself was at full-power. Was Ra'Val himself be weakening the beam from within the energy bubble? He played around with the controls, and was able to bump the beam up to ninety-two percent.
Stepping away, he looked at Imhoff, who had moved closer to Ra'Val and was staring up at the motionless Vulcan as though enraptured. "Admiral," said Picard warily. He hesitated to walk closer to join the Admiral, remembering what T'Pel had said. "The field strength is weakening."
"Let's get the engineers in here to fix it," said Imhoff.
"Yes sir," said Picard. "But it will be a temporary fix, I am afraid. The only way to keep the crew safe is to get Ra'Val off of this ship."
Imhoff's eyes turned a cloudy grey color. "You first," he said darkly.
"Pardon me?" asked Picard, confused.
"I want to see you leave the ship first, Picard. Right out of the airlock. And this time when I give you an order, I expect you to follow it," he said, and then ran, full force toward the Captain.
Picard leapt out of the way and rolled, coming to his feet just in time to see Imhoff running toward him again. This time, Picard tried to duck, but Imhoff threw an arm across his chest, slamming him to the deck. He must have been under the influence of Ra'Val, because the strength of the man was suddenly superhuman. Picard jumped to his feet and touched the back of his head, feeling a cut at the base of his skull. He shook his head dizzily and looked around for Imhoff.
To his surprise, Imhoff seemed frozen in mid-run at him. His expression was as determined as ever, but he wasn't moving. Picard looked around and saw that T'Pel stood behind him and that her eyes were fixed on Imhoff. It was apparently she who was holding him fast. Picard shouted at the security officer who was finally running to his aid. "Restrain him," breathed Picard. "And then take him to the brig."