Chapter 32

The Vulcan High Council

Delegate Stahl stood on his office veranda staring out and up at the spectacle above. He and the other members of the Council were quite secure in their belief that they were well protected from the Andorian ships. Immense phased defense cannons fired up through the thin Vulcan atmosphere, answering the energy beams discharged by the Andorian battle cruisers. Distantly he could perceive tiny dart-like fighters skimming the stratosphere. The pilots of the Vulcan fleet were very adept, and he had no doubt that they would successfully defend their home world. But as he considered the other looming threat, the one few spoke of, his mind grew restless, causing him to look up again, and he no longer felt so secure.


Enterprise

Later that night, after the incident in cargo bay 4, Captain Picard sat in his quarters after having communicated with Starfleet Command about the incident with Admiral Imhoff. Imhoff had spent not even an hour in the brig, before a posh looking ambassador's shuttle arrived for him. When he left, he had to be carried aboard the shuttle, and really, the man did not look well. He didn't seem to even recognize Picard as he left, fixing him with a faraway expression. It seemed, that Picard's removal from command, the sham of an inquiry into his handling of Ra'Val had all been "an unfortunate mistake" according to Vice Admiral Nechayev, and he was summarily restored to command, with no further explanation, and no ceremony, which was fine with him. Admiral Nechayev also assured him that there would be no "further interference" with his command of the Enterprise, which certainly was what he had wanted to hear.

So much had happened in the last 24 hours that the whole series of events now seemed like a blur. He was careful not to jostle his head too much, as his head wound was making him feel woozy. T'Pel and Counselor Troi had met with him briefly to make sure he was free from Ra'Val's influence. At least, he was as free as anyone could be on this ship at this very moment, with a telepathic madman on board.

He had been astonished at the abilities he had witnessed T'Pel display. She was so different in most respects to the person he had known all those years ago. But most significantly, whatever training she had endured to complete Kolinahr had given her abilities far superior to anything he would have ever thought Vulcans were capable of. But then he had never met a Vulcan who had achieved Kolinahr. He wondered if there was some genetic anomaly T'Pel and her brother shared, which caused them to have natural telekinetic and telepathic abilities which were superior to other Vulcans. Perhaps she had always been gifted in this way, and he had simply never known. He found himself feeling glad, once more, to have T'Pel on their side.

Both Troi and T'Pel had recommended that he go to sick bay for examination, but he brushed them off. The truth was that he did want to go and see Beverly, very much so, but not so that she could fix up his wound. And he certainly was not interested in seeing the ER doctor. So he stayed in his quarters, had a shower and then went to bed.

While attempting to fall asleep he wondered why Commander Zatha had decided to go against her principles and fire on the Vulcan defense ships. He was disappointed, but could not say that he was surprised. He simply did not know Zatha well enough to have any expectations. And now, he thought it unlikely that he would have a chance to speak to her again on good terms, if she was now allied with General Thran.


The next morning…

Walker Keel's astonished face filled the computer screen in the Captain's ready room. "What the hell happened over there last night, Jean-Luc? The admirals at Starfleet Command are going out of their collective minds trying to figure this one out. Did Imhoff really lose it?"

Picard tapped his fingers on the desk. "T'Pel and Counselor Troi seem to think that his hatred of me was enhanced and deliberately twisted by Ra'Val. There is no doubt that Imhoff hated me, but Ra'Val seemed to have taken the old grudges Imhoff was holding against me and amplified them. When Imhoff first came aboard, he met us in the cargo bay, where Ra'Val has been located, and he announced that he was removing me from command for the foreseeable future. Ra'Val must have seized upon that as a way of gradually removing me from as a threat to his control of the Enterprise until he could do so more permanently."

"What do you mean?"

"Imhoff tried to kill me last night; or rather Ra'Val tried to use Imhoff to kill me."

"I see that he failed miserably," said Walker drolly. "In all seriousness, though Jean-Luc, you seem willing to let Imhoff off the hook easily enough," remarked Walker. "After all, if he hadn't been so irrationally upset with you in the first place, he wouldn't have made himself so vulnerable to influence. He is at least partly to blame for this."

Picard shrugged. "As far as I am concerned my crew is safer now that Imhoff is off my ship. And I have my command back, no questions asked."

"About damn time," said Walker. "You said he's off ship and you didn't say anything about shoving him out of the airlock, so where is he now?"

Picard made a face, not quite sure if he found the situation as amusing as his old friend seemed to. His splitting headache didn't help. He gingerly touched the back of his head, where Imhoff had slammed him against the deck. "Starfleet sent a shuttle to pick him up, Walker, and brought him to the nearest star base. I couldn't very well leave him in the brig, could I?"

Walker broke into a slow smile. "But I bet it felt good, sending him there for as long as it lasted, didn't it?"

Picard could not help but match Walker's smile, but he said nothing. "So what are your orders, Walker?" he asked, growing serious again.

"Same as your orders, Jean-Luc. The Horatio has been ordered to stay out of the line of fire until a diplomatic window opens up—assuming that one does. The emphasis was placed on not taking sides."

Picard glanced away, as the door to his office chimed. "Walker I've got to go. Let's keep each other informed of any developments." Walker nodded and the screen went black, just as the door chimed again.


"Come," he called out, and stood up.

It was Beverly Crusher. He took in a sharp breath, which lately seemed to be the norm when he saw her. As usual, she was stunning just dressed in her professional clothes, but she did not look happy; specifically, she appeared worried and angry. Seeing her demeanor, he slowly sat back down. After last night's incident with Imhoff, he was uninterested in confrontation. But interested or not, here she was.

She stormed in and sat down across from him, and slapped a hypo spray on his desk. She put her medical kit down on the desk next to it and opened it up and glared at him. He realized that the neutral expression he was trying to convey was not moving the conversation forward. "Doctor, can I help you?"

"Yes, Captain, you can help me," she snapped. "You can tell me why you didn't report to sickbay after sustaining an injury to your head last night. I had to hear about it from T'Pel, who informed me you slammed the back of your head on the steel deck. Do you realize that you could have died last night in your sleep? Oh, you are incredibly irresponsible…"

"Now, Doctor-"he protested.

"And completely stubborn," she finished, filling the hypo spray.

He suddenly felt his own anger rise to the surface. "And when were you going to tell me about your confrontation with Imhoff?"

Shocked by his question, Beverly grew pale. "How did you find out about that?"

He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, wincing slightly as the back of his head tapped the headrest on his chair. "You had no intentions of telling me, did you?" he said with a tight smile. "What if he had tried to attack you again; what if his behavior had escalated?" He sighed loudly and got up and began pacing the room.

"I can take care of myself," she said quietly.

"Oh, that much is clear. I'm quite impressed you were able to disable him so efficiently and perhaps he deserved even more than what you dealt him. But you see, he was under the influence of Ra'Val, and as your commanding officer, it would have been the appropriate thing for you to tell me what had happened, Doctor."

She stood up to face him, looking him in the eye. "You weren't even in command at the time, what would you have done?"

"I would rather not say what I would have done, had I known that he threatened you in any way," he said with quiet intensity. She flushed involuntarily, highly aware that she was touched by what he just said, and slightly embarrassed that she was.

"That's very comforting to hear you say," she said honestly and without thinking, moved closer to him.

"I don't need to be in command to care what happens to the members of my crew," he assured her. The subtle change in her expression instantly told him he had uttered the wrong words.

She stared at him and took a step back. "Your crew? Is that why you were so worried? So if Data or Geordi had been in the same situation—"

"No," he interrupted gruffly. "That was not what I meant." She watched him closely. He was struggling with something.

"I'm listening, Jean-Luc," she said almost daring him. "Tell me what you really meant to say." She felt her heart begin to beat faster in anticipation of what she wished he would say and also for what she hoped he would not say.

He looked away, looked down, and finally shook his head. "I can't," he muttered, looking back up at her. She felt a wave of disappointment move through her. One day before she had shown her own feelings, albeit physically, by kissing him passionately, and this was all he had to give? He had certainly seemed to enjoy it at the time, but now she really could not be sure. And to think she had openly ogled him in his shorts just last night. The very thought made her completely embarrassed now. Beverly suddenly wanted to slap him; not break his nose, but slap him across the face just to make a point.

Instead she reached up with the hypo spray, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Turn around please," said and he obliged. "Let me see what happened here," she said softly. She felt another wave of irritation as she examined the cut. He had a giant knot on the back of his head right at the base of his skull. "Ow," he grumbled, when she poked at the cut.

She sighed in exasperation. "Did you even clean this, Jean-Luc?" God, was he that afraid to be alone with her that he couldn't even come and get properly treated in sick bay?

"Yes, I took a shower afterwards. I couldn't really see it in the bathroom mirror, but it seemed to have stopped bleeding…." She rolled her eyes, not caring whether he could see her or not.

She held the back of his neck gently and used a cleaning agent. "Hold still while I stitch it up. You can't continue to walk around with a gaping open wound on the back of your head. Do you know that people used to die of infections because of small wounds like this?"

"Hmm," was his only response. The derma-repair tool tickled and burned slightly, but it took no more than a few seconds to do the job.

The more she stared at the back of his head, the more her anger came back. Finally finished, she stepped away from him and began to pack her tools away. "In the future Captain, please consider that people can still die of infections in the 24th century if they fail to use common sense and visit their doctors," she said sharply, snapping the med kit shut.

She walked as fast as she could to the door, but she heard his footsteps coming behind her.

"Beverly, I am sorry," he said, stepping between her and the exit. "Please wait." His voice was commanding, but his eyes actually seemed to be pleading with her.

"Why?" she said frostily, turning halfway to face him. She was surprised when he grasped her free hand in both of his. To her further astonishment, he brought her hand up to his cheek and kissed her palm softly, watching her expression. She sucked in a breath and stepped backwards still holding her med kit loosely in her right hand. He stepped closer to her and suddenly they were pressed against the wall with no room between them. "What are you doing?" she said trying to catch her breath.

"I have no idea," he said, just as breathlessly, and then kissed her roughly. She immediately responded by grabbing him behind his shoulder blade and pulling him toward her. He heard her drop the med kit, and felt it land on his foot. His eyes widened, but he actually felt no pain. "Sorry," she mumbled apologetically, quickly pulling away for a moment. He muttered something unintelligible about it not mattering, and they resumed what they had been doing, stopping only occasionally to breathe. Their hands moved with a mutual urgency, and it wasn't until they began to tug at each other's clothing that they realized that things were perhaps moving too fast for the Captain's office.

"Counselor Troi to Captain Picard," Troi's voice emitted from his communicator. Picard moved away from Beverly reluctantly, but didn't break eye contact. Beverly smoothed out her lab coat and touched her mouth self-consciously. She glanced down behind her and for the first time noticed that there was a fish tank built into the wall, the very wall she had been pressed against moments before. How bizarre, she thought, and laughed nervously, reaching down to pick up the med kit.

Picard stooped down quickly, "please allow me," he said, grabbing it and handing it to her. "Thank you," she said, still looking at him tenderly. "Um," she prompted and pointed at his communicator.

He looked surprised. He had forgotten already that Troi had called him. "Picard here," he said. "My apologies for the delay, Counselor," he said. "I was…delayed," he winced at how inane his own words sounded.

Troi's response was immediate. "Perfectly understandable, Captain…when you have a few minutes, could I speak with you in my office?"

"Yes," he said tersely. "I'll be there shortly." His expression softened again when he regarded Crusher. "I'm sorry, Beverly, but I must be going," he said with a small smile. He turned to leave, but she stopped him gently.

"Don't you think I should leave first? It is your office after all. Or we could leave together…what would look less suspicious?"

Picard nodded. "It's probably best if you go first." He touched the back of his head lightly. "Thank you, it feels so much better already," he said.

She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I'm sure it does," before leaving.


Riker, smiled and nodded at Doctor Crusher as she stepped out of the ready room and headed for the turbo lift. He could not help but notice that she seemed pretty happy and had a spring in her step she hadn't had when she practically kicked down the Captain's door about 20 minutes earlier. "Must have been some house call," he muttered under his breath.