Chapter 10
Jean-Luc Picard was a tactical poker player, and if focused, could be dominant. The problem that evening, however, was his lack of focus. Whether Jack realized it or not, he had succeeded in getting the upper hand even before the game started by engaging in psychological warfare. Jack's mention of T'Pel's name outside of a professional context, and the implication that he was involved with her, had thrown him literally off of his game. His relationship with T'Pel had been inching toward something more than professional for years, but neither of them had acknowledged it until recently. He had yet to fully discuss anything with her, and somehow Jack had already picked up on this. How many other people thought he and his science officer were romantically involved? The idea of romance with a Vulcan still seemed odd to him, and yet, he felt something significant for her.
Then, there was the fact that he was to embark on a short, unofficial away mission to Kronos within the hour, and a rushed poker game was not the typical prelude to such a task. He was too tense to concentrate, and his mind kept shifting elsewhere.
Finally, and not least of all, the presence of Beverly Howard had his stomach doing flips every time she turned her attention, even briefly in his direction. In his mind's eye, he wanted to gaze at her and feel her gazing back at him, but neither of these things was possible. Still, her subtly sarcastic smile, and perceptive eyes invigorated something inside of him, although he was careful not to let this show.
When Beverly did speak to him, it was with cautious friendliness. She never seemed to talk about anything too personal, or important. Was she attracted to him in the same way he was attracted to her? While they had initially shared some kind of flirtation, he doubted that was possible. Her relationship with Jack seemed solid, and perhaps her fleeting glances meant something else. He had no right to read something into them that he merely wished was there. He and Beverly hardly knew each other, and the mutual factor they shared, Jack, wanted so much for them to be friends that they both felt the pressure of that expectation. Jean-Luc didn't know how to be friends with his officers, that much was becoming clear. Zev perhaps was the exception. Ever since Jack's transfer, things had felt strained between Jack and him, and now he had his relationship with T'Pel to contend with. Too messy, Jean-Luc...all of it.
Coming out of his daydreaming, he realized everyone at the table was staring at him.
"Jean-Luc?" Jack prompted. "You still in?"
He cleared his throat, without glancing at his cards. "Fold." He stretched briefly and stood up from the table.
"Oh. Come on!" Jack nearly shouted. "Just when I get on a roll?"
He managed a half-amused smile and patted Jack on the shoulder. "Sorry, you'll have one less victim, Jack. Thank you all for the game, but I have some business to attend to."
He made brief eye contact with Beverly, who gave him a quick, possibly relieved smile.
To his surprise, T'Pel was waiting outside of the transporter room. Self-consciously he glanced around them, but it was late and the hallway was empty.
She swept her jet-black shoulder-length hair gracefully away from her face. "Captain, I did not intend to disturb your departure..."
He swallowed nervously. "Of course. Not a problem, but...what can I do for you?"
She kept her voice lowered, perhaps to keep the transporter technician in the next room from hearing. "I wanted to wish you well on your journey this evening, Captain. And further, to urge you caution down on Kronos."
His eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Well, thank you, but I shall be back very shortly." He gave her a professional smile and a brief nod before moving past her.
"After which, we should perhaps talk about the personal matters between us," she called after him with a calm insistence, that stopped him in his tracks.
He turned back to face her, suddenly feeling like a coward. His fear of the unknown down on Kronos was nothing compared to the potential of having to face his feelings. "Yes. Yes, you are quite right. We should."
He materialized on a rocky, fog draped hillside. It was early morning in Ona, a rural area on the outskirts of Kronos' capital region. This was familiar enough to him, mainly because he had lived here for about six months early in his Starfleet career. After being stabbed through the heart by a Naussican at the age of nineteen, just on the cusp of shipping out to his first assignment, he had been forced to reevaluate his motivations and goals. After emergency surgery, in which his heart could not be saved, he'd been fitted with a cardiac implant. After being released from the hospital, he had been forced to acknowledge that his friends had all shipped out without him. At first, they corresponded with him, but he wasn't great about keeping in touch, and gradually most contacts with his Academy friends ceased. His father had invited him home to Labarre, but the death of his mother a few years before had left an estrangement he was not interested in reversing at that time. It would be the last time his father would make any attempt to reconcile with Jean-Luc before Maurice Picard's death.
During that initial period after the Naussican incident, he had been ordered to stay close to headquarters anyway. He was subjected to questioning by Starfleet security, as well as a dressing down by Lieutenant Alynna Nechayev, who wasn't his commanding officer but might as well have been. She had been ahead of him at the Academy, but they had struck up a friendship of sorts based on a subtle but relentless competition; not that anyone ever really seemed to be Nechayev's friend.
The healing process had taken much longer than he had expected. After one month, he had waited for an assignment, but was informed that his officer commission was still under review due to his fight with the Naussican which had been termed "a gross misjudgment unbecoming of a newly commissioned Starfleet officer." By the second month, still no assignment.
Then one day, while studying in a library he had met a young Klingon; who was, in fact, the first actual Klingon he had ever met. Kor, as he was named, was an exchange student, studying on Earth. Kor's academic study had almost concluded, and he was to return to Kronos soon. After hearing Jean-Luc's story, he was horrified that Jean-Luc would be punished for defending the honor of his friends, and for being gravely wounded while doing so.
"On Kronos such events are merely rites of passage," Kor had said to him one day. Perhaps you would enjoy education in the ways of Klingons, if your own people have abandoned you."
Picard had shrugged it off that day, but the next, he had decided to question a possible leave of absence. By the end of that week, he and Kor were on their way on a transport into the heart of the Klingon Empire.
Now, eleven years later, he had made his return to Kronos, under very different circumstances. The house that belonged to Kor's family was immense. As he wound his way through a muddy path, which by memory he knew ended at a courtyard. The courtyard, he recalled had been the scene of armed combat practice for many local youths. Minister Karg, Kor's father, was the highest-ranking political official for the region and his influence was felt everywhere, even as far as the Klingon High Council.
But Jean-Luc knew something was wrong, immediately. The smell of smoke was strong in the air, and he could see from a distance that one of the courtyard gates was missing. He pulled the small phaser from his boot and slipped inside the gravel-covered area. The gate was not in fact missing but had been blown inward by a strong blast. He scanned it quickly with his tricorder, gathering evidence before moving on.
When he reached the main house he again found the large wooden front door blown off the hinges. The interior was in disarray. Stepping inside, there were immediate signs of extreme, merciless violence having taken place.
Pink-hued blood, the blood of Klingons, was everywhere, on the floors, walls, and ceiling. Whatever had happened, happened recently. He didn't speak, well aware that a murderer or murderers might still be present.
The bodies of Kor's parents lay staring at the ceiling with lifeless eyes. The smell of blood was thick in the air. This just happened. Who would do this?
He heard a choking noise to his left and saw a large shape moving desperately on the floor. "K'wai!" he shouted and dropped to one knee beside the writhing Klingon.
"P-Picard," the strangled breathing of Kor's sister K'wai, drowned out every other noise around him. "I knew you would come." A large curved blade was embedded in her chest. She had fought bravely but was severely injured. Her elderly parents had already succumbed to their wounds.
"Who has done this?" he shouted grabbing her hands tightly in his.
"Bandits...raiders... thieves!"
She gripped his bicep. "I knew you would come. Kor has left a son alone in this world... you must find him so that the Right of Vengeance will be his. Do not let my family's lineage die with us." She grabbed his collar so tightly that he felt his breath catch in his lungs. "The traitors must pay!"
K'wai's dying words still echoed in his head after he had left the family home and made his way back down the hillside.
He heard the thunder of hooves, and shots rang out in the night. He rolled onto the ground and came up firing. Cloaked figures riding large animals came charging past him. He saw the glint of the metal club, just before it struck him.
How many times must we save your life, Picard, before you believe in the Q?
He sat upon the hillside, which was now illuminated by a very bright light. His head was pounding, but as he regarded the light in front of him, he began to feel better. The attackers were gone. He still lived.
Of course, you are still alive. We won't let you die. Not yet at least.
A warm light passed over his body, and it comforted him in a way that nothing had comforted him before. "What are you doing to me?" he shouted at the sky.
There is no need to shout, we can hear you everywhere, there is no need even to speak, we understand your thoughts. We are repairing your body. A Klingon hit you in the head with a metal club...not a positive development. In addition, the crude device in your chest you refer to as a cardiac implant is malfunctioning. Your Human colleagues may wonder at the sudden improvement to your health, but we cannot tolerate what we know will be their inadequate repair of your vital organs. Of course, we could give you a real heart, or perhaps an empty chest cavity that would work better, but there's no need to completely alarm the other humans. The less they know about us, the better. And the more you tell them, the more you risk their lives.
"Then why make me lie to them? They will notice I've changed, and ask what happened."
Your response to them will interest us.
"Then this is some kind of game or experiment?"
You are important to us, and we are important to you. Do you understand?
He didn't understand and was utterly confused. Strangely, the only words that came to mind were, "Thank you for saving my life... again."
Good...then you truly are beginning to understand. You need us, Jean-Luc.
Beverly heard laughter coming from CMO Alan Schreiber's office and considered turning back around. She had passed through main sickbay and had managed to avoid eye contact with Captain Picard who had just returned from a one-man away mission to Kronos. He was sitting on the edge of an examination bed, with a faraway look in his eye, and didn't seem to notice her.
Beverly was very cognizant of the fact that the materials she carried with her under her arm were all related to him, and she had a sinking feeling that Schreiber wanted her to break the news to Picard; the news that based on her findings his heart surgery could not wait any longer.
Coming back to her attention to duty, she stepped into Schreiber's office. Schreiber and her colleague Doctor Lydia Harris were clearly more amused than she was at that moment. They are getting way too chummy.
"Ah, Howard... we've been awaiting your arrival."
"I was finishing up the report you asked for, Doctor."
"Of course, of course," he said, waving her in.
Lydia Harris sat on the edge of Schreiber's desk with her arms crossed, looking very smug.
Kiss-ass.
Beverly placed the reports on his desk right next to Harris and stood back. "I noticed Captain Picard is waiting in sickbay. Has his post-away mission exam been completed yet?"
Schreiber took a sip of his tea and looked up at her with apparent amusement. "Oh...sometimes even starship captains need to be told to wait. I was just saying how Captain Picard reminds me of my ex-husband, and that is probably why we can't stand each other. Although... physically he's more enjoyable to examine than my ex."
Beverly flushed with embarrassment and even Doctor Harris let out an uncomfortable laugh.
Beverly shoved her hands in her pockets. "Doctor, that was inappropriate," she said sharply.
"I was merely joking, Doctor Howard. As you advance in your career, I am sure you will develop a sense of humor."
"My sense of humor is very healthy, sir, but there's a professional line as far as the health of our patients goes," she maintained.
He smiled thinly. "Doctor, even as a professional, I am sure you can still appreciate physical beauty?"
An image of Picard standing alone in the Academy gym came to mind, and her discomfort continued to grow. She crossed her arms defensively. "I'd rather discuss the results of my report, sir."
"Mmm. I've read it. It's quite thorough, and I agree that expedient cardiac replacement is the best solution," said Schreiber. He looked at Beverly and Lydia, pointing his finger at them. "And you are both going to give him the hard news." He finished his lukewarm tea with a swig and led the way out of his office.
"How do you want to handle this?" Beverly asked Dr. Harris as they walked back through sickbay together.
"Well... it is your report..."
Beverly rolled her eyes. "Got it. Then you take care of the exam."
"Fine." Harris hesitated a moment before walking into the exam room.
Zev stood next to the bed where Picard sat holding a datapad. They appeared to be mostly finished with their conversation.
"There's nothing left to say, Zev. I reported the murders to Command, and they claim to have handed the matter to the Klingon Security forces."
Murders. Beverly's heart sank and she immediately began looking for signs of injury as she approached the captain. Then she remembered that Lydia would be completing the exam, so she hung back impatiently.
"Are you sure you do not want to speak with counseling services, Captain?" Zev asked in her quiet but assertive tone.
"Quite sure," he rumbled, handing her the datapad.
She gave him a perfunctory nod. "Very good, sir. I'll get the ship back on course as ordered."
He turned his attention to the newcomers. "Am I cleared to return to duty?"
"No, Captain," said Dr. Harris. "We'll need a few minutes of your time to examine you. A standard operating procedure, sir."
He frowned. "Seems a waste of resources to use two physicians for just me."
Beverly cleared her throat. "Actually sir, we have some additional news for you..." To her own surprise and frustration, she was extremely nervous. She pulled a small datapad from her pocket and held it in front of her protectively.
Dr. Harris had begun scanning the Captain's torso through his uniform, and so Beverly felt she might as well just be done with her little announcement, while he was distracted. "You're going to need heart surgery sooner than planned, Captain."
"What?" His mouth hung open in silence for a moment, but she could tell that an intense response was building in his mind.
Suddenly, Harris waved her over excitedly. "Doctor, I need a second opinion...am I seeing, what I think I'm seeing?"
Beverly approached and took a look that the readouts on the scanner, taking it carefully from Harris. She looked up at Picard with alarm before walking over to hit the commlink on a nearby station. "Howard to Schreiber. You need to see this, Doctor. Captain Picard's cardiac implant appears to have self-repaired."
Hey, what's up, how goes it? -PP