SHIP OF FOOLS
Chapter 23
"Captain."
Picard instinctively erased any trace of sleep from his voice as he answered. "Yes, what is it?"
Only then did he realize that this had been the second time he had been called. And the voice was much too close to have emerged from the intercom grid. He opened his eyes to find Riker standing next to his sofa. "Wouldn't the intercom have done the job?" he asked, sitting up.
"I wasn't going to risk having to repeat it two or three times, sir. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." He was getting to his feet as he spoke, and straightening his uniform tunic with an emphatic tug. It happened to be true enough. He did feel rested. "The Cardassians?"
"Slowed to something like half-impulse and passed between two of our probes a few minutes ago. ETA in thirty minutes, more or less."
"Did they notice them?" the captain asked.
Riker shrugged. "Probably. They should have a fairly clear idea where we are by now. – Captain, there's something you really should know. Two things, actually."
Picard paused on his way to the door, then turned. Something unusual had crept into Will's voice. Something formal, disquietingly so.
"Yes?"
"I am sorry, sir, but among the casualties on the ship there have been two more fatalities. Lieutenant Benedetto and Ensign Storgat. I should say one more at this point – Storgat is still hanging on. But Doctor Crusher says there is nothing she can do for him any more."
"I understand." There was a pause; for a moment Riker thought he could see the captain's composure crumble before his eyes. Then Picard straightened. "And the other one?"
"Counselor Troi. I've been talking to the doctor. I've made very sure she understands what the situation is, but she says there's just no way Deanna could return to duty today, or even tomorrow. Apparently she's had some kind of nervous breakdown, and frankly I can't say I'm surprised. She was pretty much spent when I last saw her – said she couldn't sense a thing –, and that stuff we released into the ventilation system must have finished her off. They're keeping her sedated – at the moment she isn't even conscious."
Another moment's silence. The captain nodded slowly, digesting this piece of news; Riker could hear one deeply drawn breath. Finally Picard said, a little flatly: "Well, it can't be helped. We'll just have to manage without her," and turned towards the door again. Data and Ensign Westaway were manning the forward stations. Worf was back at Tactical, bolt upright, resplendent in a clean uniform and an immaculate pigtail and looking rather less gray and tired than the last time the captain had seen him. He gave him a brief nod before settling into his chair.
"Report, Lieutenant."
"Interference is still strong. We will not have a visual until the ship is very close. Communication will require them to get closer still, but it appears to be a Hideki class vessel. They are quite small – no match for our defenses. Damage teams are still busy in parts of the ship, but all decks have reported readiness. – We will not be able to separate the saucer section," added Worf.
"Why?" asked Picard.
"Because of massive phaser damage to the battle bridge's Ops and Tactical consoles, the battle section is not fully operational by itself... sir," said Worf matter-of-factly. Picard turned his head to look up at him, but the Klingon's expression was inscrutable.
"Thank you, Mr. Worf, I had forgotten that detail. Raise shields," said Picard. A moment later he looked up questioningly as Riker appeared at his side with a mug containing something dark and steaming. "What's that?"
"Coffee, sir," Riker replied, trying, not quite successfully, to suppress an affectionate grin. Worf – no, not Worf, Data, of course – must have told him about that Klingon tea. Picard took the mug, savoring the smell. "Thank you, Will," he said composedly, upon which Riker dropped into his own seat and swiveled his screen towards himself. The captain sat with the mug in his hand, his look turned inward. The absence of his counselor was one thing he hadn't foreseen, and for a few moments he had felt nothing but sheer dismay at the prospect. Somehow Deanna's support had seemed to be an essential part of this mission. Somehow, somewhere, he had never quite lost the belief that he would be able to draw on her at need, even during the bleak moments when he had seriously considered destroying his ship to be one of the few possible outcomes of this venture. And now...
He dismissed the thought as he had firmly dismissed the initial dismay on hearing of those two deaths. No point in growing apprehensive now, no point in allowing himself to be distracted. All of that would have to wait. Let's just do our best. After all we have a fighting chance now... He frowned a little, his attention finally drawn to the taste of the brew he was drinking. There was sugar in that coffee. Somebody was trying to feed him up. Picard turned his head to give his first officer a searching look, but Will was still intent on his monitor. Well, strictly speaking all of this was against bridge protocol, thought the captain as he sat sipping his coffee, listening to the sounds of his bridge, and waiting.
Worf's voice broke the lull. "Sir, the Cardassian ship is entering visual range – such as it is."
"On screen."
The image was woefully bad – a blurred speck of dark amber moving against a flickering background. Picard frowned. "Can you clear that up a bit, Lieutenant?"
"I am trying, sir, but I believe the visual is as good as –" Worf paused rather abruptly. "Sir, one of the two probes monitoring the ship's approach has just stopped transmitting."
"Cause?" asked Picard, frowning at his empty coffee mug and momentarily at a loss what to do with it. Then he disposed of it by carefully putting it down on the floor by his chair.
"Unknown. I do not read any weapons activity." He hesitated, then continued reluctantly: "The probes were degenerating. Readings have been fluctuating for some time now."
"Great," Riker muttered into the tense silence that had fallen over the bridge.
"Red alert," said the captain.
Over the whooping of the sirens Worf's voice boomed: "Their shields are up. They are now powering up their weapons, sir. They appear to have delayed this on purpose."
"What purpose?" Riker twisted round in his chair. "They couldn't do much harm to this ship if they tried."
Worf's teeth were showing for a moment. "I believe it to be a show of trust, Commander."
"What's the crew complement of that ship, Data? Can you tell?"
"Normally about twelve, sir. In fact the number of lifeforms aboard this particular vessel may be somewhat larger than that, but it is impossible to establish an exact number."
"Just tell me when we are close enough to hail them, Worf," said Picard, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He was acutely aware of the empty seat on his left.
"Captain," said Worf. "The vessel has come to a full stop. It is now holding position at a distance of... six hundred kilometers."
The captain turned. "Six hundred kilometers, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Our sensors are degenerating rapidly, sir," supplied Data from Ops.
"Any closer, and they'd have set off a proximity alarm," muttered Riker.
The captain shook his head. "Very well. Hailing frequencies."
"Open," said Worf. Picard stood.
"This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Do you read me?"
Flickering static filled the screen, distorting and all but obscuring a ridgy gray-skinned face. The transceivers hissed and sputtered. "I am Gul Dravek of the Haklamar, hailing from... that is, wait, you are who?"
Picard heard the sharp intake of breath on his right. Of course. He should have expected the reaction. A high-ranking Cardassian official and member of the Obsidian Order could hardly be entirely unaware of the recent events surrounding Minos Korva and Celtris III. He tried again, hoping that his voice would not betray the sudden pounding in his chest.
"Captain Picard of the Enterprise, sent to meet you on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. I'm ready to commence this meeting whenever you are."
There was movement on the screen now. The Cardassian had turned to consult with another blurred figure just visible beyond the flickering bars of light. Among the crackle and sputter snatches of rapidly whispered exchanges came over the link, too low for the computer to catch and translate. Riker appeared at his captain's elbow.
"Now that's surprised the hell out of him," he muttered, just audibly. "D'you think you've just upset his agenda, sir?"
"I think," Picard began, just as softly, and stopped. The Cardassian had turned back to the viewscreen. After that first betrayal of surprise he now appeared perfectly in command of himself – the serene confidence in his voice carried even over the noisy interference.
"You must excuse my initial reaction, Captain. I frankly had no idea that Starfleet's flagship would be dispatched on this assignment. May I ask just how far you are authorized to take these talks?"
"I am authorized to listen to whatever it is you wish to tell us, and to use my own discretion – up to a point. You haven't been very specific about your side of it. But you have gone to a great deal of trouble setting up this meeting, Gul Dravek – may I suggest you beam over to the Enterprise with whatever number of aides you choose to bring, and let us get on with it?"
"Well." The tone remained serene, but a note of wariness was creeping in now, just strong enough to be audible. Is he play-acting? Picard thought, uneasily. It was utterly impossible to read anything from the blur that was the Cardassian's face. "Captain, it is true that you have a reputation as a mediator, and as a man of integrity. But under the circumstances you'll understand that I am somewhat hesitant to deliver myself into your hands."
"But then you have already done that," Picard replied. "You are aware, of course, that the Enterprise could destroy your ship without taking so much as a single hit."
"I am. But of course I don't believe you'd do that. My message would die with me, and the repercussions could be most unpleasant." Gul Dravek paused, appearing to consider. "Let me make a suggestion – one that might even things out a little. Why don't you accept the hospitality of my ship, Captain? Our premises are a little cramped to be sure, but I believe we could accommodate one aide. We'd be able to discuss this matter at our leisure." Another short pause, filled by the whistle of static. "All things considered, that is as far as I can go, faced with the firepower of a Galaxy-class ship."
"I'll consider your proposal, Gul Dravek," said Picard.
"I await your answer. There is no hurry," the Cardassian replied graciously, and turning towards Tactical with a brief nod, the captain closed the link.
After a brief silence Riker said: "Of all the gall."
"There is a certain logic to his request, Commander," Data observed. "However, given the risks involved, I would not recommend going along with it unless there is no other option."
"I agree. Wholeheartedly," said Riker.
"I thought you would," Picard said rather dryly. "But he does have a point, Number One."
"You're not telling me you're seriously considering this, sir?"
"Frankly, I don't think I have much of a choice. We've been sitting here for how long now? I don't want to wait until the sensors are completely useless, and emerge from this nebula blind and deaf. Besides," he added, "someone has to take the first step."
"With all d-," began Riker, but he didn't get any further than that.
"Captain!" That was Worf, his voice almost choked with pent-up rage and disbelief. "This is beyond bearing! You will not... you could not – !" There was no chance of a misunderstanding this time. Worf was furious, and the captain was meant to hear it. For a moment Picard fully expected him to pound his console in frustration. He couldn't help sympathizing with his security chief. He also felt, and strongly, that he had been contradicted quite enough for the moment.
"Mr. Worf," he said quietly. "Number One. I would like a word with you both. You have the bridge, Mr. Data."
He could hear something between a snarl and a sigh behind his back as Worf relinquished his station. In his ready room he slid into his chair and folded his hands on the desk.
"Very well. If you can give me a better option, I'm willing to listen."
"Wait until Deanna is functional again," Riker said promptly. "Dravek's the one who approached us. He wants something of us. He can wait."
"He can wait a lot longer than we can, Will – as he reminded us just now in that inimitable way. He's only just entered this nebula. His sensors will outlast ours by days, and he knows perfectly well where our orders came from. We are here in order to hear what he has to say. He knows we don't have a choice."
"With all due respect, Captain, we do." Worf's voice was ominously soft. "He cannot leave without our permission."
"And we can't keep him from leaving if he chooses to. This is neutral space."
Riker groaned. "What a perfectly vicious little piece of blackmail."
"Sir. You cannot deliver yourself into their hands. They have no..." Worf hesitated for a fraction of a second – "respect for courage or integrity. They will take advantage."
"We don't know that until we've tried." Picard paused. "I would have asked you to accompany me to the Haklamar, Lieutenant. However, if you feel that your sentiments might be getting in the way of your performance – "
Over Worf's very audibly drawn breath Riker blurted: "You're not going, sir?"
"As a matter of fact, Number One, I think I will. Mr. Worf – "
The look Worf gave him was more indignant than before if possible. He actually seemed to grow an inch as he pulled himself up, his voice an offended growl. "My sentiments will not prevent me from doing my duty, Captain. Request permission to accompany you."
"Granted."
"Right," snapped Riker. "So what if they take advantage – don't let you leave?"
"In that case," Picard said carefully, sounding very calm, "you'll give them an ultimatum, and after that you'll head back while you have any sensors left. Don't allow yourself to be blackmailed."
There was a pause. "Sir," Riker said with some difficulty, "frankly, that wasn't the kind of order I've been expecting. We've got them outgunned. It would be easy enough – "
"To blow them to atoms, or at least threaten to do it? And me along with them if necessary?" The captain actually smiled. "I appreciate the logic, Will, and I suspect Worf does too. But consider this. If this meeting really is a set-up, then what could suit them better than an aggressive act by the Enterprise, towards a much smaller vessel?"
"A vessel holding her captain hostage? After what they did to you last time?" Riker's voice rose in volume. "Sir, anybody would – "
"Will," said Picard. "Last time never happened."
"Right. Neither does this," Riker shot back.
"You know better than that. If this is to be a diplomatic incident, then that's what it will be." Picard sighed. "We simply have to act in good faith. If it doesn't work out... well, don't do anything that could be used against the Federation."
"No, Captain. I'll just allow them to mistreat you any way they choose."
"Will," Picard replied patiently. "We don't know what his intentions are."
"I still do not advise it," Worf said through clenched teeth.
"Neither do I, Captain."
"Noted. And, if you insist, logged." Picard paused, then looked up at the two of them towering over him. Concern and frustration made them look curiously alike. He had had every intention of bringing the interview to a summary close, but now he said: "I appreciate your objections. But there's really nothing to discuss. We've taken a lot of trouble to get this far. In the end, these are Starfleet's orders."
"Yes, sir," Riker said tensely.
"Another thing, Will. Yes, it may be a trap. Believe me, I'm very aware of that. But the day I am unable to recognize a real chance for the possible risks... well, I hope I'll know when I'm no longer in the right place." He rose rather abruptly. "That will be all, gentlemen. Let's get on with this."
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