Star Trek - TNG - 63 - Maximum Warp, Book Two Page 3

  "Hello," she replied. The one word had done the trick.

  She paused as if she might say more, but was silent instead. It seemed she felt somewhat awkward about whatever was to come. Riker felt the same. So far this had not been what he expected at all.

  "What is your name?" she asked finally.

  "Riker."

  "R'ker," she tried to repeat.

  He corrected her. "Riker."

  "Ri-ker."

  He shrugged. "Sure."

  "I am pleased to meet you, Ri-ker," she said, folding her hands on her lap. "Do you cook?"

  "Some."

  Nien nodded and seemed to be looking for other things she might ask. For someone who wanted so badly to interview him just an hour before she didn't have much to say. After another few minutes she finally asked, "Do you have any skills in systems maintenance? Computer programming?"

  "A little of that too."

  She smiled. "A little? Are there any skills in which you actually excel?"

  Trying to remain noncommittal, Riker shrugged again. "I can fly a shuttle, fix things. Basic repair."

  Not quite sighing, perhaps just breathing in and out thoughtfully, Nien shifted in her seat. "I see. There are servants' quarters south of the main house, but they've gone unused for some years. Perhaps later you can repair them for yourself. Expand them into a home."

  Riker stared at her for a while. He couldn't deny liking this woman's poise and grace. She'd given a good deal of her savings to purchase his services and she talked of his long-term stay. Why wouldn't she? She bought into a ten-year deal.

  And he knew he wouldn't even be with her the whole day. Suddenly what began as a righteous plan was seeming more seedy. "If that's what you want," he told her softly.

  "I do not have a great deal of money," she told him as she began to rise. "A pension from my husband is all. But we can trade a bit for any materials you need."

  Riker sighed. She wasn't going to make this easy. Who knew that the Romulan's nastiest secret weapon would be guilt.

  He rose with her, not simply out of respect, but to help her stand as he allowed her to brace herself on him. "Understood."

  Noticing his sour expression, Nien took his arm as they walked toward another room. "Please, do not be dismayed. I know people don't usually enter into these agreements because they've met with good fortune, but I believe this will work out." She patted the back of his hand. "If you are kind and loyal, I shall be as well."

  "You're already very kind, that I can see," Riker said.

  Nien laughed. "I am an old woman and you would be foolish to try and court me, young man."

  Now they both laughed, and Riker wasn't feigning his delight at all.

  In the few hours that followed, Nien gave Riker a small tour of the estate. Some of this was on foot, but most was in one room with a large monitor where sensor cameras showed him the extent of all the once grand home had to offer.

  It was becoming late in the afternoon and Nien began to look somewhat tired. She escorted Riker to the kitchen and showed him where cooking utensils and foodstuffs were kept.

  He nodded, and after she left him alone, he sat in one of the kitchen chairs and wondered what in hell he was doing here. He knew the logistics and their plan--he just didn't think he'd end up having such a pleasant day with the person who bought him. Why couldn't she be

  rude and obnoxious, and deserving of being robbed blind, like the guy who bought Deanna?

  Okay, that was a bad thing to think about. Now he was feeling guilty and worried. What was taking Tobin so long? What if he took the money and ran? No-Riker didn't think both he and Deanna were that bad at judging character. Especially Deanna.

  After a few minutes he set about trying to make dinner.

  Riker loved to cook and he fancied himself a not half-bad chef--at least for those meals he knew how to prepare. While all Starfleet ships, and most Federation homes, had replicators, food was still grown. Despite most people being unable to really taste the difference, many suggested that naturally grown and handmade food was still the best.

  The only problem here was that he didn't recognize most of the foods. He didn't read Romulan, and so labels on jars didn't help. But he did find some things that were obviously eggs, and he only hoped they scrambled like Terran chicken eggs.

  There was something on the kitchen counter that looked like a potato but tasted like com--interesting, to say the least. So, he took it, diced that and a few other vegetables that tasted fine, and put them into two omelettes.

  From the refrigerator he found some kind of juice and something with a soupy texture that tasted like a sharp cheese.

  He swilled the cheesy sauce over the omelettes and declared them finished.

  Ready to serve, he brought Nien's plate into the dining room to find that she'd set two places at the table.

  She noticed he had her plate only. "I don't expect you to eat alone," she said. "And I hope you don't expect me to."

  Riker smiled. "No, ma'am."

  She sat and he put her plate before her, and then he went to get his own. As he lowered himself to the table she said, "Well, whatever it is, it certainly smells good."

  "Thank you. I really don't know much about the kind of food these are, I just--"

  Men lowered her head close to the omelette and sniffed. "Yes, I--I've never quite seen these foods together in such a manner."

  To his surprise, Riker was a bit nervous. How good it tasted really didn't matter--he'd be gone soon and... well, he wanted it to taste good to her anyway.

  Before Nien had a chance to taste hers, Riker took a bite himself and, while it wasn't the best he'd eaten, it certainly wasn't horrible. A little tangy for his tastes, but nothing inedible.

  Tentatively, Nien dabbed her fork into the omelette and brought some to her lips. She was very polite, but Riker had seen an expression like hers before. Come to think of it, he'd seen the same expression on Deanna the first time he'd cooked for her.

  "You don't like it."

  Nien was very quick to shake her head. "No, it's very ... good. Exotic."

  He squinted in a partial wince. "I've mixed foods one wouldn't normally mix, haven't I?"

  She didn't quite nod, but as she dabbed her lips with a napkin she made a motion with her head that was mostly affirmative. "Well, it's an interesting ... experiment. Nothing wrong with a little change of pace." As if suddenly an aftertaste exerted itself she looked around, eyes open widely. "Is there anything to drink?"

  He immediately poured her some juice and she promptly gulped it down. When she'd finished, she sat back in her chair and smiled up at him ruefully. "I can see I'll have to teach someone how to cook."

  Riker frowned, not so much because he'd made her a bad meal but because she had no idea he'd never get the chance again. He wasn't wearing a timepiece, but his internal clock told him that soon he'd be beamed up, and Deanna as well wherever she was, and they'd both leave this planet forever, never to return.

  And Nien would be without what she'd purchased. While the system which allowed such slaves might be corrupt, she was certainly not, and all she was trying to do was survive.

  "What's wrong?" she asked him. "Please don't feel bad that I didn't finish. My age ... I'm just not used to the more spicy meals, that's all."

  He lowered his gaze. "No, it's not that."

  She looked at him a long time, and he wasn't sure what else to say.

  Finally, when she spoke again, it was in English, and without a translator. "You're not who you say, are you?"

  Chapter Four

  Romulan Warbird Makluan Klingon space IVlalinga Sector

  SUB-COMMANDER FOLAN HAD BEEN WATCHING Medric's movements among the crew. He'd spent a lot of time on a lot of decks, mingling with too many crewman with whom he'd not usually have lowered himself to speak.

  As she sat in her quarters--a cabin that had too recently been Commander J'emery's--Folan felt very alone.

  There had always been things she
could cling to: her career, her status, her duties. Now those were gone, and while her status was the highest it could now be on the Makluan, that was no position of camaraderie. She felt trapped in the capacity as the person in command--un

  able to get out once inside--much like the power deserts that now peppered all of space.

  She shouldn't be here, she thought. She should be on the bridge. But she'd been there since this all began and was exhausted by the events, mentally as well as physically. If Folan didn't try to get some rest she would surely make a mistake that would mean her own death, as well as the death of her mission.

  Her "mission." Her jihad, really. She seethed with hate, at T'sart, at Picard ... but she wasn't getting any rest this way. Forcing herself away from the desk, she first thought about lying on the bed and attempting actual sleep. But in midstride toward the bunk-berth, she stopped and decided she should probably have an active response to Medric's meddling with the crew. If he was going to talk among them and persuade them, why couldn't she?

  No, she thought, hesitating again before she reached the door, that was rational-scientist thought. She had to think like a soldier. She should confront Medric.

  Yes, and be backed up by security.

  No! Not security. She should go alone.

  Yes, that would look stronger.

  No, wait. That would be stupid. She should do none of those things. She should confront him on the bridge with witnesses, both to protect her from him and witness her bravery before him.

  Folan sighed. She was making too much of this, thinking too much--again, the scientist. Well, more the schoolgirl really. Make a decision, she told herself, and stick with it.

  She nodded to herself and stepped out into the corridor.

  A crewman was marching toward her from the left. He was looking intently at her, oddly so, and it sent a shudder down her spine. Instinctively she began to turn the other way. That was when she stopped. A different crewman was treading toward her from that direction.

  Folan almost stopped and ducked back into her quarters but thought she might have a better chance on the move. If she could get past them, run for the turbolift... They obviously sensed her change in body language-if not her fear--because both men quickened their pace.

  She was weaponless, and that had been a foolish mistake. She wasn't used to needing a weapon simply to walk the decks of her own vessel, but obviously she did. Probably thanks to Medric.

  Not completely helpless, Folan leapt into the man closest to her and they both went tumbling. Since she was the one who knew they'd both be down, she was the first to recover. Rolling shoulder to knees, she was on her feet fast and ahead of the one man left standing --he'd had to dodge around his downed partner.

  Adrenaline now on her side, Folan plunged away from them and up the corridor. But not all the way up. Just far enough to catch her breath. She might not have had a disrupter, but she had a ceremonial knife. Maybe she'd not practiced with it in years, but she hod been trained. Now was the time to see just how well.

  The blade unsheathed awkwardly and so she wasn't off to a good start.

  Both pursuers were on their feet now and they smirked at her ungraceful bearing.

  "You're going to stand here and fight us both?" the one on the left asked.

  He was closer.

  Slowly, Folan shook her head and eyed the disruptor the closer one had pulled from his tunic.

  "It's over," he said.

  She ran--around the corner and just beyond it, where she stopped short. He followed and as he rushed around toward her, she rammed her dagger into his chest with one hand, and took his weapon with her other. His already weakening carcass dropped to the deck.

  Moving the disruptor to her right hand she felt blood--her attacker's--already becoming sticky in her palm. She moved quickly up the corridor, turned, and extended her arm.

  Folan held the weapon threateningly at the last assailant as the man shoved his comrade's fallen body out of his way. Not yet dead, the injured man grunted as he rolled, then stopped with a thud.

  The standing one snarled and kicked the disruptor out of her hand as he pulled out his own in one flowing motion.

  "You insufferable ..." He backhanded her in the jaw with his weapon hand. She fell against the bulkhead and slid down to the deck. Just a few feet from her, the man she'd stabbed lay gurgling his last breathes. Surely, she thought as she tasted blood in her mouth, she would be next.

  The man took a step toward her, aiming his weapon. "You are relieved of your command," he said.

  Folan closed her eyes and waited for that death. She couldn't outrun the weapon and she could no longer fight. The blow to her jaw had her a bit dazed and in her darkness she wondered when he would finally do the deed and pull the trigger. He was probably watching her cower--taking pleasure in her humiliation.

  Not wanting to give him any more of that satisfaction, she opened her eyes ... just as a disrupter whine split the air, and her attacker vaporized.

  Up the corridor, Medric stood over the other crewman's body--the one she'd stabbed and who lay dying. Medric aimed, fired, and the last of Folan's assailants was also gone in a haze of bio-dust that settled to the deck in an electrical puff. Folan looked up in surprise. "Y-you saved me?"

  "Of course," Medric said as he reached down toward her with his open hand.

  She stared as if it had fifteen fingers.

  "Why?" She didn't take the hand; rather, she just sat against the bulkhead and continued to study it. "You need me," she said finally as he took her arm and hoisted her up. Finally she stood on her own.

  Medric nodded. "In a way, yes."

  "But you don't like me." It wasn't a question, just a statement, and from the way she said it she thought her lip must be swollen.

  "I don't like anyone," he told her. "You're nothing special in that respect." He motioned up the corridor toward her cabin.

  She didn't move. "Yesterday you looked as if you would've liked to see me dead yourself."

  Again he gestured up the corridor. "I'd like to see everyone dead. You're nothing special in that respect either."

  "Charming," she said dryly, and this time she began walking with him. "So why save me if you wouldn't mind seeing me dead?"

  "As you said--I need you."

  She glared at him sideways. "For?"

  When he spoke his tone was quieter than usual. Not softer, just more secretive. "I need you to continue on your course. I need you to run this ship for me."

  "For you?"

  "For me." He stopped and nodded toward her cabin door, silently suggesting they enter.

  Folan looked at him very suspiciously.

  He sighed. "I'm not interested in you sexually, I assure you."

  She paused, considered that, and though she wasn't sure if she wanted to be relieved or insulted, she nevertheless decided it was likely the truth. She let him follow her in.

  "What do you mean run this ship for you? You're just a centurion," she said.

  He moved to her desk and sat behind it nonchalantly. "I'mTalShiar."

  Folan kept herself from stumbling back into the other chair. She did fall into it a bit more than was comfortable and she noticed a headache forming behind her eyes. She wondered if she might have a slight

  concussion. Perhaps she was delirious. Tal Shiar? Medric? Tal Shiar?

  "You--you're telling me that, and... are you sure I'm not about to die?"

  "Not if I can help it." Medric's smile was odd. Perhaps because he was Medric and Folan had rarely seen him smile, but more likely it was because a Tal Shiar was smiling and, well, the whole idea was bizarre.

  "Why?" she asked. "Why would you want to save me? Why not kill me and take over this ship yourself?"

  "Don't think I didn't consider that. But I tested you, and you have the drive to do this. And I've talked with the crew, and at least half of them support you." He leaned back, relaxed. "And, before T'sart sabotaged your experiment, we expected it to succeed."
/>   " "We' being the Tal Shiar?"

  "Of course."

  "And then..." She looked up confused. "When were you planning to kill me?"

  "We were planning to offer you membership."

  "In the Tal Shiar."

  "No, the Senate," he snapped sarcastically. "Of course the Tal Shiar!"

  Still, she didn't understand. "Why?"

  "Because you have a brilliant scientific mind," Medric said. "And we can use you."

  "But you can't use T'sart?"

  "T'sart," Medric hissed his name, "was offered membership long ago. He turned it down."

  This was all too much to take. Folan was feeling dizzy... and yet, also exhilarated. The power she

  could have as a member of the Tal Shiar... yes, their standards were rigorous, but they would become the only standards she need conform to. "Has that ever happened? Someone refusing to join?"

  Medric's expression was sour. "A handful of individuals who came to regret their misstep. As will T'sart."

  "And I'll do that for you?"

  "You'll make sure he pays for his treachery," Medric said. "And you'll have accomplished your first Tal Shiar mission with honor."

  Much to consider, Folan thought. And she wondered --how much more did Medric, as a Tal Shiar, know about the entire situation?

  "Is Picard part of it?" she asked.

  "T'sart is on Enterprise," he said. "What do you think?"

  "I'm not sure what to think," she admitted.

  "Think of yourself for once," Medric said. "And think how you'll thrive in an organization that values your mind more than your political savvy."

  Folan smiled.

  "And all you'll have to do," Medric continued, "is destroy the Enterprise."

  Chapter Five

  U.S.S.. Enterprise, NCC-1701E Romulan space Sector 23

  trying to wrench himself free of Loire's tight grip, the Starfleeter first hit the Klingon on his ears, then his neck.

  Lotre shoved him away and the smaller man stumbled. A crewman without rank, he noticed. "Tell me," Lotre said, leveling his disrupter at the man's head, "how do I get off this blasted deck?"

  The Starfleeter shook his head and scrambled quickly to his feet. He skittered up the corridor and once again Lotre was alone.