A Time to Die Page 5

  “Nobody’s going to Rashanar until we conclude our negotiations with the Ontailians,” said the admiral. “You have to promise me that much. We should know in twenty-four hours if they’re going to give us access again.”

  Nechayev chuckled. “Ross and Nakamura aren’t going to like this one bit.”

  “So be it,” replied Cabot forcefully.

  Commander Emery looked squeamish about the repercussions, but Korgan’s container twinkled brightly. With a sigh, the gaunt human said, “Commodore Korgan is willing to take the chance.”

  “Of course, if Picard is right,” the admiral ventured, “the guilty party is a lethal shapeshifting anomaly that has destroyed hundreds of ships. Are you ready to take that on?”

  Cabot wasn’t so quick with her reply. Even the Medusan and his assistant were strangely quiet. It was a voice from the doorway that finally ended the silence, when all-but-forgotten Ensign Brewster said, “We have no choice. The Ontailians are not going to do it.”

  “Then it’s decided. I’ll go tell my patient,” said Colleen, heading for the door. “In case it doesn’t work out as planned, I’ll tell him it’s just a visit to the Enterprise. When negotiations with the Ontailians are concluded—”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” answered Nechayev. “Thank you for coming, Counselor. I know it took a lot of courage.”

  “Don’t thank me,” said Cabot. “Thank your assistant, Ensign…um—” She turned to find him, but the unprepossessing officer had already left.

  Maybe I’ll just take the medical discharge, thought Jean-Luc Picard as he sat on the floor of his cell, studying the reddish clouds that drifted past his dark window, simulating Vulcan at night. Other captains have retired at a younger age than I am, and I could consult in training and planning. Or I could finally do some writing…or tend the grapevines.

  Somehow that latter option seemed more attractive than it ever had before. The weather and the soil were tricky but worthy adversaries; also, they played by natural rules. The physical labor would be cathartic for him and would probably prolong his life more than continuing in Starfleet. Let the Ontailians and the admirals worry about Rashanar, he decided. One man with a ship can’t fight that thing, anyway.

  A Vulcan walked past his doorway, blocking the starscape from his view for a moment. Picard sat up, because this was a holosuite character he had never seen before; this one wore the silver and white robes of a diplomat. The Vulcan stopped in the shadows and turned to face Picard, his features remaining blurred and indistinct.

  “No one can do a mind-meld on himself,” said the stranger, his voice surprisingly youthful.

  “What does that mean?” breathed the captain, his voice hoarse from disuse.

  “Only that you cannot analyze what is inside you, what is happening to you,” answered the Vulcan official. “You have to leave that to others. After you have made a logical decision, your task is finished. Let fate, history, and the natural order make the final determination.”

  “So accept what’s happened to me?” asked Picard, growing bitter. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been very good at just sitting still and waiting.”

  “To every thing there is a season,” said the Vulcan, “and a time for every purpose under the heavens.”

  The captain frowned. “That’s the Bible—Ecclesiastes, not anything Vulcan. The programmers will have to do better than that.”

  “I think you’ll feel better after Counselor Cabot’s next visit,” he acknowledged, stepping back into deeper shadows.

  “I doubt that.” Picard sighed. He stared after the departing figure, because such characters weren’t supposed to break the theater’s fourth wall and refer to the audience. They were supposed to pretend he was a monk in a Vulcan cliff dwelling, not under a doctor’s care and custody.

  Picard even rose to his feet to look for the old Vulcan, but he was gone. From the other side of the walkway, Colleen Cabot stepped into view, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. Upon entering the hovel, she looked around disgustedly at the dusty floor and ragged stone walls.

  “Hello, Jean-Luc,” she began. “You may want to return to more modern quarters to get cleaned up and shaved, because we’re moving out of here. Here’s your uniform—we’re going to the Enterprise.”

  Picard jumped to his feet. “What is the catch?”

  “You notice I said we were going,” she answered. “You’re still in my custody and my care. Commander Riker is still the acting captain of the Enterprise. You’ve done well enough here to warrant outpatient status, and for you, living at home is the Enterprise.”

  “Interesting,” said Picard, taking a few steps and mulling it over. “What if I don’t want to go back to my ship as a tourist or a patient? What if I’m ready for the medical discharge?”

  “Then you’d be letting a lot of people down,” answered Cabot. “You’d bring relief to a few people, I suppose, but not to yourself. Don’t you want to fight that thing that destroyed all those ships at Rashanar and tarnished your career?”

  The captain whirled upon his jailer. “I thought you didn’t believe me?”

  “A visitor showed me the error of my ways,” answered Colleen enigmatically. She stepped toward Picard and handed him the bundle. “Here’s your uniform. Your crew doesn’t know we’re coming, but I figure you would just like to show up as if nothing’s happened, rather than have a big home-coming.”

  “You have gotten to know me fairly well,” agreed the captain as he took his clothes. “So my fate is still in your hands?”

  “For now.” She gave him a brief but sympathetic smile. “I’m willing to be on your side, but you can’t forget that I can keep you under my care as long as I deem necessary.”

  Picard’s lips thinned. “I’m well aware of your power over me, Counselor. This week has taught me that if nothing else.”

  “You stuck to your story,” said Cabot with admiration, “and you have allies I don’t think you even know about. I’ll be back in half an hour, because I have to pack. Is that enough time?”

  “Plenty,” answered the captain. “Thank you, Counselor.”

  “You’re never going to call me ‘Colleen,’ are you?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “I like your honesty, Jean-Luc. See you in a bit.” She turned on her heel and walked briskly down the walkway that ran along the illusory Vulcan cliff.

  Captain Picard let out his breath, relieved that his laborious cooperation had finally accomplished something. But I’m still a prisoner, he told himself, no longer master of my fate. How will they accept me back on the Enterprise?

  Chapter Four

  DEANNA TROI PACED the bridge of the Enterprise, alone except for Lieutenant Kell Perim, who watched a combination of readouts at her conn station. In spacedock over Earth, with most of the workers gone for the day and most of the crew on leave, it was rather lonely and dull duty. When she wasn’t pacing, Troi went over personnel files to give Will Riker a hand. More crew members than usual had requested a transfer off the Enterprise. She couldn’t blame them. There were always others willing to take their places on the famed vessel, although several prime candidates had suddenly withdrawn their names owing to the recent trouble. Perhaps this was not the best time to join the Enterprise, thought the counselor.

  Because the ship was technically repaired and fit for duty, the bridge had to be manned, and Troi had drawn this shift. Will, Beverly, Geordi, and Data were indulging in a poker game in Riker’s quarters. She hoped that it afforded them some distraction, but she doubted if it was the usual jovial gathering, full of reckless bluffing and good-natured ribbing. These days, the only one who seemed to be in a good mood was Dr. Crusher, although maybe that was just a brave front.

  Troi didn’t feel like taking shore leave and doing recreational activities since Will was tied up as acting skipper of the Enterprise. They had expected him to get his own command someday, but this wasn’t how any of them had wanted it to happen. Will certainly didn
’t want to take command away from Captain Picard, and it felt disloyal to be running the ship while the captain languished in Medical Mental Health.

  “There’s been some activity in transporter room two,” reported Perim from the conn, where she was monitoring the ship’s main systems. “Two people have beamed up from Starfleet Command.”

  “From Starfleet Command?” asked Troi, scratching her head. “Are they admirals or just a couple of technicians reporting early to work?”

  “We should know in a minute,” answered the Trill, “because they seem to be on their way to the bridge.”

  Troi cringed. “I hope we’re not talking admirals—we don’t need any more bad news.”

  “Do you want me to alert the captain?” asked Perim.

  “No. Let’s see who it is first.” It was still strange, thought Troi, for everyone to refer to “the captain” and mean her Will, instead of Captain Picard. If the real captain had died in the line of duty or had retired with full honors, none of this would seem strange, but it felt as if Picard had been captured by an implacable enemy.

  She was still fretting over his fate when the turbolift door opened. Kell Perim blinked in amazement, whirled in her seat, and gazed attentively at her board. “Captain on the bridge,” she announced.

  “Done with the poker game already?” asked Troi, turning to meet her beloved. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she came face-to-face with Jean-Luc Picard, accompanied by her colleague, Colleen Cabot.

  “Hello, Counselor,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t let me interrupt you—I just wanted to tell you I was on board.”

  “Good to see you, sir!” With difficulty, Troi resisted rushing forward to hug her superior, who had miraculously returned from exile. She looked instead at his escort for an explanation.

  Cabot hefted the duffel bag in her hand and said, “He’s on outpatient status. Since this is his home, I’m going to have to stay here with him, so if you could find me a bunk somewhere, I’d appreciate it.”

  “We have spare quarters,” replied Troi. “Lieutenant Perim, assign Counselor Cabot to a nice stateroom near the captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the Trill, working her console.

  Cabot looked impressed and said, “Deanna, I didn’t realize you had qualified for command duty.”

  Troi shrugged humbly, but Picard cut in, “Commander Troi can run this ship as well as anyone. She’s saved us on more than one occasion. I’m sure they’ve been doing fine without me.”

  “The senior staff would love to see you, Captain,” said Troi with a grin. “They’re in Will’s quarters, playing poker.”

  Picard smiled wistfully, turned to Counselor Cabot and asked, “With your permission?”

  Troi bristled at the sight of her proud captain having to ask the much younger woman for her consent, but she knew Picard’s legal status. He had obviously won Cabot over to some degree, or he wouldn’t be here.

  “Go ahead, Captain. I’ll just visit with Counselor Troi for a bit, then see my room. I packed lightly.”

  “We’ve got everything you need,” Troi assured her.

  With a grateful nod, the captain hurried toward the turbolift and was gone.

  “He’s rather remarkable, your captain,” said Cabot with admiration. “And he has remarkable friends.”

  “Is this permanent?” asked Troi hopefully.

  Colleen Cabot shook her head. “Who can say what’s permanent in this life? I may be in big trouble tomorrow, but for tonight I feel pretty good.”

  “Oh,” said Troi with dawning realization, “you didn’t really get approval for this?”

  “I discussed it with Admiral Nechayev, and technically this is my decision.” Colleen circled around the empty bridge, gazing with awe at the blinking instruments and expansive screens. “Of course, they could assign him to you or some other counselor, if they felt like it. I can’t believe I’m on the Enterprise! What’s it like, being a ship’s counselor?”

  “It can get rather exciting sometimes,” admitted Troi. “Stick with me, and you’ll get a good idea whether you’d like it.”

  Cabot stretched her arms over her head. “It already feels good to get out of those offices…and the politics.”

  “Make yourself at home, Colleen,” said Deanna Troi with a warm smile. “Would you like something from the food slot?”

  “I’ve assigned you a really nice room, Counselor,” added Kell Perim. “Maybe you’d like an appointment in the spa?”

  “The spa?” Colleen almost purred. “I think I might like it here.”

  “Dealer takes two,” said Data, adjusting his green eyeshade. He deftly dealt himself two cards, slowing his normal hand speed so that everyone could see he was dealing fairly. “Geordi, it is still your bet.”

  “Huh? What?” The engineer had been marooned in his thoughts, and he blinked at his friend. “My call?”

  “Your bet,” replied Data. “You took one card, and you opened the betting with kings or better.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said La Forge, giving his cards a desultory inspection. “I’m sorry, my mind isn’t really into this tonight.”

  “It’s okay,” Riker assured him. “Nobody’s is.”

  Data cocked his head and said, “My mind is quite active and engaged.”

  “And that’s why you have all the chips,” added Beverly Crusher. “Here, I’ve got kings or better. I’ll bet three.”

  “I’ll see your three,” said Riker, and the betting went around the table until it came back to La Forge.

  “I fold,” he muttered, tossing down his cards. “In more ways than one. I think I’ll get to bed early and get an early start on the matter reactant injector.” He rose to his feet.

  “Don’t fix it too fast,” warned Riker. “We want to put in a full day tomorrow before we have to go out again.”

  “Do you really think this is going to do any good?” asked La Forge, frustration creeping into his voice. “We don’t know if it will do Captain Picard any good, and they may come after Data again. I’m putting in for early retirement, so wherever we go…it’ll be my last cruise.”

  That brought a gloomy pall to the game. No one knew what to say next. Since Data was the dealer, he felt obliged to keep the game going. “I will fold if it will increase your chances, Geordi.”

  La Forge gave a chuckle, which lightened the sour mood. Data was gratified to have made a joke, under the circumstances.

  “Sit down and play poker,” ordered Beverly Crusher. “Doctor’s orders.”

  The engineer shook his head with amazement as he sank into his seat. “You seem unfazed by all this, Doc. How do you keep from worrying?”

  “Don’t you feel the tide turning?” asked Crusher, brimming with optimism and hope. “I do.”

  “Well, I’m still going to win this hand,” said Riker. “La Forge, are you in or out?”

  Geordi shrugged and reached for his meager chips. “My last three. My luck had better start changing, or this is it.” He tossed his markers into the pile just as the door whooshed open.

  “Do you have another seat?” asked a familiar voice, forcing everyone to whirl around.

  “Captain Picard!” “Jean-Luc!” There was a babble of voices as everyone leaped up to greet their leader.

  When they all tried to question him at once, Picard held up his hand and hushed them. “I’m just visiting—as an outpatient. Counselor Cabot surprised me with this, so I don’t really know what to make of it. My status hasn’t changed, and neither has yours, Number One. It’s your ship. I’m here by the counselor’s good graces, and she’s here with me. Treat her as you would a visiting dignitary.”

  “I think we can do that,” said Riker. “Even if I didn’t like her much before.”

  “Well, like her now,” ordered Picard, moving to grab a chair from another table. “And, remember, she’s basically my commanding officer. She has spent a week learning everything there is to know about me. The Cardassians weren’t nearly as thorough. T
hat’s all I want to discuss about this for now. Who’s winning the game?”

  “Data, as usual,” said La Forge a big grin on his face. “They took his emotion chip, so now he’s ruthless.” The others laughed.

  While Data pondered whether ruthlessness was an emotion, Crusher grabbed her glass and hoisted it skyward. “Welcome home, Captain Picard.”

  “Hear, hear!” exclaimed Riker.

  Picard lowered his head and nodded, and Data wasn’t sure that the captain was able to speak.

  “This is outrageous!” bellowed Admiral Nakamura as he stomped around Admiral Nechayev’s office. The Traveler considered himself very lucky that he could blend into the wall paneling as Ensign Brewster; he didn’t want this unbridled fury directed at him. Nechayev appeared oddly calm and more than willing to let Nakamura blow off steam without interruption.

  “You spirited him away in the middle of the night—back to his ship!” he continued to roar. “Without telling any of the members of the tribunal! That’s unethical, Alynna.”

  “I agree. You have every right to be angry. However, Picard wasn’t in my custody. Counselor Cabot has all the authority she needs to take him anywhere she wants, without consulting either one of us. Ensign Brewster, do you have the pertinent regulations?”

  “Yes, I do,” answered the ensign as he fumbled with a padd.

  “Never mind,” growled Nakamura. “We’ll just transfer Picard to someone with more sense…and experience.”

  “Actually, you won’t,” said Nechayev. “All three members of the tribunal would have to approve the transfer of Picard. Admirals Paris and Ross have been speaking with Commodore Korgan. They all believe that Picard’s story should be checked out. Also, they agree he should stay in Cabot’s care. I have a statement from Paris. Care to hear it?”

  “No!” Nakamura slashed his hand through the air in blind anger, then took a deep breath to calm himself. “You’ve thought ahead, Alynna, as you always do. I don’t care where Picard is, but keep him under wraps until we conclude our negotiations with the Ontailians. That’s all I ask.”