“Doctor, if you believe that I’m endangering my life unnecessarily, then I suggest you relieve me of duty.”
“I wish I could. No one really knows for certain what the conditions will be like inside the cloaking field. But you need to know the risks.”
Picard had never enjoyed being reminded that he owed his life to an artificial heart, and that was especially true now that Batanides and Zweller had come back into his life. After all, the only reason he now needed the synthetic organ was because the three of them had once lacked the simple common sense to demur from a fight against three bloodthirsty Nausicaans.
Picard spoke into his combadge, his manner somewhat gentler. “Objection noted. And if it’s any consolation, Doctor, we won’t need to stay behind the barrier for more than a few minutes at the most. Picard out.”
Hawk quietly cleared his throat. “Everything’s green to go, Captain.”
“Then, I trust that means you’ve put your misgivings aside?”
“Truthfully?” Hawk said. “Not entirely. It still strikes me as a horrible waste. But we don’t have a better option.”
Picard appreciated Hawk’s candor. “Then let’s get under way,” he said as he took control of the helm.
“Cloaking system still functioning properly,” Hawk said, looking up from one of his indicator panels. No one would be able to observe the scoutship’s departure from the Enterprise.
Picard brought the scoutship smoothly forward, guided her through the wide launch bay, and departed for the inky blackness beyond. The viewer now showed the livid red‑and‑ocher daylight side of Chiaros IV.
Seeing that their heading was already laid in, Picard instructed Hawk to engage the impulse engines at warp point‑two. Crossing the approximately five AUs that separated Chiaros IV from the subspace singularity’s cloaking field would be slow going at that speed–the journey would take about three hours–but pushing the scoutship’s engines any harder would risk drawing unwanted Romulan attention. Even at this velocity, they would still reach the cloaking field a few minutes before the Enterprise’s departure deadline. And a few minutes ought to be all the time Data would require.
Hawk acknowledged Picard’s order and adjusted the forward velocity to twenty percent that of light. Chiaros IV quickly turned away into the darkness and fell away into the infinite night of the Geminus Gulf. The commandeered vessel dove outward beneath the ecliptic, arcing headlong toward the singularity.
“Your captain’s beverage is delightful,” Grelun said to Riker and Troi. “The human Urlgray who devised it must surely be a god among men.”
Sipping from a mug that looked absurdly tiny in his enormous hand, the Chiarosan sat shirtless at the edge of a bed that seemed scarcely capable of supporting his weight. Now that Will Riker was in close quarters with Grelun, he noticed that the rebel leader smelled faintly of freshly turned earth and lilacs. The aroma, as well as Grelun’s fierce mien, reminded him absurdly of Worf.
But what struck Riker most was Grelun’s astonishing recuperative powers. Less than three days after he had regained consciousness–and had refused further dermal regeneration treatments–Grelun’s body bore not a trace of the severe disruptor burns he had sustained during the battle in the rebel compound. Even the coarse brown hair on his thick‑thewed arms had grown back almost completely.
Riker was just as impressed by the huge Chiarosan’s quiet dignity, as well as by the extreme delicacy with which he held his drinking vessel. Surely, he could have smashed it with a mere twitch of his fingers.
“I must thank you again for the hospitality that you and your captain have shown me,” Grelun continued, setting the mug down on a bedside table. “These are splendid quarters, though I must confess that the floor serves me better as a sleeping place than does this child’s cot.”
The Chiarosan bared his razor‑sharp metallic teeth as he finished this last utterance. Though Riker was reasonably certain the mannerism was the equivalent of a human smile, he was still glad that he had posted a pair of security guards, both armed with compression phaser rifles, just outside the cabin door.
“We wanted to make you as comfortable as possible,” said Counselor Troi, who stood beside Riker. She appeared confident that the Chiarosan posed no danger. Still, Riker was uncomfortably aware that Grelun could easily snap her neck without even having to rise to his feet.
Grelun tipped his head in apparent perplexity. Riker wondered for a moment if the universal translator had malfunctioned. Or perhaps the Chiarosan tongue simply contained no word that corresponded to “comfort.”
“No matter,” Grelun said. “We have much larger problems, you and I. Your captain even now risks his life to expose the treachery of my predecessor’s outworld allies.” He practically spat this last word.
Riker tensed at Grelun’s mention of Picard’s secret incursion behind the Romulan cloaking field. Grelun was somehow aware of the mission, despite his not having been briefed about it.
Zweller,Riker thought sourly. We should have arrested him as soon as he came aboard. Even now, he’s trying to play both ends against the middle.
“You disagreed with Falhain’s decision to accept aid from the Romulans,” Troi said to Grelun, her tone matterof‑fact. It was clear that she wasn’t asking a question.
Grelun raised and lowered his shoulders in an elaborate triple‑jointed shrug. “I did not want an alliance with anyoutworlders. But during Falhain’s rule of the Army of Light, my opinion was neither day nor night, and was not sought. While my leader lived, it was my part to go where he led and do as he bid.”
Grelun paused to raise his cup for another drink before continuing. “Falhain’s untimely slaying changed this.”
Riker hadn’t seen exactly how Falhain had died during the skirmish in the Chiarosan capital; he’d already been knocked unconscious by the time the deed had been done. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that maybe Grelun hadwitnessed Falhain’s death, or perhaps even arranged it. Could he somehow be concealing from Deanna his own complicity in the rebel chief’s demise?
“Whatever you might think of us,” Riker said carefully, “your people will be on their own against the Romulans if the referendum forces the Federation to withdraw from your world.”
“That is now spilled grain,” Grelun said. “My people will fight anywho seek to conquer us.”
“You won’t be able to direct a revolution from a Federation starbase,” Riker pointed out. “That’s where we’ll have to take you next, if you’re really serious about petitioning the Federation for political asylum.”
Grelun straightened his back, looking both resigned and defiant. “Should you not worry instead about your more immediate problem? Ruardh will send her forces against this ship if you do not surrender me to her before you leave this system. She is implacable. She will not allow me to escape without a fight.”
A look of deep understanding crossed Troi’s face. “You want us to return you to your people. You want to continue leading the resistance against Ruardh’s government.”
“Of course I do,” Grelun said, his eyes narrowing with menace, his voice an angry growl. The fur on his neck rose, like that of an agitated cat. “Do you think me a coward?”
“Of course not,” Troi said calmly, standing her ground; it was unwise to show fear to a Chiarosan warrior. “I think of you as a leader in exile.”
At that, the tension in Grelun’s muscles relaxed visibly. Leaning forward, he said, “You could endmy exile. You could return me to the hinterlands to which my people have withdrawn. From there, I could continue the fight.”
“Are you telling us that your asylum request was just a tactic?”Riker said, his eyebrows ascending involuntarily.
Grelun folded his massive arms across his chest. “He who fights and retreats in the now may fight and win in the fullness of time.”
Riker did not enjoy being manipulated. But he knew that Grelun and his people had few alternatives to subterfuge. Having seen the carnage Ruardh’s regime had inflicted upon the rebel tribes, Riker couldn’t say he wouldn’t make some of the same choices Grelun had.