Chapter Seventeen
Looking up from tactical, Lieutenant Daniels announced “Admiral on the bridge.”
Riker, Troi, K’rs’lasel, and Rixa had all risen from their seats. As Picard followed Batanides out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, he was greeted by an unaccustomed sight. Grelun, who stood in the center of the room, favored the admiral and the captain with a quick nod, then returned to his visual inspection of the bridge, his crystalline eyes apparently drinking everything in.
“What is this man doing on the bridge?” Batanides said sternly. Picard gathered that she thought that a man whose people had just voluntarily entered the Romulan Star Empire ought not to have the run of the Federation’s flagship. He had to concede that she had a point.
“I understand your apprehension, Admiral,” Troi said in placating tones. “But I can assure you that Grelun poses no threat to us now.”
“Nor have I been unsupervised,” the Chiarosan said, baring his razor teeth in a vaguely disquieting smile. Picard found Grelun’s presence and bearing impressive, to say nothing of his immense size. He probably could have brushed the bridge’s vaulted ceiling with his fingertips had he extended his arms fully above his head.
Picard turned toward Riker. “Have the Chiarosan ships contacted us yet, Number One?”
“No, sir. But I don’t think it’s any mystery why they’re here.”
Ruardh wants Grelun, and very badly,Picard thought. He reflected uncomfortably on Grelun’s petition for political asylum, a request which he was bound morally, ethically, and legally to honor. Even if First Protector Ruardh–or her new Romulan masters–decided to play rough.
“Let’s have a look at them, Mr. Daniels,” Picard said, seating himself in his command chair. Three rather beatup looking Chiarosan spacecraft, each of them about the size of a Starfleet runabout, appeared on the viewer. They were approaching the Enterpriseat a leisurely pace, the nearest of them now lying some thirty thousand kilometers off the starship’s port bow.
“Give me a tactical appraisal, Number One.”
“Sensors show nothing but simple disruptors and lowpowered deflector shields,” Riker said as he took the seat to Picard’s right. “They wouldn’t stand a chance against us in a real firefight.”
“They might not have to,” Picard said soberly. “ Especially if they’re being backed up by a cloaked warbird.”
“Hail them, Mr. Daniels,” said Riker. A moment later, the image of the approaching Chiarosan ships was replaced by a pair of dour faces. One belonged to a Chiarosan female, whom Picard immediately recognized as Senator Curince. He had last seen her two days ago, when First Protector Ruardh had made her initial demand that Grelun be remanded to government custody. The other visage belonged to a young and supremely confident‑looking Romulan. His gray uniform and the insignia on its collar testified that he held the rank of centurion.
Why bother keeping the Romulan diplomatic corps around when the military can simply take over?Picard thought, struggling to keep his expression carefully neutral. To Curince, he said, “It would seem that the balance of power has shifted somewhat today, Madame Senator.”
She bared her teeth, perhaps in a smile, or perhaps not. “I shall not play games with you, Picard,” she said, purring the words as if she were some great predatory cat. “Grelun must come with us.”
“He has asked for political asylum,” Picard said. “And until and unless he withdraws that request, he will have our protection. I cannot allow First Protector Ruardh to execute him.”
The Romulan interposed himself into the conversation. “Ruardh undoubtedly wouldhave him executed. However, Ruardh no longer enjoys the autonomy she once did.”
Picard wasn’t the least bit sorry to hear that. He smiled with grim amusement.
Curince addressed Grelun directly. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere you willed, Grelun? What would you do?”
Grelun’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I would go back among my people,” he said after a deliberate pause. “I would gather the Army of Light about me and strike like an avenging hammer at those who murder our children.”
“In other words,” the Romulan said, “you would bring order to what is now in terrible disarray. You ought to know that the Romulan Empire abhors disorder.”
“I don’t understand this,” Riker said, frowning. “Are you saying that you wantGrelun to go back to commanding a guerrilla army?”
“If a large asteroid were headed for your homeworld,” the Romulan said, “would you want to splinter it into millions of small, uncontrollable missiles? Or would you instead seek to keep the object in one piece and modify its trajectory?”
Picard glanced inquisitively at Troi, who was standing on the bridge’s port side. “He’s telling the truth,” she said. “The Romulans see the rebel movement as becoming far more dangerous in the absence of coherent leadership.”
Almost inaudibly, Riker quoted, “ ‘Keep your friends close. But keep your enemies closer.’ ”
“Grelun,” Curince said, her manner softer now. “Will you come with us?”
“I believe that it was the Romulans who destroyed the Army of Light’s principal stronghold,” Grelun growled. “They have given me little cause to trust them.”
The Romulan spread his hands, no hint of confirmation or denial in his voice. “Whoeverdestroyed your base, did they not give your soldiers sufficient warning beforehand for a general evacuation? Come now, Grelun. You are well aware that trust has nothing whatsoever to do with any of this. You want to return to Chiaros IV. You can do so either as Ruardh’s condemned prisoner . . . or you can allow the Empire to return you to your ragtag rebellion.”
Grelun stood in silence for several minutes, staring down at the carpet. His impossibly limber fingers flexed unconsciously as he considered the centurion’s offer. Finally, he drew a deep breath and said, “I will accompany you. Willingly.”
Apparently satisfied, the Romulan signed off without another word.
The Chiarosan turned to face Picard and Riker. “This is the best solution, although I trust the Romulans little, and Ruardh’s lapdogs less.”
“You could stay with us,” Riker offered.
“No. Your Federation’s appetite for conquest and penchant for self‑serving trickery makes you little different than the Romulans.” He paused for a moment, before adding, “Were it not for the actions of several of your crew, my opinion of you would be lower still. But you have shown me respect and mercy, even in apparent defiance of your own Federation’s directives.”
Picard nodded slightly at the compliment as he stood and faced the Chiarosan. “Before you leave, Grelun, promise me one thing.”
“You have restored my life to me, Picard. Ask, and if it is within my power, I will see it done.”
“Find a way to bring an honorable peace to your world,” Picard said. “Your people stand at the threshold of a new age in your history, and only one thing can hold you back–the fighting that you do amongst yourselves. You know that it cannot continue indefinitely. Sooner or later, both sides will have to learn to forgive the past, and then move forward if your people are ever to build a future.”
And handing the First Protector her walking papers might be a good place to start,he thought.
“Your people haven’t always made war on each other,” Troi said gently to the Chiarosan. “Perhaps you can make such horrors a thing of the past.”
Grelun did not move for several long seconds. Picard thought that he looked like a man who was being asked to cut off his own head. But the Chiarosan also appeared to realize that he had a great deal to think about.
“Perhaps,” he said after a protracted silence. Turning to face Picard, he said, “Perhaps, one day, peace willcome to pass.”
After Riker had escorted Grelun from the bridge, Picard sank back into his command chair and sighed wearily. “Take us back into Federation space as soon as the transporter room confirms Grelun’s beam‑out,” he said to the conn officer. “Warp nine‑point‑two.”