Star Trek: The Next Generation - 119 - Armageddon's Arrow (14 page)

14

“Pressure’s equalized and the exterior docking hatch is secure, sir. We can head in whenever you’re ready.”

Nodding at the report from Lieutenant Kirsten Cruzen as the security officer pressed the control to open the interior hatch leading into the
Arrow
’s landing bay, Picard watched the reinforced door cycle open before she and another member of the
Enterprise
’s security detail, Lieutenant T’Sona, stepped through the portal and into the spacious chamber. The first thing Picard saw as he followed them into the bay was the newly arrived transport craft, its engines or other power systems still whining as the ship rested near the massive exterior hatch.

“Captain,” said Worf, his voice low, “as first officer, I must state for the record that I am concerned with your decision to meet the Golvonek here, rather than on the
Enterprise
.”

“I’d expect nothing less, Number One, and your concerns are duly noted.” The last communication Picard had shared with Fleet Legate Mynlara had been short and formal, at least with respect to her responses as he had again explained the situation with the hibernating Raqilan and the need for Doctor Crusher and her medical team to watch over the revival process. Now that the Raqilan had emerged from their cryogenic suspension and were resting in the
Arrow
’s medical facility, Picard—conscious of the potential Prime Directive minefield he was traversing, to say nothing of the possible threats to future history—had advised his wife to keep their interactions with her patients to the minimum required for medical purposes. Otherwise, she was to avoid direct discussion with them until the Golvonek’s arrival.

The hiss of escaping air filtered across the landing bay, and Picard saw that a hatch on the side of the transport craft was beginning to open. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Cruzen and T’Sona moving to flank him and Worf.

“Here we go,” said Cruzen. Ordered to keep their phasers holstered, the security officers stood with their hands clasped behind their backs. Worf also was armed, but Picard had opted to eschew carrying a weapon for this meeting, unwilling to communicate the wrong message to Mynlara for this, their first official meeting.

He said nothing in response to Cruzen’s remark, his attention fixed on the Golvonek transport as he detected movement inside the open hatch, from which now protruded a short, narrow ramp leading down to the landing bay’s deck. A figure appeared in the entryway, and Picard recognized Fleet Legate Mynlara as the first person to disembark. She was followed by four additional Golvonek, who like her wore maroon bodysuits with varying degrees of embroidery on their sleeves. Though she appeared to carry no weapons, each of her four escorts wore what could only be sidearms in holsters strapped to their chests. The moment Mynlara’s gaze found his, her features seemed to soften and she quickened her pace, with her entourage fanning out to either side as she walked toward the center of the immense chamber.

“Captain Picard,” she said when they were but steps apart. Arms at her sides, she bowed her head, and he forced himself not to react when she reached out to take his left hand in both of hers before raising it so that his palm rested for a brief moment on her forehead. “On behalf of the people of Uphrel, it is my honor to stand with you this day.”

Doing his best to mimic her greeting and placing the palm of her left hand on his forehead, Picard noted how her yellow-green skin was cool to the touch. “Fleet Legate Mynlara, the privilege is mine to stand with you this day representing the United Federation of Planets. You honor us with your welcome, and I sincerely hope that our meeting is but the beginning of a long, rewarding friendship between our peoples.”

Mynlara nodded, her expression brightening. “That is my fervent hope, as well. That someone would travel from distant stars to visit us is but one of the dreams that fire many youthful imaginations. While we obviously have knowledge of life on other worlds, we always believed that the vastness of space would ensure our isolation. I certainly never thought I would live to see such a meeting, let alone participate in one.” She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “How is it that we are able to understand one another?”

“It’s called a universal translator,” Picard explained. “Essentially, our ship’s computer has been studying the data files stored aboard this vessel in order to interpret the native languages and build a database which it can then use in collaboration with our communications systems. By the time you and I spoke while you were en route here, our computer had constructed a comprehensive language database it could reference during all our subsequent interactions.”

For the first time, the Golvonek officer emitted what Picard took to be a laugh. “I will not even pretend that I comprehend any of what you just described, Captain.”

Though her demeanor was warm, he still sensed an underlying tension. No doubt she harbored at least some small fear that all might not be what it seemed. Perhaps her perception was guided by the knowledge or at least suspicion that her two ships, impressive though they may be by Golvonek and even Raqilan standards, would be bested by the
Enterprise
if the situation devolved to a point that an altercation was the only option. Then there was the
Arrow
, which carried more than enough power to destroy his ship and the Golvonek vessels.

Mynlara introduced her second-in-command, a male Golvonek named Vedapir who held the rank of “foctine,” and the rest of her party. As he introduced her to Worf and his security detail, Picard noted Mynlara’s fascination with Worf and T’Sona.

“You truly represent a number of different worlds, Captain.”

“Indeed. I am a human, and my home planet is called Earth. Commander Worf is a Klingon, a proud warrior race. The Federation and the Klingon Empire once were bitter enemies, but we now are allies, and Mister Worf is one of the finest officers with whom it’s been my honor to serve. I implicitly trust him with my very life. And Lieutenant T’Sona is from the planet Vulcan. Representatives from her world were the first to travel to my homeworld and make their presence known, and our two civilizations have been allies for centuries.”

Once Mynlara had introduced her own escorts, Picard said, “Fleet Legate, I know that you probably have any number of questions about us, and I’m happy to answer to the best of my ability. We also have questions, not just about your people but the Raqilan, as well.”

“What I know of the Raqilan comes from our history texts,” Mynlara replied, “and my experience fighting against them.” Her tone lost some of its warmth. “In truth, Captain, I have never even seen a Raqilan face-to-face. Such meetings are . . . rare.”

Nodding in understanding, Picard realized that the hostilities between the Golvonek and the Raqilan seemed to possess at least some of the same characteristics as the twenty-second-century Earth-Romulan War. No ground battles were fought, even on planets or moons which had been disputed during the conflict, and according to official records no meeting had ever had taken place between a human and Romulan. Indeed, according to those same accounts, the first true meeting had taken place more than a century later. Picard had always found that hard to swallow, believing as many amateur and professional historians did that such a far-reaching conflict had to have included head-on confrontations by at least some of the people who had waged those battles.

Suppressing an urge to comment on the nature of a war in which the identity of one’s enemy is kept in shadow, Picard said, “The two Raqilan aboard this vessel are currently in the care of my chief medical officer.”

“They have been revived?” Mynlara asked. “I was not aware that the process had progressed to that point.”

Picard replied, “It happened rather quickly. We are still endeavoring to understand this ship’s onboard systems, and my people have proceeded with extreme care so as not to damage anything, to say nothing of wishing to avoid harming the Raqilan. However, I have ordered that the crew not be disturbed, pending your arrival.” He still was uncomfortable with the fact that he and his people appeared to have walked into the middle of the decades-long conflict between the Raqilan and the Golvonek, and that was before taking into consideration the complication presented by the
Arrow
and its mission.

“This ship and its crew are now my responsibility, Captain,” Mynlara said. “I trust this will not be an issue?”

Shaking his head, Picard replied, “Certainly not, although I am concerned with the health of the Raqilan crew members. My medical officer informs me that their recovery may be hindered by the lingering effects of their prolonged hibernation.”

“I must confess to some confusion on this point. While I understand the basic concept of placing someone into . . . hibernation . . . I was not aware that such technology had advanced to common use by the Raqilan.” Mynlara glanced around the landing bay. “Of course, this vessel, if it also was developed by the Raqilan, comes as something of a surprise, as well. Our best intelligence reports do not indicate such a ship even being constructed. My superiors will be most interested in studying it and questioning its crew.”

Doing his best to sidestep, at least for a time, questions about the
Arrow
, Picard said, “You mentioned before that the crew would be considered prisoners of war. Does that mean that they’re entitled to certain rights and protections?”

Mynlara replied, “Of course. Though very few prisoners have been taken by either side, at least during my tenure in the Protective Directorate, we have very strict laws and other guidelines regarding the treatment of such persons. They will be questioned, of course, but they will not be mistreated.”

“A far better fate for them than if the circumstances were reversed,” said one of her escorts, and the fleet legate did not attempt to hide the glare of disapproval she cast in his direction. Duly chastened, the male Golvonek officer bowed his head and said nothing else.

Returning her attention to Picard, Mynlara said, “Though we are at war, Captain, we are not without principles. The crew will be well treated. Now, please take me to them.”

*   *   *

Turning at the opening of the medical facility’s main door, Crusher suppressed a smile. Jean-Luc was accompanied not only by Worf and a security detail but also several Golvonek. Having been briefed on the captain’s interactions with the commander of the approaching alien vessels, it took her just a few seconds to realize that these were Golvonek military officers.

“Fleet Legate Mynlara,” Picard said after everyone had entered the room, “please allow me to introduce my chief medical officer, Doctor Beverly Crusher. She has been overseeing the Raqilan’s revival.” Turning to the doctor, he asked, “I trust your patients are doing well?”

Crusher replied, “Their metabolic functions have all stabilized, Captain, and they’re currently resting in what I suppose is a patient recovery area.”

“Fleet Legate Mynlara has requested to see them,” Picard said. “Will doing so interfere with your efforts?”

“I can’t really call them our efforts, Captain.” She gestured to the workstations and other equipment crammed into the room. “Most of the hard work is being handled by the ship’s computer. This facility is fitted with something similar to our biobeds. There are a dozen of them in what I’m calling the patient ward, and while the technology is different from our own, of course, thanks to the translation matrix we’re able to interpret most of the readings, though I’m still leaning pretty heavily on our own computer interface.” The doctor paused, drawing a breath before proceeding into what she knew might quickly become a sensitive topic. “As I said, the Raqilan are resting, but they’re still sedated following an incident after their revival. Though we’ve found no indications of any problems which might stem from their prolonged hibernation, I’d request that they be given sufficient time to fully recover before subjecting them to anything too strenuous.”

She emphasized the last word while studying Jean-Luc’s face, but her husband’s features betrayed nothing. As expected, he was maintaining a professional demeanor in the presence of the Golvonek, not just for the sake of proper protocol but also—she knew—as something of a simple security measure. The practice had been born out of a brief discussion that had taken place at the outset of their marriage with respect to how they would interact in front of the crew. Jean-Luc had been a stickler for rules, regulations, and decorum since she had first met him all those years ago, but Crusher had witnessed the measured softening of the rigid, often unwavering façade he had fashioned at the start of his Starfleet career. Loath as he might be to admit it to anyone—save a handful of close, trusted friends—he had become a happier, more content person during his tenure as captain of the
Enterprise
, even before he and Crusher had finally allowed their true feelings for each other to guide them toward an even richer, more fulfilling life together.

Of course, now Jean-Luc’s concern likely revolved around another aspect of that brief conversation he had shared with her, about not wanting to alert strangers such as Mynlara and her escorts that Crusher and he shared a relationship beyond that of doctor and captain. As Worf had stated it in his usual blunt fashion, it was a poor tactic to offer such personal and potentially exploitive information to someone who had not yet achieved a level of trust.