CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Deanna
Troi presented herself on the
Uncertainty,
resentment, anguish and other negative emotions roiled about her, and she was
hard pressed to maintain her equanimity in the face of such a challenge.
In
the midst of the turmoil stood Captain Mantovanni, like the eye of a storm;
silent in her mind, as he had been twice before. From his position behind the
tactical station, he seemed strangely detached, almost as if what was occurring
was somehow beneath his notice; or, perhaps, that it just didn’t mean that much
to him.
It
was apparent, though, that Worf, Warrick and Riker all knew he was there.
As
the first officer himself had done only a few minutes ago, she avoided her
comrades’ eyes and crossed immediately to the captain’s ready room.
“Please,
come in, Counselor,” he acknowledged as the door slid open on her approach.
The
emotional pressure was at least somewhat lessened a room away. Troi applied her
best professional smile and took a seat across from him.
“Yes,
sir?”
Picard
smiled briefly in turn; then his expression changed to one of worry.
“Deanna,
I’m concerned that certain crew members aren’t responding well to the addition
of mission specialists for this particular assignment. I was interested in
hearing your impressions.”
How like the Captain, Troi thought. He’s well aware of the situation, yet he
defers to me.
“If
you’re referring to Dr. Crusher and Lieutenant Worf, sir,” she responded, “I’d
have to agree that there have been some ... difficulties. I don’t think that it
will adversely affect the mission, however.”
Picard
smiled slightly. “I’m well aware that Dr. Crusher is somewhat accustomed to
having the captain’s ear, and being included in meetings whether or not they
directly bear on her department. A man like Commander Warrick, however, sees
her as a... superfluous presence in a strategic or tactical briefing.
“I
agree, though, that they’re capable of working it out, if indeed it’s even
still an issue.” Picard gestured slightly, indicating that she should go on.
Deanna
smiled as she continued. “I think Worf’s dispute with the Commander is more...
primal.”
It
was then that Picard revealed just how much of the situation he understood. He
leaned toward her, and asked, as gently as he could:
“Would
the commander of whom you are speaking be Warrick ... or Riker?”
Though
he’d startled her with the insight, Troi recovered quickly, drew herself again
into a fair semblance of professional bearing, and answered as directly as she
could.
“With
all due respect, sir,” she replied with more than a touch of indignant resolve,
“I believe you’re delving into my private life inappropriately.”
Picard’s
expression hardened slightly. “Perhaps so. Usually how my officers conduct
their personal af–” he began. Troi noted with a distant approval that he’d
narrowly avoided use of the word ‘affairs.’
“–business
is not at all my concern,” he continued, “until
it begins to interfere with the optimal performance of this ship and crew. As
long as you can guarantee me that is not the case...”
“I
assure you, it’s not,” she stated firmly, with a bit more conviction than she
actually felt.
He
nodded. “Very well, then.
“My
thoughts were actually more on Will’s reaction to Captain Mantovanni.”
At
this, Troi looked at once relieved… and puzzled.
“I
haven’t seen or sensed anything.
Captain Mantovanni seems able somehow to shield his emotions as completely as
anyone I’ve ever encountered.” She waited for a moment, allowing Picard a
chance to interject some explanation for this. When none was forthcoming, she
continued, “Has there been some sort of problem, sir?”
“You
could say that,” he affirmed, remembering again the sudden flare of anger his
first officer had directed at the younger man. “I’d like you to talk to Will about
this at your earliest convenience, Deanna.”
“Of
course, sir. I can schedule an appointment ...”
“Riker
to Picard.”
The
captain tapped his comm badge, and responded, “Go ahead, Number One.”
“We’ve
received a transmission from Starfleet Command. It’s Code 47, sir.”
“Very
well. Put it through.”
“Sir,
it requires not only your voice authorization, but Captain Mantovanni’s. He
requests that you join him on the bridge.” The disapproval in Riker’s tone
was evident.
Picard
glanced significantly at Troi, and then told him, “I’ll be there directly.”
He
strode past the counselor, and she fell in behind him. Just before his presence
would have triggered the door, he turned to her and murmured, “I believe I said
a moment before, ‘at your earliest convenience’, Counselor.” He grimaced
slightly, and gestured towards the bridge.
“Make
that at your earliest opportunity.”
Geordi
LaForge had a kind of talent that others had struggled to label over three
millennia, since the first
machines had made his type of skill necessary. He’d heard it called "the
knack", "the touch" and "the eye," as well as other
more esoteric and mystical names. Montgomery Scott had claimed that it was some
odd cousin of the ‘border sight’ his ancestors avowed ran in their families…
and that Geordi had it too.
He
respected Scotty, but wasn’t certain he bought into any of that stuff. He just
knew he was an excellent engineer,
and didn’t worry about why.
His
instincts extended to other things, too—like an ability to just know when it was better to be on the
bridge than in main engineering. It had almost nothing to do with procedures or
protocols. He simply went where his gut told him.
Once
again, his instincts had been good. He’d been at the engineering station when
the communiqué from Starfleet had come in and Commander Riker had summoned
Captain Picard.
To
their credit, neither he nor Troi gave a sign they’d noticed all heads turning
to watch them, as they descended into what Geordi, during one of his more
philosophical musings on poker night, had affectionately labeled “The Pit.”
“Position
report, Mr. Data.”
The
android turned to face the center seat as the captain settled himself. “At our
current speed, we shall reach the Neutral Zone border in four minutes, 52
seconds, sir.”
“All
stop,” Picard declared crisply.
“Answering
all stop, sir,” Ensign Page responded a moment later, as the
“Computer,
deencrypt current Starfleet communiqué Code 47, authorization Picard four seven
alpha tango.”
Mantovanni
had moved down to stand just right of the First Officer’s chair, and gave his
consent as well.
“Computer,
decypher aforementioned communiqué,” he added, “authorization Mantovanni three
two echo sierra.”
The
Federation iconography dominating the main view screen slowly dissolved into an
image of Admiral Nechayev. Boy, she looks
as pleasant as ever, Geordi thought.
He remembered Will Riker once saying that Nechayev was what they meant by the
phrase ‘suicide blonde.’ Then again, who
can blame her? There’s not a lot to be cheerful about, right now.
Her
announcement didn’t make things any better, either.
“Captains,
we’ve received reports from the Thallonian, Shelliak, and Cardassian borders.
All three have moved a significant portion of their fleets to sectors adjoining
Federation space.
“The
Thallonian government assures us that the deployments are merely
transitory—that they are conducting military exercises, and ‘in no way should
their presence near Federation systems concern us’.
“The
Shelliak responded with an intricately worded fifty-five page ‘abbreviated
statement’ that essentially told us their movements were none of our business.
“Starfleet
Command is no longer certain they wish to risk so valuable a commodity as the
Federation flagship on what increasingly seems like a fool’s errand.” Worf
had the good grace not to look overly satisfied at her statement.
“I’m
hoping this message reaches you before you cross into the Neutral Zone. If it does,
you are to reevaluate your situation, and proceed accordingly. If not...
“Carry
out your current orders. Nechayev out.”
An
ominous quiet filled the bridge, and the gathered officers exchanged looks of
concern.
At
last, Riker broke the silence. “It’s a good thing we stopped just short of the
Neutral Zone. At least we have alternatives now.”
“Options?”
Picard waited as they all weighed the possibilities. Then, simultaneously, both
Riker and Mantovanni spoke out.
“I
recommend...”
“I
think we should...”
The
two exchanged uncomfortable looks, and the captain gestured briefly. “Go ahead,
Commander.”
“I
think we should withdraw, sir. If the Romulans have this many allies, the
Federation’s going to need all the ships she has just to defend herself, even with the Klingons on our side.
This whole thing must just be a trick to get us isolated in or near Romulan
space. I think Worf knew what he was talking about in the briefing; we don’t
want to just hand them the
Picard
nodded in acknowledgement of Riker’s reasoning, and then looked up at
Mantovanni.
“Captain?”
Mantovanni
looked almost apologetic. “I disagree.”
Picard’s
gaze flicked almost infinitesimally to Riker, but his Number One remained
expressionless. Returning attenion immediately to his counterpart, he stated
with careful neutrality, “Go on.”
“Sir,
if the Thallonians, Cardassians, Shelliak and Romulans attack the
Federation as one, the location of Enterprise-D
isn’t going to make much difference, tactically speaking. Admittedly, her loss
would be a tremendous psychological blow, but the Federation would have, at
that point, such a massive problem that morale would be at an all-time low,
anyway.
“The
point is moot, though. A simultaneous attack isn’t going to happen.”
“We
can’t know that,” Riker pointed out
heatedly.
“With
absolute certainty? No, Commander, you’re right. We can’t. What we know of the
Romulans, though, makes me think that this is some sort of a set up.”
“Could
you elaborate on that, sir?” inquired Data.
“Well,
think about your own experiences with the Romulans. Their plans and stratagems
tend to be multi-layered—convoluted in the extreme. It’s not like if the
Klingons massed a fleet on the Federation border. Their intentions would be
rather clear.”
“An
attack, unquestionably,” observed Worf.
“Exactly,”
Mantovanni went on. “But Romulans? I think an invasion would have been a sneak
attack… and that they’d hit us with everything they had, in an attempt to
obtain their objective before the Federation and Klingon Empire fully mobilized
and steamrolled them.”
“What
are you recommending, Captain?” Picard asked.
“It’s
my opinion, sir, that the Romulans themselves are undecided as to what they’re
going to do. I have three specific points: One, we suggest to Starfleet Command
that they not redeploy the Federation
fleet to protect against the Shelliak and the Thallonians. It’s got to be some sort of bluff; Two, we
attempt to persuade Admiral Nechayev to conduct an exercise of our own near
Cardassian space—just large enough to
outflank their ‘supposed’ expeditionary force if it were to invade, but not so
large as to bleed our defenses along the Neutral Zone dry; Three, we proceed on
our mission.”
Picard
glanced about. “Any other observations?” When there were no takers, he leaned
closer to his first officer.
“What do you think, Number One?” he
inquired, sotto voce.
Riker
frowned. “It’s risky, sir. If Captain Mantovanni is wrong, the Thallonians and
Shelliak will have an almost free run through Federation space until we
regroup… and by then it may be too late.”
“Mr.
Data?”
The
android regarded his captain with unwavering golden eyes. “I do not intend to
dissemble, sir, but both positions have merit.”
He
leaned back in his command chair, and breathed deeply once. When next he spoke,
his voice had that iron timbre that his crew knew so well.
“Mr.
Worf, break subspace radio silence and contact Starfleet Command. Get me a
secure channel with Admiral Nechayev if possible, and continue your
preparations with Commander Warrick.”
“Aye,
Captain.” Picard’s attention then moved to his chief engineer.
“Geordi,
I’d like you, Mr. Barclay and Lieutenant MacLeod to do what you can and
increase our speed as much as possible. Counselor Troi...?”
“Understood,
sir,” she quickly replied, then crossed to stand before Will Riker.
“Commander,
may I see you in the Observation Lounge?”
He
managed to retain a bit of a smile, and acknowledged, “Of course.”
“Ensign
Page, come about to 117, mark 98. Give me a parabolic course that skirts the
Neutral Zone until we reach the point in Federation space closest to Selerria
Four.’
The
young officer’s hands danced over the controls, and barely two seconds later,
she replied, “Ready, sir.”
“Maximum
warp, Ensign. Engage.
At
that, Picard rose and strode back toward his Ready Room. “Mr. Data, you have
the bridge.”
“Aye,
sir,” he acknowledged.
As
the
“Come
on, Lieutenant, let’s get the extra hamsters on their wheels.”
He
expected a raised eyebrow, or a comment on illogic. Instead, she followed him
in silence.
Just
before the doors closed, though, Data distinctly heard Geordi’s surprised laughter
in response to her assertion.
“I believe gerbils,” she informed him,
“are more efficient.”