Batanides seated herself in front of his desk as he set down a pair of steaming cups. She accepted one and took a tentative sip.
Picard settled into his chair, holding his cup while its contents slowly cooled. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve beaten me to the rank of admiral.”
She laughed briefly, a pleasant, liquid sound. “It’s not nearly as much fun as it looks, Jean‑Luc. My advice? Don’t be in too much of a hurry to get promoted.”
“Believe me, I’m not,” he said, tasting his tea. “I’m perfectly happy right here.”
“You have a right to be,” she said over the edge of her cup. “I’ve followed your career since we went our separate ways. You’ve made quite a mark for yourself. Rescuing that ambassador on Milika III. Your years aboard the Stargazer.And then commanding two Federation flagships after that. Pretty impressive.”
He felt a surge of embarrassment. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make, Marta. I don’t think I can encapsulate yourcareer quite so readily.”
Setting her cup down on the desk, she said, “Don’t blame yourself for that, Johnny. When you work for Starfleet Intelligence, you try to keep a low profile.”
Picard tried to hide his surprise, evidently without complete success. He could see that she noticed his reaction.
“Johnny?”
After a considered pause, he said, “Forgive me for saying so, Marta, but I’m not terribly enthusiastic about Starfleet Intelligence.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Three years ago, I became aware that your department had covered up an illegal cloaking device test. That incident nearly cost me the best first officer I ever had.”
She nodded contritely. “The Pegasusaffair. It came to light shortly before I made admiral. ‘Ranar’s folly,’ we called it. It was a blot on the bureau’s reputation, and won’t be repeated. At least not as long as I’m wearing all these pips.”
Though he knew he was unlikely ever to forget or forgive the Pegasusincident, Picard allowed his anger to subside. But he still had unanswered questions about the bureau and its agenda.
“Marta, I’d wager that your presence is proof that Starfleet Intelligence is more than a little interested in the Chiarosan situation. I have to wonder what they know that I don’t. Perhaps the Geminus Gulf isn’t so strategically worthless as the official reports seem to indicate?”
“That would make this whole business a lot simpler, wouldn’t it?” she said, smiling ruefully. “But as far as Intelligence knows, you can take the Geminus Gulf at face value. It consists of one barely habitable inhabited planet, dozens of lifeless star systems, some fluky subspace readings that are probably just instrumentation errors, and about sixty‑six thousand cubic parsecs of otherwise extraordinarily uninteresting space.”
Picard wasn’t quite satisfied with that. “Space in which the Romulans have nevertheless shown a distinct interest.”
“For reasons which probably have more to do with Romulan misdirection than the Gulf’s intrinsic value,” she said with a shrug.
Picard mulled her words over for a moment. If she valued their mutual Academy days as much as he did– and as much as she appeared to–then he could assume that she was telling him the unvarnished truth. He decided to proceed from that assumption.
“Fair enough, Marta. You’ve eliminated the simplebut‑incorrect answer. But what’s the complicatedbutcorrect one?”
She cast a backward glance over her shoulder, as though concerned that someone might overhear, then looked him straight in the eye. “We have reason to believe that the Chiarosan rebels are using Starfleet weapons. Weapons they may have obtained from the missing starship, the Slayton.And that may mean the ship met with foul play.”
That took Picard aback for a moment. If the rebels really were using Starfleet matИriel to carry out their guerrilla campaign, then the Federation could be inadvertently responsible for starting a planetary civil war. Such a development would surely warrant the attention of the highest echelons of Starfleet Intelligence.
But why would the bureau risk such an important officer by sending her into such a volatile situation?
“Forgive me for saying so, Marta,” Picard said carefully. “But I still don’t think you’ve told me everything.”
She smiled a poker player’s smile. “You’re right. And I’m not at liberty to do that, as I’m sure you’re well aware. But I can tell you this: Corey Zweller was the Slayton’s science officer.”
Picard felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. He set his cup on the desk with an audible clinkand struggled for calm. After collecting his thoughts for a moment, he said, “Marta, are you entirely certain that your interest in this matter isn’t . . . personal?”
She stood slowly, her movements calm, her face impassive. But her eyes blazed with an inner fire. “You’re damned right it’s personal, Johnny. But fortunately, rank hath its privileges. That’s why Aubin and I are on yourship and not someone else’s.”
Picard was mildly surprised to discover that Batanides was on a first‑name basis with the ambassador. The man had struck him as rather aloof.
“I assure you, Marta,” he said, meeting her gaze unflinchingly, “I will do everything possible to get to the truth about what’s been happening on Chiaros IV. Andto recover Corey, if he’s still alive. He’d do no less for me.”
Her expression softened, and her smile returned. “Thank you, Jean‑Luc. I knew I could count on you. I’ll see you at the mission briefing.” Then she turned and left the room.
What are friends for?he thought, his gaze drifting to the viewing port and the changeless stars beyond.
As Commander Will Riker exited his quarters, carrying with him a padd, he spied Data turning the corner down the hall. Data called out to him. “Commander, may I walk with you to the briefing?”
Riker turned and grinned good‑naturedly. “Sure, Data.” He waited for the android to catch up to him before resuming on his way. “How are things going?”
By now, Data seemed so at ease with the nonspecific ways in which his human counterparts questioned him, that he barely raised an eyebrow. “By ‘things,’ I assume you mean how the elements of my day are fitting together, rather than the status of the ship or its crew? Things are going well. Prior to going on duty this morning, I reread the first half of the complete works of twentieth‑century horror writer Stephen King, in an attempt to better understand the concept of fear. While I was sitting in my chair, I was suddenly surprised by Spot, who chose a particularly odd moment to decide that my hair needed to be rearranged. I was, for a moment, more frightened by the cat’s actions than I was by the passage I had been reading.”
Riker chuckled, picturing Data wrestling with the feline furball atop his head. “Yes, well, animals have a strange way of behaving sometimes. It’s hard to tell why they do the things they do.”
Data looked befuddled for a moment. “I am sure that animals have a motivation for their actions, just as do all sentient creatures. Whether they are aware of that motive or not is a question perhaps worthy of further study.”
As they walked, Riker spied two men coming toward them in the corridor. The shorter one was Lieutenant Sean Hawk, whom Riker had grown fond of during the short time he had been on the Enterprise.Hawk had amazingly fast reflexes, making him perhaps the best conn officer–other than Data–with whom Riker had ever worked. He also had an astonishing memory, and was a good conversationalist as well.
The man with him was Lieutenant Commander Ranul Keru, the head of the ship’s stellar cartography department. He was a giant of a man, broad‑shouldered and goodhumored. He was bearded, like Riker, but sported an oldfashioned bushy mustache. Keru’s distinctive Trill facial markings were very visible due to his receding hairline. Riker hadn’t spent much time with the man, though he had played against him a few times in games of velocity.