Star Trek - Requiem. Part 12

The commodore smiled. "Forgive me, Mr. Hill. But we get visitors only rarely, and none have ever come to us as mysteriously as you did."

He let the comment hang in the air as the servers brought out the main course, a fish dish that Picard recognized as salmon in a cognac cream sauce. Next, the servers poured white wine from gla.s.s bottles.

Odd, thought Picard. Travers's apparently refined tastes seemed at odds with his coa.r.s.e exterior. No doubt, given time, the commodore would be an interesting man to know.

Again, Travers eyed him. "Do you know much about Earth's second world war, Mr. Hill?"

"I remember a bit of what I learned in school," the captain replied.

The commodore put down his utensils to address Picard. "The story goes that the American forces were often in the position of having to determine rather quickly whether or not other soldiers were German infiltrators. It's said that the Americans would ask the solider in question what wine to drink with fish. If the person answered correctly, they knew he could not have been American." Travers leaned forward slightly. "Dr. Santos tells me you are from France. Do you know much about wine, Mr. Hill?"

"I did pick up a bit at home," Picard replied. "Where I am from, it was difficult not to."

"What do you think of this wine?" the commodore asked pointedly.

The captain was very aware of the silence that had descended on the room. Keeping his face neutral, he reached for his gla.s.s and took a sip. After making his determination, he nodded his head diplomatically.

"Considering your relative isolation, good wine is sure to be scarce," Picard remarked.

"What do you mean?" Travers probed.

"Well, unless I miss my guess, this is Chateau Briar, vintage twenty-one ninety-one. As a rule, a good year. However, one-fourth of the Briar crop was damaged by frost that year. As a result, a commensurate portion of that vintage was rendered somewhat bland. I suspect that your dealer was not entirely scrupulous."

The commodore's face betrayed the first genuine emotion of the evening for him: surprise. The others around the table kept their expressions carefully neutral-except for Julia, who was grinning behind her napkin.

"I apologize," Picard said to Travers. "I didn't mean to insult your choice. But ..."

"I did ask," the commodore supplied. He was smiling, but it seemed to the captain that the good humor did not extend to his eyes. "You are something of an enigma, Mr. Hill. You really don't seem much like a merchant commander."

Picard glanced at Julia. "I have heard that before. Nevertheless, that is what I am, or was, until recently."

"For one thing, you're remarkably healthy. Did Dr. Santos mention that to you?"

"No," the captain replied, immediately on his guard.

Travers pressed on. "Besides that mysterious artificial heart, which my people are still trying to figure out, you are free of any signs of ill health whatsoever."

Picard considered his wine. "More a credit to my doctors than to myself, I am sure."

The commodore grunted. "Then your doctors must be really extraordinary, Mr. Hill. Our tests show absolutely no sign of past injury-no visible scar tissue, no healed fractures, not even the surgical scars one would expect from a cardiac replacement operation. Moreover, your lungs and blood are completely free of even the most minute traces of the pollutants and gases that starfaring crews are regularly exposed to."

An unexpected turn, thought the captain. He had known cardiac replacement would be trouble, but had hoped that his story of alien manufacture would satisfy Travers at least temporarily. Still, it was difficult to explain the differences in his body wrought by a century of medical advances. Techniques for healing wounds and repairing bones were much more sophisticated in his day than in the commodore's.

Stealing a glance at Julia, Picard could see by the set of her mouth that she was becoming annoyed, presumably at Travers. Certainly, she had the same questions, but was planning to wait and ask Picard about his medical history when they were alone. The commodore's public questions were both a breach of privacy and in very bad taste for dinner conversation.

But Travers was obviously unconcerned. He had leveled his gaze at his visitor and was not going to back off. "And do you know why it is," the commodore continued, "that you are immune to the common cold?"

Picard found anger rising in his throat, and had to fight down the impulse to respond more strongly to Travers's accusing tone. Reminding himself that the commodore was merely doing his best to protect his people, the captain kept silent. He didn't have to like Travers's methods of inquiry, but he did have to respect the man's position.

Meeting the commodore's gaze squarely, Picard replied, "No, I was not aware of that immunity. And as for the other peculiarities you noted, all I can say is that I have in the past sought treatment from alien physicians, who apparently did a better job than I realized."

The dining room never recovered its light atmosphere. The remainder of dinner and dessert pa.s.sed quickly. When it was over, Travers thanked them all for coming. Then he directed his attention to Picard again.

"Mr. Hill, would you mind staying behind for a few moments? There's something I'd like to discuss privately with you."

Julia immediately spoke up. "Can it wait, Commodore? Mr. Hill must be exhausted. I'm sure he would like to go back to his quarters to rest."

Travers eyed her pointedly. "No, Doctor, I don't think it can wait. Mr. Hill?"

"Of course," the captain answered.

Picard and Travers stood as the others were ushered out. When they were alone, the commodore turned to his guest.

"Who are you really, Mr. Hill?"

"I don't understand," Picard replied evenly.

"I believe you do. Julia considers you charming and something of a puzzle. I agree with the puzzle part, but I think you're dangerous. Very dangerous."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Commodore, but I am a simple-"

"d.a.m.n that!" Travers shouted. "I don't know who or what you are, but you're not a merchant captain. You're playing some kind of a game with me, and that means you're jeopardizing the lives of everyone in this colony. You don't belong here, mister. I can feel it."

The commodore composed himself for a moment and then continued. "When I was at the academy, we studied star charts of this and the surrounding sectors. You know what they said? 'Here there be dragons.' Now, it was someone's idea of a joke to use old mapmaker nomenclature, but there are still rumors about this part of s.p.a.ce. Legends about dragons, shapes.h.i.+fters, and every other kind of monster you can imagine.

"The officer in me recognizes that most of that talk is just old myths, the kind that have circulated since a s.h.i.+p meant only a vessel that floated. But I've been in Starfleet for thirty-eight years, and I've seen enough to realize that most stories born in s.p.a.ce have some basis in fact. And sometimes those facts are unpleasant."

Travers brought his face close to Picard's. "Now, it's my job to initiate peaceful contact with alien races whenever possible, and I take that job seriously. However, it is also my responsibility to protect the five hundred and twelve people under my command. You may not understand what that's like, but understand this: If you're lying to me, I'll find out about it. If you're here peacefully, fine. But if you pose any danger to my people, you'll wish you had never even heard of Cestus Three.

"In the meantime, I think you're hiding behind a good doctor, who for some reason trusts you. I invite you to come out of hiding, Mr. Hill-and tell me the truth. That is, if you have the courage."

The commodore considered Picard for a moment in the silence that followed. In that moment, the captain wanted to tell Travers at least a portion of the truth. But as before, he kept his silence.

"I didn't think so," observed the commodore. "You're dismissed."

Outside, Picard found Julia waiting. "I'm sorry, Dixon. If I had any idea that he would behave so-"

"It's all right," he told her. "Believe it or not, I understand the commodore very well."

They headed for the residence area. "I'm not sure that this a.s.signment was good for him," she remarked. "Even though he presides over dozens of families, as a commander, a family wasn't feasible for him. I think he needed one. It would have made him a better man."

Picard nodded. "It is one of the things many of us give up for a life in s.p.a.ce."

"I know what you mean," Julia said, becoming thoughtful. "I don't regret my choices, but a career on the frontier of anything doesn't leave room for much else." Considering the captain, she allowed the silence to carry for a moment.

"It's funny. I don't remember making a decision to skip family life. I just became wrapped up in my work and kept postponing and postponing until the decision seemed to have been made for me."

Picard let disbelief show in his face. "I'm sorry, Julia, but I can't believe that there has never been someone special for you."

The doctor smiled wryly. "Oh, there have been a number of someones, and some of them have been special, but none of them stands out. I used to wonder if the person I was waiting for even existed." Julia punctuated her words with a short laugh. "Then again, if he's an alien, this is the perfect place to run into him. How about you? Was there ever a time ... ?"

He shook his head. "No, it never seemed quite possible. For one thing, I was never in one place long enough."

Julia stopped beneath a lightpost and turned to face him. "You know, Dixon, I think I was right about you."

He met her gaze directly. "How so?"

She shrugged. "My first impression was that you looked like a good man."

Picard looked into her eyes, so open and vulnerable. "I think my first impression of you was correct as well."

"And what was that?"

"I thought you were lovely," he said.

Julia smiled again. "As I recall, you were suffering from a moderate concussion that was affecting your vision."

"Well, then," he went on, "my more sober state of mind has borne out that first impression."

Julia's smile faded and she leaned into him, so close he could feel the warmth of her face. Then the kiss came, firm and tender. Picard responded briefly, and they broke apart at the same time.

For a moment, her face remained open, then closed behind a wall of self-consciousness. "I'm sorry. That wasn't very professional of me. You are, after all, still my patient." She took a step back, composing herself. "I will stop by tomorrow to see how you are. You know the way back, don't you?"

Nodding, Picard watched as she walked away. Grateful for her retreat, he continued to his quarters. Julia was just the sort of complication he was striving to avoid. He couldn't have emotional ties to people who would so shortly ...

Not when those ties could alter a history that he had no right to change.

"Mr. Hill," came a voice from behind him.

The captain turned to see Lieutenant Harold striding to catch up with him. "Sorry, sir, but I'm supposed to see that you, ah-"

"It's quite all right, Lieutenant. You're under orders," Picard a.s.sured him.

With his escort, the captain made his way back to his quarters. Though he wasn't certain, he guessed that Harold would be stationed outside the door at least until he was replaced by another person. Now that Travers had made his suspicions clear, Picard doubted that he would be shy about letting his guest know how closely he was being watched. The situation complicated the captain's plans significantly.

And Julia was an additional complication. He would have to keep his judgment absolutely clear. In the end, he would do what he had to do.

Yet the idea of sneaking out of the outpost like a thief in the night left Picard cold. Up until then, his unease with his plan had simply been a dark undercurrent to his thoughts. But now that he began to think in practical and immediate terms of his escape, it hit him: he would be running out on these people.

Julia and the rest of the colonists were not mere historical figures-at least not yet. They were living beings, Starfleet personnel-whom Picard had taken an oath to protect. And that oath did not specify the time periods in which those people lived.

Once again, he saw Julia's face ... her pleasure at sharing things with a stranger she should have been suspicious of, but trusted instead. Then he thought of Travers's words.

The captain had never been called a coward before -certainly not by a fellow officer. And despite the years that separated their service, the man was a fellow officer.

What's more, Picard still couldn't muster an ounce of indignation-because he couldn't be entirely sure that Travers wasn't right.

Chapter Six.

PICARD SAT on the edge of his bed and sighed. Since his arrival on Cestus III, he had received regular visits from Dr. Santos-but not today. Apparently, he decided, she was too embarra.s.sed by the events of the night before.

Truth to tell, the captain was embarra.s.sed as well. He could not blame his behavior on the evening's beverage; he'd had more to drink every night with dinner as a child. No, it was not the wine that had intoxicated him to the point of forgetting-if only for a moment-who and where he was.

It was Julia who had done that. Picard had a diffcult time even thinking of her other than by her first name now. After all, she was already more than a doctor-she was a friend to him. And he knew she could have become even more than that, if he'd let her.

But like her, he was a professional. Not just a man lost in s.p.a.ce and time, but an officer-with an officer's responsibilities. And like it or not, he had to put those responsibilities first.

Which is why he'd dedicated this morning to pondering his situation-and the fact that unless he could alert his first officer to his whereabouts, he would never see his own era again. Unfortunately, though he'd gone over it and over it, he still could not see a solution.

Yet there had to be a way to contact Will. There had to be. It was only a matter of finding it.

The captain kept coming back to his communicator, useless as it was. If only there were a way of preserving its signal long enough for it to be detected a hundred years from now. Then Riker could recover it and know not only where he was, but-by virtue of the s.h.i.+p's nucleonic dating techniques-when he was.

However, even in the twenty-fourth century, no one had developed a power source with that kind of staying power. There simply wasn't a need for it. And if it wasn't around in the twenty-fourth century, it certainly wouldn't be around in the twenty-third.

Forget the communicator, he told himself. Think of something else. A signal that will be recognized by neither the colonists nor the Gorn, when they arrive-but will be seen and understood by your Number One a century hence.

Something detectable by long-range sensors. Something which could not be mistaken for a natural formation or phenomenon. Something that could only have originated with- His thoughts were cut short by a whistling at his door. "Come," Picard responded, appreciative that his visitor hadn't just barged in, as he or she could have. After all, he was still under surveillance here.

As the doors hissed open, they revealed the ident.i.ty of his caller. The captain found himself smiling before he could prevent it. But then, she was smiling, too.

"Julia," he said, acknowledging her. So she had decided to come by after all, embarra.s.sment or no embarra.s.sment. And despite the ramifications, he found that he was very glad to see her.

"In the flesh," she replied. "And I've got some very exciting news."

Picard wondered a little warily what that might be. "Yes?" he prompted.

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "No. Come to think of it, I won't tell you." She held out her hand to him. "I'll show you."

Accepting her hand, he allowed her to guide him outside-and in the direction of the sensor control facility.

The Bon Amar.

Riker rolled the name around in his head. Six s.p.a.ceworthy s.h.i.+ps, he thought, running his fingers through his hair. An opportunity to cut down their search time drastically, maybe even within the parameters established by Admiral Kowalski... .

Abruptly, a high-pitched beep intruded on his cogitations. Turning to the door, he said, "Come in."

He wasn't sure whom he'd expected, but it wasn't Deanna Troi. He was surprised-and pleasantly so.

"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked.

Riker smiled wearily. "Absolutely not." Leaning back in his chair, away from his computer console, he indicated an empty chair across the room.