CHAPTER TWELVE
S’ton led Joe to a mess hall with a standard table and old but serviceable chairs. The room was clean but shabby, obviously having seen better days. The replicators had been torn out of their niches and in one a large box with a glass door sat. Gesturing at it, Joe asked, “What is that?”
S’ton glanced at it dismissivly before sitting down. “It’s a microwave cooker. Please, be seated.” Once again, S’ton looked like a stereotypical Vulcan, his face impassive. The two still unidentified Klingons took up positions at the door. Joe cocked an eyebrow at S’ton and pulled out a chair. Sitting down, he placed his arms on the table and folded his hands. He paused for a moment and took a deep, unneeded breath.
“About nine hundred years ago a Starfleet captain named Picard went on vacation,” he began. S’ton lifted an eyebrow. “Hear me out. This is relevant.” Joe paused until S’ton nodded, then he continued. “He liked archeology and was exploring an ancient ruin when he found-“
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“-an honest to goodness Preserver outpost, Will!” Riker smiled at Picard’s obvious enthusiasm. “And there’s more, Will. I think I found an Iconian gate switch!”
Riker frowned up at the viewscreen as the Artemis maneuvered towards the Enterprise’s shuttle bay. “You mean like the one we found…”
“Exactly, Number One!” Picard seemed almost…smug. Vash stuck her head into the picture.
“He’s been so full of himself it’s a wonder there’s room for me aboard,” she kidded. Riker smiled but he caught an odd, slightly concerned look on her face that made his heart stutter for a second. Catching her eye, an almost knowing look passed between them.
“Captain, you are clear to land in the main shuttle bay,” Riker said, wondering if his failure to mention Joe would come back to haunt him.
“Thank you, Number One,” Picard said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes. Artemis out.”
As Riker and LaForge rode the turbolift over to the shuttle bay to meet the Captain they both stood in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Then Riker spoke.
“Computer, halt turbolift.” The car came to an immediate stop. Turning to Geordi, he said, “Geordi, I think we should make the Captain aware of the situation he may have created.” Before Geordi could reply Riker cut him off. “I’m not saying we should tell him about Mr. Smith, just that we should let him know the possible consequences of his actions. What do you think?”
LaForge waited a moment before replying. “If we don’t tell the Captain, then he’ll probably put us on some assignment that will not help the situation. But if we do tell the Captain, he’ll want to know how we know what we do. I’m not sure which option holds the greater danger.”
Riker looked at him in a long, contemplative stare. Then he sighed and said, “Geordi, I think we’ll have to tell him something. Otherwise, we’ll be patrolling the Neutral Zone or mapping spatial anomalies in Sector 47 or something like that. If he asks you, you have my direct order to cite the temporal Prime Directive and refuse to respond.” LaForge nodded as Riker said, “Computer, resume.” The turbolift dashed off to the shuttle bay. Riker tapped his combadge. “Riker to Seven of Nine.”
“Seven here, Commander.”
“Where Captain Picard is concerned-I may tell him what is happening but if you are asked, you are to cite the temporal Prime Directive, is that understood?”
There was a pause and then , “Understood, Commander.”
“Make sure you pass the word to Data, Dr. Crusher, and Deanna as well. And try to do it on the Q.T. if you can.”
“The Q.T., Commander?” came the response. Riker rolled his eyes at Geordi, who was grinning silently next to him.
“Just don’t let the Captain or Vash know what you’re doing, ok, Seven.”
“Affirmative, Commander,” she replied.
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Both of the Klingons glared at Joe as if he were a Romulan. S’ton was impassive, but Joe could detect a rising flush in his face. His voice was ice as he spoke.
“You would erase us, erase all that we are as if we had never been?”
Joe considered the odds of his being eradicated before answering. He was very careful how he phrased his words.
“Look at it this way, S’ton. If I’m successful the Klingons will still have Qu’onos, the Fleet will still exist and you, yourself, may be living a life far beyond anything you’ve ever experienced in the here and now. More importantly than all of that, though, the horrific loss of life and knowledge that the Demons caused would be averted. Isn’t that worth the risk or consequences?”
S’ton glared at him. “But we would be gone,” he said. “What good is it, this plan of yours, to us?”
Joe looked at him a moment. “When was the last time you did anything that the Demons didn’t allow?” he asked. “As Captain of this ship, as sad as it is, you are in command of the flagship of whatever remains of Starfleet and the Federation. You are in a position to make a real change.” He paused for a second to collect his thoughts and then, inspired, he said, “Kirk would have jumped at the chance. He was a gambler, not afraid to take chances.”
S’ton eyed him wearily. “Do not think I am oblivious to your attempts to persuade me. I would be remiss, however, if I continued to allow you to operate under a misconception. You see, I am not the captain of this ship.”
Joe gave him an exasperated look. “Well, then let me bring my proposal directly to this ship’s captain!” he demanded. The two Klingons looked uncomfortably at S’ton, and S’ton looked down at the table in a troubled fashion.
“I don’t think you would like him,” he said.
“Why, is his name Tom Paris?” Joe shot back.
S’ton looked confused. “No, his name is not Tom Paris. You will not like him, though.”
“You never know,” Joe replied, “I’ve been known to get along with people that might be described as difficult or unlikable. I might surprise you. Besides, he or she is the captain of your ship. Why would you say that?”
S’ton glanced at the two Klingons, both of whom made sure their eyes were elsewhere, before answering. “Nobody likes him,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“I’m willing to take the chance,” Joe said magnanimously.
“Very well,” S’ton replied. “Come with me.” And he stood and left the mess hall, his pet Klingons in tow. Joe shrugged and followed.
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“Welcome back, Captain.” Riker’s greeting was neutral, at best. “I hope you had fun.”
“Oh, we had a great time. Who wouldn’t want to be cooped up in a small scout vessel with Jean Luc for two weeks?” The warm smile Vash cast at Picard took the sting from her words. As Picard gave her a quick grin a crewman stepped up the gangway of the Artemis to fetch their bags.
“Hold on a moment, Crewman Tavis,” Picard said. “There’s a tricorder on the pilot’s station. Would you bring that to me, please?” Tavis nodded and ducked into the little ship as Vash and Picard reached the shuttle bay deck.
“Welcome back, Captain,” Geordi said, holding his hand out. Picard shook it in greeting.
“Thank you, Mr. LaForge. While it was an exciting trip it is good to be home.”
“You said you found a Preserver outpost,” Riker prompted.
“Yes, yes, Will, it’s all on my tricorder. You aren’t going to believe what was inside. It’s the find of the century!” Picard was practically bubbling with energy. “But I suspect Vash and I should clean up first. Shall we meet in Ten Forward at, say, eighteen hundred hours? Oh, thank you, Tavis,” Picard took the proffered tricorder. “A hot shower with real water sounds pretty good about now.” He tucked the tricorder protectively under his arm.
“You got that right,” quipped Vash. “It’s going to take hours to get the dust out of my hair!” she declared.
Riker smiled at them mildly. “Eighteen hundred hours it is, sir.”
“Come along, m’dear.,” Picard said, taking Vash’s arm. “We mustn’t smell up the shuttle bay.” Vash just giggled as they walked away. Riker and LaForge watched them go.
“I hate to ruin his good mood,” LaForge said.
Riker looked at him grimly. “Don’t worry about it, Geordi, that’s my responsibility.”
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Joe followed S’ton onto the freighter’s bridge and was immediately struck by an odd contrast. The holographic command controls at the various stations were years beyond the Federation technology he knew, but the condition of those systems was suspect at best. They were obviously quite old, wavering in and out of focus, although new to him. Various crewmembers were scattered about, performing their duties. The captain’s chair, located in its traditional place in the center of the room, had a leg hanging over the left arm. The uniform showed stains and the boot was scuffed and worn. “You wanted to meet the captain,” S’ton murmured. “There he is.” Joe braced himself for disappointment. S’ton cleared his throat. “Captain, our guest would like a word with you.”
The chair swiveled around and Joe got his first look at the Captain. He was a small man, dressed in clothing that resembled the corsairs of another age. His shirt might once have been some sort of silk but the ravages of food and drink had rendered it distasteful. His breeches were tan, and bunched in odd places. His eyes peered dimly at Joe, and Joe couldn’t decide if it was a lack of visual acuity or the effects of the contents of the tankard he held in his right hand. His ears lacked lobes and blended down to his neck. He smiled at Joe and took a drink. “So this is the source of the mysterious power surge?” He peered harder at Joe, and then jumped up, spilling what looked like bloodwine on his already stained shirt. “I know you!” he declared. “We met at the inter-species medical conference on Bajor, um,” his eyes grew distant and a befuddled look crossed his face. “About seven hundred and fifty years ago. You’re that doctor from the Voyager!”
“Sorry. That wasn’t me. Perhaps my predecessor? My name is Joe Smith.” The Captain walked up the steps to the back riser and pushed his booze-sodden face close to Joe’s.
“So you aren’t the holographic doctor I met so many years ago? I remember how the light reflected off of your bald head.” Joe shut off his olfactory senses and primly replied, “No, I was a back-up module of his that was left behind in the Delta Quadrant. I’ve just returned to Earth.”
“Well, pleased to meet you anyway.” Extending his hand he said, “I’m Weyoun Ten, captain of this rustbucket, last of my line and last of the Vorta. I’ve been waiting over seven hundred years for some intelligent conversation! Glad to have you aboard!” Joe shook his hand tentatively, not wanting to spill Weyoun’s already precarious drink.
“Nice to meet you,” he said politely.
“I can’t believe a hologram survived this long!” He paused for a moment. “So what did you want to see me about?”
“I’d like you to return me to the surface so I can travel back in time and stop Picard from letting the Demons loose.”
Weyoun looked at him owlishly. “If you do that, will the Founders survive or will the Demons still get them?”
“I couldn’t say,” replied Joe, “But there’s a good chance they would have survived if it weren’t for the Demons.”
“Okay,” replied Weyoun, grinning. Turning to S’ton’s bodyguards, he said, “You-go fetch me another bloodwine. And you,” he pointed at the bigger of the two, “reduce him to his component atoms or photons or whatever. The Founders are in hell and I don’t have any plans to let them out.” He smiled at Joe. “Sorry. I haven’t had one of those damn shapeshifters around to push my genetic buttons in a long time and I have no plans to change that. You understand.” Bloodwine spilled to the deck unnoticed as Weyoun waved his hand to encompass the whole galaxy. “Don’t need those bastards back,” he muttered, staring at the spill with glazed, unseeing eyes. The larger Klingon drew his disruptor.
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