Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
The captain felt his jaw clench. If their mission had been fraught with danger before, it was now doubly so. He had an awful feeling they would all come to regret Admiral McCoy’s actions.
And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all, except monitor communications through his personal terminal and hope for the best.
He cursed beneath his breath. If there was some way he could contribute—some way he could help steer them all to safety, despite the admiral’s ill-advised machinations
But how?
Abruptly, a series of chimes insinuated themselves into his consciousness. There was someone at the door, Picard realized.
Turning toward it, he said, “Come.”
A moment later, the door slid aside and revealed the muscular physique of his Klingon tactical officer. Worf peered at the captain from under the bony protrusion of his brow ridge.
“Sir? I have accumulated additional data on Romulan ship deployments.”
The gleam in the Klingon’s eyes told Picard there was something particularly interesting about the information Worf had gathered. It was gratifying to him that Worf had come to him with the news, rather than to McCoy.
However, he was no longer in command. “Have you apprised the admiral of this information?” the captain asked.
Worf grunted. “I told him that I had it. However, he did not seem very interested. I was advised to …” He frowned. “
File it.”
Picard nodded. “In that case, Lieutenant, have a seat.
The Klingon moved to a chair on the other side of the room. Momentarily putting aside his concern for Riker and the others, the captain gave Worf his undivided attention.
“Apparently,” the tactical officer began, “the sector of space to which the Romulan ships have been sent is bounded by the border opposite the Neutral Zone. They share this border with a race called the Stugg.”
Picard grunted. “The same Stugg who cut off relations with the Federation recently, for no apparent reason?”
“It would appear so,” Worf replied. “A formidable people, according to all records of our dealings with them. However, they have never succeeded in unifying themselves sufficiently to pose a threat.”
“Either to the Federation or anyone else,” the captain added. “So why would the Romulans have committed so many of their vessels to Stugg space?”
The Klingon scowled. It was obvious that he hated the idea of admitting his ignorance—but he had no choice.
“I do not know,” he said finally. “But I would like to.”
Picard nodded. “Continue to keep an eye on the situation, Mister Worf. Perhaps the Romulans—or even the Stugg—will do something that will illuminate their motives for us.”
The tactical officer inclined his massive head. “Aye, sir.” And without further ado he rose and made his exit.
The captain watched the door slide closed behind Worf, then turned again toward the view through his observation port. Like Worf, he wished he knew more about what was going on out there.
But as always, the stars weren’t about to make his job any easier for him. Again, he cursed—this time, out loud.
As long as the Enterprise was someone else’s to command, he could only watch—and wait.
Riker looked around at his new surroundings. A moment ago, he’d been standing on the shuttle, waiting for Geordi to complete the transporter protocols. Now he was in the middle of a narrow, eerily lit corridor, somewhere in an outer arm of the sprawling Romulan installation.
Data was right beside him. Like the first officer, he held his phaser in his right hand and his tricorder in his left Each of them wore a remote transporter control band as well. Together, they scanned for approaching Romulans.
There weren’t any. At least not within a hundred meters or so.
Under normal circumstances, even an antiquated sensor array would have picked up their transport to the surface. However, Geordi had managed to locate a blind spot in the system.
As luck would have it, it allowed them to beam down just outside the magnetic shield. But then, if they