Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [80]
Picard tapped the communicator on the left side of his chest. “This is the captain. What is it, Mister Worf?”
Silence for a moment. “Sir, I believe Admiral McCoy has abdicated his command of the Enterprise.”
Picard looked at the counselor. She obviously had no more idea what Worf was talking about than did the captain himself.
“Abdicated?” he echoed out loud.
“That is correct, sir,” the Klingon confirmed. “Admiral McCoy received a message from Governor Tharrus of Constanthus—a message in which the governor informed him that he had identified the admiral and associated him with Ambassador Spock.”
The captain cursed beneath his breath. “Go no further, Mister Worf. I get the picture. But are you certain that Admiral McCoy has abandoned his post?”
“As certain as I can be,” the lieutenant responded. “As soon as he realized what he’d done, he turned pale and left the bridge.”
Picard nodded. “Thank you, Mister Worf. I’ll look into this. Picard out.”
Troi looked saddened. “That poor man,” she said.
“I agree,” the captain commented. “He may have been misguided, but he meant well. Tharrus’s response must have crushed him.”
“I should speak with him,” the counselor decided.
“Computer,” said Picard. “Locate Admiral Leonard McCoy.”
A melodic female voice provided the answer. “Admiral McCoy is in the Ten-Forward lounge.”
The captain exchanged a glance with Troi. “It seems the admiral’s psyche is in good hands,” he observed. “Your services may be put to better use on the bridge.”
The counselor smiled. “As you wish, sir.”
Rising, Picard pulled down on the front of his tunic and made his way to the door. He had a long, difficult road ahead of him—that much was certain.
But it felt good to be the captain again.
CHAPTER 2O
Tarrus still had one loose end to tie up. But he didn’t expect it would be very difficult—not when the key to everything he needed was well within his grasp.
Flanked by Phabaris and Skrasis, he approached the warren of cells to which the rebels had been returned after their trial. The sentinels he’d posted there all straightened and saluted him crisply in the Romulan manner. As well they should, the governor mused.
After all, he would be rising swiftly in the political hierarchy after it became known he’d apprehended Spock —more swiftly than he’d ever imagined. And if they served him well, his people would be rising with him.
Emerging from their compartments, the prisoners eyed Tharrus warily. What did his presence here mean? They would find out soon enough, he mused. Motioning for his guards to stay behind, he brazenly walked into the rebels’ midst.
They didn’t move. Even though the governor was alone among them, they knew any attack on him would be met with force by their jailers. So they followed him with their eyes alone, and continued to wonder what he was up to.
Tharrus smiled—a reminder of who was in charge here. “It has come to my attention,” he said, “that the legendary Spock is among you.”
There were glances exchanged among the prisoners. Subtle glances, to be sure, but not so subtle that they could not help confirm what he already knew.
“Unfortunately,” the governor went on, “while I know that one of you is the esteemed Vulcan, I do not know which one. Half of you are too young to be Spock, but the other half are not. And among the half who are old enough, Spock could be almost anyone. Therefore, I will need some assistance to identify him.”
With that, he turned to Skrasis. Looking neither right nor left at the stares he was drawing from the rebels, the infiltrator stepped forward.
The rebels whispered curses and exclamations of disgust. Obviously none of them had suspected Skrasis of espionage until he exposed the fact himself. But then these were only political radicals, not trained soldiers.
“Skrasis,” said the governor, reluctant to waste any more time here. “Which of these bedraggled specimens is the real Spock?”
The infiltrator scanned the ranks of the unificationists. They looked back at him,