Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [9]
“Well said,” Riker noted.
Data addressed the captain. “Your performance must have been quite convincing, sir. Commander Worf seemed genuinely surprised.”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off,” Picard admitted. “As you know, Mr. Data, I love acting, but I’m afraid it’s not my forte.”
“On the contrary,” said Deanna, “you were flawless, sir.”
“A regular one-man show,” Geordi added.
The Klingon grunted. “I wish Chief O’Brien could see this. He warned me that you would all taunt me.”
“Taunt you?” Data echoed. “About what?”
“My marriage,” said Worf.
The android looked confused. “I fail to see what purpose that would serve. As I understand it, marriage is a happy event. One in which two people agree to share the experience of their lives—”
“For better or worse,” Geordi chimed in.
“Richer or poorer,” Crusher said matter-of-factly.
“In sickness or in health,” the engineer added.
“Wrong culture,” Riker pointed out.
Geordi and the doctor looked at each other.
“He’s right,” said Crusher.
Geordi shrugged.
The first officer put his hand on Worf’s shoulder. “Just one bit of advice,” he said. “Don’t forget your anniversary, Commander. I understand the little woman swings a mean bat’leth.”
“Though, from what I’ve heard, not half as mean as your mother-in-law’s,” Geordi added.
The Klingon looked at Riker, then at the engineer, and scowled. “Perhaps Chief O’Brien had a point after all.”
Worf had to maintain the pretense that their gibes annoyed him. A warrior could act no other way. But, truth be told, he found himself basking in the warmth of their company—ridicule or no ridicule.
Suddenly, a voice cut into their conversation. “Lieutenant Sovar to Captain Picard. I have a subspace message for you, sir. It’s from Admiral Kashiwada on Starbase 88.”
The Klingon turned to the captain. In fact, they all did. Picard frowned back at them.
“Stay here,” he said. “I will attend to the admiral’s communication. If I need any of you, I will let you know.”
“Are you certain, sir?” asked Worf.
The captain nodded congenially. “Quite certain, Commander.”
And with that, he left them.
Chapter Three
AS PICARD EMERGED from the observation lounge, he pulled down the front of his uniform top and advanced to his captain’s chair. Unfortunately, a commanding officer’s duties took priority over family reunions.
“Put the admiral on screen,” he told Ensign Suttles.
A moment later, the image of a flowing starfield was replaced with a familiar visage—that of Admiral Yoshi Kashiwada. Thirty-odd years earlier, the admiral had served as the captain’s tactics instructor back at the Academy.
Kashiwada smiled, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. “Good to see you, Jean-Luc. I trust you’re well?” The admiral was of the old school, where nothing was so urgent it superceded the need for good manners.
“Quite well, thank you,” Picard replied. “How are you, sir?”
Kashiwada shrugged. “As you can see, I survive.”
“And will for another hundred years, no doubt. But I suspect you called about a more immediate concern.”
The admiral nodded. “In fact, I have. I find myself playing host to a most unusual group of guests, whose method of arrival is no less strange to me than they are. What’s more, they claim to know you.”
Picard leaned back in his seat. “Their names?”
Kashiwada frowned ever so slightly. “They insisted you would know them more readily by their aliases.” He peered at a monitor alongside him. “Storm. Wolverine. Banshee. Arch—”
The captain felt a thrill of surprise shoot through him. “Archangel?” he blurted, completing the name.
The other man cocked an eyebrow. “Then you do know them?”
Picard leaned forward again. “I met them some time ago. Though …”
The admiral looked at him. “Yes?”
“Frankly, I am at a loss to explain what they’re doing here. They reside in another frame of reference—another universe, as it were.”
“I have a grandson who is said to do the same,” Kashiwada commented. “But I have a feeling you mean it in a more literal sense.”
The captain confirmed it. “Did the X- … that is, did your guests say how they