The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [136]
He had precious little time to come to terms with these fears as the door suddenly slid open, and a middle-aged Romulan woman with a careworn face appeared. Tiaru finished scaling the steps and stood by the woman’s side. “Mother, we have a guest!” she said excitedly.
The woman looked down upon the captain, her jaw firmly locked in place. “Yes?” she finally said.
“Ai’lara Jarok?” Picard asked. After waiting for her nod of confirmation, he continued. “Good morning to you. I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets.”
“I know who you are,” Ai’lara said. “The consulate informed me of your arrival a few moments ago.” She looked down at her inquisitive child. “Tiaru, please attend to your studies in your room.”
The girl opened her mouth to protest, but a stern look from the woman caused her to reconsider. Her shoulders drooped with disappointment . “Yes, Mother,” she said. Obligingly, she turned and retreated into the interior of the home.
“My daughter,” Ai’lara explained. “She is precocious and often far too curious for her own good.”
“She is a charming little girl,” Picard said with complete honesty. Nonetheless, he was grateful for Ai’lara’s discretion. His errand was likely to be difficult enough on the mother, let alone its potential impact on the child.
A beat passed while the two of them regarded each other in silence, until the captain was unable to delay his mission any longer.
“Lady Ai’lara,” Picard said, feeling as though each word was another cautious step through a minefield. “I was with your husband, Admiral Alidar Jarok, in the days leading up to his death eight years ago.”
Ai’lara said nothing but continued to stare at him without expression. Picard felt loath to continue, believing that the woman might ask him to leave.
“Come in,” Ai’lara finally spoke, turning into the house. Relieved, Picard climbed the steps and followed her through the entrance.
Almost immediately he noted a pleasant grassy aroma that seemed to emanate from a doorway at the far end of the main corridor. As they walked down the hall toward it, Picard briefly noted the adjoining rooms—a comfortable living area on the left and a practical study on the right. While both appeared clean and accommodating, they were austere and sparsely decorated, in marked contrast to the home’s exterior.
Ai’lara glanced back over her shoulder. “Can I get you something? I’ve just made some hvetollh.”
Picard searched his memory for names of Romulan cuisine but without success. Based upon his prior experiences, he desperately hoped that she wasn’t offering him soup.
Ai’lara noted Picard’s puzzlement. “Oh, my apologies. Hvetollh is…a beverage, prepared by filtering hot water through the dried leaves of an rreinnte tree.”
Picard smiled. “That sounds wonderful,” he said.
Picard sipped his Romulan tea and savored its spicy, nutty flavor, while across the small table with her own cup, Ai’lara watched him intently. The captain’s gaze casually wandered about the large room that served as both a kitchen and dining area. The shelves jutting out from the pale yellow walls contained boxes of what he assumed to be typical Romulan staples as well as stacks of dishes and tableware. On the counter, most of the appliances were recognizable; food preparation was essentially the same no matter which side of the Neutral Zone you were on. But like the rest of the home, the room appeared rather modest—functional but not extravagant.
Setting down his cup, Picard decided to break the silence. “Forgive me,” he began, “but I don’t know if you’re privy to the circumstances surrounding your husband’s defection to the Federation.”
“I learned enough,” the woman replied with a slight hint of disgust. “The Tal Shiar made sure of that when they debriefed me afterward.” She paused momentarily, as her mention of the Romulan intelligence service clearly evoked a sense of dread. “My husband was suffering under a delusion that our military was planning to start a war with your Federation.