The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [82]
Some things didn’t change. Vulcan was at least as politically obsessed as Romulus. Spock, although officially under his homeworld’s censure, retained a number of highly efficient and influential contacts there.
“In fact, Vulcan is most insistent that we make early contact. They even sent out a legate who insists that if you do not make all deliberate speed, he will take his own ship out to meet you.”
DeSeve could see Picard brace himself for a display of logic that would be called arrogant from any lesser being than a Vulcan.
“A legate?” Picard mused. “Not an ambassador?”
The admiral rose, gesturing to someone offscreen to take his place.
“I requested this mission.” The man who faced them now was deeper voiced and taller than the admiral. He seemed energetic by nature, restrained only by his heavy robes of office.
“As the most logical choice of envoy and host.” His voice became more solemn. “I name thee guest friends.” The words sounded like something out of the most solemn of Romulan observances, the ones where redbloods, to use a term that was in official disfavor but wide use, were permitted to listen only in the back rows, if at all.
The legate raised his hand, his fingers parted. “I am Ruanek, legate of Vulcan. I come to serve.” Then, astonishingly, he grinned.
“You!” M’ret seemed to unbend. “So you wound up on Vulcan after all! Spock never told me. Nor did she.”
“Plausible deniability,” said the legate-who-was-no-Vulcan. “How is your lady?”
“Disappointed at my choices. But she will survive. That is her great genius. To combine survival with honor.” M’ret turned to Picard. “I have known Ambassador Spock since I was an eaglet. He doesn’t make mistakes, not that I know of, but he is highly adept at compelling others to make them.”
Ruanek and Picard shook their heads, almost identical gestures. Picard narrowed his eyes, as if concentrating on the same vibrations that made DeSeve swallow with increasing dizziness.
“Well, Captain?” the legate asked. “Shall I rendezvous with the Enterprise? We have not traveled together since 2344. But I am disappointed. I was given to understand that you visited the homeworld, but it seems you still have not received the medal you won in our last encounter.” His eyes glinted with mischief.
“I prefer peace and quiet to ceremony.” Picard smiled. Then his face changed. “It is indeed agreeable to see you.”
Ruanek bowed. His face twisted with an emotion DeSeve identified as sorrow before he got it under control “I had heard that you had helped Ambassador Sarek complete his last mission. So the rumors were true after all,” he murmured.
Picard nodded once. “The need was sufficient.” For an instant, his voice resumed that ceremonial tone. “I see no logic…there is no reason for you to take a small craft out into what could be disputed space. We should reach you in twenty-three hours forty-five minutes…”
The “legate” laughed. “Captain, it would very much please me if you would honor my house with your presence along with my other guest friends,” he said. “I have a case of Chateau Picard 2360 Burgundy in what I believe to be appropriate storage, a thing that is difficult to achieve on Vulcan. I am reliably informed that it is just becoming drinkable. I would be honored to return hospitality I thought never to be able to repay.”
Again, Picard’s face went almost Vulcan. “A life for a life. It is I who can never repay you.”
M’ret raised an eyebrow. Deanna Troi’s eyes grew moist. They were the only ones who seemed to understand.
“Legate, if your people have finished your highly illogical and highly classified reminiscences,” Ross cut in, “I have a station on alert to run. Captain, if you will…”
His words ended in a shriek as Enterprise lurched, then lurched again, trying to reach equilibrium. High warp caught the ship and seemed to make it twist. Now the vibrations of its song howled upward until the three Romulans winced as it reached pitches only they could hear.
Beyond the windows, the starfield flared, spun, and flickered back into the normal rainbows