Unification - Jeri Taylor [1]
“It’s good to see you again, Captain.”
“And you, Admiral Brackett.”
“Shall we?” she asked, and he gestured her ahead of him through the transporter room door; they exit-ed, followed by Severson, who was as pale as a ghost and drawing deep breaths of air to keep from throwing up.
When they had reached the bridge and entered the captain’s ready room, she turned to Severson. “You’re excused, Lieutenant.” The matter she had come to discuss was not for anyone’s ears but Picard’s.
The captain moved toward his replicator. “Would you care for refreshments? Tea, perhaps?”
She smiled. She knew this man, knew what was going on inside him, knew what he was truly feeling in spite of his remote, detached manner. “You’re a cool one, Picard,” she said.
He turned to her, quizzical, an eyebrow lifted, his look asking the question for him.
“I know you well enough to know that you’re burning with curiosity about this summons of mine. And yet you almost manage to convince me that your only concern is a cup of Earl Grey.”
“And I know you well enough to know that you’ll only tell me what you want to in your own good time. So we might as well have tea.”
She smiled as he held her look. They were old friends; they’d had these fencing matches many times before. In fact their first encounter—when they were both cadets at Starfleet Academy—had been on the debate team. They delighted in opposing each other with vehement arguments, and then switching sides and going at it again. During the course of their careers they had continued the friendly rivalry and Brackett always found herself looking forward to the match.
So if Jean-Luc Picard wanted to pretend nonchalance, she understood the gambit. But she held the upper hand this time; she knew the startling reason for this meeting, and perhaps she would make him wait for a few moments before she revealed it.
“I apologize for the mystery, Captain,” she began, “but we must attempt to contain the information I’m about to reveal to you—at least as long as possible.”
He regarded her calmly, waiting with no perceptible indication of curiosity.
“Three weeks ago, one of our most celebrated ambassadors—an adviser to Federation leaders for generations—disappeared. He left no word of his destination.”
And still he waited, gazing at her patiently. She moved toward his desk and quickly activated the computer console there.
“Eight days ago, intelligence reports placed him on Romulus—and I assure you it’s an unauthorized visit.” She keyed an instruction and then said, “Computer, initiate linkage between this terminal and Starbase computer system alpha-two-nine.”
“Linkage complete,” responded the computer voice pleasantly.
Brackett busied herself for a moment with computer instructions, wondering if Picard would interject a question. When he did, it was minimal. “A defection?” he queried, in the most even of tones.
“If it is, the damage to Federation security would be incalculable.” She tapped a few more times and then gestured for him to look at his monitor.
A blurry image appeared on the computer screen— it seemed to consist of several figures but none was distinguishable. Picard leaned in, trying to decipher it.
“Taken on Romulus, by long-range scanner,” said Brackett. “Computer, enhance image in section four-delta.”
The computer whirred and the blurred images began to come into focus. The peripheral images were still fuzzy, but the central figure gradually came into sharp relief.
Admiral Brackett looked for Picard’s reaction as he found himself looking at the unmistakable image of Spock of Vulcan—dressed in Romulan clothing.
Spock, a revered figure in Starfleet history. Spock, the renowned