Unification - Jeri Taylor [14]
The tumultuous days of the Klingon strife came flooding over Picard, and for a moment he felt as though he were once again ensnared in the political machinations of the Klingon Empire.
And once again as though he were confronting the Romulan known as Sela.
This woman had haunted his memories ever since their encounter near the Klingon home world—this apparition, this inexplicable creature. She was the adroit and skillful commander of a Romulan fleet which had attempted to influence the outcome of the Klingon war, and had almost succeeded.
More incredibly, she claimed to be the daughter of Tasha Yar, Picard’s chief of security who had died on an away mission some years ago—and who certainly died without ever having had a daughter.
But Sela looked exactly like Tasha. Her hair was close-cropped and shaped in the Romulan fashion, but it was the same honey blond as Tasha’s, and the jewel-blue eyes were uncomfortably familiar. It was Tasha’s face staring at him from the viewscreen, and Tasha’s long-limbed body which had paced restlessly around his ready room.
Guinan, who tended the lounge on the Enterprise known as Ten-Forward, a woman possessed of mysterious and undeniable metaphysical capacities— capacities which Picard had learned to trust—had insisted that, somehow, Sela was the daughter of Tasha.
Nothing in Picard’s experience could explain just who Sela was. But she intruded into his memories nonetheless.
Picard looked up and realized that Worf was staring at him expectantly, wanting to continue the conversation. The captain nodded.
“Gowron,” said Worf, “has been rewriting Klingon history.” His eyes shone with a particular intensity, which, abetted by the fearsome aspect of his ridged forehead and his towering height, gave him a formidable appearance. “Rewriting history?” queried Riker.
“He is claiming,” said Worf, “that it was his courage—his genius—that brought about an end to the civil war.” “I see.”
“In the new version, there is no mention made of the Federation’s help in his rise to power.” That’s why Worf was angry; his captain had been slighted. Picard himself took a more sanguine view. He allowed himself a wry smile.
“It’s all right, Mr. Worf. Victors usually rewrite history books. He can take every bit of credit; I’ll gladly grant him that. But I need a ship.”
Picard considered the situation for a moment, and then said, “If Gowron won’t talk to me, get somebody who will, somebody on the High Council, K’Tal perhaps.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Worf, not happy with this compromise. Picard turned toward Data, who was studying a monitor.
“Captain,” he said, “I have a visual identification of Senator Pardek of Romulus.” Picard sat with him and Data activated the monitor.
Picard saw what appeared to be a video log of several Romulans and another alien engaged in what looked like a handshaking session. As they watched, Data explained, “This is a Barolian record of a trade negotiation in which Pardek participated four years ago.”
Abruptly, the monitor went blank. “That’s all?” queried Picard.
“Yes, sir.”
“Run it again.”
Data activated the sequence once more, and Picard studied it intently. There was a familiarity to one of the Romulans—had he seen that face before? He tapped a command and it froze on a closeup of the man’s face. “Call up the intelligence scan of Spock on Romulus,” he directed Data.
And on the screen appeared the shot of Spock that Admiral Brackett had shown him days ago. With him was a Romulan—and Picard realized he was right. “Same man,” he stated. “Pardek.”
Pardek looked to be in his fifties, but Romulans, like Vulcans, had long life spans and Picard had no guess as to Pardek’$ true age. If Spock had met him eighty years ago, they were probably nearly the same age—in the fourth decade of their second hundred years.
Pardek was a bit hefty, too—somewhat unusual for a Romulan. He had