Unification - Jeri Taylor [15]
“I can see why Spock would cultivate a relationship with him,” reflected Picard. “Where are we likely to find him—other than on the floor of the Romulan Senate?”
“The district he represents is called Krocton segment. He maintains a dwelling there.”
Picard stared at the image on the monitor. This is the man he would have to find, the man who might lead him to Spock. Pardek of Romulus…
“There is more, sir,” said Data, breaking into his nmsing. “I took the liberty of expanding the parameters of my search, and have discovered that Pardek has several relatives in Krocton segment. It is likely that you will be able to locate him there on the third day of the Romulan week, when the Senate is not in session.”
Picard smiled at this. “Your resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me, Mr. Data,” he said truthfully.
“Thank you, sir.”
An idea was forming in Picard’s mind. His original thinking had been to go to Romulus alone; one man would cause less suspicion than two, one man was more mobile—and if things went wrong, only one man would be lost.
But a second pair of eyes, a second analytical mind, an unflappable presence for support… “If I ever get to Romulus,” he said, “I’m going to need help. I’d like you to accompany me.”
The android’s face reflected both his puzzlement and his pleasure. “Me, sir?” “Yes.”
“I understand how you can be made to look Romulan, sir. But I believe it will be more difficult to transform an android.”
“I think Doctor Crusher can come up with something.”
“Captain!” Worf’s deep voice rang through the bridge. “We are being hailed by the Klingon home world.”
Pleased, Picard moved toward him. No cause for alarm, after all, in spite of Worf’s anxieties. “Gowron or K’TaI?” he asked.
“Neither, sir.” There was the briefest of pauses, and then Worf admitted, “It is the junior adjutant to the diplomatic delegation.”
A definite slight. Picard briefly considered his response, then moved toward the viewscreen, asking Worf as he passed, “Name?”
“B’ijik, sir.”
“On screen.”
B’ijik’s outward appearance was traditionally Klingon, though the bony ridge of his skull and forehead was somewhat less pronounced than some, and his long, stringy hair perhaps more tailored. But it was his attitude that leapt off the screen and assaulted Picard. This was a small-minded person, unctuous and officious, who basked in the reflected glory of his superior. He was one of those minions in the ranks of the mighty who have the authority to say “no,” but never “yes,” and who delight in wielding that small cudgel of power.
“Greetings, Captain,” he began breezily. “I am B’ijik, adjutant to Gowron. I regret to inform you that he is quite busy with the High Council and won’t be able to speak with you today.”
“Is he aware that we’ve been transmitting messages for three days?”
B’ijik’s surprise was clearly feigned. “Messages? I’ll have to inspect the logs… but I’m sure we haven’t received any.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. This smarmy little obfuscator was irritating, but Picard kept his voice carefully modulated. “Nonetheless, if you tell Gowron that I have arrived, I’m certain that he will want to talk with me.”
B’ijik’s smile was simpering and dismissive at once. “Captain, Gowron wishes it were possible to talk with everyone who wants an audience. But he is one man. The demands on his time are formidable. If you would like me to take him a message… “A message. Very