Unification - Jeri Taylor [18]
“Um-hmm,” replied the captain, whose eyes were still obscured with hair.
“Of course, I’m not so easily taken in that I think you’re actually on your way to Romulus. That would be too obvious, and a man like you would never go in such a straight line. Right?” “I suppose…”
“So, it stands to reason that the Romulan thing is intended to throw everybody off. Make us think you’re heading for Romulus, so you can get to your real goal while we’re misdirected.” “Mmrnmm.”
“And, all in all, not a bad plan. Everyone looks rightmyou go left. I like it.” “Thank you.”
“Now, maybe you’ll use the Romulan getup, maybe you won’t. I’m betting you will. You’re going under-cover as a Romulan—but not to Romulus. So the question becomes, where would you go as a Romulan that wouldn’t bring suspicion? And I think I know the answer to that.” “Ah.”
Mot snipped and clipped for a moment, drawing out the moment. He knew the captain was wondering if he could possibly have figured out the real Plan. And wouldn’t he be astonished to find out that Mot—Mot, the barbeft—had deduced what was really going on.
“Let’s use the process of elimination,” Mot continued. “Where might you need to go on a particularly sensitive diplomatic mission? Not a Federation plan-et, that’s for sure. And if your real business were with the Klingons, you wouldn’t be needing a Romulan disguise. So we’re heading for the home world for another purpose—probably for something you need.”
There was silence at this. Mot felt that was implied acquiescence. “Romulus, as I’ve said, is too obvious. Who else does that leave?”
He stopped clipping for a moment as he pondered. It was hard to ponder and trim hair at the same time. One of Picard’s eyes looked out from under the Romulan hair; the other was still draped in the brown fringe. Mot looked into the one eye. “The Talarians? I don’t think so. No need to go to all this trouble, you’d just go talk to them. The Breen? They’re bad ones, all right, but there hasn’t been so much as a whisper of any negotiations with them; I don’t think we’re close to that. The Cateloxes? They’ve been pretty quiet lately—word is they’re having enough trouble with drought on their planet that they’re focusing their energies on surviving.”
Mot was aware that the captain seemed to be moving a little restlessly in his chair. Awed, no doubt, by this insightful analysis of the Federation’s adver-saries.
“Now,” he continued, “who does that leave? The Murdoth? Too passive. The Pbylosians? Vanquished. The Skorr? Irrelevant. The Ferengi? Inconsequential. The Pakleds?”
Picard stirred in the chair. “Forgive me, Mr. Mot, but I really must meet Commander Riker shortly.”
“Right, Captain, we’ll have you there,” said Mot, moving back to his clipping. “Now, where was I? Oh, the Pakleds. Well, I think we’d have to agree there’s no problem there.” And he threw back his blue head and laughed heartily. The captain smiled.
“So. Where does that leave us?” He tapped the captain’s head gently. “I think we both know.” Mot leaned in and whispered pointedly. “The Cardassians. “
He stood back to assess the captain’s response. Picard stared up at him, his second eye now almost uncovered. “The Cardassians,” said the captain. His voice gave nothing away—but of course that’s what Mot would have expected. Never admit what you know.
“That’s right, Captain. I know you didn’t think anyone would figure it out—but it’s all pretty clear to me. You’re going into Cardassian space but you’re going as a Romulan. There’s an unholy alliance brew-mg there, I’m wflhng to bet. So the Cardassians will talk openly with you about their dealings, and you’ll get the real story for Starfleet!”
Mot beamed in triumph. Captain Picard gazed up at him with what was clearly