Unification - Jeri Taylor [42]
D’Tan paused near a line of Romulans who were queued for a goods dispenser, and handed the flower to one of the men standing there—a man Spock knew as Jaron.
The man took the flower, glanced furtively around, then stepped out of line. Spock knew Jaron was headed toward him, but he kept his eyes resolutely forward.
Spock and Picard were standing at one of the small tables that dotted the floor of the dinglh. They had been standing casually there for several minutes and had already ordered soup—almost the only thing that was ever available. Spock knew that the powerful denizens of Romulus dined each night on sumptuous delicacies; the ordinary man stood in line for a crown of bread and a chunk of gristle.
Spock would have preferred to be here alone; he had hoped to convince Picard to transport back to his Klingon ship and then return to Federation space. An affair like this was best handled without outside interference and with as few participants as possible. The delicacy of the situation made a Starfleet captain’s presence troubling, indeed.
Spock looked at the trim, fit man opposite him, registered his grave, intelligent eyes and his assured bearing, and reflected that, all his misgivings notwith-standing, if Starfleet felt they had to send someone, this had undoubtedly been a wise choice.
He had never met Jean-Luc Picard, but he had of course heard of the captain of the fleet’s flagship. His reputation heralded him as a man of courage, erudi-tion, and compassion, and in their brief encounter Spock had no reason to doubt any of those qualities. To those he might add perceptivity, articulateness, and tenacity.
All the same, he made Spock uneasy. And he wasn’t sure why.
Spock disliked not being able to objectify his instinct; it was like an elusive mote in the eye that can’t be seen or extracted but continues to irritate nonetheless. What was it about Picard that he found so disquieting?
Perhaps it was that Picard’s attitude about the possibility of unification was simply not logical. Spock was sure that the Federation and its representatives could only benefit if his mission were successful, and he did not doubt that Picard would ultimately be supportive of such a movement. So there was no reason for Picard to disapprove of his goal.
But he did. That was it—Jean-Luc Picard thought he was an impressionable fool for having entered into this endeavor.
Perhaps that is why Spock seemed to hear his father’s voice whenever Picard voiced his concerns about the reunification talks. Sarek, too, had never given credence to Spock’s beliefs that there were some Romulans who wanted peace, who wanted to live in reborn harmony with their Vulcan cousins. It had been a lifelong source of conflict. And now here was this Picard, echoing that same attitude. In a way, it was fascinating.
In a corner of the dinglh, Spock saw the man with the flower moving idly toward them. In a moment he was passing their table, and as he did so he casually placed the blossom in a glass of water, then deposited it in front of Spock.
“Allow me to brighten your table,” Jaron intoned, and Spock nodded noncommittally. “Jolan tru,” added the man, and moved on. The Romulan greeting, which meant variously “good day,” “best wishes,” or “good luck,” was a neutral one shared by all. It connoted no political allegiance or leaning, though Spock knew the man was a member of the movement.
He turned back toward Picard, his voice quiet; fortunately, a hushed conversation drew no attention, for everyone spoke in guarded tones in this city. “The Senate has adjourned. Pardek will be here shortly.” He glanced toward the pink lagga blossom. The flower is a signal.”
Picard nodded. Spock knew the Starfleet captain was curious to hear Pardek’s message, for it would signal either an end to or a continuation of Spock’s objective. Picard’s eyes carefully swept the interior of the food center; Spock was pleased that he was ever on the alert. “Just how widespread is this movement?” asked the captain.
They had been