"The ambassadors are having fits," Picard continued after a hesitation. "All of the respective governments are demanding to know what we are going to do about it. Everyone except," he amended, "the government of Betazed. Mrs.
Troi has kept her own counsel in this matter, and frankly, Counselor, I must say I'm somewhat grateful. I'm being badgered enough already." "What would they have us do?" demanded Riker. "The Prime Directive is clear on this matter.
We can urge the Tizarin to settle this peacefully. We can provide them with the facilities and support mechanism to do so. But we can't twist their arms or put guns to their heads." "Perhaps if we did, they would listen to reason," Worf said sourly. "Captain, from a security standpoint, perhaps it would be best to relocate the ship. As it is, situated between the Tizarin house ships..." "We may be caught in the crossfire," Picard admitted. "A calculated risk, Mr. Worf. If we simply leave, it may seem as if the Federation sanctions this entire blood feud business. By maintaining a presence here, we give a subtle message that we most definitely do not approve and want to see this thing settled immediately. Counselor, how did you perceive the situation?" "A bubbling over of the repressed anger I told you of earlier, Captain," Troi said.
"At the same time, I sensed a degree of confusion, even regret, that matters had come to this.
No one is truly happy about this turn of events, but there is too much pride involved for anyone to turn back now." "Too much pride," murmured Picard, shaking his head. "I don't understand. Why were they all on such short fuses?" His eyes narrowed.
"What is the possibility that Q had something to do with this?" "Captain, Q wasn't even there," Riker pointed out.
"Physically, no. But perhaps the master complicator was there in spirit somehow. I don't know," said Picard impatiently. "All I know is that a once-anticipated event has deteriorated into armed camps about to enter a state of war, and I'm looking for reasons that seem in very short supply." "Perhaps, Captain," Data said slowly, "Q was not there because whatever he had done, he had already attended to." "I don't follow, Mr. Data," said Picard.
"It is entirely possible that--" Suddenly the yellow alert klaxon sounded throughout the conference lounge. Immediately everyone rose from the table.
"Hold that thought, Mr. Data," said Picard. "It seems matters are moving ahead without us." They stepped out onto the bridge as Burnside said briskly from the ops station, "Shields just came up, sir. The Tizarin ships have begun firing on each other." "Type of weaponry?" asked Picard, taking the command chair. Riker and Troi assumed their places on either side.
"Standard phasers. They are presently firing at one-half strength." Burnside rose to allow Data to resume his station.
"Warning shots," murmured Worf.
"They're flexing their muscles," agreed Riker. "And they're giving us a chance to get out of the way before being hit by something that could cause us damage." "Hailing frequencies," Picard said.
"Let's make one last effort to talk this insanity through." "They are not responding," Worf said.
The Enterprise suddenly rocked slightly.
"I think that was their response," Riker commented.
"Hit on rear deflectors," Data reported, checking his instruments. "From the trajectory, I would surmise it was a stray shot rather than aimed directly at us. No appreciable damage." "Get us out of here," said Picard. "Set heading at--" "Captain, we are clear." "That was quick," said Picard in surprise.
"We and the two Tizarin ships had been moving at steady impulse," Data told him, "but the Tizarin have abruptly ceased their forward motion. Consequently, we kept going out from in-between them. We are at present 10,000 kilometers away and increasing." "Bring us around, heading of 118 mark 3.
Put us in orbit around the ships. Maintain a presence without getting too close. We want them to know we're here." "What difference will that make, Captain?" asked Riker.
"Frankly, Number One," said Picard stiffly, "probably not one damned bit."
Sehra lay stretched out on her bed, her breast heaving in great, racking sobs. Next to her was Karla, sharing in her unhappiness, awkwardly patting the back of her mistress.
Sehra turned over onto her back, trying to stop the flow of tears. "How?" she asked Karla. "How did it all go wrong? What happened? First one thing was said, and then another, and everything seemed to feed on itself. Hatred instead of love, chaos instead of consideration." Karla shrugged. "I don't know, mistress.
I don't know much of anything, I'm afraid.
I didn't even know how to make Wesley Crusher happy." Her mother stuck her head in. "Sehra?" she said softly. "Please don't be upset." "How--?" She managed to compose herself and start over again. "How am I not supposed to be upset? I was supposed to marry tomorrow, and instead we're in a blood feud! Mother, what happened?" Fenn entered and indicated, with a nod of her head, that Karla should give them privacy. With a small bow, Karla got up and went into the adjacent room. Fenn sat down next to her daughter and stroked her long hair. "You have the most lovely hair, you know. You always did. When you were small I could brush it for hours and you would never complain. Not once." "Mother..." Fenn shrugged. "Things happen, my dear. This goes beyond your abortive engagement to Kerin. It goes beyond your father, and even your father's father.
Generations ago, the houses of Graziunas and Nistral were fast friends. That was when the pact of coexistence was first signed, and the two houses joined to face the harsh existence of the spaceways together. As time went on, though--as with anything, I suppose--familiarity resulted in a certain degree of contempt for the other.
Relations deteriorated, but out of a sense of tradition and continuity, the families stayed together.
Gods know, we've been patient in these matters. Nistral has done more heinous things to your father, pulled more cheats, spoken such harshness-- it's really nothing short of miraculous that this hasn't occurred earlier. In a way, I suppose we have you to thank for bringing matters to a head. Finally this will be disposed of, one way or the other." "I don't want it disposed of! It's all my fault! I want things to go back to the way they were! I can't live with the knowledge that all this is happening because of me!" Fenn's eyes darkened. "I've told you, you silly girl, it has nothing to do with you." "I'm not a "silly girl," mother!" she said furiously. "I'm a young woman. I was going to be a married young woman! How am I supposed to act as if none of this is my responsibility?" Her mother stood, shaking her head. "I can see, this is becoming pointless," she said sharply. "You can't go back to the way things were, Sehra. You can only go forward." "I don't want to go forward! Don't you understand? I want Kerin!" "This is beyond your control, Sehra. You can't have him." And she went out, the door shutting behind her.
Sehra turned and stared into the mirror--the reflection was of a frightened and angry young woman.
A silly girl.
"If I can't have Kerin," she said with a voice that sounded much older, "then I don't want myself, either. There's no point to living without him. I've been such an idiot. And even if I went to him now, he'd probably hate me. No... it's better this way." Karla slowly emerged from the side room. "Do you want me again, mistress?" "Yes, Karla," said Sehra with renewed confidence. She turned and went to her handmaid quickly. "I want you to go down to ships stores and get a fighter uniform. And a helmet. Bring it here quickly, and you are to tell absolutely not a single member of the Tizarin about any of this." "But..." "Do as I say." Karla shrugged. "Yes, mistress. Whatever you say."
Kerin was standing in full gear on the flight deck of the Nistral ship. Others were running past him at full speed, making last-minute checks on their ships.
His father strode up to him, fully outfitted in his black-and-silver jumpsuit with the additional crest on it. He clapped him on the back.
"Ready, son?" He turned to his father. "Father... when I launched my "assault" on the Graziunas ship, in order to press my suit for Sehra's hand--I felt determined, certain. I know that I never could have made it if I had felt the way I do now." "It's understandable, son. You loved this girl, or thought you did. And now you're about to battle her kin." "I didn't think I loved her, father. I know I do... did... do..." He shook his head in exasperation.
"It's not your fault, Kerin. Obviously you had second thoughts, and instead of being supportive, she became a shrill and accusing bitch." "She didn't!" Kerin said with unexpected heat. "She's beautiful and young, and who cares what she'll look like years from now--?" His father spun him around and looked at him firmly. When he spoke, it was with a voice of iron. "Kerin... everything we have done we have done in accordance with your wishes. When you wanted to marry her, even though every fiber of my being said it was a bad match, I supported you. And when your better sense took over, I supported you. And when that bastard Graziunas began to insult us, I supported you. That one was easy, I'll admit. Graziunas has been an arrogant, egotistical ass for as long as I can remember, and I've longed to pound some sense into him. If I have to blow him to dust to do it, then that's what I'll do. But you can't start having second thoughts yet again. We've gone too far. We've mobilized our forces, and they stand ready." "Can't we call them off?" said Kerin. "Can't we--" "No! Damn it, Kerin. Someday you will carry the name of Nistral. Someday you will succeed me, and bear the responsibility of leadership on your shoulders. Do you seriously think that anyone will follow you if you're known as someone who can't make a decision? Who gets himself into situations without thinking and doesn't have the heart or guts to see it through? I can't let you do that to yourself, Kerin. Now, get ready to fly." "Father, I--" "Do it!" said Nistral with barely restrained fury.
And Kerin, the future Nistral--should he live that long--hung his head and said, "Yes, father."
Chapter Twenty-two
Worf turned toward Picard. "Captain, the Nistral have launched attack vessels." "Keep trying to raise them, Lieutenant," said Picard sharply, rising from his command chair, his fingers flexing in helplessness. "We've got to do something. Get them to reason together in a sane, rational manner." "The Graziunas have now launched retaliatory vessels," Worf informed him.
"It would seem," said Riker quietly, "that we've just run out of time."
Sehra climbed into the cockpit of the fighter and scanned the controls. The first thing she found was the button to close the cowling, which slid over her head and sealed her in with a loud ka-klack. It felt like a coffin. She put that out of her mind as she went back to studying the arrays in front of her.
She had not flown in ages, and then only under the careful supervision of her father. In the house of Graziunas, there was a very specific division of labor between male and female, and females most definitely did not fly fighters in!combat.
Least of all, the daughter of the house head.
There was a loud rapping on the cowling, and she looked up. On the other side was the annoyed face of the fighter pilot whose ship she was in.
He was shouting something at her that she could not make out. It didn't matter. She was reasonably sure that with the encompassing helmet she wore, he didn't recognize her.
Certainly the loose-fitting jumpsuit had concealed her form more than adequately.
She fired up the main engines. The pilot, seeing what she was doing, gave an alarmed yelp and jumped free of the ship. All around them, ships were leaving the hangar, launching themselves into space for head-to-head battle with the Nistral. So one more ship leaving wasn't going to attract any attention.
Sehra waited until the pilot was clear, although he was still wildly gesturing, clearly, that she should get out of the fighter ship. She appreciated the sentiment but, unfortunately, was not going to be able to comply.
The ship rolled forward. It was not all that difficult for her--much of the work was computer-aided, and the things she had learned to make a flight even smoother easily came back to her.
"This," she said with an air of finality, "is to make up for starting this mess. This is to make up for losing the best thing I ever had." And the ship hurtled forward and launched, with a final roar of engines, into the silence of space.
Worf looked up. "Captain, we're getting an incoming audio message from the Graziunas house ship." "This is Captain Picard," Picard called out. "Graziunas, I am pleased that you've taken the initiative to--" And a quavering female voice filtered through the air. "Uhm... is Wesley Crusher there?" Picard looked at Riker, who shrugged.
"Who is this?" demanded Picard.
"My... uhm... my name is Karla. I have to speak to Wesley immediately." "Young lady, this is the bridge of the Enterprise," said Picard stiffly. "We do not allow personal calls. Worf, cut off the trans--" "It's an emergency, damn you!" came the hysterical voice. "I have to talk to Wesley!
It's life and death!" "Captain--" began Deanna. "Perhaps--" "Yes, yes, anything! Just get her off the blasted frequency." "Computer," said Deanna, "locate Wesley Crusher." "Wesley Crusher is in sickbay," the computer replied briskly.
