[Star Trek TNG] - Double Helix Omnibus

  “My fellow Kellasians,” Culunnh said in a soft, breathy voice, barely audible over the roar of accolades, “please…if I may…I would like to say a few words to you.”

  Little by little, the applause died down. Finally, it was quiet enough for the First Minister to be heard. He chirped lightheartedly, his medallion gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

  “You are much too kind,” he told the assembly, “but I am an old man and I will take my recognition where I can get it.”

  Again, the congress broke out into a tumult of praise for Culunnh. And again, he had to wait until it faded before he could speak.

  “We were duped,” he said, “all of us in equal measure. We were set upon each other like ravening animals, pawns of a stone-hearted power seeker…a Thallonian who will find it a lot more difficult to seek power in the imperial prison he now calls his home.”

  Though the First Minister hadn’t mentioned Thul by name, everyone knew whom he meant. The reference was met with a wave of hoots and catcalls and other assorted sounds of derision.

  “What’s more, he came close to accomplishing his objective,” Culunnh went on. “Perilously close. He almost had the war of devastation that he sought.” He turned to Picard. “Fortunately for us, he underestimated our friends on the Federation starship Stargazer.”

  By then, every being in the congress had heard the story. At once, they rose to their feet or whatever analogous appendages they stood on and raised a thunder that exceeded what had come before. It was a staggering spectacle, a stunning tribute.

  Picard turned red in the face. Despite his embarrassment, the First Minister beckoned for the captain to take the lectern.

  “Gilaad,” the captain told his first officer, “I don’t know if it is such a good idea for me to go up there. They’re liable to tear me limb from limb.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Ben Zoma chuckled in his ear. “I’ll bring your remains back to the ship.”

  Picard turned to him. “How thoughtful of you.”

  “I try to please,” said the first officer. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to be Captain Ben Zoma.”

  Picard grunted. “I suspected as much.”

  Taking a deep breath, he stood and pulled down on the front of his tunic. Then he confronted the members of the Kellasian Congress with all the dignity and humility he could muster, and he tried not to think about how much his executive officer was enjoying his discomfort.

  Gradually, as the captain stood there, the applause gave way to a respectful silence. Picard cleared his throat.

  “I accept your gratitude,” he said, “on behalf of all those under my command who helped to stop Gerrid Thul and stymie his grand ambition. Prominent among them were Commander Jack Crusher, my second officer, and Ensign Tuvok, on loan to us from the starship Wyoming.”

  Again, cheers erupted from hundreds of alien throats. And again, they died down in time.

  “However,” the captain continued, “I am told—and I must take my colleagues’ word for it, because I was not there—there was another who played a critical role in this effort…someone who had nothing to do with the Federation or the Melacron or the Cordracites, yet contributed nothing less than her life to seeing peace restored to them.”

  He paused, noting the intrigue expressed in the faces of his audience, and recalled what Crusher and Tuvok had told him of this person. “Her name,” he said with due regard, “was Grace…”

  Bin Nedrach was thirsty.

  After all, the sun was hot on Melacron II. And as good as its rays felt on one’s naked skin, they had a tendency to dry one out.

  Fortunately, there was no shortage of beverages on Melacron II—especially for a man with latinum. And thanks to his recent labors, Bin Nedrach possessed a great deal of latinum.

  Suddenly, he felt a band of cool shadow cross his chest. “Ah,” he said, “you’re just in time. I was getting thirsty.”

  It was no secret that Sulkoh Island had the most attractive female attendants on the planet, if not in the entire Melacron system. In the last couple of days, Bin Nedrach had discovered that they were alert as well. Whenever he even thought of needing a drink or a warm-oil rubdown, they were there at his side.

  It was almost as if they were mindreaders, like that Indarrhi who had dogged Mendan Abbis’s tracks. He shuddered at the memory. From now on, he vowed, he would steer clear of mindreaders.

  “I’ll have another Sulkoh Sunset,” he said.

  “I beg to differ with you,” a decidedly masculine, decidedly un- Melacronai voice responded.

  In a heartbeat, Bin Nedrach was on his feet, assessing his situation, deciding which of the many unarmed combat maneuvers that he had mastered would allow him to escape his predicament. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to fit the bill.

  “Go ahead,” said a human Starfleet officer, one of four who stood with their hand weapons trained on the assassin. “Try to get away. This phaser may only be set for stun, but it’s got a kick like a Missouri mule.”

  “If I were you,” said the only Vulcan in the group—the one who had roused Bin Nedrach in the first place—“I would surrender. My colleague’s assessment is as accurate as it is colorful.”

  “Don’t badger him, Tuvok,” said the human. “He’s a grown assassin. Let him make up his own mind.”

  “Very well,” the Vulcan replied with an air of resignation. “You are the ranking officer here.”

  Bin Nedrach glanced about. To his back was the pool, to his left the featureless, white wall of the indoor recreation center. Neither direction was an option. That left the areas directly in front and to the right of him, both of which were blocked off by the Starfleet people.

  The Melacron knew what would happen to him if he were put on trial. The G’aha of Laws and Enforcements had been an exceedingly popular figure—and Bin Nedrach had cut the fellow down while he was inspecting an Inseeing scarf. Without question, he would receive the maximum penalty.

  Call me evil, he had mused at the time. And they would.

  Anything was better than a lifetime spent in a Melacronai penal colony, the Melacron told himself. Avoiding such a fate was worth any risk, any effort, any amount of pain.

  “Well?” asked the human, the muscles working in his temples. “What’s it going to be?”

  Taking a deep breath, Bin Nedrach lashed out with his bare foot and knocked the weapon out of the officer’s hand. Then the Melacron pushed past him and tried to make a break for it.

  He didn’t make it.

  Picard was sitting at the desk in his ready room, going over one of a great many repair reports filed by Phigus Simenon, when he heard a chime. Looking up from his work, he said, “Come.”

  A moment later, the doors to the room slid aside with a hiss, revealing Jack Crusher and Ensign Tuvok. They entered one after the other and crossed the room.

  “You asked to see us, sir?” said the commander, when both he and the Vulcan were standing before the captain.

  “Indeed,” said Picard. He sat back in his chair and smiled. “I believe congratulations are in order. Your good work saved the lives of everyone at the fleetyard, not to mention the millions who likely would have perished if the Cordracites and the Melacron had gone to war. What’s more, you did an admirable job working with local law enforcement agencies to apprehend the assassins we were able to identify.”

  Tuvok inclined his head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “But it was all in a day’s work,” Crusher said dutifully. He glanced at the ensign, his expression suddenly becoming sterner and more severe. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  Tuvok glanced back, perhaps just a touch less deadpan than when Picard had seen him last. “Of course.”

  Clearly, thought the captain, the two men had developed something more than a working relationship. It pleased him to see it. But then, it was the rare sentient being who couldn’t get along with Jack Crusher.

  Picard was also glad to see how much more comf
ortable the Vulcan looked on the Stargazer. Tuvok was a fine officer. It would be very much to Starfleet’s advantage if he were to stay on this time.

  “Apparently,” he told the ensign, “undercover work agrees with you. I’m sure Captain Broadnax will be glad to hear that.”

  The Vulcan frowned. “Actually, sir, I believe I am more effective serving on a vessel than off it. However, if I am again required to go undercover, I am certain this experience will serve me well.”

  The captain nodded, still smiling. “No doubt.”

  Tuvok cast a sidelong look at Crusher—the kind of look that might be meant to dissuade someone from revealing something. If that was what it was, it seemed to work. The commander took a deep breath, but ultimately kept his mouth shut.

  “That will be all,” Picard told them. “You’re dismissed, gentlemen.”

  Crusher nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  And with that, the two of them turned and departed, leaving the captain curious as to what their conversation might be once they were by themselves in the nearest turbolift.

  Tuvok waited until the lift doors closed in front of him. Then he turned to Jack Crusher.

  “I am grateful,” he said, “that you refrained from describing to the captain our misadventure in The House of Comfort.”

  The commander shrugged. “It didn’t seem necessary.”

  “Though,” the Vulcan went on, “it no doubt would have made for a very humorous story, by human standards.”

  “A very humorous story,” Crusher agreed. He glanced at Tuvok. “Are you going to tell your wife about it?”

  The Vulcan sighed. “I vowed to share everything with T’pel when she and I were linked in marriage. I cannot make an exception…as dearly as I would like to.”

  The human grunted. “Me either.”

  Tuvok nodded approvingly. As it turned out, he and Crusher had much in common after all.

  For a moment, they stood there in companionable silence. Finally, the commander broke it.

  “You know,” he said, “you took quite a chance when we were Abbis’s prisoners back on Debennius Six.”

  The Vulcan cocked an eyebrow. “Explain.”

  “That story you told about the treachery Thul intended and how we had discovered proof of it…Abbis could have had his Indarrhi pal read my emotions to see if you were telling the truth. And even if he didn’t, he could have chosen to discount your claims about Thul and simply told his father that Starfleet was onto them.”

  “Thereby endangering not only our mission, but the Stargazer as well,” the Vulcan finished. “I can see where an individual of your species might reach that conclusion.”

  “Let’s not bring species into this,” Crusher told him.

  “However,” Tuvok went on, undaunted, “what you fail to consider is that we, our mission, and indeed this entire sector were already very much at risk. It was only by applying native ingenuity that we were able to remove ourselves from Abbis’s grasp and eventually turn failure into success.”

  The commander frowned and wagged a finger at him. “Uh-uh. You don’t get off that easily. You still had no idea how Abbis would react.”

  “On the contrary,” said the Vulcan, “I had a very good idea. Remember, I had previously experienced mental contact with the Indarrhi—a link which permitted me to search his mind even as he was searching mine. As a result, I had come to know Mendan Abbis through his associate’s impressions of him, and therefore could predict with reasonable certainty how our captor would react to my ploy.”

  Crusher sighed and shook his head. “I should know better by now than to argue with a Vulcan.”

  Tuvok shot a look at him. “For once,” he commented, “I find myself agreeing with you.”

  The commander smiled. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

  The Vulcan maintained his composure, despite an inexplicable impulse to smile. “It is a deal,” he said.

  Jack Crusher basked in the grins of his beautiful bride and his impish baby son. “And since our rendezvous with the Wyoming was so close to Earth,” he continued, “I saw my chance and booked some time on subspace.”

  “You couldn’t have been the only one,” said Beverly.

  “That’s true,” the commander agreed. “But rank has its privileges.” He shrugged. “Actually, I didn’t take any more time than anyone else with family in the sector—I just went first.”

  His wife chuckled and shook her head. “You’re always thinking of others, aren’t you?”

  “Right now,” Crusher told her, “I’m thinking about you. And about Wes. And about how much I miss the two of you.”

  Beverly sighed. “Any prospect of shore leave?”

  “None right now,” he said. “But you never know. Just keep hoping.” He paused. “Honey, there’s something I want to tell you about.”

  She must have sensed something in his voice, because her eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong, Jack?”

  “No,” the commander said, “nothing like that.”

  Then he brought her up to date about his mission on Debennius VI. He started with the explosive diplomatic situation the Stargazer had sailed into and proceeded through the beginning of his adventures with Tuvok.

  “Sounds dangerous,” Beverly said, clearly none too thrilled about the idea but resigned not to say too much about it.

  “Maybe a little,” Crusher conceded. “But the worst part…”

  She looked at him. “Yes?”

  “Was at a place called The House of Comfort.” And he went on to tell his wife all about it.

  The commander wasn’t sure what reaction he expected—but it wasn’t the one he got. When he had finished with his description of what happened in the bathhouse, Beverly broke into peals of laughter—so much so that little Wesley gaped at her, startled.

  “Jack,” she exclaimed when she was able to catch her breath, “that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “It is?” he blurted. “I mean…of course it is. Absolutely. That’s whyI…er, wanted to share it with you, because it’s so funny. And you’re not…upset or anything, right?”

  His wife looked at him askance. “You mean…am I angry that my husband was willing to go to any length in that place to get the information he needed?” She thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I guess I am a little angry. But you were doing your duty, Jack.”

  “That’s right,” Crusher confirmed.

  “And for a very worthy cause.”

  “Right again,” he told her.

  “And if our positions were reversed and I had to do what you did, you would understand too…wouldn’t you?”

  The commander was about to agree again when he realized just what he would be agreeing to. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say.

  Again, Beverly broke into laughter—and this time, Wesley laughed along with her. “Honestly, Jack, you must be the most predictable man in all of Starfleet. Don’t you know when I’m kidding you?”

  Crusher blushed. “Um…sometimes?”

  “But what happened after that?” his wife asked. She stifled a snicker. “After you and Tuvok got out of the bath, I mean.”

  He told her the rest—about the fight in the dance hall and their ensuing imprisonment at the hands of Mendan Abbis. About Grace, whose violent end saddened her. About his warning to the captain, and about his timely arrival with Tuvok at the Cordracite fleetyard.

  Beverly smiled. “Then the good guys won?”

  The commander nodded. “This time.”

  “And what about Thul?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “As I understand it, the Thallonians are pretty intolerant when it comes to treachery. No doubt, Thul will be placed in prison for a long time. Maybe the rest of his life.”

  Beverly sighed. “Wherever he is, I hope he never gets a chance to carry out that revenge he was ranting about.”

  Crusher shook his head. “Don’t worry, honey. I think we can be pretty sure we’ve heard the last of Gerrid Thu
l.”

  Epilogue

  IN HIS NIGHTMARE, he was once again standing on the bridge of his ship, watching the hideous, blinding flash of his son’s vessel as it reduced itself to subatomic particles on his viewscreen.

  “Thul!” someone said.

  He looked about at the faces of his officers. They stared back at him, uncertainty etched in their every feature.

  “Thul!” someone said again, louder this time.

  But the summons hadn’t come from anyone on his bridge. He turned to his viewscreen. There was no one there either.

  “Thul!” someone growled.

  With a shock, the governor bolted upright—and saw that he wasn’t on his ship after all. He was on the hard, uncomfortable pallet that had served him as a bed for the last several months, ever since he became an inmate of the Reggana City Imperial Prison.

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, willing his heart to slow down, Thul swung his legs over the side of the pallet and stared through the translucent energy barrier that separated him from the corridor beyond. There was a guard standing there…and someone else. Someone wearing a dark, hooded robe.

  Someone whose bearing was vaguely familiar.

  “A visitor,” the guard spat.

  A feminine hand emerged from the robe and deposited something in the guard’s big hand. Quickly, he stuffed it into a pocket of his tunic, but not before Thul saw the distinctive glint of latinum. Then, with a glance at the prisoner, the guard walked away.

  Thul was alone with his guest. “Who are you?” he asked as he approached the energy barrier—though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

  “It is I,” the hooded one said in a soft whisper. Pulling back her hood, she revealed herself as Mella Cwan.

  The prisoner had forgotten how plain the emperor’s sister was, how flatly unappealing. Nonetheless, he managed to put all that aside and smile his most fervent smile.

  “My lady,” he said breathlessly.