Data holstered his tricorder, but not his phaser. "If I may, sir, I think he wants us to take him captive."

Nodding, Riker motioned for the Romulan to take a seat near one of the unused monitor consoles. "Sit?" he asked, then turned to Deanna. "Why isn't he speaking his own language?"

Taking a chair herself, Deanna shrugged. "Ask him."

A smile turned the corners of Riker's lips up. Of course. Ask. "Right." He turned to the Romulan.

"Why are you speaking our language without a translator?"

For a moment, the Romulan's face went blank, quizzical. Then he smiled again. "Your language, good. I speak well, praise myself, no?"

"Do you have a name?" Deanna asked.

"Yes," the Romulan said after brief thought.

Deanna leaned forward in her seat and smiled charmingly. She could still melt any man with that look, Riker thought. "What is your name?"

The Romulan looked confused and slowly shook his head. "No. "What' is not my name."

Thumb and forefinger pressing into the bridge of his nose, Riker definitely felt a headache coming on. "Would you please speak your language. Yours. We want to understand you better. Okay?"

"I understand well, praise myself, okay?"

Deanna chuckled. "That is very Romulan, isn't it? Self-praise?"

Riker sighed. "Do you want to help here?"

"Sure." Deanna turned and stood. "Computer, translate my next sentence into Romulan standard language and play it back."

"Acknowledged."

"I understand you're very enthused about being here, and we're glad to see you, too. But if you'll speak your language, we'll speak ours, and we'll be able to understand one another much better through our universal translators. All right?"

Still radiating that smile, but with maybe a little disappointment behind his eyes, the Romulan nodded, then spoke. This time, he was speaking his native language, and the translator kicked in immediately. "Certainly. My apologies for any inconvenience. I try to practice whenever I get the chance. You're Federation, correct? I recognized your vessel as Federation design. Starfleet as well. I am very pleased to see you, but what are you doing out here?"

Relieved, Riker sighed. That is much better. "We were wondering the same about you. Especially wondering why you have a garbage truck that cloaks?"

A bit confused, the Romulan c.o.c.ked his head backward a bit " "Truck'? What is that word? It translated to transport, but I've never heard it before."

Interesting. He was listening to both the original and the translation. Not an easy task. Riker was so used to the translator, he didn't even hear an alien's normal speech anymore.

"You're listening to the translation and our speech as well?" Deanna asked. She must have been just as surprised. Or she read the thought from Riker's mind. He was never quite sure with her.

"Linguistics and dialects are a hobby," the Romulan said.

"Do you have a name?" Data asked. Riker noted his phaser was still leveled at the seated Romulan. Good.

"My name is Tobin. Can you tell me what a truck is?" He said truck with a more Romulan accent. Like "A truck is ... a transport. A vehicle," Deanna answered. While she and Data were being friendly, Riker was being concerned. "Excuse me, Tobin. I'd like to know how you managed to get a cloak for your ship."

"I'm escaping," Tobin said cheerfully. "I'm coming to the Federation. Defecting. This is the least-used transport route. I saw your ion trail, and when I thought it looked Federation, I came back."

Riker chewed the inside of his lower lip a bit. He wasn't sure he believed Tobin. s.p.a.ce is very big, and that they had happened to meet up seemed more than coincidence. There was nothing Riker could think of that made their ion trail look specifically Federation. Not since they'd taken steps to mask it.

He almost asked Deanna if she thought the Romulan was lying, but Riker knew her well enough that if she did, she'd mention it. He also knew that Tobin's exuberance was probably overwhelming all other senses.

"That doesn't answer how you managed to get a cloak for a nonmilitary vessel. Were you, or are you, a member of the Romulan military?"

"No, certainly not." Tobin's expression became sour.

That could certainly be an act, Riker thought. "I'm not sure I believe you. If you're not military, how did you get the cloak?"

Tobin didn't hesitate, and the bitter edge to his features disappeared. "My cousin is involved in warbird construction. It is not hard to get the proper parts if you know what to replicate. The hard part is generating enough power. Only a larger vessel, like the size of mine, will have room for a warp core big enough."

"You're not using a quantum singularity method of warp manipulation?" Deanna asked. Riker has almost forgotten her experience with Romulan warp technology.

"No, that isn't available on many older ships. I have a standard matter antimatter warp core." It seemed Tobin was willing to discuss anything with interest and at some length. He was very open. So far.

"Very interesting," Riker said. "And convenient."

"Convenient?" Data asked.

"Something's wrong with all this," Riker said, and he wasn't afraid to let Tobin hear it. "I don't know what, but something smells fishy."

Their Romulan guest got that quizzical look on his face again, and his brows knitted. "What is 'fishy'?"

"I don't know yet, Mr. Tobin," Riker said. "But I intend to find out"

U.S.S. Enterprise. NCC 1701E Klingon s.p.a.ce Malinga Sector "Am I to inspect the trash before you discard it now, Picard?"

Kalor seethed at T'sart's comment. At his snide Romulan tone and arrogant Romulan face.

His blood hot with hate and anger, Kalor felt his muscles tense for the kill. But he could not kill him here, not as he wanted. He wanted to feel T'sart's throat crushed in his bare hands. He wanted to press out the devil's last breath of life so he could spit into it. But first he wanted to hurt the Romulan in ways no other being had ever been hurt. Kalor would invent new ways, if necessary.

"Hold your tongue, Romulan," the Klingon spat as he let his hatred burn through his eyes and into T'sart.

"Why did you bring him here?" T'sart asked Picard. "Are you showing me off like a trophy? I'll remind you I'm here because I wish to be."

That was the largest crime of all. That Picard had this monster where all of the Klingon Empire, all of the quadrant, wanted him, and he wasn't even in the brig. He was in his own quarters, being pampered by a dishonorable Federation. Picard had the Romulan within his grasp, and all he did was shake the villain's hand.

Kalor stood straight before T'sart, squeezed the buckle on his belt, and nodded with satisfaction. "I've seen enough."

"Hm? You don't want a souvenir voice-stamped holograph?" T'sart mocked.

Picard motioned toward the door. "Enough, from both of you."

The Klingon turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. The guards stayed behind, but Picard followed.

Once in the corridor, Kalor noticed Picard shaking his head.

"Satisfied?" the starship captain asked.

Kalor smiled inwardly, but had not a chance to answer. The sound of distant explosions, then alert klaxons, filled the ship.

d.a.m.n you, Parl! Kalor cursed to himself. You are too early!

"La Forge to Captain Picard."

Picard slapped at his comm badge, a light film of perspiration glinting off his head. "Report, La Forge!"

"Kalor's ship fired on us, Captain! Warp power is offline. Shields are up now, but compromised dorsal, aft and starboard. And we have six Klingon birds-of prey on an intercept vector."

As his subordinate spoke, Picard only glared at Kalor. A stare not unlike the one he had just visited upon T'sart.

"Signal battle stations. Then get to Engineering, Mr. La Forge. Leave the bridge to Spock. I'll be right there.

"Aye, sir."

"And get security down here. Governor Kalor is under arrest."

Chapter Eighteen.

U.5.S. Enterprise. NCC 1701E Klingon s.p.a.ce Malinga Sector picard had been foolish, something he most often wasn't. Being so, and the captain of a starship, put many people in peril. Being so today, with all that was happening, put the galaxy in peril. He wasn't in the best of moods about that.

In his anger, Picard almost had Kalor taken to the makeshift brig. Then he thought better, and ordered that the Klingon governor merely be flanked by two security guards. Sad but true-he might need Kalor still.

"Captain on the bridge." Spock's voice was clear as he stepped down from the command chair. He was wearing a standard issue uniform now, with the appropriate rank. A Starfleet captain before Picard was even born, he wondered if the Vulcan had the urge to stay in the center seat. Picard would have, even if it weren't his command.

"Status." He stepped down to the command deck as Spock handed the captain a padd and moved toward the monitor station next to the captain's chair. Kalor was held on the upper deck by the guards.

"Shields are operable. We are on impulse power. Warp power is still offline."

"Hail Kalor's ship " Picard ordered.

Shapiro nodded, already having the connection ready. "On screen."

Picard looked at the Klingon on the main viewer and decided greetings were unnecessary. "You are?" he demanded.

The Klingon didn't flinch. "Part. Second in command."

The captain nodded and waved the Klingon off. "We have Governor Kalor in custody. Warn the approaching ships off."

Parl shook his head slowly. "I can't do that, Captain." He wasn't angry. In fact, for a Klingon he was rather mellow.

Not feeling mellow himself, Picard nodded for Kalor's guards to bring him forward a step. Roughly. "Tell him."

"No." Kalor looked to Parl and shook his head.

"Fine. Mr. Chamberlain, lock our phasers on the Klingon vessel."

Lieutenant Chamberlain's hands dabbed at the tactical board. "Phasers locked."

"Disrupters locked?" Part asked someone off screen.

"Locked," was the gruff reply.

A game of chicken. Picard could win it, easily, despite being warp-disabled.

"There are six more, Picard," Kalor said. He knew his ship could be taken. And he knew it was worth the sacrifice. The Enterprise against six other ships, however, that was another matter.

The captain nodded and thumbed a panel on the arm of his command chair. "Picard to Engineering."

"La Forge here."

"Mr. Spock gave me a report, Mr. La Forge. If I read this right, it's similar to the damage from that overload a few weeks ago, correct?"

There was the very slightest of delays before Geordi's response. "Aye, sir. About two days to repair those circuits, sir."

"Understood. Picard out."

Calculated risk, Picard thought. But he'd been taking too much of a backseat to the events of the last few days. He'd let T'sart chart Enterprise's course, and had almost let Kalor. No more.

"I'm not asking you to surrender your ship," Kalor said. "I would not dishonor you that way"

Picard scoffed. "You have dishonored me. And yourself."

"As you have, by bringing that petaQ here!" Kalor broke forward from his guards and leaned over the rail toward Picard. "By having him at all!"

"The dead zones-"

Kalor spat. "I care not about them, Picard! I am not a scientist. I am a soldier, and a creature of duty."

The captain rose slowly, turning, but not ordering the main viewer off. Let Parl watch, and listen. "You have no duty to the lives of other Klingons?"

"I have a duty to avenge the deaths of those Klingons who were killed without honor. At that monster's hand." The word "that" was punctuated with a growl and a fist pounding on the guardrail.

There were not many ways to dishonor a Klingon in death, but T'sart had perfected at least one: disease. Genetic warfare, outlawed by most Alpha Quadrant governments, was still researched by most, usually defensively. T'sart was a master pract.i.tioner of the offensive.

In more ways than one.

Picard turned back to the main viewer. "Parl, is it?"

Parl nodded.