"You have until we repair our damage to retreat outside our weapons range. After that, Federation/ Klingon treaties will be ignored."

"Understood," Parl said calmly.

"You're staying here," Picard said to Kalor. "Mr. Spock, take the governor into my ready room. Explain the situation to him."

Spock nodded. "Of course, Captain."

The guards tugged at Kalor's arms. "What is this? I do not need a Vulcan to explain anything to me. What are you doing?"

Pushing out a frustrated huff, Picard mumbled, "Hoping you can be reasoned with."

Romulan Warbird Makluan Romulan/Klingon border Sector 22 Folan looked out onto a starscape with stars not her own. She had no friends among the people around her on the bridge, or the suns about her, and she was feeling the loneliness of that fact.

Her ship was now mostly repaired, using backups and bypa.s.ses, which could collapse with another battle. Perhaps without one. Long-range communications were still down, and that meant even if she had wanted more help, she could not ask for it As for her crew ... she was fooling herself calling them hers, as much as she was in calling the ship hers.

Medric, the person most likely to take command from her at his first opportunity, had worked silently for hours. So had the others. Folan had not wanted to leave the bridge, lest what was silence became whispers, and then chants against her authority.

If T'sart was now dead, as she hoped, then her authority would not be questioned. But she'd not heard from the Klingons, and at this point thought it unlikely she would. They'd either ignored her message as treachery, or heeded it but would not respect her with a return response. There was the chance Medric was wrong, and the Makluan could not receive a message as well as send one. But... why would he lie about something so easily checked? She was being paranoid.

So, other than looking over her shoulder, what should she do? She wanted to sleep ... sleep and not wake up for years. Sleep, and when she did finally awake, be in her bed, a child, in her mother's house. She... needed to stop thinking like that.

Enterprise was where T'sart was. Where Picard was. What Folan needed, she decided, was to find the Enterprise herself. She would confirm T'sart's death, or cause it, and achieve Picard's as well.

Deciding on that course of action, she then asked herself the questions she should have posed before. Why Klingon s.p.a.ce, and why now? The Klingons hated T'sart more than anyone, save perhaps Folan herself.

Something was out of place. Folan wanted to know what.

"Medric." She bounded out of the command chair and toward the centurion's station. "Calculate Enterprise's current position based on last known location and trajectory."

He looked up. "I know how to extrapolate a current position. Why?"

"Do it," Folan snapped.

The man clicked at his console, and then pointed to a graph on a monitor. "Klingon s.p.a.ce. Malinga sector."

"Helm," Folan called, turning. "Set a course. Best possible speed to the Malinga sector."

Folan stepped back down to the command chair. She didn't watch Medric's glances at other crewman. But she felt them. And she worried.

U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC 1701E Klingon s.p.a.ce Malinga Sector It didn't take long for the other Klingon ships to arrive. When they had, Kalor's ship took Enterprise in tow and they headed toward the Malinga colony, where Kalor sat as governor.

In that brief time, Picard had taken a few moments to discuss some options privately with La Forge. He went back to his ready room when Spock had finished explaining the entire situation to Kalor.

"You expect me to believe this, Picard? That this one animal is the only one who knows how to stop these dead zones?" Kalor's expression was full of anger and distrust Picard sighed and lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. "I don't even know that much. I do know that T'sart has more information on these dead zones than anyone in the Federation, and the data does suggest the source could be more toward Romulan s.p.a.ce than anything else."

His anger still swirling but more controlled, Kalor balled his fists at his side. "Did you ever think the monster himself could be behind these death zones? That you could be an unwitting p.a.w.n in a Romulan scheme? Or just his scheme?"

The captain shared a quick glance with Spock. "Yes, the thought has occurred to us."

"Then why not a.s.sume that? It is much more likely, yes?"

"Indeed." Picard looked at something on his desk computer screen, then spun the monitor away. "And I'm not suggesting that's not most likely. But whether T'sart is behind these happenings, or simply understands them, he knows more than we do. And if his thinking me a p.a.w.n will get these phenomena stopped, then so be it."

In a gesture one didn't often see in a Klingon, Kalor both sighed and shrugged. "You're not usually a fool, Picard," he said, and there was a hint of "even if I sometimes am" in his tone. "But how do you know he's not better than you are in such games?"

"How do you know he is?" Picard said, and smiled slightly. But it was bravado. Picard wasn't sure at all. He leaned forward over the desk. "I need your help, Kalor."

"My duty was to kill him, and that I have."

Picard felt his brow furrow. "Have? Past tense?"

"A virus. The same one he used to kill seven thousand Klingons and cause another forty thousand to suffer, myself included."

The captain stood. "Then there is a cure?"

Kalor shook his head. He sounded neither satisfied nor victorious. Was it just duty to him? "The virus has been genetically re-engineered to kill only him."

Picard shook his head. When had this happened? "How?"

"Beamed into him." Kalor removed his belt buckle and laid it on the table. "Small transporter transponder. It focused our beam to coordinate within his bloodstream when I got close enough."

The captain angrily shoved the transponder off the table. "Ignorant-" He slapped at his comm badge.

"Picard to Dr. Crasher. Get T'sart to sickbay. Immediately."

"Aye, sir. Injury?"

"Virus. Full work-up, Doctor."

"On my way. Crusher out."

Kalor stood and Picard saw the guard at his door tense. Picard shook his head and the guard regained his composure.

"There is no cure, Picard."

The captain sighed heavily. "You'd better hope we can find one, or we're all dead."

Chapter Nineteen.

U.S.S. Enterprise. NCC 1701E Klingon s.p.a.ce Malinga Sector "nasty little virus." Beverly Crasher huffed out an angry breath as she dropped the data padd on the table in front of T'sart. The Romulan stopped it from clattering around the desk.

Picard knew her well. She'd wanted it to clatter, liked to make noise when she was angry. It was her release, and she was probably annoyed that the Romulan had interrupted that.

"Thank you," he said, smiling in a manner neither cheerful nor sneering. "You have a keen eye for workmanship."

Sickbay was empty of patients, and Picard had asked any others to exit. He and T'sart sat at Beverly's desk. The good doctor hovered over her not-so-good patient.

"If only it were the same as yours," she said, moving to his side, first scanning him up, then down. "But your antidote won't work with this variety. It's specially coded to your DNA."

T'sart nodded, as if listening to a piece of music he was well familiar with and was noting the chords had remained the same. "That will mean an exceedingly long duration before death."

"But not before symptoms arise," Beverly said, moving a long strand of red hair that had fallen before her eyes. "Painful symptoms."

T'sart smiled, more a ghoulish smirk than anything else. "I see your Klingon pets hadn't the skill to change enough of the virus."

The doctor closed her tricorder and put the hand scanner away. "They had enough. This will kill you."

T'sart shrugged elaborately. "Eventually, we all die."

"How long?" Picard asked Beverly.

She slid into her desk chair and tapped at her computer console. "Depends on his metabolism. I may be able to slow it. He could help if he fasts. Perhaps a week. If we're lucky."

The Romulan chuckled darkly. "Preservation of my life, and 'if we're lucky." There's something I don't hear every day."

"We're going to try to save your life, T'sart. We'll do everything we can." Picard leaned toward him. "But now you'll have to tell us everything you know. Everything you've left out, and it's a great deal more, I'm sure."

Leaning back, T'sart breathed in slowly through his nose, then back out. He folded his hands across his stomach, steepling his fingers in a motion Picard considered rather stately and Vulcan. "It is a great deal indeed, Picard."

He wasn't sure if T'sart would speak truly. He thought he might, then in the next moment knew he wouldn't. "Tell us."

"Why? So you can save the galaxy? Without me in it, of what worth is the galaxy?"

Beverly harrumphed. "There's a sick thought."

"He's being quite serious." Spock's voice.

Picard turned to see the Vulcan was just through the doorway. He handed the captain a padd and then stood to the side, looking at T'sart.

"Yes, I'm very serious." T'sart was matter-of-fact. He continued reclining as he spoke. "Why should I care what becomes of the galaxy after my death?"

"Everything is about you?" Crusher asked.

T'sart nodded. "All the interesting things, yes."

"You won't help us." Picard wasn't asking a question.

"I'm not the helpful sort, Picard. I'll help myself. If that helps you, well, I'll have to live with that. But, 'live with' is the key. If I'm not alive to enjoy it... then I'm also not alive to have the problem that needs solving."

"A logical argument," Spock noted.

Beverly looked up at him, unintimidated by his cool Vulcan visage. "Then why isn't that your philosophy?"

Spock ignored the accusatory tone. "Because we have different core values. An argument can be logical while the premise is not. Vulcans prefer to have rational premises as well."

"Vulcans prefer to be arrogant and insufferable," T'sart said with a chuckle.

"You're to talk about arrogance?" Beverly wasted no bedside manner on T'sart.

"I, at least, gain pleasure from my own arrogance." He turns to Spock. "Do you?"

"There is nothing about you from which I gain pleasure," Spock said.

The Romulan grinned, probably sincerely. "You're extremely good at veiled insult."

Spock lowered his head slightly in a gesture neither of denial nor acceptance, something Picard had come to recognize as a Vulcan "if-you-say-so."

Suddenly the captain realized how lucky he was to have Spock on hand. What a vast array of knowledge and experience he could offer. Knowledge ... experience abilities. Picard turned in his chair toward the Vulcan. "I don't suppose ..."

"A mind-meld?" Spock shook his head doubtfully. Amazing that he knew what Picard was considering. "I don't think that would satisfy our needs."

"Reason?" The captain knitted his brows.

"Because," T'sart offered, adjusting himself in his chair and straightening his tunic, "I'm a high-level Romulan official. It is mandatory that we are trained to be quite skilled in blocking mental attacks. Especially Vulcan mental attacks, considering the ease with which Romulan and Vulcan brain chemistry work together."

"We need to know what you know," Picard said.

T'sart smiled. "No one has that much time to learn."

The captain was unamused.

T'sart sighed, perhaps exasperated at his un adoring audience. "I'll help, Picard ... and you'll help me. As long as I'm alive. You'll get no more than that." He turned to Beverly. "I'd get to work, if I were you."

Dr. Crusher pursed her lips, almost sneering as she handed him a tricorder. "I don't suppose you'd like to help?"

"For such a good cause?" T'sart smiled as he gracefully took the instrument. "But of course."

Kalor looked out Picard's office window and cradled his drink awkwardly at his side. Picard watched him, and wondered what he thought. Did he see his vessel's tractor beam reaching around Enterprise and wonder just what he'd done? Was there any awe at his own actions? Did he know how foolish he'd been?

"I want the cure for this disease," Picard said finally, breaking the long silence.

"I told you, there is none." Kalor's voice was thick and slow.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Part gets drunk."

"And you?"

Kalor chuckled. "I just drink." Picard saw nothing fruitful if he pressed that, so he remained on task. "T'sart didn't have a cure for the Klingons, yet his virus killed only seven thousand."

"Only?" Kalor rasped.