Shadows of the Night, Part VI

Mon Mothma smiled at Jean-luc Picard across the table. "And now our ambassador from the Federation would like to speak with the members of this committee."

Picard rose and nodded at her with a friendly smile. Mon Mothma was an effective leader, but she'd still managed to remain personable, a hard trick for many. Dealing with her and the other members of the Republic was certainly better than dealing with hostile aliens, as he had for so many years. Strange, he thought, the Federation and the Republic started as bitter enemies and now were the closest of friends. Picard hoped that he wouldn't be putting a strain on that friendship. "I've come with what will at first seem an unusual suggestion," he said to the "committee," a kind of inner circle of the Republic that would often bring ideas before the Senate. "The Empire approached me, recently. They're asking for peace."

"I hope you mean they're offering to surrender," Quedlifu commented.

"The Empire is asking that all sides agree to end hostilities."

"Surely you are joking," said the Bothan known as Fey'lya. "The Empire has resorted to every possible means to stop this government in all its forms from legalized brutality to the destruction of entire worlds. The notion that we can peacefully coexist with them is laughable."

"I understand your skepticism-" Picard began.

"Skepticism?" Quedlifu interrupted with a snort. "That word, ambassador, doesn't even begin to cover my feelings on the subject, which are the same as Senator Fey'lya's and I'm sure that of the rest of my colleagues."

"You do not speak for all of us," Gavrisom replied. "Is not the goal of this government peace? Or are we going to return to the militaristic ways of the Empire?"

"This peace was earned through blood!" Fey'lya replied. "Let us never forget that. We cannot ignore the crimes of the Empire."

"Nor can we ignore the principles of justice," Gavrisom retorted. "The Emperor is dead, the warlords have been crushed, and thanks to help from our allies," he nodded to Picard, "virtually all territory that formed the Old Republic is under the protection of the New Republic. If there is in fact a leader amongst the Imperials who sees the futility of war we should encourage them."

"I cannot believe that you'd even consider this idiocy. The Bothans will never be a part of any government that aligns itself with the Empire!"

"Once again, senator, you cloud the issue with nonsense. We are not discussing an allegiance, we're discussing ending a war."

"You cannot expect peaceful coexistence with a government who's founding principles is the inferiority of non-humans," the Ishori senator Dx'ono said. "Conflict is inevitable."

"Except the Empire is being run by a non-human," Picard interjected. That remark brought the noisy room to silence. "Command of the Empire has now fallen to Grand Admiral Thrawn."

The group, which had just been filled with vocal expressions and passionate emotions, was suddenly engaged in quiet discourse. Thrawn, who had been the first from this galaxy to make contact with the Federation, was of course known, as well as his involvement in the Borg War, but aside of his name he was an unknown to many in the Republic. Apparently his alien heritage had not become common knowledge.

"This may be true," Quedlifu finally said, "but nevertheless we cannot allow the Empire, regardless of leadership, to subjugate the worlds under their control. We cannot turn a blind eye to what they are."

"Respectfully," Picard said, "they claim to have changed." No one was more surprised than he was to find himself defending the Empire after all the lies they'd been fed before. He was sorely tempted to just dismiss Thrawn out of hand, but in the end he realized that war was what happened when diplomacy failed. Thrawn had made a gesture of peace, and as a diplomat it was Picard's duty to inspect the matter and see if it was attainable. It was an awesome responsibility, but when you've saved humanity a few dozen times it becomes easier.

"Can you give us some examples?" Mon Mothma asked, speaking for the first time since she'd turned the floor over to Picard.

"Thrawn claims that all worlds under Imperial control are under that control with their consent," Picard answered. "Considering their track record this is a substantial change of attitude."

Fey'lya's fur rippled as he spoke. "And on what do you base this information? Thrawn's word?"

"My recommendation," Picard said as patiently as possible, "is that the matter be more thoroughly investigated. I have made some inquiries, and it seems that Thrawn's claims are legitimate. If further investigation by the Republic reveals this as well, then this presents us with an opportunity to finally bring a lasting peace to both our galaxies."

"With the expansion of the Borg," Ackbar said, "I consider such a hope premature."

The blood drained slightly from Picard's face. "Yes," he said in a low voice. He was quiet for several heartbeats and suddenly remembered where he was. "But it's all the more reason we should consider Thrawn's offer. A war fought on multiple fronts is a war not easily won, and of the two, I promise you that it won't be the Borg that comes to negotiate."

"Thank you for your presentation ambassador," Mon Mothma said, indicating the allotted time was up. "We'll take your recommendation under advisement."

Picard walked slowly back to his quarters, his mind dwelling, as it had so often in the past, on the Borg. It was a shocking coincidence that they had begun mobilizing now, with the Cult of the Emperor's revelation, but there didn't seem to be any possible way it could be connected. For the first time in a while, he wished he was back in command of a starship. Oh, he knew the Enterprise was in capable hands; the old girl's reputation was spreading across the galaxy, in fact. But as good as Riker was, he didn't know the Borg like Picard did; next to Seven, he doubted anyone could.

In orbit around the planet Mars floats Utopia Planetia, the main starship construction facility of the Federation. It has always been a busy place, but when the Empire came it became the center of a flurry of activity unmatched in Federation history. For years the facility ran night and day refitting starships with new Imperial technology. It had indeed been a long and difficult process, but finally Admiral Jellico was able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. The question was, what now?

Jellico scanned the top of the pile. A proposed recalibration of the warp scale. Makes sense; considering that the average speed was something like Warp 9.9999, it'd certainly make it easier on everyone. He put it aside to look at in more detail later. Next, an idea to boost subspace communication. He read a little bit but put it aside; too impractical. Besides, the improvements in the holonet made it obsolete. He shook his head at that fact; galactic communication, and in his lifetime. Like so many events of recent history he had never thought it possible.

The next report he almost skipped: a request for an increase in the Defiant-class line's production. But he saw a single word and his attention was immediately drawn to the PADD. "Borg." He read, his stomach tightening with every word. He remembered the slaughter of Wolf 359; true it paled to the Dominion War, but the infamy of that battle lived on. Historians had, in fact, called it the official end of the Golden Age of the Federation, as it marked Starfleet's movement towards defensive strength over its tradition of exploration. Well, let them judge; they don't have to sit up late at night wondering what to do when one ship can annihilate an entire fleet and head right into orbit of Earth itself. It was Jellico's job as a member of Starfleet, and he'd personally lobbied for the go-ahead on the Defiant starship, the first warship in Federation history. "Desperate times," he had reminded them, "call for the most desperate of measures." And now the Borg were back, and back with an attitude to boot. Outnumbered and outgunned, no fleet that had gone against them in the past month had won a battle. It seemed that once again times were desperate... that another Wolf 359 was waiting for them.

Someone had to do something, and since Jellico wasn't a historian that could sit on the sideline and pass judgment, he was ready to do it - whatever "it" turned out to be, of course. He stepped up to the glass and leaned with slight weariness against it as he watched the ships growing under production and the repairs of some ships recently returned from the fighting. His eyes drifted to the remains of the USS Swansea, sitting quietly in dock. She'd probably be salvaged for parts, he thought sadly. He hated to do it but the kind of repair needed for it, plus the fact that the design was over a decade old, gave him no choice. A tragedy.

And then he had an idea. To say it was bizarre was an understatement; and were he not the commander of Utopia Planetia it'd never get off the ground, but he could do it. And if it works... if it works, it could mean a chance for hope. Yes, desperate times... desperate times...

Picard had no sooner entered his quarters when the message arrived. He could hardly believe it, but it was a pleasant surprise to say the least, and with the number of unpleasant ones to arrive of late, he was grateful for the change. "Geordi!" he said, shaking the man's hand as he stepped into Picard's home. A few pleasantries were exchanged as the first officer of Picard's former ship filled him in on some of the day-to-day minutia that went on aboard a starship. Finally, Picard had to ask, "Why exactly are you here? Coruscant is hardly a quick stop from the Milky Way."

Geordi's cheerful grin faded into a more serious expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a PADD. "I heard about the commencement address," he said. "We've been a little preoccupied lately, but when I heard the details of what had happened I knew we needed to talk."

"I assume you're referring to Elhid Whar," Picard said.

"Is he the man who was shot in the square?" Picard nodded. "He was ranting about the Emperor, wasn't he?"

"Ranting; yes, that would certainly describe it." Picard frowned a little at the thought. It still disappointed him that things had happened the way they had. He wished he could've done something differently; Whar may have been crazy, but that didn't mean he deserved to die. He looked down as Geordi passed the PADD over. "What's this?" he asked, activating the screen.

"It's a scan of energy readings from the Death Star explosion," Geordi replied.

"So it is." Picard looked up at his friend. "Why are you showing it to me?"

Geordi wet his lips, apparently unsure of how to broach this topic. "The green line there," he finally said. "We have reason to believe it's a hyperspatial transporter."

"Fascinating," Picard replied. "I fail to see the rel-" he stopped short. "Geordi," he said flatly, "you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"Given the circumstances," he said, "I thought you should at least know about this."

Picard nodded. "Thank you. I'm afraid, however, this changes nothing. The Emperor is dead and that's the end of it."

"Sir," Geordi replied, "I know it's unbelievable-"

"Of course it's unbelievable. Men who are dead don't walk around and use transporters. Whatever this signal is is something else entirely."

"You're probably right," Geordi conceded. "I just thought you should be aware of the possibility-"

"There is no possibility!" Picard shouted. "The Emperor is dead! I killed him! That is the end of the discussion!"

"Sir," Geordi said with absolute patience, almost as if he were explaining something to a child. "I believe you. But you have to remember..." Picard stood up and started pacing the room, and Geordi raised his voice to keep the other man's attention. "You have to remember that the Emperor had abilities we don't fully understand. You admitted that he was shot multiple times with blasters and was completely unaffected."

"Plastoid armor, if you're not aware commander, is a somewhat effective defense against blaster fire; it hardly gives him magical powers."

"If he was wearing armor why wasn't his clothing damaged?"

"Perhaps it was. We weren't exactly paying attention to details like that, we were trying to destroy the Death Star!"

"Sir," Geordi said, his voice sounding weary. "We know Skywalker, Organa, Vader all have special abilities, and the Emperor was supposed to be the most powerful of them all. Isn't it possible that he was able to survive and escape?"

"Geordi," Picard said, exasperated, "The man was less than a meter away from a thermal detonator! It caused the structural failure of the Death Star itself! No one, regardless of their powers, can possibly survive that." He was shouting now, but he couldn't help himself. "None of you can accept the truth! It's impossible to believe that such evil can be so easily dispensed with, but you forget he's JUST A MAN!!!" He collapsed into his seat, and there was quiet for a time before Geordi finally stood up. "Let me ask you this?" Picard said in his normal tone, although there was a hint of exhaustion. "If the Emperor did survive, which I do not grant, where is he? Do you really think he'd stand by and allow us to tear down his work of a lifetime?"

"I don't know," Geordi said. "I thought you might be able to find the answers, if there are any." He walked towards the door and then stopped. "I just thought, with the cult causing troubles, it's something you might want to know about."

Picard sighed. "I appreciate that," he said. "And, I'm grateful that you came all this way to tell me. I'm sorry I reacted as I did."

"It's all right," Geordi said. "Even Seven seemed a little put off, and we both know how much she buries her emotions. After what you two went through, I can only imagine that the thought of him still out there would be the stuff of nightmares."

"Yes," Picard said. "That's why I take great comfort in knowing he isn't."

"He was here?!" Han said in complete disbelief. Luke thought for a moment that Han was going to burst a blood vessel as the shock continued to grow. Given the situation, Luke couldn't blame him.

"Hey," Lando said, holding his hands up in an attempt to placate his long-time partner, "I'm no happier about it than you are; but there's no need to kill the messenger."

Chewie said nothing as Han made several false starts at a reply. His sensitive Wookiee nose confirmed what Lando had already stated, that Boba Fett had been right here, in their little corner of the galaxy. And that meant serious trouble.

Luke jumped slightly and reached for his lightsaber as a hand appeared out of nowhere. He turned and looked at the scowling face of its owner. "Mr. Calrissian," he grumbled, "wanted to give you some refreshment." His teeth clenched and he forced out the rest of the words. "On the house."

Luke nodded but wasn't really listening, focusing on the bartender. It was unbelievable. Finally, he reached out and touched the man on the shoulder. Quark looked at him strangely. "What's that for?"

"Sorry," Luke replied. "It's just.... well, you don't seem real."

Quark's grim face smiled a little. "You're a telepath, right?" Luke nodded. "Telepaths can't sense a Ferengi. Our minds are impenetrable."

"That's because your brains are too small," a woman remarked, stepping into the bar. "It's like trying to pick out a pebble on a rock pile." Quark snarled a little and returned to the bar. Lando immediately stood as she came up to the table, and the others rose just to avoid feeling foolish. "At ease," she said smiling.

"Gentlemen," Lando said, charm cranked up to full throttle, "This is Col. Kira Nerys, commander of this station. This is Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Luke Skywalker."

"Mr. Skywalker," Kira nodded to him, "Your reputation precedes you."

Everyone at the table knew what she was referring to. While the destruction of the Death Star was definitely a monstrous effort, for some reason credit had been given to Picard, Data, and himself. The three had certainly done their part, but there was Vader, whose change of heart made it possible, and Leia, who'd freed Picard in order to make his fortunate strike. No one mentioned Seven either, although that was by her request; she was uncomfortable with the spotlight, taking quiet promotion over public spectacle. Practical as always. His thoughts still drifted to her at times... He recalled the storm he'd felt underneath that hard Borg exterior, and that look on her face when she'd pulled him away from the Emperor. He'd blacked out almost immediately, but in his memory he could still see her expression. She cared, and on a personal level, that he'd been hurt. That she could feel that way for a person she barely knew touched him deeply, showed him that there definitely was more to her than Borg stereotypes suggested.

"Everyone did their part," Luke replied to Kira, "Mine was no more important."

"Well, let me just say that any enemy of the Empire's is a friend of mine," she said, pulling up a chair. She turned to Lando. "We lost Fett's ship, but it was heading for the delta quadrant. We're not sure if he's going to the wormhole or not, but I've asked for a check to see if he arrives within the next few days." Wormhole Station, formerly an Imperial station, was now in Republic hands, and carefully monitored all traffic both ways.

"We'll keep our eyes open for him," Han said.

"You heading for the wormhole?" Lando asked.

"Yarval," Han said. "Luke wants to check it out."

Kira took her drink. "You're as brave as they say if you want to go tramping around on freshly-assimilated planets."

"Something important happened there," Luke said. "Isn't it odd that communication went down so that no one could hear their calls for help?"

"Bad luck sometimes happens," Han said.

"Spoken like an expert," Lando grinned. "But I'm inclined to agree; if the network had been damaged or destroyed, that's one thing, but it was just computer failure... that's not the Borg's style."

Luke pushed away his empty glass. "Which is exactly why I think there's more going on."

Go To Part VII
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