By Nathan Warner
Captain Picard stumbles upon a derelict Romulan Bird of Prey from a century before, which unbeknown to him may hold the key to a Romulan reformation
Captain Picard couldn't believe what he was seeing.
“Magnify to full intensity,” he commanded. The viewscreen leapt forward and pulled the alien ship closer. Failing to suppress his excitement, Picard involuntarily took a step forward as the ship of his dreams filled his entire field of view. “A Romulan Bird of Prey!” he whispered. He could distinctly see the individual feathers on the predatory bird motif that clung to the bottom side of the craft, just as the claws suddenly flashed at him, catching the light of a nearby star as the vessel drifted in its stellar grave.
“How did it get way out here in the Pleiades?” Commander Riker asked.
“Perhaps the cowards were fleeing a Klingon ship?” Lt. Worf suggested drily. Picard glanced back at his security officer with a disapproving, yet tolerant frown.
“Ensign Crusher...bring us to within three kilometers,” Picard distractedly motioned towards the ancient vessel on the screen.
“Aye, Sir...three kilometers,” Wesley responded and entered the coordinates, causing the Enterprise to pulse forward through the thick gasses and energy fluxes of the Pleiades cluster. This unexplored region of the galaxy was a nursery for young stars just getting started in life. Even with shields and inertial dampers at maximum, the ship still shuddered against the drag of the remaining gasses that hadn’t been blown out of the way by the deflector. Still, in little time at all, the Galaxy Class starship cruised to a stop below the Romulan vessel, which was still slowly revolving its decrepit drift away from them.
“Life signs?” Picard inquired. Lt. Commander Data interrogated his display.
“Unable to determine due to the immense radiative energy of the nebula,” he reported. Picard leaned over Data’s chair.
“Data, is it possible to beam an away team over there?” he asked. Data inspected his console momentarily.
“Negative, Captain, the energy fluxes from the stellar cluster are too high to allow for transport.” Picard nodded.
“What about a shuttle?” he asked. Data considered the suggestion for less than a millisecond.
“Yes, a shuttle should be able to traverse safely outside the ship, but only with shields at maximum. Additionally, one would not be able to enter the Romulan vessel, unless someone was to hear you ‘knock on the door’ and let you in.” Data looked at his Captain with a poorly emulated expression of amusement, but his comment went unnoticed.
“Can we tow it out of the cluster with a tractor beam?” Picard asked.
“It is possible; however, it is unlikely that the Romulan vessel would remain undamaged in the attempt,” Data replied.
“How about extending our shields around it?” Riker inquired, picking up on the Captain’s deep desire to step onboard the classic vessel. Data frowned.
“Inadvisable, Commander, as our shields are already being taxed by the energy fluxes in the cluster. We would not be able to extend the shields for more than a few minutes, and it will take much longer to exit the cluster.” Picard sighed.
“Very well,” he nodded, “Mr. Data, you’re with me. Number One, you have the bridge.”
“Captain?” Data inquired, jumping out from his seat to follow as Picard turned around at the turbolift.
“Well, we’re not just going to leave it here without a brief tour around it,” Picard said, failing to hold back a smile.
The ride in the turbolift seemed to take forever and Picard paced impatiently. “Captain, may I ask you a question?” Data inquired.
“Anything,” Picard waved distractedly. Data nodded gratefully.
“While I am also curious about this Romulan vessel,” he said, “you appear to be emotionally compromised by its appearance.” Picard straightened a little.
“What do you mean, Data?” he asked, wondering where this conversation was going.
“On the bridge and just now you appear to be distracted,” Data reflected, “and your behavior is more erratic. Why is that?” Picard put his arms down and straightened his Jacket.
“Oh, well…its excitement, Data,” he said, no longer able to contain the smile that wanted to break across his face, “And its human nature that when we get excited, we tend to focus in on the object of our excitement at the expense of other things.”
“But would that not constitute an error in judgement?” Data persisted. Picard ran his hand over his head.
“Perhaps from the perspective of Vulcans,” he said with a smile, “but excitement is hardwired into our biology. It is part of what it means to be human, Data. Life wouldn’t be very interesting for us if we didn’t get excited.” Data nodded, clearly struggling to process the information his Captain was giving him.
“As much as I endeavor to be more human, I find many of the concepts difficult to absorb into my programming,” he said.
“Every child goes through the same process, Data,” Picard said soothingly, “and some have more difficulty than others. The fact you are struggling with it may be the most human thing you’ve done yet.” As the doors opened and Picard left the turbolift, Data lingered a moment with an odd smile on his face – an expression of surprise and self-confidence all at the same time, elicited from the Captain’s comments.
A few Minutes later, the Captain and his trusted Lt. exited Shuttle Bay 2 in the “Berman” - Picard’s favorite Type 6 shuttlecraft. As they passed through the Enterprise’s shields, they felt the jolt and strain on them from the radiative nebula. Picard leaned forward in his seat as the shuttle arched up and around to face the Romulan relic. It drifted into view, floating peacefully towards them like a graceful creature born of space.
“You know, I had a model of it when I was growing up,” Picard recalled, distractedly, “and I used to pretend I was doing battle against it with my models of Constitution Class ships.” Data looked at him quizzically.
“Why are human, adolescent males so intrigued with non-functioning, miniature reproductions of existing vessels?" He asked. Picard smiled sheepishly.
“I don’t know, Data,” he mused, “Perhaps, they make what is possible that much more probable to us and give us a piece of the future, or the past, to hold in our hands. I think they make the immense potential of our human accomplishments that much more tangible—you’re literally holding it in your hands!” Data frowned and shook his head.
“Except you are not ‘literally’ holding it, Captain. I fail to see how a caricature of reality would have any effect upon the mind aside from parody. Would that not constitute a joke?” Picard shook his head and smiled.
“I don’t know Data. Let’s just enjoy this moment, shall we?” Data turned back to the sight out the window and corrected their course to take the shuttle over the Bird of Prey’s port nacelle. Now that they were closer, they could see that the space-weathered hull of the vessel had been scuffed by meteorites and bleached by radiation. “I wonder what stories they could tell,” Picard mused as they coasted beneath the emblem on the bottom.
“Sir?” Data asked. Picard motioned to the ship.
“Who were they? What happened to them? Why are they here?” he suggested.
“Without gaining access to the ship and its computers, it will be impossible to answer your questions, Captain,” Data observed.
Picard sighed, “I know that Data, but the questions remain to drive our curiosity further.” Once they entered the shadow of the ship, he motioned for Data to bring the shuttle to a stop, facing the magnificent creature.
“You know, when I was a boy, Romulans were the ‘enemy’ to be feared,” Picard said, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands across his waist, “They were hiding behind every asteroid and every moon had them in its shadows. And while they still are an elusive risk to the Federation, I don’t fear them anymore. I’ll admit I’m attracted to the beauty of their Empire while at the same time I’m repelled by its violence to conscience. Much like a bird of prey, I suppose – beautiful, majestic and serene, but with an instinct to hunt, pounce, and kill.” Data nodded.
“It would appear to be a human trait,” he reflected, “According to human literature and mythology, those in leadership roles often identify themselves with predators rather than with prey.” Picard let Data’s thoughts settle into the shuttle for a few moments before sitting back up and peering ahead at the talon motif across from them.
“I think what you are referring to, Data, is simply humankind’s subconscious longing to not become prey finding expression though admiration of the predator,” he said softly, “Mankind has a long history of fear – fearing to lose control and become ‘prey’ to anything – chance, nature, even himself. We still struggle with it – I still struggle with it, Data. There is something truly terrifying to us about losing control of our situation. The unknown threatens us with all its potential. But our outlook as Starfleet officers is to embrace it, not fear it.”
They coasted up over the bridge and launched a subspace tagging beacon onto the hull of the ship. Picard tapped his communicator, “Number One?”
“Yes, Sir?” Riker replied.
“We’ve tagged the ship with a beacon and collected some detailed scans of the hull,” Picard said, “We'll need to prepare a report for Starfleet Command and see if they want us to contact Romulus with the information we gathered.”
“Aye, Sir,” Riker responded. With a look of regret, Picard motioned for Data to return to the Enterprise.
“Perhaps in a few years we’ll be able to return and visit the interior of the vessel,” he mused.
A few minutes later, with the shuttle onboard, the Enterprise backed away from the relic and pivoted gracefully on its port nacelle to return on its cataloguing mission through the Pleiades. It quickly faded to a speck and vanished into a thicker cloud of gas. The aged Bird of Prey still floated lifelessly in its grave.
But after an hour or two passed, a light appeared, flickering in the starboard windows of the saucer. Slowly, the shadow of an old grizzled Romulan stepped wearily into the light to take in the scenery of his stellar garden. It may have been morning for him, but he hadn’t slept much with all the troubled thoughts breaking through his mind for release. He carried an open book in his hands, words carved on Corbite vellum with a crystal quill.
“I am Praetor Visek,” he whispered weakly to the empty quarters, as if he was speaking to a jury, “the greatest military mastermind of the past century. I have led many successful battles against the Klingons for the glory of Romulus. But my undoing was my vocal support for peace with Vulcan. Guilty! Guilty as charged!” He bowed to his invisible cries of his verdict and set his book down open to an empty page on his desk where he sat with a glorious view of the Pleiades. It calmed him and brought his thoughts back from the brink of insanity – a gulf he visited often since the death of his family on the eve of his exile. Yes, his political prowess had ended with the unfortunate death of his beloved family at the hands of the Tal Shiar on the Anniversary of the Republic—a botched assassination attempt on Visek’s life.
This act had been sanctioned by the very state Visek had faithfully served all his life, and in the aftermath, he descended into madness. Those loyal to him, the crew of his “Chariot of Fire,” had smuggled him out of the Capitol on the day of the attack, and they charted a course for outlaw territories where the Tal Shiar would have a harder time picking up the trail. On the third day out from Romulus, Visek shuffled onto the bridge. Wrapped in the Romulan flag as a blanket, he took command.
“I will leave my grief behind as far as it can be left,” He said, “but I do not expect you all to carry out this final mission. It is my burden, and mine alone. I command you all to return to your lives—return to the Empire. I must die among the stars, as die I must.”
No amount of pleading or persuasion could change Visek’s mind and his loyal officers bitterly bade their captain farewell, departing on a trading vessel headed back to Romulus. Alone at last, Visek set his ship on autopilot to carry him into uncharted territories—as far from Romulus as possible, living out his life as a stellar hermit. On the long journey, he beheld many wonders of the Universe, and gave himself to contemplation. At long last, the ship’s warp engines gave out in this cluster of beautiful stars, which he had come to call “Illeati,” meaning “my garden” in Romulan. The radiation levels were high, but somehow, and against all odds, Visek endured.
With enough powdered-oxygen canisters to last a century and a whole cargo bay full of provisions and Pyro-logs, Visek had survived in relative comfort. And here, in solitary thought, he composed his great poetic epic on paper-thin strips of duranium, and named it after his garden. The “Illeati” was the powerful and brutal literary commentary on Romulan culture that would set Romulan society ablaze after his death when the ship was finally recovered following the Dominion War. But from those cultural ashes, like the character in his work, Romulus would renew itself and soar into a new optimism for the future—a future among the stars.
Visek closed his book and set it down. It was done. He blew his Pyre-candle out, and now, like his candle, his light would also be extinguished—no, rather it would pass into the light of his garden.
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