Second self, p.3
Second Self, page 3
“Damn you,” she muttered. Number One gave her a quizzical look. Raffi crinkled her nose at him. “Not you,” she said. “You’re a sweetie. I’m talking about your damn master.”
Was it her imagination, or did the dog nod back?
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” said Raffi.
Later, at dinner, she was still angry, although JL tried to appear contrite. “Sensing a mood around the table tonight,” said Laris as she poured the wine.
“JL has been JL,” said Raffi, and offered nothing more.
“Ah,” said Laris, with understanding. “That. Don’t let him rope you into anything you don’t want to do, Raffi. Though I’m one to talk.”
Raffi snorted.
“Is this about that business with the Cardassian runaway?” Laris went on.
Raffi glanced at JL, who shrugged. “No secrets at this table,” he said.
“Yes,” said Raffi. “JL wants me to go and find him.”
“And that’s a problem how?” said Laris.
“Because the world where he’s likely to be hiding, Ordeve, was the site of a deeply unpleasant experience I had during my early years in Starfleet.”
“I didn’t know that.” Laris flicked a look at JL. “You didn’t mention that.”
“I understand,” said JL humbly, “that I am asking a great deal.”
Both women sighed and rolled their eyes.
“Read the damn room,” said Raffi.
“Daft fecker,” said Laris fondly. She pushed the cheese toward Raffi. “Try a bit of that camembert. And remember that you can always tell the admiral to get stuffed.”
Raffi helped herself, and, as she did, she laughed—because she never could make JL understand her limits, and she suspected that she never would.
2
Returning home after La Barre took adjustment. Raffi had chosen her new apartment in Los Angeles because the area was vibrant, busy, bohemian. She was trying to reconnect to the human race and being around others was a start. There were cafés and galleries and theaters, and things to do and see whenever Seven consented to drop by, or when Raffi was needing company. But she hadn’t yet got around to decorating, and the place seemed Spartan after the understated elegance of the Picard estate. Sure, it was better than the shack in the desert that had, until the previous year, been where she lived. (She didn’t call that place home; home should not be associated with loneliness, pain, and regret.) There were some paintings that she hadn’t yet put up on the walls, so she spent a morning hanging them, pondering the mission to Ordeve, and whether it was a good idea. Away from JL, it was easier to believe that you could indeed tell him to get stuffed. The trouble was that Raffi’s curiosity had been piqued. She had unanswered questions about her time on that distant, troubled world. Perhaps this trip could bring some closure—some healing—to this particular wound.
When the paintings were up, Raffi stood and looked at them. They weren’t portraits of illustrious ancestors, but they still looked pretty good. Her ex, Jae, had been a painter; still was, she imagined, though news was hard to come by and she resisted the urge to go looking. She had taken one or two of his pieces when they divorced, but got rid of them, a few years later, when she realized that contemplating them brought her nothing but heartache. These new paintings were nothing like Jae’s work. Her ex took huge canvases and created vast explosions of sprawling color. These were small and intense. Three of them, in a line. Each depicted a circle—like a moon or planet—done in metallic gold or copper paint, and these had smaller, regular dots of paint enameled across them, like craters. Nothing like what Jae did or used to do. Had she unconsciously chosen ones unlike his work? That was an exhausting thought.
Raffi stopped and made a cup of tea and sat on her cushionless sofa staring at her new-hung art. She had seen them while walking around at a local art fair. Seven had pointed them out; they’d both liked them, so Raffi got them. Could she be more transparent? Hey, Seven! I’m making the place nice for you! That thought was painful in its own way. Why did it hurt, making the present better? Why did it hurt, creating a future? Growing pains, she hoped.
Raffi considered the past. Almost a quarter of a century since the mission to Ordeve. Her work at Romulan Affairs, and then what she thought of as her best years in Starfleet, serving on the Verity with Picard. Saving lives and making a difference, all the while trying to persuade herself that the damage being done to her marriage and her family would be fixable. And then the synth attack on Mars happened, and the Verity’s mission of relieving the Romulans—which depended on synth labor—was brought to an unceremonious end. JL threw the mother of all tantrums and stormed off. Doors slammed in Raffi’s face. Her credibility, gone; her career, finished; her marriage, over; her baby boy…
Were the pictures straight? Sometimes you looked at something so hard that you couldn’t tell any longer what was right and what was wrong. What was it JL had said? The unexamined life is not worth living. Sometimes Raffi felt that she had spent too much time looking back on the mistakes that she had made, regretting them, wishing that she could put things right. Was returning to Ordeve going to turn out to be yet another of those especially bad mistakes in which Raffi seemed to specialize?
The pictures were definitely straight, or close enough. She liked how the bold colors—black and gold and copper—stood out against the white walls. She liked how the circles intersected and interconnected. They were a start. They helped make the apartment look like a place where a real girl lived—even if she was heading off soon.
So, Raffi thought, you are going. No surprise there, really. JL knew her. The decision made, Raffi moved into action, heading over to her comm.
“JL,” she said, when he appeared on screen, “is this secure?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Then—I’m in.”
“Raffi.” He smiled. She was a sucker for that smile. “You never fail me.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I never do.”
“Should I put you in touch with my people at Starfleet Intelligence? At the Cardassian desk?”
“No, listen, I’ve been thinking about this. We need a more oblique approach.”
“Oblique?”
“You want to keep this quiet? You don’t want the Cardassians to find out that we’re looking for their man?”
“Ideally not.”
“In which case, I’m not sure that involving Cardassian Affairs is the best idea.”
His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’re allies now, right? With the Cardassian Union.”
“Yes, thankfully.”
“A hard-won alliance. Lots of work gone into that.”
“Get to your point, Raffi.”
“Don’t be testy with someone doing you a big favor. When I was at Romulan Affairs, we had to walk a very fine line between building trust and knowing which cards to hold close to our chest. I built long-standing relationships with Romulan officers, some of them Tal Shiar. Having to keep secrets—having to lie—was the worst part of Intelligence. Not just because you felt duplicitous, but because of the consequences if you were caught. What I’m saying is—”
“You don’t want to put any intelligence officers at the Cardassian desk into that position.”
“You got it.”
JL pondered this. “Is there a danger,” he said, “in being caught in a lie to colleagues at Starfleet Intelligence?”
“What lie? All I need is another reason to be out there.”
“And is there one?”
“I’ll find one.”
She watched him weigh the options—the morality, perhaps—of this. Covert ops sometimes had to be more covert than was comfortable. If JL wanted results, he might have to suppress a few scruples. Wasn’t that why he was asking her to take on this mission? Wasn’t that the whole point of intelligence officers? To shield their superiors. To be the buffer between what you wanted done, and what you weren’t prepared to do yourself.
“All right,” he said at last. “How do you wish to proceed?”
“I need a route to Ordeve unconnected with the Cardassians. A back door.”
“A back door?”
“Give me a day or two to poke around.”
“A day or two. Very well. We’ll speak then. Picard out.”
She composed and sent a message to a former colleague at Romulan Affairs. She wasn’t expecting to hear back today, so she went and washed up her cup. When she got back, there was a light already flashing on the comm.
“I’ve got an opening this afternoon. Come and see what we’ve done with the old place.”
“All right,” said Raffi to herself. “That’s great. Let’s get back out there.” She looked at her pictures. “Talking to yourself. That’s a bad sign. What you need is a robot dog.”
* * *
The unexamined life, thought Raffi, standing at the security desk in the entrance hall of the small and unassuming office block at Starfleet Command that housed Romulan Affairs. She used to walk in and out of this place so freely. Then JL waltzed into her life, whisked her off on his grand mission, and when that blew up in her face, everything spiraled out of control. What if she’d simply stayed here? Been content with her desk job? Been present, for Jae, and for Gabe? The sense of a road not taken, a lost future that should have been hers, came to Raffi so powerfully that she was almost overwhelmed. There was no going back. There was no setting straight a crooked path. There was only living with the consequences and trying to stop your feet from faltering again.
A familiar figure came through security and into the hall: Commander James Northey, her one-time colleague at the Romulan desk. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Raaaaaafi Musiker,” he said, “and to what do we humble padd pushers owe this honor?”
“I’m back in the area. Thought I might check in.”
“Is that right? Well, come on. I’ll get you a lousy coffee.”
She followed him into the building and into the turbolift, which was smoother than she remembered. Northey smiled at her. She was starting to recall how much he irritated her. So cool; so dry; so English. He said, “A little bird told me that you’re thinking of coming back here.”
So that news was starting to go around, was it? Who had let that slip? Was somebody testing the waters? Trying to discover whether she might need other options? The Academy, for example? If Raffi thought too hard about that, she might get angry at the idea that someone was in her life trying to move her like a piece on a chessboard. So she didn’t think more about that. For now.
“Everything’s possible,” she said. “In this, the best of all possible worlds.”
The lift stopped, with a shudder.
“Hmm,” said Northey, and led her out onto a rather faded corridor. This opened out, eventually, into a big open-plan office. A dozen or so junior analysts were there, doing their best to pretend that they weren’t taking the chance to get a look at the famous (infamous?) Raffi Musiker. Northey sauntered past, making sure everyone got to goggle at her, and led her to one of the smaller meeting rooms. Oh, Raffi thought as she walked inside, these rooms… How she remembered these rooms. Crowded into them, sometimes until early in the morning, if there was a panic on, eating pizza and drinking coffee, trying to crack Romulan codes. They’d been in this room (or one very like it) eighteen years ago, when they’d finally realized the significance of the flurry of urgent messages that had been passing around the upper echelons of the Star Empire. They’d cross-referenced what they were reading with data from astronomers across the Federation, and suddenly understood what was going on. The Romulan sun was going supernova. They’d sat in this room and stared at each other, and someone (could have been Raffi herself, could’ve been someone else; they were that tightly knit as a team) said, “What the hell are we going to do?”
The Federation had never quite gotten the right answer to that question. They’d been living with the consequences ever since.
Raffi took a seat and saw that the same picture was still on the wall. A pastel image of a sunrise over some beach or other. Generic and bland. Was it meant to be motivational? She was never quite sure.
“Thought Starfleet might have redecorated by now,” she said. “I know a good artist.”
“We like the place as it is,” said Northey. Two other people were entering now; people whom Raffi had known well, once upon a time. They’d gone to her wedding. She’d celebrated significant events in their lives too. Commander Vazreen Pella, a Betazoid whom Raffi had always liked. Raffi had gone to Vaz’s mothering festival, even held the family chalice for parts of the ceremony. Commander Kebil Zi, a joined Trill. Raffi had taken part in Zi’s zhian’tara, experienced the life of the second host. Zi wasn’t meeting her eye, instead studiously reading from a padd in his hand. He pushed the door shut behind him and took his seat. The four of them, again, around this table, like the past twenty years hadn’t happened. They’d joined Romulan Affairs at about the same time. Now they all outranked her. Those career breaks sure were costly.
“Hey,” said Raffi. “It’s good to see you.”
Pella gave something close to a smile. “Strange to see you here again.”
“Strange to be back. Hi, Kebil. Good to see you.”
Zi grunted and kept his attention on the padd in his hand. Raffi looked at the other two. Pella looked back steadily. Northey leaned back in his seat. Oh my, she thought, you guys really are still pissed at me.
“Well,” Northey said. “What can we do for you today? Is there another conspiracy theory for us to check out?”
Right, thought Raffi. So that’s how it’s going to be. She felt herself flush with embarrassment, thinking of the many calls put in to them over the years, begging them to check out the latest rumor that had come her way. They’d been kind, at first. Then firm. Then silent.
“In fairness to Raffi,” said Pella, “her theory turned out to be true.”
Raffi remembered why she’d liked Vazreen Pella. “Thank you.”
“But I’d rather this was about something else,” said Pella. “You mentioned Ordeve in your message.”
“Yes,” said Raffi. “I want to know more about what’s happening there.”
“Do you?” said Northey.
“Yes,” said Raffi.
“Ordeve’s a Cardassian world,” he went on.
“Yes,” agreed Raffi.
“So why come to us here at Romulan Affairs?”
Because I don’t want your colleagues to find out that I’m trying to chase down a Cardassian war criminal. Because I’m trying to guard everyone’s back…
“There’s a Romulan refugee settlement there,” Raffi said. “I’d like to know more—”
Zi threw the padd down onto the table. “Oh, come on!”
“You’re going to have to be straighter than this if you want our help,” said Pella.
“Okay,” said Raffi. “Fair enough. First, I need to ask, what do you know about what’s happening on Ordeve?”
“What do you know about what’s happening on Ordeve?” said Northey. “More to the point, how do you know about what’s happening on Ordeve?”
Raffi shrugged.
“We know how,” said Zi. “Friends in high places. Admirals and incoming vice-chancellor friends in high places.”
“I can help,” said Raffi, leaning forward on the table. “Really. I can. And—more to the point—the admiral wants me to help. He’s asked me to go. Do you want to tell him no?”
She watched them—her colleagues, once upon a time, in a different life; her friends, too, in that other life—glance at each other.
“There’s a war criminal on the loose,” said Raffi. “A dangerous man. The Bajorans want him; the Cardassians… they aren’t exactly going out of their way to find him. And for the Federation he’s an embarrassment they wish would disappear. Your colleagues over at Cardassian Affairs—they’re in a bind. An important alliance with the Cardassians on one side; honoring commitments to the Bajorans on the other. It’s a mess—for them. But for you?”
“You are very well informed,” said Pella.
“I’d like to be better informed,” said Raffi.
“I’m sure you would,” said Northey.
“So, let’s get this straight,” said Zi. “After nearly twenty years, you walk back in here and ask us to help you lie to our colleagues at Cardassian Affairs and manufacture a reason for you to go and carry out some clandestine operation on behalf of your important and influential patron. Have I got everything straight?”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking!” Raffi said. “Look, this can work for everyone. There’s deniability for the people at the Cardassian desk, and if I’m successful, there’s a reputational win for you guys—”
“And if you’re not successful?” said Pella.
“I will be,” said Raffi. “Anyway, if that happens—you can say what you like. You can say that you told me to fuck off, if you want. Which is more or less what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
Zi was shaking his head. “You’ve got some nerve—”
“Nerve?” she shot back. “Damn right I’ve got nerve! I’m going to find this guy, and I’m going to bring him to justice.” Raffi reined herself back. “But I need a good reason to be out there. Is there something—anything—that I can use to justify a request to the Cardassian government to visit Ordeve? Something that won’t make them suspicious?”
But Zi was standing up and gathering his padd. “I’m out.”
“We’re done,” said Northey, pushing back his chair.
“What?” said Raffi. “You promised me coffee—”
“Why ask for coffee when you can be drinking Château Picard?” said Zi, heading for the door. Why did I ever like you, thought Raffi.
