Picard raised his own epee.
“I am a starship captain. Should I and my crew suddenly appear on Romulus—”
“With Kirk,” Janeway interrupted.
“With any civilian,” Picard agreed, “then clearly the Romulans would have no reason to believe we were there for civilian reasons. En garde.”
Other than a slight circling movement of his epee, Picard held position.
Janeway merely circled her own epee in response, as if refusing to be drawn into an attack.
“Correction, Jean-Luc. For the moment, you’re a starship captain without a starship.”
“The Enterprise refit is proceeding on schedule,” Picard said. He feinted but the admiral did not react. “She’ll be ready for her shakedown cruise in less than a month.”
He feinted again, and this time Janeway responded with a lunge, forcing him back, though she didn’t press her advantage with pursuit.
Picard wondered if they had both decided on the same strategy. If so, each of them was waiting for the other to make a mistake.
Janeway confirmed his suspicions as she stepped back to her en garde line, clearly trying to entice him to follow with a thrust, as if they were dancing, not fencing.
“If we’re going to get into what the Romulans might believe,” she said with a playful edge, “then believe me. No Romulan will understand that Starfleet is leaving you in command of the Enterprise, let alone any other ship.”
Picard’s annoyance was flowering into something greater. He gave a halfhearted lunge, which the admiral efficiently parried, but didn’t counter. “I beg your pardon,” he said.
Janeway’s irritating grin flashed through her mesh again. “The Stargazer. The EnterpriseD. Two ships lost.”
Picard felt a flash of temper but controlled it. He still didn’t know if Janeway was truly trying to further their debate or merely provoke him into making an error. They were fencing on several levels, it seemed.
“Is there a point, Admiral?”
Janeway began a mechanical sequence of lunge, thrust, lunge, which Picard parried with equal efficiency and lack of style. This round would belong to whichever fencer had the best supply of patience.
“An important point, Captain,” Janeway said. “Since no Romulan commander would ever be given a second command after the loss of a ship—even if the loss were not her fault—no Romulan would be curious about your presence as a civilian. In fact, most Romulans would be puzzled by the fact that Starfleet hadn’t executed you for carelessness.”
Picard suddenly slashed at Janeway’s epee as if they were fencing with sabres. “There is no question of command error in the loss of my ships,” he said through clenched teeth.
Janeway backed off, parrying his unorthodox attack. “Of course not. But Starfleet isn’t the Imperial Fleet. I’m only saying how the Romulans would see your position, not how Starfleet does.”
Janeway abruptly executed a passata sotto, dropping to the mat with one hand to support her, and lunging with such unexpected speed that Picard heard the helmet-buzz of her hit being recorded on his leg before he was even aware that her blade was a threat.
Three-two now, in the admiral’s favor.
“Then answer me this,” Picard grumbled as he tugged down on his thickly padded white plastron jacket. “What would the Romulan reaction be to a contingent of Federation civilians, all supposedly ex-Starfleet, showing up to investigate a political crime on Romulus—as if local Romulan authorities were incapable or untrustworthy of doing the same?”
“Well,” Janeway said, maddeningly unperturbed, “according to the best cultural attaches at headquarters, the Romulans would think it was business as usual. Think about it, Jean-Luc. If the situation were reversed, they wouldn’t trust our local authorities. So to them, it would seem completely reasonable for us not to trust theirs.”
I’m doomed, Picard thought in resignation. “En garde,” he said grimly. But a sudden loud cheer from the banth ring, and an instant’s hesitation in the circular motion of Janeway’s epee, changed everything. Instinct took over and Picard lunged forward, thrust and parried, and thrust again.
Janeway retreated, forced back to the last two meters of the piste, triggering the warning tone. And even as that alarm rang forth, Picard slashed twice, back and forth, then lunged to strike her heart.
The score was now three-three.
“I understand they fence on Romulus,” Janeway said breathlessly as they resumed position in the center of the piste.
Picard was reenergized. He had his focus back. “No doubt with sharpened broadswords and a lack of armor,” he said.
Janeway’s eyes met his directly through the mesh of their masks. “That would be the Klingons. Romulans, it seems, have adopted the human sport, with only a few rule changes.” She presented her blade. “On guard.”
Picard was ready.
“And those changes would be?”
“Minor,” she said as she thrust and he parried. “Sabres in one hand, short daggers in the other.”
“With or without armor?” Picard grinned, relishing the intensity. This round, there was no question of either of them waiting for a mistake—each was going for a full-out offense. The bout would soon be over.
“With, of course!” Janeway completed a powerful parry that almost forced Picard off the piste, making him swing his arms to the side to keep his balance, and leaving him so wide open to Janeway’s inevitable thrust that she merely tapped his chest to score.
Four-three. Picard berated himself for overconfidence. The admiral was one touch away from victory.
“You see, to a Romulan,” Janeway said, “it is much more desirable to let the opponent bear the humiliation of defeat without a scar to point to. That way there is no excuse for defeat—no claims of pain or injury preventing one from doing one’s best. Victory is achieved solely through skill.”
Picard stiffened, sensing insult. “Is that what your intentions are here, Admiral? Inflicting the humiliation of defeat, not the injury?”
Janeway shook her head behind her mask. “Jean-Luc, I’m shocked…shocked that you would think such a thing. On guard, by the way.”
Picard began to lower his epee as if this time he intended to set aside the bout for further conversation. “With respect, Admiral, I believe I’m owed the truth,” he said.
Janeway straightened, began to lower her epee as well.
Then Picard lunged so forcefully that even after he had scored his hit, he overran the admiral, corps a corps, and had to grab her arm to keep from knocking her full over.
“Romulan tactics, Jean-Luc. Well done.” Picard heard the admiral’s chuckle. Amusement, not annoyance. But then, she had been enjoying the upper hand.
The bout was tied four-four.
All that remained was la belle touche. Whoever scored “the beautiful touch” would be the victor.
As he and Janeway took their positions for the final time, there was another loud cheer from the low-gravity ring and a round of enthusiastic Bolian warbling. The banth match, it seemed, had concluded.
Janeway and Picard both glanced over at the dispersing audience, both checking that they were far enough away to be spared collision.
“En garde,” Picard said.
Picard parried Janeway’s expected lunge, then thrust with all the energy remaining to him, as in a seamless phrase of movement, Janeway moved from the septime to the octave parry, then countered with a forceful thrust, missing Picard by less than a centimeter.
Then Picard and Janeway backed off, each catching breath after giving their all. But their confrontation still lacked that final touch.
“You’d be back from Romulus in a month,” Janeway gasped. “In time for that shakedown cruise.”
“I understand Starfleet’s concern in this matter,” Picard said gruffly, searching for the right words to end their debate, if not their match. “I understand the Federation’s concern. And any insight or experience I can share with anyone outside the Star Empire, I stand ready to do so in any way I can, at any time. But in light of my
