Taking Wing Page 11

She looked first at Tchev, then at Dekri, both of whom were smiling and listening intently—or at least as intently as they could, given how drunk they clearly were.

  “If whoever has his hand on my ass doesn’t remove it immediately, he will become my greatest triumph in battle,” Vale hissed, low enough that only her immediate companions were likely to have heard.

  As Tchev looked at Vale blankly, Dekri moved away, bringing her arm back to the table to grasp her mug. Vale shot her a withering glance, then said, “As I was saying—”

  The chirping of a combadge interrupted her. She saw Riker hold up his hand apologetically toward Khegh before tapping the gleaming metal device on the front of his tunic.

  “Riker here.”

  “Captain, several Romulan ships are decloaking only a few klicks from the convoy.” Vale recognized the voice as that of Chief Axel Bolaji, the gamma-shift flight controller. The Klingons went silent, rising to their feet in reaction to Bolaji’s warning.

  “Understood,” Riker said as the Klingon ship commanders and junior officers exited the mess hall, apparently shaking off the effects of their gluttony. He stood and addressed Khegh, who seemed somewhat slower on the draw than some of his officers. “Thank you for your hospitality, General. But I think we both need to return to our respective bridges now.”

  Khegh got unsteadily to his feet and raised a dirty flagon that might have contained warnog in Riker’s direction. “Qapla’, Captain!”

  Vale and Keru took up positions beside Riker as he spoke again into his combadge. “Riker to Titan. Three to beam directly to the bridge.”

  Another male Klingon junior officer suddenly burst into the room, shouting something in rapid-fire Klingon just as Vale felt the familiar shimmering tug of the transporter beam. As the dingy room faded from view, she saw Khegh react angrily, and imagined that he wasn’t happy that the Titan crew had been more alert to the approach of the Romulan ships than had his own warriors.

  Maybe he ought to cut back on the shipboard partying, she thought.

  A moment passed, and the three of them were materializing on Titan’s bridge, in an alcove near the door that led to the head. Vale immediately wished she could excuse herself to divest her stomach of its objectionable contents, but duty was duty.

  “Yellow alert. Ready shields, but keep them down for now,” Riker said urgently, intent on the viewscreen. It displayed a quintet of the sleek new Mogai-class Romulan warbirds—to Vale’s eye they looked like a cross between the huge, biframed D’deridex-class warships and the Klingons’ Vor’cha attack cruisers—arrayed in an attack pattern. Any one of them must have dwarfed Titan by at least a factor of four, and their weaponry had to be at least as potent.

  Riker immediately pointed to a particular warbird that he evidently recognized. “That’s the Valdore. Her hull’s still damaged from the pounding Shinzon gave her weeks ago.”

  “Let’s hope she and her friends haven’t changed their praetor’s plan to roll out the welcome mat for us,” Vale said.

  “They’re hailing us, Captain,” Keru said, not turning his head from the tactical console in front of him.

  Riker looked quickly over to Vale. “Did I splatter any Klingon food on my shirt?” he asked with a wry grin. After Vale shook her head, he turned back to the screen, tugging his uniform jacket downward and puffing his chest up. Vale quietly hoped she wouldn’t discover that she’d accidentally let a live gagh worm wriggle into her sleeve.

  “On screen,” Riker said.

  The face that appeared on the viewer was one that Vale recognized from the images from the after-action report Riker had filed immediately after the Shinzon affair. To her everlasting regret, she had been taking shore leave on Earth at the time the Enterprise and her crew had been forced headlong into those events.

  “Commander Donatra,” Riker said, favoring the stern yet attractive young Romulan woman on the viewer with a reserved smile. “You look well.”

  Donatra offered a wan smile in return. “If that is so, then I am fortunate indeed. Congratulations on your new command, Captain Riker. And welcome to the Neutral Zone.”

  A place where nobody is supposed to be, Vale thought, feeling her heart thump heavily in her chest. Including the Klingons. She hoped that nobody on any of Khegh’s or Donatra’s vessels was spoiling for a fight.

  “Thank you, Commander,” Riker said simply. “We have come on a mission of aid. I’m sure you have been informed that our presence has been requested by both the Romulan and the Reman peoples.”

  “I have, Captain,” Donatra said, raising an elegantly arched eyebrow. “Do you recall what I told your former captain when last we saw each other?”

  He nodded. “You said that he had made the first of what you hoped would be many friends in the Romulan Empire.”

  Donatra smiled with what Vale took to be genuine warmth, an intuition confirmed by Troi’s smile. “Very good, Captain. And despite the fact that Picard is not here, I extend that friendship to you and your crew. There are more than a few. . .rogue elements in the Empire who might wish to interfere with your mission here. Therefore, I shall assign three vessels from my squadron to escort you and your entourage directly to Romulus.”

  “Rogue elements.” That’s the exact term that Akaar used earlier, Vale thought with a start. Is that just a coincidence, or is it something more?

  Riker bowed his head slightly toward the screen. “For that, you have our gratitude.” Vale knew that Riker must also be considering the briefing that Akaar and his three Vulcan aides had conducted the previous afternoon. T’Sevek had warned them that Donatra was in league with Commander Suran in the leadership hierarchy of a powerful independent military faction. T’Rel, in particular, had seemed to distrust Donatra’s motivations quite a bit.

  “Your people, as well as your Klingon escorts”—a subtle, momentary sneer seemed to creep into Donatra’s voice at this point—“may feel the need to be. . . cautious while we escort you. Feel free to raise your shields or adopt whatever mode of readiness you deem appropriate. I certainly can understand the sense of unease that all of you must be experiencing.”

  She paused for a moment, then added adamantly, “But do please inform the Klingons that appropriate readiness does not include fully charging their weapons.”

  Riker nodded again, his face as impassive as Akaar’s. “I appreciate your candor, your discretion, and your assistance, Commander.”

  “Then we shall speak again soon, on Romulus,” Donatra said. A moment later, the screen image changed back to that of the various ships—Romulan, Klingon, and Federation—that were arrayed around Titan as she proceeded inexorably toward Romulan space. And plunged headlong toward whatever fate awaited her there.

  Riker turned to Vale.

  “Rogue elements,” he said. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  U.S.S. TITAN

  “We’re being hailed again, Captain,” said Cadet Zurin Dakal, who was currently backing Keru at tactical by manning communications.

  It had been less than twenty minutes since Commander Donatra and her squadron had appeared to escort the convoy toward Romulus—and since then Donatra’s warbird had reactivated its cloak, vanishing from sight, though perhaps not from the general vicinity of the convoy.

  Riker turned his chair in the direction of the youthful Cardassian trainee. “Who’s calling us this time, Cadet?”

  “Romulus sir.” Dakal glanced down at his readouts, and the young Cardassian’s eyes suddenly became enormous. “The signal is coming directly from the Romulan Hall of State. It’s Praetor Tal’Aura.”

  Riker felt his own eyes widen involuntarily as well. Then he noticed that both Deanna and Vale, seated in the chairs that flanked his own, had turned their expectant gazes upon him.

  “Should I call Admiral Akaar back to the bridge?” Vale asked.

  Riker shook his head, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if Akaar were discreetly monitoring the incomi
ng message from stellar cartography. “He did say this was my mission.”

  Vale nodded in agreement, then pivoted her chair in Dakal’s direction. “Are the Klingons able to pick up this transmission?”

  “Almost certainly, sir,” Dakal said.

  Riker chuckled. “That’s fine. There’s no point in antagonizing our Klingon escorts by hiding things from them. I’m sure being this far inside Romulan space is making them twitchy enough.” Turning back toward the view-screen that almost entirely covered the forward segment of the circular bridge, Riker said, “Put the praetor on the screen, Cadet.”

  A moment later, the image of a regal, stern-faced Romulan woman of early middle age appeared in the center of the screen. Her slim figure was perched on an ornate chair that was the approximate color of Romulan blood. A wall made of ancient-looking green stone was visible several meters behind her.

  But Riker’s eyes were drawn more urgently to the steel-eyed Romulan male who stood attentively beside the praetor.

  Tomalak. Riker tensed as he recognized the other man. He silently noted Tomalak’s aristocratic civilian suit, cut to accentuate the broadness of his shoulders, and the senatorial sigils that were attached to his dark tunic. Tomalak had always been trouble when he’d served as a commander, and more recently as an admiral, in the Romulan military. Riker felt certain that Tomalak’s presence here and now alongside his beleaguered empire’s praetor couldn’t bode well for the coming power-sharing talks.

  “Praetor Tal’Aura,” Riker said, rising and making a respectful half-bow. “We are honored.”

  “Welcome to the Romulan Star Empire, Captain Riker,” the praetor said. “Allow me to introduce Proconsul Tomalak, my trusted right hand.”

  His eyes bright but cold, Tomalak smiled, a gesture that Riker found anything but reassuring. He hadn’t forgotten any of his previous encounters with Tomalak. Thirteen years ago, the Romulan officer had engaged in some rather brazen espionage on the remote Federation planet Galorndon Core. Then, only a few weeks later, the commander had used faked intelligence to convince a Romulan defector, Admiral Alidar Jarok, that a Romulan sneak attack on the Federation was imminent. Jarok, who had wanted only to preserve the lives of innocents on both sides—as well as his Empire’s honor—had taken his own life after learning of Tomalak’s cynical manipulations. Riker wasn’t sure he could ever find it in himself to forgive Tomalak for that. And he was absolutely certain he couldn’t trust him.

  “The proconsul and I have met before, Praetor,” Riker said without elaboration.

  “Indeed,” Tal’Aura said, leaning forward, her expression hard but earnest. “Let us hope that this familiarity will make our preliminary meeting go more smoothly.”

  Not very damned likely, Riker thought, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.

  He glanced down at Ensign Lavena’s flight-control displays before returning his gaze to the main viewer. “Our convoy is only about sixteen hours away from Romulus at our present speed, Praetor. Once we arrive, will the Reman leaders require our assistance in getting to the first meeting?”

  Tal’Aura blinked several times before replying, as though confused. “Captain, perhaps we do not yet completely understand each other. Before we involve the Reman leadership in any power-sharing talks, I wish you to mediate a . . . prefatory conference between us and the other Romulan efvir-efveh who now contend for influence within the Empire.”

  “Efvir-efveh,” Riker repeated soundlessly, taking only half a beat to recognize the Romulan term that translated, at least approximately, to “power groups” or “factions.”

  Tal’Aura continued: “Any Reman presence at our first meeting would make this necessary preliminary meeting far more . . . tense than it needs to be. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Riker nodded slowly. Certainly. You don’t want to have to worry about your former slaves quietly drawing their knives under the negotiating table. Especially when you and the rest of the former slaveholders are still busy trying to outmaneuver each other.

  Still, he had to admit that the praetor did have a legitimate point. The Reman faction’s absence from the first session might arguably ease some of the intra-Romulan tensions, though actually holding a meeting without the Remans posed some very real problems.

  As would flatly refusing to go along with the praetor’s plan. A rock and a hard place, he thought grimly.

  Riker slowly paced toward the starboard side of the bridge as he addressed both Tal’Aura and Tomalak. “Can I assume that you’ll take every precaution to keep this. . . preliminary meeting entirely secret? If the Remans were to find out about it—”

  “The Remans will learn only what we wish them to learn,” said Tomalak, interrupting in unctuous tones. “Their demands will be considered in due course, to be sure. At the start of the general negotiations between all the competing efvir-efveh.”

  As his motions carried him back toward the center of the bridge, Riker noticed that both Deanna and Vale were still looking up at him. But now they were regarding him with unconcealed trepidation. Both were clearly asking him, without words, whether he understood the implications of what he was about to do.

  He knew there was another important consideration as well: If the Klingons were indeed listening in, then they, too, already knew of the Romulans’ intention to exclude the Remans from the first meeting. The Klingons had come at the request of the Remans; might they not be inclined to spill Tal’Aura’s secret immediately?

  But wouldn’t Tal’Aura and Tomalak have anticipated that, too? he thought. They must be gambling that the Klingons don’t want a Romulan-Reman war any more than they do.

  Riker met the praetor’s hard gaze without wavering. “Who else is going to attend this. . . preliminary meeting?”

  “The proconsul and I will receive Commanders Donatra and Suran, the most prominent leaders of our military. And Senator Pardek.”

  “Receive” them, Riker thought, silently weighing the significance of this verb. Because she can’t just command them to attend. It must be killing Tal’Aura to have to appear so weak in front of old adversaries.

  But he also knew that Romulans were nothing if not pragmatic. And a Romulan praetor who did not face reality forthrightly surely could not hang onto her power and position for very long.

  “Pardek, for one, will be most disappointed if we cannot arrange the initial meeting we are proposing,” Tomalak said.

  Pardek, Riker thought. He would probably be attacking the Federation right now if he had access to enough personnel and firepower. He was glad that Commander Donatra would also be present; if she were still as honorable as she had proved herself to be during the battle against Shinzon, then she would certainly do everything possible to prevent Pardek from waging war against anyone.

  Riker knew that he had a decision to make, and that it had to be done quickly. He spared a quick glance at Deanna, whose dark, fathomless eyes offered no hint of a solution. Vale, still seated at his other side, was completely poker-faced. Nor was there time to adjourn to confer about what was to be done—not without risking giving insult to the praetor.

  Am I about to grant de facto Federation recognition to a single Romulan faction? Riker thought, carefully keeping his rising anxiety from reaching his face. However legitimate Tal’Aura’s claim to power might be, there would be hell to pay with the other factions were they to perceive that the Federation was in any way predisposed in Tal’Aura’s favor. The Federation had to be perceived by all sides as an “honest broker,” or else the entire mission was doomed to failure.

  Hell, he thought. Sometimes playing fair means asking annoying questions. Aloud, he said, “I can certainly understand why you might want to start the talks without having the Remans in the room. But I wonder why you’re also excluding some of the other important Romulan constituencies.”

  Tal’Aura studied him quietly for an elastic moment before replying. “If you’re concerned about snubbing the Tal Shiar, Captain, you probably
needn’t worry.”

  “With respect, Praetor, the Tal Shiar always seem to learn things that would be better kept quiet. I believe it would be a serious mistake to count them out. I very much doubt that the Empire’s current. . .difficulties have slowed them down much.”

  “You are probably correct, Captain,” Tal’Aura said.

  Riker couldn’t restrain himself from frowning slightly. “Praetor Tal’Aura, you seem to be saying that you don’t expect our secret meeting to stay that way. Doesn’t that concern you?”

  Tal’Aura chuckled, then settled back in her chair. “Not terribly, no. If there’s one thing the Tal Shiar excels at, it is the ancient art of keeping secrets. Provided, of course, that they are secrets the Tal Shiar wants kept. But I sense that the Romulan Star Empire’s much-feared shadow army isn’t really what concerns you, Captain.”

  Riker nodded. Deciding that a little flattery couldn’t hurt, he said, “You are very perceptive, Praetor.”

  She didn’t seem overly impressed. “Then please speak plainly, Captain.”

  “Very well. Nearly three years ago, Ambassador Spock’s Unification movement—and the many Romulan citizens who have quietly supported it over the years—received the approval of one of your predecessors. Why weren’t any Unificationists invited to this initial meeting?”

  Tal’Aura inclined her head toward Tomalak, who stepped forward. “Captain Riker, much has changed during the past three years, as I’m sure you’re aware. Praetor Neral was replaced by Praetor Hiren fairly quickly. And I can’t overemphasize the damage the subsequent . . . praetorship of Shinzon has wrought.” Tomalak’s expression looked especially sour as he fairly spat Shinzon’s name. “In light of the current troubles within our borders, our new praetor has wisely assigned a much lower priority to Romulan-Vulcan relations.”

  “I see,” Riker said. He had to admit to himself, however grudgingly, that Tomalak’s rationale actually made a great deal of sense under the present circumstances.

  “I hope we have answered your questions satisfactorily, Captain,” Tal’Aura said in a clipped tone that brooked no further delay. “Now will you agree to mediate the initial meeting, as we have described it?”