“The Federation cannot simply stand by and do nothing, Mr. Ambassador,” Akaar said. “Nor can the Klingon Empire, for that matter. You know as well as I do that billions of deaths could result from the sudden collapse of the Romulan Empire, and the accompanying unconstrained spread of its weapons technologies across two quadrants.”
Spock’s eyes narrowed. “I have never been more keenly aware of anything in my life, Admiral. This is a proud but gravely wounded empire. One that is arguably more susceptible to provocation now than at any other time since the Vulcan and Romulan peoples became sundered from one other. And both Romulus and Remus are all but certain to experience a mutual bloodbath unless they fundamentally reorient their social priorities.”
“And you offer a cultural reunification with Vulcan as the solution to the Empire’s woes,” Akaar said.
“Given the Empire’s current vulnerabilities, Unification—tempering the Empire’s ingrained violence with the discipline of Vulcan logic—could well be the last viable chance for peace. It may be the only way to guarantee a secure future for both the Romulan and Reman peoples.” He paused before adding, “And it may bring Vulcan a step closer to becoming truly whole.”
Riker couldn’t help but admire Spock’s idealism. But he also had the real world to consider, as well as the immediate future. “You could be right, Mr. Ambassador. History might even prove that someday. But we don’t have the luxury of hindsight right now. We have to worry first about the short-term survival of billions of people. Unification is just too long-term a goal and too lengthy a process to provide the kind of immediate stability the Romulan Empire needs in the here and now.”
Spock nodded somberly. “Your analysis may indeed prove to be the correct one, Captain. Nevertheless, I must caution you: Romulus and Remus are both caught in the grip of fear, one of the more incendiary of the emotions. The presence of a heavily armed outworld contingent such as this convoy could well ignite that fear—thereby bringing about the very societal collapse we all seek to prevent. Imagine for a moment how the Klingons would have reacted to such an intrusion after the Praxis explosion nearly laid waste to Qo’noS.”
“But we’re not ‘intruding,’ Mr. Ambassador,” Deanna pointed out. “The Romulan praetor has requested our presence here.”
“Tal’Aura,” Spock said, “is a praetor whose authority is opposed by a strong plurality, if not a clear majority, of the Empire’s citizenry. Supporting her is a dangerous gamble.”
“We’re not supporting any particular faction here,” Riker said, feeling a surge of pique rising and doing his best to squash it back down. “Our goal is to help them all hammer out a mutually acceptable power-sharing arrangement.”
“The Remans have yet to be included in any such discussions,” Spock pointed out. “Therefore they might be forgiven for doubting your goodwill. And perhaps that of the Federation Council itself.”
Riker felt his own frustration continuing to rise. “We’re trying to include everyone in the power-sharing talks, Mr. Ambassador.”
“That is wise, Captain,” Spock said. “Please allow me to assist you by returning to the Remans. Unless, of course, your intention is to arrest me for having failed to respond more promptly to the council’s diplomatic recall order.”
Riker leaned forward, meeting Spock’s gaze squarely. “Mr. Ambassador, my intention has always been to rescue you. And then to ask you to return the favor by helping me accomplish a damned difficult peace mission. However, your fate isn’t entirely up to me.” His questioning gaze lit upon Akaar.
“Conducting unauthorized interstellar policy on behalf of either the Federation or a Federation member world is a serious offense,” Akaar said. “Especially after the council has issued a formal order of diplomatic recall.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “However, I have…resisted such orders before without suffering any serious consequences.”
“That was before Shinzon changed everything,” Akaar said. “Certain members of the council are nervous enough to wish to see you in irons, Mr. Ambassador. However loudly Councillor Enaren may sing your praises, both Gleer and zh’Faila continue to characterize your activities as unacceptably dangerous under the current circumstances. Even T’Latrek of Vulcan voted in favor of the recall order.”
“I am not surprised,” Spock said. “Fear exists in abundance on both sides of the Neutral Zone. And fear trumps logic all too often.”
“It’s too bad the council has no way of knowing for certain whether or not you ever actually received the recall order, Mr. Ambassador,” Riker said, allowing a slight smile to tug at his lips.
“A logical assessment, Captain,” Spock said, then turned to face Akaar. “Am I under arrest, Admiral?”
Akaar mirrored Riker’s smile. “I doubt I could trust myself to carry out such an order, Starfleet discipline notwithstanding. I have not forgotten that you and my namesakes saved my life, and that of Eleen who bore me, more than a century ago.”
“Then allow me to return to my Reman negotiating partners now,” Spock said. “Before they overreact to my sudden departure by—”
An almost shrill voice from Riker’s combadge interrupted the ambassador. “Ensign Lavena to Captain Riker.”
Riker tapped the device on his chest. “Go ahead, Ensign.”
“The new sensor nets have just picked up a whole fleet of incoming warships, Captain. Several dozen strong. They’re entering orbit around Romulus. And they’re loaded for bear.”
“More Romulan military vessels?” Riker asked, rising from his chair.
“Yes, sir. But Jaza’s scans say they’re crewed by Remans .”
Chapter Twenty
U.S.S. TITAN
Maybe Spock was right after all, Riker thought as he left his ready room just ahead of Deanna, Akaar, Spock, and Tuvok; he bounded through the doors and toward the center of Titan’s bridge as the others hastened to follow.
Christine Vale—her short hair still somewhat disheveled after the raid on Vikr’l Prison—was already relinquishing the central command chair, moving toward the seat located on its immediate right. But she remained standing, her small frame fairly vibrating with tension.
“Red alert! Shields up!” Riker shouted as he seated himself in the command chair while Deanna took the seat at his immediate left. “Hail the lead ship, Mr. Keru.”
“Shields up. Hailing again, Captain,” said the tactical officer. Unlike Vale, he still wore one of the black stealth suits the away team had been issued for the prison rescue operation. His suit was torn, bloodied, and caked with dust: he had obviously spent as little time as was permissible getting patched up in sickbay following the rescue raid.
“We started hailing them right after the sensor web detected their launch from Remus,” Vale reported. “Their only response has been to drop their cloaks.”
Which means either that they know there’s no longer any point to maintaining their cloaks, Riker thought. Or that they’re about to attack Romulus.
Or both.
Riker leaned forward as he studied the image on the bridge’s panoramic central viewscreen. The cloud-streaked blue-brown orb of Romulus stood out in sharp detail, the curving shadow of its terminator temporarily consigning half of the planet—including Ki Baratan—to darkness. Two of the planet’s four airless, rocky moons were visible as well, each of them in half phase, poised on the twilight boundary between day and night.
Beyond lay the pockmarked orange hellworld of Remus, which appeared to be only a quarter the size of Romulus because of its relative distance from Titan. Though it was co-orbital with Romulus, Remus had an eternally broiling day side as well as a perpetually frozen night side. Less than half the planet’s bright side was visible, dominated presently by its ever dark and frozen hemisphere.
Harsh white sunlight glinted off the gray-green hulls of what appeared to be dozens of vessels, which were flying in formation and dropping in a long graceful arc from un-inviting Remus toward the cool blue world that Titan
orbited. The incoming fleet’s trajectory confirmed that it had just crossed the shallow gulf of cisplanetary space—a span scarcely larger than the distance between Earth and Luna—that separated Remus and the fleet’s obvious target, the surface of Romulus itself.
Vale quickly consulted one of the consoles built into the arm of her chair. “None of these ships are on the cutting edge of Romulan design, Captain. Most of them are Amarcan-class warbirds. Some appear to be Klingon cast-offs that might be K’t’inga-class or even old D-7s. There are even a few horseshoe-crab–shaped birds-of-prey that have to be at least a hundred years old.”
“They must be decommissioned ships, then,” Riker said, nodding his understanding. “Mothballed long enough ago that the Romulan military wasn’t keeping a close enough eye on them during the last few sudden management changes in Ki Baratan.”
Vale shrugged. “Maybe so, Captain. But wherever the Reman crews got these ships, they’re relatively well armed—and they outnumber us nearly six to one. They’re more than a match for us, maybe even with our Klingon escorts.”
“They’re charging their weapons systems, sir,” Keru said, his voice steady, though pitched a bit higher than his customary baritone. “And their shields are going up.”
“Alert the rest of the convoy,” Vale said to Keru.
“And tell the commanders of the Phoebus, T’rin’saz, and the Der Sonnenaufgang to get their ships into a higher orbit,” Riker added. “They’re not equipped for combat, and I want them out of the line of fire.”
“Aye, sir,” Keru said, already working the companel.
Riker turned toward Vale and noticed then that her gaze had drifted, just for a second, toward a conspicuously blank space on the bulkhead beside the main turbolift. It was the spot they had reserved for Titan’s dedication plaque, once the captain and first officer finally agreed on exactly what they wanted to have engraved on it.
“How could the Romulan military lose track of so many warships?” Deanna asked, shaking her head incredulously.
“This kind of thing has happened before,” Riker said. “After the Cold War of Earth’s twentieth century, a lot of questions were asked about the whereabouts of Russia’s Black Sea Fleet, as well as its stockpiles of weapons-grade nuclear material.”
“Mr. Keru, any sign of Romulan planetary defenses?” Vale asked, turning toward the aft tactical console.
The large Trill shook his head. “I’m picking up a gabble of planetside communications, Commander. The local defenses are trying to respond, but they seem to be in disarray.”
“Just as they probably have been ever since Shinzon’s attack on the Senate,” Riker said.
Glancing aftward, the captain saw that Akaar was standing silently beside the turbolift, making his stolid presence as unobtrusive as a man his size possibly could. Ambassador Spock and Commander Tuvok, still clad in the Romulan civilian garb they had been wearing at the time of their rescue, stood flanking him. All three men seemed to be taking conspicuous care not to get in anyone’s way. Riker momentarily considered ordering the malnourished-looking Tuvok to report to sickbay, but decided to leave that for later; like Akaar, Spock, and everyone else on the bridge, Tuvok’s attention was riveted to the drama that was unfolding on the bridge’s central viewscreen.
“The sensor nets are picking up intermittent tachyon emissions,” said Jaza, turning from the science console. “They may indicate the presence of other nearby cloaked vessels. And they don’t match the tachyon profile of General Khegh’s warships.”
“So whose ships are they?” asked Vale, who was still standing before her chair as she studied the main viewscreen.
“They’re apparently Romulan,” Keru said.
“More Remans?” Deanna said.
Riker shook his head. “I’d bet real money that they have Romulan crews.” He felt certain that Commanders Donatra and Suran wouldn’t have left the Romulan capital so utterly open to a Reman sneak attack, which they surely must have suspected was coming. But they might not have been able to post a large force—either because of dissension within their own military hierarchy, or out of fear of provoking Tal’Aura, Durjik’s hard-liners, or even the Tal Shiar.
Ambassador Spock stepped down into the center of the bridge, simultaneously facing Riker, Vale, and Deanna. “Captain, you see before you an eloquent argument in favor of returning me to the Reman leadership. Immediately.”
Riker sighed. “You may be right, Mr. Ambassador. Unfortunately, I’m afraid the opportunity to do that may already have passed.” Spock treated him to a withering glare as the captain moved up to the upper portion of the bridge, passing Akaar and Tuvok as he crossed to the tactical station.
“Any response yet from the Remans?” Riker asked Keru.
“No, sir. I’m continuing to hail.”
“And there’s still no definitive evidence that the Romulan military is intact enough to mount an effective defense,” Vale pointed out. “The Remans have a lot of ships, and there are a hell of a lot of soft targets down there.” She was still standing, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. Once again, Riker noticed that her gaze lit fleetingly on the missing dedication plaque.
Looking toward the screen that displayed the approaching Reman fleet, Riker said, “Mr. Keru, get me General Khegh.”
A moment later, the image of Romulus and the Reman-operated flotilla that threatened it shrank and withdrew to the upper left quadrant of the screen. The rest of the image area was now dominated by the ruddy illumination of the Vaj’s crowded bridge; in the foreground was the grinning, jagged-toothed face of the commander of the local Klingon forces.
“This is an exhilarating spectacle, Captain Riker, is it not?” Khegh said, punctuating his observation with a coarse guffaw.
“That wouldn’t quite be how I’d describe it, General,” Riker said, standing before his command chair. “You’ve received my tactical officer’s alert. You know that the Remans are in control of those incoming vessels, and that the Romulans might not be able to defend themselves from them. We can’t just sit by while Romulus is decimated.”
“Captain, my government didn’t send me here to fight on behalf of honorless Romulan petaQ,” Khegh growled. “We are here, in large part, at the request of our Reman allies—not their former slavemasters.”
“Damn it, General, the Klingon Empire hasn’t abandoned its Dominion War alliance with the Romulans, and you know it.”
Khegh pursed his lips as his rheumy eyes narrowed in anger. “True, Captain. But I will shed no Reman blood this day.”
Riker tried to reign in his own escalating irritation with the Klingon, without complete success. “Then I’d appreciate it if you’d give the Romulans the same consideration. Please don’t do anything to help the Remans attack Romulus, General.”
Khegh bared two rows of discolored, highly asymmetrical teeth. But he was not smiling. “I will take your request under advisement, Captain,” he said before abruptly vanishing. On the screen, nearly forty Reman-crewed vessels entered the troposphere of Romulus. Rarefied gases began to ionize against their hulls, each ship creating a spectacular orange streak over the planet’s night side that resembled a meteor burning up during its terminal descent.
Riker had a sickening feeling that Romulus and Remus both were about to witness a great deal more fire and burning. “Ghuy’cha’,” he whispered, repeating one of the first of the many colorful Klingon curses he had learned over the years.
He knew that brute force wasn’t going to work here. What he needed instead was a diplomatic solution. He had one of the Federation’s most celebrated diplomats at his disposal. But there seemed to be no safe way to deliver him to where he was needed most: the immediate presence of the Reman leadership.
“What are you planning to do, Captain?” Akaar rumbled.
Riker exchanged a significant glance with Vale, then turned to look into Deanna’s eyes. He knew that they both supported his unspoken decision, and understood that he couldn’t stand by
idly while Reman slaughtered Romulan wholesale. He might be forced to fire Titan’s weapons, even though this was ostensibly a mission of peace. Hell, I have to do something to stop this, because this is a mission of peace.
He turned to face the admiral’s cool stare, though his words were for his conn officer. “Ensign Lavena, prepare to change our heading. Intercept the lead Reman vessel.”
“Aye, Captain,” the Pacifican said, her nervousness plain even through the slight muffling caused by her hydration suit’s rebreather unit.
“I’m finally getting a response from the Remans, Captain,” Keru said, sounding both excited and apprehensive. “The transmission appears to be coming from the lead vessel.”
“On screen, please,” Riker said, putting on his best poker face.
The hard visage of a Reman warrior appeared on the screen. Though the illumination in the Reman-occupied warship was dim, Riker could see that the other man’s skin was as pale as the snows of Mount Denali.
The Reman’s voice sounded like a slow rockslide, and was as deep and cold as an Alaskan glacier. “Federation vessel. Do not attempt to interfere with us. You will not be warned again.”
“This is Captain William Riker of the Federation starship Titan. Please identify yourself.”
When he spoke, the Reman’s lips parted, displaying a proliferation of sharp, serrated teeth. “I am Xiomek, colonel of the Kepeszuk Battalion and commander of all the Reman Irregulars. I speak now as the voice of the Reman people.”
That’s pretty convenient for me, if it’s true, Riker thought, recalling Spock and Tuvok having mentioned Colonel Xiomek during their brief walk from the transporter room to the ready room. Spock had explained that Reman military and civilian leaders were really one and the same, and that they had a fairly quick turnover because of their refusal to conduct warfare from the rear. Spock had explained his belief that Xiomek wielded serious influence over his people, and Riker was therefore inclined to believe it—especially now that Xiomek had shown himself to be in charge of what was probably every piece of ordnance the Remans had at their disposal.
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