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“So, Praetor, were you,” Martok said in an even tone.

Bacco had been unusually quiet. In a soft voice, she said, “You’re giving us a lot of hypotheticals here, Praetor, but none of this has even happened yet. Either way, though, I can tell you this: Like Chancellor Martok, I can assure you that there’s no way in hell I’m committing any military resources to help you out.”

“If you don’t, our people will starve.”

“There, we’ll be happy to help you. If your people need food, we’ll provide it. But we’re not gonna take sides in your little internecine conflicts.”

Sneering, Tal’Aura said, “You are condemning the Romulan people to a slow and miserable death.”

Bacco stared intently back at the praetor. Then, speaking with more iron than Martok would ever have expected from a frail-looking, elderly human woman, she said, “No, Praetor, you did that when you left a thalaron bomb in the senate chamber on Shinzon’s behalf. That is what put you on this course, and if you find now that you can’t turn around, then I will pity you, and I will help you in whatever way I can, but I will be damned if I will let you try to foist the blame on me. You got into bed with a lunatic, Praetor, and now the people you claim to lead are paying the price for your stupidity. If the Imperial Romulan State does indeed declare itself a sovereign entity, then the Federation will carefully consider whether or not to recognize it as a legitimate government. I can tell you this for damn sure: Our decision will take a lot of factors into account, but what makes your life easier will be extremely low on that list.”

Tal’Aura turned her gaze to Martok. “I assume that the Klingon Empire, as usual, trails behind the Federation like a pet eager for approval?”

“No.” Martok smiled. “The Federation may require time to make that decision, but the empire’s is already made. We will recognize any political entity that fractures the Romulans further.”

That obviously did not please Tal’Aura, which only pleased Martok more. After a brief silence, she rose from her chair and left the meeting room, the two centurions trailing behind her.

Bacco looked at Martok. “Can’t say as that was much of a shock. Honestly, I’m amazed the empire’s held together as long as it has. I figured they’d start falling to pieces once you guys took the Remans to Klorgat IV.”

Martok nodded. “That was, in fact, our hope.”

Chuckling, Bacco said, “Yeah, we kinda figured that.” Growing serious again, she said, “I meant what I said, Chancellor. We won’t get involved in the Romulans’ internal politics, but we’re not just gonna stand around and let their people die.”

“I would not expect you to do anything other than what you have always done, Madam President,” Martok said.

Bacco rose from her chair. “I’d say this summit is concluded, Chancellor.”

“Indeed, Madam President.” Martok also got up.

“I think we’ve done some good work here today, Chancellor. I hope this isn’t the last time we do this.”

“I can promise nothing, Madam President. If I have learned nothing else in my five years as chancellor, it is that predicting the future is unwise.”

“Wasn’t asking for a promise, Chancellor-was just asking for hope.”

“My only hope, Madam President, is to die in battle and cross the River of Blood to Sto-Vo-Kor. Whatever happens on that journey happens, and we can do little else but fight it to the end.”

“Well, I’m a little more concerned with getting the most I can out of this life.” She smiled. “But I think we’ve done a pretty good job on both ends.”

She held out her hand. Recognizing the human gesture, Martok accepted the handshake.

As they shook hands, Bacco said, “Qapla’, Martok, son of Urthog.”

“Qapla’, Nan Bacco.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DR. REBECCA EMMANUELLI had been to many dangerous places in her seventy years of life: the brutally hot sands of Vulcan’s Forge, the treacherous fire caves of Bajor, the uncertain mists of Berengaria, the toxic Mayak swamp on Ferenginar, and the hideously dense petrified forests of Selmak. Plus, of course, there were the four years she’d spent