Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [60]
The idea seemed to please the governor. McCoy actually saw a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, which was more than he’d hoped for.
“So what do you say?” asked the admiral. “Have we got a deal?”
Tharrus thought about it. “I will consider it,” he responded at last, “and return your communication when I have an answer for you.”
“Fair enough,” said McCoy. “Just don’t take too long, now. I mean, it’d be a shame if the proconsul surprised us all and acted on our offer.”
The governor’s smile became more pronounced. “I assure you,” he replied, “I will not waste any time in this matter.”
And with that, his image vanished from the viewscreen, to be replaced by the starfield that had preceded it. An abrupt departure, McCoy mused. But then, the Romulans had never been sticklers for good manners.
Turning in his seat, he noticed that Counselor Troi was looking at him again. She didn’t look any less concerned than she was before.
The admiral chuckled. “Don’t have a canary, Counselor.” He leaned his head closer to hers. “Y’see,” he said, “when it comes to Romulans, the direct approach is usually the best approach. Appeal to a Romulan’s baser instincts and you can’t go wrong.”
“Sir,” she replied, “that is not—”
McCoy held his hand up for silence. “Trust me on this,” he insisted.
But far from giving him her trust, Troi got up and left the command center. He watched her circumnavigate the tactical station and approach the turbolift, then enter it as the doors parted.
When they closed, the admiral stopped watching and returned his attention to the viewscreen. But he could feel the tension the counselor had left in her wake. The chill, for lack of a better word.
What’s more, the admiral understood the feeling. To Troi and the other bridge officers, he was an intruder. An invader. An unknown quantity, to whom they felt no particular loyalty,
But that was their problem. They’d have to deal with it, or find themselves replaced as their captain had been.
After all, this wasn’t a blasted cadet training mission. As Picard himself had pointed out, people’s lives depended on what they did here. And McCoy wasn’t going to let anyone deter him from doing what he had to do.
An admiral? Tharrus wondered.
Did the humans care that much about the fate of a few Romulan traitors? Enough to involve such a high-ranking officer in the negotiations?
Apparently so. The question was why.
Tharrus had never had any direct experience with the Federation before, but he had studied it via public records. And the one thing he’d learned was that it hated to involve itself in the affairs of others—a function of basic cowardice, no doubt.
Yet this admiral was going to great lengths to insert himself into a Romulan matter. It could mean only one thing. The Federation had more at stake in this than it wished to let on.
Hitting the comm panel in front of him, the governor sent for Phabaris. When the security officer entered the room, Tharrus turned to him.
“Research the personal history of Admiral Leonard James McCoy,” he instructed. “Search every data bank in the Empire, but find out why he is so concerned about the fate of our prisoners. I want an answer, you understand?”
Phabaris nodded. “Yes, Governor. I will see to it immediately.”
A moment later, the security officer was gone. Tharrus leaned back in his chair.
Before the conversation with the human, Tharrus had known that the rebels were valuable. But now he had the distinct feeling they were even more valuable than he had imagined.
Riker placed his hand on Data’s shoulder. The android turned to look up at him, a question on his face.
“Yes, sir?” he asked.
The first officer smiled. “My shift,” he explained.
Data’s brow creased. He looked puzzled.
“I do not believe so, Commander. Unless there is something wrong with my internal chronometer—an unlikely circumstance, as you are no