Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [22]
“You’ll have one,” said Edrich. “I’ve made arrangements in that regard with an old friend of yours-Pug Joseph.”
Joseph had served on the Stargazer, the captain’s first ship. The fellow had left the fleet years earlier to pursue a career in commercial shipping, but for a mission like this it couldn’t have been difficult to lure him back into service.
“In addition,” said the admiral, “you’ll be accompanied by a Romulan named Decalon-one of the first defectors the Romulan underground spirited out of the Empire. He lived on Kevratas for a while. He’ll know his way around.”
Beverly would have benefited from such support, Picard reflected. Obviously, Starfleet Command was being careful not to make the same mistake twice.
“I’m sending you the details now,” said Edrich. “Good luck, Jean-Luc… on all counts.”
The captain nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Then Edrich’s visage vanished from the screen, leaving Picard alone with his thoughts. They were gray and ponderous, and they threatened to drag him down. But he wouldn’t allow it.
Beverly is alive, he told himself. I know she is. And in time, I will find her.
Tomalak, the newly appointed commander-in-chief of the praetor’s Imperial Defense Force, watched his servant splash a bit of Romulan ale into his spiced fish casserole.
The dish’s aroma had been most tantalizing to begin with. Mingled with that of the ale, it was irresistible.
“My compliments,” he said.
“The commander is too kind,” said his servant as he replaced the flagon of ale on the commander-in-chief’s table. Then he inclined his head and backed out of the room.
No, thought Tomalak, stabbing a juicy chunk of fish meat on the end of his metal dining implement. Not too kind. Many things, but never that.
He tasted the morsel. It was every bit as intriguing as its scent promised, every bit as succulent. As was the next morsel, and the one after that.
A victory, he thought. And there was nothing Tomalak liked more than victory.
Savoring each bite, Tomalak took his time consuming the loaf of spiced fish. Finally, with a pang of regret, he swallowed the last piece of soft, white flesh and used a finely finished cloth napkin to wipe his mouth.
Then he set the napkin down, swiveled in his chair, and considered the oval monitor screen that was now in front of him. It was a shame that he had to follow such a delectable meal with such an unappealing sight, but he had little choice in the matter. With a sigh, Tomalak activated the screen.
It showed him a vast array of warbirds, a bit more than sixty at last count. They had gathered just outside the edge of Romulus’s star system like airborne scavengers, waiting for some earthbound beast to make its kill.
Among them were the vessels commanded by Donatra and Suran, a fiery young female and a crafty veteran respectively. Originally the leaders of the Imperial Third and Fifth fleets, they had ever so briefly taken the reins of the entire Defense Force by tying their destinies to that of Shinzon.
At the time, Tal’aura had been their ally, their co-conspirator. But it was only their common allegiance to Shinzon that held the three of them together, not any real affinity for one another. When Shinzon fell, leaving the praetor’s chair empty, Tal’aura swept in to seize power on her own.
Of course, she could have thrown Donatra and Suran a bone, leaving them in charge of the military. However, they had already betrayed one praetor all too gladly. What would stop them, Tal’aura had asked herself, from betraying her as well?
Hence, the appointment of Tomalak as head of the Imperial Defense Force. But Tal’aura had underestimated the influence of Donatra and Suran on the Romulans who had served with them. Almost without exception, every ship’s commander in the Third and Fifth Fleets remained loyal to his or her superior and-casting aside a millennia-old tradition of fealty-refused to recognize the legitimacy of the praetor.
It was this wave of sentiment that had created the rogue force on Tomalak’s screen. Nor was it inconsequential,