Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [74]
For a short time each day, she could just be herself. Not a highly regarded researcher, not a doctor with a ship full of patients, not even a high-ranking officer on a starship. Just a woman with a normal complement of quirks and weaknesses and out-and-out failings.
Because she was with Jean-Luc, she could let all that show. She had known him so long and had grown so comfortable in his presence, she could say or do anything.
They were precious times-Beverly had acknowledged the fact even then. But now, as she fought for her life on a dark, cold world, they seemed that much more precious.
Donatra had been so intent on her fleet’s latest round of weapons diagnostics, she forgot to eat her dinner and then missed her regularly scheduled meeting with her chief engineer.
But she didn’t forget the opportunity that presented itself only once every twenty-six hours, when the rotation of Romulus brought the capital closest to her ship’s coordinates.
Activating a com link, Donatra stared expectantly at her monitor screen. However, it insisted on showing her the imperial insignia of a warbird with its wings outstretched, grasping Romulus in one talon and Remus in the other.
Then the predator vanished, leaving in its wake a different image altogether-that of a tall, broad-shouldered man who had once had many warbirds under his command, but had chosen for the moment to bind himself to the ground.
Donatra couldn’t help smiling, her heart was so full of pride and longing. “Braeg,” she said.
He smiled back at her. “Even when you are only an image on a viewscreen, you take my breath away.”
“You’re well, I take it?”
“Well enough,” he said, “considering how little sleep I get these days. There is too much to think about, too many plans to make, too many people with whom I must speak. Every morning as I watch the sun come up, I promise myself I will sleep for a week-just as soon as the praetor has been overthrown.”
“Take care your sleeplessness doesn’t turn into carelessness,” Donatra warned him.
Braeg’s expression told her it wasn’t a possibility. “I’ve been sleep-deprived before, haven’t I?”
She chuckled. “As I recall, you have. But it was I who kept you awake, not some worm of a praetor.”
“Ah yes,” he said, “I remember now. A secluded villa in Ch’rannos, wasn’t it?”
“It was. I wouldn’t mind taking you back there some time-perhaps in the wake of Tal’aura’s defeat. That is, if you’re not too busy taking a nap.”
“For that,” said Braeg, “I would stay awake indefinitely.”
Donatra checked the time on her chronometer. It wouldn’t be wise to converse much longer. Tal’aura would almost certainly be monitoring communications with the surface.
“We need to say good-bye,” he observed.
“Again,” she sighed.
“But not forever,” Braeg reminded her.
“Say the word,” she told him, “and I will descend on Romulus like vengeance itself.”
“No,” said Braeg, a note of concern in his voice. “Tomalak wants you to rush in. Whittle him away little by little. And then, when he’s good and- “
He stopped himself. “Listen to me-giving advice to the commander of the Third Fleet.”
Donatra shook her head in mock derision. “Always the admiral.”
“Not now,” he told her. “Now I’m just a rabble-rouser. It’s you who must seize victory.”
“And I will,” she assured him.
Then, with infinite reluctance, she cut the link. Once again, the warbird insignia dominated the screen.
Sitting back in her chair, Donatra closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Then she had her com officer contact Suran, so they could go over the latest data on Tomalak’s forces.
Tal’aura stood on her north-facing balcony, looked down at the geometrically perfect web of streets below, and mulled what she had learned from the spy’s communication.
“Interesting,” she breathed, knowing no one would hear her.
But not pleasant. Not even remotely so.
Federation intervention. A variation of the Kevratan disease that could affect Romulans. And no end to the natives’ resistance movement. Rather than getting better under Sela’s hand, the situation appeared