Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [111]
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.
“And I speak on behalf of the United Federation of Planets,” Riker said. “I am here on an errand of peace. Please break off your attack.”
Xiomek tipped his head in apparent confusion. “We have made no attack as yet, Riker. And whether or not such an attack occurs is entirely up to the Romulan praetor, to whom we have just issued our demand.”
Riker pondered the fact that Xiomek had not, in fact, began firing on any targets on the ground, at least not yet. It must mean he hasn’t gotten wind of that first diplomatic meeting that Tal’Aura kept him out of, he thought. At least, not yet.
Aloud, he said, “And what is it you’ve demanded, Colonel?”
“We want Ehrie’fvil.”
“Come again?” Riker