Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [113]
As if cued by the ambassador, Jaza spoke up, an edge of real fear audible in his usually serene voice. “Captain, four D’deridex-class warbirds and three more Mogai-class vessels are decloaking over the northern continent. They’re charging weapons and closing with the Reman-crewed vessels located nearest to Ki Baratan.”
Lovely, Riker thought, struggling to keep his shoulders from sagging under the oppressive weight of near-despair. We haven’t even had our first full peace conference yet, and we’re already spiraling down into all-out war.
But he saw that Xiomek had lapsed into what Riker thought—or at least fervently hoped—was a thoughtful silence. The colonel had obviously heard Jaza’s report, and the Reman’s own bridge crew had no doubt informed him, perhaps telepathically, of the new tactical situation.
“We will engage the Romulans, Ambassador, if our former masters force our hand,” Xiomek said, his dark, hooded eyes now fixed squarely upon Spock. “But we will agree to delay our bombardment of their cities for four veraku—provided no one attacks us . The praetor and the Romulan military have that long to cede Ehrie’fvil to us completely, or else Romulan blood will flow like the waters of the Apnex Sea.”
Along with how much of your own people’s blood, Xiomek? Riker thought ruefully before fixing Spock with a questioning glance.
“Four veraku is approximately four point one eight of your hours, Captain,” Spock said in response to Riker’s unspoken question.
“You must excuse me, Captain,” Xiomek said, his fangs actually seeming to lengthen as he spoke. “It appears that I am about to become rather busy.” And with that, his chalk-white image disappeared from the central portion of the screen, which switched to a broad view of the graceful curve of Romulus’s night side, whose surface was illuminated by the lights of scores of cities and towns. Riker had no doubt that lightninglike traceries of disruptor beams and torpedo detonations would soon overwhelm those distant hearth fires, abruptly turning much of the planet’s night side into day.
“A single Mogai-class warbird has just moved to intercept Xiomek’s attack wing in the upper atmosphere,” Keru reported, studying his tactical console. He looked up at Riker. “It’s the Valdore, Captain.”
“Donatra’s ship,” Riker said, noting on the tactical display that this particular impending battle was the one that lay closest to Titan’s current flight path. Why haven’t the Romulans scrambled more defenses? he wondered, noting that the planet’s orbiting defense platforms remained oddly silent. Had the Remans somehow sabotaged them, or had the rapid descent of their warships into the upper atmosphere rendered them useless?
“The Valdore is already effectively surrounded by six Amarcan-class warships,” Keru said, nodding. “They’re smaller and not as well armed as the Valdore, but…” He trailed off.
But they outnumber her, Riker thought, completing Keru’s analysis.
“At least the Klingons are behaving themselves,” Ensign Lavena said as she fed some minor course adjustments into the conn station.
For the time being, Riker thought, hoping Khegh would be content to enjoy the shedding of Romulan blood vicariously. But if things begin to go seriously against the Reman attack force, can we count on the Klingons to stay on the sidelines?
“True enough, Ensign,” Deanna said. “And we can also be thankful that Xiomek hasn’t obliterated any Romulan cities yet.”
Standing anxiously near her seat, Vale raised both hands, displaying crossed fingers. “Let’s hope whatever defenses the Romulans can scramble keep his fleet too busy to try. In the meantime, we have to make a decision: Do we help the Romulans?”
Seated beside Riker, Deanna was silently asking him the very same question. Riker could feel Akaar’s gaze boring into his back. He studiously ignored it.
“No,” he said, squaring his shoulders and addressing everyone on the bridge. “We came here to broker a peace arrangement. Not to take sides in a civil war.” No one argued with