Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [42]
Akaar moved down the sloping ramp toward Riker. “What do you hope to accomplish by sharing a meal with the Klingons, Captain?”
Riker raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. “Beyond having an exhilaratingly disgusting dining experience?” A more serious expression replaced the flippant one. “Truthfully, I’m concerned that the presence of Klingon warships alongside us might make the Romulan military nervous, especially if the Klingons are known to be siding with the Remans. It seems very much as if it will be poking unnecessarily at an open wound.”
“True,” Akaar said, nodding. “Except that you are discounting the importance of having better-armed Klingon vessels riding shotgun alongside Titan and her convoy. You do have a fair offensive capability, but Titan is certainly no warship. You and the less-well-armed aid ships might be more vulnerable without Khegh’s presence if rogue elements of the Romulan fleet decide to mount a sneak attack.”
“It’s also likely,” Troi said, “that the presence of the Klingons as allies of the downtrodden Remans will pressure the competing Romulan factions into agreeing to treat them fairly in whatever power-sharing arrangement ultimately emerges from the talks.”
Akaar stepped in closer, lowering his voice. “Regardless, Captain, if any conflagration begins out here, it is better that it be initiated by the Romulans or the Klingons than by a Federation vessel.”
Riker gazed up intently into the eyes of the Capellan. “If I have anything to say about it, Admiral, neither my ship nor the Klingons’ will be engaged in any battle. As Khegh just said, ‘Wars do not make one great.’ And as the product of a warrior society yourself, I’m sure you must feel the same way, sir.”
Akaar looked impressed. “Let us hope you are correct, Captain,” he said, then exited the bridge, perhaps to confer with his staff.
Vale settled back into her chair, at the immediate right of the center seat. She still wasn’t sure what to make of the hostility Riker seemed to harbor toward the admiral, but she felt a surge of new confidence in her CO after witnessing how firmly yet discreetly he had stood up to his superior officer. I’ve made the right decision, she thought. Titan truly is my home now.
It had taken another day and a half for the Klingons to make their decision about supping with the Titan crew, and a good half hour to decide on an appropriate menu. Then, ten minutes before the appointed dinner time, Khegh had hailed the Starfleet vessel and requested that the venue be changed to his own flagship.
Seated behind the Elaminite-wood desk in his ready room, Riker was a bit taken aback by the request. “May I ask why, General?”
“The captain of the Dugh does not wish to eat replicated Klingon food,” Khegh said glibly. “It upsets his digestion and makes him gassy, if the truth be told.”
“Ah, quite understandable, then,” Riker said, nodding. He was certain that there had to be other reasons, but wasn’t sure it would be worth trying to ferret them out now. “I accept your offer, General. I will prepare my officers to beam over to your ship.”
“Wait!” Khegh said, his voice emphatic. “I understand that one of your officers is a Betazoid?”
“My diplomatic officer is half Betazoid, yes,” Riker said. “She is among my most valued—”
“Leave her on your ship,” Khegh said, interrupting. “I do not trust Betazoids, or Vulcans, or any of the other thought readers.”
Mental alarms went off inside Riker’s head. What is he trying to hide? But there was nothing to be gained by pushing the point. “Agreed,” he said, nodding. “I will bring along only my executive officer and my security chief. A human and a Trill.”
“Acceptable, Captain. I hope the three of you have the stomach for gagh and bloodwine in copious quantities,” Khegh said with a leering smile, after which the tabletop screen went dark.
Riker looked up at Deanna, Keru, Vale, and Akaar, all of whom were waiting there in the ready room, having heard the entire conversation.
“I don