Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [46]
Riker shook his head, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if Akaar were discreetly monitoring the incoming message from stellar cartography. “He did say this was my mission.”
Vale nodded in agreement, then pivoted her chair in Dakal’s direction. “Are the Klingons able to pick up this transmission?”
“Almost certainly, sir,” Dakal said.
Riker chuckled. “That’s fine. There’s no point in antagonizing our Klingon escorts by hiding things from them. I’m sure being this far inside Romulan space is making them twitchy enough.” Turning back toward the viewscreen that almost entirely covered the forward segment of the circular bridge, Riker said, “Put the praetor on the screen, Cadet.”
A moment later, the image of a regal, stern-faced Romulan woman of early middle age appeared in the center of the screen. Her slim figure was perched on an ornate chair that was the approximate color of Romulan blood. A wall made of ancient-looking green stone was visible several meters behind her.
But Riker’s eyes were drawn more urgently to the steel-eyed Romulan male who stood attentively beside the praetor.
Tomalak. Riker tensed as he recognized the other man. He silently noted Tomalak’s aristocratic civilian suit, cut to accentuate the broadness of his shoulders, and the senatorial sigils that were attached to his dark tunic. Tomalak had always been trouble when he’d served as a commander, and more recently as an admiral, in the Romulan military. Riker felt certain that Tomalak’s presence here and now alongside his beleaguered empire’s praetor couldn’t bode well for the coming power-sharing talks.
“Praetor Tal’Aura,” Riker said, rising and making a respectful half-bow. “We are honored.”
“Welcome to the Romulan Star Empire, Captain Riker,” the praetor said. “Allow me to introduce Proconsul Tomalak, my trusted right hand.”
His eyes bright but cold, Tomalak smiled, a gesture that Riker found anything but reassuring. He hadn’t forgotten any of his previous encounters with Tomalak. Thirteen years ago, the Romulan officer had engaged in some rather brazen espionage on the remote Federation planet Galorndon Core. Then, only a few weeks later, the commander had used faked intelligence to convince a Romulan defector, Admiral Alidar Jarok, that a Romulan sneak attack on the Federation was imminent. Jarok, who had wanted only to preserve the lives of innocents on both sides—as well as his Empire’s honor—had taken his own life after learning of Tomalak’s cynical manipulations. Riker wasn’t sure he could ever find it in himself to forgive Tomalak for that. And he was absolutely certain he couldn’t trust him.
“The proconsul and I have met before, Praetor,” Riker said without elaboration.
“Indeed,” Tal’Aura said, leaning forward, her expression hard but earnest. “Let us hope that this familiarity will make our preliminary meeting go more smoothly.”
Not very damned likely, Riker thought, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.
He glanced down at Ensign Lavena’s flight-control displays before returning his gaze to the main viewer. “Our convoy is only about sixteen hours away from Romulus at our present speed, Praetor. Once we arrive, will the Reman leaders require our assistance in getting to the first meeting?”
Tal’Aura blinked several times before replying, as though confused. “Captain, perhaps we do not yet completely understand each other. Before we involve the Reman leadership in any power-sharing talks, I wish you to mediate a…prefatory conference between us and the other Romulan efvir-efveh who now contend for influence within the Empire.”
“Efvir-efveh,” Riker repeated soundlessly, taking only half a beat to recognize the Romulan term that translated, at least approximately, to “power groups” or “factions.”
Tal’Aura continued: “Any Reman presence at our first meeting would make this necessary preliminary meeting far more…tense than it needs to be. I’m sure you can understand that.”
Riker nodded slowly. Certainly. You don’t want to have to worry about your former slaves quietly