Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [78]
Chapter Fourteen
U.S.S. TITAN
“Thank you, Commander Ledrah.”
“All part of the service, Captain,” said the chief engineer, her voice filtered through the combadge. “But be careful, sir. This admiral is a sneaky bastard, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I don’t mind a bit, Nidani. But you’re lucky he hasn’t got here yet. Now, try to stay out of trouble, all right?”
“Always, sir. Ledrah out.”
The ready room fell silent. Riker stared out the observation window at the distant stars. But he felt none of the joy and exhilaration he had experienced barely two weeks ago when he had immersed himself in the holographic projections of the stellar cartography lab. Instead of reveling in the unrestrained freedom of deep space, its dark beauty illuminated by countless distant fires, he found himself searching for naked-eye stellar distortions.
It was a poor trade-off.
His sharp gaze sought out disturbances that were as likely to be the products of drifting debris as cloaked vessels. As he watched, one of the trio of Miranda-class Starfleet aid ships, Der Sonnenaufgang, moved gracefully past the outer port-side edge of Titan’s hull, headed toward the brilliant azure limb of Romulus, about which the convoy had entered orbit less than thirty minutes previously. According to Vale, the other two vessels, the Phoebus and the T’rin’saz, were already well into the process of beaming down food, medical supplies, and heavy-duty industrial replicator equipment, along with a cadre of Starfleet medical, engineering, and security personnel to render aid and oversee distribution of the convoy’s provisions to Romulan civilians dispossessed by the recent social unrest. Der Sonnenaufgang was concentrating on using her cargo transporters to send particularly heavy matériel, such as construction equipment, down to the planet’s surface.
Despite apprehensions to the contrary from their respective crews, the Federation-Klingon convoy had crossed Romulan space completely unmolested. Even so, there were a large number of small Romulan cruisers and scout ships in the immediate vicinity of Romulus and its four moons, though not nearly as many warbirds as Riker would have expected. Either the Romulans were playing host to their visitors with utmost sincerity, or they were keeping the bulk of their fleet carefully concealed, at least for the moment. He wondered idly if they were lying in the weeds, watching and waiting for the right moment to pounce either on Titan, General Khegh’s vessels, or the Starfleet aid ships.
But that possibility seemed far-fetched given the reception the aid convoy had received so far—and what Romulus stood to lose if the Romulan military were to attack, considering the obvious evidence of the unreliability of the Empire’s internal lines of supply. Senator Pardek and his followers may want to move against the Federation, he thought, but Praetor Tal’Aura seems to be keeping things calm, no matter how unstable her power base might be.
The door chimed, and Riker turned from the window. “Come,” he answered.
Stooping his head slightly, Admiral Akaar stepped through the doorway and into the ready room. Like Riker, he had not yet changed into his dress whites; the secret meeting with the Romulan leaders was still nearly two hours away.
“You asked to see me, Captain?” Akaar said, straightening to his imposing full height once he was inside the ready room.
Riker felt himself tense up, and hoped it didn’t show outwardly. He gestured toward one of the chairs. “Yes, thank you, Admiral.” He sat down behind his desk, and leaned forward as the large Capellan wedged his wide frame into the chair.
Riker paused to take a deep breath, preparing to launch into the speech he had been practicing over and over in his mind; he had debated for hours whether it would accomplish the goal he intended, or if it would instead cost him the admiral’s respect.
“Admiral, normally I wouldn’t speak quite so frankly to someone who outranks me, but this is my ship, my command, and my ready room,” he said finally. “Even