Taking Wing - Michael A. Martin [86]
“Kroiha!” Tal’Aura shouted in Romulan, filling the room with her voice without so much as rising from her chair. “Tharon!”
Tomalak froze, as he had been commanded. “Forgive me, my Praetor.” Sheathing his sword, he returned to his seat, though with evident reluctance. And he continued to glare at the former senator, never letting his hand venture far from his blade.
“My apologies,” Durjik said, bowing his head slightly. Troi sensed not a shred of sincerity behind his words, and she seriously doubted he was fooling anyone else either.
Will broke the ensuing silence, clearly eager to get the meeting back on track. “Does anyone here seriously believe that anybody present at this meeting was involved with Pardek’s death?”
“We shall see,” Durjik said, scowling at Donatra and Suran.
“I suspect what we’ll see,” Troi said, “is that Pardek probably ran afoul of one of the factions not represented here today.”
Tal’Aura chuckled humorlessly. “As brutal as Pardek’s murder was, it was far too subtle an act to have been carried out by the Remans.”
“I’m not talking about the Remans. I’m referring to the Tal Shiar.”
Troi immediately sensed an almost reflexive wave of apprehension radiating from the praetor’s hindbrain. That was understandable, given the fear that the Romulan Star Empire’s semi-independent military intelligence bureau had so carefully cultivated for so many years. But something else lurked beneath Tal’Aura’s apprehension as well, a secret she was holding more closely than one of Christine Vale’s poker hands.
The praetor was hiding something critical. And it was related to the Tal Shiar.
Tomalak spoke up, his tone and manner insincerely patronizing. “And what special expertise might you possess regarding the Tal Shiar, Commander Troi?”
Should I come right out and tell him? Troi thought. Focusing her gaze for a moment onto the chamber’s high ceiling, she decided on forthrightness. “I used to be in the Tal Shiar.”
All the Romulans in the room seemed greatly amused by this. Good. At least they’re less likely to kill one another now that they’ve shared a joke at the expense of an old adversary.
She saw then that Will was flashing a warning glare in her direction. “Commander.”
“Forgive me, Captain,” she said in her most professional tone. She was determined to continue. “Let me be more precise. Ten years ago, I posed as a Tal Shiar agent in order to help a high-ranking Romulan senator defect to the Federation.”
The captain’s eyes looked like dinner plates, and she met his incredulous stare with a warning glare of her own. I know what I’m doing here, Will. If these people don’t start focusing their hostility onto targets other than each other, this entire mission is doomed before it even starts.
Troi looked at Donatra, who was regarding her with hard, appraising eyes. Though her countenance concealed it well, she was clearly revising her opinion of the Starfleet contingent. Troi sensed that her frank admission of espionage—performed during an entirely different astro-political era—was beginning to generate some real respect from Donatra.
“Vice-Proconsul M’ret,” Suran said to Troi. In sharp contrast to Donatra, his voice and manner were frosted with anger and contempt. “M’ret the traitor. You were one of those who helped him betray the Empire’s security.”
Because of Suran’s intense negativity, Troi found she had to work harder than she’d expected to keep her own rising pique from coloring her reply. “During the decade since his defection, M’ret has helped prevent a tremendous amount of bloodshed between your people and ours. If the talks we are beginning now succeed in making further progress toward peace—if they build upon M’ret’s work—then your histories may make a far kinder appraisal of him someday.”
“The sun will grow dark and cool long before that day arrives,” Suran said, as stonily as any Vulcan. “M’ret is a traitor, now and forever.”
Durjik guffawed almost explosively.