The Red King - Michael A. Martin [125]
“Bah!” Khegh waved a large, gauntleted hand in front of the screen, momentarily throwing the picture out of focus. The plenitude of medals that crowded the front of the governor’s ornate diplomatic vestments clattered noisily against one another. “With all the trouble I’ve had these past few days dodging Rehaek’s Tal Shiar assassins and trying to keep Praetor Tal’Aura from coming to blows with Colonel Xiomek and the rest of the Reman leadership, I have had a bellyful of ambitious Romulans. Let the diplomats deal with Donatra and her ilk from now on.”
Same old Khegh, Troi thought, shaking her head in silent amusement. Never mind that he’s the closest thing to a diplomat his government has in the entire Romulan Empire.
“Governor, I regret the Dugh’s destruction nearly as much as you do,” Will said, his manner suffused with a degree of empathy that would have done credit to an experienced ship’s counselor. “Captain Tchev and his crew were fine officers.”
According to Troi’s recollections of the past several days, Tchev and his people had been anything but helpful during the Red King affair. But she also knew that there was no percentage in pointing that fact out to Khegh.
The hefty old warrior leaned back in a chair that looked nearly as heavily padded as he was. “Nonsense, Riker. Tchev was an idiot. After all, he allowed those Romulan petaQ to kill him and destroy his vessel without a battle. None of the Dugh’s crew deserve a place in either the Hall of Heroes or Sto-Vo-Kor . Khegh out.”
As the governor’s snarling face was replaced by the familiar starscape-and-laurel-leaf symbol of the Federation, Troi sensed that her husband’s frustration had suddenly grown acute once again. So that’s what this is about. He not only regrets not being able to come clean about what Donatra did to the Dugh , he also wishes he could embellish the truth a bit so that Tchev and his crew would at least get a shot at the Klingon afterlife.
She crossed to the chair where Will still sat, staring into the blank screen. Her hands reached out to the muscles of his neck and shoulders, which felt as hard as tempered duranium.
“Don’t beat yourself up about the Dugh and Donatra, Will.”
He looked utterly desolate. “Donatra played me. I trusted her, even became her ally. And she played me.”
During the hours since the Vanguard convoy’s return from Neyel space, Will had told her enough about the circumstances surrounding the destruction of the Dugh to convince her that he was being far too hard on himself.
“Donatra only did what she thought she had to do, Will. You have to remember that Romulans are still Romulans, our recent détente efforts notwithstanding. Sometimes our interests converge with theirs, and other times things go the other way.”
He looked up at her, frowning. “Are you saying that Romulans can’t be trusted as a species?”
“No, of course not. But I am saying that it takes time to build trust. And I’m also saying that you can’t expect to win every battle.”
Glancing up at her, he smiled gently. “ ‘Sometimes you get the bear, and sometimes the bear gets you.’ Hey, I think I may have finally found our elusive dedication plaque motto.”
She chuckled. “Keep on looking, Will. But there’s a useful truth there, too. You may think Donatra ‘played’ you, but you’ve had your share of success recently doing the very same thing to the Romulans. In case you’ve forgotten, you maneuvered Praetor Tal’Aura into accepting a Klingon-Reman protectorate right in her proverbial backyard just last week. And you’ve just had an even more important success: Without you, the Neyel and who knows how many other species would probably have been entirely wiped out of existence.”
“Because I persuaded Donatra to use her fleet to close