The Red King - Michael A. Martin [43]
“Be careful, Will. He’s terribly nervous,” Deanna said quietly, but quite unnecessarily; Riker recognized fear when he saw it.
Tchev chortled, then glowered at Donatra. “A consequence, no doubt, of Romulan hospitality.”
Riker noticed then that the Neyel was studiously avoiding looking in Donatra’s direction. He also saw something he hadn’t seen before: a pattern of subtle lines running along the creature’s shorn right temple, barely visible beneath the thin layer of black fuzz that covered his gray scalp.
Surgical incisions? Riker wondered.
His arm still outstretched toward the Neyel, Riker glanced toward the Romulan commander, who met his gaze momentarily before abruptly breaking eye contact.
Riker frowned. What had Donatra done to this being? Turning back toward the Neyel, he noticed that the creature’s hands were stuffed defensively into the front pockets of his robe. Tuvok was no doubt keeping a weather eye on him for any sign that he might be preparing to draw a weapon.
“Welcome aboard,” Riker repeated, moving slightly closer to the Neyel. “I am Captain William T. Riker of the Federation starship Titan.” He gestured in Deanna’s direction. “This is Deanna Troi, my diplomatic officer.”
“Federation,” the Neyel said. “You are from Aerth?”
Riker nodded, recognizing the name of his homeworld in spite of the odd pronunciation. And now he knew that the universal translator was indeed working properly. Trying a warm smile, he said, “Born and raised there, in a place called Valdez, Alaska.”
The Neyel seemed to roll the place name over in his mind several times before replying in a surprisingly pleasant, sonorous voice. “Alaska. The revered Burgess left behind stories about Alaska. Beautiful, but cold.”
Federation Ambassador Aidan Burgess, Riker thought. He smiled, wondering if the storied diplomat had ever actually visited the land that had once been called the last frontier. “It’s definitely both of those. And I hope to see it again someday.” He offered the Neyel his hand in the traditional human greeting.
“Frane. My name is Frane.” The Neyel withdrew a pair of gray hands from the pockets of his robe, and with one of them he clasped Riker’s proffered hand, enclosing it in a grip that was firm yet surprisingly gentle for someone who presented such a hard, almost armored exterior.
Riker looked with wonder into the creature’s dark, still-frightened, and unmistakably human eyes.
“Captain Riker,” Donatra said, interrupting the captain’s momentary reverie. “We have a great deal to discuss. I suggest we waste no time pooling our knowledge of this place, and of the circumstances behind our arrival.”
Disengaging from Frane, Riker turned to face Donatra. “I agree completely. Commander Troi has already prepared a room where we can do just that.”
Smiling, Deanna made a follow-me gesture as she moved toward the doorway, where Tuvok was standing vigil. “Our science team should already be waiting for us.”
Deck one’s forward observation lounge presented a spectacular view of the spatial rift’s slowly drifting, multicolored energy tendrils. Troi had asked Will to have the lounge area cleared of all unnecessary personnel specifically for this joint briefing, and he had immediately understood the need to do exactly that. It wouldn’t do, after all, to allow anything unexpected to damage the fragile bond of trust they were trying to build to the still-apprehensive Frane.
Or to slow down the increasingly urgent scientific agenda of Science Officer Jaza, who stood anxiously at the head of the long conference table.
Two other key members of Titan’s science staff were already present and seated—or otherwise positioned—at the table near Jaza: Melora Pazlar, the head of stellar cartography, and Dr. Se’al Cethente Qas, Titan’s senior astrophysicist. Clad in her gravity-canceling exoframe, Pazlar nestled