The Red King - Michael A. Martin [44]
Taking a seat beside Cethente, Troi watched as Will and Christine Vale took seats across from one another. Tuvok and Akaar did likewise, all the while seeming to go to great lengths to avoid looking directly at one another; the pair of Klingons and Donatra staked out positions at opposite ends of this same side of the table. Only two chairs, both located on Will’s side of the table, remained empty.
Still standing, Troi turned back toward the doorway, where Frane stood quietly, under the watchful eyes of Lieutenants Hutchinson and Sortollo. The two security officers, assigned by Tuvok to chaperone Frane, were discreetly hanging back from their charge, though they were clearly on the alert for any sudden moves on the Neyel’s part. But Troi sensed no aggression whatsoever coming from Frane; the Neyel merely seemed to be experiencing apprehension, though not nearly as intensely as he had a few minutes earlier in the transporter room.
The low conversational buzz in the room began to subside after Will rose from his chair, signaling that the ad hoc briefing should now come to order. Troi quickly crossed to Frane and favored him with her most disarming smile. He didn’t resist as she took one of his arms and gently led him toward the two unoccupied seats located near Will. Frane quietly took the chair nearest the bulkhead, where he paused to look at a pair of chess sets—one three-dimensional, the other set up in the far more ancient, traditional flat arrangement—that adorned a corner recreation table. Sensing the Neyel’s clear recognition of the flat board and its array of ornate game pieces, Troi wondered what other commonalities Frane’s people shared with his human cousins.
Such as myself, she thought, pondering how closely related the Neyel’s forebears might be to the ancestors of her own human father.
“We’ve already learned a lot about the phenomenon that brought all of our ships here,” Will said, quickly gaining the undivided attention of everyone in the room. “Just as I’m sure you have, Commander Donatra. Captain Tchev. And if we’re to stand any chance of getting home, we’re all going to have to share everything we know.”
“Agreed,” Donatra said. “Now that the Valdore’s comm system is up and running again—and with both our vessels out of the worst of the subspace interference zone surrounding the Bloom—my crew has begun transmitting its data to Titan.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Will said, nodding. Gesturing toward the science specialists, Will made quick introductions, then turned the floor over to Jaza.
Troi noted a certain tension in the room, as curiosity about the happenstance that had brought everyone to this distant place was neatly balanced by anxiety over whether those very circumstances might successfully be run in reverse. She sensed that everyone who had come through the rift was worried, at least to some extent, that returning home might not be an option.
“First of all,” Jaza said, still standing at the head of the table, “we’ve discovered that there’s a lot more at stake here than just getting home.”
“For you, perhaps,” Tchev said. “We have no interest in this region of space, other than expediting our departure from it.”
“I agree,” Donatra said. Troi sensed her surprise at hearing herself utter this phrase in the context of an accidental collaboration with Klingons. “My first concern is locating my…misplaced ships, and returning them and their crews safely to Romulan space.”
Troi felt Donatra’s anguished sense of loss, and saw her hard gaze settle briefly on the two Klingons who had accompanied her here. Off of the veiled-yet-surprised reactions of Tchev and Dekri, Troi gathered that this was the first time Donatra had admitted to having lost her fleet in the Klingons’ presence. But Frane reacted with only a