The Red King - Michael A. Martin [57]
In the turns that followed, Riker lost a bishop and another pawn, then took down one of Frane’s knights. Frane castled, moving his king toward the right-hand side of his board.
All the while, the young Neyel kept glancing uneasily over his shoulder toward the various crew members who were using other areas of the room, eating, conversing, or strolling to or from either the food service areas or the wall-mounted replicator units.
“Something’s still bothering you,” Riker said, pausing in mid-move. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with our counseling staff.”
Frane turned back to face Riker. “No. It had more to do with the many…nonhumans I see aboard this ship.”
Riker’s eyebrows rose, then he reminded himself that the Neyel Excelsior’s reports had described had been nothing if not xenophobic and paranoid. Discovering that Frane perhaps shared those characteristics should have come as no surprise. Still, the thought came as something of a disappointment, considering the close relationship between humans and Neyel.
“Are you referring to any particular member of the crew?”
“At the moment…yes,” Frane said, and nodded toward a table located near the exit. Admiral Akaar sat at the table, quietly sipping a hot beverage that might have been tea. He was looking over his mug directly at Frane.
“His eyes,” the Neyel said, almost inaudibly. “So dark and cold and judgmental. He reminds me of my father.”
Riker suppressed a smile. Welcome to the club, he thought, recalling those all-too-infrequent occasions when his own father, the late Kyle Riker, had been present for mealtime staring contests of this very kind.
Riker suddenly felt a much greater degree of emotional rapport with Frane than he had since the Neyel had first asked him for permission to stay aboard Titan.
“I could go over there and ask him not to stare,” Riker said quietly, leaning forward conspiratorially.
Frane started at that, apparently having taken the suggestion more seriously than Riker had intended it.
“I was kidding,” Riker said, taking one of Frane’s rooks. Somehow, he hadn’t expected Frane to play the game so inattentively. “Whatever’s bothering you, I can tell there’s more going on than simple rudeness from Starfleet’s admiralty.”
Frane appeared to realize all at once that it was again his turn to move. His knight took the bishop with which Riker had captured the red rook. “You’re right. It’s not just your admiral.”
“What, then?”
“It’s…your entire crew.”
That blunt declaration brought Riker up short. “I’m quite proud of this crew, Mr. Frane. It’s the most diverse group of sentients currently serving in the entire fleet.”
“I don’t doubt that for an instant. But…”
Riker sighed, his impatience getting the better of him. “But?”
Frane cleared his throat and started over. “You keep assuring me that your intentions are benign. Yet you’ve acquired slaves from just about every world across your galaxy.”
Riker was glad he wasn’t drinking anything at that moment; he almost certainly would have sprayed a generous amount across the chessboard and into Frane’s lap. “Slaves?”
“You run this ship and command her crew, don’t you?”
“Titan is under my command, yes.”
“And you’re a human. Commander Vale, your first officer, is also a human. Commander Troi, your diplomatic officer—whom I’m given to understand is also your wife—is half-human, and certainly looks human enough to pass for one, as does that staring admiral—”
Nettled, Riker interrupted. “What are you saying?”
“Only that this ‘diverse’ crew of which you are so proud answers to a small group of powerful humans—or else to beings who so resemble humans that no one can tell the difference. Just as most of the elder species of M’jallanish space answer to a relative handful of their Neyel overlords.”
Riker watched in stunned silence as a cold-eyed Frane moved the red queen, placing Riker’s white king in check. The Neyel began absently playing with the bracelet on his wrist as he continued looking down at the board.
“You obviously missed a lot of the nuances of our