The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [189]
Karzan appeared intrigued. “Another family member?”
“Merely a friend. But he is someone to whom I owe a great debt.”
As well as one who might prove to be an insurance policy of sorts, Valdore thought, should my relationship with the first consul begin to become... difficult.
SIXTY-TWO
Day Forty-Four, Month of K’ri’lior
Tuesday, March 16, 2156
Bird-of-Prey Terrh’Dhael, deep in Romulan space, near the Haakonan front
AFTER THE DEVASTATING REPRISALS they had suffered during the Haakonan assault, it had taken an entire Romulan dayturn for Commander T’Met’s crew to restore the ship to a marginally operational condition. It took still another complete eisae for the Terrh’Dhael to limp far enough away from Haakona proper to begin undertaking more permanent repairs.
T’Met was surprised to have awakened after the Haakonan counterattack had driven her, along with her crew, into abrupt unconsciousness. More than a few, like her hapless XO, Subcommander D’ridthau, hadn’t been quite so fortunate, despite the tireless ministrations of Doctor T’Tpalok.
“Sit-rep,” T’Met demanded, addressing Decurion Genorex at ops. In her peripheral vision, she saw the bridge hatchway slide open to admit Centurion Belak. Unfortunately, the Tal Shiar political officer had been part of the ship’s complement that had survived.
“Repairs remain under way on all major systems,” came Genorex’s crisp report. “Stardrive is functioning, but unreliable except at low warp. Only half the weapons tubes are back on line.”
That was better than nothing, but still far from sufficient for a renewed engagement with the Haakonans. “How long until our propulsion and tactical capabilities are fully restored?”
“It is difficult to estimate that precisely, Commander. It will likely take at least three eisae, and that is provided the engineers discover no unforeseen problems.”
T’Met sighed in frustration. “All right, Decurion. Carry on. And inform me as soon as the repairs are completed.” Addressing the entire command deck, she said, “It appears we won’t be going anywhere for at least three eisae. In the meantime—”
“Wrong,” Centurion Belak said, interrupting.
Silence engulfed the busy command deck as T’Met fixed the political officer with a narrow gaze. “Remember your place, Centurion. You do not give orders on my vessel.”
Belak strolled directly to the center of the command deck, not looking chastened in the least. “As a general rule, that is true, Commander. But not when I observe you violating the duly issued orders of Admiral Valdore and Praetor D’deridex.”
“What in the name of Erebus are you talking about, Belak?”
“The Bird-of-Prey Terrh’Dhael was to lead the Haakona invasion force, Commander. The Haakonans have scattered that force.”
T’Met folded her arms across her chest. “I’m glad to see you’ve been paying attention so far.”
The centurion did not react to her snide tone. “Your original orders stand, Commander. Now that this ship is operational again, you are obliged to regroup the invasion force and return to Haakona with it.”
“The Haakonans swatted us like an oallea bug, and we were in optimal condition when it happened,” T’Met said. “We would stand no chance against them whatsoever in the shape we’re in now.”
“Your orders give no dispensation for excuses, Commander,” Belak said, sorely tempting T’Met to strike him. Uhlan Makar, glaring at Belak from behind the helm, seemed to be thinking similar thoughts.
Belak’s provocative demeanor had to be calculated, of course. He wanted to goad her into taking some precipitous and foolish action against him, thereby giving him a tidy excuse to seize command immediately, as was permitted by regulations and enabled by the crew’s prudent