“It was our duty.” Zade seemed to sadden as he looked toward the boy. “Cherish the time you share together, and remember us when you do.”
Riker took a breath. “I regret that we have to part ways here. I want you to understand that although the Federation may have strayed from the path we set out for ourselves, it will not be lost. We’ll come back to it, we always do. And I hope that one day, your people and ours will meet again, as friends.”
“I hope for that too, Captain.” Yasil gave a sorrowful nod and stepped back.
“Until then, sir.” Zade bowed. “Good fortune to you, my friends. May you weather whatever storms lie ahead.”
“Can I say something?” Thad whispered. Troi gave him an encouraging smile, and the boy raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper. I hope I did that right. And please tell Friend I said goodbye.”
“I will tell her,” said Zade. “Live well, Thaddeus.”
On the viewer, a swirl of blue-white was forming around the Jazari ship, and Troi recognized it as the same exotic radiation effect she had witnessed during Yasil’s simulation in their council chamber.
“Shields up!” said Riker. “This is it!”
The holograms dissipated as the light from the building distortion grew brighter by the second. Thad clung to his mother as the shimmering energy surged, enveloping the kilometers-long mass of the Jazari generation ship.
Troi felt the Titan rock as waves of spatial disruption rippled outward. The very structure of local spacetime was being warped, transforming and re-forming in ways beyond understanding. Whatever great science had created the Jazari, whatever insights their Makers had gained into the functioning of the universe, it came into action now. Deep inside that blazing stellar fire, the doorway to another galaxy was yawning open.
What would we see if we went through with them? New worlds, new life, new civilizations?
The question pushed to the front of her thoughts, and she knew that it was echoed in the minds of her son, her husband, and the rest of the Titan’s crew. Like the Jazari themselves, it touched the impulse that lay at the heart of Starfleet’s ethos.
The need to know, to seek out knowledge and friendship wherever it might be… in whatever form it might take.
Then, without warning, the brilliant spectacle of the transition vanished, light and energy imploding into nothing. Where the Jazari ship had floated, there was only empty space.
Thad sniffed, reaching up to press away a tear from his cheek with the heel of his hand. Behind her, Troi heard Shae and Cantua both let out the breath they had been holding in.
“Did they go?” said the Deltan. “I mean, did they make it to where they were headed? Is there any way for us to know?”
“We’ll find out,” said Troi, and she reached for her husband’s hand. “One day.”
* * *
After Deanna and Thad left the bridge, Riker retreated to his ready room to pore over the reports from his department heads.
Titan was operational, but the damage she had suffered in the accident and then the attack couldn’t be ignored. According to McCreedy, she’d need a week in the nearest spacedock to get the starship back up to specification, and Riker consulted the charts, plotting out the orders he would give. Without the massive Jazari ship to escort, the voyage back toward the Federation-Romulan frontier zone would take a fraction of the time, and using the course plots provided by Commander Medaka would get them through the plasma storm zone quickly and cleanly.
Then they would go their separate ways, and the status quo would return. Riker frowned at the thought, glancing out of the ready-room port to find the Othrys cruising serenely off Titan’s port quarter.
In such a short time, the crews of both ships had gone through so much, working together and then in opposition, before finally stopping a threat that endangered them all. It troubled the captain that despite what had transpired, larger events would move on unchanged. Yes, together Federation and Romulan crews had saved the remnants of a civilization from destruction, and overcome their differences to do so, but that wouldn’t change anything else.
The Romulan star continued to die, counting down to a supernova that could potentially destroy billions of lives. The United Federation of Planets remained mired in internal political conflict, forbidding an entire class of life from existing, and turning its back on the wider galaxy to look inward.
He wondered if Commander Medaka thought as he did, if the Romulan shared the same doubts and fears. From a distance, starship captains could seem like powerful, invulnerable figures, masters of their crews and the incredible technologies at their disposal, able to cross the stars in the blink of an eye and face great challenges wherever they rose.
But some challenges are beyond our reach, Riker thought. Faced with that, what can we do?
The answer, of course, was to concentrate on what he could do. It would be easy to succumb to bleaker thoughts, to consider every action too small to matter in the face of something immeasurable. But the truth was, every tiny moment of selflessness, every iota of effort put toward something better, was a grain of light in an ocean of darkness.
Riker stood up and walked to the window. He watched the stars go by. “We move forward and we do what good we can,” he said to the air, giving voice to the thought, reminding himself of his purpose. “Because if we don’t… then there’s no reason for us to be out here.”
The panel on his desk chimed and he wondered if speaking aloud had triggered the ship’s computer; but then Christine Vale’s voice issued out. “Captain. We’ve got a situation.”
Her tone told him that his first officer was deadly serious. “Report, Number One.”
“Multiple neutrino readings detected ahead of us, sir.”
That could mean only one thing. Cloaked ships. “Go to yellow alert.” He strode briskly through the door, onto the Titan’s bridge.
Vale was in her usual place by the center seat, poring over the screen at her side. “Do we have confirmation?” she was saying.
“Aye, Commander,” reported Livnah. “Four discrete targets directly across our heading.”
“The Othrys sees them too,” said Keru, eyeing his tactical plot. “They’re dropping out of warp.”
“We’ll do the same,” said Riker, throwing a look to Cantua at the conn. “We’ll play this out.”
The velocity-warped stars around them shifted out of motion and no sooner was the Titan at rest than a quartet of shimmering forms melted out of the dark, taking on familiar, predatory shapes.
“Romulans,” said McCreedy. “Warbirds.”
Riker immediately recognized the distinctive twin-hulled form of a D’deridex-class starship, a vessel type he had faced time and again during his service as first officer aboard the Enterprise-D. They were older craft than the Othrys, but no less formidable. If it came to conflict, four of them would make short work of the wounded Titan.
Grim scenarios rose in Riker’s thoughts: What if these are more Tal Shiar vessels, here to finish the job that Major Helek started? Or has the Romulan Star Empire come to clean up her mess? This far out beyond the Federation frontier, a single starship could be lost and Starfleet Command might never know the reason why.
“I’m reading weapons powered on all new contacts,” said Keru, and the Trill’s brow furrowed. “Captain, they’re targeting us and the Othrys.”
“The lead ship is sending a general hail.” Vale gave Riker a worried look. “Orders, sir?”
“Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Vale opened the channel, and a gruff, accented voice filled the bridge. “Attention, Warbird Othrys, Federation Starship Titan. By order of the praetor, you are to stand down and immediately present your commanding officers aboard this vessel, where they will submit to tribunal. Failure to comply will be considered an act of defiance, and punished accordingly.”
“We’re not in Romulan space,” said Shae. “They can’t order us around.”
“You want to be the one to tell them that?” Cantua made it clear that she did not.
“They’ve sent transporter coordinates,” said Vale. “The Othrys is showing its belly. They’ve dropped their deflectors and cut engines.”
“Commander Medaka has no choice but to obey… and for now, neither do we.” Riker turned back to his first officer. “Chris, you have the conn. I’m going over there.”
“Not on your own—” she began, but he waved her off.
“They want to talk,” said Riker, “and if they’re talking, they’re not shooting. If they’re not shooting, then there may be a way through this that gets us all home safe.”
“What if you’re wrong?” She stepped to him, asking in low tones.
“I trust you to get our people home safe.” He tapped his combadge. “Riker to transporter room one. Lock on to my signal. Initiate site-to-site transport to the Romulan coordinates.”
The last thing he saw was Vale’s determined expression as the Titan’s bridge faded out around him.
SEVENTEEN
Riker came to the end of the story, returning to the moment at hand beneath the watchful gaze of the Romulan tribunal. His throat was scratchy and dry from speaking for so long, but he had given them all he could.
The truth, more or less.
He recalled for them the events of the accident that had first brought the warbird Othrys across the border to lend its aid to the Titan, the brief unity of purpose shared between the two ships and the Jazari, and then the devolvement into conflict that had followed.
Once or twice, Major Helek made dismissive noises in her throat, as if she wanted to spit, but she did not interrupt him. For his part, Commander Medaka remained silent, as did the four watchers up in the tribunal gallery.
“As I told you from the start,” Riker concluded, “our mission here was a peaceable one. I did my best to keep it as that.” The low echo of his voice carried the words away, fading.
“How noble.” Helek let the mordant comment drop from the side of her mouth. “The human stumbles in his untruth, as his kind are wont to do. He omits many important details.”
“Commander Medaka.” From the gallery, Tribune Nadei addressed the other officer. “Does the version of events presented by Captain Riker concur with your own experiences during this time?”
“It does,” said the Romulan. There was a mutter of consternation from Nadei and the other watchers. Medaka went on. “Major Helek grossly exceeded her authority and forced me from command of my vessel. She directed my crew to attack unarmed civilians and a Federation starship without provocation. Her ambition was only to fulfill her personal desire for violence.”
“Do not make assumptions as to the mental state of another petitioner!” Delos, the other tribune, interrupted before Medaka could say more. “Such matters are not for you to judge upon.”
“Correct.” Judicator Kastis, the leading voice among the group, nodded in agreement. “We will make such determinations, if required.”
Standing silently next to Kastis, the advocate assigned to Riker said nothing, but the captain could just make out solemn eyes beneath their hood, measuring everything said inside the chamber.
“Major Helek, do you deny these charges of misconduct?” Nadei turned toward the Tal Shiar agent.
“Do I deny the actions I took? I do not.” Helek spared Riker a dismissive glance. “Do I deny allegations of wrongdoing? Most emphatically, yes.” The angry, bitter woman Riker had encountered before was gone, and now Helek was controlled, possessed of a self-confidence that bordered on arrogance.
Which of those personas is really her? he wondered.
“Everything I did was for the good of the Romulan Star Empire,” continued the major. “I removed a weak and ineffectual officer. I drove off a craven and unworthy enemy.” At that, she waved toward Riker. “And I sought to protect countless Romulan lives from a dangerous alien threat.”
“When you speak of a threat, you refer to these Jazari,” said Delos, offering her an opening.
“Indeed.”
“Where are they now?”
Riker held his breath. Helek had been right about one thing: He had omitted key details about events. Keeping the promise he had made to Zade and the other Jazari, he said nothing of their inorganic nature.
How much did Helek know about the androids? What would she reveal now?
To Riker’s surprise, the answer was nothing.
“Gone,” said Helek, her lip quirking upward in a cold smile. “Dead. Lost to the void. The method matters not, only that my mission was a success. They are no longer a threat.”
Riker studied her carefully, his mind racing as he tried to fathom out her intentions. He’d expected Helek to trumpet her crusade against the androids to the fullest, but she did not.
There could be only one reason why she might keep the Jazari secret—if there was a greater secret she concealed beneath it. Something she was hiding from her fellow Romulans, something so dangerous that not even they could be allowed to know it.
He frowned at the thought. Every Romulan is a damned puzzle with no solution.
Tribune Nadei offered a question. “Commander Medaka, is the major’s description of the Jazari’s fate accurate?”
Medaka gave a curt nod. “Their generation ship vanished after an unexplained energy wave enveloped the vessel. When it dissipated, nothing remained, not even their dust.”
“A mass suicide?” Delos wondered aloud. “A catastrophic system malfunction?”
“The Othrys inflicted great damage on their ship,” said Helek, without waiting for permission to speak. “Their fate was already sealed.” She seemed quite untroubled, and willing to take the credit for the destruction of millions of sentient beings.
As Helek went on, Riker realized that the Tal Shiar officer had absolutely no fear of these proceedings. In point of fact, she behaved as if the tribunal had ruled in her favor, as if the mere suggestion of her transgressions were ridiculous.
That doesn’t bode well, he thought. If Helek’s acting like she’s already won, maybe she already has. And all of this is theater, a show trial…
He heard Kastis say his name. “Captain Riker, do you have anything to add to Commander Medaka’s response?”
He thought of the promise he had made. If the Jazari were believed to be destroyed, they would be free. “No,” said Riker, calling on his poker face once more. “I do not.”
“There”—Helek brought her hands together with a soft clap—“with the greatest of respect to the esteemed tribunal, may we conclude this now? I would seek a decision so that any remaining impediments can be dealt with.” The look she gave Riker made it abundantly clear exactly whom and what she considered an impediment.
But then the insouciant half smirk on her lips became as brittle as glass when Kastis spoke the next words. “By the praetor’s will, it is the judgment of this tribunal that Commander Joron Medaka, shipmaster of the warbird Othrys, be returned to his duties immediately. All charges and specifications against him raised in this investigation are considered null. The commander’s record will reflect his conduct during this matter.”
Medaka’s stiff posture eased a little, and Riker heard him let out a weary breath. The sound was quickly blotted out by a growl from the other Romulan standing in the arena.
“You allow him to walk away without censure?” Helek was incredulous. “He is a Federation dupe. He is not worthy of his rank!”
“Your judgment is unsound,” said Delos, silencing her with his reply. “You acted without reflection, you stirred conflict where none existed. You fabricated false data to misinform and misdirect.” After his previous behavior, Riker had expected Delos to support Helek, but now the tribune was doing the exact opposite, continuing on with his terse tirade. “You summoned ships without authority, and you alone are responsible for their losses. You were acting on your own injudicious impulses, not for the good of Romulus.”
“No.” Hele
k shook her head, imploring Delos. “Tribune, you must—”
Delos spoke over her. “Your actions have been disavowed by the Romulan Senate and the Tal Shiar. Your rank is forfeit.” He stared down at the woman with an air of disgust. “If you have it in you, try to accept your fate with a Romulan’s dignity.”
Helek stared at the deck in silent shame. Whatever confidence she had came apart, becoming splinters and dust. This isn’t another performance, Riker decided, this is the truth of her, at last.
The two guards who had marched Riker from his cell returned and escorted Helek away, into the bowels of the ship. She did not resist. She seemed dazed by the unexpected turn of events.
Riker realized that the attention of the tribunal was now solely focused on him. Up in the gallery, he saw his silent advocate lean close to share a few words with Kastis and the tribunes. Whatever they were saying was too soft to reach him down on the floor of the chamber, and he caught only the faint hiss of sibilants as they discussed his fate.
How badly could this go? Riker had willingly surrendered himself to the Romulans to keep the Titan, his family, and his crew out of harm’s way. If it came to his fate weighed against all of theirs, he would accept whatever the Romulans dished out, no matter what. Riker drew himself up, ready to take it on the chin.
“Captain William Riker,” began Kastis. “By the praetor’s will, and with the valued counsel of our respected advocate, it is the judgment of this tribunal that you and your vessel are no longer of concern to the Romulan Star Empire.”
He hesitated. With the judicator’s steely delivery, “no longer of concern” sounded like it might be a death sentence. But then the illuminators around the gallery went dark and the doors to the arena hissed open.
Medaka gave Riker a sardonic smile. “That means you’re free to go. The Empire does not consider you a threat… at least for now. I would make the most of that, if I were you.”
Riker tapped his combadge, and for the first time in hours, he got an answering beep. “Riker to Titan, come in.”
The Dark Veil Page 31