Taking Wing

by Michael A. Martin

  Will offered Akaar an ironic half-smile. “And we thought it was going to be hard to persuade the Romulan factions to work together again.”

  “Few things are quite so persuasive as a phaser pointed at one’s head, Captain,” Akaar observed dryly.

  “Sensors are picking up another pair of warbirds approaching Romulus, Captain,” Tuvok reported. “They’re dropping out of warp now, on an intercept heading toward the retreating Reman fleet. I have identified one of the warbirds as Commander Donatra’s vessel, the Valdore.”

  Will took several steps toward Tuvok’s station. “Hail her, Mr. Tuvok. She and Suran weren’t privy to the, ah, deal that Ambassador Spock and I just struck with our Reman friends. We can’t afford to let her undo it.”

  A few moments later, Donatra’s face appeared in the wide viewscreen’s center. Troi hadn’t seen her look so careworn since immediately after the battle against Shinzon. Troi sensed a profound feeling of loss. Had someone close to Donatra died during the Reman attack?

  “Captain Riker. I’m glad to see your vessel hasn’t been too badly damaged during this. . . unpleasantness.”

  Troi quietly shook her head at Donatra’s gift for understatement. “Unpleasantness” hardly did justice to an armed battle involving dozens of starships. And maybe at least that many casualties, she thought.

  “We’re fine, thank you,” Will said to Donatra. “But that’s not my main concern at the moment. I need you to break off your pursuit of the Reman fleet.”

  Donatra regarded him as though he had just grown a second head. “Excuse me?”

  “Please listen to me, Commander. Captain Picard and I trusted you during the Shinzon affair. Now I’m asking you to return the favor.”

  “We’re being hailed,” Tuvok reported.

  “By whom?” asked Vale.

  Tuvok turned toward Vale, and both of his eyebrows went aloft simultaneously. “Praetor Tal’Aura.”

  Troi could sense Will’s self-confidence rising, outpacing the background of apprehension he was still emanating. She couldn’t help but be reminded of the many poker games during which he’d tried, without complete success, to conceal the fact that he was holding a very, very good hand.

  “Put her on the screen, please, Mr. Tuvok. Let’s have a three-way conversation.”

  Tuvok entered a command into his console, and Donatra’s face moved into the lower right-hand corner of the viewscreen, displaced by a similarly sized square at the top right that contained the images of both Praetor Tal’Aura and Proconsul Tomalak.

  “Captain Riker, how dare you intervene on behalf of the Remans?” Tal’Aura snapped angrily. “You have overstepped your authority.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time, Praetor.”

  Once again, Troi felt a surge of confidence waxing within her husband and captain, as though he’d just been dealt a hand containing four aces. I hope you know what you’re doing, Will.

  Troi hardly needed her empathy to see that Tomalak was nearly beside himself with fury, and that Will seemed to relish his old adversary’s discomfiture. “This is outrageous!” Tomalak roared. “The Remans have just launched a sneak attack against us—and now you attempt to prevent us from punishing them for their treachery! Why have you taken their side?”

  “The only side I’m on, Proconsul, is that of peace,” Will said, then nodded to Tuvok. “Hail the lead Reman ship, Mr. Tuvok, and patch the colonel into this conversation.”

  Tuvok entered several commands into his console. The cutout images on the viewscreen moved again to accommodate the appearance of yet another face.

  A fierce, glowering Reman face: Colonel Xiomek.

  On the remainder of the viewscreen’s image area, Donatra’s warbird—and a second warbird that Troi presumed to be the flagship of Commander Suran—continued closing on the eighteen or so battered Reman-controlled vessels that had survived the fighting in the skies over Romulus.

  The outcome of the next impending battle—if it proved unavoidable—seemed by no means certain, though it promised brutal deaths for many. And the very real likelihood of the start of general Romulan-Reman warfare that could spread like a brushfire across the entire Romulan Star Empire as other breakaway vassal worlds, such as Miridian or Kevatras, joined in on the Remans’ side.

  “The Klingon vessels escorting us have just veered off from our convoy, Captain,” Tuvok said, a look of concern etching his dour, bruised features. “They appear to have begun chasing Commander Donatra’s ships.”

  Troi’s heart sank. “So much for hoping that Khegh will stay out of the fight,” she said quietly.

  Everything seemed to be spiraling very rapidly out of control. She looked at Will. Almost instinctively, her empathy reached out toward him, drawing strength from his unflappable aura of resolve and confidence.

  And she silently prayed that he had a solid reason to feel that way.

  “Commander Donatra,” Tal’Aura said in a tone of icy command. “Under the authority of the praetorship of the Romulan Star Empire, I order you to take down the Reman flagship. Do not allow the Klingon dogs who are pursuing you to interfere with what you must do.”

  On the screen, Donatra was speaking inaudibly with someone outside the view of her visual pickup. Battle preparations, Troi thought.

  Troi struggled to keep herself calm. Seated beside Will, she placed her hand on his, and he responded by grasping it gently. She noticed only then that he, too, was experiencing some nervousness, though he still seemed far less apprehensive than everyone else present, except perhaps for Ambassador Spock.

  “The Klingons are still closing on the Romulan vessels, Captain,” Tuvok said. “Their weapons are charging.”

  “Let’s hope that’s just Klingons being Klingons,” Vale said in a near-whisper. “And not the start of a very long and nasty war.”

  Donatra suddenly resumed looking straight ahead into her visual pickup. “Excuse me, Praetor, but I do not recall the Romulan military announcing its formal support of your praetorship as yet.”

  “Commander Donatra, I could order you executed,” Tal’Aura said, almost growling. “This is insubordination.”

  Donatra smiled. “It would be. If I were your subordinate.”

  Will released Troi’s hand and stood before his command chair. His face was almost as emotionless as a Vulcan’s as he addressed the Reman whose visage still scowled down from the upper left corner of the main viewer.

  “Colonel Xiomek, I would be honored if you would inform the praetor and the proconsul of the bargain you have just made.”

  Xiomek nodded, then replied in low, sepulchral tones. “I, Colonel Xiomek, commander of the Reman Irregulars’ Kepeszuk Battalion, speak on behalf of the entire Reman people. The planet Remus has just accepted temporary protectorate status.”

  The notion of a Federation protectorate inside Romulan space stunned Troi momentarily. But she did her best not to show her intense surprise, taking a cue from an admirably poker-faced Vale.

  Tal’Aura jabbed a finger toward whatever apparatus was sending her image to Titan. “You have gone entirely too far, Riker! The Federation Council could not have authorized you to establish a protectorate within Romulan territory—even a temporary one.”

  “Besides, Captain,” said Tomalak, “we overheard your initial offer of protectorate status. Xiomek rejected it out of hand.”

  Will held up a hand in a placating gesture, his expression mild and reasonable. “You’re absolutely right about that, Praetor, Proconsul. I assure you both, the Federation has no intention of establishing a protectorate here.”

  “And even if we wanted to do that,” Troi said, “we couldn’t—not without violating both the Armistice of 2160 and the Treaty of Algeron.”

  “You are contradicting yourselves,” said Tomalak, continuing to fulminate. And Troi clearly sensed that Will was greatly enjoying the proconsul’s discomfiture. “Is it too much to ask that you start making sense?”

  “Fair enough, Proconsul.” W
ill turned momentarily toward Tuvok. “Patch in General Khegh, please.”

  A moment later, Khegh’s grinning, snaggletoothed visage appeared on the lower left quadrant of the viewscreen. “Perhaps Captain Riker was not making himself plain, Praetor Tal’Aura, Proconsul Tomalak, Commander Donatra. Humans use many words when few would serve far better. It seems to be an all-too-common flaw among Federation nationals.”

  Tal’Aura sniffed. “You seem rather discursive yourself, for a Klingon,” voicing the very observation that had just occurred to Troi.

  “A fault no doubt acquired during many years spent away from Qo’noS, serving in the Klingon Diplomatic Corps.”

  “A Klingon diplomat,” Tomalak said. “Now there’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one,” Troi realized only now that the proconsul and the Klingon officer had encountered one another before; from the mutual antipathy she sensed, they had almost certainly faced off in battle, either literally or across a negotiating table.

  “No more so than ‘Romulan nobility,’ ” Khegh replied, with a smoothness that might have impressed a Vorta.

  Troi understood only then that she had badly underestimated Khegh. As, no doubt, had everyone else present. Except maybe for Will. Clearly, he wasn’t the only player here who liked to keep his cards very close to his vest—until the time to show his hand inevitably arrived.

  “Enough,” Tal’Aura said. “Come to the point, Khegh, if you please.” It was clear that Tal’Aura also already knew Khegh, and that she bore no more love for him than did Tomalak.

  “Very well,” said Khegh. “Remus is now a protectorate of the Klingon Empire, at the request of Xiomek, the lawful representative of the Reman people. On a purely temporary basis, of course, and with only a nominal presence of Klingon Defense Force personnel and matériel. For now.”

  Troi’s surprise intensified, her growing admiration for Will’s diplomatic talents displacing her earlier pique at having been kept out of the loop. There was a truly elegant logic behind this idea. The Federation gets to avoid offending the Romulans, while furnishing the Remans with protectors who share a similar warrior ethic—and at the same time giving the Romulans a new neighbor they won’t be eager to cross while their homeworld defenses are as badly diminished as they are right now.

  “You cannot be serious, Klingon!” Tal’Aura said, wide-eyed and aghast. Troi noticed then that only two people on the bridge did not seem to share the praetor’s intense surprise. Ambassador Spock was one of them.

  Will, an almost infinitesimally small smile tugging at his lips, was the other.

  “Oh, I am deadly serious, Praetor,” Khegh said. “We have much to discuss. The precise timetable of our withdrawal, for one. Which, of course, will depend upon how quickly the Reman people are given access to the land, water, and other resources so abundant in Ehrie’ fvil.”

  “This is an even worse idea than allowing a Federation presence here!” Tal’Aura declared.

  Troi had to concede that the praetor had a point, at least from a security standpoint. With a beachhead located so close to Romulus, the Klingon Empire would have an enormously favorable vantage point from which to observe their old enemies. And perhaps to do more than observe.

  “It sounds like a viable plan to me, Praetor,” Donatra said with a sly smile, surprising Troi yet again. “Commander Suran concurs with me—and with my appraisal that your objections will amount to nothing without the support of the Romulan military.”

  “Commander Donatra, you are a traitor to the Empire!” Tomalak growled. “When, exactly, did the Klingons buy you?”

  “That is an ironic charge indeed, coming from the paid lapdog of a self-styled, self-appointed praetor,” Donatra said, the outward calm of her voice doing little to conceal a roiling, volcanic undercurrent of anger. “Suran and I may have just saved the Empire from itself.”

  “That is patently absurd,” Tal’Aura said. “Is it really, Praetor?” said Will. “It seems to me the sudden appearance of a Klingon stronghold right on your back porch ought to provide encouragement to you and the other Romulan factions.”

  “Encouragement?” Tal’Aura’s expression was a study in puzzlement.

  Will nodded. “To work together. To set aside your differences. To prevent your Empire from becoming utterly fragmented, perhaps beyond repair. I predict that Senator Durjik’s hard-line faction, for one, will be much friendlier to you now, at least for the foreseeable future.”

  Troi could certainly see the logic behind that. Politicians of Durjik’s stripe tended to thrive on fear. It was their stock in trade.

  But a possible showdown with Durjik’s hard-liners wasn’t the first difficulty that lay ahead. Will still had to deal with the immediate problem of calming Praetor Tal’Aura before she decided to do anything rash. And Troi didn’t doubt she could still do so, even without the support of Donatra and Suran.

  Troi recalled having read about a standoff between the leaders of two great rival nations on her father’s home-world, an event that had occurred more than four centuries ago. These two powerful men had brought their respective countries to the very brink of nuclear annihilation before achieving a fragile compromise, that others later built into a durable, if imperfect, peace. Troi now sensed a similar tension growing between her husband and Praetor Tal’Aura; she could only hope that they would resolve it as successfully as had Earth’s ancient cold warriors.

  Then, abruptly, Troi sensed the cloud of hostility and tension beginning to lift.

  “This is only a temporary arrangement, you say?” Tal’Aura said, squaring her shoulders.

  “Completely,” Will said, nodding. “We can negotiate a ‘date certain’ for a complete Klingon withdrawal. And, as General Khegh and Chancellor Martok himself have both pledged, the Reman-Klingon protectorate arrangement requires only a minimal Klingon military presence on Remus. The whole thing would only last until the Remans become self-sufficient, resource-wise. And their successful development of Ehrie’fvil would certainly bring that about, quickly.”

  The Klingon protectorate would definitely have to end, Troi thought, once the Romulan military recovers enough strength to force the issue. And we can probably add to that a little friendly Starfleet persuasion— if the Klingons decide to overstay their welcome. Very neat.

  “Praetor!” Tomalak said, protesting. “I cannot believe you would actually consid—”

  “Kroiha!” she shouted, cutting him off. “You may approach Romulus, Captain Riker. You and I clearly need to have another face-to-face meeting.”

  Will bowed his head respectfully, no longer displaying any of the puckish acerbity that he had used to get the praetor’s attention. “Whenever you wish, Praetor. My crew and I are at your disposal.”

  “Just make sure that Khegh and Xiomek are prepared to discuss the details of this. . .arrangement.”

  “And Durjik?”

  “As you say, Captain, he should fall neatly into line now. Let me worry about him. I will contact you when we are ready to assemble.”

  And with that, the images of Tal’Aura and Tomalak abruptly vanished from the screen. After brief farewells, Donatra and Xiomek did likewise.

  Akaar and Spock stepped down into the command well, both regarding Will with obvious respect.

  “Well played, Captain,” Akaar said.

  “Indeed,” Spock said.

  Will looked upward, studying the tall Capellan’s deeply lined face, which showed just the slightest hint of a smile.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, Admiral, you’ve been pretty silent through this whole business.”

  Akaar raised an eyebrow in a curiously Vulcan manner. “Did you expect me to interfere, Captain? This is your mission, after all. I had faith that you would improvise a suitable solution. Had it been otherwise, Admiral Ross and I would have selected another captain and another crew.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Will said. Troi was surprised to see him actually smile back at Akaar.

  Will gets it now, she thought. H
e’s finally accepted that the admiral isn’t out to wreck his first command.

  And that he’s not Kyle Riker.

  “I think you may have overlooked something, Captain,” Vale said with a wry smile.

  “And what’s that?” Will said.

  “You didn’t invite the Tal Shiar to our little teleconference.”

  “Somehow I think they’ll get the message,” Troi said. “It’s what they do, after all.”

  “And why didn’t we hear directly from Suran?” Vale wanted to know.

  Troi thought that was a good question. And possibly also an unanswerable one. Were Donatra and Suran really in complete agreement about how best to handle Praetor Tal’Aura and the Remans? She recalled having sensed some discord between them during that first meeting in Ki Baratan.

  “Maybe the new Klingon-Reman arrangement will keep the peace between Donatra and Suran the same way Tal’Aura expects it to keep Durjik in line,” Troi said. “But I think we can let Donatra worry about that for the moment.”

  “Exactly,” Will said, clearly not in the mood right now to find dark clouds inside his silver linings. There would be plenty of time later for that. For now, there was a real prospect for peace. Tenuous and balanced on a knife’s edge, to be sure, but also substantial enough to offer a genuine cause for hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  * * *

  U.S.S. TITAN, STARDATE 57020.5

  In spite of himself, Riker felt he was the least of the three people present in his ready room, now that the crisis had been averted. Akaar and Spock sat on the other side of the desk from him, discussing the resolution of the immediate Romulan-Reman conflict, and what was to come next. They all knew that what they had done today was merely a stopgap measure. But now the way was clear for the Federation to send in specialists from the Diplomatic Corps to help work out the fine details of the Klingon administration of a Reman protectorate. Riker was well aware that the deal he and Spock had brokered between the Klingons and the Remans might have unpredictable consequences down the road.