by Dayton Ward
“Proconsul,” Rezek said, “Our attackers are pulling back, but Captain Lajuk is broadcasting a distress signal. They’re under continued assault.”
“On-screen,” Toqel ordered, and the image changed to show the Vo’qha being pummeled by repeated weapons blasts from two of the four newly arrived Klingon ships. Hull breaches were evident, and a cloud of debris surrounded the wounded vessel.
“The enemy ships are firing Romulan weapons, Proconsul,” Rezek said, his tone one of shock and disbelief. “Plasma torpedoes.”
We have been betrayed!
The blunt statement hammered in her mind, defying her efforts to ignore it as she took in the scene on the viewscreen. Everyone on the bridge watched as the Vo’qha shuddered beneath the brunt of multiple hits, and an instant later the ship disappeared in a brilliant burst of white-hot energy as its warp engines overloaded. A sphere of superheated plasma expanded outward from what had been the secondary hull, swallowing the ship and everything in the immediate vicinity. The image on the viewer automatically lowered its brightness and reduced its magnification so that Toqel could see the pair of Klingon warships that had slain the Vo’qha making a hasty retreat.
“Evasive!” Toqel shouted over the disorderly cacophony threatening to engulf the bridge. “All weapons, fire at will! Helm, plot a course out of the system, and stand by to engage at maximum warp.” Still reeling from the loss of the Vo’qha, Toqel forced her mind to consider her options. Her ship, already damaged and alone against four adversaries? Those were very poor odds indeed.
From the tactical station, Rezek said, “Proconsul, the ships are retreating.” A moment later, another indicator tone sounded at his station, and he added, “One of the ships is hailing us.”
“Open a channel,” Toqel said, turning toward the viewscreen. The image jumped and broke up in response to the frequency shift, and then Toqel beheld the pudgy, irritating visage of Grodak, seated in the command chair aboard the bridge of a Klingon ship. No longer the disheveled, unclean brute she had encountered in that repellent cabin on Narendra III, Grodak now sat before her well-groomed and alert, and wearing a ceremonial ambassadorial sash over his crisp military uniform.
“Greetings, Proconsul.”
Her anger already mounting, Toqel rose from her chair and pointed an accusatory finger at the loathsome Klingon. “Grodak, you worthless piece of filth! What is the meaning of this?”
The Klingon shrugged. “I should think that much was obvious by this point, my dear. I have been given the singular privilege of testing our newest advances in weapons and stealth technology. The information provided to us by your military with respect to plasma torpedo launchers was most illuminating, even if the technical schematics were a bit—how shall I say it—lacking? Thankfully, we possessed the resources to make up for the gaps in our information. What do you think of our results?”
Imagining her hands around Grodak’s throat, Toqel hissed through gritted teeth, “We had an agreement—an understanding.”
“Quite true,” Grodak replied, “and one we may have honored, but it seems that trust remains an issue for both sides of our arrangement. This business you conjured about attacking this outpost and leaving the blame to fall to the Klingon Empire—did you truly believe you would accomplish such folly?” When he leaned forward, his lips curled to reveal his uneven, stained teeth. “And did you honestly believe we would give you vessels from our fleet, without some means of defeating them in the event we ever faced them in battle?” He used one hand to indicate the bridge of his ship. “It’s quite a simple thing to retune our weapons and thwart the frequencies on which deflector shields operate, particularly if you have access to the enemy vessel’s main computer, as I did. Deactivate your weapons, or I will demonstrate this ability again.”
Forcing herself to stand rigidly still, Toqel called over her shoulder to Rezek. “Do as he says.” To Grodak, she growled, “So much for Klingon honor.”
Grodak waved away the accusation. “I told you before that not all Klingons subscribe to the teachings of Kahless. I merely happen to be one such Klingon.” He pointed at her. “Besides, I’ll not be lectured about honor by the likes of you. After all, you did have spies sneaking about in our midst. We found one such rodent, and he proved to be most cooperative once he was subjected to some of our more effective interrogation techniques.”
Of course, Toqel realized. Bitterness enveloped the thought, but she allowed no visible reaction. “No doubt you have spies among us, as well.”
“Indeed. That is the way of things, after all. If the Klingon Empire is to thrive, we need to adapt to our enemy, even when that enemy prefers cowardly skulking in the shadows rather than direct action. Regardless of where you choose to fight this battle with us, Romulan, you will lose.”
Toqel wrestled with the repercussions of what Grodak had admitted. Surely, Starfleet vessels already were on the way here, once it was realized that contact with the outpost had been lost. They would investigate the remnants of the base, and conclude Romulan culpability, just as Toqel would have engineered Klingon blame if she had been allowed to go forward with her original plan to attack the outpost.
“I can see it in your face, Toqel,” Grodak taunted. “So far as the Federation is concerned, Romulus will have much to answer for in the days to come. We are content to leave the details to you, but I think we both know the correct course of action if we are to preserve the secrecy of the alliance we’ve forged.” Once more, he offered another repulsive smile. “Good luck with that, Proconsul. Perhaps in the future, your unchecked arrogance will not blind you to the possibility that your enemies are not fools.”
He vanished from the viewscreen, his image replaced by that of the quartet of Klingon battle cruisers, which immediately began to veer off and move away from the Kretoq.
What have I done? The question rang in her ears, even as she became aware of the bridge crew standing at their stations, watching her and waiting for new orders.
“Proconsul?” Rezek prompted, his voice low and uncertain.
“Prepare a message to Romulus,” Toqel replied, her gaze shifting to the deck plates at her feet. “I need to speak to the Praetor at his earliest convenience. Helm, set a course for home. Everyone else, return to your stations.” The tension on the bridge was palpable as her people turned to whatever tasks awaited them, leaving Toqel alone with her own tortured thoughts. Her mind and body were only now beginning to feel the stresses of what had happened here today, as well as what it might mean once they returned to Romulus.
“I’m sorry, Sarith.”
Turning in his seat, Nilona regarded her with an expression of concern. “Proconsul?”
“Nothing,” Toqel snapped. Then, in a calmer voice, she added, “See to your duties, Centurion.”
As I will soon see to mine.
8
Eschewing any of the chairs adorning his opulent private office, Praetor Vrax had instead chosen to pace across the room’s ornate carpet. Flanked by a security officer as well as Vice Proconsul Ditrius, Toqel stood at the center of the supreme leader’s sanctuary, her hands clasped behind her back. She watched the Praetor, who, in apparent defiance of his age, moved with a determination belying his years. Despite the room’s cool temperature, Toqel felt perspiration beginning to dampen her back.
“A most distressing problem we have here, Proconsul,” Vrax finally said, breaking the silence that had all but engulfed the room since Toqel’s arrival under guard several moments earlier. He spoke with a deliberate cadence, each word channeling a portion of the frustration and disappointment Toqel knew he now felt toward her.
“Yes, my Praetor,” she replied. There was no point in attempting to deny or mitigate what had happened. It would be insulting, both to Vrax as well as herself, and ultimately do nothing to alter the current situation.
“Both the Federation and Klingon diplomatic envoys are quite upset,” Vrax continued, “though obviously for different reasons. The Federation natural
ly believes the attack on their outpost to be an act of war, and we may one day find ourselves at odds with the humans and their allies as we did generations ago. Still, I prefer it to be on my terms and at a time of my choosing, rather than being manipulated into a war I do not yet believe our people are prepared to wage.”
While being held in custody, Toqel had been allowed to review the latest reports detailing how the Federation had communicated its displeasure to the Romulan government. At this moment, deliberations were under way that might force the ejection of Romulan ambassadors and their staff from the recently established embassy on Earth. Elsewhere, both Klingon and Federation officials were calling for the removal of Romulan representatives from the still-developing joint colony venture on Nimbus III. It had been difficult for Toqel to contain her own anger while reading reports of how Klingon leaders were decrying the recent “Romulan” action at Mav’renas.
“My Praetor,” she said after a moment, “I do not understand. Why do we not show the Federation that the Klingons are responsible for the attack on their outpost? Our sensor logs of the battle we later fought, including the destruction of the Vor’qha, could speak for themselves.” While such a confession almost certainly would require revealing the Romulan-Klingon cooperative effort she had helped to forge, the price of that admission surely would be enough to quiet the political turmoil Vrax currently faced.
Though he did not offer an immediate answer, Vrax released a small, humorless chuckle as he leaned on his cane, as close to piercing the cloud of irritation that had hovered over him since Toqel’s arrival. Finally, he shook his head. “It is quite simple, actually. The Senate, and I am forced to agree with them on this point, is unwilling to reveal to the Federation that we were so easily duped by the Klingons. Fortunately, the Klingons, for their own reasons, are quite willing to continue our budding alliance, and would prefer not to alert the Federation to its existence. For that to occur, we must accept total responsibility for the incident in the Mav’renas system. Needless to say, doing so at this time presents its own unique set of problems, much like the last time we found ourselves facing such a situation.”
Toqel nodded in agreement. Barely a fvheisn had passed since the Praetor’s authorization of the covert mission into Federation space and the subsequent destruction of those Starfleet observation outposts along the Neutral Zone. Several lengthy negotiations between political representatives from both sides had calmed the humans’ initial outrage at the unprovoked attacks, which the Romulan contingent had explained as a tragic misunderstanding of the outposts’ purpose. Whether the Federation diplomats truly had believed the reasoning—a mistaken perception that the outposts were to be the focal point of a new offensive by Starfleet forces—had been a matter of much debate in the Senate chamber in the time immediately following the matter’s resolution.
“We were able to come to an accord on that occasion,” Vrax continued, “forestalling hostilities at least for a while, to say nothing of the promise of renewed talks between our governments. Even that colony on Nimbus III, which I originally opposed, might still prove useful.” He paused, his brow furrowing as his gaze locked with hers. “Contrary to what the citizenry may or may not believe, I am quite content to bide our time until we can learn more about Starfleet’s strengths and weaknesses, and to allow for our ships and personnel to prepare for the day when war might well come. If we are faced with such a conflict now, I am uncertain as to how we might fare.”
Coming from any ordinary citizen, such a remark, if made in the presence of the Tal Shiar, would be considered treason against the Empire. Indeed, even though Toqel was aware of the current status and capabilities of Romulan forces better than any other military officer, it still alarmed her to hear the Praetor speak in such stark, unflinching terms.
“So,” Ditrius said, speaking for the first time since escorting Toqel into the Praetor’s chambers, “the Romulan people will have to stand in silence while the Klingons make fools of them.”
The Praetor shook his head. “No, not the Romulan people, Vice Proconsul. So far as they, the Federation, and perhaps most Klingons will be concerned, what happened was the grave overreaction by a single overzealous ship commander.”
Of course, Toqel realized. Drawing herself up, she nodded. “I understand, my Praetor.” Duty demanded no other response.
Rather than appearing grateful for her reply, Vrax instead released a small, sad sigh. “Hubris, Toqel, was your undoing. You were warned not to misjudge the Klingons. Make no mistake: while you certainly were not alone in that regard, the Senate is not so eager to stand up and accept responsibility for their failure of imagination.”
I suppose it was foolish to expect anything else from that herd of simpering opportunists, Toqel mused, though she forced her expression and body language to reveal none of her disapproval. She had known from the beginning that her plan carried with it significant risks were it to be exposed to any degree—risks not only to her career but also to political relations with both the Klingons and the Federation.
“What is to happen now, my Praetor?” Ditrius asked, and though Toqel was not certain, she thought she sensed just a hint of anticipation in the vice proconsul’s voice. That was only natural, she supposed, seeing as how her assistant likely would enjoy a promotion if she was removed from her position. There was no quelling the younger officer’s determination, it seemed.
Vrax cleared his throat, suppressing a congested cough before replying, “As we speak, our diplomats are once again engaged with their human counterparts, attempting to mitigate the situation. The Federation is requesting your extradition to stand trial, which they promise will be fair, in keeping with their rather quaint, broad-minded concepts of justice. As disagreeable as I find that notion, there are those in the Senate who see it as necessary for the long-term diplomatic relations between our two peoples. If such an offer is to be tendered, I would rather it be genuine, rather than a ruse designed to elicit temporary trust while we pursue some other agenda.” He paused, his gaze softening a bit as he studied her, his expression taking on an almost paternal quality. “You are like one of my own children, Toqel. Your family has served the Empire for generations, and your father was a trusted adviser to me from a time before you were born. Nevertheless, I must put first the interests of the Romulan people.”
“I have no desire for my fate to be decided by humans,” Toqel replied, her voice firm and steady, “or the Senate, for that matter. Still, I will face whatever punishment you deem appropriate.” Even before being summoned to the Praetor’s office, she had made the decision not to shirk from whatever pronouncement Vrax ordered. While she all but recoiled at the thought of being offered up as a sacrifice to protect the cowardly fools occupying seats in the Senate chamber, her loyalty to the Praetor was and remained absolute. She also was fueled by the example put forth by her beloved Sarith, who had honored her oath and her service to the Romulan people until the very last moment of her life. Toqel vowed she would do no less, if for nothing else than to honor her daughter’s memory.
Vrax nodded. “I know you will.” Looking past her, the Praetor said to Ditrius, “Vice Proconsul, you are hereby promoted to proconsul, and you will immediately assume Toqel’s duties. Your first task will be to return her to security confinement until such time as I have made my final decision.” He returned his attention to her. “It is unfortunate that events have brought us to this point, Toqel. I truly wish it were otherwise.” Releasing a tired sigh, he stepped away from her and headed to the door leading from the office to his private study. Toqel watched him until the door closed behind him, leaving her alone with Ditrius and the security officer. Turning to face Ditrius, she offered him a formal nod.
“Congratulations, Proconsul.”
Ditrius replied, “Thank you.”
As she studied his face, Toqel noted that the younger officer was unable to keep a slight hint of satisfaction from creeping onto his features. “It seems your efforts have finally been re
warded. If you are open to some unsolicited advice, I would caution against letting that ambition allow you to lose focus of the greater responsibilities you now carry. You owe that much to the Praetor, as well as the people of the Empire.”
Drawing himself to his full height, the newly installed proconsul looked upon her with a barely disguised expression of disdain. “Much like your own overconfidence blinded you as you pursued your goals. Did you truly believe the Klingons would allow themselves to be manipulated? They are not simply warmongering animals, contrary to what the Senate and the Tal Shiar would have the public believe. They are an enemy to be feared, they have spies here on Romulus, and their military strength, along with their audacity, will only grow now that they have obtained cloaking technology. Quite an impressive legacy you’ve crafted for yourself, Toqel. Your daughter would be proud.”
Toqel stepped forward, her anger rising. “You pathetic veruul.” She stopped when the security guard moved toward her, his hand reaching for the holstered weapon on his right hip. Ignoring him, she instead leveled her gaze on Ditrius. “If ever you manage to trap a mate long enough to bear your child, then you’ll understand why I want to kill you just now. Pray I never have the opportunity.”
In response to her threat, Ditrius merely shrugged. “I welcome the challenge, but I suspect it will never come.” Looking to the guard, he said, “Centurion, take her into custody.”
Still fuming as she glared at Ditrius, Toqel did not move as the centurion stepped toward her. His left hand retrieved the pair of prisoner restraints at his belt, which he had removed from her wrists at the Praetor’s order upon their arrival. As he moved to stand behind her, a high-pitched whine echoed in the room and the guard’s body stiffened, his face twisting into an expression of shock and pain as he collapsed to the floor. Stepping back, Toqel could not contain her own confusion and disbelief as her eyes moved from the smoking hole in the guard’s back to the disruptor pistol Ditrius held in his hand.