“With respect, ma’am. The Titan and her crew can handle themselves, even against the Romulan fleet. And if we’re delayed in our return to Latium—”
“You want me to say it?” Janeway jumped in. “Because I’ll say it. The Titan is the only ship in the sector capable of handling the evacuation of so many people.”
Riker felt his face register his confusion. “Admiral…we’re talking about a star system a stone’s throw from the Neutral Zone. There is a constant Starfleet presence along the boundary. Five starships at least.”
Janeway sighed. “You didn’t hear this from me, but something else has come up. There’s some emergency meeting being convened at Starbase Four Ninety-Nine.”
Riker didn’t see the relevance. Starbase 499 was essentially a subspace relay station, part of Starfleet’s communications net, but by no means one of the most critical components. “That’s almost the other side of the quadrant.”
Janeway nodded. “As far as I can tell, it doesn’t have anything to do with the Romulan situation. But Meugniot and half the admiralty are heading out there at warp nine-point-nine. And they’ve taken the fastest ships we have available this close to home. So the Titan is it.”
There was only one other option Riker could think of, and he decided to keep it to himself.
Janeway noticed his silence, guessed the reason for it, and fortunately for Riker, guessed wrong.
“I know what Jean-Luc means to you, Will. He’s the finest captain in the Fleet, and the only reason he’s not back here running the show is because he’s too damn valuable out there, facing the things that…no one has ever faced before. But in the end, our duty as Starfleet officers has to take precedence over our obligations to our friends. There are twelve hundred women, men, and children on Latium, counting on you to take them home. You know you can’t put their lives at risk for only one man.”
“Understood, Admiral. The Titan will not leave orbit of Latium, as ordered.”
Janeway’s weary smile was tinged by sadness. “Thank you, Captain. I know what that means. And what it’s cost you.”
Riker nodded, nothing more to say about the matter. But he did have one last question. “Admiral, if I may, a point of clarification.”
Janeway took on a slightly defensive posture, as if she were uneasy about whatever topic he might raise next.
“Is there truly no chance that the civil war can be averted? Is Starfleet Intelligence convinced that they missed nothing that might offer hope?”
Janeway relaxed. It was a reasonable question, and apparently not the one she’d expected. “All right, Will. By my authority, I’m letting you into the circle. And this is not to be shared with any other member of your crew.”
Riker couldn’t resist smiling. “Uh, I do have a Class Four security exception.”
Janeway hesitated, then smiled in return. “Of course, Deanna. You’re married to a Betazoid. Very well, the exception is noted. You and your wife are forbidden to share the following information with the rest of your crew.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” Riker declined to point out that Troi was half-Betazoid, and that her empathic abilities were limited to sensing emotional moods, and not full telepathy. But Starfleet Intelligence had ruled that was grounds enough for the Class Four exception, so Riker was comfortable he was abiding by the rules.
Janeway took a moment to collect her thoughts, and when she began to speak, Riker heard the cadence of an experienced Academy lecturer.
“A lot of this you already know, because you were at the forefront of the Federation’s initial diplomatic contact with the Romulans, after the coup. You’re aware of all the different groups vying for political power in whatever new government arises from the current chaos.”
“Very much aware,” Riker said. At times, some of the diplomatic meetings he had chaired had reminded him of refereeing a crowd of unruly children fighting over who got the best slice of birthday cake.
“What you might not have known is that one of the groups working behind the scenes is the Tal Shiar.”
Riker felt as if a jolt of transtator current had flashed through him. The Romulan Tal Shiar had been among the most brutal secret police organizations in the galaxy, eclipsing even the hated Cardassian Obsidian Order. Romulan citizens lived in fear of ever speaking against the Tal Shiar, because those who did often ceased to exist, along with their families. Even the Romulan Senate had not dared to act against them, and so the Tal Shiar had operated outside even Romulan dictates of honor and tradition.
Several years before the outbreak of the Dominion War, a disastrous attempt to launch a preemptive strike against the Founders resulted in the near-collapse of the organization, and the almost total loss of their influence and power. So little had been heard from them in the years since that most intelligence reports concluded they had been effectively disbanded, left to the trash pile of history where they belonged.
Given all that, Riker had never sensed any indication that the Tal Shiar were among the power brokers striving for a say in the formation of a new Romulan government, and he had never seen any report, formal or otherwise, that had suggested the same.
“I see you’re as surprised as we were,” the admiral observed.
“Incredibly so,” Riker agreed.
“Starfleet was understandably worried. If the Tal Shiar were to gain control of the new Senate, within a decade, we would be facing an expansionist Romulan Empire armed with cloaked, Scimitar-class warships and thalaron weapons, with absolutely no moral reservations about using them. It would be as if a nest of Borg had sprung up in our midst, intent on destruction instead of assimilation.”
“That is a frightening scenario,” Riker said, and he meant it.
“So as we watched the chaos continue to spread throughout the Romulan power structure, it became more and more apparent that what we were seeing was not predictable political confusion, but the result of someone deliberately spreading dissent. As combative as the Romulans are, they also have a pragmatic side. You’ve seen that in their Fleet commanders.”
“I have,” Riker said. Romulans were tough negotiators, no question. But Riker had learned to respect them because at some point they would always concede that the other side needed a reason to accept an agreement, and so, eventually, would make concessions—something that Klingons rarely did, and Andorians, never.
“Eventually, it became obvious to Intelligence what was going on. The Tal Shiar knew it could never legitimately take power in the Senate. So the only path open to it was to create even more chaos.”
“A civil war,” Riker said.
“Romulus against Remus. Two thousand years of racial hatred deliberately inflamed, then unleashed.”
“I don’t understand why they would take the risk,” Riker said. “They had to know the destruction would be devastating.”
“To Remus, yes. But the Imperial Fleet is dependent on singularity drives, not dilithium. The empire’s balance of trade would take a substantial loss, but it wouldn’t affect their military preparedness. And if they needed trade credits, they could always license mining rights to any interested party willing to rebuild the Reman mining communities. Then, once reestablished, those communities could be nationalized again.”
“That sounds…very Romulan,” Riker said.
“Doesn’t it, though.”
“So, knowing this, doesn’t that put us in a position to tell the admirals what the Tal Shiar has planned?”
“Which admirals?” Janeway asked in return. “Can you say which ones aren’t already working for the Tal Shiar?”
“So…we just stand back and let this happen?”
“No, Will! Not at all. At least, we were working to ensure that that was what we wouldn’t do.”
Riker could see the emotional toll of this for Janeway. Since her triumphant return from the Delta Quadrant, she had been hailed as a miracle worker—the admiral to go to when the problem was insoluble, when there was no hope and no way out. Because Janeway would always bring her people home, would always find a way to win.
It was no surprise that the Romulan situation had become her primary assignment. But perhaps in taking it on, Janeway had met the one problem that could defeat her.
“Admiral, I couldn’t help but notice that you used the past tense. ‘Were working.’ “
Janeway’s face darkened, with anger or with frustration, Riker couldn’t tell.
