Lavena’s peripheral vision was drawn to a light on Dakal’s ops panel, which had just started blinking rapidly. Before either Dakal or Lavena could say anything, Tuvok spoke up again from tactical.
“Captain, we’re receiving a hail. It’s from the Valdore.”
Jaza turned in his chair, looking over his shoulder toward the bridge’s center, where the two most senior officers present were now seated.
“She’s exiting the rift’s main zone of subspace interference, Captain. And long-range scans show that she’s not alone,” he said, his dark eyes suddenly widening.
“There’s a Klingonvessel with her.”
Chapter Eight
“It’s good to see you again, Commander Donatra,” Riker said, meaning every word. After everything he’d witnessed since being catapulted into this region of space, he was keenly aware that both he and his Romulan counterpart were lucky to be alive.
Donatra stepped down from the stage in Titan’s transporter room one, while the three others who had materialized alongside her—two Klingons and a gray-skinned humanoid of a type Riker recognized immediately, but had never before encountered in the flesh—remained standing on the pads.
“Likewise, Captain,” Donatra said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. She nodded curtly to him, a gesture of courtesy among Romulans, an acknowledgment between individuals of equal status, such as ship commanders. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
“Indeed we do, Commander,” said Deanna Troi, who was standing attentively at Riker’s side. “Welcome aboard.” Turning to face the trio that had yet to step down from the transporter stage, she added, “All of you.”
Riker recognized the two standoffish Klingons instantly. Shortly before fate had thrown them all into this remote region of space, he, Christine Vale, and Ranul Keru had shared a meal with both of them aboard General Khegh’s flagship, the I.K.S. Vaj.
“Captain Tchev. Lieutenant Dekri,” Riker said, taking a step toward the dais. “Welcome aboard Titan.It seems we’ll all be working together.”
The Klingons acknowledged his greeting with simultaneous salutes—right fists to left breasts—then stepped down onto the deck. “I look forward to it, Captain,” Tchev said, casting a momentary derisive glance in Donatra’s direction, as did Dekri.
The Romulan commander either failed to notice this or didn’t care.
Satisfied for now that Donatra and the Klingons were already well past the point where they might come to blows—and, even if they weren’t, the unobtrusive yet watchful presence of Commander Tuvok near the doorway would certainly act as a deterrant—Riker turned his attention toward the tall, robed, gray-skinned creature who had remained in place on the stage. The being’s scalp was nearly hairless, and looked as though it had been shaved in haste; it was beardless, adding to its overall impression of youth. But its flesh seemed somehow hardened, bringing to mind both leather and tree bark. Its dark, thick-lidded eyes were taking in the room attentively but apprehensively. The restless tail whipping back and forth behind it underscored the being’s obvious uncertainty.
Now thoroughly familiar with Excelsior’s eighty-year-old reports, Riker had immediately recognized this individual as a Neyel. A male, probably an adult, though definitely on the younger side. The same young Neyel who had numbered among the few survivors of an apparent attack by Donatra’s missing fleet, according to the Romulan commander’s earlier communication.
“Welcome aboard,” Riker said, extending his right hand toward the extremely alien-looking creature. He had to remind himself that this person—whose bare feet were essentially a second set of hands, and whose spade-tipped tail moved in a way that suggested it was capable of reaching and grabbing as either of Riker’s own arms—was more like himself than any of the more familiar aliens in the room.
The Neyel regarded him in silence for a seeming eternity, prompting Riker to wonder whether the Neyel-specific universal translator program that Jaza had adapted from Excelsior’s records had somehow failed to function. Except for the restless twitching of his tail, the creature remained stock-still.
“Be careful, Will. He’s terribly nervous,” Deanna said quietly, but quite unnecessarily; Riker recognized fear when he saw it.
Tchev chortled, then glowered at Donatra. “A consequence, no doubt, of Romulan hospitality.”
Riker noticed then that the Neyel was studiously avoiding looking in Donatra’s direction. He also saw something he hadn’t seen before: a pattern of subtle lines running along the creature’s shorn right temple, barely visible beneath the thin layer of black fuzz that covered his gray scalp.
Surgical incisions?Riker wondered.
His arm still outstretched toward the Neyel, Riker glanced toward the Romulan commander, who met his gaze momentarily before abruptly breaking eye contact.
Riker frowned. What had Donatra done to this being? Turning back toward the Neyel, he noticed that the creature’s hands were stuffed defensively into the front pockets of his robe. Tuvok was no doubt keeping a weather eye on him for any sign that he might be preparing to draw a weapon.
“Welcome aboard,” Riker repeated, moving slightly closer to the Neyel. “I am Captain William T. Riker of the Federation starship Titan.”He gestured in Deanna’s direction. “This is Deanna Troi, my diplomatic officer.”
“Federation,” the Neyel said. “You are from Aerth?”
Riker nodded, recognizing the name of his homeworld in spite of the odd pronunciation. And now he knew that the universal translator was indeed working properly. Trying a warm smile, he said, “Born and raised there, in a place called Valdez, Alaska.”
The Neyel seemed to roll the place name over in his mind several times before replying in a surprisingly pleasant, sonorous voice. “Alaska. The revered Burgess left behind stories about Alaska. Beautiful, but cold.”
Federation Ambassador Aidan Burgess,Riker thought. He smiled, wondering if the storied diplomat had ever actually visited the land that had once been called the last frontier. “It’s definitely both of those. And I hope to see it again someday.” He offered the Neyel his hand in the traditional human greeting.
“Frane. My name is Frane.” The Neyel withdrew a pair of gray hands from the pockets of his robe, and with one of them he clasped Riker’s proffered hand, enclosing it in a grip that was firm yet surprisingly gentle for someone who presented such a hard, almost armored exterior.
Riker looked with wonder into the creature’s dark, still-frightened, and unmistakably human eyes.
“Captain Riker,” Donatra said, interrupting the captain’s momentary reverie. “We have a great deal to discuss. I suggest we waste no time pooling our knowledge of this place, and of the circumstances behind our arrival.”
Disengaging from Frane, Riker turned to face Donatra. “I agree completely. Commander Troi has already prepared a room where we can do just that.”
Smiling, Deanna made a follow-megesture as she moved toward the doorway, where Tuvok was standing vigil. “Our science team should already be waiting for us.”
Deck one’s forward observation lounge presented a spectacular view of the spatial rift’s slowly drifting, multicolored energy tendrils. Troi had asked Will to have the lounge area cleared of all unnecessary personnel specifically for this joint briefing, and he had immediately understood the need to do exactly that. It wouldn’t do, after all, to allow anything unexpected to damage the fragile bond of trust they were trying to build to the still-apprehensive Frane.