Captain's Blood

15

U.S.S. TITAN, LATIUM IV, STARDATE 57486.9

“Evacuate?” Will Riker said, astounded.

On the small screen on his ready room desk, Admiral Janeway looked ten years older than he had last seen her. She was no more pleased with the order she had given than Riker was to receive it.

“Every Federation mission and consulate on Latium,” Janeway said, continuing her orders from her office at Starfleet Headquarters. “Their respective governments will transmit directly to them the proper instructions for the destruction of all sensitive data and equipment. The diplomatic corps will have special baggage allowances for the removal of cultural artifacts. But consular personnel and support staff will be strictly limited to a single piece of luggage—basically, whatever they can hold in their arms when you beam them aboard.”

Riker still couldn’t believe what she had told him. “Admiral, is it really that bad? To have us abandon all the progress we’ve made with the empire these past six months?”

Janeway had the grace to look apologetic. “I know how close you are to what’s been going on there. I know half the Romulan initiatives we’ve developed since the coup are because of your efforts—your special relationship with the Romulan Fleet commanders. But we’ve lost them, Will. Do you understand? Jean-Luc and Kirk and everyone with them. Because of Kirk’s child.”

Riker sat back in his chair. He had brought it from his cabin on the Enterprise, as he had most of the decorations and mementos in this room, including Data’s idiosyncratic painting of Spot, the cat. He looked at that painting, remembering Data, the word Janeway had just used resonating within him: Everyone…

That meant she had lost the holographic Doctor, too, and Riker had no doubt the loss to Janeway was as great as Data’s loss had been to those who knew him.

“How did Starfleet Intelligence miss that?” Riker asked. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but still, the simple, inconsequential presence of a child seemed such an unlikely detail to have derailed the Federation’s last-ditch effort to prevent a Romulan civil war.

Janeway rubbed the side of her face and Riker guessed she hadn’t slept for days. “We have so little available data on Remus. But the one thing we do know is that there are no families. Do you believe that? The way the Romulans…’manage’ the Remans—breed them is more like it—they don’t keep familial records. At one time, Kirk’s wife was a Federation representative for her colony world. We have a complete diplomatic dossier on her. But there’s nothing in it that connects her to Remus. Nothing.”

Nothing ventured, Riker thought. He leaned forward, folded his hands on his desktop, tried to sound causal. “It will take a few days for the personnel on Latium to prepare for evacuation, so why don’t—”

Janeway interrupted, smiling wryly through her exhaustion. “So why don’t you just take a joyride into the Romulan home system and poke around?”

“At this point,” Riker said, trying to sound completely neutral and reasonable, though he was neither, “with all reports saying war is inevitable, would it hurt?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Will. From the reports we’re getting out of Romulus, we could probably send in the Seventh Fleet and the Romulans would be too distracted to notice. But what you must keep in mind, and why you must follow these orders, is that you’re the only lifeline the people on Latium have. Without the Titan, they have no way home. So when hostilities start, they’ll be trapped behind enemy lines, to become prisoners, political hostages, or…victims. There’s a strong xenophobic streak in Romulans, and we can’t rule out an attack on the diplomatic quarter by a vengeful mob. The Titan has to stay put.”

But Riker felt there was something missing from Janeway’s insistence that the Titan stay at Latium. “Admiral, I understand the importance of giving our people a way home, but if the Titan is in no danger in the Romulan system—”

Janeway didn’t let him finish. “No danger as far as we can tell, Will. But we missed Kirk’s connection to Remus, and Starfleet’s not willing to risk your ship on the assumption that we haven’t missed anything else.”

“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.

“We came up with a plan, Will. At the highest consular levels, working with Starfleet Intelligence, the Vulcan diplomatic corps, the psychohistorians at Memory Alpha, every resource we had available to us.”

Riker could hear the distaste in Janeway’s voice, knew she didn’t approve of the plan that had been developed, and that had evidently been given to her to implement.

“What was the plan?” Riker asked.

Janeway’s jaw clenched. “We were prepared to make a deal with the Tal Shiar.”

Riker’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“That was my reaction, too,” the admiral said.

“What…what kind of deal?”

Janeway took a long slow breath, then spoke quickly, in a rush to get the distasteful words behind her. “We were prepared to support the Tal Shiar in their reconstitution of the Romulan government. Arms, trade credits, technical personnel, whatever they needed.”

Riker felt his face redden and he took a deep breath before responding.

“Who the hell could ever think that was a good idea?”

Janeway shrugged. “You understand why it’s necessary for you to give up a chance to search for Jean-Luc, in order to save the twelve hundred Federation citizens on Latium. How is that different from making an offer to the monsters of the Tal Shiar in exchange for sparing the citizens of the Romulan Empire from a devastatingly brutal war, and sparing the Alpha and Beta Quadrants from an even more destructive conflict that could lead to the collapse of galactic civilization? The Romulans aren’t the only ones who can be pragmatic, Will. And we were prepared to do things even more reprehensible when it seemed we were losing the Dominion War.”

Riker shook his head, ashamed he could be even the smallest part of this outrageous plan that held in contempt every ideal on which the Federation had been founded, and which Starfleet served. “Admiral, tell me there’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, there is. If it makes you feel better—and truly, this was the only reason I accepted the plan and didn’t resign my commission—our offer to the Tal Shiar was never intended to be more than a way to buy time. If the Tal Shiar didn’t feel threatened, then we estimated we could have upward of a decade to rebuild our fleet, design and test thalaron defenses, learn new ways to defeat their cloaks. At the same time, a formal connection between the Federation and the Tal Shiar offered many opportunities for infiltration and intelligence gathering.”

“On both sides,” Riker said, reluctantly beginning to see the logic in what Starfleet had planned.

“It was a risk, but one we felt was preferable to the risk of galactic war.”

Then Riker saw the contradiction in the plan. “Admiral, a few minutes ago, you pointed out how impossible it would be for me to know which Romulan admirals might be aligned with the Tal Shiar. So how were you planning on making this offer of cooperation? How were you going to make contact with them?”

Janeway closed her eyes as if making a silent prayer for forgiveness. “That was Jean-Luc’s assignment,” she said. “His third mission.”

Riker felt as if he had been stunned by a phaser. For Captain Picard to agree to make such an offer to an unspeakable enemy, the danger to the Federation, to both the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, had to be even worse than Riker could imagine.

“How?” Riker asked quietly, overwhelmed by what Janeway had revealed. “Who was he supposed to contact? How would he know?”

“Picard was to follow and support Kirk’s investigation into Ambassador Spock’s murder. And once the murderers had been identified—”

“No,” Riker said, truly shocked. “He wasn’t going to bring those murderers to justice, was he?”

“All our intelligence points to Spock’s having been assassinated by the Tal Shiar. Once Kirk had made the identification of those responsible, Picard was to take Kirk out of the picture, then contact the murderers with the Federation’s offer of support.”

Riker couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And the Captain went along with this? Betraying his friend? Dealing with murderers?”

“One of the Vulcans who helped develop this plan, a Doctor T’Vrel, explained that the Vulcans have a principle they follow in matters like this, where no humane solution is logically possible. ” ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or of the one.’ “

Janeway wiped at her eyes, banishing sleep or tears, Riker didn’t want to know.

“We all wish there had been another way, Will. But with billions of lives at stake, how can one life…or seven lives…be held in the balance?”

Riker had no answer, couldn’t speak.

“In the end,” Janeway continued, “for all we were willing to compromise our principles, for all we were willing to sacrifice to ensure our survival…it turns out it doesn’t matter.

“Jean-Luc’s mission failed. The Tal Shiar will plunge the Romulan Empire into civil war. And for the next ten years, we will be fighting for each day of our existence, thinking back with nostalgia to when the only thing we had to worry about was the Dominion.”

“It might be grasping at straws,” Riker said with difficulty, “but until that civil war starts, I think I’ll keep hoping for a miracle.”

Janeway offered Riker a hollow smile. “I have great experience with that particular tactic. And you know, sometimes it works.” On the screen, she reached to the side of her own desk. “Welcome to command, Will. The view isn’t pretty, is it?”

“Not today,” Riker agreed. “Thank you for your candor, Admiral.”

Janeway nodded once, and the subspace connection ended, her face replaced by the symbol of the Federation. Riker tapped the switch on his desk to shut it off. He didn’t want to see it.

He sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, trying to process all that Janeway had told him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Troi said from the corner of the ready room where she had sat in silence through the whole exchange. Technically, her presence was a breach of regulations. But Starfleet recognized that some of their personnel would inevitably enter into romantic commitments with telepaths, and thus the Class Four exception existed. Had Troi not listened in to the conversation between Janeway and her husband, she would still end up knowing its contents as well as Riker did. Her presence was simply a more efficient way of managing the Titan’s resources, and Riker would be willing to argue that before a disciplinary hearing at any time.

“You’re not supposed to know what I’m thinking,” Riker said, and just the act of speaking to the woman he loved brought a measure of peace to him, despite what he had just learned. “You’re only half-Betazoid.”

Troi stepped behind his chair, rubbed at his stiff shoulders. “But I’m all yours.”

Riker sighed as her fingers dug into complaining muscles. “Do you know what I’m thinking now?” he asked with an effort at playfulness he didn’t feel.

She leaned down, kissed his ear. “Yes, but there’s no time, because of what you were thinking before.”

“And that is…?”

“I heard how you parsed the admiral’s orders.”

Riker reached up to hold Troi’s hand, anticipating what she was about to tell him, amazed anew that she knew him so well.

His wife’s voice continued, full of unshed tears and love. She knew what her husband had to do and she wanted him to know she accepted it.

“Technically, she told you that the Titan has to remain at Latium. She said nothing about what you have to do.”