CHAPTER SIX
“I say we
attack now.”
Though
it wasn’t the first time the sentiment had been espoused that day, this time
those who heard it listened more intently.
Tomalak
drew a deep breath, released it, and then produced that smile for which he was
known. One of his political opponents had once commented that he’d never seen
as much malice and insincerity in a single expression. "When Tomalak
smiles," he had observed, "you feel as if there’s an assassin behind
you that only he can see."
“Consider
that every moment we delay allows the Federation to position its fleet so as to
counter our initial offensive.” He swept his eyes around the room, meeting the
gaze in turn of each who sat upon the War Council. Assembled were some of the
most respected and feared notables of the Romulan Senate, high-ranking officers
of the Imperial Navy, and, of course, upper echelons of the Intelligence
Division, the insidious Tal Shiar.
It
was a member of that dread fellowship who first breached the silent
consideration which followed Tomalak’s initial statement. The venerable, nearly
decrepit R’var barely raised his voice above a whisper, but it immediately
commanded the attention of all. His very age, despite the life he had led,
bespoke of cunning nearly beyond comprehension.
“A
fleet which significantly outmatches our own, Commander,” he observed, “even
without the addition of the Klingons, who would no doubt leap at the chance to
attack us in conjunction with their Federation allies.”
Tomalak
nodded with seeming respect; even if he didn’t particularly feel the
emotion, offending R’var was not a step he was prepared to take.
“Until
recently, Chairman, I would have agreed with you wholeheartedly.” He touched at
a switch before him on a panel, and a three-dimensional map sprang into
existence, rotating slowly above the table at which they sat.
It
was a depiction of the political boundaries in the Orion Arm, as the humans
called it—that section of galactic space which they all called home. One of the
three greatest allotments of territory was illuminated in green, and belonged
to their own Star Empire; satisfyingly, this somewhat outsized the red-colored
space held by the Klingons. The Federation, displayed in a remarkably innocuous
looking shade of blue, was an amorphous blob of light that outsized both of
them together… and it was not a particularly close contest.
There
were, however, other political entities displayed on the map. Though none of
them equaled the expanses claimed by the “Big Three,” more than a few were, it
had to be grudgingly conceded, somewhat impressive in their scope.
Tomalak
continued, “We are not the Federation’s only enemies. There are the Sheliak,
the Tholians, and the Gorn; the Ferengi, the Talarians, and the Orions; the
Breen... ”
A
sardonic voice—that of Trajan, an aide to Senator N’vek—cut him off. “Do you
have a point, Commander? If not, your litany is growing tiresome. We are all
aware of the political situation as it stands.” He smirked, and the less wary
at the table smiled openly.
Wiser
heads remained without expression.
Tomalak
examined Trajan momentarily, his smile suddenly gone; and, then, continued as
if he had not been interrupted.
“...and,
of course, the Cardassians.
“Despite
their protestations to the contrary, Federation diplomats are some of the most
clever and manipulative in known space. They have managed to keep the various
star-faring races from forming a substantive coalition against their military
for over two hundred years.”
His
smile returned, this time more sincere… and all the more terrifying for it.
“I
am pleased to say this is no longer the case.”
Whispers
were exchanged; finally, R’var spoke again.
“You
are saying that we have allies willing to act as one with us against the
Federation?”
Tomalak
shook his head slowly. “Not precisely,” he responded easily. “What we do
have... is this!” He touched another control on the panel before him,
and the holographic imagery shifted into a rapidly changing review of alien
vessels in various attack formations. After a moment, it became clear that the
ships of four governments were involved.
“After
protracted negotiations, we have concluded arrangements with the Sheliak,
Talarian, and Cardassian governments, as well as a fair number of Orion syndicate
bosses.”
“Negotiations
to what purpose?” R’var inquired pointedly. He managed to keep most of the
astonishment and irritation out of his voice; if indeed some agreement had been
solidified, it had been done without the knowledge of the Tal Shiar. Not only did this bespeak well of Tomalak’s personal
network, it meant that he, R’var, had allowed his efficient espionage machine
to grow too complacent in its perceived superiority. Once again, he would be
forced out of semi-retirement to take a personal hand in intelligence
gathering.
This
officer, Tomalak, bore close watching.
And
so he watched.
“In
exchange for certain minor
considerations to be arranged later, these four will, at a prearranged signal
from
It
was both simple and incredibly cunning,
they realized. The Federation might
not assume that a massive military alliance had been formed against it; but it
would be forced by circumstance into deploying its navy to protect a huge
frontier, as opposed to massing a good portion of Starfleet and easily
repelling the Romulan invasion force.
The
delightful irony of it, of course, was that this supposed alliance didn’t
exist.
The
Empire would make its gains, consume a manageable portion of the
Federation—just enough to make itself the
dominant power in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants—and then call for peace.
Considering
Romulan caution and divisiveness, Tomalak thought it best to belabor what was
obvious.
“In
this scenario, it is the estimation of our strategic operations analysts that
the sheer size of Federation military commitments will prevent it from
assembling Starfleet in numbers sufficient to withstand a full-scale assault;
even with the aid of the Klingons,
who have not entirely recovered from their civil war.
“We may never have such an opportunity
again.”
Usually,
at the climax of such a presentation, there was a surge of discussion, a myriad
of opinions all hurled with vehemence. Such was the Romulan way—passionate and
vocal.
This
time, there was silence.
Finally,
it was Senator N’vek who offered a response.
“Return
to your ship, Commander. We will notify you of our decision when our
deliberations are complete.”
Tomalak’s
jaw worked in aggravation; he had hoped for immediate approval. Maintaining his
outward composure only with difficulty, he bowed to the assemblage and strode
stiffly towards the exit, only to be brought up short by N’vek’s final
statement.
“In
the meantime, however,” the senator began, and only deigned to continue once
Tomalak had turned to face him again, “make preparations as if you will be
given the endorsement of the War Council.”
N’vek
had wanted, for some reason even he did not fully understand, to see that famed
expression again.
R’var
understood, though. He watched in silence as the senator got his wish; Tomalak
smiled with genuine pleasure… but that was the only what lay on the surface.
The
old master could see deeper, though. He knew, as no one else there knew, that
Tomalak was angry at being given this information after he’d been dismissed, in the same manner one would a toss a
sweet to console an angry child. In a way, N’vek had provoked a serpent, just
to see what it would do.
And this serpent, R’var thought, would find a way to strike. I daresay our
foolhardy senator and his aide will be dead within a month.
And, no doubt, when he hears of this
‘tragedy,’ Tomalak will smile.