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Toreth was never one to believe in a lasting peace. She was a cynic, born and bred, and tended to have faith in the shared bonds of military service and not very much else. She found the machinations of government untrustworthy in general, and even moreso when there was more than one involved.
Diplomats were a nest of snakes matched only by spies, in her experience. Which didn’t soften the gut-punch when, across the the peace-table, she saw a familiar face.
The blinding white of Starfleet’s ceremonial uniforms was embarrassingly honest about the Federation psyche, it’s belief in itself as the savior of the known galaxy. And nearly every member of the Federation delegation wore it. The smiling faces of Federation diplomats appeared gloating - not necessarily a true impression, as Toreth remembered from her sensitivity briefing that it was the Federation way to smile at those one did not know. But it was her impression nonetheless.
And among them stood she who had nearly ended Toreth’s career, and her life, which did not help. The woman’s forehead was alien-smooth, her hair billowed in a massive, shining cloud about her head, her step was slow and sensuous… but Toreth would have known her anywhere.
Rakal. “Major Rakal” of the “Tal Shiar.”
Toreth froze her expression, knowing that to give away anything at this moment could as easily land her in a labor camp on Remus as it could reveal the Federation’s treachery. She had no particular desire to go back. She cursed her superiors for wanting a contingent of high ranking military presences at this conference, and her own good service record for bringing her the requisite rank even after disgrace, and the damn Dominion war, so many years ago, for bringing Romulus and the Federation together in peace. She cursed gods and philosophers whose worship was forbidden on Romulus, and leaders and heroes whose worship was required. Why did she have to be the one to look this woman in the eye. Let spooks play their games in back rooms and dark alleys, far away from her.
But fate did not smile on her. Rakal’s eye caught her, and with unmistakeable recognition and a hint of shock, it widened.
The formal introductions were a blur. Toreth had never been quick to remember names or faces, particularly alien ones, but this time she didn’t even hear them, too distracted by her own racing heartbeat. And then the secretary gestured to Rakal.
“Ambassador Deanna Troi of the Federation and Betazed, Daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed, Comet of Exceptional Starfleet Service, Klingon Empire Order of Honorable Outsiders.”
... Betazed.
Toreth’s blood pressure raised another few notches, if that was possible, and she began to worry that her face might flush green. If there was anything she could imagine that was worse than a spook, it was a telepathic spook.
She rubbed her temples, sedately, trying to think of a lovely green hill just outside Dinalla, on which she had spent an idyllic afternoon catching seret as a young girl, and nothing else.
The muscles in her hands twitched. She could smell, overwhelmingly, the bitter, foreign aroma of the kaf-fi provided for the Federation delegation from its pot across the room. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She was staring straight ahead, but she couldn’t remember what she was staring at. Pressure built behind her eye sockets.
She remembered to breathe in, and felt instantly better. Rakal hadn’t been expecting her. This wasn’t some sort of trap from on high. If anything, she would interfere with Rakal’s mission just by being there.
Well, Rakal, she thought, I’ll be watching you.
She hoped Ambassador Troi caught the thought.
-
Yet somehow, the voice from behind her caught her by surprise. She’d spoken little during the official meetings - she was essentially only there for show anyway, the Empire putting a few of its more decorated Commander-Generals on display to wow the Federation audience. If anything, her role was much more important now, during the reception. She should be socializing, impressing vapid Humans with her service record, or listening to the witter about trade routes and tariffs. That’s what her superiors had put her there for. Well, she’d decided, to hell with them. She would keep her own council.
But the melodic, rounded voice from behind her put an end to that plan.
Toreth stiffened, swallowing the reflex to whirl around, subduing blow at the ready. It wouldn’t do to make a scene. Labor camp on Remus. She must remember that. Or perhaps she might be vaporized. She had never caused a diplomatic incident before. Maybe there would be a show trial. She pressed the nail of her index finger into the pad of her thumb.
“Commander-General…” The voice trailed off. In her observations of this new Rakal, Toreth had found her surprisingly demure, diplomatic, and well described by soft Federation femininity. This fit that pattern. The dishonesty of it put bitter bile in the back of Toreth’s throat.
“Ambassador.” She kept her voice clipped. She still did not turn. Rakal’s Starfleet boots clicked on hard floor as she walked around Toreth, and Toreth was struck by their height difference - even with the elaborate mane of alien-textured hair giving Rakal an advantage, Toreth still looked down at her. Somehow, Toreth’s memories had cast her taller.
Rakal bit her lip. Toreth blinked at the nervous mannerism, her first instinct a rush of shock at the ordinary discomfort on Rakal’s face, her second a rush of anger at this fresh manipulation.
“Commander Toreth…” Rakal said, some emotion underlying the words. Seeming to underlie the words, Toreth reminded herself.
“How dare you speak to me.” Toreth kept her voice flat and quiet. Rakal wouldn’t be willing to risk a diplomatic incident. She wouldn’t speak any worse of Toreth to her superiors than she already planned to. “How dare you stand there, holding a flute of kali-fal, wearing your medals and captain’s stripes. Why are you here.”
“Actually… I’m here to say… I don’t know.” Rakal looked away. Toreth was nauseated.
“That you lack the shame to hide your face from me?” Toreth bit. Rakal bristled for a brief moment, then stilled.
“That I’m sorry. I’m not sure, exactly, what for.” Rakal seemed to be taking a breath before continuing. Toreth’s fingers twitched.
“What for.” Toreth repeated, hearing her own voice almost from outside her body. It was toneless and soft, it carried nothing.
“I don’t know, what happened to you after- after that. I know that it was perhaps one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, not least knowing that I had condemned innocents-”
“A third of my crew was executed.” Toreth flung it out like a blow, still too quiet to be overheard. Rakal jerked back with the force of it. Her eyes glistened. Toreth had read once that some humanoids produced water from their eyes when in pain. She knew this was true of humans. She didn’t know if it was true of Betazoids. She hoped it was.
“I-”
“A third of my crew, those who were considered to have no extraordinary value to the Empire, were executed. The rest of us were disgraced and imprisoned. I spent five years on Remus, Ambassador Troi. Because you, and Starfleet Intelligence or whoever sent you, decided to play your little games of cloaks and daggers and politics on my ship, Ambassador Troi. ”
“I didn’t decide anything, Commander General,” said Rakal, rising now in the way Toreth remembered. “I was kidnapped, surgically altered without my consent, and placed on your ship by Romulan dissidents. Not Starfleet Intelligence. Your own people. I obeyed N’Vek under threat of him revealing my identity. It was my life or yours, Commander. I chose my own.”
Toreth choked.
Then she burst out laughing.
“ That’s what you expect me to believe? That’s what you want me to tell my superiors when I inform them that the Federation has sent spies to sabotage this conference?”
Rakal took in a breath, shocked. Toreth smirked, the blood thudding behind her eyes subsiding with her satisfaction.
“I told you only the truth, Commander General. They can subject me to whatever they want. They won’t find anything different.” She seemed, suddenly, small.
“You’re a telepath. You know as well as I do anything obtained from you, no matter the method, is suspect.”
Rakal closed her eyes, seeming to steady herself.
“You don’t want to sabotage this peace process any more than I do, Commander General. We both know that.” Unmistakeable nerves shot through the cool voice. Toreth was surprised it didn’t crack.
“I don’t believe in peace. It isn’t built to last.” Toreth folded her arms behind her back.
“You don’t believe in waste, either.” Rakal seemed to be finding firmer ground.
“Perhaps I don’t.”
“Then don’t let all this,” Rakal waved a hand, staring Toreth directly in the eyes, her black irises hard, “go to waste.”
“I’ll be watching you,” Toreth responded, somewhat weakly.
“You do that.”