The praetor was hiding something critical. And it was related to the Tal Shiar.

Tomalak spoke up, his tone and manner insincerely patronizing. “And what special expertise might you possess regarding the Tal Shiar, Commander Troi?”

Should I come right out and tell him?Troi thought. Focusing her gaze for a moment onto the chamber’s high ceiling, she decided on forthrightness. “I used to bein the Tal Shiar.”

All the Romulans in the room seemed greatly amused by this. Good. At least they’re less likely to kill one another now that they’ve shared a joke at the expense of an old adversary.

She saw then that Will was flashing a warning glare in her direction. “Commander.”

“Forgive me, Captain,” she said in her most professional tone. She was determined to continue. “Let me be more precise. Ten years ago, I posed as a Tal Shiar agent in order to help a high-ranking Romulan senator defect to the Federation.”

The captain’s eyes looked like dinner plates, and she met his incredulous stare with a warning glare of her own. I know what I’m doing here, Will. If these people don’t start focusing their hostility onto targets other than each other, this entire mission is doomed before it even starts.

Troi looked at Donatra, who was regarding her with hard, appraising eyes. Though her countenance concealed it well, she was clearly revising her opinion of the Starfleet contingent. Troi sensed that her frank admission of espionage—performed during an entirely different astro-political era—was beginning to generate some real respect from Donatra.

“Vice-Proconsul M’ret,” Suran said to Troi. In sharp contrast to Donatra, his voice and manner were frosted with anger and contempt. “M’ret the traitor. You were one of those who helped him betray the Empire’s security.”

Because of Suran’s intense negativity, Troi found she had to work harder than she’d expected to keep her own rising pique from coloring her reply. “During the decade since his defection, M’ret has helped prevent a tremendous amount of bloodshed between your people and ours. If the talks we are beginning now succeed in making further progress toward peace—if they build upon M’ret’s work—then your histories may make a far kinder appraisal of him someday.”

“The sun will grow dark and cool long before that day arrives,” Suran said, as stonily as any Vulcan. “M’ret is a traitor, now and forever.”

Durjik guffawed almost explosively. “Such steadfastness is ironic indeed, coming from you, Suran—a man who once believed, as Pardek did, that the best way to secure peace with the Federation is to conquer it while it sleeps.”

Troi wondered if Suran was going to reply to Durjik with cold steel, as Tomalak had nearly done moments earlier. Then she felt Donatra’s patience shatter like a dam blown apart by the inexorable pressure of some great sea.

“Akhh!Durjik, you act as though you have never erred, learned from the error, and then changed your ways!”

Durjik responded without so much as a pause for breath, exhibiting debating skills he had no doubt honed over countless years of service in the Senate. “Like Suran, error is evidently the major focus of yourexpertise, Commander Donatra. You and Suran both sided with Shinzon, whose plans of conquest came to naught.”

“As did our noble praetor,” Donatra said coldly, turning her angry gaze on Tal’Aura.

The praetor bristled, but remained silent, as did the increasingly angry Tomalak.

“You have argued Commander Donatra’s point well, Durjik,” Suran said evenly, though his outrage was limned in Troi’s empathy as brightly as a disruptor bank being fired. “You and Pardek weren’t always bent on preemptive war. Time and circumstance have changed you both greatly. Why, Pardek even once supported that ridiculous Vulcan Unification movement, until Neral drove it back into the hole from which it crawled.”

“Whatever errors you may impute to our praetor, Commander Donatra, you will note that she still lives, Shinzon notwithstanding,” Tomalak growled. Turning to Durjik, he added, “Unlike your beloved Pardek, whose own errors have made him kllhefodder at long last, and deservedly so.”

Durjik rose, throwing his chair backward. Tomalak mirrored Durjik’s sudden movement, despite another sharp protestation from Tal’Aura. Supercritical tempers detonated. Steel blades flashed. Troi had missed the precise instant when the two antagonists had lost control, so overloaded had her empathy become by their relentless emotional “heat.” Will, Akaar, and Keru were already rising in an effort to intercede, but it was clear that none of them could act in time to prevent a second act of murder.

Time stretched. Drawing on her decade-old experience living among Romulans asa Romulan—as well as on the past several weeks, during which she’d acted as the primary social lubricant among Titan’s highly varied crew—she quickly grasped the last diplomatic arrow in her quiver.

Troi shouted with a vehemence and volume that would have impressed even her mother. “The Remans will tear the flesh from your bones!”

Tomalak and Durjik hesitated, then slowly lowered their blades. As one, they both turned to face Troi. She noticed then that every eye in the chamber was upon her. I’d better keep this going, now that I finally have their attention.

“The Remans won’t care about your political differences!” she said, maintaining a commanding tone that she somehow kept just a few decibels short of shrillness. “They won’t care about who served Shinzon and who opposed him! They won’t care about your internal grudges and petty feuds! All they will care about is what you represent to them: oppression! You show them this kind of weakness and disunity, and they will scoop out your brains and eat them! If you expect to make long-term peace with them instead of more war, then you’d better start setting aside your differences. Now. Sit. Down.”

Her words hung in the air. The room was quiet, though Troi’s empathic senses were numbed beneath a deluge of conflicting reactions.

“Please,” Will said gently, breaking the silence. He gestured toward the empty chairs that lay upended and scattered on the floor. Despite the empathic “noise” that still crowded the room, Troi found his sense of relief unmistakable. She noticed then that something else lay beneath that emotion as well.

Admiration. He was greatly impressed with her performance. She had to force herself not to smile, though she felt both relief and cool satisfaction.

Tal’Aura had remained seated. Her face impassive despite her distraught emotional state, she chose that moment to rise and address the room. “We shall adjourn for now.”

The praetor turned to face Troi. “You have pointed out some of our most critical weaknesses, Commander Troi, and for that I thank you. Those weaknesses will be addressed prior to the first full conference among all the factions.” Next, she faced Tomalak. “Come, Proconsul. You and I have much to discuss.” It was obvious to Troi that their discussion was likely to be quite loud and one-sided; Tal’Aura no doubt took a dim view of mortal combat in the Hall of State, and demanded better self-control from her subordinates.

After Tal’Aura and the chastened yet still-angry Tomalak exited the chamber, Durjik, Donatra, and Suran did likewise, escorted to separate exits by the small group of armed uhlans who had been discreetly guarding the room’s perimeter during the meeting.

Now the away team stood alone in the Senate Chamber, at least for the moment.

“Well,” Will said, heaving a sigh of relief. “I suppose that could have gone a lot worse.”

“Your diplomacy was inspired,” Akaar said to Troi, a small appreciative smile crossing his normally dour features. She could tell that he, too, was sincerely impressed. “If more than a little dangerous.”