“I swear to you, Esperanza, if you try to tell me that I become no better than they are, I will terminate this conversation.”
Since Enaren had said this conversation was over several minutes ago, Esperanza chose to have some hope.
Ashanté said, “Sir, if you truly believe that you are better than them, then prove it. When the house next door to you is burning, you don’t deny them an extinguisher. If we’re to live up to what we stand for, then we have to help everyone. After Praxis exploded, it would’ve been easy to let the Klingon Empire fall to pieces. But we didn’t, and we gained a strong ally where we used to have an implacable foe. One day, Cardassia could be strong again, only this time as a valuable ally. The galaxy’s getting smaller every day. Between the Bajoran wormhole and Project Voyager, it’s gotten even smaller the past decade. We have to—”
“Enough.” But Esperanza noticed a different tone to Enaren’s voice. “I’ll withdraw the resolution to deny aid.”
Esperanza blinked. That was too easy. “Councillor—”
“I know how to read people, Esperanza, even when I can’t actually read their thoughts. And I can see how much this means to both of you, and you don’t have any personal stake in this. It isn’t even a matter of loyalty to the president—you both genuinely believe what you’re saying.” He smiled wryly. “And you didn’t make me any offers of concessions.”
Softly, Esperanza said, “We know how important this is to you as well, Councillor. We wouldn’t insult you by trying to buy your vote.”
“But you will buy Nea’s.”
Esperanza grinned. “We are still politicians, Councillor, much as we might wish it otherwise. And that means we have a responsibility—even to those who used to be our foes.”
“I suppose we do.” Enaren sighed. “Thank you both for talking to me. I’ll be on Earth in about three hours.”
With that, he signed off.
Esperanza looked up at Ashanté.
“What?” Ashanté asked.
“I don’t know what impressed me more, that you had the name David Lloyd George at your beck and call, or that you actually used implacable in a sentence.”
Ashanté laughed. “I always liked that word, what can I tell you? As for the first thing—I’m married to the speechwriter for one of the most trivia-obsessed politicians in the Federation. You pick stuff like that up.”
“I guess so.”
Moving toward the door, Ashanté said, “I’ll call Dogayn off. Hey, we ready for tomorrow?”
“The Trinni/ek?”
Ashanté nodded.
Esperanza felt herself deflating. “How the hell should I know?”
Chapter Twenty-One
AMBASSADOR COLTON MORROW had thought this new assignment would be easy.
Previously, the Diplomatic Corps had sent him to Delta Sigma IV. On that world, two species, the Bader and the Dorset, had managed to live in harmony, despite being at odds elsewhere in the galaxy. As a result, that world was part of the Federation, something neither the Bader nor the Dorset could say nor were likely to anytime soon.
Unfortunately, something had gone wrong. Both species had been suffering shortened lifespans, and an attempt to remedy that had wound up bringing out the worst impulses in Bader and Dorset alike. By the time a solution had been found by a Starfleet vessel assigned to the situation, the entire planet had practically been on fire.
Still, the day had been saved in the end, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Colton Morrow.
In light of that, he had thought the assignment to work out the details of establishing diplomatic relations with the Trinni/ek would be a comparative walk in the park—but also a major step forward in his career. This was a first contact with a new species, the gold standard for diplomatic work in the Federation. Morrow was in a position where he could make history. On top of that, Captain T’Vrea’s reports all indicated a species that was the textbook example of the type of people the Federation liked to deal with, and who might eventually join up.
Until they’d gone insane in the Roth Dining Room.
This time, though, the signs were better. Speaker Ytri/ol had made an effort to be communicative during the journey here, though he had seemed much more tired.
Now Morrow was accompanying them into the council chamber on the first floor of the Palais after just beaming down from orbit. This time the Starfleet escort vessel had been the Hood. Captain DeSoto had been a fine host, and he was now walking alongside Morrow, Ytri/ol, and the delegation.
DeSoto leaned over and whispered to Morrow as they approached the door to the huge chamber, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
Morrow nodded. DeSoto’s support had been very helpful. Morrow knew the man’s war record—the Hood had suffered a great deal during the Dominion War—but DeSoto showed no signs of wear and tear. He was friendly and affable, and just the person to keep the Trinni/ek—who were apprehensive about their second trip to Earth—from worrying overmuch.
If only it worked on me.
As they entered, Morrow noticed that the room was packed. Most of the hundred and fifty-four councillors seemed to be present, seated on either side of the large pathway in the center of the room. President Bacco stood at her podium, smiling. In the back of the room, the gallery was packed with reporters, civilians, some government staffers—
—including Esperanza, who smiled at him as he entered.
Morrow hadn’t expected to see her here, but he was glad for it. He was really growing to like the chief of staff.
“If you start drooling, it’ll be real embarrassing,” DeSoto whispered to him.
Trying to keep his dignity, Morrow whispered back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Those diplomatic skills may need a little refining there, Colton.”
Morrow said nothing, as Ytri/ol came to a stop at the center of the speaker’s floor.
Bacco said, “The podium recognizes the delegation from Trinni/ek, as well as Federation Ambassador Colton Morrow and Starfleet Captain Robert DeSoto.”
“Thank you, Madam President.” Ytri/ol’s voice sounded even weaker than it had on the Hood. “First, I must—I must offer the humblest apologies to the people of the Federation for the rather—embarrassing display that my staff and I put on in this—in this building three months ago.”
I don’t like the way he sounds. Morrow shot a look of concern at DeSoto, who returned it. They both started to inch closer to the speaker.
“We very—very much—” The speaker’s breathing was becoming labored now. “—wish to—to open—”
Three of the delegates collapsed. A gasp shot through the room even as DeSoto ran to the one who fell first.
“I’m sor—” Ytri/ol wasn’t able to get the word out before he, too, collapsed, as did the final aide.
Slapping his combadge, DeSoto said, “Medical emergency in the council chambers, five Trinni/ek have collapsed, repeat, five Trinni/ek have collapsed.”
The guards at the door were also summoning people. Nobody would be beaming in, Morrow knew, as the chambers were shielded against transporters.
Moments later, six people in Starfleet uniforms ran in, and Morrow recognized one of them: Dr. Catherine Papadimitriou, the chief medical officer on the Hood. The other five were navigating gurneys into the chamber. Moments after that, two more people entered, both dressed in blue lab coats emblazoned with a caduceus, indicating that they were also medical personnel.
“Somebody talk to me,” President Bacco said after a tense moment as two doctors examined the five Trinni/ek forms with medical tricorders while the others assisted.
The civilian, a Rhandaarite male, said, “I’m not sure what to make of this.”
“I am.” Papadimitriou had been kneeling by Ytri/ol, but now she stood and addressed the podium. “Something has shut down their peripheral nervous systems.”
The other doctor sounded dubious as he asked, “How can you be sure?”
�
��I can’t—but that’s what the indicators are based on, from what I’ve studied of them on the way here from the Hood.” Papadimitriou turned back to the podium. “Madam President, the best nearby medical facility is on Starbase 1. Request permission to transport the patients there.”
Bacco, to her credit, didn’t hesitate. “Go.”
Morrow and DeSoto helped the others load the five patients onto the gurneys, as did the guards. As they did so, the Rhandaarite said, “Are you sure they’re safe for transport?”
“Transporting has no effect on the nervous system.” Papadimitriou didn’t look up from her tricorder as she spoke.
“Of most humanoid species,” the Rhandaarite said. “They beamed down right before they collapsed. Maybe that is responsible for their condition.”
Papadimitriou still didn’t look up. “Maybe pigs’ll fly out of my butt, but I’m not holding my breath. Right now, the best course of action is to get these people to Starbase 1.” Now she looked up, even as the gurneys were being scooted down the hall to the turbolift to take them to the second-floor transporter bay. The guards had already cleared the way, and three empty ’lifts were waiting for them. “Unless you think the Hôpital V’gran is a better facility. Speak now, Doctor.”
The Rhandaarite, who was apparently from the nearby hospital in question, shook his head, even as Papadimitriou got into the elevator with Ytri/ol. Morrow and DeSoto got into the second one with two of the delegates.
“What do you think happened?” DeSoto asked.
Morrow sighed. “My career coming to an end?”
DeSoto smiled. “I meant to the Trinni/ek.”
“Do I look like a doctor?”
“You look like someone killed your pet.”
Morrow sighed as the doors to the turbolift opened onto the second floor. The two medtechs navigated the gurneys out. “That’s twice the Trinni/ek have done this—and I was the one who pushed the president to give them another shot. This isn’t my finest hour as a diplomat.” As they walked, the other gurneys came out of their ’lifts and moved to the transporter bay.
“Well, it could be worse,” DeSoto said philosophically as they watched the five gurneys being transported to the large starbase in orbit of Earth.
As they stepped onto the platform for their own transport, Morrow asked, “How could it be worse?”
“They could be dead.”
Morrow’s reply was lost in the transporter effect.
It took all of Ambassador K’mtok’s willpower to keep from wrecking the room in which he sat.
Not that it mattered, since if his willpower failed, he was sure that the four armed guards standing at the doors to the room would not hesitate to shoot him down where he stood if he tried that.
He turned in his chair to glower at Ambassador Kalavak. The Romulan man simply stared at the curtained window. K’mtok was grateful that the curtains were down, as he found human architecture to be intensely dull. He had specifically requested that his offices in the Klingon embassy have no exterior windows.
If he couldn’t wreck the room, K’mtok would have been happy to kill the Romulan ambassador, just on general principles. He didn’t know this new ambassador very well. It had taken the Romulans six months to appoint a new ambassador to replace T’Kala after her cowardly suicide—only a Romulan would find honor in taking one’s own life, he thought with disgust—so this one had only been on the job a few weeks. T’Kala had, at least, been as worthy a foe as a Romulan could be. He wondered if this one would prove as able. I doubt it.
Finally, the doors slid open to reveal the Federation president. “Sorry I’m late, but there was a bit of a problem with the Trinni/ek.”
K’mtok had no interest in the doings of aliens. He rose from his chair; the Romulan did the same. “The High Council demands to know Starfleet’s findings on Klorgat IV!”
Bacco walked over to her desk and said, “K’mtok, good to see you, too. I don’t think you’ve met Ambassador Kalavak.”
Kalavak spoke in a voice that K’mtok immediately classified as mewling. “The pleasure is, I’m sure, entirely the ambassador’s.”
“Unlikely,” K’mtok said with a growl.
Now standing behind her desk, with her hands palm-down on its surface, Bacco said, “Gentlemen—and believe me, I’m using that term very loosely—please keep in mind that you’re in my office and that I’ve got four armed guards in here who know five hundred different ways of killing people, and that’s before you put phasers in their hands, and also that they work for me. Now both of you sit down.”
“Madam President,” K’mtok began.
“Do we have to go three rounds on who gives the orders in this room again, Mr. Ambassador? Sit down.”
K’mtok sat down, but not before he gave Kalavak another growl.
After they sat, Bacco did the same. “To answer your question, Mr. Ambassador, we have definitive proof that Admiral Mendak—or, at the very least, the Rhliailu—destroyed Klorgat IV’s moon.”
Somehow, K’mtok resisted the urge to stand up again, as he knew it would be unwise. But he did bare his teeth at Kalavak. “All along, we knew that this was the work of a cowardly petaQ. We will—”
Kalavak interrupted, speaking to Bacco and ignoring K’mtok. “Admiral Mendak is a criminal whose actions are not sanctioned by the Romulan government.”
Livid at the Romulan’s words, as well as the fact that he’d both interrupted and ignored K’mtok, the Klingon bellowed, “You have been spinning those lies for some time now, Romulan!”
“They are not lies, Madam President, regardless of what some might believe.” Kalavak was still ignoring K’mtok. “Praetor Tal’Aura has consistently condemned the admiral’s actions, and had called for his execution.”
“ ‘Had’ called?” Bacco said before K’mtok could rail against the Romulan again.
K’mtok reined in his temper. This toDSaH is trying to provoke a response by ignoring me, and I will not play his childish games.
“It is no longer necessary to call for Admiral Mendak’s execution, because Admiral Mendak is dead.” Kalavak picked a padd off the couch next to him, which K’mtok hadn’t noticed before. “I have here a message that the admiral sent to Praetor Tal’Aura.” He rose from the couch and handed the padd to Bacco.
To K’mtok’s surprise, Bacco did not view it at first. Instead, she said to K’mtok, “Mr. Ambassador, would you like to look at this with me?”
K’mtok’s instinct was to say that he had no interest in viewing Romulan propaganda, but he recognized that Bacco was treating him as an equal and showing that the Federation and the empire were partners in this. So he got up and walked to the president’s desk.
She activated the padd, and the smug face of Mendak appeared. In a deep, resonant voice, he said, “My name is Lhian Mendak. For eighty-five years, I served as a loyal Romulan soldier. In recent times, however, I found that I could no longer pledge my loyalty to the Romulan government. The coup d’état by the Reman traitor Shinzon and the subsequent rise to power of his agent, Tal’Aura, exposed a corruption on Romulus that I could not tolerate. For the good of the empire, I refused to pledge my loyalty to a regime that would allow Klingons into our midst, and to grant concessions to Remans. To that end, I destroyed one of the moons that orbits Klorgat IV. For this, and for other actions, I have been condemned and branded a criminal. But I will not give Tal’Aura and her corrupt regime the satisfaction of arresting me, nor of executing me after a mockery of a trial. Instead, my crew and I choose to die as Romulans.”
K’mtok had to admit that it sounded very convincing. He also didn’t believe a word of it.
Kalavak added, “The message was found on the Rhliailu, which was adrift in the Vorni system alongside the rest of Mendak’s fleet. Everyone on all four ships was dead by their own honor blades.” The ambassador then stood up and, for the first time, looked at K’mtok. “The praetor has asked me to convey the deepest apologies to the Klingon Empire for the actions of th
is madman. Our only regret is that he cannot be extradited to you to be tried on Qo’noS, and for that, we also apologize. You can rest assured that this Romulan government will do nothing to impede the relocation of the Remans to their new home.”
With that, Kalavak turned on his heel and left the president’s office.
Whirling on Bacco, K’mtok said, “Surely, Madam President, you do not believe these lies!”
“Of course not, K’mtok, don’t be an idiot.” Bacco got up. “Gotta give ’em credit, though—they played it just right. Let Mendak play the rebel for a few months, do some damage to Tal’Aura’s enemies while she’s condemning it the whole time, then, when he gets caught, sacrifice him to make yourself look good. Meanwhile, the actual goal of making a mess of Klorgat’s been accomplished—and, best of all, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”
K’mtok had been about to compliment the president on her perspicacity, but the last phrase irritated him. “There are many things we can do about it, Madam President, starting with making war on the Romulans!”
“Based on what? The actions of someone the Romulan government’s been condemning for six months? Sure, we know they’re full of it, but we can’t prove it. I can’t take this to the Federation council and get them to approve this as a reason to go to war.”
Now K’mtok smiled. “The High Council is not so strict in its need for motivation to do battle, Madam President.”
“Yeah, but if you get into it, then we’re obligated to either go along with you or pull out of the Accords, neither of which is an option I’m thrilled with. And let’s just say we do manage to get everyone to agree—who are we fighting? Tal’Aura? What about the rest of the military? They’re not all on her side, and not all the ones who are can be considered fanatically loyal. And what about the Romulan people who’ll be caught in the middle of this? And then there’s the question of fighting forces. We’ve finally got Starfleet back on an exploration footing, and the Defense Force isn’t back up to full battle readiness, either.”
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