Rosetta

by Dave Stern

  “Wow,” he said, shaking his head, trying to clear it. “What was that?”

  “If I understood the gentleman over there correctly,” Reed said, pointing toward a man in a black coverall—a coverall, Archer thought, that looked strangely like the tunic Malcolm had purchased—“it’s some sort of a Klingon beverage. Mot’lok, I believe he called it.”

  “Klingon,” Archer said, taking a deep breath. It was only fitting. His relationship with the Empire was not a friendly one—at least not at the moment.

  They wanted him dead—or, more accurately, they wanted him alive, so that they could take a long time killing him.

  Maybe, he thought, they were going to do it with mot’lok.

  Sen introduced the general to the Andorian linguist, then maneuvered himself into a conversation with the human female. Hoshi. He escorted her to one of the refreshment tables, and offered her a drink. She refused. He offered her food. She refused that as well. The more he tried to do for her, the more resistant she was. Her eyes flashed fire.

  His blood stirred. Sen was reminded, once more, of the long-vanished Roia. He wished he had more time; he would have taken the female to the Prex at Saleeas Optim, bought her a Keelan, plied her with the accumulated knowledge of a thousand years of Thelasian civilization, delicacies from across the civilized worlds of the entire quadrant. As it was…

  He checked in with Roia. Kareg’s ship was close. He had less than an hour.

  No time for subtlety.

  “Did you enjoy the bazaar, Ensign Hoshi? The Prex?”

  “I did.”

  “Remarkable variety of goods, from worlds that I don’t expect you humans have been to before. You have warp-five capability, is that right? Places you won’t get to for quite some time, at that speed. Sample the merchandise while you can. I’d be happy to advance you more credits, should you so desire. If there was any particular thing that caught your eye…”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “It is fortunate for you I had the dress, is it not? It looks marvelous on you. As I knew it would.”

  “Thank you.”

  The female appeared distracted. She was looking over his shoulder, Sen realized, back toward the Andorian linguist, and General Jaedez. He thought he could guess why.

  “You’re curious about the translation?” Sen asked.

  For the first time, he saw the light of excitement in her eyes.

  “Yes. Very.”

  He leaned closer to her. “I have access to the Kanthropian database. A personal keycode. Would you care to see the information in it?”

  She leaned back from him. “I’d be very interested in that, yes.”

  Sen reached around her and picked up a glass off the table. A goblet, with a brown liquid inside that didn’t so much slosh as ooze as he tilted the glass to one side.

  “This is kanar,” he said. “Marvelous drink. Quite safe for your species, I assure you. We have an expert medical staff—xenobiologists very familiar with your species. If I’m remembering correctly,” and of course he was, as Roia was feeding him the information as he spoke, “this particular drink will act in a very similar way to alcohol on your blood chemistry. Provide a pleasant, harmless narcotic effect. Please.” He held the glass out. “See for yourself.”

  “No, thank you. I’m less interested in the drink than in the database,” she said.

  “I admire your dedication,” Sen said, and drank the kanar down himself. Very refreshing. He set the empty goblet back on the table.

  “The keycode is in my office. A short distance from here. If you’d care to accompany me…”

  She frowned.

  “We pass by the Prex,” he offered.

  “I’m not much of a shopper.”

  “No shopping, no alcohol…” The governor shook his head, made an expression of mock displeasure. “What pleasures do you allow yourself, Ensign Sato?”

  “Well…”

  “Recreational sex?”

  The female blinked.

  “Recently, I picked up several new techniques from a courtesan of Rigleigh’s Pleasure World. Mentally stimulating. Physically challenging. Perhaps you would care for a demonstration?”

  The female changed color.

  “Is that a yes?” Sen asked.

  The captain set off again into the crowd. This time, Reed went too, staying with Archer long enough so the captain could see him “mingle” and so that he could see Archer safely eased into a conversation with delegates sympathetic to his own views. Translation, rather than war. Reed listened for a few minutes and then excused himself, ostensibly to get a drink but in reality to take up a position directly opposite his previous one, from where—again—he could watch the captain in relative privacy, without fear of interruption.

  On his way to that new post, he spotted Sen, standing near Hoshi. Standing very, very near Hoshi.

  He smiled. That would be, Malcolm knew, worth a few digs later on. But for now…

  He stood back from the crowd, and watched.

  Most parties, in his experience, had a rhythm to them. An ebb, and a flow. This one, he decided, was currently ebbing. It wasn’t so much that people were leaving, but rather that they were not moving around so much. Staying in one place, as opposed to flitting about from conversation to conversation. It made the captain easier to keep track of—and Sen, too.

  And it made the governor’s bodyguards very easy to spot indeed. They were the ones standing around, doing nothing. Most wore the same blue and green uniforms as the ones he’d seen earlier in the day, but some were undercover—at least as undercover as they could be while at the party and not of the party. Stuck out like sore thumbs, they did

  Reed decided that perhaps he’d better mingle just a bit.

  He circled the edges of the crowd, joining in on a conversation about weapons systems, which ones the Confederacy’s war fleet was likely to use. He made a mental note of those systems he’d never heard of before—ion cannons?—before moving on to one of the refreshment tables, where he got another, slightly smaller glass of the mot’lok to sip from. He would have to watch those sips carefully. It was, as he’d warned the captain, strong stuff.

  At the table next to him, one of the servers (a woman, dressed in an oddly ill-fitting coverall) set down an empty platter, and began filling it with food from the table. Reed watched her a moment, disturbed by the seemingly haphazard way she arranged the food on the plate, seeing it as his sister, who once ran a restaurant, would have seen it, as the mark of poorly trained staff, before turning back to his task. Archer and Sen (and Hoshi) were right where he’d left them. From this side of the room, he also noticed that the governor’s guards were arrayed in a very precisely shaped circle around Sen (though the nearest ones stood a little farther from him now than before, probably to give him privacy while he spoke to Hoshi). If they were indeed all networked, as the two little Bynar had told him earlier today, he had no doubt they used that network to maintain formation precisely.

  Might be a valuable tool after all, he thought. A neural implant. Especially for security. Though he was certain that neither the captain nor Travis, in particular, would agree with him. Reed had never heard anger in the ensign’s voice the way he’d heard it earlier, when Travis had mentioned Sen’s name. And speaking of the captain, and Governor Sen…

  He looked up to check on their position, and at that instant the server from the next table over wandered directly in front of him, blocking his view of the party.

  “Excuse me,” a man said, stepping up next to the woman. “I’ll have one of those.”

  She smiled, and held the platter out for him.

  He frowned.

  “Serving utensils?”

  Her smile wavered a moment, then came back even stronger.

  It struck Reed as a particularly forced smile. An artificial one.

  He frowned.

  Little alarm bells were going off in his head.

  “Oh how stupid of me to forget those,”
the server said. “I’ll go get some.”

  But instead of turning back toward the tables, she headed off deeper into the party, still carrying the tray. Walking with determination. With purpose.

  Heading right for Governor Sen, and Hoshi.

  Reed set down his drink, and set after her.

  When the female made it clear that recreational sex was not on her agenda that evening, Sen excused her from their conversation. He watched her go regretfully. Ah well. When he reached Qo’noS, there would be—from what he’d heard—argumentative females to spare.

  The governor subvocalized a series of questions to Roia. He learned Kareg had moved into position, was awaiting his signal. The guards had prepared and cleared the upper solarium. The data caches in his terminals were clear as well—wiped of all potentially incriminating data. His credit accounts were full.

  All was in readiness then. All that remained was to locate the human captain, and bid a final, fond farewell to Procyron. He would miss this place, no doubt about it.

  He turned and saw a server heading toward him, carrying a tray. Drinks, he hoped. Perhaps even some of the mot’lok. That would be, Sen thought with a smile, only fitting, to use the Klingon beverage for a final ceremonial toast to his time here.

  He stood in place, watching the server come closer and closer. Waiting.

  Archer was not stupid.

  He was well aware that Malcolm had spent the entire party watching him. Watching out for him, ostensibly. Fine. Part of him appreciated it, though he did resent the fact that Malcolm didn’t think he could take care of himself. Part of him wished, though, that Reed had looked on this party as a bit of an opportunity as well—a chance to fulfill another aspect of his job as security chief, that being to do a little surreptitious research on the weapons systems other races in this part of the galaxy had. To talk to those races Starfleet was unfamiliar with, and get a sense of their offensive—and defensive—capabilities. It was only prudent for Admiral McCormick to have that information in hand.

  Instead, though, Malcolm had spent virtually the entire evening clinging to the fringes of the party, nursing a drink. And to what end? Nothing was going to happen here; there were simply too many people. Too many guards, Sen’s personal troop, in their blue-and-green uniforms, were everywhere. Archer thought there might be undercover guards as well. One particular H’ratoi he had noticed, in fact, had never seemed to be more than half a dozen meters away from him the entire evening. The captain wondered if Sen, too, was keeping an eye on him.

  And speaking of Sen…

  Archer had some things he wanted to say to the man. Not that he thought he could reverse the course of action the Trade Assembly had taken this afternoon, but the governor should know that there was considerably less enthusiasm for the war—and the diversion of resources it would cause—than perhaps today’s vote had indicated. Archer wondered, perhaps, if the two of them might find a quiet place to discuss such things. The Kanthropian translation efforts as well—what else the Mediators’ work might have revealed about the Antianna. He wondered if Hoshi had been able to find out anything in that regard.

  He looked up and scanned the floor. There.

  The governor stood—by himself, surprisingly—in the center of the room. A server was walking toward him, holding a platter of food held in front of her, a smile frozen on her face.

  There was some sort of commotion going on just behind her, Archer saw. People shouting. A lot of angry faces. Someone was forcing their way through the crowd. A second later, the crowd suddenly flew apart, and a familiar face—a familiar body—came charging through.

  Malcolm?

  The server dropped the platter on the ground.

  The smile on her face vanished.

  Reed hurled himself through the air.

  The woman reached across her body with her right hand even as he flew toward her, bridging the last few meters between them with a single jump. He landed on the woman’s back, and she fell to the ground with a loud crack and an audible exhalation of air.

  Her right arm and whatever weapon she’d been planning on using on Sen were pinned beneath her. But her left was free. She tried to use it to push herself over onto her side, to dislodge Reed. He grabbed her wrist with both hands and straightened the arm rather forcefully, then pinned it to the ground in front of her.

  He became aware of figures standing over him. Blue-and-green uniforms. Sen’s guards.

  “She might have a bomb!” Reed said. “Get everyone back!”

  The woman was cursing a blue streak at him, much of which the UT translated as nonsense phrases. At least, Reed thought they were nonsense phrases. He’d have to talk to Hoshi about it later. For now—

  One of the guards knelt down and jabbed something into the woman’s arm. She stopped cursing. She stopped moving. She lay still.

  Reed’s eyes widened in horror. He looked up at the man.

  “What did you do?”

  “Exactly what I ordered. Standard procedure in these cases.” Governor Sen stepped forward, a look of absolute fury on his face. “Move back.”

  For a second, Reed thought about staying right where he was, about telling Sen exactly what he was thinking at that instant. Wouldn’t that do wonders for interstellar relations, he thought.

  He got to his feet, and stepped away from the woman.

  The second he was clear, two guards drew weapons and fired. Reed thought for a second they were using laser pistols; the energy beams looked similar. But when the rays struck the woman, her body literally began glowing with energy. A faint blue outline of some sort appeared around her for a second. The blue turned to orange, then red.

  The woman disappeared as if she’d never been there at all.

  “Everything is fine,” Sen said, turning in all directions, smiling—as false a smile as the woman who had just tried to kill him had worn—and speaking to the crowd. “The terrorist has been apprehended. Please—continue to enjoy yourselves. The night—as a new friend of mine is fond of saying—is young.”

  People looked around, unsure.

  Sen walked into the crowd then, shaking hands, and accepting expressions of concern. Of sympathy.

  The party, hushed into silence a moment before, gradually came back to life.

  Reed felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Captain Archer standing next to him.

  “Nice work, Malcolm.”

  “Sir.” Reed shook his head in disbelief. “Did you see that? What that weapon did?”

  Archer frowned, and shook his head. “Not the weapon, Malcolm.”

  “Sir?”

  “Sen. It was what Sen did. He’s a dangerous man.”

  Reed nodded, about to concur, about to suggest that perhaps he should have let the woman do the job she’d set out to and then apprehended her when all at once, the captain smiled. Another false smile.

  “And here he comes now,” Archer said.

  Reed put on a smile himself, and turned to greet the governor.

  He had never been in any real danger, of course. Roia had flagged the counterfeit staff person—no doubt a Separatist—Sen was sure Intelligence division would find a connection soon enough, they were already rounding up the usual suspects and from that instant on, the guards had a relatively clear shot, minimal collateral damage assured, anytime they wanted to take it.

  But Sen had wanted to give the human—the dark-haired man, who’d spent the entire evening watching not just his captain but Sen—a chance to release some of his pent-up energy. To feel as if he were on top of the situation. To get him to relax, for just an instant.

  Starting right about now.

  “Captain Archer.”

  “Governor Sen. You’re all right?”

  “Yes. Fine. Thanks to your officer here.”

  “Lieutenant Reed.”

  “Lieutenant Reed.” Sen repeated the man’s name, and regarded him with a smile. “I owe you a great debt of thanks, Lieutenant. May I propose a toast?” Roia fed Sen a
n interesting tidbit of information through the implant then, and the governor turned toward the nearest refreshment table. “The mot’lok perhaps?”

  The captain, like the female earlier, changed color.

  “Something else,” Archer said. “That’s not my favorite.”

  Sen nodded. “Of course. It is an acquired taste. Like most things Klingon.”

  The governor smiled then, pleased at his own wit. At the glare in Archer’s eye.

  He snapped his fingers and a server approached (albeit with a bit of understandable hesitancy). They all ordered drinks.

  Back to business, Sen thought, and lowered his voice. “Captain, I wonder if I might have a word with you. I’ve been thinking a bit about what you said earlier—at the Assembly.”

  Archer smiled. “Governor. It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

  Sen smiled back. “Oh?”

  The drinks arrived. He and Archer made small talk. The dark-haired man—Reed—watched. Apparently, all the man’s pent-up energies hadn’t dissipated yet.

  That wouldn’t do at all. Sen subvocalized a command to Roia. A few seconds later, Kuda appeared.

  “I need to speak with you,” he said to Reed. “Regarding the terrorist.”

  Reed frowned, and shook his head.

  “Could we do it later? I’m feeling a bit worn-out at the moment.”

  What an excellent liar, Sen thought. He subvocalized another command.

  “Now would be better,” Kuda said. “While your memory of the event is fresh.”

  “I’d really rather wait,” he said, a little more firmly.

  “Malcolm.” Captain Archer touched his man on the shoulder. “Do it now, please.”

  The mask of false emotion Reed had been wearing dropped, and Sen could see the depth of the man’s concern. His suspicion.

  “Yes, sir,” he said reluctantly.

  “We’ll be right here,” Sen lied.

  Kuda led the man off.

  “He’s a good man,” Archer said again. “Occasionally overprotective, but a good man.”

  “He has your best interests at heart, I’m sure,” Sen said. “Now about that word…”