Frowning, Pennington asked, “And then what do you do with it?”
“That remains to be seen,” Sobon replied.
M’Benga asked, “What happens if this…separation…doesn’t work?”
Sobon’s eyes narrowed. “Then it is likely that T’Prynn will die.”
Despite the lingering heat permeating the room even this long after sunset, the Vulcan’s blunt statement sent a shiver down Pennington’s spine.
30
“Ambassador, you’re tired. You should go home and get some rest.”
Looking up from the curved desk at the center of his cramped, dimly lit office, Jetanien saw Akeylah Karumé, one of the diplomatic envoys assigned to his staff, watching him from the doorway. A statuesque human female with brilliant ebony skin and a penchant for dressing in vividly colored attire, she was most attractive by Terran standards. She stood cloaked in shadow, owing to the room’s muted illumination as well as the fact that Jetanien had deactivated the display monitors that normally fed him constant updates from a variety of sources. He noted that Karumé was carrying a data slate in one hand, and over her left shoulder hung the black bag she often used to carry whatever personal effects she brought with her to work each day. By all appearances, the envoy was on her way home for the evening.
“It’s not that I disagree with your assessment, Ms. Karumé,” he said as he reached for the nearly forgotten bowl of Denebian shellfish broth sitting near one corner of his desk. “However, the problems of any given day have a habit of ignoring the civilized strictures of regular business hours.” Taking a sip of the broth, Jetanien recoiled at the cold brew, which had congealed into a bitter paste since he had first procured it from his office food slot. How long ago had that been, anyway?
Karumé entered the office and, without invitation, placed her bag on one of the two guest chairs at Jetanien’s desk before settling into the other one. “I read the report on your latest meeting with the Tholian ambassador,” she said. “Not good.”
“To put it mildly, Ms. Karumé,” the ambassador replied. He rose from the backless chair designed to accommodate his bulky physique and moved to the food slot for another bowl of broth. “So long as Nezrene enjoys Federation sanctuary, there will be no negotiations.”
No matter what concession he had offered, the Tholian ambassador, Sesrene, had been immovable on that one basic point. It was obvious to Jetanien, even from the limited contact afforded the two diplomats via the subspace communications link, that his Tholian counterpart was most upset at the thought of whatever information Nezrene might now be sharing with the Federation. Jetanien had tried to reassure Sesrene that no collusion against Tholian interests was in the offing, but there was no penetrating the thick cloak of xenophobia that seemed to cover most Tholians.
Fairly troubling,he reminded himself, considering your whole reason for being assigned to this station is to resolve such disputes.Perhaps in time, if and when Nezrene’s efforts began to produce results, there would be new opportunities to reach out once again to the Tholians—assuming that they opted not to do anything rash in response to perceived threats.
Tholians acting rashly?The sour thought echoed in Jetanien’s mind as he took his fresh broth from the food slot. Perish the thought.
“So,” Karumé said, her nose wrinkling in apparent response to the broth’s odor, “what do we do now?”
“About the Tholians?” Jetanien asked, retaking his seat. “Nothing—for the moment, anyway.” He took a long drink from the bowl and sighed in contentment as the warm broth slid down his throat and its vapors drifted across his nostrils. With his free manus, he indicated the assortment of files and data slates covering his desk. “There are other pressing matters demanding our attention, my dear.”
“The Romulans,” Karumé said, nodding thoughtfully. “I read that report, too.”
Emitting a string of satisfied clicks, Jetanien nodded in approval. “You are nothing if not efficient and thorough, Ms. Karumé. It’s but one of the many reasons I am grateful for your presence on my staff.” He paused for another sip of his broth before continuing. “If the Romulans are emerging from their proverbial shells to investigate our interest in the Taurus Reach and they learn even a fraction of what we already know, then you can be sure it will have repercussions throughout the quadrant. The Romulan Empire is unlikely to stand idle and leave to us whatever treasures are to be found here.
“Then there are the simple questions of how long they’ve been here and how much they know,” he added, setting aside his broth. “Not just about the Taurus Reach but also about Starfleet and the Federation in general. It’s been more than a century since the war; each side naturally will want to know how far the other has advanced.” Shaking his head, Jetanien rested his manus on his desk. “This on top of the noise the Klingons keep making. If the Romulans are preparing some kind of new offensive, we may well be looking at a two-front war.”
Karumé leaned back in her chair. “Any word yet on how Starfleet Intelligence is reacting to the othernews about the Romulans?”
Jetanien released an irritated grunt. “If you mean this idea of Romulans and Vulcans possibly sharing common ancestry, as you might imagine, those in the business of being paranoid are doing exactly that. Even as we speak, comprehensive stratagems for the hunting and exposing of covert Romulan agents are being developed. The Vulcans in particular seem very distraught about this notion, though, of course, there’s a segment of their society that has always known about this.” Shaking his head, he added, “For a race known for its collective intelligence and enlightenment, Vulcans are almost human-like in their propensity for keeping secrets.”
“The societal implications alone could be overwhelming,” Karumé said. “It took decades for humans to accept the Vulcans after they came to Earth, and xenophobia escalated for months in the wake of the Xindi attack, even after that threat was neutralized. For something like this, with a brutal enemy being related to one of our most trusted allies?” She shook her head. “Imagine what could happen.”
Finished with the broth, Jetanien set the bowl aside. “I’d like to think your people have come a long way in that time, Ms. Karumé, and that such narrow-minded prejudices are a thing of your past.”
“You and me both.” Leaning forward in her seat, Karumé frowned as she studied the files on his desk. “What is all that? Since when do you keep real paper files?”
“I don’t,” Jetanien replied, holding up a leather-bound notebook for her to see. “Long ago, these belonged to a dear friend of mine—a human, believe it or not, named Selina Rosen. One of the most dedicated people I’ve ever known, she loathed computers and instead made copious use of real books and paper. She did all of her writing by hand, and only when something was intended for public dissemination did she give her notes to an assistant for transcription.” Indicating the collection with a wave of one manus, he added, “When she died, she left instructions for all of this to be delivered to me. It’s provided much inspiration over the years.”
“So, you cart all of this around with you from assignment to assignment?” Karumé asked. “Seems more than a bit impractical to me.”
Jetanien grunted in understanding. “When I was much younger, I considered it little more than an eccentric affectation, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate the almost visceral connection Selina had to her work.” Leaning closer to Karumé, he added, “It’s something I’ve tried myself from time to time, and I have often thought of incorporating the practice into my daily routine.”
Snorting in mock derision, Karumé replied, “Well, don’t look at me. I’ve seen your handwriting. Besides, I like computers and their accessories just fine, thank you.” She rose and went to the food slot on the far wall, where she entered a sequence on the rows of buttons on the control pad beneath the unit. A moment later, the door slid up to reveal what Jetanien recognized as a cup of coffee—brewed with a hint of vanilla, if his nostrils did not deceive him—along with a new bowl of the Denebian shellfish broth. After handing the broth to him, she returned to her seat, nodding toward the collection. “So, why are you poring over all of that, anyway? Feeling nostalgic?”