“Route it to my viewer,” Jetanien called out, walking back into the office and taking a position behind his desk so that he could see his computer display. The unit’s compact viewscreen activated, providing an image of Carla Schiappacasse, her eyes wide with concern and her hair tucked under a white brimmed cap that distinguished her as a member of the colony’s security force.
“ Ambassador Jetanien, I was told Senator D’tran was with you this morning. As you’re no doubt aware by now, we’ve had an incident here at the spaceport involving the Romulan senator’s private shuttle.”
“This is D’tran,” the elder Romulan called to the viewer as he moved to stand next to Jetanian. “What has happened?”
“ I’m relieved to see you, Senator,” the security liaison said. “ I was unable to raise you on your personal communicator.”
“I apologize,” D’tran replied, reaching into the folds of his robes to produce the compact communications device. “I had deactivated it.”
“ As long as you’re safe,” Schiappacasse said, frowning as she lowered her head as though studying something off-screen. “ I’m afraid the same can’t be said for your shuttle, sir. It’s been destroyed.”
D’tran’s expression showed his alarm at the news. “Was anyone hurt?”
“ Not so far as we’ve been able to determine, sir,” Schiappacasse replied. “ We’ve had several injuries among our security staff, and they’re being treated at the infirmary.”
Standing to Jetanien’s right, Lugok grunted in disapproval at the report. “Do you know what happened?”
The image, which jostled enough for Jetanien to realize they were seeing the view as transmitted from a handheld device, shifted to move Schiappacasse out of frame and focus on the tarmac. There was now a clear view of the smoldering wreckage of what Jetanien recognized as the Romulan transport. The smoke streaming from the ruined craft matched what he had seen from his balcony, and the ship itself was continuing to burn.
“We’re still waiting on a detachment from the fire brigade to arrive on scene,”Schiappacasse said after a moment. “We were attacked, Ambassador. Our best estimates count a dozen colonists who infiltrated the port’s secure area. All of them were angry and demanding access to a spacecraft so that they could leave the planet.”
“What?” Jetanien asked, stunned by what he was hearing. While pockets of unrest had continued to be trouble for the constabulary almost since the colony’s first day, none of the incidents so far had risen to the level of deliberate, malicious attacks on private property. More troubling than the assault itself was its apparent motivation.
Schiappacasse’s face returned to the viewer. “ I admit we didn’t consider how serious they were. I thought it was something we could get under control, but they weren’t being very receptive.”
“Who was it?” D’tran asked.
Clearing her throat, the security liaison replied, “ Klingons, sir. They said they were tired of being lied to about the situation here. There was something about their farming work being doomed before they could even start, and that they refused to stay here. When my staff and I tried to get them under control, they stormed the tarmac.”
Lugok said, “Consider yourself fortunate, Constable. They might just as easily have killed you and your staff.” Turning his attention to Jetanien, he added, “It sounds as though this group is among our newer arrivals, brought here specifically for the task of assisting with our agricultural needs.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I was told they had a warrior’s drive to help us, but I found them to be less than motivated from the moment they arrived. I should have known they would cause trouble.”
“Constable,” D’tran said, “you indicated they were seeking transport off-world?”
On the screen, Schiappacasse nodded. “Yes, Senator. Your transport was among those vessels they were able to access after reaching the tarmac. Though we were able to keep them from hijacking the ship, once it was clear they wouldn’t succeed, one of the colonists—a female, according to the initial report by security teams at the scene—broke away from the group and threw some sort of explosive underneath it. After that, it was too late to do anything else. I must stress that we won’t know more until we’ve had time to conduct an investigation.” She paused, reaching up to cover her mouth as she coughed, perhaps from inhaling smoke. “Obviously, we need to find out where they got the explosive, and if they have any more.”
Jetanien asked, “Are you worried they may have smuggled contraband weapons to the colony, Constable?”
“They would have no need to do that,” Lugok countered. “I suspect the components for building an improvised explosive are in abundance here, despite the colony’s standing directives against weapons.”
D’tran grunted. “Now, there’s a comforting thought.” To the viewscreen, he said, “Have the infiltrators been taken into custody?”
“ Yes, Ambassador,” the liaison replied. “ They’re being held here until we can secure transport to the brig.”
“I’ll question them myself,” Lugok said, almost growling the words.
Jetanien nodded. “We need to know if this is an isolated incident, or the symptom of a larger problem.”
“Indeed,” the Klingon said, before setting the bottle of blood-wine on Jetanien’s desk and making his way from the office.
Turning his attention back to Schiappacasse, Jetanien said, “Thank you for your report, Constable. Please keep us informed of your findings as you are able.”
“ Of course, sir. Schiappacasse out.”
As the viewer deactivated, Jetanien looked to D’tran. “Well, for the moment, I think we can assume that your ship was not deliberately targeted.”
“Perhaps it was coincidental,” the aged Romulan replied, “but I cannot help but be troubled by this. Taken with the other incidents of unrest, I am beginning to fear that a pattern is emerging.” Sighing, he added, “Jetanien, have you considered the possibility that there might be some form of organized, united effort being brought to bear against our mission here?”
In point of fact, Jetanien had lost count of the occasions on which he had pondered that very notion. “If that is the case, then we do not have the resources to combat it.”
More troubling than that unfortunate reality, he knew, was the greater concern that anyone planning such action was also well aware of the colony’s vulnerability.
19
It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Ja’tesh guided the Sporak all-terrain vehicle along the broken, uneven ground, steering it over and around rocks, vegetation, ditches, and other depressions with practiced ease. She had been piloting such vehicles since childhood, having been taught by her father almost from the time she had been able to walk.
“You drive as though you are possessed by a demon escaped from Gre’thor,” said her mate, Kraloq, from where he sat in the Sporak’s front passenger seat to Ja’tesh’s left.
She laughed, keeping one hand on the wheel while reaching with the other to poke her mate’s muscled arm. “Be thankful the ground’s dry,” she said, making no effort to quell the mischievous pleasure she was deriving from Kraloq’s discomfort. “There’s nothing like driving one of these through the mud after a good rainfall. That’s the sort of terrain these Sporaks were built to conquer.” Kraloq’s only reaction was to roll his eyes, a response that prompted another laugh from Ja’tesh.
She knew that, like most males, Kraloq preferred to pilot the vehicle rather than subjugate himself to his mate’s desires, but he endured this affront to his ego with silence, at least most of the time. As for her, the comfortable whine of the Sporak’s engine as its vibrations permeated the vehicle’s every surface never failed to soothe her. Likewise, they always elicited recollections of traveling with her father to his favorite hunting grounds on Qo’noS. The journey took almost an entire day from their home, with the travel time spent singing songs or listening to her father tell all manner of stories. Such tales often received increasing levels of embellishment during each subsequent trip, which only served to heighten their charm and embed themselves in Ja’tesh’s vast catalog of fond memories.