“Aye, sir,” the Vulcan replied.
An authoritative tone from the communications panel on Nogura’s desk interrupted the proceedings, and he reached for his desktop computer interface and tapped the key to activate it. Expecting a visual communication from his assistant or perhaps even Commander Cooper up in the station’s operations center, the admiral instead was surprised to see the heading for an eyes-only encrypted communiqué indicating the need for his immediate attention.
“Thank you both,” he said, calling an abrupt end to the meeting. “That’ll be all. Dismissed.”
He said nothing else, watching until the door slid closed behind the pair of junior officers, leaving him alone. Reaching for another control on his desk, he activated the door’s lock, thereby preventing his assistant or anyone else from entering and interrupting what he was about to do. He then entered his authorization code on the computer terminal, unlocking the encrypted communication. He was surprised to see from the message’s header that it had been sent by Captain Blair from the Defiant,which at this moment was supposed to be making its way back from the distant Traelus star system.
It was a distress call.
31
“Lies! Every word that comes out of your loathsome face is a lie!”
The Klingon, whom Jetanien recognized as a farmer named Kanjar, was one of the colony’s more outspoken residents. He stood at the rear of Paradise City’s Public Hall, dressed in a soiled set of coveralls, the cuffs of which were tucked into a pair of oversized, scuffed, and muddy boots. His hair, long and also covered with a film of dust, was pulled back from his face and secured at the back of his neck, though a few strands had freed themselves to hang before his eyes. His outburst had captured the attention of the several dozen colonists occupying seats in the hall, bringing to an abrupt end the candid yet calm discussion being guided by Jetanien with the help of Lugok and D’tran.
Rising from his seat at the center of the raised dais positioned at the front of the room, Jetanien gestured toward the Klingon. “Kanjar, please, join us. We’d be happy to address your concerns. Perhaps they are even shared by others in the audience.” Even as he extended the offer, the ambassador knew he was on shaky ground. After spending the better part of the past two hours discussing the recent escalating displays of civil unrest within Paradise City and in several of the outlying camps, he had been pleased to see that many of the citizens who had chosen to attend the proceedings appeared mollified by the discourse as well as some of the proffered remedies. An outburst such as Kanjar’s, if the renewed mumblings he heard from the crowd were any indication, carried with it the potential to tip the mood of the meeting back to one of uncertainty and discord.
“They are not merely my concerns,” Kanjar snapped, his voice echoing off the chamber’s high, smooth rock walls, “nor are they even just the concerns of the people in this room. No, they apply to every Klingon and every colonist on this worthless planet!” Even if Jetanien had not already known that Kanjar—according to the constabulary—was among those suspected of being involved in a handful of acts of unrest in recent weeks, he could see that the Klingon’s tone and stance were those of someone accustomed to influencing others. The ambassador had no doubt that, given sufficient motivation, Kanjar might well be capable of inciting even greater, more aggressive acts of resistance.
Jetanien turned to his right and regarded Lugok, who for the first time seemed at least somewhat interested in contributing more to the proceedings beyond the occasional scowl, grunt, and indifferent glare directed at the audience. “Perhaps you might weigh in on this, Ambassador?”
For his part, the Klingon diplomat shifted his position in his chair before emitting a disapproving groan. While Lugok had privately communicated to Jetanien his opinion that public forums such as this were futile and even stupid gestures with no conciliatory value, he had promised Jetanien not to share that opinion with the citizenry. Holding true to his word, the ambassador said nothing to that particular effect as he rose from his chair.
“ Qagh Sopbe’!” he snapped, pointing to the Klingon farmer. “You’ve spent too much time in the sun, Kanjar. Sit down and learn something.”
Though he said nothing, Jetanien still could not help the audible sigh that escaped his mouth. This will not end well. As the thought taunted him, he glanced to the rear of the meeting hall, where Constable Schiappacasse and two members of her security staff stood along the back wall, maintaining a discreet vigil over the proceedings. Schiappacasse offered him a subtle nod, reassuring him that she would, if necessary, step in and alleviate any problems before they got out of hand.
From where he sat to Jetanien’s left, Senator D’tran said in a low voice, “Perhaps calling him a coward isn’t the best choice for attempting to calm his temperament.”
For his part, Kanjar waved away Lugok’s suggestion. Instead, he stepped forward until he stood just in front of the raised dais before turning to regard the audience. “But, I will make certain that everyone in this colony learns something that will change their minds about the promise of Paradise City.”
Jetanien stepped to the edge of the dais. “I ask you again, Kanjar,” he said, keeping his voice low and level, “take a seat so that we can discuss these issues in an open and honest manner.”
Turning to face Jetanien, Kanjar leveled an accusatory finger at the ambassador’s broad chest. “Open and honest manner? Will you openly and honestly admit that your police force is at this moment holding as prisoners those who would make their voices heard regarding the truth of this colony?”
“Anyone currently in the custody of the constabulary has been suspected of violating codes of conduct,” Jetanien replied. “Your right to protest has not been suppressed, but security has been ordered to step in when such protests become disorderly and a possible danger to other citizens.”
Kanjar grunted in obvious dissatisfaction. “And the majority of your arrests have been Klingons!”
Renewed stirring from the crowd reached Jetanien’s ears, and when he looked up to scan the faces of the audience he saw expressions of irritation and impatience. Accompanying those, however, were reactions of interest and even concern over what Kanjar was saying. The implications of the Klingon’s words were obvious, and any public claims or allegations of inequitable treatment along racial lines, given the charged climate currently permeating the city, might add to an already tense situation.
“I do not have detention records to consult,” Jetanien said, “but even if that is the case, I’m sure there must be some rational explanation.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they possessed a hollow ring. He had received enough reports from Constable Schiappacasse to know that many—though certainly not all—of the problems in recent weeks had involved several of the Klingon colonists. The main problem, as he saw it, was not that non-Klingons were more virtuous than Klingons—far from it. There were plenty of accounts of bar fights, vandalism, and petty squabbles from other settlers to know that the problem was not so simple as blaming any one group. Instead, the evidence seemed to indicate that the Klingon colonists, on general principle if for no other reason, were predisposed to using aggressive means to resolve disputes.
As if you needed a report to tell you that. The thought was a disturbing one, though Jetanien could not dismiss it.
“Hah!”
The new voice of dissent came from the far left side of the room, and when Jetanien looked in that direction he saw a bulky Tellarite sitting among another group of colonists, his expression, like theirs, indicating equal parts of amusement and disdain. The brown jumpsuit he wore looked to be soiled with dirt and perhaps grease, leading Jetanien to wonder if the Tellarite was one of the mechanics tasked with servicing and repairing the multitudes of farming and other equipment upon which the Nimbus III colony relied.