“Of course there’s a rational explanation,” the Tellarite called out. “It’s because the Klingons are the ones who start all the fights!” The comment was enough to elicit laughter from his companions, as well as several other members of the audience.
“All right,” Jetanien said, raising both his voice and his arms in an attempt to reassert control of the meeting. “Let’s all do our best to keep this dialogue productive for everyone, shall we?”
Ignoring the Chelon’s plea, Kanjar turned to point toward his heckler. “Whereas fat, lazy Tellarites do nothing but start arguments they can’t finish.”
Springing to his feet with more speed and grace than Jetanien would have thought possible given his girth, the Tellarite grunted as he aimed his own pudgy digit at the Klingon. “By Kera and Phinda, I’ll finish this one!” Several of his comrades also rose from their seats, each of them glowering at Kanjar as though daring him to attack all of them. In response, Kanjar squared his shoulders and clenched his fists, and Jetanien knew that there were perhaps a handful of seconds at best before the aggrieved Klingon took matters into his own hands. As other members of the audience began standing up—some moving for a nearby exit while others stood their ground—another, unexpected voice made itself heard.
It was with no small amount of relief that Jetanien watched Constable Schiappacasse move from her place at the rear of the room and make her way through the crowd to where the Tellarite stood with his companions.
“Sir, if you’ll come with me for just a moment?” she asked, her voice low and polite, but firm.
Eyeing her with suspicion, the Tellarite said, “What? Me? Why am I being singled out?”
Schiappacasse shook her head. “You’re not, sir. I’m just trying to keep the peace here, is all. We’re going to step to the back of the room for a minute while the ambassador gets the meeting back on schedule.”
“Go, Tellarite!” Kanjar said, laughing. “Hide behind the Earther woman, though I suspect that will be a challenge, given your ponderous bulk.” The comment evoked more laughter from the audience, though Jetanien was buoyed at the realization that it came only from a precious few observers.
“Friends!” said D’tran. The aged Romulan had risen to his feet and made his way to stand next to Jetanien, holding up one withered hand. “Let us not allow these proceedings to deteriorate. We are all tired, and we all have legitimate concerns, but no one can truly be heard unless we all agree to listen.”
“Perhaps we should adjourn the meeting for this evening,” Jetanien said, feeling his own anxiety increasing with each passing moment. Even as he made the suggestion, he wondered if that might be the best course. What would happen when the emotionally charged audience spilled into the city street? Without even the semblance of order offered by the public meeting hall, would this disagreement escalate into yet another fight? Would Schiappacasse and her people be able to contain such a situation?
If Kanjar heard D’tran’s request, he seemed not to care. “No one here has anything to say that I wish to hear.” He nodded to Jetanien while addressing Lugok. “The Earthers and their pets like to stand around and talk, but I expected more from a Klingon, even one who resigns himself to futile pursuits such as this. Are you truly willing to look on while Klingons are subverted and oppressed, and do the bidding of Federation lapdogs such as this?” Gesturing to D’tran, he added, “Are we so weak that we must take orders from Romulans so feeble they can barely stand upright, let alone comport themselves in battle?”
“Enough!” Lugok snapped, lunging from his chair and launching himself from the dais before Jetanien or D’tran could say anything. He vaulted the distance separating him from Kanjar in a single leap, landing before the surprised farmer and seizing the other Klingon by the arm. Without preamble, he turned Kanjar toward the door and began advancing toward it. Schiappacasse looked to Jetanien for direction, but the Chelon shook his head.
“You heard Ambassador Jetanien, this meeting is over.” Looking back over his shoulder, the Klingon called out in a louder voice, “That means everyone. Go home.” Jetanien and everyone else in the room could only watch as Lugok disappeared through the doorway, all the while hoisting Kanjar high enough that his boots barely touched the ground.
“Leave it to Lugok to dispense with protocol,” D’tran said as the crowd began to disperse.
Jetanien nodded. “It would seem that we’re reaching a tipping point among the colonists. I can appreciate their frustrations, but if we lose the drive to work together, I fear all hope for this colony may be lost.”
“We may have asked for too much too soon, my friend,” D’tran replied. “A noble effort, yes, but perhaps one we are not yet ready to achieve.”
Both diplomats turned at the sound of approaching footsteps as Constable Schiappacasse moved to stand before the dais. Her features were darkened by worry, and Jetanien could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I think you should consider implementing the first stage of our contingency plan.”
“Curfews?” Jetanien asked.
Schiappacasse nodded. “Just for the next night or two. I’d like to increase our security patrols, as well. By no means do I want this to be permanent—just until we can calm things down a bit. Based on some of the things we’ve been seeing the past few nights, along with what went on in here, it feels like people are looking for an excuse to fight. I’d like not to give them that.”
Turning to D’tran, Jetanien asked, “What are your thoughts on this?”
The aged Romulan sighed. “I don’t relish the notion of added restrictions and enforcements which might make us appear to be panicked ourselves. If anything, such action might serve only to solidify any resentment against us as the authorities of the colony. Any response we take needs to be measured, restrained, and explained to the public as thoroughly and honestly as possible.”
“We also can’t afford to seem indecisive,” Schiappacasse countered. “There’s still a significant number of the population who support the colony and what you’re trying to achieve here. They need to know we’re taking steps to protect them, as well.”
D’tran nodded. “Agreed.” To Jetanien, he said, “Very well, my friend.”
“Constable,” Jetanien said, “alert your security forces. I’ll prepare a statement for the colony, and we’ll broadcast it as soon as—”
A heavy thump resounded off the walls of the meeting hall, rattling windows as well as the arrangement of chairs occupying the chamber’s main floor. The overhead lighting blinked several times before returning to its normal, steady state, and Jetanien flinched, recalling the incident at the spaceport from several evenings ago.
“Oh no,” D’tran said, and when Jetanien looked to him he saw that his elderly friend’s lined face had gone white with shock.
“That was just outside!” Schiappacasse yelled, already turning and running for the door.
D’tran said, “No, it wasn’t, but it was close.” From somewhere beyond the building, sirens could now be heard blaring in the streets. Jetanien recognized the alarm as the one designated for citywide emergencies calling for the security force to begin employing crowd control procedures.
“Come,” Jetanien said, his voice fearful as he took his friend by the arm. “We need to see what’s happened.” After he assisted D’tran from the dais, both diplomats crossed the room toward the exit when the heavy door was flung open to reveal Lugok.
“Not this way,” the Klingon said, pointing past Jetanien toward the room’s opposite end. “Out the back, now!” He did not wait for a response as he pushed Jetanien and D’tran up the chamber’s main aisle.
“What happened?” Jetanien asked.
“A bomb,” the Klingon replied. “Just up the street. Two storefronts were destroyed just as the crowd left here. There are numerous casualties.” When D’tran paused in response to this report, Lugok reasserted his grip on the Romulan’s arm. “Keep moving!”