Leaning back in his chair, D’tran said, “I’m afraid that’s not completely accurate, my friend. My staff and I were under orders from my praetor to gather intelligence data not only on you but also Lugok and his staff by any means available. Though I did not agree with this action, there were those on my staff who acted of their own accord, working to breach your security systems as well as the Klingon Consulate in the hope of gleaning some sort of useful information.”
Jetanien turned from his wardrobe to regard his friend, who seemed to have aged years just in the past few days, no doubt owing to lack of rest and the stresses of the current situation. “They were successful?”
“In part,” D’tran replied. “S’anra came to me when she discovered the effort, and together we have been acting to keep their transgressions in check. While pretending to support their activities and receive regular status reports from them, S’anra saw to it that none of the data they collected—either from your or Lugok’s staff—was transmitted to Romulus.”
“Was Lugok aware of this?” Jetanien asked.
Nodding, D’tran replied, “I told him myself. We agreed to keep the incident between us, so as not to cause you concern or prompt you to lose faith in our efforts.” He then offered a small, wistful smile. “Lugok and I were using this as an opportunity to strengthen the bonds of trust between us.” He shook his head, and a tired chuckle escaped his lips. “Imagine, a Romulan and a Klingon working together to spare a Federation diplomat’s feelings. What would our forebears have thought about that?”
“If they had imagined it themselves,” Jetanien replied, “then countless lives might have been saved, and we would not need to be here today.” Stepping closer to the aged Romulan, he placed one of his large manus on the senator’s shoulders. “Of course that did not happen, and one of the few fortunate effects of that shortsightedness is that you and I were able to become friends.”
“Thank you, Jetanien.” D’tran reached out to place one weathered hand atop the Chelon’s. “For longer than you have been alive, I have wanted nothing but to find some way for our peoples to live together; not necessarily in peace, but at least not at war. I have seen much that has given me cause for despair, tempered only by a few incidents that have brought hope. None of those measure up to the vision you hold for us, my friend.”
Pulling back his manus, Jetanien drew himself up, feeling a sense of pride in the face of D’tran’s words. “Not just my vision. If not for you and even Lugok, none of this would have been possible.” He paused, sighing. “Though this can hardly be called our shining moment, I firmly believe it does not have to be our definingmoment. We will get through this, and we will do so together.” Would the Federation see things his way? Would any support his government might choose to show so far as this “great experiment” was concerned be reciprocated by its Klingon and Romulan counterparts? There would be no way to know that—at least, not until well after the crisis currently affecting Nimbus III was resolved.
A harsh buzz erupted from Jetanien’s desktop computer terminal as its screen began to blink bright crimson. He and D’tran exchanged confused looks before a new voice burst from the intercom.
“ Attention, all personnel!” shouted the voice of Constable Schiappacasse. “ The consulate is under direct attack. Move away from all doors and windows. Move away—”
Everything in the room rattled around the two diplomats, and Jetanien even felt the floor shaking beneath his feet as something seemed to punch the entire building. The impact was followed by a new set of alarms ringing in the hallway outside the room. Even over the new commotion Jetanien was able to hear the shouts of nearby consulate staffers and security officers, the overall tone of which was one of confusion and fear.
“What was that?” he asked, moving toward the window.
“Jetanien!” D’tran snapped, and the Chelon stopped in mid-stride, realizing what he was doing. “That was an explosion. Get back!”
Aghast, Jetanien felt his pulse racing as he absorbed the significance of his friend’s words. Rioters had for several days already been using explosive compounds and devices improvised from various materials. Their employment to this point had been isolated incidents, targeting buildings or vehicles that at the time of attack were not occupied. The makeshift contraptions had been utilized as statements of protest, not weapons, at least until now. This was different, and like the projectile rifles possessed by at least some of the remaining insurgents, the explosives signified a definite shift in motivation with respect to how far the protesters were willing to go.
“We have to stop this,” he said, reaching to his desk in an effort to support himself as he felt his legs shake. “People will be hurt or killed, D’tran. We can’t allow that to happen. Not now.”
D’tran’s expression was one of resignation. “We may not have a choice, my friend.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond his quarters and then his door slid open. Jetanien flinched as a figure brandishing a weapon ran into the room. To the Chelon’s great relief, it was Constable Schiappacasse, phaser held up and ready to fire. When she saw Jetanien she lowered her weapon, though her eyes remained wide with excitement.
“Ambassador,” she said, then upon seeing D’tran, added, “Senator. Time to go, gentlemen.” From somewhere behind her, shouts and the occasional burst of phaser fire echoed in the passageway.
“Where are we going?” Jetanien asked even as the constable gestured for him to join her at the door.
Schiappacasse pointed upward. “Roof. We’re bugging out and moving to a secure location to wait for reinforcements to arrive.”
There was more movement in the passageway, and Jetanien looked past Schiappacasse to see Sergio Moreno step into view. “They’re through the outside gate, sir. They’ll be inside any minute!”
“That’s our cue, people,” Schiappacasse snapped, her attention divided between the room and the hallway. “We’re outnumbered at least three to one if they get in here.”
With the constable leading the way, Jetanien, D’tran, and Moreno followed her from the room and down the corridor the Chelon knew would lead them to the building’s center staircase and access to the roof. They had progressed less than ten meters from Jetanien’s quarters when a flash from ahead of them illuminated the passageway just as another, louder explosion rocked the building. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and Jetanien was certain he heard what had to be the sounds of debris falling somewhere ahead of them
“They’re inside,” Schiappacasse hissed, increasing the pace of her advance as she closed the distance toward the foyer leading to the staircase. “Come on! Move!”
The quartet reached the stairway landing, itself a balcony overlooking the open space that was the center of the entire building. Jetanien peered over the railing to see smoke and dust billowing up from below. Where the set of massive double doors forming the front entrance should have been was now a ragged, gaping hole. Figures obscured by the smoke were darting about, and Jetanien heard the thump of running footsteps on the stairs.
“All units, report in!” Schiappacasse called into her communicator as she moved to take up a defensive position near the stairs. Jetanien, hearing the muffled sounds of a voice replying to the constable through the communicator’s speaker, began moving toward her, but he was stopped when she gestured upward with the muzzle of her phaser. “Get to the roof!”
Reaching back to take D’tran by the arm, Jetanien led the way to the stairs even as the footsteps from below continued to grow louder. The Chelon was startled by the howl of phaser energy in the narrow passageway, which was followed by the sound of something falling back down the stairs. Then a resounding snap echoed in the corridor and Jetanien heard Schiappacasse cry out in pain. He turned in time to see the security officer thrown backward and off her feet, her phaser sailing from her hand to disappear over the railing as she crashed to the floor. Jetanien stepped toward her, realizing as he drew closer that her face now was a mask of blood and shattered bone.