Releasing a derisive snort, the Klingon replied, “Come, Jetanien. You saw those who would represent the Empire. Criminals, disgraced warriors, and even those deemed unfit to serve. Outcasts from our society, but possessing not the fraction of pride necessary to take their own lives and restore some measure of honor to their Houses. They did not come here of their own volition; they were banished here. I should have demanded more. I should have demanded better. I failed in that regard.”
“I think we all failed,” Jetanien countered. “Our failure here was one of imagination. Perhaps the concept we envisioned was flawed from the start, and our peoples are not yet ready for peaceful coexistence.”
“So, we keep trying.”
Surprised by the abrupt comment, Jetanien turned to see Moreno regarding him, conviction evident in his eyes. Then, the man blinked several times, as though reconsidering whether he should have spoken.
“Go on, Sergio,” Jetanien prompted.
“It’s wrong to just give up so easily,” Moreno said. “Not after everything that’s happened. So what if our governments choose to continue doing things as they always have. D’tran worked under that burden for more than a century. He didn’t need or expect any assistance from his superiors, and yet for decades before any of us was born, he worked with his Federation contact to broker agreements and keep the peace. Now that he’s gone, someone else will have to take up that mantle, otherwise his death truly will be a tragedy.”
Jetanien sighed. “We can do that, but not here, and not today.”
Frowning, Moreno asked, “Why not?” Before either Jetanien or Lugok could respond, he said, “Tell me, what do you think will become of Paradise City?”
“I suppose it will be evacuated and abandoned,” Jetanien said, “a monument to what could have been.”
Moreno said, “Or, we can petition for the colony to be restored. Let it be a distraction, rather than an attraction.”
“A distraction,” Lugok repeated. “It could end up appearing more like a mockery.”
“And if it does,” Jetanien said, beginning to comprehend what his assistant was suggesting, “then so much the better.” When Lugok scowled in confusion, he held up one of his manus. “Think about it. There are colonists who would be content to stay on Nimbus III, so long as the situation is brought under control. We can convince our governments to let them stay here, particularly if the settlers are doing so on their own and not requesting much in the way of formal support. Let the ‘experiment’ continue, and let the detractors think it’s a waste of time.”
Lugok smiled. “And while everyone sees the very public failure on constant display, we in turn possess a haven where we might continue our work, away from the prying eyes of those who would seek to undermine real, open communication.”
“Exactly,” Moreno said.
Jetanien recalled the first clandestine meetings he had shared with Lugok and D’tran, there on the barren, unwelcoming surface of Nimbus III. From the shared insights and compromises reached during those first days had sprung Paradise City, with its promise of lasting peace forged between three interstellar neighbors. Despite the very real setbacks that had consumed the colony, Jetanien knew the situation could be remedied in short order, perhaps even within weeks after the arrival of support vessels. After that? There seemed now to be more reason than ever to revisit the strategy with which he and his companions had begun, only this time, there would be no spectacle, no pressure exerted from officious meddlers with no vested interest in the outcome. Removed from the spotlight, the peace process could, with proper nurturing, thrive.
“What do you think, Lugok?” Jetanien asked. “Is it worth pondering?”
The Klingon replied, “And what if someone takes notice of our little refuge of diplomacy?”
“Then we move it somewhere else,” Jetanien countered. “Someplace even more remote, if that’s what it takes. The location isn’t important. What matters is that we preserve the peace, by any means necessary.”
Lugok smiled. “D’tran would certainly approve. Come, let us find a bottle of bloodwine, and drink to the memory of that bothersome Romulan and all the work he will cause for us in the days to come.”
35
Ming Xiong studied the status indicators on the communications panel, satisfied that everything was properly set. “I think we’re ready to go.”
“Excellent,” replied Mahmud al-Khaled from where he sat at one of the half-dozen consoles that had been installed in the Lovell’s secondary cargo bay. “I’ve activated and synchronized the processor with the communications array. It should time out perfectly with the frequency rotation.”
Nodding in satisfaction, Xiong could not help smiling. “I have to say, the idea of adding a harmonics resonance processor was genius, Commander.”
“Tell that to my number two,” al-Khaled replied, gesturing toward another console, which was manned by Lieutenant Kurt Davis, the executive officer of the Lovell’s Corps of Engineers detachment. “It was his idea. Isn’t that right, Kurt?”
The tall, lean bald man was hunched over his console, engrossed in the data being fed to him by the workstation’s array of status monitors. Al-Khaled had to repeat the question before Davis looked up to see who was talking to him. “What?”
“He said if this doesn’t work, he’s blaming you,” called out a new voice, and Xiong turned to see the Lovell’s first officer, Araev zh’Rhun.
“Wow. There’s a fresh idea,” Davis replied, smiling. “Come down to keep an eye on us, Commander?”
Casting a sardonic look in the engineer’s direction, zh’Rhun said, “Someone has to keep you honest.” She turned her attention to al-Khaled. “So, where are we?”
The engineer replied, “I think we’re ready, Commander. Kurt?”
“Levels are optimum, sir,” Davis said, patting his console. “The subspace relay will draw power from the warp engines. That should help regulate the relay, the communications array, and the harmonics processor, and still provide enough juice to penetrate the crystals’ internal power fields while keeping the signal focused.”
“What about the universal translation matrix?” Xiong asked.
Tapping the console again, Davis replied, “Also ready to go. We know from the last run that the Shedai entity is likely receiving our signals. We think we were able to at least send a simple message through the translation protocols, but now that we’re synchronizing the harmonics to work more effectively with the orb’s interior crystalline structure, the translation should be more effective. Hopefully it’ll be enough to coax a response.”
Xiong nodded in approval at the report before turning to eye the self-contained chamber occupying the space at the center of the cargo bay. As before, all of its internal components had been activated and it now operated free of the Lovell’s other onboard systems. On one of the monitors at al-Khaled’s workstation, Xiong saw an image being fed to them from inside the chamber, that of the crystal polyhedron sitting in its cradle, waiting. The orb emanated its omnipresent violet glow, radiating a quiet menace that Xiong thought reflected the entity it contained. How would the Shedai react when a connection finally was made? What would it want? What would it say? Was there a chance it could be reasoned with, and some mutual understanding reached? Xiong had no idea. Despite the setbacks the previous three years had brought and even considering the obstacles he had faced and the challenges he had endured, he remained optimistic, even if that hope now was balanced with no small amount of caution. There was no denying the Shedai commanded unmatched power; what remained to be seen was whether their intellect and wisdom rivaled their strength. He could not believe that a civilization capable of achieving so much could not be engaged in constructive dialogue. What was needed was common ground, and a way for both sides to navigate their respective paths to that point of accord.
Will we find our path today? Only one way to find out.