Of course, having such a gifted ambassador on hand also made Sandesjo’s job that much easier.

Closing the door behind her, she engaged the lock before moving behind the small, functional desk that faced the front of the room and was the office’s dominating piece of furniture. She ignored the clutter of papers, data slates, and other administrative detritus which characterized her very legitimate responsibilities as Jetanien’s senior attaché. Indeed, it was all of little importance, save for its single redeeming quality in that it supported the role she played here. Her position within the Chelon ambassador’s organization naturally provided her with access to a wealth of information which might have been all but impossible to access via other avenues.

Like now.

Reaching beneath her desk, Sandesjo retrieved the thin, unassuming metal briefcase she kept there and laid it atop her desk. She entered a combination—one of two the case’s lock would accept but the only one known solely to her—and opened the unit, releasing the false panel set inside and revealing the miniaturized subspace transceiver hidden within. It took a moment for the device to activate before she could key in the string of coded commands that would send an encrypted hail to her contact, Turag. After a moment, the transceiver’s compact display screen coalesced into an image of the Klingon, staring out at her with his usual expression of annoyed boredom.

Once the protocol for establishing identities and the security of their covert transmission was complete, Turag offered a brusque nod. “ You were not expected to submit a report at this time.”

He was right, of course. Like other long-term intelligence operatives scattered throughout the Federation and Starfleet, her primary consideration when undertaking any action was maintaining her cover. Stealth and virtual invisibility were her watchwords and her lifeline while spying on this most formidable enemy of the empire. Getting to this point had been a trying and time-consuming process, requiring her to remain dormant as she carried on in her assumed role as a member of the Federation Diplomatic Corps. That task had proven to be even more trying than enduring the demeaning process of having her Klingon countenance surgically altered to appear human, which she had done more than ten Earth-standard years earlier. Only after that much time had passed had the opportunity to serve on Jetanien’s staff presented itself, allowing her to be activated as a fully operational intelligence agent.

Part of the ongoing and even greater need to maintain her secrecy also meant adhering to the strict protocol regarding communications with her contacts. Turag, acting as her handler in addition to his own covert role as a member of Vanguard’s Klingon delegation, had enacted a schedule for her to submit reports on an irregular basis so as to assume the minimum amount of risk against detection. Naturally, there were measures in place for emergencies, which Sandesjo felt justified in employing now.

Nodding in response to Turag’s blunt introductory statement, she said, “I know, but I’ve just received new information that needs to be delivered to our superiors. A Tholian vessel has been destroyed, and the Tholians believe a Klingon ship may be responsible.”

His brow furrowed in suspicion. “ We have not heard of any such action. How do you know this is true?”

“Jetanien,” Sandesjo replied. “He had an unscheduled, private meeting with the Tholian ambassador early this morning. While I’ve not been briefed as to the full details of the entire conversation, he did inform me about this incident. A ship on patrol near the outer boundary of the Taurus Reach bordering Tholian territory was attacked by a vessel of unknown origin, and destroyed before its commander could make a thorough report. No description of the ship was offered, only that it registered no familiar weapons or propulsion signatures, and appeared capable of evading sensors.”

Assuming the action was not one sanctioned by the Klingon High Council, it was possible if not probable that Klingon intelligence operatives might soon learn of the incident. However, that Jetanien had learned of it only thanks to a private conversation held with the Tholian ambassador suggested to her that the Tholians were—for the moment, at least—keeping such knowledge classified. With this in mind, Sandesjo had decided the value of the information gleaned from Jetanien was more than worth the risk of offering an impromptu report to Turag.

Leaning forward in her chair, she added, “I was unaware that the empire possessed any ships with such abilities.”

“ That is of no concern to you, Lurqal,”Turag replied, addressing her by her Klingon name. “ Do you believe the Tholians may be planning a reprisal?”

Sandesjo shook her head. “I don’t know, and neither does Jetanien. Of course, if they were planning such action, they would not inform a Federation ambassador of their intentions.”

“ Is it possible the Federation is responsible?”Turag asked.

If not for the Klingon’s serious expression, Sandesjo might have laughed at the notion he offered. “You are as much aware of Federation policies on aggressive action as I am. They do not attack without provocation, nor are they in the habit of concealing their actions when they are forced to defend themselves. Besides, the Tholian commander said that the vessel presented no indications that it was from any familiar power.”

“ The Federation is notoriously reluctant to construct weapons for purely offensive military purposes,”Turag said, “ despite the conflicts in which they’ve found themselves over the years. Perhaps someone in their Starfleet— someone withnaghs— has finally learned the lessons imparted by their history and chosen to shoulder that burden.”

Pausing to consider that theory, Sandesjo decided it an unlikely scenario. Still, to appease her handler and keep this conversation moving, she nodded in agreement. “Even if that’s the case, it’s unlikely anyone assigned to this station would be aware of such a vessel’s existence, with the potential exception of Commodore Reyes.”

“ A logical conclusion,”Turag replied, making no effort to suppress the sneer that curled the corners of his mouth. “ Perhaps all the time spent with that Vulcan has influenced you in more ways than one.”

Despite her formidable self-control, Sandesjo still felt her blood warm in response to the other Klingon’s unvoiced yet undisguised accusation. “Explain yourself,” she demanded.

Shrugging, Turag offered a lascivious smile as he replied, “ Rumors, naturally. According to ‘unnamed sources,’ you and the Vulcan have been observed in situations that— shall we say— appear to be something other than purely professional.”

Sandesjo schooled her features and her voice to remain impassive as she regarded Turag over the comm link, at the same time relishing the image of the handler’s severed head impaled upon the point of her mek’lethas she sang a song of triumph and enjoyed a hearty mug of deliciously aged bloodwine. What did this filthy petaQ’puknow? Had he somehow become privy to the more intimate moments she shared with T’Prynn?

No, she decided. While Sandesjo expected that Turag would have her under constant surveillance, T’Prynn, being a seasoned intelligence operative in her own right, would almost certainly have taken steps to ensure she was protected from covert scrutiny.

Maintaining her neutral tone and demeanor, Sandesjo asked, “Do you wish to hear the rest of my report, Turag, or continue this clumsy attempt to fuel your fantasies? I don’t believe I have sufficient time to assist you in rousing that pathetic excuse for a loD-machyou claim to wield.”

His jaw clenching in response to her rebuke, Turag’s head bobbed in a curt nod. “ Continue.”