Frowning at the melodramatic climax to the doctor’s report, Xiong shook his head. “So what you’re saying is that while we’ve learned a lot from Erilon…”
“We’ve posed more questions than we’ve managed to answer,” Gek replied, his expression grim.
Xiong nodded. “So, we keep digging,” he said. “We’ve plenty more to review, thanks to the Endeavour’s sensors and a few other items we brought back.” His voice trailed off, his mood darkening as he envisioned the body of his friend, Bohanon, lying atop a table in the station’s morgue and awaiting examination.
Looking to the computer interface’s chronometer display, the lieutenant released a tired sigh. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to carry on without me for a while. I’m scheduled for debriefing in half an hour.” According to orders received even before the Endeavourmade port, Xiong was to report to Commodore Reyes before meeting with a member of Captain Desai’s JAG staff. He was not looking forward to either meeting, knowing that secrecy would be the order of the day, as it always was when it came to his mission and how he interacted with almost everyone on the station. It was an aspect of his assignment which he loathed, even though he understood—to a degree—the necessity behind it.
Taking his leave of Dr. Gek and heading for the Vault’s exit, Xiong longed for the day when secrets, military or otherwise, would no longer be necessary, while also admitting that such a day was unlikely to come in his lifetime, if ever.
23
“I must admit, Your Excellency,” Sovik said as he entered the main meeting room of Jetanien’s suite of offices, “that serving in the Federation Diplomatic Corps never ceases to offer a conduit for…unique experiences.”
“Perhaps you would care to elaborate for us, Mr. Sovik?” Jetanien asked, indicating the rest of the meeting’s participants as they each took seats around the room’s polished conference table. Moving toward his glenget, the backless “chair” that allowed the Chelon to kneel in repose, he slurped heartily from his bowl of chilled Javathian oyster broth before setting it down on the table.
The Vulcan envoy remained expressionless. “I did not believe that a Tholian was capable of emitting sardonic laughter.” Pausing a beat, he punctuated his observation with a slight raising of his right eyebrow. “Until today.”
Jetanien allowed a smirk to cross his leathery features, but one that likely would be discerned more by his fellow beak-mouthed Chelons than his staff. “Well,” he said as he surveyed the room from his seat at the head of the table, “I’m reasonably certain that the Tholian to whom you refer…”
“Ambassador Sesrene,” Sovik clarified.
“Ah, yes, AmbassadorSesrene,” Jetanien amended, “would be pleased in his own way to know that the nuance of his inflection was not lost upon his audience, particularly in light of the fact that Vulcans seldom appreciate sarcasm.” He chuckled at that, which came out as a halting series of clicks and chirps.
Sovik offered nothing more as he took a seat next to Akeylah Karumé, the colorfully attired diplomatic envoy assigned to Ambassador Lugok of the station’s Klingon delegation.
Situated across from Karumé, who seemed to sneer over the rim of her steaming cup of coffee, was a tired-eyed Dietrich Meyer, whose apparent inability to manage himself with the Klingons recently cost him his posting as Lugok’s point of contact to Jetanien—to say nothing of nearly losing his life via the business end of the Klingon ambassador’s d’k tahg.
Seated next to Meyer was Anna Sandesjo. In contrast to Meyer’s slouched and disheveled appearance, the young aide sat ramrod straight in her chair, prepared as always to carry out her plethora of duties as Jetanien’s trusted senior attaché. Observing her, a woman whom he could appreciate as being physically appealing among humanoids, Jetanien unconsciously straightened himself on his chair. While he did not doubt that his presence carried with it an air of respect among his staff, he nevertheless suffered from an occasional bout of preoccupation as to how he appeared before them.
Part of being in control is looking in control,he reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time this month.
“Despite whatever our estimable Tholian colleague may have communicated to Mr. Sovik,” Jetanien said as he regarded his staff, “we are preparing for him and his delegation to join us here with Ambassador Lugok as quickly as possible. While there are sure to be many specifics offered for superficial discussion, our intent is to root out the truth underlying their people’s escalating conflict here in the Taurus Reach, and then lead them to an accord that will settle this situation before it embroils us all.”
Meyer turned toward Sandesjo and mumbled something under his breath, which prompted barely a glance from the woman. Jetanien expected no less from Meyer, but nevertheless felt compelled not to let it pass without comment. “While I am one to appreciate your fumbled attempts at lightheartedness on occasion, Mr. Meyer, even you should be able to grasp the importance of timing to the art of comedy. This, sir, is hardly the time.”
Meyer cleared his throat and offered a sheepish expression. “Excuse me, Your Excellency.”
“I would excuse you from this meeting,” Jetanien said, “as well as from these particular proceedings and from the Diplomatic Corps completely, Mr. Meyer, were I not for some reason laboring under the impression that you have something to contribute to this process. Is my belief misplaced?”
His words seemed to have a sobering effect on Meyer, who widened his eyes and pushed himself up in his seat. “No, Your Excellency. It isn’t.”
“Then comport yourself accordingly,” Jetanien said before turning to Karumé. “May I presume, Ms. Karumé, that the invitation you extended to Ambassador Lugok was accepted with a dash more civility?”
“Um, as youmight define it?” Karumé asked. “Or as Lugok would?”
“I would settle for either,” Jetanien said as he reached for his broth.
Leaning back in her seat, the envoy nodded. “Then, yes, he very politely accepted our invitation to meet with the Tholians, and followed his acceptance with an offer to let me watch as he pulverized Sesrene into the ambassador’s ‘orthorhombic component structures,’ as he put it.” Shrugging, she added, “Frankly, I was a bit surprised to hear that Lugok knew that much about crystallography.”
Allowing a moment for Meyer’s bout of laughter in reaction to Karumé’s deadpan observation, Jetanien said, “I’d hardly recommend you start trusting the ambassador’s prowess in the sciences, though it does offer us some insight as to Ambassador Sesrene’s reticence to attend our summit, now, does it not?”
Turning in her seat so she could face him, Sandesjo replied, “That’s hardly surprising, Your Excellency. Given that our intelligence suggests the Tholians have been the aggressors in every recent confrontation with the Klingons we’ve been able to document, they’re likely itching for a fight. Further, their tactics of sneak attack and retreat are probably adding insult to injury. That’s certainly not what a Klingon would view as—”
“Honorable conduct,” Jetanien said, anticipating what his aide was about to say. “Yes, of course. One day soon, I shall undertake a comprehensive course of study as to what precisely constitutes Klingon honor. I assume such things are written down, on sacred parchment or stone tablets or some such thing. I further gather that such sacrosanct documents must be viewed by very few Klingons, given their propensity for redefining their notions of honor more often than I don fresh undergarments.”
A chorus of polite laughter echoed in the meeting room for a moment, before Meyer leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows atop the conference table. “Isn’t it safe to say that their actions might enrage anyone, Anna, Klingon or not? Even with Lugok not at the table, what makes us think that Sesrene would be any more forthcoming to us as to the Tholians’ motives lately?”