47

Basking under lamps designed to simulate the warmth generated by the sun of his homeworld, Jetanien lay disrobed and belly-down atop the stone slab that was the dominating piece of furniture in the bedroom of his private quarters. Though the heat expelled by the lamps was far above the tolerance and even safety margins of most humanoid species, for a Chelon the effects were soothing, relaxing and reinvigorating muscles fatigued by the stresses of his position and the anxieties they evoked.

Despite the sun lamps’ calming effects, Jetanien was unable to shake entirely the frustration and despair that continued to gnaw at him even here in his otherwise comforting refuge. At this moment, both the Klingon and Tholian delegations were on their way to their homeworlds, having departed the station at the decree of their respective governments.

Though the summit had been tumultuous, Jetanien admitted, he felt also that the first signs of real, measurable progress had taken hold when the meeting met with untimely interruption. Events far beyond his influence had conspired to pull apart the tenuous links he was sure were on the verge of sending the Federation, Klingons, and Tholians down a path of mutual understanding and perhaps even cooperation. Once again, the three interstellar bodies eyed one another as players on different sides of a game board, each waiting for the other to initiate play. No, Jetanien decided, a better analogy was one of warriors in centuries past, who gazed upon each other across ancient battlefields in the moments prior to the first sword being drawn.

In essence,he mused, I have accomplished nothing.

In particular, Jetanien regretted the opportunity he had lost with Ambassador Sesrene. The Tholian diplomat had only just begun to offer substantive clues as to the reasons for his people’s bizarre, unexplained reactions to the Klingon and Federation presence in the Taurus Reach. That Jetanien might have come so close to answering so many lingering questions before his efforts were thwarted was as disheartening as it was frustrating.

Might a better diplomat have gotten those answers? Would he or she have made a more effective facilitator, rather than wasting precious time trying to regain control of a situation he or she should never have lost in the first place?

As they had from the moment Commodore Reyes suspended the summit, those questions tormented Jetanien. What could he have done differently, or more efficiently? What mistakes had he made, and which now demanded attention and correction in order to avoid repeating them? Would there be an opportunity to redeem himself?

What if it already was too late? Had he squandered his one chance to make a difference here, where steady, lucid leadership and gifted foresight were necessary if the unthinkable was to be avoided?

His thoughts were broken by the sound of his door chime. Rising from his sleeping tablet, Jetanien reached for a robe to cover his considerable bulk before answering the summons.

“Enter.” From beyond his bedroom he heard the sound of the door to his quarters opening, followed by the gentle, rhythmic footfalls of someone walking in his direction.

“Ambassador?” called out a female voice, one he recognized. A moment later, Akeylah Karumé appeared in his doorway, wearing one of her customary multicolored robes replete with its dazzling array of abstract designs. The tall, brown woman appraised him with an expression of alarm.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Your Excellency,” she said, glancing away in obvious embarrassment.

“Not at all,” Jetanien replied, clicking his beak as he stood up and ushered her into the room. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing her throat, Karumé said, “We’ve just received this parcel addressed to you.” She produced what he recognized as a standard-issue green diplomatic pouch of a type used by members of the Federation Council when in session on Earth.

“Indeed,” the ambassador said, considering this unexpected delivery. “From one of my esteemed colleagues, no doubt.” Experiencing a pang of optimism, he asked, “Might it have come from Sesrene?”

Karumé shook her head. “Actually, it’s from Lugok.”

Making no attempt to stifle his surprise, Jetanien released a disbelieving snort. “You’re joking. Did you have it scanned for explosives?” he asked even as he extended one of his thick webbed hands to take the proffered pouch from her.

“And biotoxins,” Karumé replied. “Though any self-respecting Klingon will tell you that to attack one’s enemies in such an underhanded manner is dishonorable.”

“Only if anyone were to find out,” Jetanien countered as he opened the pouch. Its contents consisted of a single green data cartridge, the squared variety used as secondary storage in Federation computer systems.

“Is there anything else, Your Excellency?” Karumé asked after a moment.

Shaking his head, Jetanien moved toward the doorway leading from his bedroom to his office. “No, my dear. Thank you for delivering this. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He walked to his desk, lowering himself onto the stool situated there before turning and holding up the data cartridge so that Karumé could see it. “If there’s anything here of note, I’ll be sure to call you immediately.”

Karumé took her leave of him, and Jetanien waited until the doors closed behind her before inserting the cartridge into his desktop computer interface and activating the unit. A moment later, the display screen flared to life and the image coalesced into view to show an almost genteel-looking Lugok.

“ Ambassador Jetanien,”the recorded image of the Klingon began, “ I apologize if this message disturbs you at an inconvenient hour.”

Never trust a polite Klingon,Jetanien mused as he considered Lugok’s expression.

“ Your Excellency,”the ambassador continued, “ as you certainly can appreciate, the demeanor of conflict a diplomat might project in a group setting is different than the one he might choose to show an individual in a more private discussion. Politics, as you well know, is as much a game of positioning and perception as it is power and progress.”

“I wonder, do I sound this way when I talk?” Jetanien asked aloud, the question of course being heard by no one.

On the screen, Lugok said, “ Despite the impasse at which our respective governments find themselves, I am…hopeful that you and I might find a way to continue the dialogue we began before the termination of the summit. It would be unfortunate if our superiors’ shortsightedness prevented us from realizing the potential you seem to believe awaits us all. I look forward to your response, so that we might discuss how best to proceed. Qapla’, Your Excellency.”

Jetanien was already stunned into silence as he watched the recording. His surprise was only compounded as Lugok’s expression melted into something that—loosely defined, of course—resembled a warm, welcoming smile. Then the image faded as the recorded message ended.

“Well,” Jetanien said to no one, “that certainly was unexpected.”

Naturally, the ambassador was suspicious. What could be motivating Lugok to act in this manner? Jetanien’s instincts told him the Klingon’s motives were far from noble, but what if he was wrong? Was it possible that Lugok had been visited by a realization that so far seemed to elude his superiors on the Klingon High Council? Might he truly be inspired to forge a lasting peace here in the Taurus Reach?

There is only one way to answer those questions.

Tapping one of his claws against his broad beak, Jetanien grunted in growing anticipation as he considered his options in responding to Lugok’s intriguing proposition. How should he proceed? What risks lay ahead, and were they worth incurring?