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Tain smiled right back. “And who will provide intelligence reports for your military?”
Dismissively, Kell said, “We have our own intelligence resources.”
It was all Tain could do to keep from laughing in Kell’s face at the very idea. One of the reasons why the Obsidian Order existed was because of the military’s woeful lack of “intelligence resources.” Every attempt they had made to cultivate some had met with dismal failure.
Alnak fixed Kell with a gaze that might have been penetrating had her hair not been in such disarray. “And with what will you pay for this war, Legate?”
That brought Kell up short, and for the second time, the speaker left the legate speechless. Two times too many,Tain thought.
“It is true,” Alnak continued, “that the Detapa Council ca
Tain was grateful that, in this at least, Alnak was on his side. He’d hate to have to kill her.
Whatever Kell’s failings, however, he knew when he was defeated. Without the support of the Order or the Council, his ability to fight the Klingons would be severely curtailed. Leaning forward in his chair, he said, “Very well. If we are to negotiate, who is to mediate?”
“The Federation,” Alnak said without hesitation. “It is the wish of the Council that we attempt to rehabilitate our relationship with the Federation after that unfortunate incident on Vulcan last year.”
Tain of course made no reaction; Kell did seethe a bit, though. It had been a joint Central Command/Obsidian Order operation to disrupt the summit at Vulcan in order to sever ties between the Federation and the Legarans. Unfortunately, as with most joint operations between the two bodies, it was a disaster. Central Command had, of course, insisted that the saboteurs were renegades, but the Federation was not made up of fools. Legara IV remained under the protection of the Federation’s military arm, Starfleet, and the Federation now viewed Cardassia as a potential foe instead of a potential ally. It was, in Tain’s experience, much harder to slip a knife into the heart of an enemy than that of an ally.
Not that Tain was too put out by the failure of that operation—it had proven that his predecessor was no longer fit to run the Order, and allowed Tain to gather support for his own candidacy for the job, once his predecessor met with his unfortunate accident.
Still, using the Federation made sense. They had been allied with the Klingons since Praxis, and they were very good at filling the air with pointless words—the perfect diplomats.
“Very well,” Kell said reluctantly. “However, we will be preparing for a conflict—in case the Klingons prove to be less than amenable to negotiations,” he added with an insincere smile.
“Excellent.” Alnak sounded relieved. Tain was disappointed in her being so transparent. But then, she hadn’t been called upon to do this sort of thing often. As a general rule, Central Command and the Order looked after their own affairs, with the Detapa Council’s oversight being little more than a formality. But the potential magnitude of this crisis required the cooperation of all three organizations.
From Tain’s perspective, this entire incident was proving to be incredibly valuable. In the short term, he had obtained useful information about Legate Kell and First Speaker Alnak. In the long term, this negotiation would allow his people to observe both the Klingons and the Federation more closely. The expansion program that had brought them Bajor and attempted to bring them Legara IV was also bringing their borders much closer to the sphere of influence of both powers.
The Klingons were an empire that had been bringing worlds under their heel for centuries. They had a reputation for fierceness and cruelty that Tain was sure was well earned. As for the Federation, though they claimed to be beneficent and egalitarian, they were as imperialistic a state as Tain had ever seen, expanding to an astonishing number of worlds. Tain would have thought that their democratic system would collapse under its own weight, especially at the size the Federation had achieved, but it seemed to function efficiently.
If Cardassia is to take its place as the leader of the galaxy, we must know as much as we can about these nations that will oppose our destiny.
The meeting adjourned soon thereafter. Tain could see that Kell was furious. He could also see that the legate was trying desperately to read Tain’s own expression and was frustrated at his inability to do so. Get used to disappointment,Tain thought.
He rose from his chair. “Thank you, Madam Speaker,” Tain said with a small bow. Turning to Kell, he added, “And best of luck to you, Legate.”
His polite response only seemed to anger Kell more. Tain simply smiled the blandest smile he had in his repertory and moved to the exit, all the while trying to decide which agent he would send to infiltrate the negotiating team.
Chapter 9
U.S.S. Carthage
When Lieutenant Ian Troi had been given permission by Commander Rachel Garrett to attend the reception, he had forgotten how damned uncomfortable Starfleet dress uniforms were.
Maybe participating in a Betazoid wedding has changed my opinions on clothes just a bit,he thought with a smile as he shifted the collar on the red dress uniform in the vain hope of keeping it from rubbing against his Adam’s apple.
Resigning himself to spending the evening scratching his neck, he left his quarters and headed to the U.S.S. Carthage’s recreation lounge. The room had been converted into a reception hall for this, the first night of what hoped to be a fruitful negotiation between the Klingons and the Cardassians over the disposition of Raknal V. In the three weeks since the Betreka Nebula Incident, the three sides had agreed to hold negotiations aboard the Miranda-class Carthage,with the Sontokand the Wo’bortasbringing the representatives of the Cardassian and Klingon governments, respectively. Troi had noted during his previous bridge shift that both ships had taken considerable battle damage, and that their repairs were adequate, but not one hundred percent—in a firefight, neither ship would be able to make much of a show of things, whereas the Carthagewas in tip-top shape. Troi wasn’t sure if that boded good or ill.
On his way down the corridor of deck twelve, Troi turned a corner and almost bumped into a man also wearing a Starfleet dress uniform. However, Troi didn’t recognize the taller man, which meant he couldn’t have been part of the crew. Troi prided himself on knowing every one of the Carthage’s complement of two hundred at least by face, and this slightly lined, clean-shaven visage framed by dark brown hair amply flecked with gray didn’t belong to any of them. One of the passengers we took on at the starbase, then,he thought.