Open Secrets

“So, you cart all of this around with you from assignment to assignment?” Karumé asked. “Seems more than a bit impractical to me.”

Jetanien grunted in understanding. “When I was much younger, I considered it little more than an eccentric affectation, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate the almost visceral co

Snorting in mock derision, Karumé replied, “Well, don’t look at me. I’ve seen your handwriting. Besides, I like computers and their accessories just fine, thank you.” She rose and went to the food slot on the far wall, where she entered a sequence on the rows of buttons on the control pad beneath the unit. A moment later, the door slid up to reveal what Jetanien recognized as a cup of coffee—brewed with a hint of vanilla, if his nostrils did not deceive him—along with a new bowl of the Denebian shellfish broth. After handing the broth to him, she returned to her seat, nodding toward the collection. “So, why are you poring over all of that, anyway? Feeling nostalgic?”

“Hardly,” Jetanien countered, holding the piping-hot bowl of broth between his manus. “At the prime of her own career, Selina was a member of Earth’s diplomatic contingent. This was before the Federation was founded, my dear, dating to the Coalition of Planets. She was a member of the team that helped to negotiate the language and parameters of the original treaty between Earth and the Romulans. Her notes on that period are fascinating reading, Ms. Karumé. You’d do well to avail yourself of the wisdom contained here.”

Karumé’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the ambassador. “Wait a minute, this is starting to make sense now. Are you telling me you’ve found something that can help us today?”

“Perhaps,” Jetanien replied, pleased with himself and with Karumé for her deductive skill. “In one of Selina’s journals, there are several entries detailing correspondence she shared with a Romulan named D’tran. A former military officer who left the service to enter politics, he was a junior senator assigned to the Romulan diplomatic team working to ratify the treaty. Contact between him and Selina was, of course, wholly unauthorized, carried out in total secrecy.”

Frowning, Karumé shifted in her chair as though seeking a more comfortable position. “To what end?”

Jetanien rolled his shoulders, the closest he could come to a shrug. “Back-cha

“But you found it,” Karumé said, nodding toward his desk. “Somewhere in all of that, she wrote all about it, didn’t she?”

“Indeed, she did,” Jetanien replied. The hours he had spent ensconced in his office, rummaging through the long-dormant files and journals, had finally yielded something he thought he could use. From the assortment of papers and files, he retrieved one battered, scuffed leather journal. “It’s all in here—the ciphers they used and how they hid their messages among other subspace communications traffic. The methods were so simple as to be laughable, which is probably why they worked so well.”

He waited, watching as Karumé’s eyes widened in realization. Holding up a hand, she regarded him with equal parts confusion and disbelief.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of trying to use that?”

Straightening his posture, Jetanien nodded. “Absolutely. Think of the possibilities, Ms. Karumé. Our two governments have spent the past century staring at each other across the vast gulf of space, each waiting to see what the other will do. Now, the Romulans are here, lurking in the shadows and possibly sizing us up once more for war. If an option exists—any option—that might avoid that, are we not duty-bound to pursue it?”

“You don’t even know if there’ll be anyone on the other end,” Karumé countered. “For all we know, this D’tran is dead, like your friend. Maybe he was discovered and imprisoned or even killed decades ago.”

Jetanien nodded. “I have considered those possibilities, of course. The way I see it, either D’tran will answer, or he won’t. Perhaps he left information to a trusted protégé, as Selina did, and that person will answer. If their government has discovered the existence of the protocol, the worst that can happen is that they won’t answer any message of mine, which is what is currently happening with the official overtures the Federation is sending. That leaves me no worse off than if I were to do nothing.”

Karumé finished her coffee and said, “Well, when you put it that way, I say give it a shot, and see what happens.”

Jetanien released a satisfied grunt. “I think you would have enjoyed knowing Selina, Ms. Karumé,” he said as he laid the treasured journal on his desk and began flipping through its pages, searching for the key entry. “I am quite certain she would have liked knowing you.”

Karumé returned the smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Ambassador.”

“As you should, my dear,” the Chel responded. Having found the journal entry he sought, he reached for his desktop computer interface. “Now, as you say, let us see what happens.”

Even as he began the task of formulating a message that might be appropriate for reestablishing contact with Selina Rosen’s Romulan counterpart—or his replacement—after the time that had passed since his friend’s death, Jetanien could not help considering the potential held by this simple action. Might it lead to the first true diplomatic relations between the Federation and the Romulans in more than a century? If so, would history one day list him as the arbiter of a new era of trust and cooperation between the two former enemies?

The very idea filled Jetanien with more excitement and hope than he had felt in weeks. There was much work to be done, he decided, as he pushed away thoughts of rest. Sleep could wait.

31

Atish Khatami stepped off the turbolift and onto the Endeavour’s hangar deck, beholding the scene of chaos before her.

Perhaps chaoswas too strong a word, she decided as she began moving among the dozens of people occupying the vast chamber. Cots and containers of supplies that had been stored here were now in use. Moving among the people were the familiar blue tunics of Endeavourmedical perso

“Captain,” a voice called out above the fray, and Khatami looked up to see Commander Stano crossing the deck toward her. The first officer’s expression was all business as she sidestepped other crew members.

Nodding as Stano drew closer, Khatami asked, “Is that all of them?”

“Yes,” the commander replied. “Transporter control reports the last eleven colonists just completed beam-over. I’ve got an engineering crew standing by to beam across and see if we might be able to repair the damage and restore environmental control.”