Precipice

“Nice,” Qui

“Bugged out,” she replied with a knowing smile. “Which means it’s time for us to move on.”

“Not quite,” Qui

Bridy smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Qui

“Why?” the young De

“Don’t know yet,” Qui

Noar threw a confused look around the Icarion’s cockpit. “Is this not yours?”

“Well …” Qui

Accusingly, she asked, “Did you steal it?”

“No, I borrowed it.”

“So whose shuttle is this?”

“It’s not a shuttle. It’s a starship.”

“Oh. Whose starship is this?”

“Zett’s.”

“Who is Zett?”

Qui

Interlude

50

September 12, 2267

Jetanien and Lugok sat on opposite sides of a small portable table, facing each other like bookends. They were finishing di

There was nothing left to talk about. All the topics of idle chatter had been exhausted, and the maddeningly consistent weather in this region of Nimbus III wasn’t providing much conversational fodder. During the daytime they tried to avoid each other as much as possible, dropping little more than curt nods on those rare occasions when their paths crossed.

Behind Lugok the sun was setting. Its last surge of dying light flared straight up from the horizon, culminating in a peak that for Jetanien evoked the ancient Chelon myth of his world’s first mountain, which rose from the sea to stand before the sky. Had he been a superstitious person, he might have seen the moment as an omen of a begi

Instead the moment caught him by surprise.

The wind kicked up and blanketed his di

A ship descended toward the plateau. It was very quiet, and though its design had a vaguely Vulcan quality, it was unfamiliar to Jetanien.

Lugok and Jetanien rose from their seats as the craft extended three squat legs and made a gentle touchdown a few dozen meters from their ships. As it settled onto the ground, the low purr of its engines faded, leaving only the hush of wind and the dry patter of settling rocks and sand.

On the underside of what appeared to be the vessel’s bow, a hatch lowered and unfolded with nary a sound. A dim green glow bled from the ship’s interior, painting the pale ground before the ramp as it made contact with a low scrape. Jetanien thought for a moment he could smell the fragrance of incense wafting out of the peculiar vessel.

A silhouetted figure in a deep-hooded robe stepped into the ship’s doorway and walked down the ramp with a slow, shuffling gait. The dark-gray fabric of the visitor’s cloak fluttered in the arid wind outside the ship.

Jetanien and Lugok stepped forward together to meet the newcomer. When he and they were finally close enough to shake hands, the lone figure stopped and drew back the hood of his cloak, revealing the white hair and creased visage of a very elderly Romulan. “Gentlemen,” he said in a rasp of a voice.

“Senator D’tran?” asked Jetanien.

The Romulan replied, “Indeed. You must be Ambassador Jetanien.” Cocking one snowy eyebrow at the Klingon diplomat, he added, “And this, I presume, is Ambassador Lugok.”

Lugok responded with a curt half nod. “Senator.” Then he added, “You’re late.”

D’tran folded his hands at his waist. “I apologize for my tardiness, gentlemen, and I thank you for your remarkable patience. I regret that I was unavoidably detained on Romulus.”

“Apology accepted, Senator,” said Jetanien. He gestured toward the table he had shared with Lugok. “Your seat awaits you. Will you join us?”

“With pleasure,” D’tran said. “We have much to discuss.”

PART FOUR

The End of Ourselves

51

September 13, 2267

Reyes paced in front of the banquet room’s tall, arched windows and admired the jagged cliffs and snowcapped peaks that glowed in the moonlight outside the Klingon mountain lodge.

He and Ezthene had been beamed down to Ogat from the I.K.S. Zin’zamore than an hour earlier, accompanied by Councillor Gorkon and a squad of soldiers. Gorkon had left the room without offering any explanation for what was happening, but the six guards had stayed behind. “To keep us company,” Reyes had joked to Ezthene while hooking a thumb at the perpetually scowling warriors standing sentry beside the room’s exits.

The room had a medieval quality, in Reyes’s opinion. Its floor and walls were made from individual blocks of rough-hewn granite, and dominating the center of the rectangular room was a long table fashioned from dark, richly lacquered hardwood. It was surrounded by matching chairs and packed with Klingon delicacies that made Reyes’s stomach churn with disgust.

Narrow ba

Ezthene circled the table full of inedible culinary wonders and poked at the various foods with one of his environment-suit-covered forelimbs. His vocoder translated his metallic shrieks and chitterings into the question, “Is it possible this food was intended for us?”

“I doubt it,” Reyes said. “They know you don’t eat, and by now they ought to know I won’t eat anything that fights back when I chew.” He gazed up at the sky and tried to pick out which point of light was Sol. The stars were white as bones.

A door at the end of the room opened. Gorkon walked in and said to the six guards, “Get out, and lock the doors.”

The warriors slipped out of the room. Reyes heard the dull thuds of heavy beams being lowered and metallic locks being secured. Gorkon lifted his wrist and whispered Klingon words into his sleeve.

Light and energy swirled into existence beside Gorkon, and a bright drone of white sound filled the room. A shape formed inside the whorl of charged particles and coalesced into a large, broad-shouldered Klingon man garbed in ornate robes of office and carrying a heavy rod of metal-banded wood capped with carved bone and tipped with steel.

Reyes’s eyes widened. It was Chancellor Sturka.

The leader of the Klingon Empire glowered at Reyes.

Then he glared at Gorkon. “What is the meaning of this?”

“These are the two I wanted you to meet,” Gorkon said. “This is Ezthene, formerly a member of the Tholian political caste-moot, and this is Diego Reyes, the former—”

“I know who he is,” Sturka growled, nodding at Reyes. Then he looked at Ezthene. “Though I couldn’t care less about the bug.”

It was obvious to Reyes that Gorkon was struggling to remain calm in the face of his superior’s rebuke. “They are well-versed in how their people think and act, and both have also shown a willingness to break with orthodox thinking. Their insights could help us chart a path to peace.”