What Judgments Come

“They just arrived, Ambassador,” Moreno said as Jetanien strode past. “I was unaware you had scheduled a meeting for this morning.”

“That is because I did not,” Jetanien replied, moving for the stairwell that would take him to his office. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to make the transit from where he had been walking near the retail district, during his morning stroll through the streets of Paradise City. The daily ritual was one he had observed since first occupying the chancery despite the constabulary’s reports and warnings about the increased yet still isolated incidents of disturbances scattered across the colony. That was when he had received the alert message on the private cha

“Of course, sir,” the assistant replied. “Is everything all right, Ambassador?”

“We’ll see about that soon enough, won’t we?” Jetanien replied, his words echoing off the stairwell as he ascended to the third floor of the chancery, which served as both work space and living quarters for him and his staff. His mind racing through the numerous possible reasons his colleagues would need to meet so urgently, he climbed the last few stairs and crossed the landing toward his office. When the door slid aside, he saw D’tran and Lugok standing together before his desk, their backs to him.

“Gentlemen, I got back as soon as I could,” Jetanien said, noting that he sounded more than a bit out of breath. “What brings you to my humble abode, and how may I be of assistance?”

The Klingon and Romulan diplomats turned to face Jetanien, and he noticed their hands were filled—with bottles of drink.

“You can assist by getting yourself a glass,” Lugok replied, laughing as he brandished a square-bodied silver bottle by its neck with such enthusiasm that some of its contents spewed from its open top and fell to the floor.

Jetanien eyed his counterparts with no small amount of confusion. “It seems a bit early for bloodwine, Ambassador.”

His comment evoked a deep laugh from the Klingon. “Not today, my friend,” he replied before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a lengthy pull from the vessel.

Offering his own satisfied if comparatively restrained smile, D’tran held up his own bottle, which was clear and perhaps three-quarters filled with a bright blue liquid. “I suppose it’s possible that our perception of time is no longer synchronous with yours. We have just concluded a lengthy subspace communication with members of the Klingon High Council and the Romulan Senate.”

Clicking his beak, Jetanein replied, “Your appreciation for Romulan ale seems rather out of sorts this morning, as well.”

“An infrequent indulgence,” D’tran said, bowing his head in mock salute. “I’m obliging my fellow negotiator only to satisfy his desire for ceremony. After all, this is an occasion well worth recognizing and celebrating.”

Realizing now what had so excited his two companions, Jetanien allowed himself a small chuckle. “I take it you have reached some sort of accord?”

“Rather more than that, I should think,” D’tran replied, reaching for the glass he had left atop Jetanien’s desk and refreshing it from the bottle of ale in his withered hand.

Lugok added, “Indeed. The Klingon and Romulan empires have finally agreed to an actual, mutually beneficial alliance—one created out of joint need and cooperation, rather than duplicity and one-upmanship.”

“So, tell me,” Jetanien said, “what was the big breakthrough?”

D’tran settled himself in one of the armchairs positioned before Jetanien’s desk. “Each side was finally able to help the other understand the benefits of working together from their own point of view.” He sipped from his glass before adding, “I like to think the success is owed more to the process itself, rather than any one particular point.”

“And I can’t even take full credit for it,” Lugok added.

“I see,” Jetanien replied, then paused, shaking his head. “Actually, that is a lie. I haven’t the first clue what you mean, D’tran. Is this your way of telling me that you bamboozled them into accepting an agreement with a flurry of obtuse rhetoric?”

This evoked a laugh from Lugok, just as the Klingon was tipping his bloodwine bottle to his lips, and he nearly choked on his drink. “That is precisely what happened,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I spoke with the High Council and explained that what the Romulans sought from us was relatively minor. However, I said that I had already told D’tran that their requests would be difficult to obtain, and that the Romulans needed to make substantial concessions to ensure an agreement. So, my people thought the Romulans were foolishly offering a lot for an accord that could have come at much less than they agreed to concede.”

“And I convinced the Senate of the same,” D’tran added. “So long as each side was able to believe it had received the better benefit, everyone seems happy.”

Now Jetanien laughed, appreciating his comrades’ shrewd if unorthodox tactics. “Given how previous attempts at consensus always seemed to be fueled by one side working to deceive or defraud the other, it’s amusing to think that a reverse of such thinking is actually what brings about agreement.” He shook his head. “Gentlemen, it’s quite possible that interstellar diplomacy is well and truly doomed.” In truth, the news was welcome, no matter how the arrangement itself had been reached, and could not have come at a better time—after what could only be described as “escalating tensions” between Klingon and Romulan forces near the outer boundary of the Taurus Reach in recent weeks. Lugok and D’tran, along with Jetanien, had also been involved in negotiations dedicated to defusing that situation. That those earlier efforts might now have yielded additional, tangential results would be well worth celebrating. “Dare I ask what each side conceded to the other?”

“Technology rights,” D’tran replied. “The Klingons once again have asked for further insights into our cloaking systems, for which they offer heartfelt assurances that it will not be turned against us as an instrument of aggression.”

Lugok said, “Whereas the Romulans have requested safe passage using agreed-upon lanes of travel through Klingon space so that they might have greater access to areas of space beyond their own borders and which in turn are in proximity to imperial territory.” He turned to regard Jetanien before adding, “Including the Gonmog Sector.”

“The Gonmog Sector?” the Chelon asked, schooling his reaction so as not to appear too concerned about this new development. “Really?”

Gri

Despite a fervent desire to dispel his companion’s claims, Jetanien knew Lugok was correct. Though intelligence reports showed that Klingon operatives working in the Taurus Reach were aware of the Shedai and the technology they commanded, there was almost no evidence suggesting the Empire held any real knowledge regarding the Taurus Meta-Genome itself or the potential it contained. It was a slim distinction, but an important one. At present, the only access to Shedai artifacts was through the use of specialized equipment developed by Doctor Carol Marcus, Lieutenant Ming Xiong, and their team of research scientists aboard Starbase 47. So far as had been determined, the Klingons possessed nothing approaching that level of sophistication.

So far,Jetanien reminded himself.