What Judgments Come

“For one capable of so few expressions, yours is a face that is easy to read,” D’tran said, picking up on the unspoken conversation around which Jetanien and Lugok were dancing. “If our three governments can demonstrate an ability to cooperate here, within the confines of our little experiment, then surely such mutual respect can be extended beyond this worthless dustball of a planet. Wouldn’t you say, Jetanien?”

Nodding, the Chelon replied, “Of course.”

“Don’t fret, Jetanien,” Lugok said, holding up his bottle of bloodwine. “We look upon this as an opportunity to build trust between our peoples. After all, the trust we foster with this agreement can’t help but influence goodwill toward the next one.”

“Just as our efforts here perhaps played a role in reaching compromise with the accord you forged today,” Jetanien replied. “So, no one ended up with—as my human friends are prone to say—the short end of the stick?”

“Only the Federation,” was all Lugok managed to say before erupting with booming laughter. “That is what’s most glorious of all.”

Perhaps sensing Jetanien’s wariness, D’tran said, “Our Kling-on friend overstates the ramifications of what was accomplished here today. While it’s true to say that at least some of the agreement’s appeal lies in how it might serve to frustrate or concern certain Federation officials. That is not to say we remain closed to talks with you and your leaders, my friend.”

Jetanien certainly had considered what a Klingon-Romulan alliance might mean for the Federation on any number of fronts. He had given the matter serious thought upon learning of the original pact the two powers had fostered nearly a year earlier, which had resulted in the Romulans’ sharing some of their cloaking technology in exchange for a small fleet of Klingon battle cruisers. What had begun as a seemingly legitimate exchange of information and ideas had soured when it was learned the Klingon officer responsible for brokering the deal had engaged in duplicity and deception to tip the agreement in his favor. The ruse had even involved a spy embedded within the ranks of support staff attached to the Romulan Senate itself. Though the covert agent had been discovered and eliminated, the arrangement itself had fallen apart, leaving both sides to eye one another with renewed suspicion and resentment. At first, that accord’s failure seemed be fortunate happenstance so far as the Federation was concerned. If the efforts of Lugok and D’tran were to be believed, however, then it seemed obvious to Jetanien that—eventually—the Klingons and Romulans might well achieve some form of permanent, formidable partnership.

And what then?It was a question for which Jetanien possessed no answer.

“Your unease is evident,” D’tran said. “Remember that this treaty between the Klingon and Romulan empires has been a long time coming, and has suffered from the machinations of a shortsighted few.” He gestured with both hands, indicating not only Jetanien’s office but also—presumably—the rest of Paradise City. “Surely you, more so than anyone, can see that what we’ve managed to achieve here is too great for us to stand by and let it be squandered, much less take active steps to sabotage our own efforts.”

Lugok nodded. “He speaks the truth. I for one did not spend all those months sitting on this cursed ball of dirt just to throw away all of that time, energy, and work.”

“Of course not,” Jetanien said. On the other hand, he knew from experience that Lugok was more than capable of engaging in deception, as he had done early on during his assignment as part of the Klingon diplomatic delegation to Starbase 47. One of his numerous duties had been overseeing the activities of A

All things are possible,Jetanien reminded himself, then tried to recall something he once had read from an ancient human text given to him by a former assistant. The book had contained anecdotal passages about warfare, which the Chelon quickly had learned could be translated to diplomacy as well as any other competitive endeavor. It took him an additional moment to retrieve the passage from the depths of his memory: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

“What our friend requires,” D’tran said, shifting in his seat to reach for an empty glass sitting atop Jetanien’s desk, “is to join us in our celebration. There will be time later for political maneuvering, posturing, and brinksmanship.”

Lugok nodded. “Agreed,” he said, hoisting his bottle. “Come, Jetanien, and learn why bloodwine is a most excellent substitute for any breakfast beverage you might otherwise choose to imbibe.”

“Very well, my friends,” Jetanien said, moving around his companions to the seat behind his desk. His movements were halted as a low rumble rattled his office windows and even the artwork hanging on his walls. The overhead light flickered, and there was a noticeable interruption in the bulb’s audible hum.

“What was that?” D’tran asked, rising from his seat as Lugok did the same.

Frowning, Jetanien turned toward the doors leading to his balcony. “That sounded like a crash of some kind.” Had an accident occurred, either on one of the nearby streets or even outside Paradise City’s perimeter wall? Even before he reached for the control to open the door, he now could hear the faint sounds of alarm sirens wailing in the early morning air from some distance away.

But not that far.

“No,” Lugok said, moving in the direction of the balcony. “That was an explosion.”

Jetanien opened the door and stepped onto the balcony, where it took him no time to locate the origin point of the crash, explosion, or whatever had happened. A plume of dark smoke was rising into the sky from south of the city, where the colony’s rudimentary spaceport resided.

“Some kind of accident?” Jetanien asked.

“Or sabotage,” D’tran replied.

From behind them, the intercom on Jetanien’s desk beeped for attention, followed by Sergio Moreno’s voice. “ Ambassador, you have an urgent call from the spaceport administrator’s office. It’s Constable Schiappacasse.”

“Route it to my viewer,” Jetanien called out, walking back into the office and taking a position behind his desk so that he could see his computer display. The unit’s compact viewscreen activated, providing an image of Carla Schiappacasse, her eyes wide with concern and her hair tucked under a white brimmed cap that distinguished her as a member of the colony’s security force.

“ Ambassador Jetanien, I was told Senator D’tran was with you this morning. As you’re no doubt aware by now, we’ve had an incident here at the spaceport involving the Romulan senator’s private shuttle.”

“This is D’tran,” the elder Romulan called to the viewer as he moved to stand next to Jetanian. “What has happened?”

“ I’m relieved to see you, Senator,” the security liaison said. “ I was unable to raise you on your personal communicator.”