What Judgments Come

Or maybe they’ll just fly it into a mountain.

The thought echoed in his mind at the same instant Jetanien felt a tingle playing across his body. A whine filled his ears and a bright, white light washed out his vision, and for the briefest of moments there was the familiar sensation of limbo before the sound faded. When the light dissolved, he saw that he now stood along with Moreno on the transporter pad of a Klingon vessel.

“Welcome aboard, Ambassador,” said Lugok from where he stood in front of a bulky console. “We received your distress signal, but the nearest Starfleet ship is still more than an hour away, so we intervened.”

“Thank you,” was all Jetanien could muster as he maneuvered himself to sit on the step leading down from the pad. Moreno, his face a mask of worry, moved toward him.

“Are you hurt, sir?”

Jetanien shook his head. “No.”

Stepping closer, Lugok asked, “What of D’tran?”

“Dead,” the Chelon answered, replaying the fresh memory of his friend’s last awful moment. “He was killed just before you arrived.”

“Then it is a tragic day,” Lugok said, his voice softening. “Despite the many differences our peoples hold, I came to respect him.”

“As did I.” Shifting his bulk to a more comfortable position, Jetanien added, “It’s a shame that his government sought to undermine what he was trying to accomplish here with more of the same deception and subterfuge that has defined the relationship between our societies for generations.”

Lugok said, “He was not alone. My superiors sought something similar. Perhaps if I was stronger and endeavored to make my voice heard by the High Council, they may well have made an honest, honorable commitment to this initiative. Instead, I believe it was their lack of vision that ultimately doomed us to failure.”

“What?” Jetanien asked.

Releasing a derisive snort, the Klingon replied, “Come, Jetanien. You saw those who would represent the Empire. Criminals, disgraced warriors, and even those deemed unfit to serve. Outcasts from our society, but possessing not the fraction of pride necessary to take their own lives and restore some measure of honor to their Houses. They did not come here of their own volition; they were banished here. I should have demanded more. I should have demanded better. I failed in that regard.”

“I think we all failed,” Jetanien countered. “Our failure here was one of imagination. Perhaps the concept we envisioned was flawed from the start, and our peoples are not yet ready for peaceful coexistence.”

“So, we keep trying.”

Surprised by the abrupt comment, Jetanien turned to see Moreno regarding him, conviction evident in his eyes. Then, the man blinked several times, as though reconsidering whether he should have spoken.

“Go on, Sergio,” Jetanien prompted.

“It’s wrong to just give up so easily,” Moreno said. “Not after everything that’s happened. So what if our governments choose to continue doing things as they always have. D’tran worked under that burden for more than a century. He didn’t need or expect any assistance from his superiors, and yet for decades before any of us was born, he worked with his Federation contact to broker agreements and keep the peace. Now that he’s gone, someone else will have to take up that mantle, otherwise his death truly will be a tragedy.”

Jetanien sighed. “We can do that, but not here, and not today.”

Frowning, Moreno asked, “Why not?” Before either Jetanien or Lugok could respond, he said, “Tell me, what do you think will become of Paradise City?”

“I suppose it will be evacuated and abandoned,” Jetanien said, “a monument to what could have been.”

Moreno said, “Or, we can petition for the colony to be restored. Let it be a distraction, rather than an attraction.”

“A distraction,” Lugok repeated. “It could end up appearing more like a mockery.”

“And if it does,” Jetanien said, begi

Lugok smiled. “And while everyone sees the very public failure on constant display, we in turn possess a haven where we might continue our work, away from the prying eyes of those who would seek to undermine real, open communication.”

“Exactly,” Moreno said.

Jetanien recalled the first clandestine meetings he had shared with Lugok and D’tran, there on the barren, unwelcoming surface of Nimbus III. From the shared insights and compromises reached during those first days had sprung Paradise City, with its promise of lasting peace forged between three interstellar neighbors. Despite the very real setbacks that had consumed the colony, Jetanien knew the situation could be remedied in short order, perhaps even within weeks after the arrival of support vessels. After that? There seemed now to be more reason than ever to revisit the strategy with which he and his companions had begun, only this time, there would be no spectacle, no pressure exerted from officious meddlers with no vested interest in the outcome. Removed from the spotlight, the peace process could, with proper nurturing, thrive.

“What do you think, Lugok?” Jetanien asked. “Is it worth pondering?”

The Klingon replied, “And what if someone takes notice of our little refuge of diplomacy?”

“Then we move it somewhere else,” Jetanien countered. “Someplace even more remote, if that’s what it takes. The location isn’t important. What matters is that we preserve the peace, by any means necessary.”

Lugok smiled. “D’tran would certainly approve. Come, let us find a bottle of bloodwine, and drink to the memory of that bothersome Romulan and all the work he will cause for us in the days to come.”

35

Ming Xiong studied the status indicators on the communications panel, satisfied that everything was properly set. “I think we’re ready to go.”

“Excellent,” replied Mahmud al-Khaled from where he sat at one of the half-dozen consoles that had been installed in the Lovell’s secondary cargo bay. “I’ve activated and synchronized the processor with the communications array. It should time out perfectly with the frequency rotation.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Xiong could not help smiling. “I have to say, the idea of adding a harmonics resonance processor was genius, Commander.”

“Tell that to my number two,” al-Khaled replied, gesturing toward another console, which was ma

The tall, lean bald man was hunched over his console, engrossed in the data being fed to him by the workstation’s array of status monitors. Al-Khaled had to repeat the question before Davis looked up to see who was talking to him. “What?”

“He said if this doesn’t work, he’s blaming you,” called out a new voice, and Xiong turned to see the Lovell’s first officer, Araev zh’Rhun.

“Wow. There’s a fresh idea,” Davis replied, smiling. “Come down to keep an eye on us, Commander?”

Casting a sardonic look in the engineer’s direction, zh’Rhun said, “Someone has to keep you honest.” She turned her attention to al-Khaled. “So, where are we?”

The engineer replied, “I think we’re ready, Commander. Kurt?”

“Levels are optimum, sir,” Davis said, patting his console. “The subspace relay will draw power from the warp engines. That should help regulate the relay, the communications array, and the harmonics processor, and still provide enough juice to penetrate the crystals’ internal power fields while keeping the signal focused.”