“Let me put this as diplomatically as I know how, Ambassador. Your Klingon friends are really starting to piss me off.”
Positioned to the left of Commodore Reyes, Lieutenant Commander T’Prynn said nothing as the station’s commanding officer stood before the desk of Ambassador Jetanien, the diplomatic envoy assigned to Starbase 47 with the task of overseeing Federation political interests in the Taurus Reach. For his part, the Rigellian Chelon appeared unmoved by Reyes’s comment, opting instead to reach for the oversized bowl of dark brown broth sitting atop a matching saucer on his desk. Grasping the bowl in his oversized manus, Jetanien raised it to his beaklike mouth and proceeded to slurp. T’Prynn forced herself not to react to the rancid odor emanating from the bowl, but rather concentrated on identifying the vessel’s contents.
She failed.
“What have the Klingons done to test your patience this time, Commodore?” the ambassador asked as he returned the bowl to its saucer.
Reyes said nothing at first, his expression neutral as he watched Jetanien eat, and T’Prynn could see that the commodore also smelled the broth’s pungent odor. Unlike her, Reyes had no problem voicing his likes and dislikes. “Are you sure someone didn’t switch your lunch with a tub of lubricant from down in engineering?”
“Quite sure, my friend,” Jetanien replied before uttering a series of clicks and chirps along with a rumbling gurgle that T’Prynn had come to recognize as a Chelon’s equivalent to laughter. “Now, about your mounting irritation with the Klingons, I trust you’re referring to the diplomatic envoy?”
Nodding, Reyes replied, “That’s them.” He held up the data slate he had brought with him. “We received their latest communiqué this afternoon, which includes their updated list of demands. They’re asking for more floor space in their embassy office section, and they want us to dedicate one of the main docking bays for their exclusive use. Failure to deliver on any of these requests is considered a deal breaker for being able to enjoy their company here in Shangri-La.”
“The way I see it,” Jetanien said, clasping his hands before him and tapping the extremities that passed for his thumbs in a rhythmic manner, “at least some of these issues most definitely fall within your purview as this station’s commander.”
Reyes released a low grunt of irritation. “So far as I’m concerned, all of it’s within my purview, but I’m pretty sure the reason the Diplomatic Corps sent you all the way out here was to talk to the Klingons so I wouldn’t have to.”
“A fair point,” the ambassador said, “though I’d like to think my role has more substance than that. After all, my career ambition really isn’t to simply keep you from starting an interstellar war, despite whatever levels of enjoyment such activity might bring me from time to time.”
T’Prynn listened with patience to the verbal joust in which Reyes and Jetanien always indulged before turning to whatever matter required their attention. Despite their disparate backgrounds, the commodore and the diplomat had established an easy rapport, which had facilitated their ability to work together as Operation Vanguard continued to evolve. Jetanien had been given a most demanding assignment, acting as the senior diplomatic adviser not only to Commodore Reyes but also the Federation Council. With Starbase 47’s presence in an area of space bordered by both a known rival and a potential adversary, the Federation had no choice but to tread lightly with respect to its own exploration and colonization efforts. Given the Klingons’ ongoing aggressive territorial expansion efforts in all directions, many of Starfleet’s leading political and tactical minds were predicting an eventual confrontation should the Empire extend its reach to the Tholian border, with the Federation possibly caught in the middle. The Taurus Reach was a delicate buffer preventing that from happening, and Starbase 47 had been inserted into that wedge in order to quell a possible flashpoint situation.
That was the official story, anyway. Whether Vanguard’s legitimate if arguably secondary mission had any tangible effects on its primary objective remained to be seen, and it was T’Prynn’s job to see that such consequences were mitigated if not altogether avoided. It went without saying that the Klingons most likely would be interested in the station’s activities, and expending considerable resources in attempts to ascertain what other goals it might be pursuing. With the levels of operational security surrounding the mission to learn the truth behind the Taurus Meta-Genome and its creators, diligence at every turn would be required. Indeed, T’Prynn was certain that the Empire had already dispatched covert operatives here in hopes of gleaning any kind of useful information. She had been conducting her own clandestine investigations for weeks, some of which were beginning to show results. Though she had no hard proof to corroborate her suspicions, T’Prynn was certain that obtaining such evidence was only a matter of time.
Far above and beyond her own role on Starbase 47, and in the interests of working to maintain whatever fragile peace existed between the three powers, the Federation had seen fit to authorize the establishment of full, formal embassy facilities aboard the station for all three governments. It was hoped that having diplomatic representatives from all involved parties in one location would serve to effect quick, agreeable solutions to any conflicts that might arise. In T’Prynn’s opinion, it was a noble goal, though putting the idea into practice had proven to be a formidable challenge. Whereas the Tholians had yet to even acknowledge the Federation’s offer, the Klingons had tempered whatever enthusiasm they had managed to manufacture with the sorts of conditions and demands Reyes found himself addressing on a near daily basis.
“You know I’m always happy to provide you a cheap laugh or two,” Reyes said, “but do me a favor and talk to these people, would you? Tell them they can’t have a dedicated docking bay, but we’ll reserve one of the lower docking ports, and we’ll move any ship to an available bay if it requires maintenance, repairs, or resupply.”
Jetanien nodded. “That seems like a fair compromise. There may yet be hope for you as a diplomat, Diego.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Reyes countered, though he did offer a small laugh to punctuate his reply.
“And what of their request for increased space in their embassy?” the ambassador asked.
Shrugging, Reyes replied, “They can have as much area behind their rear bulkhead as they want.” T’Prynn recognized the humor in the statement, given that the embassies occupied areas along the outer ring of the station’s primary hull, and “behind the rear bulkhead” was nothing but open space. The commodore, from her observations, derived some measure of amusement from the employment of sarcasm.
Even Jetanien laughed, emitting another series of clicks and grunts. “That’s more like the Diego Reyes I know. I should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t easily submit to such petulant whining.”
Submit.
The command came unbidden, lunging from the depths of T’Prynn’s consciousness and forcing itself into the forefront of her awareness. It was Sten, at one time her fiancé, calling to her as he had since that day more than five decades ago when he was gripped by the temporary near insanity that characterized the Plak tow, the blood fever, which was the culmination of the ancient Vulcan mating drive, the Pon farr. As his betrothed mate, T’Prynn had rejected him and demanded the rite of ritual combat, the kal-if-fee, in order to free herself from the marriage bond. It was during that death challenge that Sten, sensing his impending defeat at T’Prynn’s hand, forced into her mind his katra, his own consciousness. Even as he faced death, he attempted to bend her to his will, demanding that she subject herself to him. As always, she defied him, and her hands snapping his neck punctuated what she believed was to be her final refusal.
Submit.
The calls for subjugation had not ceased with Sten’s demise. They had instead continued unabated during the ensuing 52.7 years, his katra haunting her waking moments, her dreams, and even her attempts to assert any degree of mental balance and control via meditation. She had sought the assistance of Vulcan Kolinahr masters and even the revered Adepts themselves, who had taught her techniques for managing her unique condition. Those methods only served to treat the symptoms, however; as to ridding her mind of whatever remained of Sten, for that there seemed to be no cure.
Submit!
From the tormented depths of her own mind, T’Prynn conjured her all too familiar response to Sten’s challenge. Never.
“Commander, are you quite all right?”
It required an extra moment for T’Prynn to realize that Jetanien was speaking to her, and that both he and Commodore Reyes were regarding her with their own particular expressions of concern. Had her own features or bearing betrayed her inner turmoil? Unsure of the answer to that question, T’Prynn clasped her hands behind her back and nodded.
“I apologize for my momentary distraction, gentlemen. I was giving thought to some issues I plan to address once our business here is completed.”
“You look tired, Commander,” Reyes said, his eyes narrowing as he frowned.
T’Prynn offered another nod. “I have had some trouble sleeping in recent days, Commodore, though you can be sure it will not affect my ability to carry out my duties.”
Reyes replied, “I trust your judgment, Commander, but feel free to take some time for yourself and go visit Doctor Fisher, if you think it’s necessary.”
“I will do that, sir,” T’Prynn replied, hoping to put the matter to rest and move on with other, more pressing concerns.
Appearing satisfied with her answer, Reyes returned his attention to Jetanien. “All right. Where were we?”
“You were asking me to speak to the Klingons on your behalf,” Jetanien replied, “in the hope of staving off total war between the Federation and the Empire.”
“Right,” the commodore said, nodding. “Can you help me out here?”
Tapping the nail of one large, scaled finger on his desk, the ambassador uttered a seemingly random string of clicks and pops. “I shall do my level best, my friend.”
A beep from the diplomat’s desk made him reach for the intercom panel situated near his left hand. “Yes?”
In response to his query, a feminine voice replied, “It’s Anna Sandesjo, Ambassador. I have those reports you wanted.”
“Excellent,” Jetanien replied. “Bring them right in.”
His office doors parted a moment later, and T’Prynn turned to see a young human woman enter the room. She wore conservative gray pants with a matching jacket over a white blouse, and her red hair fell loosely about her shoulders. Her eyes were a startling shade of green, and when T’Prynn met her gaze she sensed tremendous intelligence and confidence. There was an additional, unquantifiable reaction, and another moment passed before she comprehended the feeling she was experiencing as she beheld Anna Sandesjo.
Desire? Yes, T’Prynn felt that, but there also was something else, which she could not yet identify.
Their momentary contact was broken as the woman made her way to stand before Jetanien’s desk. Extending her right arm, she offered the ambassador a data slate. “Here you are, sir. Everything I could find on all diplomatic exchanges between the Klingons and the Tholians. There’s not really much there, I’m afraid.”
“A little light reading?” Reyes asked.
Pausing to scan the data slate’s display, Jetanien uttered a snort of disapproval. “Very light, as it happens. As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, diplomatic relations between the Klingon Empire and the Tholian Assembly can probably best be summed up with a synopsis which reads, ‘Don’t bother us, and we won’t bother you.’ “
“And here we are,” Sandesjo replied, “doing what we can to annoy both sides.”
Again, Jetanien laughed. “It’s what we diplomats do best, my dear.” Looking to Reyes, the Chelon asked, “How else may I be of service, Diego?”
Reyes shook his head. “I think I’ve bothered you enough for one day. Thanks for your help, Jetanien.” As he turned to head for the door, he glanced toward T’Prynn. “Commander?”
“Aye, sir,” T’Prynn acknowledged, moving to follow Reyes. As she turned, her eyes once more locked with Sandesjo’s, and this time T’Prynn saw something new in the human’s expression. What was it?
Submit, challenged Sten, interrupting her thoughts.
Die, she countered, rallying her mental skills and forcing her long-dead fiancé’s consciousness back into the dark hole from which it had emerged. Then there was merciful silence, and she had time for one last fleeting glance in Sandesjo’s direction as she left Jetanien’s office. Though the human said nothing, the corner of her mouth turned upward, and T’Prynn registered the other woman’s all but imperceptible nod.
Fascinating.