“Yeah, sure,” Leone said, his head bobbing quickly in a birdlike nod. “I mean, uh, thanks, Commander.” He quaffed at his glass again, draining his contents. “Now, I suggest you try to get some rest,” Leone instructed as he packed away his medical pouch. Looking to her, he added, “If you’d like to talk, you know, later…” he added, still fidgeting a bit.
“I know where to find you,” Khatami replied, putting sincerity in her voice more for his benefit than for hers. Still, as she spoke the words, the idea of talking to Leone didn’t seem all that unpalatable.
He nodded, offering what on him appeared to be a pained grin before crossing her quarters toward the door, which slid open at his approach. “For what it’s worth, Atish,” he said and paused to secure her attention, “your place is right here on Endeavour.”
“Thanks, Tony,” Khatami said, feeling a little warmth return to her spirit. Leone held her gaze for a moment more before stepping out of her quarters, leaving her to stare blankly at the door as it slid closed.
Sitting alone, she let the brief reprieve from her anguish comfort her, hoping that it would keep the cold loneliness of space from returning to her, at least for a time.
16
Anna Sandesjo entered her private workspace, aware that she at best had five minutes before Ambassador Jetanien returned to the offices of Starbase 47’s Federation Embassy but knowing also that she could not afford to waste this opportunity.
A pity I cannot enjoy the peace and quiet even for a moment.
While it was true that she often found it nearly impossible to tolerate the effusive diplomat’s lecturing, ostentatious personality, the fact of the matter was that the Chelon ambassador’s political prowess was formidable. That much had become evident in the short time since his assignment to Vanguard and the legion of diplomatic obstacles he had been entrusted to navigate as a consequence of the Federation’s recent and pronounced movements into the Taurus Reach. Despite the uncertain and currently tumultuous nature of the political relations that seemed to characterize this region of space, Jetanien had risen to the challenge with tenacity, quickly forging ties with the diplomatic envoys from both the Klingon Empire and the Tholian Assembly, both of whom had been provided embassy space aboard the station.
Of course, having such a gifted ambassador on hand also made Sandesjo’s job that much easier.
Closing the door behind her, she engaged the lock before moving behind the small, functional desk that faced the front of the room and was the office’s dominating piece of furniture. She ignored the clutter of papers, data slates, and other administrative detritus which characterized her very legitimate responsibilities as Jetanien’s senior attaché. Indeed, it was all of little importance, save for its single redeeming quality in that it supported the role she played here. Her position within the Chelon ambassador’s organization naturally provided her with access to a wealth of information which might have been all but impossible to access via other avenues.
Like now.
Reaching beneath her desk, Sandesjo retrieved the thin, unassuming metal briefcase she kept there and laid it atop her desk. She entered a combination—one of two the case’s lock would accept but the only one known solely to her—and opened the unit, releasing the false panel set inside and revealing the miniaturized subspace transceiver hidden within. It took a moment for the device to activate before she could key in the string of coded commands that would send an encrypted hail to her contact, Turag. After a moment, the transceiver’s compact display screen coalesced into an image of the Klingon, staring out at her with his usual expression of annoyed boredom.
Once the protocol for establishing identities and the security of their covert transmission was complete, Turag offered a brusque nod. “ You were not expected to submit a report at this time.”
He was right, of course. Like other long-term intelligence operatives scattered throughout the Federation and Starfleet, her primary consideration when undertaking any action was maintaining her cover. Stealth and virtual invisibility were her watchwords and her lifeline while spying on this most formidable enemy of the empire. Getting to this point had been a trying and time-consuming process, requiring her to remain dormant as she carried on in her assumed role as a member of the Federation Diplomatic Corps. That task had proven to be even more trying than enduring the demeaning process of having her Klingon countenance surgically altered to appear human, which she had done more than ten Earth-standard years earlier. Only after that much time had passed had the opportunity to serve on Jetanien’s staff presented itself, allowing her to be activated as a fully operational intelligence agent.
Part of the ongoing and even greater need to maintain her secrecy also meant adhering to the strict protocol regarding communications with her contacts. Turag, acting as her handler in addition to his own covert role as a member of Vanguard’s Klingon delegation, had enacted a schedule for her to submit reports on an irregular basis so as to assume the minimum amount of risk against detection. Naturally, there were measures in place for emergencies, which Sandesjo felt justified in employing now.
Nodding in response to Turag’s blunt introductory statement, she said, “I know, but I’ve just received new information that needs to be delivered to our superiors. A Tholian vessel has been destroyed, and the Tholians believe a Klingon ship may be responsible.”
His brow furrowed in suspicion. “ We have not heard of any such action. How do you know this is true?”
“Jetanien,” Sandesjo replied. “He had an unscheduled, private meeting with the Tholian ambassador early this morning. While I’ve not been briefed as to the full details of the entire conversation, he did inform me about this incident. A ship on patrol near the outer boundary of the Taurus Reach bordering Tholian territory was attacked by a vessel of unknown origin, and destroyed before its commander could make a thorough report. No description of the ship was offered, only that it registered no familiar weapons or propulsion signatures, and appeared capable of evading sensors.”
Assuming the action was not one sanctioned by the Klingon High Council, it was possible if not probable that Klingon intelligence operatives might soon learn of the incident. However, that Jetanien had learned of it only thanks to a private conversation held with the Tholian ambassador suggested to her that the Tholians were—for the moment, at least—keeping such knowledge classified. With this in mind, Sandesjo had decided the value of the information gleaned from Jetanien was more than worth the risk of offering an impromptu report to Turag.
Leaning forward in her chair, she added, “I was unaware that the empire possessed any ships with such abilities.”
“ That is of no concern to you, Lurqal,”Turag replied, addressing her by her Klingon name. “ Do you believe the Tholians may be planning a reprisal?”
Sandesjo shook her head. “I don’t know, and neither does Jetanien. Of course, if they were planning such action, they would not inform a Federation ambassador of their intentions.”
“ Is it possible the Federation is responsible?”Turag asked.
If not for the Klingon’s serious expression, Sandesjo might have laughed at the notion he offered. “You are as much aware of Federation policies on aggressive action as I am. They do not attack without provocation, nor are they in the habit of concealing their actions when they are forced to defend themselves. Besides, the Tholian commander said that the vessel presented no indications that it was from any familiar power.”
“ The Federation is notoriously reluctant to construct weapons for purely offensive military purposes,”Turag said, “ despite the conflicts in which they’ve found themselves over the years. Perhaps someone in their Starfleet— someone withnaghs— has finally learned the lessons imparted by their history and chosen to shoulder that burden.”