“But you are,” Broon replied, offering a renewed smile of satisfaction before motioning toward his men. “Bring the bookworm his briefcase, but before you do that, show these two the way out.”
As the henchmen indicated for Quinn and Pennington to move toward the hatch, Quinn called out, “Come on, Broon! You hate Zett as much as I do. There has to be something you want from me that’ll make this work out for all of us.”
To Pennington’s fading hope, the pirate appeared to consider the notion for a moment before nodding.
“The only thing I want from you,” Broon said, “is to see the look on your face when I blow you out the airlock.” He looked to Pennington, and the journalist watched as the brawny man shrugged. “As for you, what can I say? You should have picked better friends.”
Casting a hateful glare at Quinn, Pennington could only nod in meek agreement. “Bloody story of my life.”
32
At some point during the initial period of his formal education—he could not exactly remember when—Ambassador Jetanien received a piece of advice that had remained with him to this day: Whenever you schedule a meeting, ensure you are the last to arrive.
For most of his early career and while his normal duties required him to be at the beck and call of more senior diplomats, Jetanien had disliked that notion. It always had irritated him to be kept waiting by someone else, a vexation for which his tolerance all but evaporated upon earning the title of ambassador. As part of his daily routine aboard Starbase 47, he made it an inviolable directive that all meetings start and end on schedule, and that all participants—himself included—were present at the appointed time. Leadership was best employed if demonstrated by example, after all. To the Chelon, whether tardiness was as a result of laziness, forgetfulness, or arrogance mattered not. Regardless of the cause, he always addressed such lapses as well as the responsible party without mercy. The harshness of his redress increased in direct proportion to the rank and position of the person committing the blunder.
Despite his well-known feelings on the subject, however, Jetanien knew that there were rare occasions when employing such a loathsome tactic had its advantages.
Now, for instance.
Moving with no undue haste toward the conference chambers which were the centerpiece of the offices and other facilities designated for use by the station’s diplomatic contingents, Jetanien glanced toward a chronometer mounted high along one bulkhead near the entrance to the section’s formal dining hall. Its digital display told him that he was arriving slightly less than eleven standard minutes after the summit’s scheduled start time. Just enough of an interval, he surmised, to inform those already seated inside the meeting room just who was running the show today.
A pair of bright red doors marked the entrance to the conference chamber, their vivid hue part of the standard Starfleet color scheme and which Jetanien had forgotten to order replaced with something more soothing. The doors were flanked by a pair of Starfleet security officers, one a human female and the other an Andorian thaan. Both were dressed in red uniform tunics and dark trousers—a practical choice on the part of the woman, he decided—and their sleeves each sported the gold braid denoting their respective ranks of lieutenant. The guards came to attention at his approach, the woman nodding to him as he stepped closer.
“Good morning, Your Excellency. The other parties have been seated and are awaiting your arrival.”
“Of that I am certain, Lieutenant,” Jetanien replied, offering a knowing laugh. The officers apparently understood his meaning, as he noted each attempting to hide their own smiles of approval. “What is it you humans are fond of saying? Let’s get this show on the road.”
The doors parted and he strolled into the room, noting with satisfaction that—as he had requested—both the Klingon and Tholian ambassadors as well as their respective attachés already were at their places on opposite sides of the polished black conference table. The Tholians, of course, being even less suited anatomically to sitting than Jetanien was, eschewed the chairs on their side of the table. At the far end of the room sat his own envoys, Sovik and Akeylah Karumé, flanking the as-yet-unoccupied space at the head of the table. Everyone in the chamber turned at his arrival, their expressions ranging from expectation to confusion and even to utter disdain.
Once more unto the breach,Jetanien mused.
“Good afternoon, gentlebeings,” the ambassador offered by way of greeting as he made his way toward the table. Behind him, the doors slid closed and locked in accordance with his prearranged instructions. Now they were able to be opened only by use of the keypad set into the wall next to the entrance or by command from one of the security officers stationed just outside.
“On behalf of the United Federation of Planets,” he continued, “I extend to you greetings and our sincere thanks at your decision to gather here today, particularly in light of current events.” Stopping before his glenget, he turned to face the assembled audience. “Simply coming here is a gesture of faith and hope, my friends. Let us all do our best to ensure your efforts are not wasted.”
“ tojo’Qa,”spat Ambassador Lugok, a response mirrored by his attaché, Kulor. “How dare you force me to sit here with nothing better to do than stare at these taHqeq.” The Klingon waved a large, gloved hand across the table, indicating the Tholian delegation.
Well,Jetanien thought, that didn’t take long.
“Please excuse my tardiness, Ambassadors,” he said, extending his hands in a gesture of supplication. “I was unavoidably detained.” With that, he lowered himself down upon the perch that had been constructed to accommodate his ungainly physique.
“ You present no excuse,”replied the voice of the room’s universal translator, offering a clipped rendering of Ambassador Sesrene’s words amid the muted but still audible screeches issuing from within the Tholian’s silken envirosuit. “ Such disrespectful behavior is unacceptable.”
Knowing that his tactics played against the Tholians’ near-obsessive penchant for punctuality, Jetanien chose his next words with care. “Not an excuse, Ambassador, but instead a reason that I hope you both will find satisfactory. I have been meeting with Commodore Reyes to review the latest information regarding the destruction of the planet we know as Palgrenax.” What he did not mention was that the meeting had concluded several hours earlier, and that he had spent the interim secreted in his private office, refining his strategy.
Besides, the longer you two sit in silence and allow your anger to fester, the more likely you are to forget any rehearsed stories and react honestly to what I have to say.
“Bah!” Lugok barked. “What can you tell me that I do not already know? That planet was claimed by the empire, in the same way that we have established ourselves on other worlds in the Gonmog Sector. The Tholians take issue with our actions and attack us without honor!”
“Cowardly toDSaH.”
Though Kulor had uttered the words under his breath, Jetanien nevertheless had heard him. Grunting loud enough to catch the assistant’s attention, the Chelon hoped the glare he leveled at the Klingon was enough to forestall any such further comments.
“And now,” Lugok continued, his voice louder and more intense now, “they have created a weapon capable of destroying a planet and have unleashed it against us!”
“Unfounded accusations do not become you, Ambassador,” Jetanien said, almost besting the Klingon in tone and volume. “Do you have evidence to substantiate these claims?”