“I beg your pardon,” Jetanien said. How can this be happening? Why now, when I might be so close to our first true breakthrough?
Reyes shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ambassador, but this comes directly from the Federation Council. We’ve just received word that earlier today, a Klingon task force attacked and destroyed the Tholian military outpost on Zenstala II.”
“Excellent,” Lugok said, his voice low and menacing.
“And the Tholians retaliated in like fashion against Klingon holdings at Dorala and Korinar.”
“ A suitable response to Klingon aggression,”Sesrene offered.
Already knowing what the impact of the new developments would be, Jetanien forced himself to remain impassive as he asked, “What does this mean, Commodore?”
His expression one of disappointment, Reyes replied, “Both the Tholian Assembly and the Klingon Empire have called for the withdrawal of all peace delegations, including those serving within the United Federation of Planets and specifically Starbase 47.” To Lugok and Sesrene, he said, “Further, any delay in having these directives carried out will be seen by your governments as interference by the Federation and acted upon ‘accordingly.’ Therefore, I’m declaring an end to these proceedings, effective immediately. My instructions are to have you off the station no later than 1200 hours local time tomorrow.”
“That’s outrageous,” Jetanien said, forcing himself to remain in his glengetand to keep his tone of voice level. “We have only just begun to make significant progress here.” He looked to Sesrene, hopeful that the revelations of the past few minutes might result in a show of support for his protest.
Instead, the Tholian ambassador stepped away from the conference table and headed toward the doors without so much as an acknowledgment of his diplomatic colleagues or even Reyes as he strode from the room.
“It is just as well,” Lugok said as he rose from his chair. “The Tholians are without honor. We will never agree, on anything. So far as the empire is concerned, they are nothing more than jeghpu’wI’. They simply do not know it yet.” Offering another contemptuous scowl to Jetanien, the Klingon marched from the chambers without another word.
As the doors slid shut behind the ambassador, Reyes turned to Jetanien. “I’m truly sorry, Your Excellency. It seems our friends aren’t yet ready to take such a bold step forward, after all.”
“I am not so sure, Commodore,” Jetanien replied. “There was some progress made here today, though not of a type I was expecting.” Reviewing what he had learned from Sesrene in the closing moments of the meeting, the Chelon decided that it was not yet the appropriate time to convey this new information to Reyes. There was no way to know at this point if what Sesrene had conveyed was fact or myth. Considering the stakes, this was no time to proceed with uncertainty.
“It’s going to be a hard road going forward,” Reyes said after a moment. “Starfleet Command thinks war between the Klingons and the Tholians could come at any time.” He shook his head. “And here we are, with ringside seats.”
“All the better to continue our mission, Commodore,” Jetanien said after a moment. “I refuse to surrender, not while an iota of hope remains. We will prevail.”
Afraid to make eye contact with his friend, the ambassador wondered if the commodore sensed the false optimism, for even as he spoke them, the words and the confidence they carried rang hollow in Jetanien’s ears.
36
Even Pennington winced when the second of Broon’s men landed a vicious punch to Quinn’s stomach. The privateer sagged to the deck of the cargo hold, releasing another bout of violent coughing as he tried without success to keep from falling onto his face.
“That one’s going to leave a mark,” Quinn said between ragged breaths. Blood streamed from a cut over his left eye, compliments of the first hit he had taken from one of Broon’s thugs. He reached up to wipe his face, but his arm was pulled away as two of the men yanked him to his feet, only to hold him steady as yet another member of the gang slammed his fist into the pilot’s gut.
“Is this really necessary?” Pennington shouted, making no attempt to hide his indignation at being forced to watch Quinn suffer.
Standing a few meters away near a table where Armnoj had been planted along with his briefcase, Broon regarded the journalist with a leering smile made all the more sinister thanks to his yellow, crooked teeth. “No, but it’s fun.” He indicated Quinn with a wave of his hand. “Your pal there gave me a lot of grief on Kessik IV last month. He was supposed to die there, you know. Ganz contracted me to kill him. Things didn’t work out, obviously, thanks to some friends he brought along. What I don’t get is why Ganz didn’t kill me afterward. He’s not usually so forgiving.”
Pennington remembered Quinn mentioning something about Kessik IV during one of his frequent stupors. To hear him tell the tale, Quinn had been the benefactor of action on T’Prynn’s part. The specifics were lost amid the pilot’s inebriated slurring, but Pennington had gotten the gist: Vanguard’s senior intelligence officer had a need for Quinn—for the short term, at any rate—and Ganz was smart enough not to get in the way of that.
Evidently, Broon lacked similar comprehension of the situation.
Turning to where Armnoj sat at the table fiddling with his still-closed briefcase, the pirate smacked the Zakdorn across the back of the head. “Why isn’t that thing open yet?”
Armnoj reached up to rub where he had been struck. “It takes time to disengage the security measures protecting the contents,” he said, his voice even more high-pitched and nasally than usual. “Do you want me to destroy everything because you rushed me?”
Looking to Pennington, Broon sneered. “I’m amazed you didn’t kill him days ago.”
“The thought crossed our minds,” Pennington replied, looking in the direction of the Rigelian currently training a disruptor pistol on him. The thug was dividing his attention between him and Armnoj while also listening to his boss.
A yell of pain caught his attention and Pennington turned to see that one of the four men taking turns beating Quinn had landed another blow to his face. Quinn reeled from the blow, falling backward and dropping to one knee where, thankfully, he remained. His attackers, apparently possessing at least a modicum of decency, refrained from further action and instead waited for him to regain his feet.
They’re going to kill him, and even if they don’t, we’re both dead anyway.
Looking about the cargo room, a different and much cleaner one than where he, Quinn, and Armnoj had been held after being brought aboard Broon’s ship, Pennington’s eyes fell upon the open hatch leading into the airlock, which according to Broon would be the gateway to oblivion so far as he and Quinn were concerned. Fear, anger, indignation, and helplessness all fought for control of the journalist as he stared at that hatch. The thought of waiting inside the cramped vestibule for the harsh, unforgiving vacuum of space to claim them terrified Pennington. It was no way to die, not for any being, even the vilest of criminals.
His gaze wandered to the airlock—and fixed upon the control panel mounted to the bulkhead next to it. In that instant Pennington’s conflicting emotions resolved themselves into a single, unwavering moment of conviction.
If I’m going out, I’m taking these bastards with me.
Lunging forward, Pennington slapped his hand down upon the large switch on one end of the control panel. The Rigelian guarding him was startled by his sudden action, his slow response further hindered when an alarm blared through the cargo hold.