Not that Tain was too put out by the failure of that operation—it had proven that his predecessor was no longer fit to run the Order, and allowed Tain to gather support for his own candidacy for the job, once his predecessor met with his unfortunate accident.
Still, using the Federation made sense. They had been allied with the Klingons since Praxis, and they were very good at filling the air with pointless words—the perfect diplomats.
“Very well,” Kell said reluctantly. “However, we will be preparing for a conflict—in case the Klingons prove to be less than amenable to negotiations,” he added with an insincere smile.
“Excellent.” Alnak sounded relieved. Tain was disappointed in her being so transparent. But then, she hadn’t been called upon to do this sort of thing often. As a general rule, Central Command and the Order looked after their own affairs, with the Detapa Council’s oversight being little more than a formality. But the potential magnitude of this crisis required the cooperation of all three organizations.
From Tain’s perspective, this entire incident was proving to be incredibly valuable. In the short term, he had obtained useful information about Legate Kell and First Speaker Alnak. In the long term, this negotiation would allow his people to observe both the Klingons and the Federation more closely. The expansion program that had brought them Bajor and attempted to bring them Legara IV was also bringing their borders much closer to the sphere of influence of both powers.
The Klingons were an empire that had been bringing worlds under their heel for centuries. They had a reputation for fierceness and cruelty that Tain was sure was well earned. As for the Federation, though they claimed to be beneficent and egalitarian, they were as imperialistic a state as Tain had ever seen, expanding to an astonishing number of worlds. Tain would have thought that their democratic system would collapse under its own weight, especially at the size the Federation had achieved, but it seemed to function efficiently.
If Cardassia is to take its place as the leader of the galaxy, we must know as much as we can about these nations that will oppose our destiny.
The meeting adjourned soon thereafter. Tain could see that Kell was furious. He could also see that the legate was trying desperately to read Tain’s own expression and was frustrated at his inability to do so. Get used to disappointment,Tain thought.
He rose from his chair. “Thank you, Madam Speaker,” Tain said with a small bow. Turning to Kell, he added, “And best of luck to you, Legate.”
His polite response only seemed to anger Kell more. Tain simply smiled the blandest smile he had in his repertory and moved to the exit, all the while trying to decide which agent he would send to infiltrate the negotiating team.
Chapter 9
U.S.S. Carthage
When Lieutenant Ian Troi had been given permission by Commander Rachel Garrett to attend the reception, he had forgotten how damned uncomfortable Starfleet dress uniforms were.
Maybe participating in a Betazoid wedding has changed my opinions on clothes just a bit,he thought with a smile as he shifted the collar on the red dress uniform in the vain hope of keeping it from rubbing against his Adam’s apple.
Resigning himself to spending the evening scratching his neck, he left his quarters and headed to the U.S.S. Carthage’s recreation lounge. The room had been converted into a reception hall for this, the first night of what hoped to be a fruitful negotiation between the Klingons and the Cardassians over the disposition of Raknal V. In the three weeks since the Betreka Nebula Incident, the three sides had agreed to hold negotiations aboard the Miranda-class Carthage,with the Sontokand the Wo’bortasbringing the representatives of the Cardassian and Klingon governments, respectively. Troi had noted during his previous bridge shift that both ships had taken considerable battle damage, and that their repairs were adequate, but not one hundred percent—in a firefight, neither ship would be able to make much of a show of things, whereas the Carthagewas in tip-top shape. Troi wasn’t sure if that boded good or ill.
On his way down the corridor of deck twelve, Troi turned a corner and almost bumped into a man also wearing a Starfleet dress uniform. However, Troi didn’t recognize the taller man, which meant he couldn’t have been part of the crew. Troi prided himself on knowing every one of the Carthage’s complement of two hundred at least by face, and this slightly lined, clean-shaven visage framed by dark brown hair amply flecked with gray didn’t belong to any of them. One of the passengers we took on at the starbase, then,he thought.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said, taking note of the older man’s collar, indicating he was a full lieutenant and therefore one grade rank higher than Troi.
“Quite all right,” the man said in an all-business tone, then offered his hand. “Elias Vaughn.”
“Ian Troi, science officer,” he added, though Vaughn had not indicated his own position. “I take it you’re going to the reception, also?”
“Yes.”
Troi smiled even as he scratched his neck. Lieutenant Vaughn had packed quite a lot of disdain into that one syllable. Not the party type, apparently.
They entered the lounge together, and Troi found his ears assaulted by a cacophony of sound. I’m willing to bet most of it is from the Klingons,Troi thought with a wry smile. He’d never actually met any Klingons (or Cardassians, for that matter) until today, but he knew their shared reputation for boisterousness.
The lounge didn’t have any external windows, but someone had thought to activate the large viewscreen that took up most of one bulkhead—it showed the Betreka Nebula, the swirling gases and particulate matter making for a lovely backdrop. Ever the scientist, Troi was hoping they’d get the chance to explore the nebula in more depth on this mission. Garrett had already given him a we’ll-see on the subject.
Speaking of the Carthagefirst officer, she walked over to greet Troi. The commander held a glass filled with an amber liquid. Knowing Garrett,Troi thought, it’s bourbon.“Lieutenants, pleased to see you both,” she said. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“We, ah, don’t,” Troi said. “We just bumped into each other in the hall.”
“Well, help yourselves to refreshments,” Garrett said, indicating the entire room. “And please, mingle. The object of this reception is to help everyone relax.”
Troi looked around the lounge, and didn’t see much by way of relaxed people. Numerically, the room’s occupants were more or less evenly split among the Klingon delegation, the Cardassian delegation, and Federation representatives. Though several Carthagecrew members were distributed around various parts of the room—no doubt following Garrett’s urgings to mingle—everyone else was keeping to themselves. Troi also noted that Captain Haden hadn’t put in an appearance yet. But then, he had left most of the details of this to Garrett. Vance Haden had never had much patience with this sort of thing.
Three tables had been laid out with food and drink. The near table with the odd-smelling, ostentatious—and in some cases, wriggling—food and the smoking beverages had to have been the Klingon food. The far table with various peculiar-looking egg and fish dishes was probably Cardassian. In the center of the lounge was a table covered in raw vegetables from several different Federation worlds, slivers of sandwich meats from Earth, fruits from Trill, gristherafrom Andor, and a bowl of allirapunch from Betazed. Troi especially appreciated the latter, as he’d gotten all but addicted to the stuff during his six-month tour on that planet.