Vaughn raised an eyebrow in an almost Vulcanlike manner. “What was it you said before about different senses of privacy?”
Troi chuckled. “We may as well have been alone for all that I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”
“We should all be so happy,” Dax said, raising his mug in salute, then drinking the remainder of its contents. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to refill my warnogand try to put the Klingon negotiator at ease.” He shook his head, and spoke in more serious tones. “They both sent military people—a general and a legate. That’s going to keep things complicated.”
“That’s what Starfleet Command is worried about,” Vaughn said, “and why I’m here.”
“Yes, of course, Lieutenant,” Dax said, his smile returning. “Far better to go into a tense situation and add a person whose very presence will make it all the more tense. As usual, Starfleet shows a command of logic that would make a Vulcan gibber. Peace will not come about from two people rattling sabers at each other.” Grabbing a gristhera,Dax turned to head across the lounge. “A pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant Troi.” With a nod, he added, “Vaughn.” And then he headed toward the Klingon delegation, in particular a white-haired general with a most sour expression on his face.
Vaughn shook his head. “I don’t see any way for this to end well. Klingons aren’t known for their negotiation skills, and Cardassians aren’t known for much of anything except self-interest.”
“Still, they must want to settle this peacefully if they asked for our help.” Troi popped a cherry tomato into his mouth after he was done speaking.
“Please,” Vaughn said disdainfully. “Dax can carry on all he wants about saber-rattling, but they’re only rattling them because their sabers have been weakened. Neither side can afford the kind of prolonged conflict that would normally result from what happened here last month. Instead, they’re biding their time, going through with this charade until they can find an advantage. If Dax thinks he’s actually going to accomplish anything here, he’s fooling himself.” Then he let out a breath. “Sorry, old habits. I’ve never been too keen on diplomats. They tend to have their heads firmly lodged in their hindquarters, and have absolutely no sense of the reality of their surroundings.”
Troi smiled as he gulped down the rest of his allira.“Somehow, Lieutenant, I don’t think anyone will ever accuse you of having no sense of the reality of your surroundings.”
At that, Vaughn actually laughed. In fact, it was only a small chuckle, but given how taciturn the lieutenant had been up until now, it was the functional equivalent of one of Dax’s belly laughs. “I certainly hope not. And please, call me Elias.”
“If you insist, but only if you call me Ian.”
“Very well, Ian—would you mind pouring me some more of that punch?”
Somehow, General Worf managed to choke down the liquid that Commander Garrett had insisted was warnog.It took all of his self-control to keep from spitting it out and dumping the remainder in his mug on the hideous carpet of this Federation ship’s lounge.
Then again,he thought, it was not that long ago that I would have done so regardless of the quality of thewarnog. Klingons did not drink with the enemy, and until recently, the Carthagewould have been nothing but an enemy vessel.
“Much has changed,” Worf muttered to himself as he set the mug down on a nearby table.
“What was that, sir?” his civilian aide, a young man named Lorgh, asked.
Worf looked down at the youth, with barely enough hair on his face to be properly called a beard. “I said much has changed. I have seen a great deal in my lifetime, Lorgh, things I would never have imagined possible before they actually occurred. Praxis destroyed. Peace with the Federation. And now—now, Ch’gran has been found. We live in peculiar times.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” Lorgh said with a deference that was in every way convincing, and utterly false.
“Of course you would.” Once the general would have been happy to play these games, but he was far too old to have the patience for them now. “It is, after all, your function to observe your surroundings.”
Lorgh scowled. “My job is to aid you, General. I can assure you—”
“I did not say ‘job,’ Lorgh, I said ‘function.’ Precision of language is important in my line of work—as it should be in yours.”
“Sir, my line of work isyours.”
“If you insist on referring to your cover story as a line of work, so be it. But do not insult me by pretending to be anything other than the Imperial Intelligence agent you are.”
To Lorgh’s credit, he showed no surprise, nor did his facial expression change in any way. “Sir, you cannot think that I would try to undermine your work here.”
“You are here to ensure that these negotiations do not conflict with whatever the High Council’s agenda is regarding Raknal V and the Ch’gran colony.” Throwing caution to the wind, Worf picked the warnogback up. “I do not doubt that you will alsoserve me as my aide.”
“How did you know, sir?” Lorgh continued to speak in the deferential tones of an aide. That was no doubt for the benefit of anybody observing them. Worf was sure that, just as I.I. had sent their own operative, Cardassia and the Federation had done the same. Typically, the Federation’s was out in the open—the dark-haired lieutenant standing over by the Federation food table with one of the Carthagecrew. Cardassia’s equivalent of I.I. had probably used more covert means, as I.I. had, and assigned someone to go undercover as an aide to Legate Zarin. Worf took pleasure in his surety that Zarin had no clue which of his staff was serving that function.
Answering Lorgh’s question, Worf said, “I have spent my life observing people. The battlefield on which I wage war is that of the courtroom and the negotiation table, and language is both my weapon and that of my opponents. Language of the body speaks as loudly as that of the mouth, often more so, for fewer hear the words they speak in that tongue.”
“It is a pity I.I. never drafted you, sir.”
Worf snorted. “Your flattery is misdirected, Lorgh. I am no warrior. I.I. requires a level of martial skill that I have never achieved. The Defense Force, at least, has a place for those of my class who do not live up to the exacting standards of front-line warriors.”
“You’d be surprised what I.I. requires, sir.” Lorgh let that comment hang for a moment, then continued. “In any case, I have no intention of undermining these negotiations—unless your intent is to do other than what you have been ordered.”
Another snort. “Unlikely—and that you would even think so—”
Lorgh held up a hand. “I merely raise the possibility, sir. After all, no one would have imagined General Chang to be a traitor once. Indeed, his statue in the Hall of Warriors on Ty’Gokor had been all but built. Yet now, his name is spoken of only as a curse.”
Worf smiled at that. “I faced General Chang once, in the courtroom. It was shortly before his disgrace—in fact, it was a part of it. I had been instructed to serve as advocate for the humans Kirk and McCoy when they were accused of assassinating Chancellor Gorkon. Chang himself chose me, and I followed his orders. I knew the humans to be innocent of the charges, but I did not disobey. If I had, he would have killed me where I stood and assigned another to take my place.”
“Sir, I’m aware of all of this.” Lorgh sounded genuinely confused—perhaps the first genuine emotion he’d displayed in Worf’s presence. “Why do you tell this story now?”