“There’s also such a thing as prior claim.” Dax let out a sigh that was probably unnecessarily theatrical. “It’s a bit of a legal hair that needs to be split, not aided by the fact that there are no treaties between Cardassia and the Empire—nor, for that matter, between Cardassia and the Federation. Whatever gets decided on this ship may well have an impact for generations to come.”
“And you get to shape it. How nice for you.”
Garrett spoke in the most pleasant of tones, but Dax could hardly miss the snide undercurrent. “It ismy job, Commander Garrett. Both the Cardassians and the Klingons are approaching this situation with caution, but for all the wrong reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
Now Garrett sounded like she was genuinely curious. Good,Dax thought, perhaps now I can get back in her good graces.He knew, of course, that the commander was a married woman, but that didn’t make her any less pleasant company, and Dax didn’t like the idea of an attractive woman not finding his own company as pleasant as he found hers. “Because of that very legal hair, cautious heads need to prevail—we tread over ground that is fraught with a veritable minefield of procedural dangers.” In a sweeping gesture, he pointed at both the Klingons and the Cardassians, each standing near their own table of food. “But that’s not why they’re being cautious. They’re concerned about the distances involved, and whether or not they can afford to commit to a prolonged conflict.”
Garrett shook her head and started walking toward the Federation food table. “Who would have thought forty years ago that the Klingons would be holding back from a war for economic reasons?”
Dax laughed. “My dear, you cannot possibly be old enough to remember anything from forty years ago.”
“No,” Garrett said as she grabbed some vegetables and placed her empty glass on the table. “In fact, I was born the year afterKhitomer.”
“Then you are fortunate, my dear,” Dax said as Garrett took a bite of some irrel.“You’ve never been alive during a time of conflict between the Federation and the Empire. As lamentable as the destruction of Praxis was, I have to say that it was the best thing ever to happen to either of our nations.” He poured himself some allirapunch. “Can I interest you in a glass?”
“God no,” Garrett said emphatically, “I can’t stand that stuff. My husband tried to ply me with it on our first date, and it almost prevented the second date.”
“Lucky for him, you got over it, then.”
“Mmm.”
Dax frowned. Trouble in paradise, perhaps?Still, he knew better than to query someone about their marriage difficulties. One of only two results was possible: she would go on for hours about those difficulties, which was the last thing Dax wanted to hear, or she would clam up and lose her charm as a conversational companion.
He turned his gaze over toward one of the tables, where Vaughn and young Mr. Troi were now sitting, having as animated a conversation as someone with Elias Vaughn’s utter lack of social skills could have. “Tell me, Commander, you wouldn’t happen to know whose ridiculous idea it was to send himalong, do you?”
“You mean Lieutenant Vaughn?” Garrett asked as she poured herself a skahtchansohde.“I’m honestly not sure. All I know is that our orders were to pick up the lieutenant along with you and your staff at Starbase 47 and bring you all here. Then we were to host the negotiations.”
Dax shook his head. “Probably some admiral insisted on it. Unfortunately, he’s as likely to make a mess of things as help. He’s an even bigger impediment to the process than the general and the legate.”
Garrett smiled. “He’s just here to observe, Ambassador. I doubt he’ll even be that heavily involved in the process.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Dax said gravely. “I’ve known far too many intelligence types, and there are two universal truths about them. One is that they are constitutionally incapable of not being heavily involved in the process, even when they’re not supposed to be.”
“And the other?”
Taking a bite of a celery stick, Dax said, “Their heads are so firmly lodged in their hindquarters that they have no sense of reality. It’s the sort of thing that can get us all killed if we’re not careful.”
At the sound of the doors parting, Dax turned to see the imposing figure of Vance Haden finally putting in his appearance. Large, dark-skinned, with a full head of hair that the captain kept cut close to his scalp, and wide, round eyes that appeared to see everything, Haden had earned a reputation as a hardass, but not an unreasonable one.
He headed straight for Garrett and Dax. “Number One. Ambassador. Good to see you both.” Haden had a deep, rich voice that Dax frankly envied. “How’s the reception going?”
“A little more segregated than what I was hoping, sir,” Garrett said ruefully.
“We knew this was going to be a hard row to hoe, Number One. I’m just glad they’re all in the same room and not killing each other.”
Dax smiled. “An auspicious beginning, I’d say.”
Haden didn’t return the smile. “I certainly hope so, Mr. Dax. I’m holding you personally responsible for keeping it that way. Because if anything happens to my ship, it’s your ass I intend to put in the sling. Do we understand each other?”
Although Dax was completely unintimidated by Haden’s attempt to intimidate him, the ambassador did at the very least respect Haden’s position. He couldn’t blame the captain for being apprehensive. “We do.”
“Good. I’m also keeping us on yellow alert until these negotiations are concluded, with the crew at general quarters. I don’t know much about the Cardassians, but I do know how Klingons act when they start getting their bowels in an uproar, and I don’t want any of my people caught in the cross-fire.”
Wonderful—another bit of tension to add. This business will get out of control if just the slightest thing goes wrong.
Taking another bite of celery, Dax thought, I’ll just have to make doubly sure that nothing goes wrong.
“The biggest problem, of course, are these young children they have coming up through the ranks. It’s almost as if all standards have gone completely out the airlock. They get into formation like a group of lifeless gritta,and no passion, no enthusiasm. If Cardassia’s going to be what it should be, we need young people who enjoy their work. Now you take my second, Ekron— heunderstands how things should be. When I was coming up through the ranks, you didn’t have to order anybody to do their jobs, they did it without asking. Now, it’s like yanking out a molar just to get someone to take a damn sensor reading.”
Legate Zarin did not believe in an afterlife. He firmly believed that when you died, assuming your body was still intact at the time of death, the body decayed and that was all there was to it. Unlike these Klingon savages they were supposed to be “negotiating” with, who were fairly obsessed with some mythical other-dimensional afterlife where they would beat each other over the head for all eternity, Zarin knew better. To him, life was the most important thing.
However, he knew that many other cultures believed in an afterlife where those who had lived unworthy lives had to suffer some kind of eternal torment in punishment. And right at this moment, he knew that, if such a place did exist, Zarin would be spending eternity being trapped in a room with Gul Monor. He could imagine no greater agony.
“The worst are these Foreheads. Expecting us to negotiate with them like they were civilized people. They’re as bad as the Bajorans, really.”
Zarin blinked. Monor actually said something intelligent and worth replying to. Swallowing the kanarhe had been sipping, Zarin said, “Well, they have more territory.”
“Luck, most likely. I’ve heard that they didn’t even develop warp drive, but stole it from some race called the Hur’q.”