“There’s a larger issue,” Moyer said. “If the Orions catch him, they’ll turn it into a public relations nightmare for us. They’ll broadcast whatever show trial they decide to hold for him across subspace, and they’ll execute him in front of the entire quadrant.”
Jackson added, “The Klingons would provide a clean execution, but not these thugs.” He paused, shaking his head. “That’s no way for anybody to go.”
“Then we should probably take steps to ensure that doesn’t happen,” ch’Nayla said.
Nogura rose from his chair. “That would be my preference, Commander.” Crossing his arms, he began walking the length of his office, aware of his officers turning to watch him. “However, let us make no mistake, if we enlist Mister Reyes in this effort, the priority must be obtaining any and all information that might help us to track the source of the Mirdonyae Artifacts. His safety, as well as any black eye the Orions could give the Federation if they were to capture him, would regrettably have to be viewed as secondary concerns.” Halting his pacing, he turned to T’Prynn. “Lieutenant, are you certain he’s willing to take on such a risk?”
“I am, Admiral,” the Vulcan replied without hesitation. “I believe Diego Reyes to be incapable of shirking his duty, regardless of his current standing.”
Nodding in agreement with her assessment, Nogura reached up to stroke his chin. He was no stranger to difficult decisions, and this certainly would not be the first time he issued orders that put people at risk. So, why did this feel different, and for reasons he could not explain?
I’m damned if I know.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Commander ch’Nayla, Lieutenant T’Prynn: you may proceed.”
7
Music filled the evening air over Paradise City.
Ambassador Jetanien stepped from his third-story office onto his small balcony, itself the lone architectural indulgence he had allowed himself when outlining his facility needs to the Corps of Engineers attachment tasked with the building’s construction. His vantage point offered him an unobstructed view of the city’s main courtyard, and out here the music was loud and vibrant. Not that the song being played necessarily was to his liking—he believed it to be an inventive take on a traditional Tellarite work chantey—but it was a vast improvement over construction noise, shouts of disagreement, or other flavors of cacophony he had grown accustomed to hearing in recent weeks.
Leaning over the balcony railing, Jetanien looked down at the street to find the source of the song. He saw what appeared to be the beginnings of a street party, complete with musicians occupying a small performance stage at the center of the thoroughfare. A pair of block-long rows of dining tables and benches radiated from the stage and down the street, and booths lining the sidewalks offered freshly prepared dishes from the cuisines of a dozen species. A crowd that Jetanien judged to be several hundred strong, representing easily half of the new settlement’s population, had already collected in the courtyard to enjoy food and fellowship. The atmosphere in the streets was one of warmth and welcome.
“Happy Great Hope Day!”
Turning at the sound of the voice, Jetanien stepped back into his office to find his administrative attaché, Sergio Moreno, waiting for him. Extending his manus in greeting to the smiling, brown-skinned young human standing near his desk, Jetanien said, “And I do think it will be, Mister Moreno.”
Moreno returned the gesture by clasping Jetanien’s scaled mitt within his hands. “Are you watching the celebration? I think we’re getting a great turnout.”
“As this is likely to be the only social event this evening in Paradise City, let alone on all of Nimbus III,” Jetanien said, “I would certainly hope so.” He added a few clicks of laughter that seemed to cause Moreno’s smile to fade. “Don’t get me wrong, Sergio. I’m very encouraged by what I see.”
“Your plan to create a citywide celebration is being well received, Ambassador,” Moreno said as he released Jetanien’s manus. “A new holiday we can call our own is not only a great unifier, but a boost to morale after a lot of hard work.”
Jetanien felt a small surge of pride upon hearing that. While not overly grand in scope, the street festival to celebrate Great Hope Day had been his idea, and it certainly was something he hoped might succeed enough to continue as an annual event for the colony. He had marked the date on his calendar weeks ago, eyeing it as a means of rewarding the efforts of Paradise City residents for completing construction on the experimental colony’s first phase. Events in past weeks, including a few altercations and accusations among the colonists themselves, apparently had begun to take an emotional toll on all involved in the endeavor. Such behavior was not unexpected, of course; it was part of the natural and unavoidable growing pains for the first settlement ever to be shared by citizens of three such disparate political and social entities as the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon and Romulan empires. Despite these and other minor issues, in the end the colonists had persevered, and the results were all around them.
“New holiday?” Jetanien asked. “I appreciate your optimism, Sergio, and I can only hope that it’s contagious.”
“I’ll do my best to spread it,” Moreno replied as Jetanien settled onto his glenget,a special chair constructed to fit his large, ungainly physique, which allowed him comfortable access to his large stained-wood desk. “Will you be going to the festival yourself?”
“Of course,” Jetanien said. “I first have a brief meeting to attend, after which I shall do my level best to … what do you humans say? Dance the night away.”
Sergio asked, “Then you have time for a few progress reports? Unless you would prefer that I submit them at our morning meeting.”
Jetanien twisted his mandible to affect an expression he had learned best approximated a human’s smile. “You aren’t seeking an excuse to avoid the celebration yourself, are you, Sergio? Surely the smell of the Klingon food isn’t enough to keep you off the streets tonight.”
The attaché smiled. “No, Ambassador, I’ll be going. Actually, I’m waiting for S’anra to arrive so I can accompany her this evening.”
Recognizing the name, Jetanien nodded in approval. “And is this your first date with a Romulan, my good man?”
“Oh, no,” Sergio replied, though Jetanien noticed the color shift in his face indicating the young man was embarrassed.
“Ah!” the ambassador exclaimed. “So, you make a habit of entertaining Romulan women? And what would your mother say?”
Moreno seemed to trip over his own laughter before replying, “No, Ambassador, I mean that this isn’t a date. We’re simply immersing ourselves in the idea of ‘cultural exchange.’ It’s actually more of a wager, to be honest.”
This piqued Jetanien’s curiosity. “How so?”
“We’re each going to see who can find the most foods that the other will like,” Moreno replied. “I talked one of the vendors into using my grandfather’s recipe for chorizo. Very smoky and very spicy. Any Romulan would love it.”
Jetanien nodded. “And I trust you know just what you’ll be letting yourself in for?”
“Oh, I’m fine with anything but the Andorian dishes,” Moreno said. “I’m just not into tuber root and cabbage. I need more meat.”
The chime to Jetanien’s office door sounded, interrupting their discussion. “Come in,” he called out, and the door slid aside to reveal an aged Romulan male, his thin white hair neatly trimmed around his pointed ears. Straight bangs all but covered his brow, and his face, deeply lined and wan, contrasted with the ruddy ceremonial robes draping his withered body.
“Senator D’tran,” Jetanien said, surprised and happy at the sight of his guest. “Please, join me. My aide was just leaving.”
If Moreno was at all surprised by his abrupt dismissal, he did not reveal it through facial expression or body language, a response Jetanien noted as indicating a level of self-control that would befit a successful member of the Diplomatic Corps. Sergio Moreno was the youngest and least experienced of Jetanien’s two-member staff on Nimbus III, but the ambassador considered him well suited to the challenges that came with the significant if not historic mission of overseeing the prototype community of Paradise City. The young man’s soft-spoken demeanor and amiable, accommodating approach to problem-solving seemed to ingratiate him to the diverse local population, which certainly could benefit from as much social lubrication as Jetanien’s office might provide.