Harriman stepped back and glanced around the room. All eyes, he saw, had found the padd. At first, nobody said anything, reinforcing Harriman’s conviction that Ambassadors Kamemor and Kage wanted to believe what they had just been told by the Federation envoys, and that both wanted to do what they could to avoid war.
“And you wish us to trust you?” Admiral Vokar asked, his voice thick with skepticism. He stood behind the table, near where the Romulan ambassador and her staff sat. In addition to the Federation, Romulan, and Klingon diplomatic parties to whom the special UFP envoys were making their presentation here on Algeron, Harriman had joined the summit to represent Starfleet; Vokar had subsequently demanded permission to take part in the meeting as well. One of the Klingon ambassador’s aides, a large, imposing figure named Ditagh, had also made noise about wanting a Klingon Defense Force representative present, but Kage had quickly shut him down.
“No, Admiral, we actually do not expect you to trust us,” said the lead Federation envoy—in reality, Commander Gravenor. Lieutenant Vaughn stood behind her, to her right. Both wore raiments befitting their alleged professions, Gravenor in a dark blue jacket and skirt over a white blouse, and Vaughn in a dark gray suit, also with a white shirt. “That is the purpose of our visit here,” Gravenor continued. “That is why Starfleet has agreed to furnish both the Romulan Star Empire and the Klingon Empire with all data relating to our hyperwarp project. It is our hope that your scientists will confirm what we’ve told you, and for you to see that what the crew of the Tomed witnessed was not the trial of a new weapon, but the tragic loss of a starship and crew testing the experimental drive.”
“And what happens when we confirm something different than that?” Ditagh snapped. Ambassador Kage looked at his aide, but did not stop him from going on. “What happens when we confirm that Starfleet was conducting tests of a metaweapon?”
Kage peered over at Gravenor. “That is a legitimate question,” he said.
“For you, yes, it is,” Gravenor allowed. “But not for us. Because we know that Starfleet has created no such weapons, we expect that your scientists will be able to provide the necessary verification. There is nothing else that they can verify.”
“So you claim,” Ambassador Kamemor said carefully. “It is clear that the Federation understands the repercussions of their developing and testing a metaweapon; I trust you further understand the repercussions of then attempting to lie about it.” Harriman watched her as she spoke, trying to measure the woman he saw now with the one he had met fifteen years ago at another diplomatic summit. Back then, he and Kamemor had established a rapport, one that had grown during four succeeding encounters. Harriman had even provided her with some guidance for her son regarding the young man’s then-fledgling military career, guidance which had served the son well, Harriman had later found out. Now, though, Kamemor seemed to studiously avoid his gaze. Even when he had first entered the room and been introduced by Federation Ambassador Endara, her attention had passed quickly over him, as though even the slightest acknowledgment of their prior relationship could foul these talks—which, Harriman supposed, might well be true. “If the Romulan Empire is unable to authenticate the Federation’s claims,” Kamemor went on, “the consequences will be severe.”
“Begging the ambassador’s pardon,” Vaughn said, “but since we are telling you the truth, the only consequence should be peace.”
Kamemor nodded. “Let us hope so,” she said.
Beside Kamemor, Vokar moved, striding behind the Romulan delegation and down the length of the table to its end, where he scooped up the padd Harriman had set down. “I will duplicate these data so that I can scrutinize them myself,” he said, his tone clearly signaling a challenge to Harriman and the Federation envoys. Ripples of color wavered across Vokar’s features, and Harriman glanced out the viewing port. In the distance, the remnants of the planet that had once orbited here refracted the light of this system’s star. Although he could not see from this vantage where Enterprise sat docked at the large central ring of Algeron, Harriman spied the underside of Tomed as the ship orbited the space station. “The scientists and engineers on Romulus can check these readings,” Vokar continued, “but I know what my crew observed, and I will have them examine the Federation assertions firsthand.”
“Please,” Gravenor said, “by all means, Admiral.”
“The Klingon Empire demands its own set of data,” Ditagh said.
“Of course,” Harriman said. He moved forward again and placed the other two padds on the table. “I brought complete copies for each of the delegations.”
“You may take a set of data, Ambassador Kage,” Gravenor said. “Please feel free to match what we have provided you with what we have provided the Romulans. We wish there to be no misunderstandings.”
Kage nodded in Gravenor’s direction. “Thank you,” he said to her, his voice unusually mellow for a Klingon, Harriman thought. He had never met Kage before, but he knew that the Federation Council held the ambassador in high regard. Evaluated to be one of Chancellor Azetbur’s most trusted and loyal adherents, Kage was therefore believed to be a strong proponent of peace.
“I will repair to my vessel now,” Vokar said, holding up the Federation padd, “so that my crew can begin to analyze these data.”
“Pardon me, Admiral,” spoke up one of Kamemor’s aides, an intense young subconsul named Merken Vreenak. “With your permission, sir, and with yours, Ambassador—” Vreenak looked to Kamemor. “—I would like to examine the readings myself.” When Kamemor said nothing, he added, “So that I may provide a direct report to you and this delegation.” He smiled thinly, an expression Harriman imagined people wore when sliding a dagger smoothly and slowly into somebody’s back.
“That will be acceptable,” Kamemor said at last. “That is, if Admiral Vokar has no objections.”
“Not at all,” Vokar said, and Harriman felt suddenly certain that the admiral and the subconsul had worked together previously. Vreenak stood from his chair and emerged from behind the table, following Vokar as he passed Harriman and headed for the door. Before leaving, the admiral turned and addressed the assemblage. “I hope to have some preliminary findings within the day,” he said. Then, looking directly at Harriman, he added, “Perhaps within hours.” His message—that he expected to uncover evidence of Federation duplicity—was unmistakable.
“Excellent,” Harriman said, unfazed. “We look forward to your conclusions.” Vokar rounded on his heel and left, Vreenak trailing after him.
Good, Harriman thought as the meeting began to break up around him. Vokar’s predictable insistence on having his crew study the hyperwarp documents at once would likely keep Tomed and Enterprise docked at Algeron for several more hours. And that would be enough time for Harriman to do what he had actually come here to do.
Sulu paced her quarters anxiously. The sounds of her footsteps, muffled by the carpeting, reached her ears too easily, underscoring the stillness of Enterprise. Tethered to an alien space station, inside the territory of a hostile power, the ship seemed vulnerable. Should political tensions finally give way to warfare, the crew of Enterprise would be immediately endangered, cut off as they currently were from the rest of the Federation.
“Damn,” she muttered. She felt powerless, unable to take any meaningful actions as events unfolded around her. Captain Harriman remained on Algeron with the special UFP envoys, presumably handing over hyperwarp technology to the two powers who posed the greatest threat to the Federation. Enterprise sat undefended and silent, its shields lowered, its communications blacked out. And Sulu shuttled back and forth across her quarters, arms folded across her chest, searching for something that she could do to help.
“Damn,” she said again. She considered going to the bridge and relieving Xintal, but she knew that there would be no point; standing another watch would not put her mind at ease, nor would it do for the crew to see her in such an apprehensive state. But she felt that she needed to do something.
Sulu walked to the outer bulkhead and peered out through the viewing ports there. Above, the tiered, circular form of the Romulan space station rose away from Enterprise, the lights from the station’s own ports evidence of the inhabitants and visitors aboard. Beyond Algeron, the unblinking stars rested in the firmament, voiceless observers to all that transpired within the galaxy.
Without consciously choosing to do so, Sulu picked out the two stars that roughly defined the ends of the Bonneville Flats. Like a recurring nightmare, the moments of Universe’s hyperwarp tests came back to her: the excitement she had felt, the numbers that had streamed across the sciences station readouts, the voices of the Universe crew. The sound of the explosion.
And then the silence. The terrible, cruel silence.
She knew that the specter of the Universe tragedy would haunt her for the rest of her life. She would learn to live with it, of course, and there would eventually come days that passed free of the horrible memories, but it would never leave her completely. We have no comlink with the Universe, Lieutenant Kanchumurthi had said from his communications station, and Sulu had known at that moment that tragedy had struck. There had been the sound of what could only have been an explosion, there had been the painful silence after it, there had been the zeroes on her readouts, but when Ramesh had reported the loss of communications with Universe, the certainty of what had happened had come to Sulu.
Each morning since the events out on the Bonneville Flats, she had awoken with thoughts of Universe in her mind. She had found some salve in working with the Enterprise crew to ease their pain, but only so much. Words and thoughts and actions could bring understanding and acceptance, and perhaps even closure, but the loss could never be lessened. Fifty-one people—fifty-one heroes—had given their lives in pursuit of a dream, a dream of exploration that would have been shared by all. Now, only the memories of those lives remained.
Sulu turned from the viewing port and walked over to the inner corner of her quarters, to her desk. She sat down and activated the computer interface there. It chirped to life, the image of Enterprise appearing on the display. “Computer,” Sulu said, “list the crew roster of the U.S.S. Universe.” After the Romulans had revealed their knowledge of the testing out on the Bonneville Flats, and after Starfleet had opted to respond by fully disclosing what had taken place, all records of the incident had been declassified.
On the monitor, a list of Starfleet personnel appeared, blue letters on a white background. Sulu began to read through them, noting that Captain Kuwano had not actually held the rank of captain, but commander; an engineer by trade, according to the document, she had been designated acting captain for the Universe trials. Sulu recognized the names of the helm officer—Lieutenant Seaver, whose given name had been Doris—and the chief engineer—Lieutenant Commander Chernin, whose given name had been Alexei.
A knot formed behind Sulu’s eyes, and she reached up and rubbed her forehead. What am I doing? she asked herself. She understood the grieving process, recalling the emotional storms she had weathered during other times of loss throughout her life. But was that what she was doing now? Was she working through her shock and sadness, or obsessing over them, staying mired in her sorrow?
Maybe the captain was right, she thought. Maybe I should talk to Dr. Morell.
Sulu dropped her hand into her lap and looked again at the Universe roster on her desktop display. She had no desire to diminish the memories of these women and men by fixating mindlessly on their loss. She wanted instead to honor them, to find the words or gestures that would exemplify her grief, and in so doing, venerate the lives of the Universe crew.
And that’s what she would do, she decided.
Sulu stood from her desk and retrieved a small, round candle from her bedroom. She returned to the front cabin with it, and set it down before the desktop computer interface. After lighting the candle, she sat and folded her hands together. The yellow flame flickered once, then settled down to burn steadily. Sulu focused on it for several moments, before raising her eyes once more to the Universe crew roster.
“Commander Adrienne Kuwano,” she said, her voice firm and clear. She peered again at the candle flame, bowing her head as she memorialized her fallen compatriot. Finally, after a silent minute or so, she looked back up at the screen, at the next name on the list. “Lieutenant Commander Alexei Chernin,” she recited, and bowed her head once more.
It took more than an hour for Sulu to read through the entire list of names.
A recognizable and steady tone signaled the arrival of the visitor at Kamemor’s quarters. “Enter,” she said from her place on the sofa, and the door slid open to reveal Captain Harriman standing beyond it. Behind him, a muscular security guard towered over him, evidence of station protocols that required guests to be accompanied when outside their habitat and conference sections.
“Ambassador Kamemor,” Harriman said, bowing his head and closing his eyes in what she took to be a sign of respect. After the meeting with Harriman and the Federation envoys—and the vulgar Vokar—the three had been assigned separate quarters, despite the uncertainty of how long the trio would be staying on Algeron. From his cabin, Harriman had contacted Kamemor and asked for an audience with her. It had demanded some consideration for her to accede to his request; concerned that even the smallest misconception could pose a problem for the treaty negotiations, she did not wish to risk the impression of impropriety. But she realized that far greater problems than that now plagued the peace talks, and in the decade and a half that she had known the Starfleet captain, she had always found him an honorable and trustworthy man.
“Captain Harriman,” she said, standing. “Please come in.” The captain strode inside, and the security guard followed, stopping in the doorway. “Thank you, that will be all, Lieutenant,” Kamemor said, dismissing him. He withdrew back into the corridor, the door closing behind him.
“Jolan tru, Ambassador,” Harriman said, offering the traditional Romulan greeting. His pronunciation, impressively, lacked even the slightest hint of a human accent.
“Good evening, Captain,” Kamemor returned, trusting in her own language skills to reciprocate Harriman’s show of deference. “Please, have a seat,” she said, opening her hand in the direction of a chair across from where she had been sitting.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Harriman said as he moved farther into the room. He circled around the chair and sat down.
“It is my honor,” she said. “May I offer you something to drink? Some ale perhaps?” She recalled the last time she had seen Harriman, at another treaty negotiation more than five years ago, on a moon in Tholian space. The two, celebrating the signing of a trade accord, had shared more than a liberal amount of the famed Romulan intoxicant.
Harriman looked up and smiled, clearly understanding her reference. “I think I’ll pass on the ale today,” he said. “But a glass of carallun would be refreshing.”
“Of course,” Kamemor said, struck again by the captain’s knowledge of Romulan culture. As far as she knew, carallun—a lightly flavored citrus beverage made from fruit native to Romulus—was generally unknown outside of the Empire. She walked from the sitting area to the other side of the room, to the food synthesizer set into the bulkhead there. As she operated the control panel, walking through several menus and submenus, she asked, “How is Ms. Sasine?” Kamemor had once met Harriman’s romantic partner, and Ms. Sasine had been the topic of conversation on more than one occasion.
“Good, very good, although I miss her,” Harriman said. “And how about Ravent?” he added, asking about Kamemor’s own mate.
“Excellent, thank you,” Kamemor said. “Although I miss her as well.” Arriving at the submenu item for carallun, she selected it, specifying her request for two glasses of the beverage. “So, Captain, is this a social visit, or an official one?”
“I’m afraid it’s neither,” Harriman said.
“Neither?” Kamemor questioned. “Then this is an unoff
icial visit, and not one intended for social purposes.”
“Yes,” Harriman agreed. “That’s right.” The hum of the food synthesizer filled the room, and its small door slid upward to reveal a pair of tall, narrow glasses on the shelf within. Kamemor picked them up and crossed back to the sitting area. As she handed one of the pale yellow drinks to Harriman, she saw him peering around her quarters. She followed his gaze as it passed over the artwork adorning her walls, a collection of realist works, mostly oil paintings, but also including a pair of busts she had acquired over the years. She saw the captain’s attention settle on a still life portraying an IDIC pendant sitting atop a stack of books on an antique desk. “That painting is by a woman named Raban Gedroe,” she told him. “It is entitled Still Life, with Philosophy.”
“It is impressive,” Harriman said. “But I’m a little surprised to see a Vulcan symbol depicted in a piece of Romulan art.” He obviously referred to the medallion in the painting, an ancient Vulcan icon embracing the concept of “infinite diversity in infinite combinations.”
“Tolerance and acceptance are ideals hardly exclusive to the Vulcans,” Kamemor said.
“And yet not practiced widely enough,” Harriman said as Kamemor sat back down on the sofa. “It’s good to see you again, Ambassador. You’re looking well.”
“I am well, thank you,” Kamemor said, sipping at her drink. “Although I am also frustrated at the often torpid pace of the peace negotiations.”
“I understand,” Harriman said.
“And you?” Kamemor asked. “Are you well? You appear…fatigued.” The captain’s features seemed drawn, his eyes red.
“I am fatigued,” Harriman admitted. “The situation with the hyperwarp drive…that’s why I’m here.”
Serpents Among the Ruins Page 18
