“Qo’noS will adhere to our agreements set forth after the events at Xhehenem!” It was her turn to interrupt him, and each word was as sharp as the blade of an ushaantor. “Nothing has changed about the goals of our mutual mission. The Bortas and the Prometheus believe they have found the source of the Renao threat. Currently, they are working on putting an end to this threat.”
“Iad is completely irrelevant right now!” K’mtok’s roar echoed from the walls in the Wescott Room. The Klingon had jumped to his feet, and he had completely lost control. He had never been a particularly controlled diplomat in the first place. Several times his stubborn, unreasonable manner had strained the political relations with Qo’noS rather than improving them. “The danger does not stem from Iad,” he continued, slightly more restrained—but no less furious. “Iad is just a pathetic world. We can take care of it when the time is right.”
“And where do you see the biggest danger?” Akaar asked tersely.
“All over the Lembatta Cluster!” K’mtok shook his head. “If you still can’t see that you’re an even bigger fool than I thought. No wonder that your oh-so-virtuous Federation has been stumbling from one crisis to the next during the past few years. Even if someone presses a bat’leth against your throat, you still want to negotiate instead of fight.” Akaar raised both hands in protest but K’mtok hadn’t finished yet. “The Renao are the problem. Each and every one of them is a ticking time bomb. You saw the hate message. You saw how many suicide fighters the Purifying Flame have at their disposal. Stopping them is of the utmost importance right now. Let Iad be the root of all evil, but it’s the fanatics who threaten our worlds. We must come down on them with all our might. And since we don’t know who has been affected by Iad’s madness, we have to assume that the entire region is dangerous.”
“According to the Prometheus some members of this species are withstanding the radiation longer than others,” zh’Tarash said.
“So what? Is that supposed to be some kind of consolation? Can you tell by looking at the red-skins whether they will become assassins today or next week? No, you can’t!”
“And that’s why they are all your enemies?” Akaar said, furious. “You consider that a justification for genocide? With all due respect, Ambassador, that is despicable!”
“Urgently required, that’s what it is,” K’mtok said. “And it has been right from the onset. This hate message full of fighters capable of cloaking proves that point.”
Zh’Tarash wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. She was inclined to consider sobriety and foresight much more productive than short-sighted actions, but K’mtok just managed to push her over the edge. She jumped to her feet and cried out, “That’s enough! Ambassador, we’re running around in circles. We’re not getting anywhere—and we didn’t the last time we met. And the time before that.” She looked at K’mtok sternly. “Tell Chancellor Martok that the Federation doesn’t see any reason to negate the Xhehenem Resolution. What was valid yesterday is still valid today. Innocent lives are innocent lives, and warriors of the Empire hungry for glory and revenge who shoot first and ask questions later are the last thing the farmers on Xhehenem and the fishermen on Onferin need right now.”
The ambassador laughed dryly. “There are lives at stake, Madame President—Klingon lives. The High Council is obligated to protect them, and it will do just that, no matter what the Federation thinks about it.”
“Once the agreed ultimatum has passed,” Akaar said.
But K’mtok didn’t seem to care about that. “Right now!”
Zh’Tarash took a deep breath. She had been worried that their talks might take this turn, and therefore she had one last ace up her sleeve. But would it be enough?
“I’d like to suggest a compromise, if I may,” she said, sitting back down. As quickly as she had allowed her anger to flare, she was able to conceal it again. “As of now, I will open the borders—our borders, not the Renao borders. If Qo’noS wants to mobilize its war fleet, they may enter Federation space unhindered and advance to the edge of the Lembatta Cluster. They may patrol the ship routes in the area and keep an eye on the cluster; guard it, if you want. Get in position. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Suspiciously, K’mtok eyed her. “Compromise means that you want something in return. What is it?”
Zh’Tarash interlaced her fingers on the table surface. “I want the ultimatum off the table. The Bortas and the Prometheus are currently making considerable progress in their investigations. It wouldn’t be beneficial if our and your fleet invaded the cluster now as it would unnecessarily inflame the situation. You want protection for the Empire. I’m offering to give you access to all systems near the cluster that are relevant for your security, so you can position your ships there. But you must give captains Kromm and Adams more time. We don’t want a local crisis to endanger the alliance between our nations now, do we?” Her voice was quiet, but the unspoken threat was unmistakable.
K’mtok stared at her in silence. His fury hadn’t subsided but her offer had taken the Klingon by surprise, and it got him thinking. “I can promise nothing,” he finally said, proving that there had to be a tiny fragment of an actual diplomat hidden somewhere within him.
“Of course not,” zh’Tarash said with a nod.
“And I doubt the High Council will agree to it.”
She nodded silently.
“But I will at least talk to Qo’noS. We will see…”
“Thank you very much, Ambassador.” Zh’Tarash got up. “Let us know what Martok decides.”
He snorted, complying with the unspoken request and rising to his feet, then walked to the door without another word.
Right at that moment the door was opened from the outside, and another man entered the room. He wore gray clothes, and his hair had been combed straight.
K’mtok stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the newcomer—before bursting into laughter. “Well, if that’s your idea of solving problems, Zha President,” he said, pushing past the person, “nothing will surprise me anymore.” With these words, he closed the door behind him.
Kalavak had stopped, nonplussed, and looked at zh’Tarash and Akaar. “An… interesting welcome, really,” said the Romulan.
“That was a farewell.” Zh’Tarash stepped toward Kalavak. “ This is a welcome. Jolan tru, Ambassador.”
“Former ambassador, I thought.” Akaar had also gotten up. He looked just as surprised as he sounded. “I’m glad to see you, Mr. Kalavak.”
The corners of the Romulan’s mouth twitched slightly. “A sentence I don’t hear very often from your mouth, Admiral.” He nodded at him in greeting. “But I understand what you’re attempting to say. I am now… what do you humans call it? The lesser of two evils.”
For years Kalavak had been the Romulan Star Empire’s diplomatic representative on Earth. The relations between the Federation and the Romulan senate had been difficult, and for the most part the negotiations with Kalavak hadn’t been easy either. But zh’Tarash had invited him to this meeting nonetheless—and not his successor, the Tholian woman Tezrene, who spoke for the entire Typhon Pact, although her attendance at this meeting would have been much less doubtful.
Since the Romulan Star Empire had become part of the Typhon Pact along with avowed adversaries of the Federation such as the Breen, the Kinshaya, and the Tholians, relations between Paris and the Romulan capital, Ki Baratan, were even more fragile than ever before. Just like her late predecessor Nan Bacco, President zh’Tarash tried her utmost to keep the peace with Romulus, and she made every effort to reunite both people—or better still, the entire Pact and the Khitomer powers—at the round table. Bacco had already made considerable progress. But time was of the essence, and zh’Tarash knew that the Pact would deliberately delay giving her the urgently required information, and presumably they would be much more reluctant to pass on that information to her than, as Kalavak himself had put it, the lesser of two evils.
“You are here,” sta
ted the Andorian emphatically as if those words said everything. She pointed at K’mtok’s vacated chair at the conference table. “And I hope you’ve got some answers for us.”
The former ambassador sighed, settling in the chair. Akaar and zh’Tarash also sat down. Kalavak rested his forearms on the table, looking at the president, and nodded. “I do indeed, but I suspect that they do not correspond with your hopes.”
“Believe me, Mr. Kalavak,” Akaar said quietly, “our hopes are miniscule indeed.”
A hint of a bitter smile played around the lips of the visitor from Romulus, and he folded his hands. “Right then. I’ve asked around with my former contacts. Discreetly, of course, and through unofficial channels. I can assure you that my homeworld does not have any business relations with the Renao or the Purifying Flame. Least of all in the weapons export sector.”
Zh’Tarash leaned back in her chair, thinking. Kalavak’s words underlined the official statement of the Romulan senate and Praetor Gell Kamemor, who had an open and liberal mindset. That was reassuring, but did it change anything?
“The Purifying Flame does have these attack fighters with cloaking ability,” the president said. “That’s a sad fact.”
“And their design is very much like that of your Scorpion fighters, Kalavak,” Akaar added. “The same as the wreckage that the Prometheus discovered near Starbase 91.”
“But just like then, my government doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Kalavak said. “We don’t make deals with these terrorists.”
“Achernar II does.”
The Romulan regarded Akaar with a tired, reproachful gaze. “Oh please, Admiral. Achernar II was many things, but not a branch of the current Romulan senate. Besides, we have already arrested the members of the smuggler ring that was active there.” He looked at zh’Tarash. “If the Flame has ships of this design at their disposal they must build them somewhere else.”
The president grabbed her cup but the katheka had gone cold in the meantime. Cold as the night. “You’re talking about your government, Mr. Kalavak,” said zh’Tarash. “But what about the Typhon Pact? Are you also speaking for your allies?”
This time the Romulan laughed quietly, shaking his head. “The Pact, Zha President, acts on behalf of its members. They wouldn’t sell any Romulan products without Romulans’ knowledge.”
“And you’re absolutely sure about that?” Akaar sounded skeptical. “You’d vouch for the Breen, the Kinshaya, the Tholians?”
“I understand the Pact,” Kalavak said firmly and didn’t let himself be provoked in the slightest. “Can you say the same, Admiral?”
The Capellan stood his ground. “The Pact is probably very interested in destabilizing the quadrant. A strong Purifying Flame might soon lead to a weak Klingon Empire or a weak Federation.”
“You forget that we are also targets of these terrorists.”
“Allegedly.”
“Actually,” the Romulan stated quietly but sternly, “I repeat, Admiral: we—Romulus as a sovereign political entity, as well as the Typhon Pact—do not maintain any kind of business relations with the aggressors from the Lembatta Cluster.” With this, he rose. His gaze was fixed on Akaar but his words were quite obviously also addressed to zh’Tarash. “Whether you believe this statement is entirely up to you. I do not care either way. But you asked me to be here, not the other way round, to give you this answer. Now you must decide whether it was worth your efforts.”
“It was,” said the president. She rose to her feet, nodding respectfully at the Romulan. “You have our thanks, Mr. Kalavak. It… it’s always worthwhile maintaining old contacts.”
The visitor tilted his head once, but zh’Tarash was unable to determine whether this was a nod, a confirmation, or something else entirely. Then he left the room.
“No Romulans,” said Akaar. He sounded only semi-relieved. “And no Typhon Pact, either.”
“But also no Klingons,” she added quietly. A deep sigh escaped from her throat as she left the table to stand by the window. Paris had grown darker but the night appeared less dark to her than it had done earlier. “At least something.”
“Let’s hope so, Zha President,” Akaar whispered behind her back. “Let’s hope so.”
9
NOVEMBER 26, 2385
Kharanto, Xhehenem Nuari system, Lembatta Cluster
Dawn painted the little town by the sea in a warm glow. Some sun beams reflected from the glass façades of the arcologies, and a pleasant breeze blew from the east across the sea. It smelled of algae and vastness, and, most of all, stability.
Brossal ak Ghantur knew that the wind was lying. He saw it in the faces that passed him by, and in those of his own young family.
Nothing was stable anymore.
“Why do we have to go there in the first place?” asked Hiskaath, Brossal’s firstborn, behind him, not for the first time. “They made it perfectly clear during Iad’s Awakening that—”
“This is not about Iad’s Awakening,” Brossal sternly interrupted his cheeky offspring—also not for the first time. “It’s about the Harmony of Spheres. As always. And you know that full well, Hisk.”
Hiskaath remained obstinate. “Iad’s Awakening is about the Harmony of Spheres. That’s my point. We have to wander new paths if we want to protect the spheres, and—”
That was enough. Turning on his heel, Brossal stared at his child. He didn’t even try to hide his anger. “Are you going to talk back for a while to come yet, or are you done now?”
Both Hiskaath and Brossal’s other child, Hiskaath’s sister Alyys, winced visibly. So did Brossal’s partner Kynnil. All three of them walked the customary two steps behind the family patriarch.
Brossal continued sternly: “We’re going to the evening prayer.” Why didn’t they understand him any longer? Where did this terrible disobedience come from? “As we do every day. Because we are Renao, and our ways hold value for us. They give us strength, just like they give our spheres strength. We honor the spheres in the same way as our fathers and forefathers have done. That’s the way it is.”
All of them had stopped in the middle of the road. Aly looked insecurely at her mother, Hisk met Brossal’s gaze and held it—defiantly, but with silent obedience. From the corner of his eye, Brossal noticed other inhabitants from the arcologies on their way to prayers. He saw men in festive dark robes similar to his own, followed by their kin.
The father of two noted that, apparently, an unusual number of discussions were taking place this evening, if not protests.
But it’s not just the women and children. There are also men calling into question the use of prayers, or am I wrong? They are doubting the benefits of consistency.
His concern was growing, as he had been observing this phenomenon for weeks now—and not just within his own small family. More and more citizens of Kharanto seemed to be breaking with their old ways. It all had started relatively harmlessly with a symbol of the Purifying Flame scribbled on a house wall here, and a mentally disturbed—in Brossal’s eyes, anyway—young Renao woman who tried to engage passers-by like himself in conversations about the “aggressors from beyond the borders” and “the resistance of our brothers and sisters from the other cluster worlds.”
These occurrences had bewildered Brossal, but he had been able to ignore them, dismiss them as isolated incidents. But it hadn’t stopped there. That first Renao woman was followed by others, and within a few weeks there had been a seemingly endless stream of speakers and agitators. Preachers who spoke of Iad and sphere harmonies being destroyed and the power of the many. Youths who distributed flyers in the streets and parks. People in the ley-taverns and in public places in Kharanto who spoke not of their everyday business or home lives, but instead about Klingons, Cardassians, humans, Romulans, Vulcans, Ferengi and other strange aliens. They talked about spaceships from foreign star powers traveling across the spheres of the Renao, as if they hadn’t caused enough trouble in their own spheres. People clenched their fists in
anger when talking about them.
Frequently, someone would call openly for violence. Preachers and speakers encouraged the people to take up arms, and to stop the deluded beings from beyond the cluster whose actions disturbed the Harmony of Spheres. The more they talked, the more their efforts seemed to come to fruition.
Every day Brossal witnessed it anew. In the streets of his harbor town, within the corridors of his home arcology, and even on the offshore algae growth station where he worked, he saw Kharanto’s citizens increasingly agreeing with the assertions of these radicals. He had even heard of violent altercations during the mass rallies called Iad’s Awakening, which were held by the self-proclaimed preachers traveling the lands. Renao attacked Renao! There had even been casualties! And the situation on other cluster worlds was supposedly similar.
Brossal shuddered inwardly. What did he care about other worlds? Since when did a Renao care for incidents that happened outside of his home? And how was it possible that Renao—proud and reverent Renao, of all people!—could be enticed to employ violence against outworlders and even their own neighbors?
It didn’t make any sense. It defied everything that Brossal deemed normal, important, and right. The preachers said that the outworlders were dangerous malefactors, but even if that were true, wasn’t it a sacrilege if a Renao’s sight went into the distance rather than in front of his own feet? Wasn’t that also a sin against the harmony and the old but incredibly valuable traditions?
But no one seemed to care about that. Not even in Brossal’s family.
“ We are weakening the spheres,” Hiskaath mumbled grimly, but he walked the path towards the temple like a good boy, trotting behind his father. “Because we stand idly by while strangers abuse them.”
For a brief moment Brossal was tempted to chastise his child, but he would not teach nonviolence by employing violence. So he kept quiet, setting one foot in front of the other. He didn’t turn back again and didn’t stop until they reached the temple atop a small rise west of the settlement. He opened the door for Kynnil and his two children.
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