The bridge crew swung into action. Watching one last, lonely piece of debris tumble-spin past on the main viewscreen, Khatami sensed she was witnessing a disaster take shape.

Stano moved back to Khatami’s right side. “What are my orders, Captain?”

Khatami hardened her heart for the days to come. “Start running battle drills.”

9

“You perplex me, Jetanien.”

The Chelon diplomat lowered his bowl of N’va’a and shot a questioning look across the table at his young Romulan hostess, who reclined lazily in her chair and held a tall-stemmed cocktail glass brimming with the blue ale of her homeworld. “In what regard, S’anra?”

S’anra met his stare. “You’ve always struck me as a creature of refined tastes and educated sensibilities. So I find it impossible to fathom how you tolerate that odiferous swill.”

“On my world, N’va’a is considered a beverage of rare quality.”

Her coy smile threatened to stretch into a smirk. “On my world, we’d call it compost.”

Jetanien lifted his bowl of fermented fruit juice in a jaunty faux salute. “Your loss.”

The former aide to Senator D’tran of Romulus favored Jetanien with a brief glimmer of amusement, then sipped her drink. As the pair enjoyed a moment of silence, Jetanien noted the tasteful appointments of S’anra’s villa. They sat in the center of an interior courtyard, beside a small swimming pool ringed by tall trees that offered her shade from the powerful rays of the late-afternoon summer sun. The rooms of the villa all had been decorated with works of art, such as sculptures and paintings, that were as beautiful as they were subdued. Like his own residence, S’anra’s home on Nimbus III was located outside of Paradise City, and, despite its obvious attention to creature comforts, it was equipped with a variety of potent concealed defenses. It would seem she’s taken the same lessons from D’tran’s death that I have, Jetanien concluded.

She set down her drink. “Since you took the liberty of arriving with an ample supply of your own beverage, I presume your visit is not about availing yourself of my hospitality.”

“Not entirely, no,” he confessed. “Though who could resist your charming company?”

Her gaze sharpened as she studied him. He could tell that, far from the eager young naпf she had presented herself as months earlier to his assistant, Sergio Moreno, S’anra was a shrewd if inexperienced player in the political arena. “What are we really here to talk about?”

“Any number of topics present themselves.” Jetanien kept her waiting a few moments by taking another swig of N’va’a and then setting down his bowl before sitting back against his portable glenget, a special type of kneeling chair designed to accommodate his unusual anatomy. “Your assumption of D’tran’s mantle of diplomacy here on Nimbus III; the need to defuse tensions between our two governments following that unfortunate incident with the Enterprise and one of your birds-of-prey; the Romulan Star Empire’s new accord with the Klingons; the rumors of a new praetor rising to power on Romulus in the next year; my suspicion that you’ve initiated a sexual relationship with my assistant, Sergio, as a means of compromising my privacy. Many things are in short supply on Nimbus III these days, my dear, but worthy topics of conversation we possess in abundance.”

She tapped her index finger twice on the tabletop and narrowed her eyes. “I saw what you did there, Jetanien. You muddied the waters with an excess of verbiage to conceal which subject really matters most to you. It was an especially deft gambit to finish with a personal accusation designed to make me feel defensive and vulnerable, so that I would dismiss the rest of your prattle as preamble. But I think it’s the new accord with the Klingons that sparks your interest.”

“What a curious presumption,” Jetanien dissembled. “Why would you think that?”

Projecting her suspicion like a rebuke, S’anra said, “Off the top of my head? There’s no reason to discuss my succession of D’tran as your clandestine channel to Romulus; it’s a fait accompli. The Enterprise fiasco is far too public to merit our attention, and any rumors of a new praetor are woefully premature—as I’m sure you already know. And you should have more faith in your man Sergio. His only virtue greater than his stamina is his phenomenal discretion. Your secrets are safe with him, Jetanien—but you already knew that, too, or else you would certainly have forbidden him to become my lover.”

“Actually, I did forbid it. When I took him to task for his disobedience, his only defense was the rather cryptic human expression, ‘Й l’amore.’” Jetanien had to stop himself from grinding the halves of his mandible in frustration. “If he weren’t such an exemplary attachй in every other respect, I’d have fired him on the spot. I might do so yet.”

S’anra threw her head back and laughed, then half covered her mouth with her fingers. “Please don’t,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I rather enjoy him.”

“You mean you enjoy his company.”

A rakish tilt of her head. “That, too.” Putting on a more serious air, she continued. “In any event, that leaves the Romulan-Klingon accord as the sole remaining topic of interest.”

“If you say so,” Jetanien replied, feigning disinterest. “I suspect your alliance will be short-lived.”

She picked up her drink and lounged back, affecting a casual air. “Alliance? That’s quite a loaded word. I think you might be overstating our relationship with the Klingons.”

“What would you call it?”

A small shrug. “A dйtente, perhaps. A beneficial exchange of technology in return for certain logistical considerations.”

“In other words, you traded the secrets of cloaking technology for a handful of warships and . . . what else? Passage through Klingon space to the Taurus Reach? Those hardly seem like a recompense worth surrendering your monopoly on the cloaking device.”

She swallowed a sip of Romulan ale. “Our monopoly lost some of its value after the Enterprise absconded with one of our devices.”

“Ah. I see.” He reached out with one clawed manus and lifted his bowl of N’va’a to his mandible, then inhaled its heady fragrance while he waited for S’anra’s patience to crumble. He did not have to wait very long.

Simmering behind dark eyes, S’anra asked, “What do you see, Jetanien?”

“Now that Starfleet has one of your devices, you’re afraid you can no longer traipse undetected through Federation space. You’ve lost your advantage against us because you were tricked, so rather than risk creating a second enemy on your doorstep, you bribed the Klingons to let you travel through their Empire, and to provide you with more powerful ships that you think can keep Starfleet on its side of the Neutral Zone.” He clicked his mandible in an approximation of the tsk-tsk noise some humanoids made. “Still, it’s a terrible price to pay for that privilege . . . unless you happen to be close to rolling out a newer, better version of that technology.”

Noting with satisfaction that S’anra’s mood had taken a turn for the petulant, Jetanien rewarded himself with another draught of the N’va’a.

The young Romulan took a calming breath and forced herself back into a semblance of composure. “An interesting hypothesis. Most imaginative.”

“Thank you. I do strive to entertain with my prognostications and analyses.” At the first sign that S’anra was starting to relax, he added, “But even those boons would not yield a sufficient return on Romulus’s investment, would they? No, it seems to me your praetor and Senate must be angling for a far greater reward, something valuable enough to merit currying favor with the Klingon High Council. Or part of it, at least.”