“You know I’m always happy to provide you a cheap laugh or two,” Reyes said, “but do me a favor and talk to these people, would you? Tell them they can’t have a dedicated docking bay, but we’ll reserve one of the lower docking ports, and we’ll move any ship to an available bay if it requires maintenance, repairs, or resupply.”
Jetanien nodded. “That seems like a fair compromise. There may yet be hope for you as a diplomat, Diego.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Reyes countered, though he did offer a small laugh to punctuate his reply.
“And what of their request for increased space in their embassy?” the ambassador asked.
Shrugging, Reyes replied, “They can have as much area behind their rear bulkhead as they want.” T’Prynn recognized the humor in the statement, given that the embassies occupied areas along the outer ring of the station’s primary hull, and “behind the rear bulkhead” was nothing but open space. The commodore, from her observations, derived some measure of amusement from the employment of sarcasm.
Even Jetanien laughed, emitting another series of clicks and grunts. “That’s more like the Diego Reyes I know. I should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t easily submit to such petulant whining.”
Submit.
The command came unbidden, lunging from the depths of T’Prynn’s consciousness and forcing itself into the forefront of her awareness. It was Sten, at one time her fiancé, calling to her as he had since that day more than five decades ago when he was gripped by the temporary near insanity that characterized the Plak tow,the blood fever, which was the culmination of the ancient Vulcan mating drive, the Pon farr.As his betrothed mate, T’Prynn had rejected him and demanded the rite of ritual combat, the kal-if-fee,in order to free herself from the marriage bond. It was during that death challenge that Sten, sensing his impending defeat at T’Prynn’s hand, forced into her mind his katra,his own consciousness. Even as he faced death, he attempted to bend her to his will, demanding that she subject herself to him. As always, she defied him, and her hands snapping his neck punctuated what she believed was to be her final refusal.
Submit.
The calls for subjugation had not ceased with Sten’s demise. They had instead continued unabated during the ensuing 52.7 years, his katrahaunting her waking moments, her dreams, and even her attempts to assert any degree of mental balance and control via meditation. She had sought the assistance of Vulcan Kolinahrmasters and even the revered Adepts themselves, who had taught her techniques for managing her unique condition. Those methods only served to treat the symptoms, however; as to ridding her mind of whatever remained of Sten, for that there seemed to be no cure.
Submit!
From the tormented depths of her own mind, T’Prynn conjured her all too familiar response to Sten’s challenge. Never.
“Commander, are you quite all right?”
It required an extra moment for T’Prynn to realize that Jetanien was speaking to her, and that both he and Commodore Reyes were regarding her with their own particular expressions of concern. Had her own features or bearing betrayed her inner turmoil? Unsure of the answer to that question, T’Prynn clasped her hands behind her back and nodded.
“I apologize for my momentary distraction, gentlemen. I was giving thought to some issues I plan to address once our business here is completed.”
“You look tired, Commander,” Reyes said, his eyes narrowing as he frowned.
T’Prynn offered another nod. “I have had some trouble sleeping in recent days, Commodore, though you can be sure it will not affect my ability to carry out my duties.”
Reyes replied, “I trust your judgment, Commander, but feel free to take some time for yourself and go visit Doctor Fisher, if you think it’s necessary.”
“I will do that, sir,” T’Prynn replied, hoping to put the matter to rest and move on with other, more pressing concerns.
Appearing satisfied with her answer, Reyes returned his attention to Jetanien. “All right. Where were we?”
“You were asking me to speak to the Klingons on your behalf,” Jetanien replied, “in the hope of staving off total war between the Federation and the Empire.”
“Right,” the commodore said, nodding. “Can you help me out here?”
Tapping the nail of one large, scaled finger on his desk, the ambassador uttered a seemingly random string of clicks and pops. “I shall do my level best, my friend.”
A beep from the diplomat’s desk made him reach for the intercom panel situated near his left hand. “Yes?”
In response to his query, a feminine voice replied, “It’s Anna Sandesjo, Ambassador. I have those reports you wanted.”
“Excellent,” Jetanien replied. “Bring them right in.”
His office doors parted a moment later, and T’Prynn turned to see a young human woman enter the room. She wore conservative gray pants with a matching jacket over a white blouse, and her red hair fell loosely about her shoulders. Her eyes were a startling shade of green, and when T’Prynn met her gaze she sensed tremendous intelligence and confidence. There was an additional, unquantifiable reaction, and another moment passed before she comprehended the feeling she was experiencing as she beheld Anna Sandesjo.
Desire?Yes, T’Prynn felt that, but there also was something else, which she could not yet identify.
Their momentary contact was broken as the woman made her way to stand before Jetanien’s desk. Extending her right arm, she offered the ambassador a data slate. “Here you are, sir. Everything I could find on all diplomatic exchanges between the Klingons and the Tholians. There’s not really much there, I’m afraid.”
“A little light reading?” Reyes asked.
Pausing to scan the data slate’s display, Jetanien uttered a snort of disapproval. “Very light, as it happens. As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, diplomatic relations between the Klingon Empire and the Tholian Assembly can probably best be summed up with a synopsis which reads, ‘Don’t bother us, and we won’t bother you.’ “
“And here we are,” Sandesjo replied, “doing what we can to annoy both sides.”
Again, Jetanien laughed. “It’s what we diplomats do best, my dear.” Looking to Reyes, the Chelon asked, “How else may I be of service, Diego?”
Reyes shook his head. “I think I’ve bothered you enough for one day. Thanks for your help, Jetanien.” As he turned to head for the door, he glanced toward T’Prynn. “Commander?”
“Aye, sir,” T’Prynn acknowledged, moving to follow Reyes. As she turned, her eyes once more locked with Sandesjo’s, and this time T’Prynn saw something new in the human’s expression. What was it?
Submit,challenged Sten, interrupting her thoughts.
Die,she countered, rallying her mental skills and forcing her long-dead fiancé’s consciousness back into the dark hole from which it had emerged. Then there was merciful silence, and she had time for one last fleeting glance in Sandesjo’s direction as she left Jetanien’s office. Though the human said nothing, the corner of her mouth turned upward, and T’Prynn registered the other woman’s all but imperceptible nod.
Fascinating.
5
“Are you done yet?”
Though he asked the question with a smile, Clark Terrell still received one of Vanessa Theriault’s trademark glares from where she knelt at the bank of the massive lake. Positioned next to her on a large rock were her science tricorder as well as a specimen collection kit, which Theriault had already filled with samples of the lake water as well as nearby vegetation and even some of the small, minnowlike creatures she had found near the water’s edge. As interesting as those examples might prove to be, it was the vial the science officer now held in her hand that had Terrell’s undivided attention.