Sesrene did not answer at first, and Jetanien wondered if the ambassador might be once more communing with his envoys. “ I…cannot comply,”he said after a moment. “ This place is…”

There was another pause, and Jetanien thought that perhaps the conference room’s universal translator might be having trouble interpreting some heretofore unencountered aspect of Tholian speech.

When Sesrene spoke again, Jetanien was sure the translator was broken, with the ambassador’s vocalizations sounding more like metal grinding on metal. When a translation finally was offered, it provided the Chelon with more questions than answers.

“ This place is…Shedai.”

Frowning, Jetanien shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not understand, Your Excellency. This place is taboo? Quarantined? Forbidden?”

“ From long ago,”Sesrene said, “ our people have avoided this place. It is believed the unspeakable occurred here. Of all places, this is where we are not to be.”

Lugok released a hearty laugh, one Jetanien recognized as derisive. “Folk tales,” he said. “Stories to frighten the meek and mewling. These Tholians truly are cowards.”

Jetanien, however, found himself listening with intent to Sesrene’s words. Could this supposed fable have a foundation in ancient fact? Might the ambassador’s seemingly ingrained fear of this space possess roots to a danger so dreadful and frightening as to leave an impression lasting millennia?

What if they fear whatever it is we’re looking for? What if the very builders of the artifacts— the originators of the meta-genome— have struck millennia of terror in the Tholian people?All of this is connected. It simply has to be.

It has to be.

So focused was the ambassador on this new train of thought that the sound of the conference chamber’s doors unlocking and parting all but startled him out of his chair. All three diplomats jerked their heads in that direction to see Commodore Reyes entering the room with powerful strides and a grim expression darkening his human features.

“Commodore!” Jetanien blurted, caught off guard by the untimely interruption. “I ordered this room sealed. How did you get in here?”

Stopping at the opposite end of the table, Reyes replied, “It is mystation, Your Excellency.” He looked first to Lugok and then to Sesrene before speaking again. “I’m here to inform you that this summit and all further discussions between the three delegations are hereby terminated.”

“I beg your pardon,” Jetanien said. How can this be happening? Why now, when I might be so close to our first true breakthrough?

Reyes shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ambassador, but this comes directly from the Federation Council. We’ve just received word that earlier today, a Klingon task force attacked and destroyed the Tholian military outpost on Zenstala II.”

“Excellent,” Lugok said, his voice low and menacing.

“And the Tholians retaliated in like fashion against Klingon holdings at Dorala and Korinar.”

“ A suitable response to Klingon aggression,”Sesrene offered.

Already knowing what the impact of the new developments would be, Jetanien forced himself to remain impassive as he asked, “What does this mean, Commodore?”

His expression one of disappointment, Reyes replied, “Both the Tholian Assembly and the Klingon Empire have called for the withdrawal of all peace delegations, including those serving within the United Federation of Planets and specifically Starbase 47.” To Lugok and Sesrene, he said, “Further, any delay in having these directives carried out will be seen by your governments as interference by the Federation and acted upon ‘accordingly.’ Therefore, I’m declaring an end to these proceedings, effective immediately. My instructions are to have you off the station no later than 1200 hours local time tomorrow.”

“That’s outrageous,” Jetanien said, forcing himself to remain in his glengetand to keep his tone of voice level. “We have only just begun to make significant progress here.” He looked to Sesrene, hopeful that the revelations of the past few minutes might result in a show of support for his protest.

Instead, the Tholian ambassador stepped away from the conference table and headed toward the doors without so much as an acknowledgment of his diplomatic colleagues or even Reyes as he strode from the room.

“It is just as well,” Lugok said as he rose from his chair. “The Tholians are without honor. We will never agree, on anything. So far as the empire is concerned, they are nothing more than jeghpu’wI’. They simply do not know it yet.” Offering another contemptuous scowl to Jetanien, the Klingon marched from the chambers without another word.

As the doors slid shut behind the ambassador, Reyes turned to Jetanien. “I’m truly sorry, Your Excellency. It seems our friends aren’t yet ready to take such a bold step forward, after all.”

“I am not so sure, Commodore,” Jetanien replied. “There was some progress made here today, though not of a type I was expecting.” Reviewing what he had learned from Sesrene in the closing moments of the meeting, the Chelon decided that it was not yet the appropriate time to convey this new information to Reyes. There was no way to know at this point if what Sesrene had conveyed was fact or myth. Considering the stakes, this was no time to proceed with uncertainty.

“It’s going to be a hard road going forward,” Reyes said after a moment. “Starfleet Command thinks war between the Klingons and the Tholians could come at any time.” He shook his head. “And here we are, with ringside seats.”

“All the better to continue our mission, Commodore,” Jetanien said after a moment. “I refuse to surrender, not while an iota of hope remains. We will prevail.”

Afraid to make eye contact with his friend, the ambassador wondered if the commodore sensed the false optimism, for even as he spoke them, the words and the confidence they carried rang hollow in Jetanien’s ears.

36

Even Pennington winced when the second of Broon’s men landed a vicious punch to Quinn’s stomach. The privateer sagged to the deck of the cargo hold, releasing another bout of violent coughing as he tried without success to keep from falling onto his face.

“That one’s going to leave a mark,” Quinn said between ragged breaths. Blood streamed from a cut over his left eye, compliments of the first hit he had taken from one of Broon’s thugs. He reached up to wipe his face, but his arm was pulled away as two of the men yanked him to his feet, only to hold him steady as yet another member of the gang slammed his fist into the pilot’s gut.

“Is this really necessary?” Pennington shouted, making no attempt to hide his indignation at being forced to watch Quinn suffer.

Standing a few meters away near a table where Armnoj had been planted along with his briefcase, Broon regarded the journalist with a leering smile made all the more sinister thanks to his yellow, crooked teeth. “No, but it’s fun.” He indicated Quinn with a wave of his hand. “Your pal there gave me a lot of grief on Kessik IV last month. He was supposed to die there, you know. Ganz contracted me to kill him. Things didn’t work out, obviously, thanks to some friends he brought along. What I don’t get is why Ganz didn’t kill me afterward. He’s not usually so forgiving.”

Pennington remembered Quinn mentioning something about Kessik IV during one of his frequent stupors. To hear him tell the tale, Quinn had been the benefactor of action on T’Prynn’s part. The specifics were lost amid the pilot’s inebriated slurring, but Pennington had gotten the gist: Vanguard’s senior intelligence officer had a need for Quinn—for the short term, at any rate—and Ganz was smart enough not to get in the way of that.