Sasine looked down at John, then went into the bathroom and extinguished the lighting panel. In the darkness once more, she carefully padded over to the door to her quarters. She felt for the panel set into the bulkhead beside it and worked its controls. The door slid open, and light spilled in from the corridor. She took one last look across the room toward the bed. Over the half-wall, she could just make out John’s sleeping figure. “I love you,” she whispered, and then turned and left.

By the time she had reached the operations center, she had already begun to count the time until they would be together again.

Minus Nine: Algeron

Ambassador Gell Kamemor watched the Klingon bring his fist down on the conference table, the stars visible through the viewing port beyond him. “No!” he bellowed at her, then bolted to his feet with such force that his chair flew backward and toppled to the floor with a clatter. “No!” he roared again, then flung himself forward and hammered the center of the long, elliptical tabletop once more, this time with both fists. The fleshy parts of his hands pounded down atop the image of the stylized bird of prey, a planet in each talon, that symbolized the Romulan Star Empire. “Qo’noS will never permit outsiders to inspect our weapons facilities.” Spittle shot from his mouth, Kamemor observed with distaste, one tiny bead hanging up in the young Klingon’s dark beard.

Kamemor waited to react. She knew without looking that the eyes of all the delegates—of everybody present—had turned toward her. Thirteen people occupied the room right now: Ambassador Kage and his two aides, one of whom had been the one to rage at her; Federation Ambassador Paulo Endara and his staff of four; her own Romulan delegation of three; and two of the six waitstaff. Of those half-dozen service personnel, Kamemor had yet to ascertain who belonged to the Romulan Intelligence Service, though she had no doubt that the treaty negotiations were being closely monitored by the secretive organization.

A tense silence descended. The versicolor glow of the Algeron Effect, just a few hundred thousand kilometers from the space station, angled through the viewing port and stippled the far wall. Kamemor remained quiet, though not completely still. She tilted her head upward slightly and regarded the Klingon agitator with measured disinterest; she neither challenged him nor withdrew from his ire. Although he did not frighten her, the tall, broad-shouldered Klingon seemed dangerous—not on the basis of his imposing form, but because of the surety with which he acted and spoke. That likely indicated either the bravado of youth or the vicarious strength of powerful friends, and Kamemor suspected the latter. She knew that Chancellor Azetbur, leader of the Klingon High Council for nearly two decades now, had faced increasing opposition at home of late, and Kamemor fully expected that opposition to be represented here. As much as Azetbur had designed and driven the rebuilding of her civilization’s infrastructure after the accidental destruction of their primary energy-production facility, she’d done so both by promoting peace and by accepting charity from the Federation, and neither policy had been particularly palatable to the Klingon military.

As Kamemor peered across the table, she took note of the young Klingon’s immaculate raiments: a silver, metallic vest worn over a black shirt; black pants with high, matching boots; a dark, heavy cloak; and a scarlet version of the tripartite emblem of the Klingon Empire worn on the front of his left shoulder. The attire resembled a military uniform too much, she thought, to have been selected arbitrarily. No, the aide clearly functioned as a puppet of the Klingon Defense Force, and he obviously felt no reluctance about demonstrating his loyalties.

“Perhaps we should recess for an hour or two,” Ambassador Endara suggested from one end of the table. The young Klingon said nothing, instead holding Kamemor’s gaze. Just before she looked away, she saw hatred flash across his already angry eyes. The observation served only to frustrate her. While she did not hold with the arrogant and too-common view of her people that Romulans were innately superior to all other races, she could see how the behavior of Klingons such as this one could foment such an opinion.

Kamemor looked down the beautiful table—its rich blond top had been carved whole from the trunk of an urukantree, she had been told—and over to where the Federation ambassador sat flanked by his aides. Endara, an older human with short black hair and a bronze complexion, had demonstrated as much confidence during these negotiations as the young Klingon, but confidence born of an entirely different source: the Federation ambassador possessed a lifetime of diplomatic experience. Still, as the weeks here at the Algeron station had run into months, and as the months now raced toward becoming years, Kamemor had seen her own dissatisfactions with the proceedings reflected in Endara.

“Perhaps a recess would be in order,” Kamemor agreed.

“No,” came another voice, and Kamemor turned back to look directly across from her, to where Ambassador Kage sat beside his volatile aide. Unlike the young upstart, the seasoned Kage dressed the part of an ambassador for his people, wearing long, heavy robes embellished respectfully with the glittering icons of dozens of worlds. “It is not even midmorning,” the grizzled ambassador said, his manner and tone unusually quiet for a Klingon. “I do not think a recess will be necessary.” He leaned forward in his chair, reached out, and rested a hand atop his aide’s closed fist. “Will it, Ditagh?” he asked softly.

The gentle nature of the physical contact and of the appeal surprised Kamemor. Even after all this time tussling over so many issues with him, she had not yet become accustomed to the demeanor of the Klingon ambassador. Not nearly as impressive physically as his fiery aide, Kage could still command a room. But as firm and demanding as he had been during these negotiations, he nevertheless had conducted himself with tact and sensitivity. One of Azetbur’s disciples, to be sure,Kamemor thought, not for the first time. It also seemed clear to her that Kage faced challenges not only with Romulus and the Federation, but within his own faction.

The Klingon aide did not look down at Kage, but pulled back from the table, managing to extract his hand from beneath the ambassador’s without growling. Behind him, as one of the Romulan waitstaff left the room, another set down the ewer she carried and quickly righted the fallen chair. The aide grabbed it away, and the server shrank back as though she had been struck.

“Thank you, Ranek,” Kage offered. The woman looked at the ambassador and nodded politely, then retrieved the ewer and hastened for the door. Kamemor felt her eyebrow rise involuntarily, and she consciously brought it back down. The server who had picked up the chair was a new addition to the waitstaff, having arrived at the station only within the last few days. Kamemor had not yet learned the woman’s name, and it said something about Kage that he had.

The Klingon aide set his chair back at the table with a thump, then dropped into it. “Now then,” Kage said, returning his attention to Kamemor, “I believe that you were speaking about limitations on the types of weapons allowed under a new treaty, Ambassador.”

“I was,” Kamemor concurred. She glanced at her two subconsuls, who sat to her left, then folded her hands in front of her and recalled the point she had earlier been advancing. “I believe that it would be in the best interests of all concerned if we can devise a means of preventing the creation of metaweapons. After all, where there are no such weapons, there are no possibilities of triggering their use. Of course, for an agreement of this type to succeed, it would require trilateral monitoring.” This time, Kage’s aide grunted, but he stayed in his chair, eyes cast downward, hands in his lap.