“What is the question I have in my mind right now?” she asked without preamble, walking over to face her assistants across the table.

“Why are the Klingons really against a prohibition on the production of metaweapons?” said N’Mest, a woman who’d worked with Kamemor for six years, and who could often anticipate Kamemor’s reactions to diplomatic parleys. But not this time.

“No,” Kamemor said. She looked to the other subconsul, Merken Vreenak, a young man who’d come to work for her less than a year ago. She’d so far found him sharp and industrious, an asset to her despite his overt chauvinism; Kamemor loved her people too, but not in such an unreasoning, aggressive manner.

Vreenak returned her gaze. “Is Ditagh correct?” he said. “Is the Federation constructing a metaweapon?”

“Yes,” Kamemor said, her lips curling up slightly on one side, impressed by the subconsul’s acuity. “I want both of you to find out what you can. Check intelligence reports, fleet logs, even rumors on the public comnets, anything at all.” In Kamemor’s experience, she did not think it likely that the Federation and Starfleet would be attempting the creation of some ultrapowerful weapon, but neither did she trust their officials and officers—not most of them, anyway.

“Ambassador,” said Vreenak, “I’ve already heard rumors supporting Ditagh’s claim.”

“You’ve already heard?” Kamemor snapped. “And you didn’t think to inform me?”

“They were rumors only, Ambassador,” Vreenak proffered as justification. Kamemor dismissed it.

“Pursue those rumors,” she ordered. “Locate their sources, ascertain their veracity.”

“Yes, Ambassador,” Vreenak said. Kamemor turned and headed for the door, which slid open at her approach. Before she left, though, she stopped and peered back over her shoulder toward the conference table. “Do not allow your distrust for non-Romulans to color your inquiry, Subconsul Vreenak,” she said. Kamemor did not wait for a response before she continued out of the room.

Kage walked unhurriedly down a corridor on the habitat level, considering carefully what he would say when he reached his destination. In his youth, as a soldier, he had regarded himself a man of action, willing to charge headlong into any situation, but his mindset had shifted as he’d grown older. Rash behavior had given way to forethought, and he’d eventually quit the physical rigors of the Klingon Defense Force in favor of the mental challenges of civil engineering. But his subsequent successes in that realm had failed to sate his natural desire for battle, and so when Azetbur, newly installed as chancellor, had called upon him to join her government, Kage had accepted. He’d learned the artful combat of diplomacy under Azetbur’s tutelage, and had come to relish the struggles it often provided: the subtle machinations, the blatant lies, the different colors of truth when viewed through different eyes. In his tenure as an ambassador, Kage had furthered Klingon objectives with the Lorillians, the Tholians, the Vedala, the Lissepians, the Otevrel, and dozens of other species. But the Romulans…

At an intersection, Kage turned left into another empty corridor, tinted green by indirect lighting. Of the few sections he’d been permitted to visit on the space station, only the habitat level stood free of security personnel. The apparent attempt at Romulan hospitality rang false to him, though, and he felt certain that his delegation—and that of the Federation—remained under constant, covert surveillance. Not that the station contained anything of value to the Klingons; had it, the xenophobic paranoia of the Romulans would likely have prevented them from hosting the negotiations here. Still, that same intense distrust for people beyond their borders would have driven the Romulans to continuously monitor their alien guests.

The station itself seemed utilitarian, a series of rings of increasing and then diminishing diameter, set one atop another to approximate a sphere. The structure put Kage in mind of something a child might cobble together out of blocks. Kage assumed that the facility had been constructed as quickly as possible after the destruction of the planet in this system, and that it functioned primarily as a platform from which the effects of the isolytic subspace weapon could be studied. Judging from Kamemor’s reaction today, though, Kage supposed that the station might also serve as a memorial, as a place mourners could visit to be near the place where their loved ones had died.

Kage passed the door to his own guest quarters and stopped at the next one. He quickly reviewed what he might say and how he might say it, depending on how the conversation developed, and reminded himself of his goals: foremost, to gain information, and secondarily, to limit his liabilities in the ongoing discussions with the Romulans and the Federation. Then he jabbed at the signal control on a panel set beside the door. He heard a tone, unwavering and tedious— Like the Romulans,he thought—followed by a voice.

“What?” came the irritated response.

Anticipating that the quarters would not be locked, Kage pressed another control. The door glided open, revealing Ditagh standing at an open food synthesizer across the room. In his hand, he held a tall glass half-filled with a dark, red liquid. Bloodwine,Kage guessed, and he shuddered to think what a Romulan version of the hearty Klingon potable might taste like.

“Ambassador,” Ditagh said, his employment of the title clearly not intended as a sign of respect, but as an epithet.

Kage stepped inside, the door easing closed behind him. “Ditagh, we must talk,” he said.

“Talk,” Ditagh said with unveiled contempt. “I am tired of talk. I’ve had months of it, and I’ve had enough.” He brought the glass up to his mouth and upended it, imbibing the remaining liquid in two massive gulps.

Kage took another step forward, quickly glancing around the room. Though smaller, Ditagh’s quarters mirrored his own. A rectangular front room, conspicuously devoid of decoration, contained only a sitting area—a quartet of chairs surrounding a low circular table—a food synthesizer, and a comm system. An open doorway in the far wall led to a simple bedroom. Good,Kage thought. No surprises.

“If you’ve had enough, then I can have you reassigned,” he said, an offer he knew Ditagh would not accept. Several months ago, the volatile aide had replaced one of Kage’s most trusted lieutenants, Roneg. The appointment had been officially handed down by Azetbur, but Kage understood now that other members of the High Council had maneuvered Ditagh into the position. The circumstances of Roneg’s departure from the negotiating team—his father had been killed in an industrial accident, requiring that Roneg return to Qo’noS to lead their House—had at first seemed unambiguous. But Kage’s vigilance in protecting the needs of the Empire had driven him to have the accident quietly investigated, and the results, while inconclusive, had at least seemed suspicious. Roneg’s father had been killed in an area of the shipyards nobody could recall him ever having visited, at a time when he normally would have been off. All of which had led Kage to believe that Ditagh had been installed in the delegation for a purpose counter to Kage’s own—and counter to Azetbur’s. And as time had passed, Ditagh’s tongue had loosened, speaking up during negotiations—as he had today—in ways seemingly designed to slow, or even derail, the peace process.

“I do not need to be reassigned,” Ditagh said. “I will endure my lot for the good of the Empire.”

“Then you will conduct yourself in accordance with my direction,” Kage said, dropping his voice low for emphasis, “rather than that of your…sponsor.” Kage had chosen the last word carefully, intending it as a disparagement of Ditagh’s manhood.

Ditagh laughed, a guttural, confident sound that Kage hoped also contained the taint of fear. “I am youraide, no one else’s,” Ditagh claimed, then slammed his empty glass down on the shelf of the food synthesizer. He pushed the tips of his thick fingers against the device’s control panel, and a door dropped into place in front of the shelf. Kage saw menus and submenus flash up onto the panel, and Ditagh navigated through them until he stopped at a particular entry—Klingon bloodwine, Kage assumed, though he could not read the words from where he stood. Ditagh selected the beverage, and the buzz of the device filled the small room. A moment later, the door of the food synthesizer slid upward, revealing a full glass of what appeared to be bloodwine on the shelf. As Ditagh grabbed it up, Kage crossed the rest of the short distance between them.