“We tried to keep the guest list down to a manageable few thousand,” Troi said wryly. “Plus, of course, my side of the family.”

Another laugh. “Such a wonderfully open-minded people, the Betazoids. Literally, if it comes to that. Was it a proper ceremony?”

Troi nodded. “Of course. Betazoids don’t have a nudity taboo—what would be the point, really? Their concept of privacy is a lot more fluid than ours in any case, being telepaths and all. I was worried that I’d be self-conscious during the wedding, but I barely even noticed—either that I was naked or that everyone around me was as well. There was a—purity to it, I suppose you could say. It was very refreshing.”

Vaughn finally spoke. “A rather philosophical attitude for a science officer.”

“I find that science works better with philosophy behind it, Lieutenant,” Troi said with a smile.

“Indeed it does,” Dax said. “You might be able to learn something from this one, Vaughn.”

Pointedly ignoring the comment, Vaughn turned to Troi and said, “Actually, Lieutenant, one of the reasons why I remembered your service record in particular was because you were the second human I came across serving on this ship who was married to a Betazoid.”

Troi sighed loudly. Here we go again.“Yes, it’s true, I’ve done it all just to suck up to Commander Garrett.” He said the words with a grin on his face. It led to another of Dax’s hearty laughs, and something resembling a smile from Vaughn. “Seriously, it’s a complete coincidence that both the commander and I married Betazoids. That hasn’t stopped half the crew from giving me a hard time about it, of course. But actually I met Lwaxana while I was stationed on Betazed. I was part of the team that upgraded their orbital defense system. We met, we fell in love, I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her—”

“And so you proposed?” Dax said with a grin.

“No.”

That prompted another laugh from Dax. “What stopped you, man?”

Not actually looking at Dax, Vaughn said, “Not all of us act on every impulse that pops into our heads, Ambassador.”

Troi noted the frown that Dax gave Vaughn at that comment. Before Dax could reply to it, Troi said, “The problem was that I had no interest in abandoning Starfleet, and she couldn’t really leave Betazed. But when the project was over, there wasn’t a Starfleet position available for me on-planet. I was transferred here to the Carthage,and I waited six months to see if the feelings were just as strong if I was dozens of light-years away.” He smiled. “They weren’t. They were stronger.”

“So thenyou proposed?” Dax asked.

“Didn’t have the chance to.” Troi shook his head ruefully. “That’s the problem with telepaths, they never give you a chance. I had it all planned out. I had arrived on a shuttle that landed on Betazed in midafternoon. We were going to go straight to our favorite restaurant on the coast, and I was going to do the whole bit—getting down on one knee, giving her the ring. So what happens? The moment I stepped off the shuttle, she said, ‘Of course I’ll marry you, my darling boy,’ and she kissed me right there in the spaceport.”

Vaughn raised an eyebrow in an almost Vulcanlike manner. “What was it you said before about different senses of privacy?”

Troi chuckled. “We may as well have been alone for all that I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

“We should all be so happy,” Dax said, raising his mug in salute, then drinking the remainder of its contents. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to refill my warnogand try to put the Klingon negotiator at ease.” He shook his head, and spoke in more serious tones. “They both sent military people—a general and a legate. That’s going to keep things complicated.”

“That’s what Starfleet Command is worried about,” Vaughn said, “and why I’m here.”

“Yes, of course, Lieutenant,” Dax said, his smile returning. “Far better to go into a tense situation and add a person whose very presence will make it all the more tense. As usual, Starfleet shows a command of logic that would make a Vulcan gibber. Peace will not come about from two people rattling sabers at each other.” Grabbing a gristhera,Dax turned to head across the lounge. “A pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant Troi.” With a nod, he added, “Vaughn.” And then he headed toward the Klingon delegation, in particular a white-haired general with a most sour expression on his face.

Vaughn shook his head. “I don’t see any way for this to end well. Klingons aren’t known for their negotiation skills, and Cardassians aren’t known for much of anything except self-interest.”

“Still, they must want to settle this peacefully if they asked for our help.” Troi popped a cherry tomato into his mouth after he was done speaking.

“Please,” Vaughn said disdainfully. “Dax can carry on all he wants about saber-rattling, but they’re only rattling them because their sabers have been weakened. Neither side can afford the kind of prolonged conflict that would normally result from what happened here last month. Instead, they’re biding their time, going through with this charade until they can find an advantage. If Dax thinks he’s actually going to accomplish anything here, he’s fooling himself.” Then he let out a breath. “Sorry, old habits. I’ve never been too keen on diplomats. They tend to have their heads firmly lodged in their hindquarters, and have absolutely no sense of the reality of their surroundings.”

Troi smiled as he gulped down the rest of his allira.“Somehow, Lieutenant, I don’t think anyone will ever accuse you of having no sense of the reality of your surroundings.”

At that, Vaughn actually laughed. In fact, it was only a small chuckle, but given how taciturn the lieutenant had been up until now, it was the functional equivalent of one of Dax’s belly laughs. “I certainly hope not. And please, call me Elias.”

“If you insist, but only if you call me Ian.”

“Very well, Ian—would you mind pouring me some more of that punch?”

Somehow, General Worf managed to choke down the liquid that Commander Garrett had insisted was warnog.It took all of his self-control to keep from spitting it out and dumping the remainder in his mug on the hideous carpet of this Federation ship’s lounge.

Then again,he thought, it was not that long ago that I would have done so regardless of the quality of thewarnog. Klingons did not drink with the enemy, and until recently, the Carthagewould have been nothing but an enemy vessel.

“Much has changed,” Worf muttered to himself as he set the mug down on a nearby table.

“What was that, sir?” his civilian aide, a young man named Lorgh, asked.

Worf looked down at the youth, with barely enough hair on his face to be properly called a beard. “I said much has changed. I have seen a great deal in my lifetime, Lorgh, things I would never have imagined possible before they actually occurred. Praxis destroyed. Peace with the Federation. And now—now, Ch’gran has been found. We live in peculiar times.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” Lorgh said with a deference that was in every way convincing, and utterly false.

“Of course you would.” Once the general would have been happy to play these games, but he was far too old to have the patience for them now. “It is, after all, your function to observe your surroundings.”

Lorgh scowled. “My job is to aid you, General. I can assure you—”

“I did not say ‘job,’ Lorgh, I said ‘function.’ Precision of language is important in my line of work—as it should be in yours.”

“Sir, my line of work isyours.”

“If you insist on referring to your cover story as a line of work, so be it. But do not insult me by pretending to be anything other than the Imperial Intelligence agent you are.”