“A little more segregated than what I was hoping, sir,” Garrett said ruefully.

“We knew this was going to be a hard row to hoe, Number One. I’m just glad they’re all in the same room and not killing each other.”

Dax smiled. “An auspicious beginning, I’d say.”

Haden didn’t return the smile. “I certainly hope so, Mr. Dax. I’m holding you personally responsible for keeping it that way. Because if anything happens to my ship, it’s your ass I intend to put in the sling. Do we understand each other?”

Although Dax was completely unintimidated by Haden’s attempt to intimidate him, the ambassador did at the very least respect Haden’s position. He couldn’t blame the captain for being apprehensive. “We do.”

“Good. I’m also keeping us on yellow alert until these negotiations are concluded, with the crew at general quarters. I don’t know much about the Cardassians, but I do know how Klingons act when they start getting their bowels in an uproar, and I don’t want any of my people caught in the cross-fire.”

Wonderful—another bit of tension to add. This business will get out of control if just the slightest thing goes wrong.

Taking another bite of celery, Dax thought, I’ll just have to make doubly sure that nothing goes wrong.

“The biggest problem, of course, are these young children they have coming up through the ranks. It’s almost as if all standards have gone completely out the airlock. They get into formation like a group of lifeless gritta,and no passion, no enthusiasm. If Cardassia’s going to be what it should be, we need young people who enjoy their work. Now you take my second, Ekron— heunderstands how things should be. When I was coming up through the ranks, you didn’t have to order anybody to do their jobs, they did it without asking. Now, it’s like yanking out a molar just to get someone to take a damn sensor reading.”

Legate Zarin did not believe in an afterlife. He firmly believed that when you died, assuming your body was still intact at the time of death, the body decayed and that was all there was to it. Unlike these Klingon savages they were supposed to be “negotiating” with, who were fairly obsessed with some mythical other-dimensional afterlife where they would beat each other over the head for all eternity, Zarin knew better. To him, life was the most important thing.

However, he knew that many other cultures believed in an afterlife where those who had lived unworthy lives had to suffer some kind of eternal torment in punishment. And right at this moment, he knew that, if such a place did exist, Zarin would be spending eternity being trapped in a room with Gul Monor. He could imagine no greater agony.

“The worst are these Foreheads. Expecting us to negotiate with them like they were civilized people. They’re as bad as the Bajorans, really.”

Zarin blinked. Monor actually said something intelligent and worth replying to. Swallowing the kanarhe had been sipping, Zarin said, “Well, they have more territory.”

“Luck, most likely. I’ve heard that they didn’t even develop warp drive, but stole it from some race called the Hur’q.”

“Never heard of them,” Zarin said honestly.

“Well, as I said, that’s just what I heard. Then again, these Foreheads are all talk and no action, as far as I’m concerned. They were more than happy to claim Raknal V after wedid all the work finding it and locating their damn ship. Have you noticed that whenever they’re faced with the prospect of a real challenge—a realwar, a realcrisis—they back off with their tails between their legs? I mean, all right, I suppose I can see why they begged the Federation for help after Praxis, though I can’t see why they couldn’t just support themselves and fix their own problems, but then there was the way they backed off after Organia.”

Zarin frowned. “I seem to recall that that treaty was enforced by the Organians.”

“If you believe that sort of thing, I suppose.” Monor’s disdainful tone indicated he did not. Zarin covered his reaction by sipping more kanar.The Federation had made the records on the Organian situation available during the initial negotiations leading to the Vulcan summit that ended so badly last year. Zarin had familiarized himself with them, and knew that neither the Federation nor the Klingons had much choice with regard to not going to war sixty years ago. “Frankly,” Monor continued, “I don’t believe in any of that sort of nonsense. Beings of energy pretending to be sapient so they can play games with us—utter foolishness, if you ask me. Just another excuse for the Foreheads not to fight. Like I said, all talk and no action. Mark my words, Legate, they’ll spend the entire negotiating time posturing and yelling and spitting. Especially spitting. Never seen a race that enjoyed spitting as much as they do. Except maybe Lissepians. Still, all they ever seem to do is spit.”

Zarin looked around the lounge, hoping for some excuse to get away from Monor. Unfortunately, the only other Cardassians were members of his staff, and the only high-ranking Federation officers present with whom it might have behooved him to be sociable were Commander Garrett and the just-arrived Captain Haden. However, they were talking with Dax, the Federation mediator, and Zarin wanted as little to do with him as possible away from the negotiating table. The ambassador was a flamboyant, annoying little tralk—more like a Ferengi than anything, and Zarin hated Ferengi.

On the other hand, even being in Dax’s presence couldn’t have been any worse than listening to Monor ramble.

“I don’t see why we need to negotiate in any case. The Foreheads aren’t going to do anything sensible anyhow. We should just go to war. Can’t imagine what Central Command is thinking going through this nonsense.”

That, at least, Zarin could speak to. “Central Command didn’t have a choice. Both the Detapa Council and the Obsidian Order opposed going to war.”

Monor sputtered at that, and Zarin felt a slight dab of spittle on his cheek. For someone who objects to Klingon spit, he is certainly free with his own expectoration,he thought angrily as he brushed a napkin over his cheek ridge.

“That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard,” Monor said. “Since when do we need anyone’s permission?”

In this, at least, Zarin appreciated Monor’s annoyance, since it was akin to the outrage he himself had expressed at Legate Kell when the latter gave Zarin this assignment. “Permission, we do not need. However, the Council does have oversight over our budget.”

Monor shook his head. “Pathetic. Isn’t that just like a civilian to let something as crude as money be used as a weapon against us? We’re no better than those damn Ferengi. As for the Order—well, the less said about them, the better.”

Zarin shrugged. “They just want an opportunity to study the Klingons and the Federation. You know how they are.”

“Vultures, all of them.” Monor scowled. “You didn’t let one of those voles into your party, did you?”

“Allow, no, but I would be stunned if one of my staff wasn’t reporting to the Order.” In fact, Zarin had given a great deal of thought to which of the six aides he had brought along served another master. The only one he’d eliminated was the young intern. Fresh out of Bamarren, Talen Kallar barely knew which buttons to push on his padd, and what he lacked in brains he made up for in lack of brains. The boy was an idiot, through and through. No,he thought, I’m betting it’s Doval’s new assistant, what’s her name? Just joined the staff, young, bright, eager-to-please—exactly the sort the Order loves to cultivate. Olett, that’s her name. Yes, I definitely need to keep an eye on her.At present, she was talking with Doval and Kallar, and the rest of Zarin’s staff. Doval was speaking, and the wide-eyed Kallar seemed to be hanging on Doval’s every word, and not noticing that his glass of hevritjuice was dangerously close to pouring out onto the precious Starfleet carpet.