Текст книги "Declassified "

Автор книги: David Mack

Соавторы: Marco Palmieri,Dayton Ward
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

15

It should have come as no surprise to me that two days of drinking at Tom Walker’s place would do little to change my life. Well, little to change it beyond the fact that by that time, even the most indulgent of the establishment’s servers had lost a measure of patience with me.

Not that I had become an unruly, unwashed sot as I occupied my usual table. I had done my best to bide by the establishment’s regular business hours as well as to maintain my professional demeanor, despite my carrying myself in a manner that I assumed made me seem more unapproachable than usual. Yes, I knew my next story could have come from the next person passing by my table, and that my appearing open and interested might well have been the key to unlocking that person’s secrets. But in that moment, I would not have wanted a good lead even if a source had poured it over ice and served it to me in a glass. What was more, while I had the air about me of someone who had come to the place to drink, even that was a façade. Rather than knocking back whisky after whisky on a growing tab of expenses, I simply stared into the glass before me, swirling its contents frequently to appear as though I had been consuming it. In all likelihood, I was losing as much of the alcohol to evaporation as I was to ingestion.

“Freshen that for you, Tim?”

I snapped my head up to look at the source of the question, almost expecting to see Amity in her skimpy barmaid’s outfit from aboard the Omari-Ekon. Rather, it was Meryl, the young brunette who seemed to be the only server with any remaining interest in checking on me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t. And I don’t.”

“Don’t?” she repeated. “Don’t sleep?”

“Do sleep. Don’t want whatever it is you asked me.”

“Okay,” she said, setting a tall tumbler of ice water on the table. “But I brought this for you anyway.”

“Fine.” I reached for the glass and brought it to my mouth, the coolness of the water delivering a bit of a sting to my healing lower lip as well as a burst of clearer consciousness to my mind. A bead of water dripped down my chin, and as I brushed it away with the side of my finger, the sensation of the scruff on my unshaven face reminded me that I likely looked much like I felt inside: disengaged and unmotivated. Considering that I had not returned any of my editor’s messages, nor Quinn’s for that matter, since Amity’s disappearance, Meryl here was likely the only person even aware of where I was.

“Tim?”

“Yes?” I set the glass down and looked at her.

“I know I haven’t known you long, but I don’t think this is very like you,” she said. “I don’t know whether I should ask if you want to talk or if I should just leave you alone.”

“What are you wanting to do?”

“Ask.”

“Leave me alone.” Her eyes dropped to the tabletop as my words seemed to sting her at least a little. “Meryl? Sorry. That was my idea of a joke.”

“Then this is my idea of a laugh,” she said stone-faced.

“I deserved that. And I’m just a little wrapped up in myself, it seems. My responses to the contrary, I do appreciate your asking.”

“Then I’ll ask again,” she said, offering a small smile. “If nothing else, just to make sure you haven’t died.”

“If I need to move along, just let me know.”

“I could,” Meryl said over her shoulder as she walked from the table, “but it would be more fun just to call Security.”

I returned my gaze to the tabletop, choosing to chase my sip of water with a nip from my whisky glass. I swallowed, knitting my eyes shut as I did to savor the burn of the single-malt spirit, thankful for the familiar sensations that helped to cover my memory of whatever it was I had been served on the Orion ship that led to my disorientation and my inability to keep any harm from befalling Amity.

“Mister Pennington?”

The low voice prompted me to open my eyes, and as they focused, all I could discern before me was a field of red that began to coalesce into the outline of a man in a Starfleet tunic.

“Wait,” I spoke quickly to the red shape, “the woman’s remark about calling Security was merely a joke, I assure you.”

“I wasn’t called to take you away,” the man said. “At least not yet.”

My eyes unblurred enough to see the face of who addressed me. “Lieutenant Ginther.”

“I have some information for you, but we’re not talking in here,” he said. “Follow me out.”

I complied, but not before settling what small bill I had with Meryl. Ginther left Tom Walker’s place and strode ahead of me, eventually turning into an alleyway between buildings in Stars Landing. I stepped in as if it were a natural path to take rather than hesitating and looking around to determine whether I had been observed. I simply took it on trust that Ginther had a good idea of the area’s discretion.

The broad-shouldered man seemed to examine my current state of appearance, but extended the grace of not making a verbal comment. “I did some follow-up on your report and I wanted to tell you what I found,” he said, “but what I tell you doesn’t leave this alley. Are we clear?”

“Of course,” I said. “But what report?”

“Your missing-persons report on Amity Price.”

“What? You filed a report?”

“No, I didn’t file a report. But I did some checking, and I found something. Well, someone.”

“You found Amity? You’re kidding?” I felt a wave of relief and joy start to wash over me.

“Calm yourself, Pennington,” he said. “It’s not what you think. The scrubbing of Vanguard’s computer records was not as untraceable as the responsible party had hoped. We detected evidence just fast enough to lead us to the perpetrator and it was a Starfleet computer engineer, someone who had a high clearance for a great amount of information.”

“Who was it?”

“I can’t tell you that. Just know that we were able to plug a sizable security breach as a result of your call, so I thank you.”

“That’s fine,” I said, my joy giving way to some confusion. “And that led you to Amity?”

“Not directly,” Ginther said. “We have reason to suspect foul play, but that investigation has been sealed.”

“What? Why?”

“It has become a matter of Starfleet Intelligence.”

“Wait,” I said, trying to sort these new facts. “You’re telling me Amity was in Starfleet Intelligence?”

“No,” he said. “Slow down and listen. The perpetrator of the computer work revealed himself as employed by someone outside the Federation as an intelligence gatherer. In return for leniency in prosecution from the Judge Advocate General’s office, he has agreed to offer information about his employer’s operations and all details on what Federation secrets have been leaked to this point.”

“Leaked to who?” I had asked the question out of reflex, but I knew full well who lurked behind it all without being told. That did not stop Ginther from revealing the information as my disgust at the situation mounted.

“The Orions,” he said.

“Damn it,” I spat. “So now you get to hear who has been whispering what to whom, and who has been secretly moving whatever piece in any number of the political games everyone plays on board this goddamned station. Meanwhile, a young woman is dead—or worse—and the bastards responsible get away clean. That’s bleeding brilliant!”

“Pennington, I’m no less frustrated than you are,” he said, “but I understand how this plays into the greater benefit to operations in the Taurus Reach and, yes, regardless of how farfetched it sounds to you right now, the entire Federation.”

I was livid. “If you quote that ‘needs of the many’ shit to me right now, I’m going to gobsmack you.”

In a flash, Ginther snatched my wrist in his grip and held it firm. “You don’t want to be hitting anyone, and you don’t want to be raising your voice to me. Are we clear?”

I glowered at the security officer. Despite my rage at learning how Amity’s fate would go undetermined and unpunished, I knew that moment was not the one to seize in the name of justice. “We are,” I said as my deep breathing began to slow. “We’re clear.”

“And I offer this information to you with my appreciation for your help,” he said. “It will not be acknowledged officially, and should any hint of it appear in a news report, any further cooperation in your work from Starfleet officials will be greatly discouraged. And I will be greatly disappointed. Is that also understood?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” I said as he released my wrist.

“Quinn says you’re one of the good guys, Tim,” Ginther said in a calm voice. “Believe it or not, after seeing your response to this, I agree.”

“One of the good guys,” I said, rubbing my wrist a little. “Then tell me how one of the good guys just leaves someone’s story unfinished when I can’t report it and I bloody damn well can’t go vigilante against the Orion Syndicate.”

Ginther looked at me and paused a moment. “When I’m where you are, and I’m there more than you might think,” he said, “I find someone I canhelp. Maybe the opportunity just pops up, or maybe I look up someone who my business isn’t finished with, as you say. When I get someone back on track or settle an account that I’ve left open too long, it goes a lot farther toward filling that hole you’re feeling than a grudge or a bottle ever will.”

I let go a somewhat cynical laugh that part of me immediately regretted. Ginther shrugged his shoulders and extended his hand. I took it. “I appreciate your letting me know. And your advice.”

“Let me know how it turns out, if you like. I’d offer the same, but, well, I can’t.”

“Right.”

As I turned to leave, he spoke my name to get my attention. “Tim, you may do it with your words or your actions, but whatever it might be, I suggest you do it. We all have unfinished business. You’ll know yours when you see it.”

My mind replayed Ginther’s words. I’ll know it when I see it? As I walked back to my apartment, and back into the reporter’s life I once again felt fated to lead, I hoped to hell the guy was right.

THE RUINS OF NOBLE MEN

Marco Palmieri

For Jem and Ben:

Dream big, my sons.

HISTORIAN’S NOTE

This story is set primarily in early January 2368, in the days following the final chapter of Star Trek Vanguard: Precipice.

1

2268

Vanguard groaned as another piece of its hull tore free and fell into the void.

The creak of rending metal vibrated through the bulkheads as if the station were in agony, but Rana Desai took little notice. Even the sight of Starbase 47’s open wound was lost on her. Less than two hundred meters above the viewport at which she stood, EV-suited engineers dotted the curved underside of the station’s immense saucer, surrounding the hideous gash in the enormous doors of Docking Bay 4—damage inflicted just days ago by a being of incomprehensible power.

The new hunk of wreckage tumbled silently through space until a work bee moved in to capture the bent and blackened metal plate. Once secured in the tiny craft’s manipulators, the huge fragment was guided safely downstation to a designated cargo bay where debris from the attack was being gathered for analysis.

None of it registered. Desai’s gaze fell instead on the bloated vessel moored to one of the primary spokes of the station’s external docking wheel. The Orion merchantman Omari-Ekon,den of iniquity and illicit trade, and inviolable domain of the crimelord Ganz, had recently returned from months of exile, now sanctuary to the most unlikely refugee imaginable: Desai’s former lover, Diego Reyes.

He’s alive.

Desai tried to wrap her mind around the thought, to come to grips with how so much had changed. Two years ago, Diego had been a decorated Starfleet flag officer—a commodore and the commander of Starbase 47, overseeing a massive colonization effort that had been initiated in order to mask the real reason for the Federation’s rapid expansion into the Taurus Reach. But the cost of maintaining the secrecy of that mission, both in rising casualties and ever-escalating tensions with the Tholians and the Klingons—to say nothing of the lethal power Starfleet had inadvertently awakened in this region of space—had eroded Diego’s certainty about the Federation’s imperative to decode the transformative potential of the Taurus Meta-Genome.

Shadows moved at the edge of her awareness. Outside, shuttlecraft-sized utility ships shifted position, redirecting high-intensity spotlights toward another compromised section of the bay doors.

Having come to believe he’d been following unjust orders, Diego enabled the public disclosure of classified information related to Vanguard’s mission, an act that brought down the full wrath of Starfleet Command, against which Desai, as his defense counsel, had been unable to protect him. Relieved of his command, court-martialed, and convicted, Diego’s disgrace had been the end of his career, as well as the end of their relationship.

And still there was worse to come. The ship transporting Reyes to his imprisonment on Earth was destroyed en route, and for months Diego was believed to be dead.

How can he be alive?

She was dimly aware of distant thunder shaking the deck, passing through the soles of her boots as the engineers cut away another section of Vanguard’s armor, this one even bigger than the last.

After she was nearly consumed by her grief, Desai somehow found the will to move on with her life. For a time she’d even taken a new lover; nothing serious, at least for her—an unsought dalliance to fill the void of physical intimacy, companionship she’d permitted herself to dull the ache of Diego’s absence. After all . . . he was dead.

And then he turned up alive. What am I supposed to do with that?

And how did it change anything, really? Diego remained a convicted criminal and a fugitive from Starfleet justice—and for all she knew, he was complicit in recent acts of theft and sabotage aboard Vanguard. There was nowhere in the Federation he could set foot without being placed under arrest. Desai could see no way to alter any of that, or envision a future that allowed them to be together.

More hull metal sailed past. The breach in the station grew wider, exposing the deeper wounds that had been inflicted upon its core.

What the hell am I doing here?

The bosun’s whistle of the station’s comm system cut through her contemplations. “Ops to Captain Desai.”

She sighed, as much in relief as in annoyance. She had come to this unused observation lounge hoping to figure out certain things in quiet and solitude. But with anything remotely resembling clarity remaining stubbornly elusive, Desai actually welcomed the interruption. Without taking her eyes off the Omari-Ekon,she thumbed the wall-mounted intercom next to the viewing window. “Desai here.”

“Rana, it’s Cooper,”answered Vanguard’s first officer. “The admiral wants to see you in his office immediately.”

Of course he does.Diego’s replacement as base commander had been none too happy about being maneuvered into allowing Ganz back inside Vanguard’s protective shadow, but the Shedai artifact the merchant prince had offered in exchange for safe harbor had made it impossible for the admiral to refuse. The fact that Diego had done the actual maneuvering only made it worse, especially since he was shielded from extradition by the Orions’ thorny relationship with the Federation. Desai’s romance with Reyes was no secret, and she knew it was only a matter of time before Heihachiro Nogura would demand to have words with her. The wonder is that it took him this long to get around to it.

“On my way,” Desai said, and signed off. She thumbed the channel closed, but her gaze lingered on the Omari-Ekon.

He’s over there somewhere,she imagined, searching the lighted dots along the ship’s upper half. Maybe he’s even looking up at the station for some sign of me.She considered the distance between her and Diego. It wasn’t far. It felt like light-years.

•    •    •

“Sorry I haven’t been around,” said Ezekiel Fisher. “I’ve been meaning to visit more often, but it hasn’t been an easy time around here. Seems like this place is always attracting the wrong sort of attention. Tholians one day, Klingons the next, and now the Shedai have ripped into us like—” Fisher stopped, raising his hand. “I didn’t come here to make excuses. I don’t visit enough, that’s the bottom line. I’m going to work on that. But I’m here now, because something’s happened that I knew you’d want to hear about. Our old friend has beaten the odds again, Hallie. Diego’s alive.”

The flowering dogwood made no reply, but not once in the past two years of ever-less-frequent visits to Fontana Meadow had Fisher expected one. His one-sided conversations with Hallie Gannon, here at the tree Reyes had planted to memorialize the captain and crew of the Starship Bombay,always went unheard; Fisher had no illusions about that. Such rituals were for the living, not the dead.

Fisher took a moment to appreciate the breeze that wafted across the meadow. The convincing illusion of an open blue sky and sunlight was no small miracle, of course, nor the expansive plain of genuine green grass or the groves of trees that disguised the false horizon. Vanguard’s groundskeepers did a masterful job tending the station’s terrestrial enclosure, but as far as Fisher was concerned, the real magic of this place was the breeze– randomized gusts of cool wind that caught you by surprise and made the place seem real in a way that nothing else did.

Fisher smiled. “Had a hunch you’d like hearing that,” he told the breeze. “It’s not exactly the sort of news most people around here are celebrating, but I’ll take it. I’m a little worried about Rana. Ever since Diego resurfaced, she’s been finding excuses to avoid me. I know better than to take it personally, but still . . .”

Fisher’s gaze shifted to the brushed metal plaque set into a rough slab of stone beside the tree. The polished silver inscription stood out against textured gray:

IN PROUD MEMORY

U.S.S. BOMBAY, NCC-1926

“OUR DEATHS ARE NOT OURS; THEY ARE YOURS;

THEY WILL MEAN WHAT YOU MAKE THEM.”

Many of the two hundred twenty-four names listed below had been little more than strangers to Fisher. Some he’d met in the normal routine of his duties as Starbase 47’s chief medical officer, but the Bombay’s infrequent and always-too-brief returns to base had made it difficult to know most of them socially, and that failure weighed upon Fisher now, deepening the hole in his chest.

“I’ve missed you, Hallie. I know Diego misses you too—now more than ever, I suspect. God knows there were times in the last couple of years when he would have valued your good advice. Sometimes I think things would have turned out differently for all of us . . . if only you had been here.”

“Doctor Fisher?”

Fisher turned, startled. Standing at parade rest a respectful distance away was Haniff Jackson, Vanguard’s chief of security. “Lieutenant. Something I can do for you?”

“I apologize for the intrusion, Doctor, but Admiral Nogura requires your presence in his office immediately.”

Fisher’s eyebrows went up. “And he needed to send you to deliver the message? How’d you even know where to find me?”

Jackson shrugged. “I volunteered. This is the only place on the station out of earshot from the nearest intercom . . . and it’s the only place you go without your communicator.”

“Should I be worried about how you would even know that?”

“Just doing my job, sir.”

“And a helluva job it is,” Fisher said, casting a wistful glance back at the dogwood tree before returning his full attention to Jackson. “Lead on, Lieutenant.”

Fisher knew better than to try to cajole Jackson into telling him the reason for Nogura’s summons; if the young man were at liberty to divulge that information, he would have offered it back on the meadow. That Jackson hadn’t required him to pick up his medkit on the way ruled out a medical emergency, but the normally talkative Haniff had little of anything to say on the turbolift ride up to the command tower, and that in itself troubled Fisher . . . as did the dour faces that greeted him in the operations center. This is not good.

As Jackson escorted him into Nogura’s office, it surprised Fisher to learn it wasn’t the admiral waiting inside, but Rana, looking as if she had just risen from one of the guest chairs. Her pale brown face, framed in shimmering, straight black hair, reflected Fisher’s own growing uncertainty.

Jackson exchanged a cordial nod with Desai, which Fisher pretended not to notice. “The admiral should be along shortly,” the security chief said. Then he added, “I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.”

Fisher murmured thanks and waited for the door to close before he turned to Desai. “Did he just warn us not to try leaving?”

Desai’s brow furrowed as she sank back into her seat. “It’s probably best if we don’t jump to any conclusions. I take it you’re as much in the dark as I am?”

“Without a candle,” Fisher said, smiling as he took the unoccupied guest chair next to Desai’s. “Though I will say it’s nice to see you, stranger.”

He watched Desai carefully for her reaction. The smile she volleyed back seemed genuine enough, but it failed to reach her big brown eyes. “Oh, come on, Fish,” she said. “It’s not like I’ve been AWOL.”

Was that an acknowledgment that she had put some distance between them? Fisher supposed it must be, but he wouldn’t probe deeper . . . just as he never pressed her about what had transpired between her and Jackson last year, around the time the first rumors of Diego’s survival had begun to spread. Rana would open up to him in her own time, or she wouldn’t. All he could do was be there for her if and when she needed him.

The office door opened. “Stay seated,” Admiral Nogura said as he entered the room, stopping Fisher and Desai halfway out of their chairs. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he added as he strode briskly toward his desk. Not for the first time, Fisher envied the shorter man’s vigor. Despite being nearly the same age as the octogenarian doctor, Nogura showed few signs of it. The admiral’s deeply lined face and silver-streaked hair belied the energy with which he always moved.

“What I’m about to tell you will be made known to the rest of the crew shortly, but I wanted you two to hear it from me first,” Nogura began as he lowered himself into the high-backed chair behind his desk. He paused as if considering how he should proceed before he finally told them, “There isn’t an easy way to say this, so I’ll come right to the point. It’s my sad duty to inform you both that Commander Aole Miller is dead.”

The words were a kick in the gut. Rana froze in disbelief. Fisher looked away, shaking his head.

God, not Aole . . .

Miller had been among the first arrivals at Starbase 47, on the same transport as Fisher. The doctor had been instantly taken with the younger man’s upbeat and gregarious nature, and the two became fast friends before either of them had set foot on the station. But Aole had that effect on everyone, Fisher quickly learned, his apparently inexhaustible optimism and indiscriminate affability quickly making him one of the most well-liked members of the crew—the proverbial ray of sunshine even during Vanguard’s darkest days.

Such a loss for all of us . . .

“How did he die?” Rana asked, her voice cracking.

“Commander Miller was on assignment to the New Anglesey colony on Kadru,” Nogura said. “This morning I was informed by the colony’s governor that Miller accidentally drowned when he ventured too far outside the settlement without an escort or authorization.”

Fisher swore under his breath. He knew from experience that young colony worlds were dangerous places, each with its own unique set of hazards, which had to be learned over time by the settlers. But there was always the danger of visitors forgetting that a planet had not been “tamed” the moment colony ships touched down, and in those rare instances the consequences were too often tragic, even for experienced Starfleet personnel.

The hell of it was, if anyone knew landing party protocols, it was Aole Miller. He might not have written the book on the subject, but as Starfleet’s colonial liaison for the entire Taurus Reach, he had probably contributed more than a chapter or two. The idea that he could have made a mistake that cost him his life—

“Has anyone told Ahmed?” Desai asked.

Nogura nodded. “That’s the reason I was late getting here. I gave Mister Farahani the news myself.”

Fisher wanted to kick himself. On top of everything else, Miller was a newlywed of four months. That it had taken him this long before he gave a thought to Aole’s widower shamed him. Fisher imagined Ahmed alone, overcome with anguish, and it was more than he could endure. Rising from his chair, he said, “Admiral, if you’ll excuse me—”

“As you were, Doctor,” Nogura said without force, but in a manner that had the effect of nailing Fisher’s boots to the deck. “Lieutenant Goldrosen went with me to see Mister Farahani, and I left him in her expert care. I’m sure you’ll agree he’s in good hands.”

Fisher opened his mouth to protest, but quickly tamped down the impulse. Nogura was right. Tziporah Goldrosen was an experienced grief counselor. For Fisher to show up now would probably be more disruptive than helpful. But that raised another question, and once again, Rana was half a step ahead of him.

“Admiral . . . may I ask why you elected to inform the two of us personally, and ahead of the rest of the crew?”

Nogura rose and stepped around his desk. He leaned back against the forward edge and folded his arms. “I’m tasking the two of you with completing Commander Miller’s assignment.”

Fisher blinked.

“Which was what, specifically?” Rana asked.

“To convince the colonists to evacuate Kadru.”

Fisher and Desai exchanged looks before the doctor asked, “What are we looking at? More territorial challenges from the Klingons? Or has someone detected the presence of the meta-genome?”

“Nothing so dramatic—at least, not yet,” Nogura said. He picked up a remote control resting on his desk and pointed it at the office viewscreen, calling up a map of the Federation’s colonial holdings in the Taurus Reach. Blue dots denoted the settlements. A number of arcing yellow lines radiated from the spot that symbolized Vanguard, weaving among the colonies, and Fisher knew these represented starship patrol routes.

“Starfleet Command is increasingly concerned about its ability to adequately safeguard Federation colonies in the Taurus Reach,” the admiral said. “Some of them are simply too remote for the resources available to Operation Vanguard.”

“It was my understanding the recent increase in dedicated starship support was supposed to have addressed that,” Desai said.

“Unfortunately, the rising frequency of military engagements in the region has effectively negated the benefits of our enlarged fleet. Simply stated, the Taurus Reach is too hot, and we’re spread too thin, for the number of colonies we need to protect.” Nogura tapped his remote, and several of the outermost colonies shifted from blue to red. “The Federation Council agrees with Command’s assessment, and has determined these four settlements are in areas where continuing to provide Starfleet support would be contrary to Federation interests at this time.” Another touch on the remote, and the patrol routes shrank, leaving the red dots well outside their arcs.

“A strategic withdrawal,” Rana interpreted.

“A temporary one, we hope,” Nogura said.

“The Klingons won’t see it that way,” Fisher warned. “They’ll see it as a sign of weakness, and they won’t hesitate to exploit it. Admiral, we’re essentially relinquishing our claim on those systems.”

“I don’t disagree with you, Doctor,” Nogura said. “I’m against this course of action for those very reasons, but the decision has been made. One month from now, all four of these colonies will be outside our regular patrol routes. We need to get those settlers relocated ASAP.”

“And New Anglesey?” Desai prompted.

“The one holdout.” Nogura keyed the screen to zoom in on one of the red systems, displaying a cloud-heavy Class-M planet, second out from a G0 main sequence star, HD-24040. “Kadru was colonized three years ago. It’s a scientific research settlement that went independent after just six months. Since then relations between New Anglesey and the Federation—Starfleet in particular—have deteriorated to the point where they’ve been denying our people permission to set foot on the planet. We notified them of the Federation Council’s decision, but they’re refusing to cooperate. They’ve dug in and have no intention of leaving Kadru.”

Desai frowned. “If they’re not allowing Starfleet visitors, how is it Miller was able to go there?”

“He sweet-talked his way in,” Fisher guessed.

“You’re not far off,” Nogura confirmed. “A few weeks ago Miller started building a rapport with Governor Ying Mei-Hua over subspace, and he finally persuaded her to give him permission to make his case in person. He was four days into his visit when the colony contacted us with news of his death. And judging by the conversation I had with Ying, the New Anglese haven’t changed their position on being evacuated. That’s where you two come in.”

“Begging the admiral’s pardon,” Desai said, “but this sounds like an assignment better suited to someone on Commander Miller’s staff, or perhaps Ambassador Jetanien—”

“Under ordinary circumstances, that would be true. But as I said, there are other colonies besides New Anglesey affected by this decision, and Miller’s department is fully occupied with the logistics of relocating those settlements. Ambassador Jetanien’s office is likewise engaged in ongoing diplomatic talks with the Tholians, the Klingons, the Romulans, and more recently, with the Orions.”

The slight emphasis the admiral placed on the word Orionswas not lost on Fisher, and he was certain Rana hadn’t missed it either, though she gave no sign she had noticed it. Fisher wondered how Jetanien, who considered Diego a friend, was handling his assignment to somehow negotiate Reyes’s extradition.

“All that aside,” Nogura went on, “you’re far too modest about your own qualifications for the mission, Captain. You frequently coordinated with Commander Miller’s department in matters of Federation law and Starfleet regulations as they pertained to TR colonies. You’re also no stranger to dealing with the colonial mindset, and that’s exactly what’s needed here.