Demands of Honor (24 page)

Fox felt the dim flickers of hope begin to swell. He forced them down. Whatever happened today would not be easy.

“Will the Klingons let us leave?” Fitzpatrick asked, saying what was on all their minds.

“Not voluntarily, but we can trust Starfleet to have a plan. And we are not without resources ourselves,” Fox said. There it was: hope, on all of their faces. Well, they had had precious little of that lately and had lived with a death mark over their heads as they continued the farce of the negotiations.

“Twenty minutes until the shuttle docks,” Fitzpatrick said. A moment later she added, “I have the Klingon ambassador.”

Fox felt his own hopes fall a bit. No matter how good Starfleet's plan, if the ship never got to the station, their one chance was over before it could begin.
“Ambassador Fox, what is the meaning of this?”
Ambassador Morg said as soon as his face appeared on the viewer.

“Ambassador, I do not know what you mean,” Fox said.

“A Starfleet vessel is approaching this station right now.”

“Yes, they are bringing supplies and additional staff,” Fox said evenly.

“Why wasn't I notified?”
the Klingon demanded.

“Because the Federation is not in the habit of asking
permission for routine exchanges from its negotiating partners.”

“Is this a trick, Fox?”
Morg asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“We have been nothing but forthright throughout this entire negotiation, Ambassador. I am insulted that you would suggest otherwise. Why, I wonder, are you so suspicious? Is there something that
you
are keeping from
me?”
Fox asked pointedly.

The comment struck home, Fox could see. The Klingon ambassador had been lying to him from the start and was lying now. Klingons could sometimes be deceitful, but there were strong cultural taboos against it in large segments of the society. “You have nothing to fear from us,” Fox said.

Anger flashed on the Klingon's face. He considered humans—Earthers as he called them—inferior. To suggest that he was afraid of them was an insult. Now, for Morg to take action against the shuttle would be an admission that he had something to fear. Fox realized there was one more thing he could do.

“Ambassador, I must admit that my superiors are not happy with my progress in these negotiations. As a matter of fact, they have found some of the concessions you have won to be troubling. I'm afraid that my team and I are to be replaced by more senior and more experienced negotiators who are more conversant with the current state of affairs in the Federation Council.”

Fox had just offered Morg an even more valuable prize than his own team. The only question was, would the Klingon ambassador take the bait?

After a moment, the Klingon smiled.
“I'm surprised
it did not happen sooner. Your leaders are not as foolish as I thought. How soon can I meet with you and your replacement?”

“I'll have to check with the new ambassador, but I would assume that he'll want to see you as soon as he has settled in.” As soon as Fox finished speaking, he closed the channel.

After twelve straight hours at the negotiating table, Fox and his people had been tired. Now, he felt like a first-year diplomatic aide on his first assignment.

“Let's begin shutdown procedure,” Fox said. Quickly, he and his team purged the computer system, taking the tapes that held the little data they needed. He set the timer on the computer so that it would destroy itself and all of its code keys in one hour.

“I'm getting a message from the shuttle,” Fitzpatrick announced.

The face of a man that Fox didn't recognize appeared on the screen.
“Ambassador Fox, it is good to see you.”

“And you too,” Fox said.

“Please wait in your quarters. I would like to meet with you immediately. Ambassador Fenig out.”

“Ambassador Fenig?” one of Fox's aides said.

“Apparently he's new to the diplomatic service,” Fox said drily. His group smiled at that. Then for an excruciating few minutes, Fox and his team waited for an alarm to sound—some sign that they had been found out—that their small flicker of hope had been dashed. However, the alarms didn't come. Instead, a few minutes later there was a buzz at the door.

Fox stepped in front of the door himself and hit the button to open it. Standing in the doorway was a human
male, perhaps forty years old, wearing formal civilian clothes. Fox recognized the man immediately from his transmission. “Ambassador Fenig,” he said, shaking the man's hand.

“Ambassador Fox.” Then Fenig turned to his Kraith escorts and said, “Thank you.” The Kraith knew when they were being dismissed, and Fenig stepped into the room.

“Is there any chance we are being watched or listened to in here?” Fenig asked, keeping a pleasant smile on his face.

“No,” Ambassador Fox said. Diplomats might not be warriors, but they were not fools either. “We have taken standard precautions.”

“Then we can talk freely.” Fenig's eyes narrowed and he seemed suddenly more alert. “I'm
Lieutenant
Fenig. I'm here to take you home.”

Fox felt a catch in his throat. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet—wait until you're safe. I have a pilot standing by in a diplomatic shuttle. I need you to all come with me immediately.”

“We're ready,” Fox said.

He looked at the man's hip. Fenig was wearing a laser pistol. “We couldn't risk phasers. My team and I are carrying the same ceremonial weapons that you brought along. We can't do anything to arouse suspicion. For that reason, we couldn't arm the shuttle, since the Klingons know we don't usually arm diplomatic craft. We need to move quickly and get away clean. I don't think we can trust the Kraith either; so once we're outside, don't discuss what we're doing.”

Fox nodded. “Their interest in hosting these talks is
purely financial. I have no doubt that if the Klingons paid them for other assistance, they would offer it.”

“Our thinking exactly,” Fenig said.

“How are you going to keep the Klingons from firing on the shuttle after we launch?”

“We're docked on opposite sides of the station. They will have to release their ship to pursue. And we'll try to hold them up a bit. Now, we really must be going.” Fenig stepped out into the corridor.

Fox and the others followed and walked calmly through the halls. It was evening as the station reckoned time, and most of the people there were eating or in one of the bars. Though few people were around, Fox would have preferred to have the corridors empty. They passed Kraith and a few other races that Fox recognized.

“I'm anxious to have you meet the Klingon ambassador,” Fox said.

“What?” Fenig said.

“Ambassador Morg is anxious to meet you as well.”

Fenig understood. “Of course. I am … curious about your progress.”

If the Kraith or the Klingons were listening in, Fox was determined to give them something to hear. “The Klingons appear to be in a strong position,” Fox said.

“Yes, they are very … strong.”

Fox had no doubt that Fenig was a capable Starfleet officer, but he was a poor liar. Yet his performance was probably good enough to fool the Klingons.

When they were about halfway to the docking port, two more humans in civilian business clothes appeared. They were younger than Fenig, and Fox could tell the lieutenant knew them.

“Your aides, Mister Fenig?” Fox asked.

“Yes.” Fenig made quick introductions. Fox could tell the man was impatient, but Fox had the feeling they were being watched closely.

Leaning in, he whispered to Fenig, “We should linger for a moment.”

Fenig looked at him and nodded. Fox made small talk with the aides, and his people did the same. The rhythms of professional interaction in the diplomatic world were different from those in Starfleet. Fox understood that the people who had been sent to retrieve them were probably from Starfleet security, not intelligence. That made sense given the speed with which the mission had had to be put together.

It would be up to Fox to make sure that everyone behaved normally. Finally he said, “I'm looking forward to seeing that communications equipment on board the shuttle.”

“Of course,” Fenig said, and the group started moving again.

“We sent that
message
you requested,” one of Fenig's “aides” said to him.

Two Kraith approached from the other direction. One was male and the other was female. They had their race's distinctive reddish coloring and deep-set eyes. Fox realized that he recognized the two people. They worked for the station's administrator.

“Ambassador Fenig,” the male called out. He smiled as he approached. “The station administrator asked us to find you. Do you have a moment for her?”

“I'm really very busy. Perhaps later,” Fenig said.

“Really, it will only take a moment. The administrator has something important she wishes to share with you,” the female said.

Fox spoke twelve languages fluently and was a particularly astute student of humanoid and alien body language. He scanned the faces of the two Kraith and made his determination in an instant.

“Sir,” he said, to get Fenig's attention. The lieutenant turned to him, and Fox said clearly and forcefully, “They're lying.”

Before the recognition fully registered on Fenig's face, his laser was in his hand. Without a moment's hesitation, the officer aimed and fired the weapon at the male in a single, smooth motion. A fraction of a second later, he aimed and fired at the female. The two aliens hit the floor one after the other.

“Maybe they didn't have time to sound an alarm,” one of Fenig's “aides” said.

As if on cue, a klaxon started to sound. “All bets are off, run!” Fenig shouted. Together the nine people dashed down the corridor. The Starfleet officers had their lasers out and were aiming them forward.

“Shoot at anyone you see,” Fenig said. A moment later, a Kraith appeared and Fenig and the other two officers fired nearly simultaneously. The being went down.

“There,” Fenig said, pointing at the intersection ahead. Fox knew they were approaching the outer rim of the station. Their docking port was just a few hundred meters away now.

A moment later, there was a flash of movement ahead of them. For an instant, Fox saw someone lean into the
corridor from behind cover, and then a flash of green energy passed inches from Fox's left ear.

“Disruptors!” Fenig called out. Immediately Fenig and one of the others started firing continuously on each side of the corridor, preventing any Klingons hiding there from getting off another shot. One of the security officers grabbed Fox and Fitzpatrick and pushed them to one corridor wall, while the other officer pushed Fox's other three aides against the opposite wall.

Slowly, the group inched forward. When they were less than twenty meters from the intersection, they came to a stop. They were in trouble, Fox realized. As long as the Klingons were around those corners, they couldn't reach the ship. And while they could keep the Klingons at bay, it was just a matter of time before reinforcements arrived. If anyone got behind them, they would be stuck out in the open with enemies on both sides.

“We can't wait. We'll have to rush them,” Fenig said. It made sense, Fox realized. The Starfleet officers had to move them forward to take the fight to the Klingons. If all four security people raced around the corners, there was a fair chance that one or two of them would survive to get Fox's team to the ship. At least some of these officers were about to die for them, Fox realized.

“On my mark,” Fenig said.

“Wait, Lieutenant. I have an idea,” Fox said.

“What is it?” Fenig said, urgency in his voice.

“Diplomacy. Let me try something.” Fox drew his ceremonial Civil War sword—another gift from Lieutenant West—and clanked it against the deck. “How many are there?”

Fenig checked his tricorder. “Two.”

“Klingon warriors. I am Ambassador Fox. You know me. I carry a blade and challenge you to combat if you have the courage,” he called out.

“I can't allow this,” Fenig said to Fox.

“Trust me, Lieutenant. This is my area.” Then Fox called out to the Klingons again. “Face me with blades now unless you are afraid to face an
Earther
in combat.”

There was silence, and then a Klingon said. “No tricks, Earther.”

“No tricks.”

Two Klingons appeared from around each of the two corners. They had their disruptors holstered and were holding their
bat'leths
in the air.

“Ambassador …,” Fenig said, his voice nervous.

Fox felt completely confident. He knew what he had to do and would not hesitate.

“Lieutenant, shoot them now,” Fox said evenly.

As soon as the words left his mouth, twin laser beams lashed out and struck each Klingon full in the chest, the heavy stun setting sending them flying backward to the floor. Fox took a moment's satisfaction at the stunned surprise on the security team.

“Your diplomacy is pretty effective,” Fenig said.

“Years of study and training to master the subtleties,” Fox replied, returning the man's smile. Then the group was on the move, rounding the corner to the right and racing toward the docking bay. A human in civilian clothes was waiting to greet them—most likely their pilot, Fox guessed.

“Lieutenant,” the man called out.

Fenig checked his tricorder and said, “Brace yourselves.” Fox saw the security people grab hold of the
wall and did the same. A moment later, the deck shook under his feet. Then he felt an outward pressure, like centrifugal force, pushing him against the outer wall.

“The Kraith just had a malfunction in their thruster system. We need to disembark before the rotational speed of the station gets too high,” Fenig said.