Chapter 4 - Diplomatic Incredulity
The bottoms of Foreign Secretary
Pelgrath's leather-soled shoes were slightly
worn - a fact which was easily noted, as his feet were on
his desk. Leaning back
as far as his chair would allow, he was busy studying nothing.
His hands were idle
with liquor and smoke - the amber mingled quietly with some
ice cubes, though the
kretek sparked and crackled in complaint.
Prime Minister Signost slouched
nearby. His jacket was open, as was his vest,
as was the top part of his heavily-starched shirt. His
tie hung loosely around his neck.
He sighed wearily and sipped some similarly sentimental spirit,
then he resumed his
observation of the air on the far side of the room.
On a low bench, Undersecretary
Shilála sat opposite the two, elbow on knee,
cheek on palm. A data pad hung limply in his left hand,
and though he was still some-
what immaculately dressed, his face looked very tired. Suddenly
and without warning,
one of his hairs turned quietly gray.
From a distant wall, a noble
clock went, "Tick?", and sensing little interest, it
shortly answered its own question with, "Tock."
The ice in Branmal's drink settled
with a gentle clink, and Relin shifted a bit, his chair creaking
in response. Footsteps
sounded in the hall then quickly faded, as Branmal drew a
deep drag. He slowly
released a phantom ring and watched it rise silently through
the air, growing larger
before finally fading away.
"I'm telling you it was
the Valoperans," Relin muttered. "Has to be."
He fondled his tumbler, and
Branmal pondered the tips of his shoes.
"Now why would the lovely
Valoperans do such a thing?" he asked.
"Because of the Guilly
Tax," Relin proffered. "They wanted to test to see how
desperate we are. Gives them a better bargaining position..."
"I believe that our 'desperation'
is no secret," Branmal impassively puffed.
Signost raised a half-hearted
eyebrow then sipped his drink.
"The Humans, then?"
he wondered. "Or that Vulcan woman...?"
"Why on Lius would she
want her foot broken?"
"I don't know," Relin
shrugged. "Maybe she's in to that sort of thing..."
Pelgrath slowly shook his head.
"I don't think so,"
he said. "She didn't appear to be 'in' to much of anything
at all..."
"I suppose you have a point."
"Have you considered Westerfield?"
the Secretary asked, glancing over. "The
election is just six months away."
"That buffoon?" Signost
grumped. "He wouldn't have the imagination for such
a thing - his people, either."
"I see what you're saying,"
Branmal nodded, then he raised his voice a bit.
"You're being awfully quiet over there, Deen. Who
do you think it was?"
Shilála stirred, and
raised his data pad. He peered at it with disgust.
"I haven't the slightest,"
he said. "I'm just happy we never got to the closing
ceremony."
He shuttered.
"Yes, well."
"Quite."
Just then, the intercom sounded,
and Alvina spoke.
"Mr. Secretary," she
said. "The press have arrived."
Pelgrath choked and fumbled
forward, spilling his drink in the process. He
lurched and mashed the button.
"What are you talking about,
Alvina? What press?"
"I don't know, sir,"
she said. "They claim that is was scheduled."
Branmal stared blankly for a
moment, then he squinted at Relin, who was
busy whistling and studying his fingernails again. With
a sigh, he slowly pushed the
button.
"Tell them to stand by,
won't you?" he said.
"Yes, Mr. Secretary."
"Relin!" he
crescendoed.
"I was under the assumption
that we would have good news to report!" he
defended. "How was I to know that everything would
end in disaster?"
Pelgrath looked at him for a
moment, then he crushed his kretek in the ashtray.
He glanced sheepishly at Undersecretary Shilála.
"Deen," he hemmed.
"Would you mind?"
Shilála sighed slightly
and slowly got to his feet.
"What should I tell them?"
"I don't know," the
Secretary shrugged. "I'm sure you'll think of something."
He gave the two of them a parting
glance, then he trudged wearily from the
room.
"Good man you've got there,
Branmal."
"Absolutely."
They toasted Shilála,
then Pelgrath promptly lit another kretek. Signost gave
him a disgusted look and shook his head.
"Bran," he scoffed.
"Really!"
The Secretary shrugged his eyebrows
and blew another smoke ring. Finally,
he diplomatically changed the subject.
"It's a shame about the
Humans," he said. "They seemed quite affable."
"Yes," Signost agreed.
"I hope they won't harbour us any ill-will."
Branmal nodded and sighed.
"I really wish we could
have been of more service," he said, then he thought
for a moment and added, "Do you think they liked their gifts?"
"Certainly," Relin
nodded. "Who wouldn't?"
"I suppose you're right,"
he said.
"Indeed."
(Epilogue to follow...)
