Chapter 18 - 2394

Of the many things that Commander Liam Shaw hated, being late was near the top of the list. Being unprepared was even higher. He was acutely aware, as he followed Captain John Sullivan off the transporter platform, that they were both.

He watched his friend closely. Sullivan had nearly died barely three weeks before. He'd been cleared to return to duty, but he still looked tired to Shaw. Fragile. Hell, the whole crew was tired and fragile. This mission might be good for all of them.

But being assigned to a diplomatic visit to a world where his occasional lover was the chief diplomat made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Worse, there had been no opportunity to contact her, nothing to be done but trust that Becca would be discreet.

A tall young man with copper-colored skin waited for them. He wore a well-tailored suit of typical Federation diplomatic style, in dark blue. He bowed very slightly. "Captain, Commander. Welcome. I am Nico Zarzour, assistant to Ambassador Radford. Welcome to Hyslainu."

"Sorry we're late," Sullivan said. "We were diverted for a rescue."

"Completely understandable. A simple diplomatic visit of course carries no such urgency. I hope you were successful?"

"We were," Shaw said.

"Excellent. If you'll come this way?" He started down the hall. "The dinner has completed, but there is an informal dessert and reception still underway."

Shaw smoothed down his dress uniform as they walked. He hated the damn thing. But it couldn't be avoided either.

"Have you had time, with your diversion, to review briefing materials?"

"We have," Sullivan said. "System on the verge of joining the Federation, standard courtesy visit, shore leave opportunities for the crew."

"Excellent hiking trails," Shaw added under his breath.

"Which doesn't explain," the captain continued, "why you specifically requested the Munro."

Shaw had told Sullivan only that he and the ambassador were old friends. His captain probably believed him.

"There is, as you have surmised, a bit more to this specific invitation." Zarzour led them to a wider corridor. He walked slowly, evidently so he could brief them on the way. "The first warp-capable ship on Hyslainu was developed some years ago by a brother and sister team, Kadla and Kater Alme. After first contact was made, they built a second, much more advanced ship, and had started on a third. They were looking forward to becoming formal members of the Federation, which would give them full access to all of the technology that membership can offer. However. As final negotiations were beginning, their second ship exploded, killing the entire crew, including Kadla."

Shaw and Sullivan traded a look.

They began to hear polite music ahead. Zarzour walked even slower. "The subsequent investigation found that inferior parts had been used in routine repairs to the ship, causing the disaster. High-ranking officials have been charged with being complicit in the purchase of those inferior parts. They profited from the transaction. In the ensuing scandal, the president and most of his cabinet were removed from their positions and await trail. Kater Alme was swept into office by popular acclaim."

"The surviving ship developer?" Shaw clarified.

"Yes. He is an extremely intelligent man, and deeply dedicated to the improvement of his people. Which, he firmly believes, lies in completing membership in the Federation."

"So what's the problem?" Sullivan asked.

"In addition to wanting to be a good leader to his world, which is in considerable turmoil, and to complete the negotiations, President Alme also wants to complete construction of his third ship. And he – struggles to focus fully on any of those responsibility."

"Still not seeing what this has to do with us."

"With you, in particular, Commander."

Shaw stopped dead. "Come again?"

The others stopped with him. "Under current regulations," Zarzour said, "we are not permitted to provide specific technical assistance to non-member entities. We cannot help Alme complete work on his ship in a truly concrete way until the final treaty is signed."

"And you can't get the treaty signed," Sullivan realized, "because he keeps being distracted by work on his ship?"

"Precisely."

"Still don't see what this has to do with me," Shaw said.

Zarzour nodded slightly. "We cannot formally provide official technical assistance. However, there is no such restriction against informal discussions between officials and visiting dignitaries. If you were to engage in casual conversation with the president on matters of mutual interest, even if those conversations were specifically technological in nature –"

"Engineering small talk," Sullivan provided.

"The ambassador feels that Commander Shaw is uniquely qualified for this task."

"She wants me to sweet-talk the president into signing the treaty?" Shaw asked, puzzled.

"No. She wants you to tell him how to fix his ship." Zarzour turned and continued toward the music. "We'll discuss further as time allows."

They shared another look and followed him.

Shaw didn't relax, precisely. If Becca has requested the Munro so that she could show off her new status to him, at least she'd composed a credible, if unconventional, explanation. On the other hand, if she actually expected him to fix a ship he'd never even seen, that might be a hell of a tall order. And hand-holding an inexperienced diplomat was definitely not in his wheelhouse.

At the door, Zarzour turned one last time. "Oh, and try not to stare at the stripes."

"The what?"

Hyslains were humanoid. Every one that Shaw saw in the banquet room seemed to be a bit shorter and much thinner than the average human; willowy was the first word that sprang to mind. Adolescent was an unfortunate second. Their arms and legs seemed just a little long for their frames, like young teens. He immediately and firmly put that impression away. They were clearly adults.

They had stripes on their faces.

Possibly they had stripes all over their bodies, but the facial ones were visible. The center of the faces were pale cream colored, perhaps faintly tinged with blue, but distinctly darker blue stripes fringed their features, disappeared into their pale hair and down their necks into their clothing. They reminded Shaw now of tigers. He guessed that every individual had stripes as unique as fingerprints. They were beautiful.

They were very hard not to stare at.

A second diplomatic aide approached them. "The ambassador is on the terrace."

"Of course. Thank you." Zarzour led them across the room and outside again.

There were a number of dignitaries on the terrace, but Shaw's attention was drawn to the view first. Beyond the terrace was a wide flat lake, and beyond that a grassy plain, a few trees, and then a ragged mountain. The rock face of the mountain, in the sunset, was vibrant purple. Deep plum in the shadows. Pale violet where the light was still brightest. A thousand shades in between. All of them shifting as the sun set. "Wow."

"It is the ambassador's favorite view," her assistant said.

"I can see why," Sullivan said.

At the railing, Becca turned and smiled at them, and for a moment Shaw lost track of everything else. She looked older. He was sure he did, too. She seemed sincerely happy to see him.

Zarzour made introductions, undoubtedly with diplomatic precision. Shaw managed to catch that the young Hyslain man with her was President Alme. Like Vulcans, he hoped, the man could not possibly be as young as he looked. He was fidgety, his handshake tentative. His stripes were very blue. But Becca was calm and welcoming, and Alme looked to be following her lead.

"I am very glad to welcome you here," Alme said. "You and you crew. I hope you will enjoy your visit."

"I'm sure we will," Sullivan answered. "Your view here is spectacular."

"It gets better in about two minutes," Radford promised.

"I don't see how."

"I don't, either," Alme said. Then, "Oh, firebugs."

"Yes."

"Firebugs?" Shaw asked.

"You'll see." She laid her hand on his arm, just briefly. "It's good to see you."

"You, too."

Sullivan gave them a discreet side-eye. Shaw ignored him.

Radford said, "I'll admit, I have been bragging on your world. The people are friendly, the food is excellent, the scenery is spectacular, and the air is soft and sweet."

"All of which my crew and I will gladly embrace."

"You are most welcome," Alme said. "Most welcome."

"Here they go," someone said.

Everyone turned and looked toward the mountain. The sun had slipped further, and the purples mostly had settled into a single rich purple shade. Something red flashed over the grass in front of the mountain and vanished.

Shaw frowned, uncertain what he'd seen. Then there was another flash, another. Then suddenly there were dozens, hundreds of red flashes lifting off from the grass. They blinked on and off, hovered, darted.

"Firebugs," Becca said. "Similar in some ways to Terran fireflies. But much bigger. And red, obviously."

There were enough now that they moved in waves, like a great flock of birds, turning, contracting, spreading. They filled the sky like a spectacular light show. Then just as quickly they began to dissipate, flying off in all directions.

"They do this every night?" Sullivan asked.

"Except when it rains." Alme smiled. "The ambassador finds such weather highly offensive."

"I do. I hate to miss them."

Shaw didn't see her gesture, but there was an aide there with a tray of glasses full of a bright red beverage.

"Firebug wine." She took a glass, waved it gently toward the departing bugs. "Named for them, not made from them."

They each took a glass and sipped. It was sweeter than Shaw usually liked, but light and chilled. Refreshing.

The president took a big swallow of his beverage, as if he was in a hurry to finish it. He swayed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like a bored teenager. His stripes, Shaw noted, were much paler now. They clearly reflected the emotional state of the individual. He struggled not to stare at them.

"Commander Shaw," Radford told him conversationally, "is what Starfleet calls a mustang. He began his career as an enlisted man in Engineering and worked his way up through the ranks."

Alme stopped swaying. "In Engineering?"

"Yes."

He turned his full attention on Shaw. His stripes grew brighter again. "You did the actual work? In Engineering?"

"Sure did. Pulled the wrenches, turned the screws. Your basic grease monkey."

"Grease …" He glanced at Radford.

"It's slang for a – a mechanic?"

Shaw nodded. "Close enough."

"Oh. Perhaps we could, that is," Alme's blue got bluer, "perhaps we could find some time to discuss – I am fascinated by Starfleet's many vessels, all their advancements, all their potential."

"So am I."

"We could find some time to talk, perhaps."

"Absolutely you could," the ambassador said. "I was hoping you would."

"I am building a new ship," Alme said, warming to the subject. "I have so many issues, though. She's much bigger than our last ship, and so many of our systems and processes no longer seem to work."

"Not everything scales up," Shaw said. "We're run into that problem many times."

"I can't get my power to distribute –"

"Mr. President?" An aide, local, was at his elbow. "Speaker Omes is leaving."

"Oh, I should go speak to her. I should –" He looked around the little group nervously. "Excuse me. I'll be right … excuse me."

Sullivan looked around, then spoke very quietly. "That's the president you're negotiating with?"

Becca nodded.

"His EPS is screwed, it sounds like." Shaw shrugged. "I'll talk to him in the morning, that shouldn't be too hard to straighten out."

"In the morning?" Becca smiled. "He'll be back in five minutes, ready to pick every detail out of your brain." She gestured. "We've set up that conference room for you. Computers, screens, white boards, coffee. Anything else you need, my people are right there."

"Ahh."

"I'm very sorry to just throw you into this. I've tried everything else I can think of. Until his ship works, or at least until he can see that it can work, he cannot focus on this treaty."

"Well, it certainly is a hardship," Sullivan said lightly. "Asking Commander Shaw, of all people, to discuss all matters Engineering. I suppose such sacrifices must be made in the name of diplomacy."

"Oh, I'll manage somehow," Shaw agreed, grinning.

"For the record, you should know that I don't intend to keep you here indefinitely. Tell me when you're ready and I'll arrange for you to be called away."

"I don't think we'll be in any hurry," Sullivan breathed, looking at the mountains again. "We could all use a little down time."

"I suspect Alme would keep you here for a year."

"Okay, we don't need that much down time."

"I didn't think so."

A Hyslain man approached them carrying a covered tray that he held flat. He looked older than Alme, and was more elaborately dressed. "Ambassador."

"Vice President Danar, may I introduce Captain Sullivan and Commander Shaw from the U.S.S. Munro. They'll be visiting for a few days."

"Oh, very pleased to meet you. You are welcome, very welcome." He glanced around. "I see our president has wandered off already."

"He's gone to see Speaker Omes before she leaves," Becca said.

"I see. Well. Very glad that you've arrived, gentlemen, in time to enjoy one of our rare treats." He removed the cover and presented a dozen round purple-red fruits the size of large grapes. "Normally the suthberry harvest would be over, but we've gotten an extra day or two to enjoy them."

"I thought they would be gone by now." Becca picked up one of the fruits. "They're only good for five or six days of the year."

"And they cannot be preserved," the vice president said. "Very delicate fruits they are. They require the closest of attention."

Sullivan took one, and then Shaw. He was prepared to eat it and make nice no matter what it tasted like, but the little fruit was actually delicious.

"What a unique taste," Sullivan said. "Like citrus, but also … also …"

"Sweet," Shaw provided.

"Like if clementines weren't orange-flavored," Becca suggested.

"Yes, exactly. Oh, those are very good."

Danar's stripes went bluer with pleasure. "I am delighted to be able to share them with you. They cannot be preserved successfully – oh, I said that already - so these few days are the only times we get them."

"We're very honored to share them," Sullivan said.

"Please, have another."

They each took one more, and then the vice president replaced the lid on the remaining fruits. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Alme returning. "I do hope you will enjoy your visit." He walked away.

"They don't like each other," Sullivan said quietly.

"Not even a little bit."

The president re-joined their group. "I'm sorry I was called away. I see you've met my vice president. He's quite experienced. He's been very helpful to me."

"He still has suthberries," Becca said.

"On day seven? How unusual. Well, I suppose because it's been dry." He pivoted to Shaw. "I was saying, before, about power distribution, and I think you were going to suggest something?"

"I was asking how your system compared to Starfleet's EPS system."

"EPS – electro-plasma system?"

"More properly the electro-plasma distribution network, yes."

"I've read about it, but my resources are … limited. Understandably so, as we are not yet aligned." He drew a line in the air between them. "As I understand it –"

"Let's step away from the party," Shaw suggested. "Somewhere we can compare notes." He gestured, and Alme followed him willingly to the back room.

The president immediately went to one of the boards. "Oh, yes, this is much better. Now here's what I've done so far …"

He started drawing.

Shaw shook his head. Becca had known exactly what she was doing with this guy. He was more than willing to talk shop with him day and night if that would help.

He'd never cared much for hiking anyhow.


"Oh, of course," Alme said, drawing the last link of an EPS system on his diagram on the big board. "Like this, and then this, and it works beautifully. Or it should."

"It should," Shaw agreed.

"It's so simple. I should have seen it."

"It's simple if you've had a bunch of people refining it over several hundred years. Doing it on your own, from scratch? You did well to get it to function at all."

"Yes. I suppose so, yes." The president rubbed his hands together. "Oh, it's elegant."

Shaw nodded. He had always thought so.

"Now, about the deflector – oh."

"What?"

The man nodded toward the door. Beyond, the event room was dark except for some low safety lights. It was quiet and abandoned. The party was over and the guests had gone home.

Shaw had no idea how long they'd been talking, but it had clearly been a while. He remembered a diplomatic staffer bringing a second carafe of coffee in. Plates of tidy, bite-sized snacks, easy to eat while still talking. The green marker had run dry while he was sketching and another staffer had put a new one in his hand almost instantly. Becca's people were damn good. He wasn't surprised.

But the coffee cups were now empty and his throat was dry and sore.

Alme's stripes flared bright blue. "I have abandoned my own reception," he said. "Your reception. I have left my guests, I have been unspeakably rude."

"It's okay," Shaw said.

"I have insulted your ambassador. And your captain."

"I doubt that they're insulted." They left the meeting room together.

The ballroom was not quite empty. At a small table near the wall, under one small light, Radford and Sullivan were playing cards and chatting.

"Ambassador." Alme hurried over; they stood up as he approached. "I am so sorry, so very sorry."

"For what?"

"I have been rude. Unforgivably rude. And to you as well, Captain. I did not mean to give offense, it is only that we have solved – oh, but I left the reception, my guests …"

"President Alme. Kater." Becca laid her hand on his arm. "You haven't done anything you need to apologize for."

"But I have, I –"

"I have attended to the guests. They were not neglected, I assure you."

"And I've had quite a nice conversation with the ambassador," Sullivan said.

"But I –" he gestured toward the conference room.

Shaw caught his eye. "Why do you think that room was all set up for us?"

"I …" he turned to Becca again. "You knew?"

"I have known enough engineers to know what happens when you put two of them together, yes. I fully expected that you would want to talk shop."

"But …"

"You're concerned about your ship. He can help. Why wouldn't I facilitate your meeting?"

"But you said you could not offer official assistance until the treaty was signed."

"Just a diplomatic visit," Sullivan said easily. "Small talk between new friends. Comparing notes and stories. Nothing official about it."

Alme looked at each of them. His stripes were still deeply colored, but he visibly relaxed. His gaze settled on Radford. "You invited them here on purpose."

"Yes."

"To aid me with my ship. Even though you know it will further delay the treaty negotiations."

"I think," Becca said, "we can shelve the top-level meetings for a bit. We'll let the side delegations continue their work, check in with them daily, but resume our own meetings after the Munro departs."

"You would do that. You would set aside your own timeline?"

"I told you when I got here, I will do whatever I can to help you achieve your goals."

"Yes, you said that, but I never expected you would actually do –" His hand shot to his mouth and his stripes went indigo again. "Oh, that was so rude, I did not mean to insult you, I did not mean that the way it sounded …"

"It sounded to me," Becca said mildly, "like we're finally starting to understand each other."

"Oh. Oh."

Sullivan said, "I would like to invite you aboard the Munro for a tour tomorrow, Mr. President, and a luncheon. And then perhaps we could visit your ship in the afternoon."

That sounded pre-arranged to Shaw's ear, but Alme nodded quickly. "Oh, yes, I would like that very much." He looked to Radford. "Is that – can we schedule that?"

"You're the president and I'm the ambassador. We can schedule any damn thing we want."

"You'll join us too, Ambassador?"

"I'd be delighted."

"Well." Alme nodded eagerly. "Until tomorrow then. Thank you. Thank you, Commander, for all your help. I have so much to think about now."

"Get some sleep," Radford advised.

"I will try. Thank you, thank you all. Good night."

They watched him out.

"He's very excitable," Sullivan said quietly.

"He's clearly a genius," Shaw answered, "but wow, is he all over the place."

"A hundred different thoughts in his head at any given moment," Radford said. "He is exhilarating and also exhausting."

"Worth bringing the system into the Federation just for his mind alone."

"Mm-hmm."

"Well." Sullivan rolled his shoulders. "I think we should retire as well. It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"And you, Captain." She shook his hand.

He glanced curiously at Shaw. "Commander?"

"I'll, uh, be along shortly."

"You'll … oh." He had no stripes, so he had to turn pink instead. "I … well. Good night, then."

"G'night."

When he was gone, Becca slid her arm through the crook of Shaw's arm and they started back down the corridor. "I think we've startled your captain," she said quietly.

"It's good for him. Keep him on his toes, don't let him think he knows everything."

"I like him."

"He's a good man. And a good friend."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They reached an atrium. Like the ballroom, it had wide windows looking out to the mountains, now invisible in the dark. There was no one in sight, and the lights were low, but Shaw could sense personnel nearby. Like a starship, he imagined that there was always someone on watch. "I like your embassy."

"Thank you."

"I remember once when you showed me how tiny the junior diplomats' quarters were."

Becca nodded. "Would you like to see how senior diplomats live?"

"I would be very interested in that." Then, as a formality, "Are you own your own?"

"I am. And you?"

"Yes."

She hit the lift button.


Very senior Federation diplomats, at least those posted on Hyslainu, lived very nicely indeed, in a tasteful, roomy suite on the top floor of the embassy, with a glass wall that looked out toward the mountain as well.

"Oh, this is definitely an improvement." Shaw stretched out his arms. "Look, I'm not even close touching both walls."

"Are you okay? You seem … tired."

In a different tone of voice Shaw would have heard that as an innuendo. Instead it was just concern. He unclasped his collar and tugged it open. "I've been talking for what, four, five hours? With someone way way smarter than me. My brain hurts."

"Come with me." She took his hand and led him not to the bedroom, but out a sliding door to a wide covered balcony. The air was cool and clean. A huge golden moon had started to peek over the distant purple mountain. She gestured him onto a deep sofa, sat beside him, and poured from a waiting pitcher into a tall glass.

"You know you don't really need to get me drunk first."

"It's lemon water," Becca said. "It will clear your throat. We'll put honey in the next glass to soothe it."

Shaw sipped the icy liquid. It did exactly as she said. "You have experience talking way too much."

"I do."

She moved closer, and he draped his arm around her shoulder. It was easy, calm. Like it had been that very first night at the cottage, all those years ago. Shaw would never understand how they fell back into step so easily, but he didn't question it.

In their younger days they would have rushed to fall into bed together and saved the conversation for after. Now, here, they were less impatient; they knew they had time for both.

"Do you think this is going to work?"

"Eh. You, me, nice private room, big romantic moon on the horizon. Yeah, I like our chances."

He turned his head and she kissed him gently. "I kinda meant this thing with Alme."

"He's nice enough, but he's not really my type. Oh, you meant something else. I don't know. I'll help him where I can. But he really needs the biggest brains at Starfleet."

"The big brains don't like to get their hands literally dirty."

"True. The way he jumps around – I think, I think, I counted eleven different systems he's having issues with. But it was all I could do to get him to concentrate on one all the way through. He kept wanting to jump off to shields, to deflectors – it's a wonder he ever gets anything done."

"I know." Becca stole a sip of his water. "I suspect that his sister did a lot of the work to keep him focused."

"The one who died."

"Yes."

"You know, on Earth …"

"… he'd be properly diagnosed and medicated?"

"Exactly."

"Here, too. They have the knowledge, but I think Kadla covered for him so well that he never thought he needed it."

"Have you mentioned it to him?"

"I've sidled up to the idea. He didn't seem particularly receptive. And telling the elected head of a system that he clearly has a brain disorder that needs treatment is a dicey proposition."

"I can see how that would be a problem." Shaw chugged the rest of his water. Becca poured him another glass, stirred in some honey. "I think I can maybe guide him, if only because the ship is what he's most interested in. We solved one of his problems today. If we can work out a couple more, maybe you can get him back to the table for long enough to get the deal cut."

"Thank you. I probably should have asked for you earlier."

We were busy getting our asses kicked earlier, Shaw thought. He didn't know how much Becca knew about that. For tonight, he didn't want to talk about it.

"The first couple times he wandered off mid-meeting and I found him in the hangar, I wished very much that you were here. The fifth or sixth time, I mentioned it to Nico and he thought it was a good idea. The tenth time I ran it up to Sovek and he asked what took me so long."

"And here I thought it was just a ploy to get me in your bed."

"No, that's just an added benefit." She studied his face. "Tired wasn't the right word. You seem weary."

He sipped the honey-lemon water. "Weary is exactly the right word."

"If you want me to have them send someone else –"

"No. This is good, this is perfect. The crew's exhausted, they need some shore leave, some rest. And John. He almost died. He needs – time. And he wouldn't take it if we weren't here. This is good."

"And you?"

"I don't relax well. I do better when I have things to fix." He nodded. "This is good."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

There was a flash of red. A firebug flitted close to them. Becca reached out and it landed in her palm as if it were trained. "They think we smell good," she explained. She moved her hand so Shaw could look at it.

It was nearly as big as his thumb, with a three-part body and hairy legs. It lit again, garish red. It was, up close, ugly. "I think I like them better at a distance."

She waved gently and the bug flew away. "If you change your mind, or when you get tired of Alme's chaos, just say the word. I can have you sent on a new mission in half a day or less."

"You have that kind of pull with Starfleet Command now?"

"No. But Sovek does, and I do have a direct line to him."

"Ahhh. I'll keep it in mind."

It occurred to Shaw that while Sovek was an excellent ambassador, he would not have done well on Hyslainu. He'd never given it much thought, but just as Starfleet had classes of ships suited to specific assignments, so did the Diplomatic Corps. An emotionless, rather intimidating Vulcan was perfect for some negotiations. But this situation required a gentler touch. A soft hand that could steady a wobbling government and guide a fledgling president. They could not have picked a better representative, in his opinion, for this particular job.

He sipped the soothing water and watched the moon rise. Its light turned the purple mountains gold. He could feel the embassy drowsing off around them. Below, a single guard strolled across the terrace, alert but unconcerned. A formality. A comforting one.

How many years had it been, he wondered, since they shared that crowded little bed on Myrnas Prime? Since Ambassador G'lel had told him to get his ass in gear, because this woman beside him was not going to stand still? Bless her, wherever she is.

For all that time and space, for all their individual promotions, they were still who they had been, easy and straightforward together.

He set his empty glass down. "Let's go to bed."

Becca, still the Becca he had known, said, "Thought you'd never ask."