Margeret Bonanno - Probe

Hiran dropped the paper on his desk. "Delegate Tiam."

The centurion turned from the viewport with deliberate slowness. "Yes, Commander?"

"Delegate Tiam," Hiran repeated, gesturing at the paper, "if there is one thing I do not need, it is a lecture on either the importance of our mission or the untrustworthy nature of the Federation."

Tiam shrugged off the implied reprimand. "I did not intend it as a lecture, Commander, merely a straightforward setting out of the assumptions from which I intend to operate as I conduct these proceedings. After all, if we are to be effective for the Empire, we must have a clear understanding of its. . adversaries."

Hiran suppressed a sigh, wondering who on the Committee was responsible for Tiam's selection. Another "compromise" no doubt: necessary but nonetheless galling. But there was no point in pursuing the matter. Best to move on to more nearly neutral ground. He was stuck with Tiam, and Tiam was stuck with him. Neither was going to change. He would just have to make the best of it, as Tiam surely would.

"I trust your accommodations are satisfactory? It is not often we have civilian guests aboard, and while the rest of the musicians have been stowed in cadet quarters, we have had to knock out three subsidiary bulkheads to create a suite large enough for you and your wife. I trust she was pleased?"

"She will make do," Tiam answered flatly, vaguely irritated at the commander's presumption to such familiarity. As for Jandra. .

At this point, he was sure his wife could hardly care less about the accommodations. After the years of un-Orthodoxy in the Provinces and then the years of rehabilitation, followed by years of virtual confinement in the Citadel, she was so entranced by the prospect of going anywhere that she had almost required sedation. A tent in the engine room would have sufficed so long as distance was being put between herself and the Citadel.

"I did intend to thank you, Commander, for providing us with three separate rooms. Her need to practice constantly would drive me to distraction otherwise."

"Mm," Hiran ruminated noncommittally. So that was not neutral ground, either. He had yet to meet Tiam's musician wife, but already she had his sympathy. He stood dismissively. "I shall look forward to hearing her play."

Tiam, no more eager than Hiran to continue, took the hint and departed after a last look out the viewport, his aide following a step behind. When they had gone, Hiran sighed heavily.

"Will there be anything else, Commander?" Feric asked.

Hiran shrugged. He wanted to talk to Feric about Tiam, about the suspicions he had regarding the ambassador, and the Temaris conference. No, strke that. He didn't want to talk to Feric.

He wanted to talk to Ren.

"No, nothing," Hiran said finally. He raised his gaze to Feric's. His first officer's eyes were steely gray and unreadable. "Dismissed."

Nodding sharply, Feric left the room.

THREE

Captain's Log, Stardate 8478.4:

The Enterprise and its crew continue to prepare for departure. No one is anticipating any difficulty in keeping to the ordered schedule, which calls for rendezvous with the Romulan vessel Galtizh in ten days' time. Spock has been in daily communication with the Starfleet HO team that is tracking the Probe and attempting to make sense of the masses of sensor readings taken during its near-disastrous journey through Federation space. He has also gotten permission to have a complete record of all such readings transferred to the Enterprise memory banks. Unlike the Starfleet team, he appears to have a theory as to the nature of the energy fields generated by the Probe, but he isn't sharing it with anyone yet. "It needs more study," he says, but then, by his lights, what doesn't?

On the diplomatic front, Commander Riley and his staff are already aboard, as is most of Dr. Benar's archaeology team and the musicians. The only major absence is that of

the "orchestra's" conductor, one Andrew Penalt, who, according to those who claim to know, has a reputation for grand and last-minute entrances.

The passengers already on board are proving an interesting study in diversity. Both the archaeology team and the musicians appear to have been selected not only for their knowledge and skill but to provide the more homogeneous Romulans with an object lesson in interspecies harmony. Or so the theory goes. There have already been heated arguments in both camps over matters so esoteric that even Spock has been hard-pressed to explain them. I only hope that Dr. Benar, whose abilities as a mediator in things both musical and scientific appear to be almost as great as Uhura predicted, will be able to keep up the good work. And that she will be able to retain her Vulcan-like objectivity once she finds herself alone on Temaris Four with the Romulans.

"Penalt and his staff are ready to beam on board, sir. Commander Riley respectfully requests your presence in the transporter room. And Mr. Scott reports the last of the archaeology shuttles has docked."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Kirk nodded toward Uhura's substitute at communications-Kittay, he remembered now. "Tell Mr. Riley I'm on my way." Catapulting out of his chair, Kirk inclined his head at the center seat.

"Mr. Chekov. .?"

"Aye, Keptin." Chekov took the conn without missing a beat in his intimate dialogue with the computer regarding mainstage flux-chiller status.

In the transporter room, Riley was waiting, along with a pair of ensigns. "I thought your conductor was on his way," Kirk said, noting the empty transporter circles.

Riley shrugged as he signaled to the lieutenant at the

controls. " `Impresario,' if you please. And he is on his way-now that you're here to welcome him aboard."

Kirk frowned. "I suppose I should know who he is, then. I have to admit, I'd never heard of anyone named Penalt before he showed up on our passenger list."

"You're not alone, Captain. Symphony for the Nine is the only composition of his that ever gained widespread recognition, and there are those who credit his wife of the time with more than the `moral support' he acknowledged the first time he conducted it."

Kirk shook his head. "Sorry, the name still doesn't ring a bell. Not that I'm a musical scholar."

"Suffice it to say, he's a composer, conductor, and pianist, and he's supposed to exercise all three abilities while on board-conduct the orchestra, take a solo shot at the piano, and begin composing some kind of musical `impression' of the proceedings."

"A real triple threat?"

"So his PR releases would have you believe. There are some, however-including his ex-wife-who say he has more political connections-and ego-than talent."

Before Kirk could reply, the "ready to transport" signal came up from the ground, and Riley hastily assembled his diplomat's expression of respectful welcome.

Kirk grimaced but followed suit as best he could. Moments later, two figures materialized at last on the platform. One was a broad but not overly tall, bearish hulk of a man who looked, Kirk decided, purposely rumpled, even his expression. Next to him stood a dark-skinned, reed-slender woman-probably half his age and certainly a third his mass. Another musician, Kirk assumed, noting her unconventional attire: a

rainbow-colored caftan that seemed to float about her like a mist and shifted colors whenever she moved.

"Maestro Penalt." Riley bowed from the shoulders. "Commander Kevin Riley of Starfleet Diplomatic Corps, at your service. May I present Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise?"

Penalt grasped Kirk's hand in a crushing grip. "Call me Andy," he said with a Midwestern twang that may or may not have been genuine.

Kirk kept from wincing as he returned the grip and made a mental note to see that the man had the opportunity to exchange grips with Spock before the trip was over. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Penalt."