Free Star Trek: Brinkmanship by Una McCormack

care of that, I think. All I can do is keep watch.”
    They smiled at each other. “In fact, mister,” she said, “there’s one other thing you can do.”
    “Oh, yes?”
    “Go to sleep. We’ve got hours yet.”
    “Sleep.” He stretched in his chair and stood up. “Yes, I think I remember that . . .”
    “Then reacquaint yourself with it. That’s an order. Good night, Peter,” she said as he headed for the door. “Sleep well. Don’t dream of Tzenkethi under the bed.”
    He laughed and left.
    Dax sat for a while staring at the star chart that was still displayed. Counselor. She hadn’t thought of herself that way in a long time. Ezri Tigan had barely started on that role when Dax had come into her life, turned her upside down, and left her standing on her head. Now she was Ezri Dax, and Ezri Dax was a captain: a captain who had been a counselor who had eight lifetimes of experience to draw on. She was surely qualified to know when she should be worried about someone under her command.
    Quickly, Dax stood up. She went back to the head of the table and put through a private communication to the ship’s senior counselor. “Susan, meet me in my ready room. I want to talk to you about a friend.”
    •   •   •
    If Dygan had been troubled by Detrek’s flash of temper at the start of negotiations, it was nothing compared to his mounting alarm as the morning progressed. Negotiator Detrek seemed not to be in the mood for negotiation. Every word spoken by Rushtearned a sneer from Detrek; every suggestion by Rusht that the Venetans had the right to lease their bases to whomever they chose brought from Detrek blunt warnings that such choices came with consequences. The other members of the negotiating teams were too well trained to show their anxiety, but Dygan could see it: in the nervous twitch of Jeyn’s left hand, in Ilka’s twisting of the long chain of one earring, in Captain Picard’s increasing reliance upon formality and politeness.
    And then there was the evident displeasure of all the other Venetans in the room. They’d taken a dislike to Negotiator Detrek, no doubt about it, and they weren’t afraid to make their opinion known. In the main they let Rusht do their speaking for them, as she’d been tasked to do, but there were many whispered conversations among them and sore looks directed at Detrek, not to mention the occasional catcall when she spoke.
    The only person in the room who seemed unaffected by what was happening was the Tzenkethi observer, curled at the far end of the table, within her bright impenetrable glow, silently watching everything that was happening. And what was happening was that Negotiator Detrek was throwing the whole mission from the Khitomer Accords into disarray, leaving her allies badly flustered and the Venetans infuriated.
    “However often I repeat myself,” said Rusht, late in that long morning, “you seem unable to understand that these bases will be used for supply and refitting purposes only. We have invited you to send observers,who are already en route. The Starship Aventine, carrying Commander Peter Alden from Starfleet Intelligence, is now merely eight hours from Outpost V-4. Ferengi observers will be docking at Outpost V-27 within the hour. And your own ship, Detrek, the Legate Damar, with people from your own intelligence bureau, is only two hours from Outpost V-15. If we had something to hide, do you really think that we would invite you to come and see what operations are being established by the Tzenkethi on our bases?”
    There was a ripple of approval from around the room.
    “Why,” Rusht concluded, “would we engage in such a pointless charade?”
    “Because you’ll have had plenty of time to clean up before any of our observers arrive,” Detrek shot back. The disapproval from all around got louder as she continued. “What do you take us for, Rusht? You . . . and your new friends”—she gestured angrily toward Alizome—“must