Pacing through a very wide and airy reception area, it’s plush, right deep blue carpets, the body hugging chairs and low circular tables, arranged in pairs around the space, even the full length windows, allowing unhindered access to the skyline of the city, were all lost on Augs-Adjunkt Ogath. He walked though with a mere glance up, as he passed the first table and chair set, that he could pick his way across a room that some would see as quite cluttered was a hint of how much time he spent here, and how much control he had over its setup. 

His attention was on the object held in his left hand, it looked almost like newspaper, but thinner and about the size of an A4 sheet, able to be held in one hand with relative ease, about halfway across he shook it lightly the text and the article changed.

Looking up just as he reached the modest size desk, with a main terminal, set to one side angled towards the corner of the desk, laid in a row were three rectangular objects that looked for all the world like picture frames, all were tinted so as not to be read from the front of the desk but only from the seated side. “Alath, messages if you would.” The male requested tersely.

“Several, but one in particular, Tel’ra would like to speak to you as a matter of urgency.” The female assistant responded with a moment of hesitation, but managed to keep her usual  calm demeanor, one that was used to handling high powered persons.

“I was expecting that. Has a, now how did he put it, ‘Communication protocol’ been established?” The official said with a hint of smugness in his expression, while also pulling at the right shoulder of his tunic, the act  giving a visual hint of his own feelings of superiority.

“As it happens he is here.” Came the response, delivered as a matter of fact, by someone who was used to relaying messages and informing his boss of appointments. Alath had however stopped all work, and had her hands collapsed on the desk in front of her, he only just noticed now but she was making an effort not to turn her head in the direction of his office.

“In my office? Did anyone see him?” He asked in quick succession,

There was a slow nod and then a slow sideways shake.

He was aware of a surprised look growing across his face, he wasn’t supposed to be surprised, but then again no visits were supposed to be made. The delicate nature of the arrangement almost completely precluded them, but of course Starfleet was now involved.

“Very well. Given developments.” He took a deep breath, placed the news item reader on his assistant desk and stepped towards his own office. “It goes without saying but i’m out, until i tell you otherwise.”

She nodded again, extending a hand and sweeping the reader towards her, taking a brief glance, then sliding it into a tray under her desk. All evidence gone. She knew by practice, the ‘I’m out’ lie needed to be plausible to be swallowed by anyone who might call.

Stepping through the doorway into his own office with a sense of trepidation was an entirely new experience for Ogath, this was usually his sanctuary, his space to control, his space to falter or if the need required it, his space to intimidate. The full length windows spread out from the corner, apart from two deliberate panels, both hiding the external supporting columns that encased the building, They were rich and possibly gaudy orange in color, crisscrossed by cool steel gray patterning, forming geometric shapes.

Standing over to one side facing outwards towards the large windows, was a figure, a robed figure, a hooded figure, the green-black tone, and the heavy look to the fabric, jarred with the environment. It screamed out of place. Then there came the voice, he knew well from the communications, it was reedy, sour yet playful, and stabbed at a person. “Ahh Ogath. You pick your views as well as you pick your staff.” He turned, the narrow face, narrow eyes, slanted brows, were for the moment just as dark and accusing in real life, thanks to the still raised hood.

“But apparently not your friends.” The hood flicked back, even in full daylight, silhouetted by the sunlight in fact, he still looked demanding and harsh.

“You’re referring to the involvement of Starfleet. I delayed and diverted as much as I could.” He stated as calmly as he could, hinting at the influence he had, but also that it was just that, influence from afar, hands off, untraceable, just the way he liked it. He straightened up and walked around the large, well crafted, solid desk. Seated himself in the plush, high backed chair, he relaxed into it, as if remembering it was his office, trying to reassert a measure of control.

“I am sure you are doing. They have possession of the artifact however.” The Romulan stated matter of fact, purposefully leaving the sentence unfinished, inviting a question.

“Please have a seat, one such as yourself should be made to feel comfortable.” He offered, throwing a hand to the well made and exquisitely upholstered chair opposite himself. Yet another method of trying to wrest back control back, before caving and asking the expected question. ”This fact is true. It is of concern?”

“Where starfleet is concerned it can be. They have a long and storied history of poking at curiosities, even if and sometimes especially when not asked to.” Tel’ra stated, moving away from the window and pacing around slowly, almost painfully slowly, and standing directly across from the seated Dari official.

“At one time we discussed the removal of all evidence should the need arise. Agus-Ajunkt, the need has arisen. You must act.” He was reminded of the commitment they had both made, twisting it into a demand.

The feeling of being hemmed in was far too uncomfortable for Ogath, the Dari was used to having strides on his competitors, politically and entrepreneurially, now that desk, the chair he sat at felt like the only safe and owned space he had. Feeling a situation being torn from his control was not a pleasant one, the sense he was about to be presented with one, unpleasant option was growing. He tried one last assertion. “Action of such nature would be down to you, we agreed.”

There was a smile, it was not a pleasant one, from the romulan agent. “Would likely be down to us, save a number of exceptions, direct starfleet observation or encounters being among them, meaning it falls to you. You have the forces needed.”

“But not freedom. No participating nation may enter the control zone of the station or planet to do so would invalidate a ceasefire we need.”

“Your officers are accustomed to following orders.” Tel’ra stated, it was a known fact to him. Then gave a few steps that sounded easy and convenient, but Ogath knew it would be anything but. “A deniable order. A rogue commander. An outclassed starfleet ship. A convenient neutralization.” Then came the threat, an obvious, clear, knife twistingly simple threat. “Of course should any of our arrangements come to light, a number of klingon houses might just find out how rich the planet is in dilithium. A lie of course and one they will uncover, eventually, but at what cost to your people Ogath, at what cost.”   “We have the assets for that.” Came his cold response, he struggled to keep his temper at being outwitted at bay, his fear of his scheme coming unraveled in check. One plus he considered he might be able to remove a troublesome Commander at long last, install someone more congenial. “It can be done before the exchange ceremony.”

“Excellent!” Came the response with high note that seemed genuine and for the first time this encounter unthreatening in nature, perhaps more unnerving was it continued into his next expression.  “I knew this was a good partnership. I will see myself out.” He passed to the door, his back turned, another manifestation of his control, paused, the unthreatening nature disappeared with his next comment. “Oh Ogath, we will be watching.”

He continued walking, muffled comments followed one to the assistant, the other into some communication device. He caught the faint shimmer of a transporter beam, gone at last. The high official sighed, an audible acknowledging the weight of what he must do next.

Swiveling the ca=hair he rose and walked carefully to the doorway, stepped just the other side and addressed his assistant. “Which asset is an expert with communications, I need a denayable message to a military channel.”

“Yeater. He’s your best shot, weird, but best.” Came her reply after a moment or two thinking, a glimmer of dread in the face told of her knowing what would come next.

“You’re having lunch with him, tell me where you go, I need to make this request in person.” He started with calmness, waiting for the perfunctory nod, the call up of the person’s details, and the message to his workstation. The reply was almost unnaturally quick. She sighed. Put the broad top of her head on upturned palms, composed herself. Head up. The screen switched to a mirror and a small case was withdrawn from an under desk shelf. Her face dabbed with small sponges, features accented with coloring, the sponge turned over another dab. The case was put away. She rose, straightened the tunic across her front, looked at him knowing he’d been there the whole time and walked to the elevator. Only when the doors closed with her behind it, did he retreat into the space that was once again a sanctuary.