“To say nothing , especially when speaking, is half the art of diplomacy.”

Will Durant (1961)

The long-curved pylon arcs of Terok Nor persisted upwards and down from her central core, reminiscent of the bleach – boned carcass of some long – forsaken desert carrion and the bustling swarm of attendant craft bade his mind to unconsciously liken their flutter to the ragged wings of circling vultures, intent of stripping the last viable strips of flesh from barren ribs.

Trevenan Williams suppressed a shudder as he looked out at the scene as was secretly glad that the USS Vega was deemed to large to warrant a berth nestled at the top of one of those pylons. The Lamarr class was fully provisioned and operational security necessitated that she not broadcast her voyage of return to the Gamma Quadrant anymore that the clarion of standing orders had already sounded.

Her one purpose for visiting the station had easily been achieved, with the Federation diplomatic delegation being onboarded efficiently by transporter and now the Captain had no reason to tarry and was secretly glad to put this place to his stern.

Deep Space Nine.

Trevenan had not returned to this place since the cessation of hostilities that marked the end of the Dominion War and for him, this place held only bitter memories best not revisited.

Already the fabled station began to recede as Commander Mason and the bridge crew made way to the stations outer marker at impulse, ready to tease the long – range explorer’s powerful warp – cores into life and lay down a course for the Bajoran Wormhole, gateway to the Gamma Quadrant and a future unknown.

Trevenan sighed.

It wasn’t like him to be so maudlin. After such a long time deskbound as a Task Force Commanding Officer, he’d reasonably expected to thrill to the feel of the Captain’s – chair beneath him, a powerful ship at his command and a new crew eager to make way upon a voyage of new discovery.

Yet try as he might, Williams was no bright – eyes Ensign, newly minted. Years of acumen garnered at the hard – end of extragalactic affairs had taught him that face – value was more often just that and Trevenan had serious misgivings about the potential for misadventure as Starfleet tasked him and his crew to venture back to the very doorstep of the Dominion to dare to kick at the door and see if the giant slumbered still?

He sighed once again as he watched DS9 slip into the darkness and then swore as he realised only then, that he was burning the asparagus.

More swearing ensued as he plucked the precious spears (actually grown in hydroponics, not replicated) with his weathered fingers and scooped them onto the board. As he sucked his fingertips and surveyed the damage – damage control confirmed that he had interceded just in time and the vegetables could be salvaged.

Trevenan turned down the heat on the pan and took a sip of Sémillon, letting the crisp, dry white salve away some of the pain and disappointment of taking his mind of the task, as he squeezed half a lemon into the pan, letting the astringent juice stop the butter from scorching and turning a near  – disaster into a magnificent rally.

As he turned to his solitary dinner – guest, Captain Trevenan Williams wondered if she too was able to affect such a transmutation – faced with the uncertain conditions that surely awaited beyond the Wormhole?

“Are you sure that I can’t tempt you with a glass, Ambassador?” he tilted the chilled bottle of Château d’Yquem, , “Ygrec 2392”, promisingly as droplets of condensation tempted their way down the smooth glass neck.

Ambassador T’lan inclined her perfectly coiffed short hair fractionally and demurred politely, “Thank you, no, Captain.” The Vulcan did not smile. “I do not find alcohol to be pertinent in any way to my work. Water will suffice.”

Trevenan smiled wryly and wondered at how the subjectively young T’lan seemed to have been entrusted with a mission of such diplomatic complexity and delicacy as their mission to return to the Gamma Quadrant. The young Vulcan woman was nearly half his age. Still, he was aware that her professional accomplishments were many and, apart from the rare opportunity to cook with actual, real vegetables, he was intrigued as to exactly what sort of woman T’lan was, to have warranted such trust to be conferred by the United Federation of Planets.

He held up his own glass and swirled the golden liquid and asked with an easy smile.

“I hope you don’t mind if I indulge?” He nodded. “All work and no play and all that?”

Ambassador T’lan, an attractive Vulcan woman dressed in severe grey robes in the style of her people, did not return the smile or acknowledge the quip. Instead, she sat stiffly at the edge of the small couch that graced his personal quarters, with her hands clasped in each other at repose. The aforementioned glass of water sitting untouched before her upon the occasional – table.

“It is your ship, Captain Williams….” The Ambassador began stiffly as Trevenan set down his slim – stemmed wine glass on the counter and waved a spatula magnanimously.

“Trevenan, please?” He prompted, smiling warmly.

The Vulcan fixed him with an unreadable look and started again.

“It is your ship….Captain Williams….as such it is yours to do with as you wish and how you comport yourself aboard it is a matter entirely of your own latitude and choosing.” T’lan replied neutrally and Trevenan suddenly realized that pulling off the relaxed little “getting  – to – know – you” dinner he had been planning, might prove to be a little more challenging an undertaking than he had first assumed?

Still unperturbed, he re-transferred the asparagus spears back into the pan (now that the correct temperature had been restored) and added to that the fresh peas that he himself had taken great pleasure in shucking, briefly steaming and then blanching in ice water earlier that evening.

“My apologies Ambassador.” Trevenan smiled disarmingly as the contents of the pan hissed harmoniously and he added a generous measure of the wine to complete the cooking liquor. As all of the alcohol would evaporate to leave a reduction of emulsified gloriousness, he did not think that the Vulcan would mind overly. A single sprig of fresh thyme, a generous pinch of salt and a twist or two of cracked black pepper. Nodding in satisfaction, he set a wide lid just off the rim of the pan to let the culinary alchemy take place and indicated for the Vulcan to attend the small table, where a dinner setting for two had been prepared. “”If you will?”

Of course, as Captain of the ship, he could have hosted a far more formal affair involving his senior officers and members of the Federation Ambassador’s own retinue that had been welcomed aboard just that day. He could have had special services provide the full formal dress, silver – service experience and had any number of impressive dishes replicated that would have suited the Vulcan’s palette and set the mood.

Instead he had opted for a more intimate affair, preparing the simple vegetarian dish by hand, using produce that he had raise and harvested by his own hand in one of the ship’s hydroponics labs (being CO had it’s privileges, after all) and had done so in the hopes that he and the Ambassador might be able to establish mutual ground and be able to set aside the obvious ‘elephant’ in the room.

As the former captain of an Obena – class Envoy and the former CO of the Fourth Fleet’s dedicated Diplomatic Task Force, Trevenan Williams was universally accepted as a Starfleet Captain with a long record of accomplishment in First Contact and missions of diplomatic affair.

Yet, in their manifest wisdom, the UFP had directed Starfleet Command to assign a separate Federation Ambassador and her consular mission to accompany the USS Vega on its 5 – year mission to explore and re-establish contact with the people of the Gamma Quadrant and, try as he might, Captain Williams found it hard not to perceive this as a slight at best and at worst an pointed lack of overall confidence in his judgement.

His mind went back, unbidden, to Commodore Jalian’s parting words at the cocktail reception held for his ‘retirement’ at Starbase 72.

“Go to the Gamma Quadrant, show us that the old – dog’s still got a few tricks left in him yet and for God’s sake, try not to start another bloody war with the Dominion!”

As Ambassador T’lan took her seat and surveyed the table setting as if it, itself, had perpetrated some egregious form of social faux – pas, Trevenan pushed these unhelpful thoughts to one side and began to ladle the fragrant, steaming contents of the pan onto two plates and carried these both to the small table carefully, as the stars stretched out in an elongated stream beyond the viewport as the ship made way.

“Summer – vegetables Provencal” He smiled as he first set down the Ambassador’s service, then his own – returning to the kitchenette to refill his glass before finally taking his seat.

He raised his glass in salute and began.

“Well, let me formally welcome you aboard the USS Vega and…”

Ambassador T’lan regarded him with emotionless, dark eyes and spoke without challenge.

“You have asked me here to ascertain the reason to my assignment aboard your vessel and to clarify the primacy of authority when it comes to diplomatic matters.”

Trevenan stopped with his glass half – raised, completely flummoxed and at a momentarial loss for words.

T’lan primly unfolded her napkin and set it upon her lap with careful deliberation before her slim hands reached out and took up both knife and fork – leaving Trevenan with an uncomfortable sensation that the cutlery had just taken on the aspect of weapons.

The young Vulcan diplomat held the veteran Starfleet Captain’s gaze without waver.

“Then let me speak plainly Captain and make it clear that, when it comes to matters of diplomatic import involving former member – states of the Dominion, there is nothing to clarify. Your job is to convey myself and my team safely in order to conduct negotiations of the Federation’s behalf. In that mission, your authority remains inviolate.”

Trevenan remained at a loss for words, but he had had a nagging feeling that this proclamation had been rehearsed well in advance and that Ambassador T’lan was a person that had extrapolated and conjugated multiple outcomes and strategies for many situations before she ever entered a room.

“The question of primacy is equally erroneous. In such situations, you have none.” T’lan assured him without candor nor hubris. To her, this was just a simple statement of fact. She took in the surprised look on Trevenan’s lined face and added, by way of scant reassurance.

“Look upon it as a question of plausible deniability, Captain.” T’lan shrugged lightly as she spooned a delicate portion of her meal neatly into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “If hostilities occur due to some act of negligence, or failure by your crew – then you will be held responsible. If the same outcome eventuates due to a failure of negotiations (unlikely as that may be) then the inevitable blame will be squarely apportioned to me.”

Trevenan Williams took a sip of his wine (his throat had suddenly gone dry) and attempted to smile.

“Well, that’s reassuring to know.”

Ambassador T’lan inclined her head to one side and raised one perfect eyebrow, as if the CO’s reassurance was of no real import to her.

“It is logical. Nothing more.” She opined politely and then added.

“My compliments, Captain, the dish is competently prepared.”