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“I was just thinking the same thing,” Picard noted.

Jilokh looked back over his furry shoulder and chirped a couple of times-the Benniar equivalent of a chuckle, if a dry one. Obviously, he had overheard the commander’s remark.

“Many interested observers indeed,” he said. “Not the least of them you yourselves, representing the Federation. And each one has his own peculiar reason for monitoring our proceedings.”

“No doubt,” said the captain, “they are all a little concerned.”

“Quite concerned,” Jilokh confirmed.

By then, they had reached the two-stage speaker’s platform. Ascending to the first level and then the second, the Benniari led them to a door in the far wall. Then he touched a pad beside the door, causing it to slide into a pocket aperture.

“Please,” said Jilokh, indicating with a gesture that his companions were to enter.

Picard complied… and found himself face to face with the renowned Cabrid Culunnh. The First Minister of Debennius II was seated behind a sleek, rounded desk made of dark wood. As he rose, the captain could see evidence of the Benniari’s considerable age.

“Captain Picard,” said Culunnh, as Jilokh slid closed the door to the room. He held his hands out, leathery palms exposed. “I rejoice that you were able to answer my summons.”

Always aware of protocol, Picard mimicked the palms-out gesture. “I only regret we were not able to arrive sooner,” he replied. He indicated his companions with a sweep of his hand. “Commander Ben Zoma, my first officer. Commander Crusher, my second officer. And Ensign Tuvok,”

The First Minister took special note of the Vulcan. “You are the first of your people I have ever had the pleasure to meet,” he told Tuvok. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“As do I,” said the ensign.

Picard regarded Culunnh. “I understand you are in need of some assistance, First Minister.”

The Benniari chirped. “To say the least.”

Reaching down under the surface of his desk, he manipulated some kind of control. A moment later, a section of wall beside the door turned transparent, affording them a view of the council chamber-although the captain had a feeling the transparency was a one-way effect.

Culunnh looked past Picard and regarded the assemblage of diplomats. “As you know” he said, “this congress’s stated goal is still to try to resolve disagreements over territory. However, there are moments when it would be difficult to discern that.”

“There’s been discord, I take it,” said Picard.

“To say the least,” the First Minister responded. “Every day, we see more shouting matches, more veiled threats and accusations flung back and forth. Unless we do something, and quickly I might add, I fear we are headed for the war we built this chamber to avoid.”

The captain absorbed the information. Obviously, Admiral Ammerman hadn’t exaggerated the seriousness of the situation.

“If I may ask a question or two?” Tuvok suggested, asking permission of Picard and Culunnh simultaneously.

“Of course, Ensign,” said the First Minister.

The captain nodded. He still felt strange hearing someone address Tuvok in that fashion, considering the Vulcan’s age and experience. And yet, that was his official title.

“You have said,” Tuvok began, “that you do not believe that this fresh wave of terrorist incidents was caused by either the Melacron or the Cordracites. However, the intervention of a third party seems unlikely, given the history of the various races in this sector.”

“You wish to know if I have any proof?” asked Culunnh.

“I do,” the Vulcan responded flatly.

The First Minister regarded him with a faint, hissing whistle. “You have an incisive mind,” he told Tuvok. “A wonderfully Vulcan mind, I would guess. As to your question… I have no real proof. However, the methods and equipment used in the terrorist assaults are clearly not in keeping with the methods and equipment used before.”

“The terrorists could be dealing with arms merchants,” Crusher suggested. “If war really does break out, weapon dealers would be the