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“I simply have done my duty.”

“As have I.”

Falce and McKenna communicated with Starbase Operations to receive clearance to disembark. As they did so, Worf said, “An intereresting statement, Mr. Ambassador, given that you have spent the last several years attempting to reunify Romulus and Vulcan. Some might argue that such an act was contrary to your duty as a Federation ambassador.”

“And would you be among those?”

“My—experience tells me that any attempt to deal with the Romulans is one fraught with peril. I have witnessed Romulan treachery firsthand on far too many occasions—starting on the very planet we are heading toward.”

Spock nodded. “Ah, yes, the so-called Khitomer massacre.”

Worf tensed. “‘So-called’?”

“My apologies—I did not mean to belittle your tragedy, Ambassador.”

The words were a poor attempt at soothing Worf, and he was having none of it. When he was six, he had accompanied his mother, father, and nurse to Khitomer for an extended stay. That stay had been cut short by a cowardly Romulan attack on the planet, one that wiped out thousands of Klingon lives. Worf and his nurse were the only ones who were not killed or taken prisoner. While his nurse returned to Qo’noS, Worf was raised by a Starfleet chief petty officer and his wife on Gault and Earth.

“Still,” Spock continued, “the symbolism of this particular planet is potent, wouldn’t you agree? The site of the first significant peace talks between the Federation and the Klingon Empire took place at Khitomer after Praxis’s destruct—”

“I’m aware of the planet’s history, Ambassador,” Worf said testily, “as well as your own role in the Khitomer Accords. What I have to wonder is if you truly intend to represent the Federation at this conference—or the Romulans.”

The runabout cleared the station and went into warp. As it did so, Spock’s head tilted. “An odd accusation, given that my presence at the conference is over the objections of the Romulan senate. They still view me as a criminal. In any event, the Romulans did ally with the Federation and the Klingon Empire during the war.”

“Eventually, and only when confronted with evidence of the Dominion’s treachery—treachery that we had to bring to their attention.” Worf leaned forward, aware that his voice was rising, but too tired to really care at this point. “And even so, they are demanding equal reparations from the Breen even though their losses were a fraction of those suffered by the Empire or the Federation.”

His calm in direct contrast to Worf’s rising anger—which served only to make it rise further—Spock said, “The Empire’s losses were as much due to the irresponsible troop allocations of Chancellor Gowron as anything. Given that you challenged him on that very basis, I should think you’d be aware of it. The Romulans should not be penalized for that.” Before Worf could respond to that, Spock held up a hand. “I do not dispute your points, Mr. Ambassador. May I humbly suggest that we table our debate until we reach the proper forum for it?”

Worf bit back an instinctive reply. Why am I having this argument? he asked himself. He had had no intention of engaging Spock this way—indeed, he had nothing but respect for the man, even if he personally found his mission of reuniting Romulus and Vulcan to be a useless cause that would probably do more harm to Vulcan than good.

Instead, he leaned back, again inclined his head, and said, “Agreed.”

“Good. I—” The ambassador cut himself off and put his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes.

Worf frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Just an odd—” Again, he cut himself off, this time opening his eyes and letting his arms drop to his sides.

Almost robotically, Spock rose from his chair, turned, and walked toward the aft compartment.

“Ambassador?” Worf got up and went after him. Spock had a reputation for many things, but wandering off in the middle of a conversation—the middle of a sentence—was not one of them. And Worf had spent far too much time serving