The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [65]
Lwaxana eyed the murky setting with distaste. “Next time,” she vowed, “I’m insisting on a species that comes from a tropical beach planet.”
Something splashed in the shadows. Ro muttered beneath her breath.
“What was that, Ensign?” Lwaxana asked.
Ro patted her hip. “Just missing my phaser.”
“I had no choice but to confiscate it,” Ubaan reminded her. He had removed the phaser from the holochamber a few minutes earlier. “Our agreement with the Tadigeans was quite explicit on this point. No weapons of any kind are allowed at the meeting.”
“So you said,” Ro said, not sounding very happy about it.
Barclay wondered why Ro felt she needed a phaser at trade negotiations. She seemed a little fuzzy on the concept of peaceful diplomacy. Personally, he was worried more about the stability of their holographic environment. Lwaxana had insisted that he and Ro be on hand to deal with any technical glitches that might arise during the meeting. He crossed his fingers and hoped that their services would not be necessary.
Like I’ve ever been that lucky.
They were convened beneath a tented pavilion located upon a solid patch of land, surrounded by a densely forested network of shallow ponds and tributaries. A lighted brazier burned ceremonial incense. A polished metal gong hung from a carved wooden frame. A waterproof carpet, boasting intricate geometric designs, protected their shoes from the mushy soil. Plush velvet cushions awaited the delegates’ posteriors; by all reports, the Tadigeans weren’t big on chairs.
Barclay didn’t notice any obvious flaws in the program. The flames flickered convincingly. Incense tickled his nose. So far, so good.
“Very well,” Lwaxana declared. She was even more ornately dressed than before. Her floor-length purple silk gown was trimmed with shimmering golden lace. A collar of Joranian ostrich feathers fanned out behind her head. A silver tiara, studded with polished Spican flame gems, crowned her auburn curls. The seductive scent of Deltan perfume competed with the incense. She hefted the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, a large clay pot that looked considerably less impressive than its title. Barclay thought he glimpsed a bit of mold along its brim. “Let’s meet our guests.”
Ubaan banged on the gong with a mallet. A resounding clang echoed across the swamp, hurting Barclay’s ears. All eyes turned toward the gleaming steel archway opposite the pavilion. The door slid open and the delegates hopped in.
The Tadigeans were a nocturnal race of amphibious bipeds. In other words, they were big, talking frogs. Bulging throats, slimy skin, bug eyes, wide mouths, webbed fingers…the whole nine yards. Mucus coated their skin in lieu of clothing; most of the Tadigeans wore only a scaly belt bearing various tools and insignia. Larger and more massive than Barclay and the others, they were about the size of a gorilla or mugato. Their smooth skin was mostly dark green but displayed a lighter shade of chartreuse upon their bellies. A pair of bright orange sacs bulged above and behind their blood-red eyes. They smelled like onions. Barclay mentally flashed on a dog-eared copy of The Wind in the Willows that he had read to pieces as a child. Mister Toad had come calling on the Cataria, along with four of his associates. The archway vanished as the holodeck doors sealed behind them.
“Welcome, honored guests,” Lwaxana said grandly. She held aloft the Sacred Chalice. “In the name of my illustrious ancestors, and in the spirit of universal friendship, I ask you to accept our humble hospitality.”
Barclay winced as Ubaan banged