What's Past_ The Future Begins (Book 2) - Michael Schuster [4]
Scotty reached out and shook one of Iamor’s four hands. “Good to meet you, Thane.”
“Likewise, Captain Scott,” Iamor replied. The Kropaslin’s speech was heavily accented and very screechy; apparently he was speaking Standard directly, without the benefit of a universal translator. His voice box seemed to be unsuited for it.
“Thane, eh? Do you all think you’re Ancient Scots or somethin’?” asked Scotty amusedly.
“Ah,” said Iamor, “you refer to our political terminology: ‘Witenagemot’ for the legislature, ‘thane’ for its members, and ‘high cyning’ for its head. No, these terms were selected by a Federation translation team. They were considered most indicative of the fact that we possess a thoroughly democratic government that utilizes the trappings of an ancient feudal one.”
Scotty simply nodded. As the conversation trickled on to a small pause, he finally took a good look at the hall they were in. It was certainly not a room designed for such receptions, that much was clear. However, quite for what purpose it had been designed was a question he did not have a ready answer to. The ceiling was a good five meters above the tallest Kropaslin’s head, and in the center of it was a transparent dome that let in the murky light from outside. It seemed to be a cloudy day here in the planetary capital whose name he didn’t recall at the moment.
The gathering hall sported a stone floor that must have been designed with a passion for art, because intricate patterns like these didn’t come natural to those who did not enjoy their work. Abstract shapes wound their way across the shining marble floor, like cubist snakes jointly sculpted by Salvador Dalí and Yeros of Vulcan.
“Why did Nechayev so wish me to speak to you?” Iamor asked, changing the subject.
“Damned if I know,” replied Scott, quickly adding a respectful “sir.” It wouldn’t do to cause an incident in the first ten minutes of the event. “You don’t happen to work in biotechnological engineerin’, do you?”
“Alas, no,” Iamor said. “I am the head of the Agreement Party.”
“Agreement Party?” Scott asked, a bit confused.
“Did you not read the briefings we provided your delegation?” asked Iamor. “I was told information on our political structure was included in your briefing packet.”
It was very possible that that information had been on the padd that Commander Piñiero had given him, but if that were true, it hardly mattered, as Scotty hadn’t even looked at it. He’d had too many technical journals to read. “Ah, I skimmed it.”
“Well,” said Iamor, “our government is dominated by two political parties, known as Agreement and Consensus. Presently, the Consensus Party holds a majority in the Witenagemot, but three years ago—”
“Sorry, Thane,” Scotty said, interrupting Iamor’s obvious enthusiasm for this topic, “but I’m an engineer. Politics is a wee bit over my head. I just know to show up on Election Day.”
Iamor made a facial expression that Scotty was not sure how to interpret. “Very well then, Captain Scott.”
“I don’t mean to be offensive, Thane, but if you want to talk politics, I’m sure Ambassador Morrow over there would be very keen to hear it.” Scotty gestured toward where the young diplomat he’d first met in the Gorkon’s transporter room was talking animatedly with a small group of seemingly very interested Kropaslin. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to check out the bar.”
Upon arriving on the Gorkon, one of the first questions Scotty had asked Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev—the first, actually—had been “Why am I here?” There were others more suited for this sort of thing, people with, well, a real diplomatic background. Admirals, members of the Diplomatic Corps…even Nechayev herself.
Her reaction had been dry and serious. “This is not a formal negotiation, Captain,” she’d said. “It is more of a way of reminding