The Frontier, Part I
There was a time when the Federation Diplomatic Office considered the Nimbus III project a worthy challenge. It was seen as rare opportunity to tear down the barriers between the Federation, the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Star Empire. But that was 15 years ago. Before ch'Rihan began to look inward and think less about relations with neighboring powers. Before Q’Onos came close to declaring war on the Federation over James Kirk. Before the colony at Paradise City reverted to little more than a 22nd century frontier outpost, home to refugees, horse thieves and the misbegotten.
St. John Talbot was the second envoy sent to Nimbus III. The first, a respected veteran of many prolonged diplomatic sorties, burned out at about the same time as the infrastructure of the colony began to give way. Talbot, whose own career was generally unspectacular and included three notable minor failures, was sent basically to oversee a holding action. He was told that the Klingons would lose interest soon, or that the Romulans and Klingons would come to blows. That was seven years ago.
And yet St. John was determined to make the best of it. He hated the desert heat of the days, but the cold of the night was refreshing and was easily beaten back by both the heating units of his house and the presence of the Romulan envoy, Caithlin Dar, in his bed. He wondered who would be more scandalized, his superiors or hers. (He assumed that he would perhaps be reprimanded and given an even worse assignment and Caithlin would be executed, but it was hard to predict with Romulans.) He had grown fond of the Klingon ambassador Korrd, who was as much a surprise in his tolerance of humans as Tablot's lover became. And among the outcasts were some people that made him think occasionally of an ancient pre-holographic work of entertainment he had seen in his youth about a desert output not unlike this one.
He just wished that the small police force could do more to beat back the tide of lawlessness. He wished that conditions in the city and the surrounding area could be made more livable. He wished that the Federation would increase funding. And he hoped that he could stay until he saw what Sybok was after.
For three years, he watched the unusual Vulcan trudge into the desert, a one man archaeological team, and search, and dig, and sleep. Sometimes, Sybok would take time to join Talbot for a drink (always water for the Vulcan, stronger things for him) and tell him of ancient legends and life on on Vulcan as a "heretic." It was clear that Sybok, who smiled and laughed and cussed and cried, was not like the rest of his people. He tried to explain sometimes that many Vulcans rejected T'Pau's neo-Surakian mindset, but Talbot was convinced that Sybok was just a free spirit born on wrong world, and looking for the right one. Even so, Talbot was never able to get Sybok to say what he was looking for. "My friend, you will have to wait." And so Talbot waited.
Waited until the morning when Korrd entered his tiny office and told him that the Klingons were calling him home. The Nimbus III project was at an end.
St. John Talbot was the second envoy sent to Nimbus III. The first, a respected veteran of many prolonged diplomatic sorties, burned out at about the same time as the infrastructure of the colony began to give way. Talbot, whose own career was generally unspectacular and included three notable minor failures, was sent basically to oversee a holding action. He was told that the Klingons would lose interest soon, or that the Romulans and Klingons would come to blows. That was seven years ago.
And yet St. John was determined to make the best of it. He hated the desert heat of the days, but the cold of the night was refreshing and was easily beaten back by both the heating units of his house and the presence of the Romulan envoy, Caithlin Dar, in his bed. He wondered who would be more scandalized, his superiors or hers. (He assumed that he would perhaps be reprimanded and given an even worse assignment and Caithlin would be executed, but it was hard to predict with Romulans.) He had grown fond of the Klingon ambassador Korrd, who was as much a surprise in his tolerance of humans as Tablot's lover became. And among the outcasts were some people that made him think occasionally of an ancient pre-holographic work of entertainment he had seen in his youth about a desert output not unlike this one.
He just wished that the small police force could do more to beat back the tide of lawlessness. He wished that conditions in the city and the surrounding area could be made more livable. He wished that the Federation would increase funding. And he hoped that he could stay until he saw what Sybok was after.
For three years, he watched the unusual Vulcan trudge into the desert, a one man archaeological team, and search, and dig, and sleep. Sometimes, Sybok would take time to join Talbot for a drink (always water for the Vulcan, stronger things for him) and tell him of ancient legends and life on on Vulcan as a "heretic." It was clear that Sybok, who smiled and laughed and cussed and cried, was not like the rest of his people. He tried to explain sometimes that many Vulcans rejected T'Pau's neo-Surakian mindset, but Talbot was convinced that Sybok was just a free spirit born on wrong world, and looking for the right one. Even so, Talbot was never able to get Sybok to say what he was looking for. "My friend, you will have to wait." And so Talbot waited.
Waited until the morning when Korrd entered his tiny office and told him that the Klingons were calling him home. The Nimbus III project was at an end.