Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice by James Swallow

temperature, despite the chill of the evening.
    San Francisco’s fashionable Nob Hill district had become the city’s nexus for fine dining right around the time that Starfleet Command had moved in across the bay; all these years later the area was constantly busy with restaurants serving every variety of Terran food and offerings from dozens of Federation member-worlds.
    Most of them, anyway. Deanna had been disappointed to see that the Andorian sushi bar on Taylor Street where she had eaten many times was now gone, replaced by an austere Vulcan café.
    In the end, she had chosen Italian, and after calling in a favor with Chief Bolaji to babysit Tasha, it had been a relatively painless endeavor getting a reservation for that evening. She was still wondering how shehad swung it; La Sorrento was a popular place, and the waiting list for a decent table was long.
    As if he was reading her mind, her husband sipped a little wine from his glass to wash down his tortellini, and then he leaned forward. “Good choice. I’m surprised you got us in here. Did you slip the maître d’ a bribe?”
    She smiled slightly, brushing a curl of dark hair back over her ear. “Hardly. They were a little sniffy at first, until I told them my name. Things got a lot smoother after that.”
    â€œOh?” Outwardly, Will seemed to take that in stride. To someone who didn’t know him as intimately as his wife did—Betazoid empathy or not—he might have seemed almost indifferent. Deanna knew better. Beneath the surface, her husband was on edge. “I guess news travels fast in this town, especially fleet gossip. Doesn’t hurt to score some points with the new admiral.”
    â€œWho says it was your name that got us a table?” She tried to lighten the mood. “You’re not the only one with new responsibilities, dear.” Deanna had already been approached by the Federation diplomatic corp with a request to make herself available for the rounds of ambassadorial functions that were an integral part of life in what was Earth’s foremost interstellar town.
    Will didn’t smile in return, only nodding, his gaze lost in the straw-colored fluid in his glass. “How is that going?” he asked, at length.
    â€œTogren from the diplomatic corps has asked me to provide some support. You remember him? From Denobula?” Will nodded and she went on. “A new ambassadorial party is arriving in the next few days, and he wanted my expertise on hand to act as a liaison.”
    â€œWho is the ambassador? Someone we used to shoot at?”
    She shook her head. “Not exactly, but there’s still going to be a strong chill in the room. We’ll be meeting with Envoy Ramasanar ch’Nuillen.”
    Will raised an eyebrow. “The Andorian?”
    Deanna nodded. “Presider zh’Felleth wants Andor to return to the fold, and the envoy is here to lead that venture.” She frowned. “It seems like it was only yesterday the Andorians were seceding, and now they want to put that behind them. It’s not going to be an easy road. . . . There is still plenty of ill feeling on both sides.”
    â€œThe Federation Council won’t just let them back in,” Will mused grimly. “The Andorians have to know that. And the president pro tem has made no secret of his animosity about the whole secession business.”
    She nodded again. Ishan Anjar had put himself forward for the presidential office, and he had been campaigning hard, but one of Andor’s most progressive politicians, the outspoken Kellessar zh’Tarash, had already publicly stated her desire to seek the same office. Of course, there was the minor impediment of needing Andor to officially rejoin the United Federation of Planets first, and while public sentiment seemed to be behind the idea, nothing was certain. The politics of the moment were complex and ever shifting, and not for the