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see Korrd’s bronze-colored stomach bulging out under the hem of his tunic and over the waistband of his trousers. She averted her eyes in disgust; the old Klingon warrior continued to drink with gusto, oblivious to her scrutiny. “I don’t speak Klingon, Mr. Talbot.”
    “I’m afraid I do.” He motioned with a smooth white hand at his own chair. “Please sit, Miss Dar.”
    Caithlin settled into the filthy chair while Talbot located one that was not too seriously broken and dragged it up to the table. He brushed the seat vigorously and coughed at the clouds of dust generated.
    “May I get you a drink, Miss Dar?”
    “No,
“she replied emphatically. She’d been as polite as possible; now it was time to speak her mind. “Quite frankly, Mr. Talbot,” she said as he took his seat, “I’m shocked at what I’ve seen here. Nimbus supposedly represents the best our three governments can offer, and yet hunger and poverty are rampant here, law enforcement nonexistent.”
    Talbot took a very long pull from his tankard before turning his bloodshot gaze on her. “It’s the bureaucracy, Miss Dar. Our three governments have generated a complex maze of laws, and now they’re arguing about how to enforce them. You must have known all about this before you came here.”
    “And you must have known about it, too, Mr. Talbot. So why are the two of you sitting here getting drunk in the middle of the day?”
    Talbot said nothing to defend himself, but his expression saddened so suddenly that Caithlin felt aninkling of pity for him. With oddly appropriate timing, Korrd let loose with a guttural barrage of Klingon that sounded suspiciously hostile, as if he had understood all too well what Caithlin had just said.
    Caithlin frowned at him. “What did he say?” she demanded of Talbot.
    Talbot’s sallow complexion suddenly turned pink. “He says he hopes you’ll enjoy your tour of duty here. We are drinking, Miss Dar, because our once-illustrious careers have culminated in an assignment to Nimbus Three. Perhaps they didn’t bother to tell you that your predecessor died of shame and sheer boredom. Might I ask what horrible thing you did to get yourself banished to this armpit of the galaxy?”
    “I volunteered,” Caithlin said evenly. It occurred to her that the Englishman might have assumed she was sent here because of her human blood . . . and perhaps he wouldn’t be far from wrong. Still, the thought disturbed her.
    Talbot had just taken a mouthful of ale; at Caithlin’s answer, he spewed it in Korrd’s direction and started choking. The Klingon pounded enthusiastically on the Terran’s scrawny back.
    “Vol. . . un . . .
teered?”
Talbot wheezed finally. He turned to translate the word for Korrd; the Klingon threw back his head and laughed scornfully.
    Caithlin had anticipated that the other diplomats on Nimbus III would be angry, frustrated, or at the very worst, indifferent. She had been prepared for all of those attitudes, but she was not prepared to find trained diplomats engaging in utter debauchery. She leaned forward, trying to keep the defensiveness shefelt from her tone. “Nimbus Three is a great experiment. Twenty years ago, when our three governments agreed to develop this planet together, a new age was born.”
    Talbot smirked at first, but the smug expression faded quickly as he seemed to realize she was quite serious. “Unfortunately, Miss Dar, things that sound perfect in theory generally don’t work. Your new age died a quick death. The Great Drought put an end to it And the settlers we conned into coming here—forgive me, but all of our governments did it—were the dregs of the galaxy. Convicted criminals, most of them. They immediately took to fighting among themselves. You can see what good the laws against weapons did: They made their own.”
    Perhaps, Caithlin decided, there was an intelligence lurking behind Talbot’s drunken facade; about Korrd she was not so sure. If she could just