After the other guests had gone, Kalmar Torek invited West to join him in the library. The room was huge, but comfortable. Soft chairs were placed in scattered arrangements around the room. One or two large desks were available for those during research.
This was in a sense an old-fashioned library. Real books made of paper and other elements from other worlds made the shelves their home. The monks, of course, also had more modern means of retrieving information and storing information, but they valued fine books and displayed their collection with pride. Not that the monks had pride, oh no.
Kalmar poured two drinks and handed one to West.
"Please be seated," he said, indicating a soft chair near the fireplace. "This wine was made by our Order on Matese IV. It was an excellent year, don't you think?"
West would have preferred to take a precautionary sniff of his glass' contents before trying it, but he didn't want to be rude. Besides, he had his devil-may-care reputation to protect. He was prepared for the worst, but when the cool liquid washed over his palate he was pleasantly surprised. The alien wine was light with a subtle flavoring he couldn't place, and left a delightful tingle in its wake.
"Not bad," he admitted.
Kalmar wandered over to the fireplace, pushed a button and a roaring flame filled the hearth. He then sat down beside West.
"Now then Mr. West," Kalmar said, "do tell me why you felt compelled to visit us unannounced the other day. We would have welcomed you gladly had you simply rung the bell."
West suddenly felt like a boy who'd been caught sneaking a cookie right before dinner. He decided to play innocent. Smiling, he said, "It was dark. I must have gotten turned around on my way to the front gate." But Kalmar's stern expression cut off any more lame excuses West may have made. He decided he'd better come clean. He set his wine glass on the low table.
"The truth is -- and forgive me for saying this -- Vesputians aren't exactly famous for their open hospitality and love for non-Vesputians. I wanted to check things out." A sly smile grew on West's lips as he considered the second reason he'd gone snooping that night. "Besides that, a little pre-bargaining reconnoiter of your stock of yorna berries seemed like a good idea at the time. It always helps my game when I know what cards the other guy is holding!"
"Ah, the berries," Kalmar said sipping his wine. Kalmar then laughed pleasantly.
"Mr. West," he said, "you are quite accurate in your knowledge of Vesputians. We are not well-known for our hospitality to anyone but Vesputians. Had you come to our door we probably would have asked if you were there to wash our dishes. But now you are in and, unless I am wrong, which I rarely am of course, you have an interest in the yorna berries. Perhaps to make some money from certain diplomatic visitors?
"You are not wrong, Padre," said West. "In fact, you've hit the stembolt right on the head. The G'kra dignitaries who will be staying in the city will be cared for by Starfleet, and we both know what that means: generic accommodations and uninspired meals cooked by run-of-the-mill chefs or worse, replicators. I'd like to be in a position to offer them a treat from home -- yorna berry jam. I hear they're crazy about it. The G'kra will only be on Serenity for a couple of weeks though, so time is of the essence."
"I am sure, Mr. West," Kalmar stated, "that we can do business. You see, or perhaps you don't, being a non-Vesputian, that we are somewhat cut off from the rest of the world by our location and monastery walls. We do prefer that. However, we also need to know what's going on outside our walls. We require a reliable source of current news. As for the berries, we need some revenue from them but not a great deal. Money has never been a problem for any of our Order. You may have the sole trading rights to our berries with a small percentage of profit for us in exchange for your, shall we say it delicately, keeping us appraised of activities at the capitol. How does this sound to you?"
West was momentarily rendered mute by the Vesputian monk's proposal, but finally he found his voice and asked incredulously, "You want me to spy on Starfleet?" Kalmar couldn't possibly be asking him to do that, could he? Well, now that he thought about it, he did have a few contacts within the Fleet -- Commodore Hunter for one, plus he and the lovely Commander Lee Carter of Banshee Squadron had become quite close since their little escapade against the evil Vince Kelly's mind stealing ring. It probably wouldn't be too hard to squeeze the occasional tidbit of information from either of them. And there were always flapping lips in the bars he frequented, government employees tired after a long day at the office mouthing off state secrets to impress the ladies, heedless of whoever else might be eavesdropping. West usually had a pretty good idea of what was going on anywhere on the planet. He suddenly wondered if Kalmar somehow knew that about him. He figured that it couldn't hurt to feed the mysterious monk a morsel now and then.
"Very well," he said, having made his decision. "I agree to your terms."
"I might add at this time, Mr. West, that should you for some unfortunate reason see fit to not reveal the exact truth of things, we shall be most displeased," Kalmar said.
As he said the word "displeased," Kalmar's hand closed on the wine glass, shattering it into pieces. He didn't even wince.
West forced himself to keep smiling, but inwardly, he couldn't help wonder if he hadn't just made a deal with the devil.
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