But formal authority, even that given to her by the will of the People, had created a distance between her and the People, however much she had tried to pretend it didn’t. Maybe that was why they’d begun to drift gradually away in the ensuing years, experimenting with novel sects and ideologies. Or maybe it was because she hadn’t exercised that authority enough, hadn’t provided the guidance they needed to achieve spiritual harmony.
Or maybe it wasn’t about you at all, came that wise voice which she liked to think was Baima speaking in her mind. Maybe the People simply needed to exercise the freedom they’d been given, to stretch their spirits and search for new possibilities.
For that matter, things would probably have been all right if Natira hadn’t begun her campaign to Federationize Lorina, to quash the beliefs and customs of the People. That made them angry and afraid, and allowed factions built on anger and fear to gain a foothold. Rishala herself had seen those factions as an uneasy ally against their common foe, Natira. But it had become increasingly unclear which faction was leading the charge. The extremists were far fewer, but they spoke far more loudly, drowning out the more moderate voices that outnumbered theirs, and appealing to the People’s baser impulses and desire for quick, simple answers. Those who spoke of compromise risked appearing weak or disloyal by contrast. Rishala had let herself go along with this, failing to recognize that she was no longer setting the agenda.
Now she saw how they looked at her. She had given Kirk the godkiller hospitality in the temple. She had accepted hospitality aboard his starship. And she had somehow managed to persuade the state to cancel its warrant for her arrest. She looked into the eyes of her fellow community leaders—some of whom she’d known for decades as leading members of Yonadan society, some who had only risen to prominence during the social changes of the past few years—and saw doubts about her loyalties. She knew that what she had to say next would only intensify those doubts. She prayed that Vari and Baima would give her the strength and wisdom she needed to win them over.
“My friends—if there’s one thing we can all agree on, it has to be that we want the violence to end. But if we keep going the way we are, it can only continue the vicious cycle. All the voices of the People need to join in a dialogue so that we may smooth the discord between us.”
“Of course,” said Kemori, who sat across the table from her, determined to claim the second most commanding position if he couldn’t hold the first. The young politician was always pushing to gain any edge he could. There was an intensity to him that reminded Rishala of Kirk, though she found Kirk far more trustworthy. “So I have always said. But there is nothing we can do if the other side refuses to participate in good faith.”
“That may be changing,” Rishala said. “Dumali?”
The middle-aged redhead to her right leaned forward, her eyes taking in the group one by one. Dumali was the only one of the community leaders gathered here who actually held a post in Natira’s government, as head of the loyal opposition party. But that party was so powerless in the government that Dumali still held the trust of those in the not-so-loyal opposition—extremists aside. She retained close ties with the common people from whom she’d come, despite being an agnostic on spiritual matters, and stayed in back-channel contact with the opposition groups. This was the first time she had exercised those back channels with Natira’s endorsement. “I’ve been asked by Natira to arrange a summit meeting. She wants to talk, and it sounds like she might finally be willing to listen.”
Predictably, Mifase scoffed. “It’s just another trick. Get us to the table, then arrest us all.”
“I believe it’s sincere,” Rishala said. “Captain Kirk has joined Natira in making this request.”
“Yes,” Mifase interrupted, “we all know how close you’ve gotten with the godkiller.”
Rishala ignored him. Mifase was the sort who defined his piety in opposition to the shortcomings of others, rather than through the demonstration of any positive traits of his own. His sect was a bit of a theological muddle, promoting a return to the way things had been on ancient Fabrina in the age of the Creators, but extremely vague on the specifics of what that meant, aside from being the opposite of whatever the listener disliked about the way things were now. But he had managed to play off the negative feelings of the community to advance his own negativity and make himself a popular figure. Rishala had no desire to strengthen him by giving him more to fight against.
But Kemori wouldn’t make it so easy. “He has a point, Rishala. Many people are wondering about your… friendliness toward the enemy.”
She smiled patiently. “I would call it ‘fairness,’ Kemori. I believe everyone deserves a fair hearing. And I’ve found that Kirk is a fair man. He and his crew are not our enemies. They are… misguided in some ways, but willing to listen to reason.”
“The time for reason is past!” Mifase exclaimed. “The blood of too many believers has been shed. They cry for vengeance, not talk! There can be no negotiation!”
“There must be, or the blood of far more believers—in many different things—will be shed.”
“But what we want is for Natira to be gone.” That was Sonaya, a willowy older woman who headed the Book sect. Rishala admired her ability to extract spiritual meaning from the dry, technical contents of the Book of the People; such a feat was certainly beyond her own imagination. “Isn’t it?” The Bookists were not one of the more extremist sects. Many of their tenets were compatible with the Federation view, with its materialist, scientific slant on things. Yet the Book spoke extensively of the Oracle, making its adherents sympathetic to the idea of the Oracle’s return.
“What we want is for the state to end its assaults on our traditions. We strive for our way of life, not against any one person.”
“But that one person has made herself the symbol of Fedraysha corruption,” Kemori interposed slickly. “The People will settle for nothing less than her removal.”
Dumali responded with a politician’s polish that matched his. “The Creators know, I would like nothing more than to see Natira removed from power. But surely it’d be better to do it through negotiation. Do we want a fanatic like Dovraku to take over?”
“If the Creators have sent Dovraku as their avenging sword,” Mifase shot back, “then we must heed their will or be cut down.”
Kemori spoke more calmly. “Dovraku represents what the People want: decisive action against Natira and her Fedraysha masters. He is our best chance for driving them out, whether by persuading them to cut their losses and surrender, or through… more final means. Once they are gone, we shall have the luxury to debate what form our new government should take.”
Rishala looked at him pityingly. “And do you really think Dovraku would share yo… our opinion of your aptitude for leadership, Kemori? Do you think he would allow anyone but himself to rule Lorina?”
“It would be the Oracle that ruled,” came a gentle reminder from Paravo, finally weighing in from where he sat on Rishala’s left. “As it did before.” The elderly fellow’s desire to remain in the past meant he was the only one here who still held the same high opinion of Rishala that he always had, but it also meant he was sympathetic to Dovraku’s professed goals.
“Only its program would be even more restrictive, narrower in its definition of acceptable behavior,” Rishala reminded him. “The Instruments could strike people down for any defiance of rigid machine logic as Dovraku defines it—for singing songs of the Creators, for wearing impractical clothes, for laughing out loud. For daring to have a thought not generated within the Oracle’s algorithms. Is that the cozy past you want to reclaim, old friend?”
“It would cleanse the world of sinners,” Mifase said, glaring at Rishala as he did.
“Naturally Dovraku would be unable to dictate the Oracle’s programming by himself,” Kemori said. “He knows he does not have the power base for that. Once the current regime has collapsed and been replaced by one more sympathetic to his agenda, he
can join us in the process of determining the Oracle’s new parameters.”
Rishala shook her head. “You aren’t that naive, Kemori. You know he’ll never compromise. If you’re not One, you’re Zero, and he’ll reduce you to zero with explosives if necessary.”
“But at the moment he believes us to be sympathetic. And that means that once the revolution is over, he will permit us to get close. This will provide us with… options for dealing with him should he become intractable.”
“And do you think he won’t have ‘options’ of his own ready to deploy at the first sign of betrayal?”
“But that’s just it,” Sonaya said. “How betrayed will he feel by us if we agree to these negotiations?”
“It’s only talk,” Dumali pointed out. “We don’t have to commit to anything that we or… our constituents don’t like.”
Rishala turned to stare at the party leader. “Then how can we ever hope to end this? There’s no way the state will agree to all our terms, any more than we’ll agree to all of theirs. We must be willing to negotiate in earnest.”
“Believe me, Rishala, I want to. But I have to consider the realities of the situation. I can’t serve our people if they turn on me.”
“You mean if Dovraku has you assassinated for not being extremist enough.” She took all the others in with her gaze. “Look at us. We call the state our enemy and Dovraku an uneasy ally. But we feel able to defy the state, to speak and act openly against it… but we are all too terrified of Dovraku to defy him in any way! So ask yourselves: Who is our enemy? Who is the menace to our survival, to our freedom to believe as we choose? And if we really consider ourselves the defenders of the People—if we really want to deserve that label—who is it that we should really be fighting?”
The others were chastened. But Paravo spoke softly. “At least Dovraku believes in the Creators and their Oracle. He’s dangerous, yes, but he fights for the cause we all share. He is one of us.”
“Yes,” Rishala said, “as Nidra is one of the Creators. We can love him as one of our own, just as the Creators love their sister. But though they love her, still she must walk alone, for she is the Creator of fire and lies, that which destroys all other Creations. And though they love her, still they fight her at every turn, for it is only by battling her lies unto the end of time that they have any hope of ever saving her from herself.
“Nidra made the fire that forged the Oracle’s metal. She made the fire that drove Yonada through the stars, and powered her machines. The Oracle was Nidra’s Creation most of all, and Nidra is the Creator whom Dovraku serves. He makes his case through fire, and makes us become liars for fear of being burned.”
She was on her feet now, and held them all in the thrall of her eyes and voice. “And what of the other Creators we love and serve? What of Miura the Farmer, nurturer of life? What of Nalai the Midwife, guardian of birth and renewal, protector of children? What of Dedi the Questioner, who sees the flaw in every lie? What of Baima the Wise, who threw herself to the fire to preserve the Truth? And what of Vari the Mighty, father of us all, who would let no obstacle stand before him and his People?
“How do we serve these, our Creators, by letting Nidra’s champion control us? By meeting the hand of peace with pretense and hypocrisy? By letting ourselves see only material illusions like political gain and nostalgia and base survival, when the legacy our Creators left us is in such danger?”
“Pretty words, Rishala,” said Sonaya after a moment. “Maybe you are willing to die for what you believe in. But then who will advance that cause? Who will serve any of our causes if we are all killed?”
“Who is serving them now?”
Silence echoed in response. “Dovraku has already smothered us,” Rishala went on. “What does it matter that our hearts still beat? If you are so afraid of being dead, Sonaya, how can you stand to be as you are now? How can you refuse a chance to live again, to make a real difference?
“I for one am going to meet with Natira and Kirk. I will work with them to try to find a compromise that we all can live with. I will no doubt have to make concessions, but my bargaining position will be stronger the more of you I have with me. Who will come?”
Dumali was the first to stand. “I’m officially supposed to be there anyway. But I’ll come in spirit as well as body.”
Paravo was next. “I’m an old man…. I’d like to see some peace again in this life.”
Kemori hesitated, but then stood. “The only way the People will accept this is if they see a strong presence there representing their interests. Someone they trust to hold to a strong position. Someone not perceived as soft toward the Fedraysha,” he finished with a pointed look at Rishala.
Paravo scoffed. “You just don’t want to be left out of the pictures.”
Then Sonaya tentatively rose. “If we do it that way— maintain a firm stand—perhaps it will not be seen as a betrayal.”
Mifase skewered her with his gaze. “Fool. You are all traitors. The People will accept nothing less than the execution of the heretic Natira and all who support her. You are all welcome to burn in the cleansing fire.” He turned and stormed from the room.
Sonaya looked to Rishala in alarm. “He’s going to tell Dovraku.”
“I know. We should arrange to have this meeting very soon. And all of you, keep your arrangements as secret as possible.”
“But where can we meet that will be safe?” Paravo asked.
Rishala looked skyward. “Someplace you will be glad to see again, old friend.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We must acknowledge once and for all that the purpose of diplomacy is to prolong a crisis.
—Spock
“I DON’T LIKE THIS, Captain.”
“Mr. Chekov, that phrase seems to be a standard part of every security chief’s repertoire. You seem to have mastered it very well.” Kirk smiled to take the sting out of it, but Chekov still felt stung. The captain leaned casually against the bulkhead next to Chekov’s station, but the security chief himself stood straight, trying to minimize his height disadvantage. “The simple fact is, this negotiation isn’t the sort of thing I can hand over to somebody else. Rishala won’t trust anyone but me.”
“I understand that, sir. My concern is with the location.” He glanced over Kirk’s shoulder at the main viewscreen, where Lorina’s recently acquired moon hung like a misshapen meatball. “Yonada is where the Oracle is, sir. It’s the one place the fanatics most want to possess.”
“Which is exactly why it’s so well guarded. There’s plenty of security already in place, and access is fully controlled.”
“That can go both ways, sir. It will be difficult to maintain transporter locks on the landing party.”
“Which is why I’m acceding to your wishes and bringing along a significant security presence.”
“I don’t consider four people all that significant, sir.”
“Considering how edgy the various parties are about having any armed Starfleet presence there at all, it’s as significant as it’s going to get.”
“But if we only had more time to make arrangements…”
“The meeting was called on very short notice, specifically out of security concerns. If it takes us by surprise, it should do the same for the terrorists.”
“I still don’t like it, sir.”
Kirk grinned. “Mr. Chekov, if you did like it, then I’d worry.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Chekov said sharply, “I don’t think you’re taking the matter of security seriously enough. I don’t think you’re taking me seriously enough. I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears ensign anymore, sir. I’ve trained hard for this. I’ve earned this job, and I know what I’m doing.”
Kirk stared at Chekov, looking surprised and hurt. “Is that what you think I think of you…?” He straightened, took a step closer. “Mr. Chekov… Pavel… I have always taken you seriously. You’ve always been one of my best people. Even when you were still wet behind the ears. W
hy do you suppose I kept you as my chief navigator longer than anyone else? Why do you suppose I took you on so many landing parties, even though that’s not a normal job for a navigator? Because you were sharp and passionate and adaptable and I wanted to make sure you got the experience you needed to hone that potential.”
He clasped Chekov’s shoulder lightly. “If I’ve made you feel that I don’t take you seriously, I’m sorry. It’s not because of you, it’s…” He smirked. “It’s a security chief’s job to mother his captain, and it’s a captain’s job to fidget and complain about it. The difference is, I didn’t get to pull rank on my mother.
“So rest assured, Mr. Chekov, I value your recommendations highly. You just happen to be in the one job that has the hardest sell. It’s your job to keep me safe, but it’s not my job to be kept safe.”
Chekov met his eyes. “ ‘Risk is our business,’” he quoted sardonically, but understandingly.
“It’s why we’re out here.” Kirk clapped his shoulder once more. “Assemble your teams, Lieutenant, and report to the hangar deck in half an hour.”
“Aye, sir.” He frowned. “The hangar deck, sir?”
“The other delegations are traveling by shuttle,” Kirk said with a shrug, “and protocol apparently demands that we do the same.”
Chekov acknowledged the order, but his mind was already racing with new security concerns. He’d have to check in with the hangar deck crew chief and run a safety check on the shuttle—for not all threats to a captain’s well-being were the result of conscious malice. He’d want to make sure the shuttle was maneuverable and well-shielded, though; there was no telling how those edgy Shesshran might react to the launch of an Enterprise shuttle.
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