Articles of the Federation

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Raisa said, “I believe, Admiral, that you have provided the answer. The Klingons.”

  Jas blinked. “Actually, that’s true. Damn, I didn’t—” He turned to Nan. “Ma’am, as you probably know, the Klingons expanded into Sector 798-C a few years back.”

  T’Latrek put in, “The Klingon Empire refers to that vicinity of space as the Kavrot Sector.”

  “Whatever.” Jas glowered briefly at T’Latrek, then turned back to Nan. “The point is, they did a huge survey of that area and have only actually planted their flag on a few worlds. They shared some of their sensor data with us a year ago—specifically the areas they scanned but didn’t explore or didn’t think were worth their while.”

  Nan liked the sound of that. “Check it over, Jas.” Then a realization struck. “This may kill two birds with one stone, actually.”

  “What do you mean?” Esperanza asked.

  “Those refugees—this may give us somewhere to send them.”

  Nan’s intercom beeped. “Madam President,” Sivak said, “I have Ms. Huaig in the Monet Room for Admiral Abrik.”

  Jas jumped up from his chair and moved toward the door to her private office. “Ma’am?”

  Nan sighed. Everyone in this room had the clearance to listen to a conversation between the security advisor and his deputy, but Abrik obviously preferred the security.

  The hell with it, she decided. We all need to hear this. “Sit down, Admiral. Sivak, pipe it in here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Abrik did not look pleased as he sat down.

  The screen on the wall facing Nan’s desk lit up with the image of a young Delbian woman. This was Roshenz Huaig, Abrik’s deputy. She looked surprised.

  “Rosh, this is the president.”

  “Uh, ma’am, I was trying to reach Admiral Abrik.” The young woman sounded flustered.

  “He’s in here with me, along with a cast of thousands. I assume you have an update on the Reman refugee situation?”

  To her credit, Rosh recovered quickly. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve spoken with Commander Bowles at Outpost 22. She says that the Remans have specifically requested asylum.”

  “So we were right,” Esperanza said.

  “Not entirely, Ms. Piñiero. Their leader, who is called Jianuk, is requesting asylum from other Remans.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jas said.

  “I do not agree with that assessment, Admiral,” Spock said. “Jianuk was one of Shinzon’s soldiers. They fought together during the war.”

  “Ambassador Spock is correct.” Her initial surprise having passed, Rosh was now all business. “The twenty-nine Remans on the Vkruk were all loyal to Shinzon—emphasis on were. They claim to have been persecuted by their fellow Remans because they condemned Shinzon’s actions. They wish to live out their lives in the Federation.”

  Jas looked at Nan. “What are your orders, ma’am?”

  “Still the admiral, huh, Jas?” Nan realized immediately that her tone was unnecessarily snide, but Jas had it coming. Besides, it gave her a chance to think. “Rosh, tell Commander—Bowles, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Tell her to render whatever aid and assistance the Vkruk requires. Tell them their asylum request is pending, but in the meantime, they’ll be guests of the Federation at the outpost.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  “Get right on that.”

  “Thank you, Madam President.” With that, Rosh signed off.

  Nan looked around the room. Jas sat on the sofa, looking slightly petulant, as if Nan had denied him the right to do things his way, or perhaps as if his deputy had stolen his thunder. Next to him were the two councillors, T’Latrek looking placid, Molmaan looking aggravated. Facing Nan were Spock and Akaar; surprisingly, the Capellan was the more stoic of the two. Spock actually looked thoughtful. Turning to her left, she saw Esperanza, her right hand, and Raisa, looking nonplussed.

  “All right, we’ve got us a mess here. Everyone weigh in, I don’t care how stupid you think you’ll sound. You can rest assured that you can’t possibly sound any stupider than I’m going to when I give the inevitable press conference that will result from this incident. Raisa?”

  “My feelings have not changed, Madam President. These Remans are, for all intents and purposes, refugees from the Klingon Empire. Accepting their asylum request could damage our relationship with the empire.”

  T’Latrek said, “I do not believe that will be an issue.”

  “Why not?” Nan asked.

  “Because we have a relationship with the empire. This need not be done in secret. Ambassador Rozhenko can plead the Remans’ case to the High Council.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jas said, “how do we even know these people are on the level?”

  Nan frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “These people were loyal to Shinzon—the same Shinzon whose first action upon taking over the Romulan government was to invade the Federation. Are these really people we want to just let in?”

  “I agree with Admiral Abrik and with Secretary Shostakova,” Molmaan said. “It’s lunacy to let them anywhere near us. Sure, we can repair them and give them a hot meal, but after that, let them find a neutral planet, or a nation that doesn’t mind getting into interstellar conflicts. Maybe the Tholians’ll take them.”

  “If that was an attempt at humor,” Nan said, “it failed.”

  Molmaan smiled, an action his face was ill-suited for. “I don’t have a sense of humor.”

  “Worked that much out on my own, Councillor. Esperanza, what do you think?”

  Esperanza folded her hands on her lap. “We still need to inform the Klingons just of the asylum request—if we’re going to be pitching Reman relocation to them anyhow, we may as well do this, too.”

  Nan nodded.

  However, Esperanza wasn’t finished. “But I disagree with T’Latrek on one point. It shouldn’t be Ambassador Rozhenko who makes the case, it should be Ambassador Spock.”

  Everyone turned to look at Spock at that. For his part, Spock gazed at Esperanza, one eyebrow raised. “Indeed?”

  “You’re the best man for the job, Mr. Ambassador. You’ve spent most of the last decade in Romulan space, and you’re also someone the Klingons have always respected. A plea from you will mean a lot more.”

  “I’m afraid I must respectfully decline. My place is on Romulus.”

  “Not hardly, Mr. Ambassador,” Nan said.

  Again the eyebrow-raise, this time at Nan. “Madam President, you yourself sanctioned my mission to Romulus.”

  “I sanctioned the mission because you made a good argument down on the first floor a couple months ago. But throughout this meeting, everyone’s been calling you ‘Mr. Ambassador’—except for Molmaan, of course, but Zaldans aren’t big on honorifics. You know why we’re doing that? Because, to the best of my knowledge, you’re still a Federation ambassador. Which means, in real terms, that you work for me—unless you’re resigning your post, in which case I’m going to have to have security throw you out, because you will no longer have clearance to be on this floor.” Nan leaned forward in her chair, looking Spock directly in his unblinking eyes. “Am I making myself completely clear?”

  She and Spock continued to lock eyes. Neither of them blinked. Finally, Spock said, “Very well—I will go to Qo’noS and speak to the High Council.”

  Nan turned toward the sofa. “T’Latrek, if you’d be so kind as to work out the travel arrangements and the itinerary with Ambassador Rozhenko.”

  T’Latrek bowed. “Of course, Madam President.”

  “All right,” she said as she got up from her chair, “that’s it. Thank you all.”

  Most of those in the room said, “Thank you, Madam President” before they left. The exceptions were Molmaan, naturally, and Spock, who simply inclined his head toward Nan and departed with T’Latrek.

  Esperanza stayed behind. “What do you think?”

  “I think Spock’s pissed at me.
”

  Grinning, Esperanza said, “I thought Vulcans didn’t get pissed.”

  “He’s half-human.” She shook her head and walked around to the other side of her desk. “You know, Esperanza, when you sold me on the notion of running for president, you never mentioned the part about having living legends in my office and irritating the hell out of them.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Nan chuckled. “Seriously, though, I don’t like any of this. We’re making preparations, we’re making recommendations—but we’re not doing anything.”

  “We’re not empowered to do anything,” Esperanza said. “It’s the Klingons’ call.”

  “Yeah, and it always goes well when they’re left to their own judgment.” She sighed. “Anything else?”

  “You did good here. It may not seem like we’re doing anything yet, but we’re putting the pieces in place so we can.”

  “Yeah.” President Bacco sighed. “We’re gonna get our asses kicked on Artrin, aren’t we?”

  Esperanza nodded. “Yeah, but we’ll weather it. Don’t forget, you wanted to drop in on the Wescott Room before Toshiro’s birthday thing.”

  Nan brightened. “Right! I forgot about that. Good, maybe I can accomplish something there—’cause I gotta tell you, Esperanza, right now I don’t feel like we’re accomplishing a damn thing.”

  Chapter Eleven

  ALFEAR YORGAS was bored.

  This entire negotiation was a waste of time. He had been given very simple instructions by his superiors on Carrea: “Don’t give the Deltans anything.” An easy enough instruction to follow; it only required that he be creative in coming up with ever more ridiculous demands on the Deltans in exchange for their water reclamation system.

  However, the negotiations had dragged on for months, including eight weeks trapped on this madhouse of a planet in this hideous room, sitting across from the beautiful face and bald head of Ambassador Tierra, a face he would gladly cave in with a jagged rock at this point.

  He stared up at the portrait of the human who had served as this tiresome Federation’s president over a hundred years earlier, and after whom this Wescott Room was named. According to Yorgas’s researches, this human was the youngest person to attain the office of the presidency in the Federation, a distinction he retained to this day, apparently. Yorgas didn’t care that much; he had only investigated out of a morbid curiosity. He found the entire concept of the Federation to be loathsome, as much because they had the Deltans as part of it as anything. Carrea would never be part of a nation that had Delta as a member.

  Yorgas’s latest demand to Tierra had been for the right to put a scientific base on Brannik IV. He’d been saving that one for when he was really desperate, because that had been a bone of contention between their two worlds for years. Delta laid claim to Brannik IV—but did nothing with it.

  Tierra sat calmly in her chair and said, “Brannik IV is an important strategic—”

  Slamming his hand on the large wooden table, Yorgas bellowed, “Enough! You have been spinning that lie for centuries!”

  “It is no lie!” Tierra’s calm quickly evaporated. “Our military base there—”

  “Can just as easily be put anywhere. But Brannik is the only other planet we have found where the animal life matches the fossils on our homeworld from the Oida age. Studying Brannik might provide some answers regarding that period. Yet you continue to prevent us—”

  “Oh, please,” Tierra said with a dismissive wave. “You only wish to gain a foothold in the solar system that is most proximate to ours so you can spy on us.”

  Rolling his eyes, Yorgas said, “Trust me, we have little interest in watching your deviant planet all have sex with each other constantly.”

  To Yorgas’s surprise, Tierra laughed at that.

  “What amuses you, Ambassador?”

  Instead of answering his question, Tierra turned to one of her aides. “Kedda, I owe you dinner.”

  Yorgas didn’t like the sudden jocular tone. “What are you talking about?”

  Now Tierra looked right at Yorgas and fixed him with a smile that six months ago might have charmed him. Deltan pheromones were well known throughout the galaxy, and their effect on Carreons was nauseating. One risked turning into a quivering mass of sexual idiocy in the presence of a Deltan, which was why Yorgas found them so despicable. Still, even Yorgas had to admit that Tierra, at least, had a certain charm. However, the long months of negotiation had bled all the charm out of her from his perspective, and so now the urge to cave her face in with a rock simply increased to a desire to light her boots on fire and watch her slowly burn to death.

  “What I’m talking about,” she said, “is that Kedda bet me a dinner that today would be the day that you would finally resort to name-calling. I’m actually impressed, Ambassador, that it took this long for your prudish idiocy to come to the fore.”

  That simpering bitch. “The fact that we don’t flaunt our base instincts for all to see doesn’t make us idiots, Ambassador, it simply makes us moral.”

  As Yorgas was speaking, one of the doors to the Wescott Room opened to reveal President Nan Bacco, who said, “Because of course, Ambassador Yorgas, morality is an absolute throughout the galaxy.”

  Yorgas felt his face grow colder with embarrassment. This president was also human, but unlike the one in the picture—who was unusually tall for a human, with broad shoulders and a hard face—this one was female, short, and frail-looking. Bacco had come across as more formidable in the footage he had viewed before coming here, and he now realized that it was a trick of the camera, as it were.

  “I would disagree with that, Yar Bacco,” he said, addressing her formally. “Morality cannot be anything but an absolute.”

  “Well, that’s easy for a person representing a monolithic morality to say—assuming you do have a monolithic morality. Does every Carreon behave with the same morals?”

  “Of course,” Yorgas said, even though he knew it to be false. But he would not show weakness before this woman.

  She took a seat that was halfway between Yorgas and Tierra on the side of the table. “Well, I envy you that, Mr. Ambassador, I really do. If everyone shared the same morals, we’d probably have a much easier time of it.”

  “Time of what, Yar Bacco?”

  Bacco hesitated. “I was about to say government, but honestly, the answer to that would be ‘everything.’ It must simplify things for you so much, to come at everything with such great moral certitude.”

  “I suppose it does,” Yorgas said after a moment’s thought. “I had not considered it that way before.”

  “In any case, I didn’t come in here to discuss moral relativism. I came here to talk to you all about how these negotiations are coming.”

  Tierra started to say, “They are—” but Bacco held up her hand.

  “Spare me the platitudes and the false promises, Ambassadors. If I want the public face, I’ll talk to our press liaison, who has been shoveling your manure for two months now. The fact is, these negotiations are nowhere.”

  Yorgas said, “The Carreon have made several generous requests for items to be traded for our water reclamation system. The Deltans have refused every one of them.”

  “Because none of them are generous,” Tierra snapped. “They are insults to the Deltan people. They have not been answered in kind only because we are desperate.”

  Turning to Bacco, Yorgas said, “You see, Yar Bacco, this is the type of slander I have had to put up with since these negotiations commenced.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want you to have to suffer slander, Ambassador, so on behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I do apologize for that, and for Ambassador Tierra’s behavior.”

  To Yorgas’s great amusement, Tierra looked furious. “Thank you, Yar Bacco.”

  “Madam President—” Tierra started, but again, Bacco cut her off.

  “One moment, please, Madam Ambassador.” She turned to look at Yorgas. “The t
hing is, I’ve been reading over the transcripts of your meetings, Mr. Ambassador, and I’ve discovered something interesting.”

  “And what is that?” Yorgas asked with a broad smile. This is going well. This foolish old woman will give me everything I ask for. She even apologized!

  “That you have stonewalled these negotiations. That, in fact, you have not been acting in good faith but instead doing everything you can to drag out this process.”

  Yorgas’s face went cold again. “Yar Bacco, I can assure you that I have done no such—”

  “Spare me, Mr. Ambassador. Your offers haven’t been generous, they’ve been outrageous—and what’s more, you know they’re outrageous. Unless, of course, you’re far more incompetent than we’ve been led to believe. Either way, the Carreon have insulted the United Federation of Planets, and we are not going to stand for it.” She stood up. “Quite simply, Mr. Ambassador, we’ve had enough. You’ve been harassing the Deltans for a long time, and now you’re holding them up over a water reclamation system that will cost you nothing to provide, yet they cannot live without.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You, sir, are condemning an entire species to dehydration just so you can derive pleasure from watching Ambassador Tierra and her staff squirm. I gotta say, Mr. Ambassador, how you can do that and still claim any kind of moral high ground is a mystery that I will take to my grave.”

  “Yar Bacco—” Yorgas started, but this time it was he the president interrupted.

  “Mr. Ambassador, if you do not come to an agreement with Ambassador Tierra within the next thirty minutes, the Federation is going to declare war on the Carreon.”

  Yorgas felt his breakfast start to rise in his throat. He swallowed it down, but the bitter taste remained in the back of his mouth. He stood up and clenched his fist. “This is outrageous! On what grounds would you declare war?”

  Bacco actually smiled—smiled! Yorgas had never been so insulted in his life. Then she said, “Well, for starters, the person in my position is properly addressed as ‘ma’am’ or ‘Madam President.’ ”