Federation

by Judith Reeves-Stevens

  “Ambassador Sarek,” Kirk said formally, “though I wish the circumstances had been less trying, it has been a pleasure having you aboard.”

  Sarek nodded his head respectfully. “The voyage has been most interesting,” he allowed. Then he looked tellingly at Spock, standing at Kirk’s side, between the captain and McCoy. “And most productive.”

  Spock and Sarek regarded each other impassively, but Amanda beamed. “I would take that as a supreme compliment, Captain.”

  “I’m pleased to have contributed in any way to … what has transpired,” Kirk said. In deference to his science officer he tried not to match Amanda’s emotional display. Prior to this voyage, Spock and his father had not spoken in eighteen years, and Amanda was clearly delighted that the impasse between her husband and son was at an end.

  Kirk became aware of Admiral Kabreigny looking at Sarek in agitation. Kirk realized the admiral had no idea what the ambassador and his wife were talking about. That suited Kirk. He decided to add to her confusion.

  “And I look forward to having you aboard again,” Kirk continued, “especially so I can have a chance to win back some of Dr. McCoy’s tongue depressors.”

  With an air of complete detachment, Sarek said, “You can try, Captain.”

  Kirk kept track of the admiral’s look of extreme confusion. As far as he was concerned, Sarek had just made a joke.

  With the same unchanging expression, Sarek addressed McCoy. “Dr. McCoy, I find your surgical skills to be satisfactory.”

  Kirk watched as McCoy’s grin faded. “Satisfactory” was not the accolade he apparently had been expecting to hear from a patient whose life he had saved under exceptionally trying circumstances. But before he could register his dissatisfaction, Spock quickly addressed him. “I will explain later, Doctor.”

  Then it was Spock’s turn to say farewell to his parents. “Father, I wish you success at the conference.”

  “That is not logical, Spock. Your wishes will not affect the outcome.”

  “But as someone who respects the Federation and your position on the question of the Coridan Admission, it is logical for me to have those wishes.”

  “Undoubtedly. But why do you find it necessary to share them with me when they can have no part in what I must do?”

  “I do not find it necessary. I merely state them so you may know your logic is supported by independent analysis.”

  “I see. It is a logical position.”

  Amanda sighed with a happy smile. “Just like the old days. Thank you, Captain. And Dr. McCoy—” She stepped up to the doctor and gave him a hug, leaving him with a large Southern smile of his own. “—thank you for all you’ve done for Sarek.” She glanced back at her unsmiling husband. “We are both deeply appreciative.”

  Then Amanda stood in front of Spock, and Kirk could see the internal struggle she underwent, forcing herself not to hug her son as well. “I do hope you’ll come home the next time you’re on leave. There’s so much to catch up on.”

  “I do write as often as I can, Mother.”

  Amanda smiled at her son, a smile warm enough for both of them. “That’s not the same and I know you know it.”

  Sarek held out his hand, extending only his first two fingers. “My wife, attend me.” With an expression of peace, Amanda joined her fingers with her husband’s in the traditional way for a married Vulcan couple to physically interact in public. Sarek held up his other hand, parting his middle fingers in the familiar salute. “Live long and prosper, my son.”

  Spock returned the salute, and in a tone equally devoid of emotion, replied, “Peace and long life, Father.”

  “Dr. McCoy has seen to that,” the ambassador replied; then he stepped up on the transporter platform, Amanda at his side.

  Kirk and McCoy gave their own versions of the salute—McCoy still couldn’t get his fingers to behave—and Kirk gave the order to energize.

  When Sarek and Amanda had departed, Spock turned to McCoy and raised an eyebrow. “Doctor, I have never seen my father so full of gratitude.”

  McCoy’s own face screwed up in confusion. “That was gratitude?”

  “Of profound depth. In addition, I have never seen him behave in such an emotional manner in public.”

  “Emotional?”

  Spock held his hands behind his back. “For whatever reason, my father seems to have become quite taken by you.”

  McCoy turned to Kirk. “This is a joke, right?”

  But it was Admiral Kabreigny who answered. “Vulcans don’t joke, Doctor.”

  Kirk was surprised to hear the admiral say that. She obviously didn’t know Vulcans the way he did. Vulcans might not understand human humor, but they had their own version of it, Kirk was sure.

  The admiral glared at Kirk. “And now that this … family reunion or whatever it was is over, your duties at Babel are completed, Captain.”

  Kirk went to the intercom panel by the door and called the bridge. Sulu answered. “Lay in a course for the Gamma Canaris region,” Kirk said. “Proceed when ready, warp factor seven.”

  Sulu acknowledged, and by the time Kirk had rejoined the admiral, he could already hear the distant thrum of the Cochrane generators begin to resonate through his ship. Warp factor seven would be a strain, and undoubtedly Mr. Scott would complain after a few days, but the speed would bring the Enterprise to her destination in less than a week.

  But Kabreigny said, “Warp factor seven isn’t good enough, Captain. There are one hundred and two crew and passengers on the Planitia.”

  Starfleet admiral or not, Kirk did not take kindly to officers attempting to give him orders on his own ship. “I’m certain that if Command thought their lives were in real danger, then other ships would have gone to the region before now, instead of waiting for the Enterprise.”

  Kabreigny pursed her lips in stern disapproval and a network of fine wrinkles formed around them. “Since when is it your job to guess what Command thinks?”

  Kirk replied with equal forcefulness. “Since I took command of this ship, Admiral, and was given standing orders to interpret the laws and regulations of the Federation and Starfleet whenever I am outside the range of timely communication with both—which is just about all the time.”

  Kabreigny stepped closer to Kirk, staring up at him furiously. “ I am Starfleet Command on this ship, Captain. And we are in communication. The Enterprise isn’t a private yacht for your own amusement—for … games with tongue depressors.”

  Kirk made one of the hardest command decisions he had made in months: he kept his mouth shut.

  “Warp factor eight, Captain. Unless you’ve let standards on board the Enterprise drop so low you don’t think she can maintain it.”

  “Is that an order, Admiral?” The ship could manage warp eight for brief periods of time, but it strained all systems, as well as the ship’s structure.

  “You’re damned right it is.”

  “Then we’ll go to warp factor eight at my chief engineer’s discretion. And I shall also log my objection to the unnecessary risk to which your order has exposed this ship and crew.”

  Unexpectedly, Kabreigny almost grinned. She was clearly an officer who thrived on confrontation. “Noted, Captain. I will look forward to any board of inquiry you care to call.” Then, before Kirk could try to get the last word, Kabreigny turned her back on him and left the transporter room.

  Kirk stared at the doors as they slid shut behind her. McCoy came to stand by his side.

  “How’s your back, Captain?” He obviously thought there was more to Kirk’s foul mood than the provocation of the admiral’s curt manner.

  But Kirk ignored the question, just as he ignored the constant low-level pain around the knife wound. He thought McCoy was on the right track, but from the wrong side. “There’s something more to Admiral Kabreigny’s presence on this ship than that missing liner, isn’t there?” Kirk said.

  McCoy didn’t reply until Spock had dismissed the transporter technician and the t
hree senior officers were alone.

  “The message from Nancy Hedford can’t be going down too well at Command, either,” the doctor said.

  But Kirk shook his head. “No, even more than that. Her whole confrontational manner … I know she’s got a reputation for being abrasive, single-minded, determined to get her way no matter what the cost …”

  “They let people like that into Starfleet?” McCoy interrupted with an innocent expression.

  Kirk narrowed his eyes at the doctor’s idea of a joke. He preferred Sarek’s dry wit, instead. He turned to his science officer.

  “Mr. Spock, those … friends of yours who informed you about the explosion at Starfleet Archives, do you think they might be able to shed some light on the admiral?”

  “In what sense, Captain?”

  Kirk frowned thoughtfully. “Any special projects she might be involved in, special interests … anything that might explain what appears to be her overreaction to that liner’s disappearance and the message from the commissioner.”

  McCoy put his hand on Kirk’s arm in a cautioning gesture. “Is it an overreaction?” he asked.

  Kirk was certain. “On the surface, the worst thing I could be guilty of is failing to report a navigational hazard and conspiring with my ship’s surgeon to hide the true cause of death for an important passenger. From Command’s point of view, those are serious charges. But not as serious as the admiral is making them out to be.”

  “You don’t suppose she knows anything about Cochrane, do you?” McCoy asked.

  Kirk shrugged. “What if she does? As Spock said, he’s little more than a historical curiosity. His desire for privacy is so he can avoid the onslaught of historians he’d be subjected to.” Then Kirk caught sight of Spock’s expression, as if he were about to speak. “You don’t agree?”

  “Could it be possible that Cochrane has another reason for keeping his whereabouts secret?”

  McCoy rolled his eyes. “Like what? An ex-wife waiting for … what did they call it back then … ’alimony,’ Mr. Spock?”

  Kirk agreed with McCoy’s assessment. “As far as anyone else knows, he’s been dead for one hundred and fifty years.”

  “As I recall,” Spock continued, “history does not record much detail about the nature of his disappearance.”

  Kirk didn’t like his idea being sidetracked. “He was eighty-seven years old, Spock. He told us himself he was going to die and he wanted to die in space. That sounds like a man who had made a deliberate decision to break off with the details of living. I doubt he had any unfinished business.”

  Spock studied Kirk and McCoy for a few moments, then appeared to make his own decision. “Nonetheless, I shall investigate both avenues: Admiral Kabreigny’s interest in these matters, and the nature of Zefram Cochrane’s latter years, prior to his disappearance.”

  “At warp eight, you’ve got less than seventy-two hours,” Kirk said. “Which reminds me, I should be hearing from Mr. Scott right about—”

  The intercom signaled and Chief Engineer Scott’s agitated voice said, “Captain Kirk to Engineering.”

  Kirk went back to the wall panel, hit the Send switch. “Go ahead, Scotty.”

  “Captain, Admiral Kabreigny was just here—in the engine room, sir. And she says we’re t’ make warp eight all the way t’ Gamma Canaris.”

  “Is the Enterprise up to it, Mr. Scott?”

  “Aye, Captain. Warp eight and a wee bit more if you’ll be needing it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Kirk asked.

  “No problem, sir. It’s just that …” Scott obviously couldn’t bring himself to admit the reason for his call.

  “I understand, Scotty,” Kirk said. “Your orders are confirmed.”

  Scott quickly replied, “I wasn’t looking for confirmation, Captain.”

  “I know,” Kirk said with a smile. “No Starfleet officer would need to check the orders of an admiral.”

  “Absolutely not, sir.”

  “But off the record, Mr. Scott, there’s good reason to push the engines to warp eight,” Kirk said. “The admiral is not taking them for granted.”

  The relief in Scott’s voice was unmistakable. “Off the record, thank ye, sir. Scott out.”

  “Off the record,” McCoy added, “I’d say the admiral is not endearing herself to too many of the crew.”

  “Off the record,” Spock said, “I shall endeavor to find out why.”

  “And on the record,” Kirk said, “I don’t believe there is good reason to strain this ship. So for the Enterprise’s sake, and the admiral’s, Mr. Spock, I hope you do come up with something.”

  “I would prefer not to,” Spock said. To Kirk’s unvoiced question, he added, “As things stand now, the only logical explanation for the admiral’s behavior would be most distressing.” But he would not elaborate further, and left Kirk and McCoy in the transporter room, alone to wonder what Spock knew, and when they would learn it.

  NINE

  U.S.S.Enterprise NCC-1701-D STANDARD ORBIT LEGARA IV

  Stardate 43920.6

  Earth Standard: ≈ May 2366

  Picard touched the communicator at his chest and called for Engineering. Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge responded immediately.

  “Mr. La Forge, I want your opinion of the artifact being displayed on the main viewscreen.”

  “Calling it up now, Captain.”

  The chief engineer’s disembodied voice was the single one heard in the silence of the bridge. The only other sound was the pervasive background whisper of the Enterprise’s many systems. Everyone else had recognized the provenance of the artifact the Ferengi had displayed and which now filled the entire viewscreen, but Picard knew his crew remained silent in order not to interfere with their captain’s negotiations with DaiMon Pol.

  La Forge whistled. “I know what it looks like, Captain. Part of a Borg ship. Any idea what scale we’re dealing with?”

  Picard spoke to the empty air. “DaiMon Pol—”

  As quickly as that the Ferengi was back on the main screen.

  “You have our attention,” Picard admitted. “Can you provide any details as to the size, location, and operational status of the object you have shown us?”

  The Ferengi settled back in his own version of a captain’s chair. Unfortunately, it was designed for the larger frame of a Romulan and gave the impression of a child in a grown-up’s seat. Picard could imagine the Ferengi’s feet swinging back and forth above the deck.

  “Because I like you, Pee-card, I will give you some information, even though this generous offer on my part cannot profit me in any way.” The grin had returned. The DaiMon obviously felt he had regained control of the negotiations. “The object’s mass is forty-five point three five kilotonnes. And it has no operational status, though it does have a functioning power supply. The location, alas, is something I, as a poor though honest trader, must keep to myself. At least, for now.” The Ferengi’s grin broadened for a moment, then became an insincere frown. “But, if you are not interested, you are not interested. Such is the woeful lot of a trader. However, if there is anything else I might be able to provide for you or your crew … Romulan ale, Deltan holochips … anything at all, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I shall remain in orbit of Legara IV for, let us say, one standard hour.” DaiMon Pol’s image winked out, replaced by a forward view of the Warbird. It was crisp and steady. Whatever had earlier been wrong with its cloaking device had apparently been rectified.

  Picard turned to face his crew. “Lieutenant Worf: Send a priority message to Admiral J. P. Hanson, Starbase 324. Inform the admiral that a Ferengi trader has offered us the opportunity to ’purchase’ what appears to be a sizable and inactive section of a Borg vessel. Transmit the visual image DaiMon Pol showed us.” Picard tugged on the bottom of his tunic. “Senior officers, to the observation lounge.” He had an hour. It was time to plan strategy.

  In the observation lounge, Legara IV moved slowly past the windows and
the image of the Borg artifact was displayed on the main wall viewer. But everyone’s attention was on the captain.

  “At this distance from Starbase 324, we will not hear back from Admiral Hanson before DaiMon Pol’s time limit is up,” Picard said. “Which is a shame, because the admiral is leading the effort to prepare the Fleet for the inevitable arrival of the Borg.”

  “I think we can assume that the admiral will want that artifact, whatever the price,” Riker added thoughtfully.

  “Oh, I agree, Number One. But don’t let DaiMon Pol hear those words, ’at any price,’ because that’s exactly what he’ll charge.”

  “Not necessarily,” Riker replied. Picard and the other officers at the conference table waited expectantly. La Forge had arrived from Engineering, Dr. Crusher from sickbay, and Worf from his tactical console. Counselor Troi was still in her Parrises Squares uniform, but her face had returned to its usual, less florid color. Data sat beside her.

  “Please. Continue,” Picard said.

  Riker did. “I agree with your assessment of DaiMon Pol’s chances of conducting business with the Romulans. That ship is obviously stolen and the Ferengi are having a hard time operating her. There’s no doubt that the Romulans have had their own run-ins with the Borg, and would dearly love to get hold of that Borg artifact. But they’d dearly love to get hold of DaiMon Pol as well, so we might well be his only customer.”

  “Which will put us in a powerful negotiating position,” Troi concluded.

  “However,” Data added, “if there is even the slightest possibility of DaiMon Pol selling the artifact to the Romulans, I suggest we do all that we can to prevent their acquisition of it. If the Federation obtains the artifact and learns from it a suitable defense against the Borg, then the Federation will share that information with the Romulans and, indeed, with all the nonaligned systems. If the Romulans do the same, their past record indicates that they will not be as forthcoming.”