Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

  Sliding his arm through hers, th’Tethis whispered, “Be glad that you confronted me, Charivretha. You now know you have one less enemy within the party. But remain on your guard.”

  Vretha hesitated. Finally she asked, “Can I count on your support, Elder Tha?”

  “You can count on no one to sacrifice their political career on your behalf, Charivretha. Remember that. You must convince your fellow Progressives that your usefulness is not at an end, and that they have more to gain than to lose by continuing to support you.”

  Vretha allowed a sigh to escape her nostrils. So she was in for a fight. She’d expected as much, but had not anticipated having to battle her own party. Had she gone into Enclave expecting its full support, her political end would have been swift. Th’Tethis had armed her with the knowledge she would need to have at least a chance at survival, and for that she was grateful. She told him so.

  The old thaan patted her arm. “Fight well,” he advised her in his soft, rasping voice, “and others will fight with you. Ah, here we are.”

  Entering into the Heroes’ Antechamber never failed to evoke awe in Vretha, no matter how many times she’d walked through this, the oldest room in the Parliament Andoria complex. She imagined the great ones who had gone before her, smoothing the flecked gray stone floor with their sandals, symbolically purifying themselves with water and oil before they undertook the sacred business of governing Andor. From four walls of the eight-sided room, the faces of the mythological Guardians studied all who approached the Grand Chamber, judging their worthiness. Before the vaulted archway that led within, Vretha and th’Tethis removed their shoes, then paused to wash their foreheads and palms in the mineral water bubbling up from the ground into the ritual basin, also carved from stone. Dabbing their fingertips in ornate vessels of sweet-scented oil, they touched their eyelids, noses, tongues, ears, and antennae, sealing the vessels of their senses from receiving or offering treachery. Pulling their hoods up from their shoulders to cover their heads, they approached the entrance.

  Four chan warriors, clothed in the dark padded armor of the old Imperial Guard, stood at the archway, ceremonial blades drawn in defense of the Enclave. Vretha announced her intent to join the gathering, and the guards stepped aside, pointing the tips of their weapons to the ground. She crossed over the threshold into the Grand Chamber, a room hewn entirely from a dark, almost black granite; as she’d anticipated, a full Enclave had convened around the diamond-shaped well in the middle of the room. Progressive leaders from Andor’s sixty-four electoral provinces knelt around the lip of the depression, facing the center, and leaving open spaces among them for her and th’Tethis.

  Striding toward the gathering, Vretha paused and bowed at the shoulders before the Empty Throne, situated between the archway and the Enclave. Legally, Andor was still a constitutional monarchy, despite the fact that no single ruler had reigned over the planet in centuries. Thalisar the Last, who first united her people centuries ago, had deliberately died childless—but not before implementing the parliamentary system that she had created to succeed her, and which had governed Andor ever since. The Empty Throne, unlike its namesake in the myths of Uzaveh, was kept to honor what Thalisar had achieved. In a single lifetime, she had utterly abolished the clan warfare that kept Andor divided for so long. Charivretha wondered grimly if she had envisioned the altogether different struggles that had replaced the clan conflicts.

  Eyes averted politely, Vretha knelt three places down from Presider ch’Shelos, while th’Tethis assumed his place on the opposite side of the well. On a signal from the Presider, those gathered around the Enclave basin moved to a sitting position, their legs dangling over the edge. Vretha glanced discreetly at the figures around the well, wondering how many friends she had left among them.

  “I apologize for the suddenness of this meeting, Charivretha,” ch’Shelos began, “but the party leadership felt it was critical that we have a dialogue before your press conference.”

  “You’ve called me here to ask me for my resignation,” Vretha said, determined to gain the upper hand quickly and unwilling to grant ch’Shelos the privilege of trumping her. “Let me be clear, then: I won’t do it. At a time when Andor needs an experienced voice in the Federation, there is no one who knows better how to represent our interests than I.” She would not gloat at the surprise the Presider projected.

  He recovered quickly from her opening. “You’ve honored us with your service, Councillor, but certainly you are wise enough to see that our present circumstance requires drastic action. Our administration is under siege from our political adversaries, the Visionists. The Progressives, as a whole, are fighting to keep our agenda moving Andor into the future. In that equation, Vretha, you are a divisor, a liability, because the Visionists have managed to put your face on their attacks.”

  “And you propose to balance the equation by subtracting me, is that it?” Vretha asked, holding her chin high. “I’m disappointed, Presider, that my own party, which has always fought passionately for the least of causes, would capitulate so easily to Visionist pressure.”

  Ch’Shelos’s eyes narrowed. “There is the larger vista to consider, Councillor. Even you can see that a strategic sacrifice may derail the Visionist attacks sufficiently to buy us the time we need—”

  “So you wish to buy yourselves time,” Vretha said. It was a risk, daring to interrupt the Presider, but she judged that now was the time to take a few risks. “That seems fitting in a way. Our entire agenda has been about buying time, after all, whether it’s the time to weather the political crisis of the moment, or the time to search for a genuine solution to our ongoing reproductive crisis. Buying more time has become an end unto itself. What do a few small sacrifices along the way matter—careers, relationships, lives—as long as we have more time?” Where had that come from? Vretha felt her inner heat rising, images of Thriss entering her mind unbidden.

  A representative in azure blue—she didn’t recognize him with his hood—spoke up. “A dramatic critique, Councillor, but a hypocritical one, since you have supported the strategy you now condemn throughout your career.”

  “I’ve not merely supported it,” Vretha countered forcefully, “I’ve helped shape it. Such is my point, Cha Presider and honored colleagues. History and experience have shown us that Andor has ever been a world of complexities, requiring that we be a patient people, reluctant to act in haste, determined to find the best solutions to our problems, not merely the most expedient ones. Eliminating me is the expedient solution. Time can truly be bought by allowing me to continue my work on behalf of our people. I therefore ask for a chance to counter the attacks against our party.”

  “Against yourself, you mean,” the blue-hooded one said. “You argue for your political survival, not ours, Charivretha zh’Thane. And you channel the voices of radicals such as your chei in your desperation.”

  A hiss escaped Vretha’s teeth. Murmurs rose among the members of the Enclave as she glared at the blue-hooded representative, fighting to hold back her rage. Her anger wasn’t for him alone, though. He was right about what she said—that Andorians might be sacrificing too much to buy time was Shar’s old argument. How many times had he said the same things to her to justify his defiance of the Andorian way, of her? Her preoccupation with their long-standing quarrel and all that it had wrought was splitting her focus. She’d made a mistake, she realized, that was about to cost her.

  Presider ch’Shelos suddenly held out his hand in front of him, palm down. “Enough!”

  The chamber fell silent. But Charivretha’s glare remained fixed.

  “This discord wastes our energies,” ch’Shelos said. “Councillor zh’Thane, as admirably passionate as your arguments are, they do not change the political realties we face. Your request for time is denied.”

  “I ask the Presider’s pardon,” a soft voice said, “but I wish to speak.”

  All heads turned in the direction of the speaker and ch’Shelos said, “Representiv
e th’Tethis is recognized.”

  The old thaan inclined his head. “You honor me, Presider. Thank you. I wish to say merely that I believe Councillor zh’Thane has, perhaps without realizing it, raised a point in this debate that we should consider before this august body does the bidding of its enemies and removes her from her post.”

  Charivretha’s anger yielded to surprise. The murmurs resumed among the other members of the Enclave. Despite his kindly, humble manner, th’Tethis was unmistakably on the attack. And more, he was actually taking the Enclave to task on her behalf, making himself a target for reprisal if the majority remained against her.

  “I see that I have everyone’s attention,” th’Tethis said with amusement as the murmurs died down. “Good. Then let me speak plainly. I am old. In the view of many, I know, I have overstayed my welcome, not only in parliament, but in this life. So be it. I will make no apology for that. For I am the last of my clan, our line having dwindled as so many others have in recent centuries. I have clung to my life fiercely for one reason: to delay the day of my clan’s extinction.” He looked around the Enclave, allowing his gaze to fall on each face. “It is a familiar paradigm, is it not?”

  No one answered. Vretha’s shock was absolute. She had known that the Tethis clan was small, but she never imagined—

  “I say this,” th’Tethis went on, “because what Charivretha has dared to say here about our buying time is true: We are consumed by it. So much so that we don’t give it much thought anymore. It comes to us naturally now, to put off inevitability. It pervades every aspect of Andorian life because, both as a species and as individuals, we see our death.”

  “Presider, enough of this,” said the blue-hooded one. “This rhetoric is off-topic and has nothing to do with—”

  “It has everything to do with why we are here,” th’Tethis interrupted, his flashing eyes fixed on the speaker. “And I remind you all that I have the floor.”

  “Continue then, Elder Tha,” ch’Shelos said.

  Th’Tethis reached out with a gnarled, trembling hand to the shoulder of the shen at his left and slowly rose to his feet, breaking the Enclave. It was a serious breach of protocol, but Vretha could not help but admire the old thaan’s audacity. The tactic’s symbolism was clear: Push me, th’Tethis was saying, and I will push back harder. Perhaps, like her, he felt that he had little left to lose at this point by offending the Enclave in order to make his point. But where she had stumbled, th’Tethis walked confidently.

  “Representative th’Sivas,” he resumed, addressing the blue-hooded one as he began to circle the Enclave, “you believe I spout rhetoric, that what I say has no bearing on the reasons for this gathering. I tell you that Charivretha zh’Thane’s political future and the plight of our people are inexorably linked. But like you, I did not truly see it—not until the councillor herself brought the two thoughts together.

  “As all of you are aware, there are rumors flying about radical new research under way at the Science Institute, ostensibly to explore the possibility of reengineering our biology. Andorians would be altered at conception in such a way that the four sexes would be reduced to two, making subsequent conceptions viable among pairs instead of quads. Our reproductive crisis would be solved in one generation.”

  Vretha’s stomach lurched. Wild conspiracy theories intruded on legitimate political discourse from time to time, but the revulsion she felt at such a monstrous idea made her wonder how anyone could give credence to it. She wasn’t sure if it was sheer fascination with the thought of such radical reengineering, or horror at the notion that some Andorians were desperate enough to be willing to alter the species fundamentally in order to insure its survival.

  “This is a vicious rumor devised by extremist factions in the Visionist Party to cast aspersions on Progressive integrity,” th’Sivas went on. “We should not dignify such gossip with discussion.”

  “On the contrary. We need to discuss it,” said th’Tethis, “because I believe you are correct, Representative th’Sivas. These rumors are, I think, part of a much broader strategy on the part of the Visionists to take control of the government by discrediting Progressive ideology. Or does anyone in this chamber truly think it is an accident that these rumors started surfacing at precisely the same time that the attacks on Councillor zh’Thane, and by extension, the Progressive Party, began?”

  Whatever protocol framed the discussion collapsed as representatives heatedly debated the implications of th’Tethis’s statements. Even ch’Shelos had become caught up in the debate with those nearest him. Vretha merely watched, trying unsuccessfully to get a read on the Enclave. Then, after several minutes, a young shen in a jade robe spoke up.

  “I have a question,” she began. “What if these aren’t merely rumors fabricated by the Visionists? What if the research is real?”

  Silence fell. Into it, ch’Shelos asked, “Do you have reason to believe that it is, Representative sh’ Yethe?”

  “I have reason to wonder if we should dismiss the idea out of hand, Presider,” sh’ Yethe said. “Especially after all that has been said so far today…. I wonder if this wild rumor isn’t exactly the solution we’ve sought for generations?”

  Vretha saw th’Tethis narrow his eyes at the young shen. Not disapproving, she saw, but thoughtful.

  Th’Sivas seemed incredulous. “You’re talking about a crime against nature.”

  “Some would argue that what has happened to us is a crime against nature,” sh’ Yethe countered. “Or perhaps a crime of nature. We all know the stakes here. For centuries science has sought answers to our dilemma and failed. In our desperation, we implemented the bond-matching programs to maximize the chances for successful conceptions. To that end, we’ve altered our culture, our values, our ways of thinking about bonding and how we raise our young, and the best we’ve done is to slow the decline. But how long can we truly endure this way? The best minds among us believe that we have ten generations, perhaps fifteen, before the light that is Andor is extinguished. Am I the only one willing to consider that this may well come down to choosing to die as we are, or to live as something else?”

  “This monstrous extremism,” th’Sivas began, “is precisely why the Visionist attacks are succeeding. Our party is riddled with radicals who will rationalize any idea, no matter how extreme, without considering the consequences. They want immediate results but fail to recognize that some lines should not be crossed. I put it to you, Presider, that these efforts to dilute the matter at hand must not succeed. There is one real issue before this Enclave: Charivretha zh’Thane’s political future.”

  “They are linked,” th’Tethis insisted. “If we dismiss zh’Thane now, we are guilty of seeking the same immediate results you claim are espoused by radicals.”

  Ch’Shelos stared into the well for a long moment before turning his gaze on her. “Is there anything you wish to add, Charivretha, before I put the matter to a vote?”

  Vretha met the Presider’s eyes; then she rose to her feet, facing him. “Our human associates have a myth: an intricate knot that could be unraveled only by the true ruler of the world. Many tried and failed to untie the knot, until one came with a sword and cut the knot in twain.

  “Andor has no analogue to this tale. Seldom do we act in haste, for we believe that to do so would be to blind ourselves to the possible consequences of our actions. Yet we know inaction is equally perilous, carrying its own share of consequences. So we have always tried to find a balance.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I will find the answers. Allow me to continue in my fight for my council position, and I will expose this matter of reengineering our species for the myth it is. And by so doing, I will reveal the deceits the Visionist Party has attempted to perpetuate on our people. I ask that I be allowed to act, with care and sober thought, not on my own behalf, but for all of Andor.” She glanced briefly at th’Tethis, whose eyes were again crinkling at her. Then she searched the faces of her colleagues, many of whom had sought her counsel
or asked for her endorsement in their campaigns—and dared them to defy her.

  A chime sounded. The Presider picked up the executive padd from its place at his side, excused himself, and read the incoming message. He studyed the data for several minutes, during which Vretha could sense a change in him. His antennae had tensed, and he radiated profound concern.

  The Presider tapped out an acknowledgment to the sender and then dropped the padd into an inner pocket of his robe. “As is my prerogative,” he told the Enclave, “I am tabling this discussion owing to an unfolding situation. Details are still scarce, but I will share what is known.

  “As some of you may have noticed on your way here, a rally was being organized in the Plaza of Freedom, outside the Parliament Andoria complex, presumably by our Visionist colleagues across the aisle. While we’ve been here, nearly sixteen thousand protesters have gathered in the plaza. They have been calling for the present administration to step down, and for new representation to be sent to the Federation Council.”

  Vretha braced herself. The number of protesters was distressingly higher than usual, but not dangerously so for the plaza. And the demands were much the same as in other recent rallies. There must be worse news coming….

  “Similar demonstrations have been reported throughout the capital and in nearly every major population center on the planet, all taking place simultaneously. Current estimates are that as many as eight million protesters are involved. Homeworld Security is attempting to maintain order, but we are receiving reports of violence and property damage sweeping through several cities, including this one.”

  The Enclave sat in stunned silence, until Vretha asked, “Casualties?” The word seemed to catch in her throat.

  Ch’Shelos looked directly at her. “No figures are available yet. But a number of deaths are already confirmed.”