“That’s unfair,” Blackmer conceded. “The nestor, Pa’Dan, asked politely. The others were demanding stridently.”
“That’s certainly the Cardassian style,” Ro said. “Any reason not to let them go? Some of those taunts were pretty vicious.”
Blackmer eyed her curiously. “Giving the benefit of the doubt to the Cardassians?”
“I’m trying to be fair,” Ro said. “And you’ve got to have some sympathy for their plight.”
“I’m not saying sympathy isn’t appropriate,” said Blackmer. “But I’m curious as to what’s provoked it in this case.”
Because lost children tugged at anyone’s heart—if you still had a heart. “Then in the interests of being fair,” Ro said, in irritation, “by all means let us keep the Cardassians overnight too.”
“The wheels of justice do grind slow,” agreed Blackmer.
“And in the meantime, I’ll ask Odo to have a word with them to calm them all down.”
Blackmer put down his tea and sighed.
“What?” Ro said.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing. Go on, fire ahead.”
“Well . . . Odo.”
“What about him?”
“He’s proving indispensable around here,” Blackmer said.
Ro smiled. “That’s not jealousy I’m hearing, is it?”
“I’m jealous,” said Blackmer, with dignity, “only of his ability to reach across the Plaza and knock a knife out of someone’s hand. But since I’ll never have that ability I may as well forget about it.”
“Good philosophy,” said Ro. “I’ll never get to drink the bar dry either.”
* * *
They came aboard the Athene Donald using their own means, having no interest in the offer of transporters. There were five of them, all dressed in black with silver markings that—one conjectured—signified rank and status. They were close enough to human that one would think you would be put at ease, but they were different in ways that daunted. They were very tall, and austere, and their eyes were somber and unblinking. Each one, it seemed, was tasked to perform some function: one observed the room into which they had transported; another appeared to be making notes upon the team that had been assembled to meet them—Tanj, Delka, Pulaski, Alden, Metiger: four species under the single banner of friendship and curiosity, a message they hoped would prove universal. Another perhaps took readings: atmosphere, gravity, life signs. When these brief tasks—performed with speed and efficiency—were complete, each turned to report briefly to one of their number, in low voices, and in a soft clicking and whistling language that could not be understood. Only when this was done did one of them speak. This one had remained still throughout, waiting for the others to report.
“My name is Tey Aoi of the Chain. I greet each species gathered here today. Let me assure you all—we come in peace.”
Pulaski couldn’t help herself. It popped out before either Delka or Tanj had the chance to say something more appropriate. “That’s good,” she said. “So do we.” She thought about that. “Mostly.”
Six
Captain’s Log, Personal.
Formal study of any civilization usually begins with an overview of its forms of government, a description of its levels of technological development, a general statement of the primary definitive forms of social organization by which the main species arrange themselves, and so on and so on. Naturally such data is of great interest and can be of considerable assistance, particularly in situations where diplomatic relations are being opened and formalized.
But it is very rare that the first face a civilization presents is the definitive face, if indeed such a thing can exist. Whom do we generally meet first? The legislators, the governors, the elite. And their perception of their civilization will surely differ from that of the exile, the runaway, the dispossessed. A careful student of other worlds and cultures quickly learns to look beyond the formal face presented to discover what he or she can about the ordinary people—or, even more wisely, the marginal. One learns the true nature of a civilization from the way it treats its sick, weak, and poor. The extent to which elites wish to deflect you from such a goal can also be illuminating.
But what if such people cannot be found? Perhaps one is indeed encountering that rarity: a world without the dispossessed, in which all members of a society are truly valued for their individual worth and are not merely vessels for the will of others or means by which the powerful attempt to achieve their ends. Or perhaps, as seems more likely, a harmonious surface conceals something more disquieting underneath . . .
When this mission had been at the planning stages, Maurita Tanj had, in her discussions with the board of the institute, pushed for the best ship available. It was a matter of Federation pride, she said. They should show the other powers the courtesy of the best—and of course it wouldn’t do any harm to show them the extent of their capabilities. The board had liked these arguments, which appealed to both their utopian and pragmatic sides. Tanj’s reward had been the Athene Donald: a brand-new Olympic-class vessel, with state-of-the art research facilities that would make any team of scientists drool with envy. The Enterprise had been a more impressive ship to serve on as CMO, Pulaski thought, but the Athene Donald was the ship upon which she would do her best work.
Tanj therefore took their guests from the Chain around her ship with a great deal of pride. The idea for this mission might have been Pulaski’s, but it had taken Tanj to persuade the institute to give them the ship and to assemble this remarkable team from across the political divides. There were not many people in the Federation with the personal and professional clout to have achieved this, Pulaski knew. Tanj’s pride was well earned, and Pulaski was delighted on her friend’s account that this early on, the mission was offering her the chance to show off.
But as the day wore on, Pulaski became more and more uneasy. The team from the Chain was not hostile or aggressive, but neither was it effusive. They followed Tanj wherever she took them—through extensive laboratories, past the brilliant statistical-modeling teams, in front of beautiful new equipment to study stars and space and the wonders of the universe—but Aoi and the rest seemed largely unmoved. In fact, Pulaski thought, they seemed weary, as if everything they saw was old news, stale and uninteresting. Even the transcendent luminosity of Metiger (who, Pulaski noticed, was putting on an amazing show) seemed not to move them.
Occasionally, a few clicks and whistles passed between them, as if something was found worthy of comment. Pulaski would have given a Nobel Prize to understand what these odd noises meant, but the ship’s translators were being somehow bypassed by their visitors and their conversations remained tantalizingly impenetrable. Perhaps they were wondering when they would be offered a cup of tea and a sit-down. Perhaps they were wondering where the toilets were. As the day wore on, and the Chain seemed unmoved by whatever Tanj threw at them, Pulaski became steadily more and more annoyed on her friend’s account. They could show some interest.
“Have you met people from our civilization before?” Pulaski said suddenly, cutting Tanj off partway through an explanation of the work being done in Lab 16. “I ask because you look like you’ve seen all this.”
It was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over the proceedings. The whole charade was shown up to be exactly that—a charade. Despite all Tanj’s effort, there was no meaningful contact happening here: only a series of protocols being enacted.
Aoi turned a pale impassive eye upon her, taking a moment to consider her. Pulaski got the impression the alien was recognizing her independent existence for the first time. Anyone would have bristled at such a realization and Katherine Pulaski more than most. She all but snarled back at him.
“We have not met your species,” Aoi said. “You are new.”
“But you’ve met people like us?”
One of Aoi’s colleagues whistled something, but Aoi cut through with a sharp click. Turning back to Tanj, Aoi said
, “We have met many people in our time.”
Tanj said gently, “We would like to hear more about that, if you were willing.”
“Perhaps we might arrange a later meeting. For now we shall continue with this tour. You still have much to show us, I believe.”
“Certainly,” Tanj said. “If you’d like.”
Aoi nodded, not particularly enthusiastically, in Pulaski’s opinion, and they carried on their way. Pulaski caught Delka’s eye and saw at once that the Ferengi woman was sharing her own sense of . . . not unease . . . anticlimax. Perhaps it was vanity, but you’d like to think that an alien species meeting you for the first time would find something of interest to write home about. Alden, brushing past her, muttered under his breath, “Mostly harmless.”
The tour continued. Pulaski found the situation increasingly excruciating, but Tanj’s enthusiasm remained high throughout, or at least she was putting on a good show. When the last lab had been observed by their visitors’ tired, bored eyes, the group convened in one of the ship’s reception rooms. A very nice spread had been provided. Pulaski fell on the first bottle of wine to hand, although a sharp glance from Tanj reminded her there was a small protocol to follow first. Glasses were duly filled and handed around.
“It’s customary in the Federation to mark special occasions with hospitality, and with a toast—” began Tanj.
“We have seen this ceremony elsewhere,” said Aoi.
There was a pause before Tanj regrouped. “Well, then, if you’re familiar with it, we can go straight ahead. Allow me to lift my glass and offer a toast to friendship between all our species.” She turned to speak to her colleagues as much as to their visitors, and Metiger, at least, appeared touched by the statement and the gesture. Her skin rippled in response and she lifted her glass, smiling at Tanj, and following her example and taking a sip of the wine. From her expression, she seemed to find the taste pleasant, and she immediately sipped again. Perhaps they might have her in the bar by the end of the mission, Pulaski thought. She glanced at Aoi and the other visitors. They lifted their glasses in rather peremptory fashion and did not drink beyond the first, necessary sip.
Some rather awkward attempts at conversation ensued. After a few minutes, Pulaski hid herself behind the bottles. She found Delka there already. “Get me out of here,” Pulaski whispered.
“If you know a way out,” Delka whispered back, “I’ll be glad to follow.”
Eventually, after what seemed like the minimum amount of time they could politely remain, the visitors exchanged a few quick clicks, and they all put down their glasses. “Thank you for the meeting here today,” Aoi said. “We will return and then discuss in detail the nature of your mission and research.”
Pulaski stepped forward. “You mean here on our ship?”
Aoi nodded.
Alden said, “When can we come to your ship?”
A few clicks and whistles.
“In due course.” Aoi’s head bent briefly, and then the Chain’s transporters picked up the team, transferring them back to their ship without fuss. The room seemed suddenly very empty.
“For the love of God, somebody hand me a bottle,” said Pulaski into the silence. She poured out wine liberally for them all, Metiger included. “Get that down you,” Pulaski advised. “It’ll make everything seem better. Maurita, that was awful.”
“You think?” Tanj received her glass gratefully and sank into the nearest chair.
“In many ways,” said Delka, “it was a textbook first encounter. Although I don’t know the textbook we were working from.” She sighed. “It’s not as if anything went wrong. And we do have these further meetings.”
“All to take place here, I note,” said Alden.
“I noticed that too,” said Pulaski.
“And I’m dying to get a look around their ship,” Alden said.
“Me too,” said Pulaski.
Alden eyed her. “We’ll make a spy of you yet.”
“Over my dead body,” said Pulaski firmly. “But the fact is we seem to have allowed them direct access to our ship without any reciprocal arrangement.” She frowned. “I don’t much like that.”
“Nor do I,” said Alden.
There was a slight cough. The two humans, the Ferengi, and the Trill all turned to look at the Tzenkethi. “Might I suggest,” Metiger said, “that we open ourselves to these people fully and without hesitation?” She turned to Tanj. “We must build trust. If allowing them to see more of the Athene Donald is the way to do this, then let us embrace it. I, at least”—and she turned her amber eyes slowly toward Alden—“have nothing to hide.”
Tanj smiled warmly at Metiger. “You’re quite right. None of us has anything to hide. We can approach these meetings with complete openness and a desire to share knowledge and earn friendship. That’s what this ship is all about. Thank you for reminding us of the purpose of our mission.”
The Tzenkethi woman pressed her hand against her chest in a gesture of respect.
“Kitty,” said Tanj, “you’re looking thoughtful. I don’t like it when you look thoughtful. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. But I don’t like feeling tolerated. Humored, even.”
“They didn’t strike me as having much of a sense of humor,” said Alden.
“We might be missing the joke,” said Delka.
“It’s not quite that,” Pulaski said. “You know, I hate to say this, but I think we bored them.”
There was a pause as they all considered how that might be the case. “Not possible with you on board, surely, Katherine?” said Alden.
Pulaski raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get too familiar, Commander.”
“That, incredibly, was my attempt to be gallant.”
“Stick to spying, it’s what you’re good at.” But Pulaski was pleased that Alden had relaxed enough to banter with her, and pleased to see the comparative ease with which he was now speaking to Metiger. Tanj knew what she was about, putting them together. Perhaps he might yet shake off his unease around the Tzenkethi. As long as it wasn’t replaced by mistrust for the Chain.
* * *
Mhevita Pa’Dan sat uncomfortably in the chair in Ro’s office, ramrod straight and plainly very embarrassed. “I certainly did not anticipate that there would be such disruption, Captain,” she said. “You’ve been nothing but helpful since our arrival and this is a poor reward for the aid you’ve given us.” She glanced over at Odo. “You too, my friend. I don’t want to cause trouble for either of you.”
“It wasn’t a great turn of events, no.” Ro sighed. “I understand your frustration, Nestor Pa’Dan. We’ve reached a roadblock with the Romulan repatriation committee, and the castellan’s office is trying to find out why they’re no longer willing to speak to us. If you can have a little more patience . . .”
Pa’Dan started in her chair. Odo, seeing the movement, intervened quickly. “I know that ten years is far too long to be patient, Mhevita,” he said gently. “But things are moving forward now. Give us a little time. The castellan will help us, I’m sure. But these behind-the-scenes negotiations can be delicate, and the Romulans took umbrage at the fact that the castellan has become involved, even tangentially—”
“But that sounds like we’ve taken a step backward!” Pa’Dan said wildly. “Is Varis even speaking to you?”
Ro resisted glancing at Odo. “Varis is proving difficult to get hold of right now.” Lifting her hand in an attempt to forestall any more anxiety on Pa’Dan’s part, and speaking more confidently than she felt, she said, “Varis was put on the spot, that’s all. You’ve got your diplomatic corps working on this now, and don’t forget that there’s our tacit support—the support of Starfleet and the Federation—behind what your own diplomats are doing.”
“The castellan will help,” Odo said. “I promise.”
“Very well,” said Pa’Dan. “I’ll be patient. Again. And in the meantime”—she glanced at Ro—“I promise that there will be no repeat of wha
t happened yesterday.”
“I appreciate that,” said Ro.
Pa’Dan left worried but mollified. “You’re quite sure the castellan will help?” asked Ro after she had gone.
“I’ll skin him alive if he doesn’t,” Odo growled.
“That’ll look good on the wall of my office,” said Ro. But she was comforted that it was, at least, unlikely that there would be more trouble on the Plaza. Diplomacy often moved too slowly for her taste, but she had to admit that, very often, it did get results. She felt she had done all she could for Pa’Dan, beyond what might have been expected.
She certainly did not expect the conversation she had later that day with a Representative Brooking from the Federation Council. He came on-screen crossly red faced and infinitely self-important. Ro took an immediate dislike to him.
“Captain Ro,” he said, “I’m not going to waste time.”
“Oh, good,” she muttered.
“Is it true that you’ve had private conversations with Castellan Garak? That you’ve asked him to put pressure on the Romulans on behalf of one of his own citizens?”
Since the councilor had not seen fit to introduce himself fully (presumably on the grounds that he was so important that Ro would know who he was), the captain surreptitiously looked him up. Head of a committee tasked to improve relations with the Romulans. She sighed and braced herself for the inevitable drubbing. “I guess you could say that I have—”
“I’ve got a message here from a Major Varis saying that’s exactly what you’ve been up to. Captain, this is a delicate time between us and the Romulans—”
“It’s always a delicate time between us and the Romulans,” Ro muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, sir. What were you saying?”
“Look, Captain Ro, we’re closer to détente than ever before, and the last thing I need is Starfleet clodhopping around our negotiations.”
It would be nice, Ro thought, if middle-ranking officers such as herself and Varis could rely on some kind of transimperial solidarity not to carry tales back to the other’s superiors, but apparently this aspect of Federation-Romulan relations needed some work too. And since there was no point in saying that she had been specifically instructed by Command to support Odo and Pa’Dan, she let the councilor get on with telling her off.
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