Kobayashi Maru

by Michael A. Martin

  “And why should any of the other members of this body assume that the human species is a monolithic entity that always achieves unanimity on every issue?” al-Rashid said. “I think we humans would be making a grievous error were we to harbor the same presumption about your species, Ambassador Gral.”

  The Tellarite’s only vocalized response was a guttural, harrumphing growl, which may or may not have been a Tellarite curse that the room’s universal translator system had mercifully failed to recognize. Ouch, Samuels thought, suppressing a triumphant grin.

  “The interior minister makes an important point, Ambassador Gral,” he said aloud. “Moving in lockstep is not something that comes naturally, even to us humans. I’m sure I needn’t remind anyone here that it has been only five years since the last of our world’s great independent nation-states finally agreed to join the global government of the United Earth.”

  As he watched the grave nods that passed among the Vulcans and Andorians, the latter group displaying a potent mix of emotions via their writhing antennae, Samuels thought, I can’t believe I’m trying to mollify these people by pointing out how bad humanity’s résumé looks when it comes to playing well with others.

  Ambassador Jie Cong Li of Centauri III rose from her seat, the slightness of her form doing nothing to negate the quiet dignity of her bearing. The room’s assemblage of scowling Andorians, grumbling Tellarites, and stonily impassive Vulcans made no move to interrupt as the prime minister nodded to yield the floor to the Centauri representative.

  “I do not wish to risk appearing overly agreeable with the ministers of the United Earth government,” the Centauri woman said, filling the room with the round, resonant vowels that characterized her people’s dominant accent. “But I must point out that New Samarkand, Alpha Centauri’s capital, is a good deal more remote from the center of Terran power than was Australia, the last of this planet’s nonaligned nation-states to allow itself to be enfolded into the UE government. I therefore implore all of our friends and allies from here to 61 Sygni and Procyon and 40 Eridani A to mark this occasion well. It may be the last time in the careers of everyone assembled here that the Earth and Centauri governments agree on anything.” Her grim smile provided the only clue that her words weren’t entirely serious.

  Great, Samuels thought, his guts churning as the Centauri delegate quietly reseated herself. If Li and I keep this up much longer, these people are going to start wondering why the hell they signed the Coalition Compact in the first place.

  The moment of discomfiture passed, however, dispelled by a wave of politely indulgent laughter, apparently started either by Ambassador Avaranthi sh’Rothress or the newly promoted Andorian Foreign Minister Anlenthoris ch’Vhendreni. The encouraging sound rippled quietly across the rest of the usually taciturn Andorian delegation. Vulcan’s contingent—the recently promoted Minister Soval, flanked by Ambassadors L’Nel and Solkar—reacted as one with gently surprised expressions that probably would have been polite laughter had the Vulcans belonged to just about any other humanoid race with which Samuels was familiar.

  In the VIP observation area located behind the semicircular array of diplomatic tables, Admirals Samuel Gardner and Gregory Black, along with Captain Eric Stillwell, the man in charge of Earth’s new warp-seven stardrive development program, and General George Casey, the iron-haired commandant of Earth’s Military Assault Command Operations, all looked like still-life studies with their medal-bedecked coats, folded arms, and grave attentiveness. From the press area positioned behind the Starfleet and MACO officers, several members of the media—including, Samuels noticed, that entirely too persistent female reporter Gannet Brooks—used the holocams that rested on their shoulders or in their heads to soak up every word and gesture. Grethe Zhor, the observer from Draylax, sat behind the press corps, taking in the entire tableau with an unreadable expression.

  Samuels clung to the hope that Zhor would prove to be the key to working through the Coalition’s current difficulties, the keen blade that would slice through the tangled dual Gordian knot of galactic one-upmanship and cutthroat domestic politics.

  A flash of motion in the observation gallery momentarily caught Samuels’s eye. When he recognized the small group of people moving quietly toward the balcony railing, he felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed that the newcomers weren’t yet another group of xenophobic former Terra Primers out to assassinate him in the name of God, Earth, and the late John Frederick Paxton’s obsession with human racial purity. Instead, Samuels found his eyes drawn to the one person he knew besides Grethe Zhor who might help bring the current unsettled situation to a satisfactory resolution: Captain Jonathan Archer, a man whom he’d once heard Minister al-Rashid describe as “a crisis that walks like a man,” perhaps because wherever he went both peril and opportunity seemed inevitably to follow. Samuels could only wonder which of those two aspects Archer’s presence here today augured.

  “The Centauri representative is as clever a talker as the Terran prime minister,” Gral continued, apparently as unmoved by the words of Ambassador Li and Earth’s ministers as by the Andorians’ uncharacteristic good humor. “And I do not doubt the truth behind anyone’s claims of human contentiousness, which no doubt fuels the obstinacy of both Earth and Alpha Centauri on the issue of the admission of Centauri III.” With that, the senior Tellarite diplomat sat, leaning back from the table with his arms folded truculently before him.

  Anlenthoris ch’Vhendreni of Andoria, known to most of the other diplomats present simply as Thoris, rose and began to speak before either of Earth’s ministers had time either to formally give him the floor or to interject any response of their own.

  “Indeed,” Thoris said, his antennae flattening aggressively backward along his well-groomed, white-maned skull. “Could this stubbornness be born of the fear that whatever remains of the outlawed Terra Prime movement might pressure the United Earth government to withdraw from the Coalition absent some guarantee of a human parliamentary advantage over the other members of this alliance? Centauri III’s admission would appear to represent just such a guarantee.”

  “That’s both ridiculous and unfair!” al-Rashid said, startling Samuels, who wasn’t used to seeing his colleague react with such vehemence. Samuels saw his usually phlegmatic colleague’s overstressed outburst as an ominous sign. It was also a tacit admission that the Tellarite’s assertion was anything but ridiculous. After all, no one who monitored Earth’s popular media, its independent editorial journals, or its talknets could plausibly deny that humanity’s small minority of committed xenophobes still maintained a formidable presence in the planet’s collective hindbrain, if only on a rhetorical, propagandistic basis.

  Nevertheless, this was a point on which anyone representing Earth’s interests could ill afford to give ground. Playing up Homo sapiens’s lack of unanimity for the purpose of defusing the other Coalition members’ fears of human hegemony was one thing; making Earth’s population appear ungovernable, or portraying its leaders as dysfunctional without the advantage of a potentially unfair plurality, were other things entirely.

  At the Vulcans’ table, Minister Soval rose, his hands clasped before his conservatively adorned Vulcan diplomatic robes as he addressed Samuels’s lectern. “Ridiculous or not, it is abundantly apparent that we will not resolve this matter soon or simply.”

  “At least that much is certain,” Gral muttered, evidently just within the universal translator system’s hearing threshold.

  Depressing as the realization was, Samuels had to admit that he was inclined to agree.

  “No wonder nobody’s been listening to my warnings about the Romulans,” Archer said quietly to Doctor Phlox, who sat to his left, his uncannily blue Denobulan eyes riveted to the diplomatic tableau unfolding beyond the railings that separated the balcony from the council chamber below. “These guys have their hands full just keeping the alliance from unraveling.”

  “I pledge never again to complain about the difficulties
inherent in practicing medicine,” Phlox said with a somber nod.

  “Indeed,” said T’Pol, who was seated at Archer’s other side.

  Lieutenant Malcolm Reed leaned forward against the railing between T’Pol and the seats that Ensigns Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather had taken. “Makes my job look dead easy,” Reed whispered, to silent nods of agreement from Hoshi and Travis.

  Archer watched as Soval addressed Minister Samuels, who stood at the central lectern. “I recommend we table the issue of Alpha Centauri’s admission pending a special meeting of this body dedicated to that purpose. We must move on to other essential business, most notably our collective security.”

  “Agreed, Minister Soval,” Samuels said, nodding. He then turned toward the observation gallery and did his best to make his voice project to the back of the room. “I call Captain Jonathan Archer of Starfleet to address the Coalition Council on these matters.”

  Phlox offered an encouraging smile as Archer rose from his seat. “Good luck, sir,” Hoshi said as he passed her chair and began making his way toward the nearby staircase that wound down toward the center of the council chamber.

  As he stepped onto the central dais to stand beside Minister Samuels, Archer did his best to ignore the sheer terror that always gripped him whenever he was called upon to address the crowned heads and eminences of the Coalition of Planets. Is it too late to order Malcolm to shoot me? he thought. He could take some comfort, at least, in the fact that his slightly late arrival seemed to have come just in time to preempt a filibuster that might have lasted for days.

  Samuels shook his hand warmly, gestured toward the lectern, and took a seat, yielding the floor to Archer. The delegates of four worlds, all of them once again seated behind a semicircular array of curved tables, watched him quietly, jangling his nerves further. Archer looked up and past them toward the gallery, where his senior officers sat watching him expectantly. Not far from them, Admiral Black, Admiral Gardner, and General Casey uniformly glowered at him over folded arms, like a trio of gargoyles. The light babble of applause that usually accompanied a guest’s ascension to the lectern was conspicuously absent, creating a lacuna of uncomfortable silence that Archer’s imagination filled with the stridulations of crickets and the low, warp core–like thrumming of his own anxious heartbeat.

  Wishing he hadn’t neglected to bring along the padd upon which he had organized his thoughts during the voyage to Earth, Archer cleared his throat and searched his mind for a way to get at what he had intended to say.

  Before Archer had uttered a single word, Gral suddenly rose to his feet and shouted, “I object!” Absurdly, Archer felt only gratitude for the interruption.

  “I presume that surprises no one,” Soval said, one eyebrow raised in what might have signaled droll Vulcan humor.

  “Captain Archer has addressed this body more times than has any other military officer from any Coalition world,” Gral continued, ignoring Soval’s verbal jab. “This is yet another sign of creeping human hegemony.”

  “Again, I must agree with my Tellarite colleague,” Thoris said, though he remained seated. “While I certainly respect the captain’s accomplishments on behalf of my world and other Coalition members, it is not appropriate for humans to so thoroughly dominate these proceedings.”

  Archer fumed quietly. So it’s all right to have me around only when you need somebody to keep Andoria, Vulcan, and Tellar from blowing each other’s fleets out of the sky.

  “Gral is correct,” Thoris said. “Under the Coalition’s parliamentary rules, a member world cannot unilaterally call one of its own people to address the Council if that person is not a duly recognized planetary delegate.”

  “That is true, Minister Thoris,” Soval said. “However, the United Earth government did not call Captain Archer here to speak. In fact, I have little doubt that the captain’s military superiors would prefer that he be elsewhere today.”

  Archer stole another glance at the admirals and the general, all of whose scowls seemed to deepen and intensify, confirming Soval’s contention, if only inadvertently. Boy, Soval, you don’t know the half of it, he thought, then allowed his gaze to drift back to the Vulcan minister to make certain that Admiral Gardner’s basilisk stare hadn’t just turned him to solid stone.

  “If Earth’s delegation did not call Captain Archer here, then who did?” said Thoris, his antennae thrusting forward in an apparent mix of curiosity and querulousness.

  “First Minister T’Pau of Vulcan,” Soval announced in his customary matter-of-fact tones.

  Thoris and Gral harrumphed in unison, almost as though they had rehearsed the joint maneuver in advance.

  “Proceed,” the Tellarite growled with a defeated sigh before dropping ungracefully back into his chair.

  Once more unto the breach, Archer thought. He cleared his throat again, screwed up his courage one last time, and plunged forward.

  “The Romulans,” he announced as his preface. “Maybe we’ve all been a bit too busy lately arguing among ourselves to focus on the threat they pose to every world in the Coalition and beyond. The attack on Coridan was only the first catastrophe to emerge while we’ve been preoccupied with politics.”

  “How can you be so certain that the Romulans are to blame for Coridan, Captain?” Gral asked, interrupting.

  Archer paused and thought of Trip, who had been behind enemy lines for the past several months, covertly risking his life. I wish I could tell you the plain unvarnished truth, Gral.

  “Indeed,” said Soval. “The Klingons are equally likely to be the responsible parties.”

  “Or a rogue asteroid strike, for that matter,” Thoris said.

  Archer shook his head. “With respect, Minister Thoris, asteroids don’t travel at multiwarp speeds. And I’ve never seen a natural impact produce an antiparticle flux capable of igniting half a world’s underground dilithium supply.”

  “But you cannot deny the occurrence of a number of recent border skirmishes between Coalition vessels and warships from the Klingon Empire,” Thoris said.

  Archer nodded. “Of course not, Minister. But the occasional up-front fight with the Klingons over territorial jurisdiction isn’t what I’m talking about here. Sneak attacks on dilithium freighters are something else entirely.”

  Soval raised an eyebrow. “The Klingon Empire is a starfaring civilization, like each of the Coalition worlds. They require dilithium just as we do.”

  “Blatant piracy just doesn’t fit the Klingon Empire’s profile, Minister Soval,” Archer said. Addressing the entire room, he continued. “You’re all aware of the recent attacks on Coalition cargo vessels. We’ve found the energy signatures of disruptor fire wherever we’ve recovered debris after one of these incidents. This is certainly consistent with Romulan technology.”

  “The Klingons have disruptors as well, Captain,” Soval said.

  “True enough,” Archer said, spreading his hands before him. “But would the Klingons ambush our ships while we’re still trying to negotiate the boundaries of the Neutral Zone between Coalition space and their own empire?” He held up a hand to forestall any interruption. “And again, everything I’ve learned firsthand about the Klingons tells me that sneaking up on unarmed freighters just isn’t their style.”

  “I must agree with that part of your assessment, Captain,” Soval said, stonily calm. “However, ambushes using disruptor weapons are also characteristic of the Orions, as well as a number of other races that you have, so far, been fortunate enough not yet to have encountered. The Breen, for example.”

  After all we’ve been through together over the past four years, he still sees us as poor relations, Archer thought, biting back a sharp verbal retort. Even now, he just can’t resist rubbing my face in how much more Vulcans know about the rest of the galaxy than we do.

  Then, doing his best to emulate Soval’s damnable coolness despite the concerted glowers of his superiors, Archer began methodically outlining the facts concerning the so-called pira
te raids of the last several weeks, taking care to reveal nothing that might compromise the secret of Trip Tucker and his present critically important covert activities behind enemy lines, or the secret kinship of the Romulan and Vulcan peoples.

  But the impassive demeanor of the assembled delegates immediately told him that only definitive firsthand evidence—information that would almost certainly compromise Trip’s ability to contribute to the continued survival of the Coalition, and maybe even that of Earth itself—would suffice to persuade the assembled wise heads of four worlds to set aside their many differences.

  And to act on something other than the ever-shifting internal politics of their fractious, fragile new alliance.

  Archer wondered, not for the first time, whether he had embarked on a fool’s errand by coming here.

  Archer’s main recollection an hour after he’d presented his case before the Coalition Council was that his audience had listened attentively for the most part, but had nevertheless seemed either unwilling or unable to deal head-on with the coming Romulan threat. Sitting in the copilot’s seat of Shuttlepod One beside Travis Mayweather, Archer silently dissected his own performance before the Coalition’s massed powers-that-be as he watched the fog-shrouded San Francisco skyline drop over the horizon. He felt almost robotic as he went through the motions of assisting his helmsman in taking the small auxiliary craft back up into the parking orbit where Enterprise awaited.

  Travis checked in with Lieutenant Donna “D.O.” O’Neill, Enterprise’s third watch commander, who confirmed the shuttlepod’s approach vector. Then Archer secured his console and rose from his seat to face the rest of his senior officers, all of whom were seated aft of the cockpit area. T’Pol regarded him with an all but unreadable expression, while both Phlox and Hoshi watched him as well, their gazes radiating quiet concern. Malcolm stared distractedly out of one of the small portside windows, apparently lost in his own thoughts.