“Do you like the monarchy?” I asked.
“Like it?” The Andorian spat on the dusty floor of the bazaar. “I like having a strong ruler and social order, but I also want to have some say in these matters. The problem with a monarchy is that there is no way to remove a bad king … except as we saw with Collev.”
“You don’t think his death was an accident?” asked Riker.
“Shhhh!” hissed the old woman. “We don’t say such things in public.” Loudly she demanded, “Do you want a royal portrait or not?”
I scratched my chin and gazed at the young king’s portrait. “How old would Thurl be now?”
“About your age, I should imagine.”
Riker looked at me and smiled. “If his bloodlines were impeccable back then, they’re probably still impeccable.”
That was exactly what I was thinking. At our next meeting with representatives of the Red Sash and the Absolutists, the bickering started all over again. I realized there was no way either of these stubborn parties would agree to the other choosing a king. It was time to suggest a third party acceptable to both.
When I suggested Thurl, both sides were in shock, because neither one could immediately produce a reason to dismiss it. My staff had even come up with precedents in Andorian history where deposed kings had come back to reclaim the throne. It took some arm-twisting, but both sides finally agreed to put Thurl back on the throne. Both got something they wanted in return——the Red Sash received a full pardon for their crimes, and the Absolutists got to keep their privileged positions.
As neither side trusted the other, they asked us to fetch Thurl from his exile on Pacifica and bring him to the coronation. Understand, this was quite a pleasant exile—on an ocean planet that many consider to be one of the most beautiful in the Federation. Thurl and his family had been living in ease and splendor for decades, and I really wondered how eager he would be to jump into the fire.
I needn’t have worried. When our shuttlecraft landed on his private island, Thurl himself met us at the landing pad. He was a towering, robust man with a great shock of white hair. “Captain Picard!” he said magnanimously. “This is a great day for Andoria, our people, and my family.”
After Thurl showed us around his estate, he served us afternoon tea in a courtyard surrounded by a lush garden. Lavendar bougainvillea grew everywhere, and I could smell jasmine and native flowers I didn’t know—it reminded me of Tahiti. We met Thurl’s family—two wives, a co-husband, and two children. One would think that a family with four adults would have numerous children, but Andorian females seldom bear more than one child in their lives. His two wives wept openly at the prospect of leaving their paradise for the capital. But it was his oldest son, Prince Yevan, who was the most vociferous.
“I refuse to go,” declared the young prince, who was about seventeen years old. The youth was tall and slim, with a disdainful curl to his lip. “I don’t want to leave my friends and my school. I’ve never even been to Andoria—why should I want to live there? Remember, Father, the last time you went to Andoria, they treated you shabbily. This is a dubious offer at best, and we don’t need all these headaches and responsibilities. For what? We have everything we need right here, with our friends and business associates.”
“He’s right,” said the youngest wife, sniffling through her tears. “And don’t forget the danger … the court intrigue. What do you think happened to Collev?”
Thurl’s cheeks filled with rage, and his blue skin turned a mottled shade of purple. I thought he would explode at his family, but his shoulders finally slumped in resignation.
His voice rasped, “I would expect concern from my spouses, but the selfishness of my eldest son is painful. I know … it’s my fault that Yevan is spoiled and has no purpose in life, no sense of loyalty. What else could he learn in this pampered existence? It’s true, I was treated shabbily when I was king, but I was young and foolish. I bought this paradise for you with my own shame and cowardice…. It seems I must keep paying.”
The once and future king sighed, and his antennae seemed to droop. “It’s been a high price, much higher than I anticipated. I’ve watched upheaval and change on my homeworld from a distance, helpless to do anything. I always knew I had made a mistake leaving the throne, and I chanted for an opportunity to redeem myself. My chants have been answered, and now it’s my duty to help my people … to avert a civil war. There’s a power vacuum and a vacuum in my heart, and I plan to fill both of them.”
“Father!” said Yevan with exasperation. “You’re good at making the speeches—you’ll do fine at that—but think of the rest of us! Do we really have to be uprooted?”
“I’m sorry, Captain Picard,” said Thurl, mustering some of his old dignity. “I’m sorry you had to see this family quarrel. We Andorians are a passionate people, even those of us in exile, and we don’t like change. But change comes anyway, usually at the expense of comfort.”
I cleared my throat and tried to speak softly, with an air of neutrality. “Everyone has signed the accords and agreed on you. There are no outstanding issues. We’re all very appreciative that you agreed to reclaim the throne, because it did avert a crisis.”
“My pleasure,” answered Thurl, jutting his chin. “I think I’m wise enough to be king now. If my family wishes me to go home alone, then so be it. Now I can leave that much sooner, since I only have to pack for one. If you’ll excuse me, Captain Picard, I’d like to take a last swim in the ocean. I’ll miss these warm, lustrous waters.”
“Can I swim with you, Father?” asked Prince Yevan, offering an olive branch of peace.
“I think not, Son. I wish to be alone.” Thurl walked down the steps toward the beach, already removing his silky garments. “Show Captain Picard and his party to the gallery—I think he’ll appreciate our modest collections. Captain, shall we say three hours until departure?”
“That will be fine, Sir.”
It could have been much longer until departure, as far as I was concerned. Thurl’s gallery was incredible—first editions of Bolian star maps, hand-carved Vulcan lyres, Klingon knives, artwork of impeccable taste from all over the galaxy. Despite opposition from his own family, I began to feel good about the selection of Thurl as king. He seemed an intelligent being, sadder but wiser after his exile, and he was motivated to do a good job.
Most of my crew had returned to the Enterprise, but I was still poking around the gallery when I heard a commotion outside in the corridor. I was about to stick my head out, when Prince Yevan charged into the room, looking for me. He had a wild, frightened gleam in his eyes, and I heard someone wailing in another part of the house.
“My father—” rasped the youth. “He’s dead.”
“What? How?” I sputtered.
“Drowned in the ocean.” Yevan shook his head inconsolably. “They just found his body. He swam on that beach every day … hundreds of times. How could this happen?”
“We’ll investigate,” I promised, not knowing what else to say.
“No,” muttered Yevan, replacing his grief with steely resolve. “There’s no point—accident or murder, it’s all the same. But I do insist that my father receive a proper royal funeral. The Valley of Sorrows is a remote wilderness on Andoria, where the royal remains are left to be consumed by wild animals, called kritkraws. Even if he can’t be king, he can be honored as a king with the rending ceremony.”
“We’ll do what we can,” I answered, “but my primary concern is to negotiate a peaceful transition to power for the next ruler. I need to contact the Absolutists and the Red Sash.”
The young Andorian shouted, “No! You came here to drag my father out of his comfortable retirement—to put him in harm’s way—so you owe him this much respect. You will take charge of his body, Captain Picard, and return him to Andoria for the rending. I will go with you, to make sure you do.”
With that, the youth turned on his heel and marched away. I admit, I’ve never gotten along famously with young p
eople—most of them are rude, spoiled, and demanding. Yevan was all of these and more. But I let him go without saying a word, forgiving his outburst as grief.
I tapped my combadge. “Picard to Enterprise.”
“Riker here,” answered a familiar voice. “I was just about to call you, Sir.”
“I hope you have better news than I do, Number One. Thurl is dead—drowned in the ocean.”
I heard a low whistle. “That’s bad, Sir. It may explain why there are three Andorian warships trying to hide from us in the asteroid belt.”
“Can you tell which camp they’re in?”
“No, both sides have warships like this—Spirit class. They’d be a match for us.”
I lowered my voice and strode away from the door. “Transport a medteam to my coordinates. Tell them to be equipped to handle a body. In fact, tell them to bring enough materials to handle two bodies.”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Riker, knowing when not to ask questions.
Within the hour, our medteam had taken over Thurl’s body from the local authorities. After a brief autopsy, they confirmed that he had drowned. We couldn’t tell whether it was an accident or not, and we didn’t have time for a full investigation. Thurl’s body was placed in a stasis container and brought to the lovely courtyard, where the entire household could pay their last respects.
Spouses, friends, and servants wept openly, but Prince Yevan seemed preternaturally stoic. He was intent upon seeing that his father was given royal treatment, even though the king’s first reign had been brief and his second nonexistent.
I sidled up to the prince and said, “Can I see you in private?”
“Right now?” asked the youth impatiently.
“It’s urgent.”
Yevan finally agreed to meet me in a small anteroom behind a curtain, which was perfect for my purposes. “What’s so urgent, Captain Picard?” he demanded.
“Please wear this communicator badge.” I pinned the badge on him and tapped my own. “Sequence one, energize. Duck your head, please.”
Yevan yelped as his body dematerialized, along with mine. We rematerialized on the small transporter platform at the rear of my shuttlecraft, the one I had stepped off several hours earlier. The young Andorian glared at me. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Just trying to carry out your orders.” I dashed down the aisle and slid into the pilot’s chair. “Have a seat, we’re leaving immediately.”
“But my father’s body is out there in the courtyard!”
“I’m afraid not,” I answered. “It’s there, behind the seats.”
Yevan leaned over the last row of seats and pulled up a tarp. Under the tarp was a stasis container identical to the one lying in the courtyard, the one over which the entire household was weeping. Gingerly he touched the sides and felt cold sinew under the shroud.
“Captain, this is outrageous!” he snapped. “You’ve made a mockery of our customs!”
“I’ve done no such thing,” I answered. “Now sit down, or you’ll be knocked off your feet.”
I ignited the thrusters, and the young Andorian stumbled into a seat just as the shuttlecraft lifted off the ground. He kept jabbering and complaining, but I ignored him while I carefully checked my instruments. I wanted to make sure nobody was following us or had paid undue attention to our departure. As we left Pacifica’s atmosphere, I was satisfied that no ships were on our tail.
“All right, let me explain,” I said. “I had a feeling that your house was being watched, maybe from people inside. I wanted everyone to think that your father’s body, and you, were being taken to the Enterprise, not this little shuttlecraft. On this ship, we can come and go from Andoria as we please, without raising any suspicion. It will make the rending ceremony easier.”
“I suppose so,” murmured the prince. “But why couldn’t you tell me in advance?”
“Because you had to disappear without a trace. I couldn’t risk that you would say something.”
“Why?”
I gritted my teeth, dreading this moment. “I mediated the new accords, so I know every word that’s in them. The right of ascension is spelled out there for future generations, so Andorians can have a peaceful transition of power from now on. After Thurl’s death, it’s clearly spelled out that you are the rightful heir to the throne. You’re next in line.”
The young Andorian looked stricken with fear and anger in equal measure. “What! You would do this without my permission? And I’m next in line for what—assassination?”
“After Andorians crown a king, it’s rare for him to be assassinated,” I answered. “And nobody can hurt you if they don’t know where you are. I’m sorry that you weren’t consulted, but you’re about to pay the price for your privileged life. You knew you were the son of a king. Or did you think all Andorians lived in such luxury?”
He stammered something, but I kept going. “Yevan, after meeting you, I don’t expect you to rule your people and their vast empire. But I do want to keep you alive until we can work out some arrangement for a new ruler. Then you’ll be free to sell your throne, like your father did.”
“Captain Picard!” he said, his voice breaking. For the first time since we had met, tears formed in the young Andorian’s pale eyes. “I never knew until today how much giving up the throne pained my father. We would see Collev on the news at some dreary dedication or meeting, and my father would laugh and say that could have been him. I thought my father was wildly successful … a carefree rogue. Now I find that he thought himself a failure. What if he did it himself … what if the drowning—”
“Don’t think about that,” I answered, feeling remorse at my bluntness. This young person had just lost one of his four parents, but it was clear that he felt a stronger bond with Thurl than the others. His carefree existence had ended with a thud, and his life was probably in danger. I realized that I should go easy on Yevan, irritating though he may have been.
“What does a king do?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’ve never been a king, but I’ve been a captain for a long time, and I think they’re similar. You can have the best advisors in the world, but at some point a decision arises that no one can make but you. Lives are often hanging in the balance; time is running short. That’s why they need a king or a captain, to make the hard decisions.”
I looked at my sensors, worried that I had just made a poor decision, but no one seemed to be following us. “If you’re in charge, you’re always a target,” I went on. “Always the one to shoulder the blame. In addition it requires a great deal of courage to make decisions that affect the lives of others. And you won’t always be thanked for it. Sometimes you’ll make the wrong decision, and it will haunt you forever.”
“Why do it then?” asked Yevan. “Why put yourself through all that?”
“You can do a lot of good for people,” I answered simply. “Of course, the question arises as to why a person would choose that path to begin with. It’s not always a choice. If your father had remained king, you would have been raised to be king. From the time you were a child, you would have known it was your destiny. Many officers in Starfleet are like that, descended from generations of admirals and captains. Other people just crave power, and they’ll get it any way they can. Collev probably fell into that category.”
“I suppose so,” agreed Yevan. “You don’t sound as if you came from a Starfleet tradition.”
“Me? No. Some of us take a job and find out we have a knack for leadership along the way. No matter how you come to it, the best part is the good you can do for people. Right now you’re in a position to do tremendous good, Yevan. You might be able to avert a war.”
The youth scoffed. “I don’t even understand why they’re fighting. No matter who’s in charge, including me or my father, the Andorians will just end up with another dictator. I’ve lived on Pacifica, and studied on Earth, and I’ve been exposed to democracy. Why do we cling to this outdated form of government?”
“Fear of change,” I answered. “I talked to a few common citizens on Andoria, and I think they would embrace democracy, if given a chance. But the Federation can’t impose a form of government on a member planet—they have to do it themselves. The people who have the power will always resist giving it up.”
“Well, not me,” declared Yevan, folding his arms and closing his eyes. “I could have all the power my world offers, but I don’t want it. I have a nice life already, and when we’re done with the rending, I’m going back to it. Wake me up when we get there, Captain Picard.”
“Aye, Sir,” I muttered under my breath. For someone who didn’t want to be royalty, Yevan had a regal way about him.
Thank you, Cap, for filling my wine glass. My throat was getting quite parched. If I still have your attention, Captains, let me go on with my tale.
The voyage in the shuttlecraft proved uneventful—after locking the autopilot on course I even let the lad take a watch, so I could get some sleep. By arrangement with my first officer, I wasn’t to be contacted as long as they were keeping the Andorians busy and the ruse was working. Our official story was that Prince Yevan was aboard the Enterprise, too, and that we would be delayed in departure. As long as the Enterprise was in orbit around Pacifica, I felt the ship was safe from attack.
During the journey, I tried to think of ways to salvage the situation, but they all involved making Yevan king. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to thrust him into that position, or impose him upon his longsuffering people. I resolved to finish our funeral and get the lad to safety before worrying about the future.
At least he proved useful deciphering our Andorian maps, and he was able to find a remote mountain range named for the kritkraws. All I knew was that it was on the northernmost continent of Andoria, far removed from population centers.
On reentry, we sneaked behind the vapor trails of a freighter to avoid detection, and we kept low. I must say I did a good job piloting the shuttle through those remote fjords and mist-shrouded peaks. This was a glittering, snow-crusted wilderness with no settlements. Where the mist cleared below us, I could see animal tracks in the snow. The icy blue trees looked like starfish washed up on a brilliant white beach.
Star Trek: Enterprise Logs Page 28