by Dayton Ward
Stepping out of the uniform that now lay in a crumpled heap at her feet, Chen opened the front of her gold tunic as she moved toward the trio of sloping windows set into the bulkhead above her bed. Nothing but stars greeted her, unlike the past few days when her view had been obstructed by the support structure of Farber Station. That was at least one small comfort as the Enterprise warped away from Earth toward its next assignment, as she had grown accustomed long ago to falling asleep while being treated to an unfettered view of the stars.
It’s the simple things.
She had removed the rest of her clothing and was on her way to the lavatory and the luxurious shower awaiting her when the door chime sounded. Chen frowned, having no idea who might be calling on her. If there had been a situation or task requiring her attention in engineering, Commander La Forge or a member of his staff would simply have raised her via the comm system. For a brief, playful moment, Chen considered just standing naked in the doorway for her unexpected visitor, but just as quickly discarded the notion. With her luck, it would be Commander Worf or, worse yet, Captain Picard himself.
“That’d look good on my performance evaluation,” she muttered as she retrieved a silk robe from her closet and donned it, securing its belt at her waist before announcing for the benefit of the ship’s computer. “Come in.”
The doors slid open, the brightness of the corridor lighting sharply contrasting with the dimmer illumination Chen preferred inside her quarters. Dr. Crusher stood in the doorway, wearing as was her habit a Starfleet blue medical smock over her standard uniform. In her hands she carried a narrow burnished-copper box with ornate patterns engraved into its sides.
“Lieutenant Chen?” the doctor asked, offering a warm smile. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was told you’d just come off duty.”
Chen shook her head. “Not at all, Doctor.” She gestured toward her. “Please, come in. You caught me on the way to the shower.” In deference to her visitor, she called out, “Computer, increase lighting thirty percent.”
“I promise I won’t keep you long,” Crusher replied, stepping into the room as the internal illumination increased. “I was hoping I might impose upon you for a favor.”
A favor? This was interesting, Chen decided. “What can I do for you?” she asked, indicating for Crusher to have a seat in one of the two straight-backed chairs positioned at the small table near the center of her room.
Moving to the table, Crusher set down the box. Its polished exterior reflected the lights, the engraving eliciting a multitude of colors that played off the table’s glass top. “I’ve been told you’re rather inventive when it comes to fixing things,” the doctor said, dropping into one of the chairs.
Chen adjusted her robe as she took the seat across from Crusher. “I like to tinker, if that’s what you mean,” she replied, shrugging. “Hazards of an atypical childhood, I suppose. What’s in the box?” She watched as the doctor’s hand lay atop the box for a moment, her fingers caressing its surface.
“I suppose you could call it an heirloom,” Crusher said after a moment. “It’s a very special memento belonging to the captain. It was damaged when his ready room was destroyed during that Hirogen attack last year. He lost a lot of keepsakes, but this one was spared, at least partially.”
Nodding as she recalled the events of that day, Chen reached with her left hand to massage her right arm. It had been badly burned during the Hirogen assault on the Enterprise and the U.S.S. Aventine following the two Starfleet ships’ venture to the Delta Quadrant. In a bid to fight a holding action against Borg ships via the network of subspace tunnels to the Alpha Quadrant during their final invasion, the two starships had found themselves targeted by a pack of ten Hirogen ships. The predatory alien race, knowing nothing of the Borg’s campaign, had seen the vessels merely as another prime hunting opportunity, and launched a devastating assault on both ships.
Those were the days.
Crusher reached to undo the closure on the box’s front and raised its lid, revealing its contents to Chen. Inside, nestled within a foam pad that Chen could tell had dried and cracked as though exposed to extreme heat, lay a slender metallic rod. Sporting its own series of elaborate engravings, it also featured several holes along its length. It took her only a moment to recognize the object, at least in general terms.
“It’s a flute?”
Nodding, Crusher replied, “A very special flute, the only one of its kind. It was . . . a gift to the captain some years ago, following a rather unusual first-contact mission.” She paused, and Chen noted the look of recollection on the doctor’s face. “It means a great deal to him.”
“I’m surprised it even survived at all,” Chen said.
“He normally kept it in our quarters,” Crusher replied. “He often played it as a means of relaxing. During the Borg crisis, when he was spending so much time in his ready room, he played it once in a while as he tried to work out various problems and decisions he was facing. It was only fortunate happenstance that the box was closed when the fire broke out in his ready room. That was enough to protect it from being destroyed, but the heat still managed to damage it to the point where he can no longer play it.”
Chen had seen the damage inflicted upon Captain Picard’s private sanctum, and remembered the various artifacts and keepsakes it had contained, reminders of a long, fruitful life as well as a distinguished Starfleet career. She recalled how visibly shaken the captain had been upon viewing the charred remains of the ready room, and the sorrow he had exhibited upon learning how many of those prized possessions he had lost. Though Chen herself valued very few such mementos, those she did retain were irreplaceable, and she could only imagine the grief she might experience if faced with their loss. Still, she knew that such items were only inanimate objects, far less valuable than one’s life or the love of a cherished family member or trusted companion. She also was certain that Captain Picard felt the same way. So, what was it about the flute, this object, that carried within it so much emotional resonance for him?
That must be one hell of a story.
“You’d like me to have a go at fixing it?” Chen asked.
Crusher smiled. “If you’re willing.”
Reaching toward the box, Chen used utmost care to lift the flute from the foam pad in which it was ensconced. It had been cleaned with care, she surmised, and a light blue tassel encircled it near the mouthpiece. “It looks to be in pretty good shape, overall,” she said.
“He polished it and the box to remove the soot, and replaced the tassel,” Crusher said. “According to the captain, it has an internal mechanism that helped to provide its distinctive sound. Though the outer casing survived the fire, that piece was damaged. I don’t know why he’s never asked anyone to even take a look at it, much less try to repair it.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s worried it’ll be damaged even further.”
Though she possessed very little in the way of knowledge with respect to musical instruments, Chen nevertheless found herself intrigued by the challenge of repairing the flute. Eyeing Crusher, she said, “It’s been more than a year. Why now?”
Crusher shrugged. “I’d pretty much forgotten about it until I found it in the back of a drawer in our quarters the other day. He hasn’t displayed it since it was damaged. I guess he just doesn’t want to be reminded of what he lost.” After a moment, she added, “Of course, he might also be simply hiding it from René. He’s at that stage where everything needs to be opened and thrown onto the floor.”
“I was doing that just this morning,” Chen countered, unable to resist the small joke as she returned the flute to the box and closed its lid before patting it with her hand. “I’d be happy to take a crack at it, Doctor, though I’m surprised you came to me.”
“He trusts you, Lieutenant,” Crusher replied. “Therefore, so do I. He’s talked often about how impressed he is with you, despite your . . . shall we say . . . unorthodox methods?”
“That’s me,” Chen said. “Lieute
nant Unorthodox.”
Leaning closer, the doctor said, “Anyway, I thought this might make a nice present—from René—so I obviously want it to be a surprise.”
“Oh,” Chen said, feigning worry. “So, no pressure or anything like that.”
Smiling, Crusher added, “Well, I need somebody I know can keep a secret from the captain. You seem rather good at that.”
“I’d like to think of it as having an exceptionally good poker face,” Chen replied. “Which reminds me, I’m going to be late for dinner and cards.”
Crusher nodded, rising from her chair. “Of course. Thank you, T’Ryssa. I owe you one.”
“Remember that the next time I need a doctor’s note for missing calisthenics class,” Chen said as the doctor made her way to the door and exited the room. Once Crusher was gone, the lieutenant turned and gazed once more upon the box, pondering its contents. For Crusher to bring the prized instrument to her implied a trust beyond simple confidence in her ability to carry out her assigned duties. Though Chen long ago had grown comfortable aboard the Enterprise and believed that she was indeed a valued member of the starship’s crew and perhaps even its “family,” this sense of inclusion she now felt seemed altogether different.
So, I should probably try to avoid screwing this up.
7
It was on days like this that Presider Iravothra sh’Thalis wished her office window opened.
With her arms folded across her chest and one of several reports she was supposed to be studying held in her right hand, sh’Thalis stood before the curved transpara-steel barrier that served as the window at the front of her tastefully appointed private chamber and gazed at the lush green lawn eight stories below. The immense courtyard was attended with utmost care, thanks to the efforts of a twenty-person crew devoted to the maintenance of the Parliament Andoria’s exterior areas. Today, the sky was a vibrant blue and the sun was out, bathing the courtyard in its warm rays. According to the forecast she had seen during an early-morning newsnet broadcast, it was a glorious day to be outdoors. With such weather, it was almost too easy to forget that other areas of her world lay in permanent ruin.
“Presider,” a voice said from behind her, “are you all right?”
Sh’Thalis turned to see her assistant, Loqnara ch’Birane, standing in the doorway leading from her office. The young Talish wore a beige robe that offset his deep blue skin and complemented his long, stark-white hair, which was pulled back from his face and secured at the base of his neck, further emphasizing the long antennae atop his forehead. In his hand he carried the ubiquitous data reader that seemed to be an extension of his body.
Shaking her head, sh’Thalis replied, “I was just wondering about the possibility of venturing into the city. I know I called for a party Enclave today, but it’s simply too wondrous a day to be trapped inside, and the change of pace would do us well, don’t you think?” The notion of spending the afternoon ensconced in the underground cavern that had been designated as the new Enclave chamber on a day like today galled her. “Why not take to the fresh-air spaces of New Therin Park?” She had not yet had the chance to visit the public recreation area, located at the center of the city’s teeming downtown business and government district, since its rechristening after the relocation of the parliament to Lor’Vela. The park had been renamed not only in honor of Shantherin th’Clane, a Starfleet officer who had distinguished himself with great bravery more than a century earlier, but also the original Therin Park—likewise named for him—which along with its home city of Laibok had been destroyed during the Borg attack.
“It would indeed be a nice deviation from our normal schedule,” ch’Birane conceded, “but you can expect protest from some of the more traditional party members. Beyond that, I’m certain I can already hear Commander th’Hadik lodging a preemptive formal protest as we speak.”
Unable to stifle the chuckle that escaped her lips, sh’Thalis smiled at her aide’s observation. So far as her personal safety was concerned, Commander Jaedreq th’Hadik, the leader of her protective detail, was as zealous as he was thorough. To his credit, the commander was aware of his propensity for erring on the side of caution and withstood sh’Thalis’s humorous barbs at his expense with great aplomb. On the other hand, his reputation and professionalism also were among the primary reasons she had requested him for her staff shortly after taking office.
“You’re probably right,” she said. “Still, it was a pleasing thought.” Stepping away from the window, she moved to the other side of the room where her expansive, curved desk was situated so as to afford her a view of the cityscape beyond the complex’s perimeter wall. Most offices she visited were furnished so that windows like hers were at the occupant’s back, but sh’Thalis could not see the logic behind such a choice. What was the point of a window, particularly if it framed a picturesque view of a city as alive and full of energy as Lor’Vela, if one could not easily look out it? Taking a seat in the high-backed gray chair positioned behind her desk, she asked, “What can I do for you, Loqnara?”
Pressing a control on his reader, ch’Birane ejected a small data-storage card from the device and stepped closer to sh’Thalis’s desk, offering the card to the presider. “We’ve received word from President Bacco. The Enterprise is on its way, bringing with it Professor zh’Thiin, along with several experts from Starfleet Medical and prominent Federation civilian agencies.”
“Excellent,” sh’Thalis replied, nodding in approval at the report. “And what of the other conference attendees?”
Without consulting his reader, ch’Birane answered, “A few have already arrived, and they’ve been situated with appropriate accommodations. The mansion has plenty of space to house all the invited guests, and I’m told that bookings are up in lodgings throughout the city. People from all over the world are traveling here to attend, Presider.”
“I hope that’s a good thing,” sh’Thalis said, her eyes moving to look down at one of the several reports provided by Commander th’Hadik. “According to the assessments I’ve been getting, security is worried about protest groups trying to stage events designed to draw the attention of the newsnets.”
“It’s not just th’Hadik and his people, Presider,” the young Talish countered. “Captain ch’Zandi has similar concerns.”
Nodding, sh’Thalis said, “Yes, I know. I’ve read his reports as well.” As commander of the Homeworld Security brigade located on the outskirts of Lor’Vela, Captain Eyatra ch’Zandi oversaw any threats to the city deemed too large to be faced by local law enforcement. Most of the time, the brigade’s role was the same as for other military units stationed around the world, charged primarily with the defense of Andor itself when faced with global threats. During the Borg invasion, nearly half of the Andorian military’s ships were destroyed, and a sizable percentage of those that survived had suffered significant damage.
“We’re getting a lot of questions from the newsnets about Homeworld Security’s presence at the conference,” ch’Birane said, studying his data padd. “There’s concern that they’re taking on a role that should belong to the police.”
Sighing, sh’Thalis replied, “These are special circumstances. The nature of the conference and the controversy it’s stirred demand we take extra precautions. We have to keep people safe; not just the attendees, but private citizens who will be in the city once the event gets under way. As for the concerns of the news media, they’re coming from people who are deliberately trying to generate controversy, and I’ve no time for such nonsense.” With respect to operations on Andorian soil, Homeworld Security’s involvement was minimal, as mandated by law, and relegated to assistance and relief efforts in the event of natural emergencies such as fire or extreme weather, and only then after being called to active service on order of the presider. It also was within sh’Thalis’s authority to summon military assets for other reasons, up to and including any threat to public safety regardless if it was believed to be within the scope of local polic
e agencies. In the aftermath of the Borg attack, Homeworld Security units had been assisting government and civilian organizations around the world with reconstruction as well as security efforts, and in many people’s eyes the line between the military and the police had blurred to the point that any distinction was insignificant. It was not a view sh’Thalis took lightly, and she had taken steps to ensure that the roles of both groups were defined with no ambiguity whatsoever.
“They’re pressing our staff for answers, Presider,” ch’Birane warned.
Sh’Thalis waved away the statement. “If they want to have this fight, they can do it on their time, not mine.”
“There are those who consider your time to be their time,” ch’Birane said, his expression and tone neutral.
Shrugging, sh’Thalis said, “They’re right, to a point.” Moving aside a stack of reports she had already read, she added, “But the people who elected me did so with the understanding that I’d know where to direct my energy. Given the choice between real or manufactured issues, I’ll go with the former.” During her short tenure, she had managed to avoid getting dragged into petty squabbles that seemed to fill the days and nights of her political opponents, choosing instead to focus on the genuine matters of governance, of which there were many. “If they want to replace me, they’re more than welcome to do so.”
“Continue to talk like that,” ch’Birane said, his antennae bending in her direction, “and even your opposition will vote for you in the next election.”
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” Sh’Thalis paused, shaking her head. “There are days when I feel as though I’ve been at this job my entire life.” Little more than a year ago, she had been a magistrate in the former presider’s administration, overseeing the Natural Resources Conservation and Protection Committee. Along with those of several other low-ranking departments, her offices were here in Lor’Vela, rather than the capital city of Laikan. As such, only she and various other subordinate members of the former presider’s staff survived the Borg attack. Being the official among the survivors with the most seniority, sh’Thalis was elevated to the position of presider, promoted through tragedy and fate to be the new head of Parliament Andoria in its adopted home.