by Dayton Ward
“Then you must know that we cannot allow the conference to continue,” Picard said as he turned from the window and stepped around the presider’s desk to stand next to Choudhury. “It’s almost certain the Treishya will attempt to disrupt the proceedings, either by direct assault or simply by inciting civil unrest in the streets outside the compound. Of course, the latter might also prove to be an effective distraction to pull security personnel from their assigned stations while an actual attack is launched against a vulnerable location.”
Choudhury said, “That’s what I’d do.”
“Given that many members of the Treishya are believed to be military veterans,” sh’Thalis said, “such a scenario wouldn’t seem at all far-fetched. However, Captain ch’Zandi’s report from questioning some of the prisoners stated that the Treishya is not interested in harming anyone. Their actions to this point would seem at odds with that stance.”
Picard replied, “It’s a public disinformation campaign, Presider, designed to incite sympathy for them and animosity toward any non-Andorians. The tactics used against my people haven’t just been aggressive. It’s only fortunate happenstance that no one was seriously injured, or worse. If this situation continues to escalate, there may come a point where casualties are unavoidable.”
“Or even desirable,” Chen said. When Picard glared at her, she added, “What I mean, sir, is that sooner or later, if we don’t do what they want, they’re going to use greater force. I know I’m not one to throw this term around lightly, but it’s the only logical evolution of their tactics. They don’t have any problem threatening property, and even though the weapons we confiscated from them were all set to stun, it stands to reason that, eventually, they’ll consider a few people injured or even killed as worth whatever goal they’re after.”
Resting her hand atop her desk’s polished surface, sh’Thalis caressed the smooth, obsidian finish with her fingertips. After a moment, she said, “The reports we’ve received about the Treishya all make a point to emphasize how well-organized they seem to be. That much is implied by the newsnet broadcast we all saw.”
Picard had reviewed the original message, along with three follow-up dispatches, upon his return to the Enterprise following his own encounter with Treishya operatives. Like the original message, the subsequent communiqués were characterized by a recurring theme: anger at the presence of outsiders determined to interfere with matters they knew nothing about, undermining the cultural heritage of the Andorian people. The messages had provided fodder for much propaganda now being broadcast around the planet. It was enough for Picard to order all Starfleet personnel on Andor to remain at Starfleet or Federation locations around the planet. Advisories also were sent to non-Andorian civilians, many of whom had heeded those warnings and transported to those same secure facilities.
In the case of each Treishya transmission, there had been no visual component save for an unidentifiable silhouette of what appeared to be an Andorian. The voice on the audio broadcasts had so far defied the Enterprise computers’ attempts to determine the speaker’s gender, or even to declare with any certainty whether the voice was genuine or completely fabricated by computer software. What the broadcasts had contained was the unmistakable air of confidence, even arrogance, as though the speaker perceived himself to be in total control of the current situation, calling for the expulsion of all non-Andorians from the planet. This, at least to Picard, begged an obvious question: What did the originator of the message know that was not being shared with those to whom he issued ultimatums?
“That broadcast highlights another issue,” he said, pointing toward the window. “There are those among the populace who will answer the call if summoned to take action at the Treishya’s behest.”
Sh’Thalis nodded. “Just as there are those who will rally to support us, but even that presents a problem. We can’t very well have a civil war breaking out before our very eyes even while we work to save our species.” Sighing, she added, “If only I could convey that to these protesters. How can they not see what we risk by turning away ideas and assistance from whoever might offer it? I simply cannot believe that anyone would choose extinction in the name of preserving cultural identity or whatever other nonsense the Treishya are arguing. How useful is such an abstract concept if your entire civilization is dead?”
“Presider,” Picard said, “it might be wise to at least consider postponing the conference until the situation here stabilizes.”
Rising from her chair, sh’Thalis’s expression darkened, her lips tightening into an expression of determination. “Out of the question. There is simply too much at stake, and we cannot subject ourselves to the demands of a terrorist.”
“I don’t know if ‘terrorist’ is the best term to describe what the Treishya represent, Presider,” Choudhury offered, her voice calm and neutral.
Nevertheless, sh’Thalis waved away the observation. “They can call themselves resistance fighters or freedom fighters or patriots, but threatening harm against innocents in the name of a political, social, or religious agenda is the very definition of terrorism, and it’s something I cannot allow to sway me. Not now, and certainly not over something that could prove vital to the survival of the Andorian people.”
“We could move the conference to the Enterprise.”
Picard turned toward the source of the suggestion, Lieutenant Chen. Though she said nothing else, the captain noted the expression on the young woman’s face, which conveyed, essentially, “Forgot about me, didn’t you?”
“Go on, Lieutenant,” Picard prompted. He had been ready to offer just such an alternative, and his young contact specialist had simply beaten him to the punch.
Realizing now that all eyes were upon her, Chen seemed to become very self-conscious for a moment before straightening her posture. “We’d have to reduce the number of spectators in actual attendance, of course, but the ship has ample facilities to host everyone on the list of invitees. One of the recreation decks or even one of the shuttlebays could be reconfigured to serve as a proper venue. Other guests and those wanting to observe the proceedings can do so via broadcast in other meeting rooms and common areas aboard the ship.”
“Could such preparations be completed without having to delay the start of the conference?” Picard asked.
“It’d lack much of the pomp and circumstance that’s been put into the Enclave chamber down here,” Choudhury added, “but it would be more secure, sir.”
Sh’Thalis shook her head. “I appreciate the concern for our safety, Captain, but just as canceling or delaying the conference is unacceptable, moving it off-world is out of the question. It must be held here, before the Andorian people and with Federation participation, to show everyone that we all are committed to solving the issues we face. This demonstration of solidarity is a vital first step toward illustrating the Federation’s resolve to assist us with our ongoing reproductive crisis.”
“While I certainly agree with you in principle, Presider,” Picard said, “it’s not simply the safety of the conference attendees that concerns me. There’s also the matter of innocent civilians, who could become targets should the Treishya choose to act. An incident of that nature might very well trigger civil unrest across the planet. Given everything the Andorian people have suffered and continue to endure, is providing a possible trigger for such disorder truly worth what we might hope to accomplish at the conference?”
“Everything you describe might still happen,” sh’Thalis replied, “with or without the conference. If we move it to your ship, onlookers could still be targets, as they would still be here, gathered to watch, support, or protest the conference as it’s being broadcast.” Rising from her chair, she fixed the Enterprise captain with an expression of utter conviction. “We cannot allow the Treishya, or anyone else, to dictate through fear how we are to lead our lives. The conference will go forward, and it will do so here, on Andor.”
It was obvious to Picard that there would be no deterrin
g sh’Thalis. He did not hear hubris or even inexperience on the part of a leader facing crisis. Rather, these were the words and emotions of someone committed to doing what she firmly believed to be for the good of the people to whom she had pledged her service. There was, he decided, much to admire about Iravothra sh’Thalis.
“Very well, then, Presider,” he said, “but I hope you’ll allow me to augment your security forces and Homeworld Security detachment as far as my ship and crew are able.” He glanced to Choudhury, who nodded.
“Absolutely,” said the security chief. “We’ll do everything we can to make the Enclave chamber safe for participants and spectators. Commander th’Hadik has already submitted a revised security-deployment plan to deal with checkpoints, weapons and personnel scanners, defensive force fields, and so on. Captain ch’Zandi has also offered up several excellent suggestions, such as employing transporter inhibitors and equipment to thwart any efforts at disrupting communications.” Looking to Picard, she added, “Something we discussed after your incident at the dig site, sir.”
Picard nodded in approval before returning his attention to sh’Thalis. “Our presence and involvement in the conference is by your invitation, Presider. So, these are, of course, recommendations, but ones I hope you’ll consider in the interest of safety.” Despite the broad authority he currently enjoyed as Admiral Akaar’s “roving troubleshooter” with respect to resolving planetary issues, the Enterprise captain had no desire to trample on the presider’s authority or that of any duly elected official, on Andor or any other Federation world.
“I may be hopelessly optimistic and perhaps even naïve,” sh’Thalis replied, smiling again, “but I’d like to think I’m not a fool. I welcome your continued assistance.” Stepping around the desk, she took Picard’s hand and cradled it in both of her own. “We will stand together, before the watchful and hopeful people of my planet, as we embrace the support and assistance of our friends and longtime allies.”
Though he said nothing that might diminish the confidence the presider now felt, Picard could not help his own lingering feelings of uncertainty about the days to come.
26
Eklanir th’Gahryn noted his subordinate’s dour visage as the younger Andorian entered his private chamber to deliver his evening meal, regarding the chan with no small amount of amusement.
“What troubles you, ch’Drena?” he asked as his aide, holding a tray that supported a large earthen bowl and a generous portion of what th’Gahryn recognized as hari bread, stopped before the round, multicolored rug in the chamber’s far corner.
Loreav ch’Drena set the tray down on a small, short table positioned next to the rug. Straightening his posture, the chan said, “I apologize, Eklanir. It is just that I have not been sleeping well.”
Rising from his chair and moving toward the rug, th’Gahryn regarded his subordinate with concern. “Are you ill?”
The expression on ch’Drena’s face changed to one of embarrassment. “I simply miss my family, Eklanir. I’ve never been away from them for this long a period. Our newest child is still so young. I’m told she’s walking now.”
Th’Gahryn smiled as he sat on the rug, crossing his legs. He lifted the tray from the table and placed it atop his knees. “I treasure such moments from my own children’s youth,” he said, “even though I missed my share of such milestones while away on duty. Your sacrifice is appreciated, Loreav, and it’s important to remember that what we’re doing here acts to protect all our children.” He paused, regarding the thick stew contained in his bowl. “During times of stress or longing, I’ve always found tranquility in the outdoors. The forests, a park, wherever trees and grass are in abundance. Such places never fail to put my mind at ease.”
“I was never one for the outdoors,” ch’Drena replied.
Shaking his head in mock dismay as he dipped the bread into his stew, th’Gahryn said, “When I do fear for our future, it’s because I hear things like that.” During his own childhood, he had relished outdoor pursuits such as camping, hunting, and tracking, with his thavan and grand-thavan instilling in him an appreciation for respecting and living in harmony with the natural environment. By the time he reached adolescence, th’Gahryn enjoyed spending night after night in the wilderness, camping in the forests or up in the mountains. That reverence for nature continued upon his entry into military service and his enlistment as a foot soldier in Homeworld Security, where he often looked forward to his unit deploying to the field for an extended training exercise. He made a habit of volunteering for security patrols or any other activity that gave him a reason to venture out into the vast, untamed rough country that comprised a significant percentage of the military installation to which he was assigned. In addition to giving him an excuse to indulge in his love of the wild, it also kept him and his companions away from the watchful eyes of grumbling noncommissioned officers on the prowl for those unfortunate enough to be caught without something productive with which to occupy their time.
“You work very hard, Loreav,” th’Gahryn said, “and for that I commend you, but there is more to living than simply being at your appointed place and carrying out your assigned duties. Life is meant to be cherished, to be celebrated. One of the ways I’ve learned to do that is by embracing this world of unmatched beauty that Uzaveh the Infinite has given us for reasons surpassing our understanding.” He punctuated his statement with a bite of stew-drenched bread.
A pity you don’t have the time to act upon such notions yourself.
Whether born of genuine admiration or a simple desire to avoid the appearance of disrespect, ch’Drena said, “Perhaps if I’d been fortunate enough to develop such an awareness for nature at an earlier age, my outlook might be different.” Then, after a moment, he added, “On the other hand, one could argue that recent events might well provide me with an incentive to reexamine my attitude on such matters.”
After taking another bite of his stew, th’Gahryn asked, “How so?” Sensing his subordinate’s unease at how the conversation was evolving, he added, “It’s all right, Loreav. You may speak freely.”
“Well,” ch’Drena said, casting his eyes toward the floor, “it’s just that what you’ve been saying here has made me think about how much we’ve lost. I don’t simply mean the loss of life, which is tragic, all the more so for the crisis our people already face. The Borg inflicted so much damage to our world, much of which likely will not heal within my lifetime. On the other hand, much also was spared. There are areas of Andor untouched by the Borg’s hand, for which I’m thankful. Perhaps what we have here is a sign from Uzaveh, a reminder not to forget or otherwise take for granted that which has been given to us. Is that not essentially the message we as Treishya are attempting to impart to all who will listen?”
Nodding in approval, th’Gahryn replied, “It is indeed, Loreav.” Throughout his professional military career, he had often sought advice and input from those much younger than himself, valuing the perspectives they held from being born and raised in a world markedly different from the one in which he was brought up. Problems often were seen in a manner completely dissimilar to what he might envision, sparking a host of creative resolutions and strengthening the bond of trust between not only senior and subordinate but also mentor and student. Indeed, it was only as he had grown older and achieved higher rank that th’Gahryn had come to view the latter relationship as being of greater importance.
It is but one benefit of not having died at a younger age.
The door to his chamber opened to reveal another Andorian, this one a thaan dressed in dark brown civilian attire, standing at the threshold. His expression was one of worry.
“Biatamar,” th’Gahryn said by way of greeting, lifting the tray from his lap and returning it to the table.
“I apologize,” said Biatamar th’Rusni, hesitating at the doorway. “I did not mean to intrude.”
Waving the thaan into the room, th’Gahryn replied, “No, no. It’s quite all right. What is
it? If your face is any indication, you aren’t bringing me pleasant news.”
“I’ve just received a report from one of our contacts within the Parliament Andoria complex,” th’Rusni said. “Presider sh’Thalis has directed that the conference proceed tomorrow as scheduled.”
Nodding, th’Gahryn asked, “And this surprises you?”
After a moment, th’Rusni replied, “No, I suppose that it doesn’t.”
“Even with everything that’s happened to this point,” ch’Drena said, “after the messages you’ve broadcast and the actions we’ve taken, isn’t the presider simply being stubborn or even foolhardy at this point?”
Th’Gahryn rose from the rug, smiling at his young aide. “Not at all. Presider sh’Thalis is acting as any strong leader should: not allowing her agenda to be dictated to her by those making threats. Were these other circumstances, her actions and decisions would be cause for admiration. Now, however, she simply is misguided. Woefully, tragically misguided.”
Since the moment he had helped found the Treishya movement, that was precisely the view th’Gahryn had taken with respect to all the elected officials who chose to forsake their Andorian heritage and instead embrace the ideals held by other species as a matter of convenience. It was this perspective that had caused him to denounce even those officials who represented the Visionist party, the group supposedly devoted to ensuring that Andor’s heritage and values were retained and respected. Despite commanding the support of a sizable percentage of the Andorian population, the Visionists, in th’Gahryn’s opinion, had not done nearly enough to combat the ever-encroaching mindset held and celebrated by their political and ideological rivals, the Progressives.
It was true that Visionist leaders had stepped forward and taken direct action when they discovered that Progressive-backed scientists were developing genetic-manipulation schemes designed to alter Andorian physiology, polluting it with the unknown and potentially dangerous genetic code found in a still largely unknown species from across the galaxy. But that was years ago, and despite all their efforts the research continued and the scientists’ creations were inflicted upon unsuspecting bondgroups—“test subjects,” as they had been so callously labeled—and what had been the result? Even greater instances of aborted pregnancies or unexpected birth defects wrought upon the resulting offspring. Not only had this reckless agenda not done anything to alleviate the very real crisis afflicting the Andorian people, it arguably had worsened it, and how had the Progressives reacted? A call for even greater, more intrusive research, which carried with it the risk of further contaminating an already weakened Andorian populace, possibly to the point of accelerating its headlong flight toward extinction. Though Visionist leaders had protested this action, too, of course, they had done little else to see to it that their concerns, backed by a growing portion of the public, were heard by their political counterparts in the halls of parliament.