by Dayton Ward
Bacco nodded. “I remember the heat she took when she announced her support of the research Professor zh’Thiin’s predecessor was doing. And that was before the Borg came.” In the aftermath of the attack on Andor, sh’Thalis, at the time recently elected to the office of presider, had endured much criticism for her staunch support of Starfleet and the Federation. She had held her ground even as her political opponents and their operatives painted her as a puppet of the Federation Council, beholden to her “masters” despite Starfleet supposedly having abandoned Andor to whatever fate the Borg might bring. Sh’Thalis had weathered most of that condemnation well enough, at least in public, but Bacco knew from private communications that the presider was feeling the pressure of being portrayed in such a negative light. Bacco’s despair was only worsened by the knowledge that sh’Thalis—though thrust into her office by tragic circumstance—had exhibited an honest, legitimate desire to make life better for the Andorian people.
Now, she was gone. Recalled from office and dismissed in disgrace, and why? Because of the fear and uncertainty some politicians allowed to rule their own lives and govern their decisions.
What a damned waste.
The sound of her doors opening once again was enough to rouse Bacco from her momentary reverie, and she looked up from her desk to see her assistant standing near the entrance to her office. “What is it, Sivak?”
“Madam President,” her assistant replied, “the Andorian ambassador has arrived and is requesting an audience.”
Well, Bacco mused as she exchanged questioning glances with Akaar, this is interesting.
Blowing out her breath between pursed lips, she rose from her chair and gave herself a cursory inspection to ensure her clothes were presentable. Her ensemble sported a few wrinkles here and there.
Much like the body wearing it.
“Send him in, please,” she said, steeling herself for what she suspected would be a very short, very intense few minutes.
The doors opened again a moment later to admit Sivak, and behind him followed a slightly built Andorian of moderate height, just a few centimeters taller than Bacco herself. He wore a flowing black robe featuring an intricate web of dazzling embroidery in various shades of blue and white, which complemented his bright cerulean skin and the stark, pallid tint of long hair that fell below his shoulders.
“President Bacco,” Sivak said, stopping in front of the desk and speaking with the official tone he reserved for making such introductions, “may I present Gilmesheid ch’Pavarzi, Andorian ambassador to the Federation.”
Offering a formal bow, ch’Pavarzi said, “Madam President.” Then, he repeated the greeting to Akaar. “Admiral.”
“This is an unexpected surprise, Ambassador,” Bacco replied, hoping her words sounded congenial. “I know things have to be hectic for you right now. What can I do for you?” She gestured toward one of the chairs in front of her desk, and was slightly startled when ch’Pavarzi declined the offer, opting instead to remain standing.
“What I have to say will not take long, Madam President,” he said. “I was instructed by my government to deliver this information to you in person, and to do so as quickly as possible. The parliament-ordered blackout decree will soon be rescinded, but the new presider believed you were deserving of advance notice regarding this matter.” He paused, as though choosing his next words with utmost care. “Before I proceed, I would like to state for the record that while I have been honored to serve as an ambassador to the Federation, I was most distressed to learn of the information kept from my people, which apparently holds vital clues as to how we might solve our procreation dilemma. This is not the sort of behavior one expects from supposed friends and allies.”
“You know it’s not as simple as that,” Bacco snapped, then immediately checked herself. Feeling her cheeks flush from embarrassment at the momentary lapse, she forced herself to wait a full five seconds before continuing, “My apologies, Ambassador. What I’m trying to say is that the matter is far too complicated to be condensed into a talking point for a speech or a news broadcast.”
The Andorian said, “From my people’s perspective, Madam President, the matter seems rather straightforward. The Federation, for more than a century and while being fully aware of the problems faced by my planet, has kept secret information which, ultimately, is proving to be of great benefit to us in our time of greatest need.”
Feeling her frustration mounting, Bacco struggled to maintain her composure. “Ambassador, you must first understand that Admiral Akaar and I only became aware of the significance of this information shortly before it was made known to the people of Andor. That’s how far down this mess was buried. At the time the information about the meta-genome was classified, what little was known about it told our best scientists that it represented awesome power, the likes of which might well prove dangerous to the safety of the entire Federation were it to fall into the wrong hands. We had barely scratched the surface of its potential, and that’s still largely true to this day.”
“And yet,” ch’Pavarzi countered, “your limited grasp of what the meta-genome represents allowed your scientists to devise your so-called Genesis Device, as well as further your knowledge in the area of medicine, including aspects of genetic engineering that you have, admittedly, applied for the betterment of people throughout the Federation. So, it seems controlled application of that very dangerous knowledge you claim not to understand is possible, when you are motivated by your own self-interests.”
Bacco could feel the discussion spiraling out of control, and saw no way to keep it from slipping completely from her grasp. “Decisions made decades ago, Ambassador. Now that we know the meta-genome offers hope for Andor, there’s no reason not to explore it to the fullest extent possible. Professor zh’Thiin will enjoy far more support and assistance working with us than on her own.”
Ch’Pavarzi shook his head. “The time for that has passed, Madam President. I have been sent here to inform you that my government has approved a global referendum, which was conducted during the past four days. All votes have been counted, and the parliament in turn has cast their own vote. Andor will shortly be announcing its secession from the Federation.”
“What?” Bacco all but shouted the question despite her best intentions. Her eyes felt as though they might bug right out of their sockets as she digested what ch’Pavarzi had just said. “You can’t be serious.”
The ambassador appeared to be having difficulty reigning in a smug expression of superiority. “I’m afraid I am, Madam President. Our government has already extended overtures to the Tholian Assembly, with the hopes of opening a continuing dialogue. As such, we will no longer require Federation aid or assistance. All of this will be made clear when the new presider broadcasts our secession declaration via the Federation News Service. Effective with that announcement, all Federation and Starfleet personnel will be expelled from the planet. I trust you will see to it that this is accomplished with all available efficiency.”
“This is outrageous,” Bacco said, scarcely daring to believe her ears. Was this really, truly happening?
“Any non-Andorian civilians will be allowed to stay, if they so desire,” ch’Pavarzi said, “though by doing so they recognize that Federation law will no longer apply on Andor.”
Stepping toward the desk, Akaar said, “That sounds like rhetoric, Ambassador. The laws of any sovereign member always supersede Federation law. You’re making an issue of something that is pointedly not an issue, and never has been since the signing of the Federation Charter.”
Ch’Pavarzi replied, “We prefer to think of it more as clarifying our government’s position, Admiral.”
“Your government would throw away everything for which we’ve worked for more than two hundred years?” Bacco asked. “Over a secret that’s been buried for a century; an error that we can address right here, this very minute?”
“My government is acting in accordance with the will of our people, Mada
m President,” ch’Pavarzi said. “While the vote was by no means an overwhelming majority, the separation between those for and against this action was still significant, and their message is clear: the Federation can no longer be trusted so far as our welfare is concerned.”
“That’s categorically not true, Ambassador,” Akaar said.
Turning his attention to the admiral, ch’Pavarzi said, “All evidence to the contrary, of course.”
“And what of those who voted against secession? What happens to them?”
“Nothing ‘happens’ to them, Madam President,” the ambassador said. “They remain Andorian citizens, with all the inherent rights and privileges therein. Anyone wishing to leave Andor, even to live on a Federation-controlled world, is free to do so. I have been sent here to reassure you that while Andor will no longer be subject to the Federation’s laws, we have no wish to cut off all ties.” He paused again, then added, “We have simply decided that the role we play in such a relationship will be more to our benefit than yours.”
“Ambassador,” Bacco said, stepping around her desk, “Andor is a founding member of the Federation. We’ve stood together as allies for more than two centuries. Do you realize the precedent this will set?”
Ch’Pavarzi nodded. “Indeed we do. Our action will send an unambiguous message to all the worlds of the Federation, reminding them that they are not obliged to subordinate themselves to a governmental body that would place secrets of dubious value over the welfare of those in need. They will know that there are alternatives to such blind devotion.” With a cursory nod to Akaar, he bowed once more. “Thank you for your time, Madam President. Good day.”
Forcing herself not to call out after him, Bacco watched as the ambassador turned and walked out of the office. She waited until her doors closed before releasing the breath she only now realized she had been holding.
“Damn it,” she whispered. “Somewhere, that bitch Tezrene is laughing her ass off.”
Akaar turned to face her, his wizened face a mask of concern. “Madam President?”
Bacco began to pace her office. “We have to do something,” she said. Reaching up to rub her temples, she felt the ache mounting behind her eyes. “We can’t just let this happen. Diplomatic overtures, a resolution to assist Andor by any and all means possible, something.”
As she crossed her office, casting her gaze down at the carpet, she recalled the unpleasant meeting she had had here, more than a year ago, with the Tholian ambassador. Tezrene had warned her that the Federation would soon know what it felt like to be surrounded by a rival power, the Typhon Pact. What Tezrene, and Bacco herself, had not anticipated was that this upstart alliance would be so brazen as to attempt recruiting new membership from those they called adversary.
In other words, Bacco mused, and as Father might’ve said, they’ve got balls.
Lost in thought, she did not realize Sivak had entered the office until she nearly ran into him. Startled, she looked up to see her aide standing before her, and this time there was no mistaking the worry he harbored as he regarded her.
“Madam President,” the Vulcan said, “what do you wish me to do?”
Drawing herself up, Bacco forced away the fatigue, the defeat, the uncertainty that had permeated her every waking moment these past few days. There was little to be gained from wallowing in denial about what had happened, to say nothing of the events soon to unfold. Now, she decided, was the time to act, for the good of the people who had elected her to this office and to whom she had pledged her unfailing commitment to keep them safe and secure.
“We need to call the Council into session,” she said to Sivak, and as she spoke she saw Leonard James Akaar nodding in approval. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
And it starts today.
43
With the lights out and her feet resting on the edge of the low-rise coffee table positioned in front of the sofa in her quarters, Choudhury sat in her favorite recliner, facing the sloping windows and watching the stars streaking past at warp. The mesmerizing sight, which almost never failed to calm her, was having no such effect this evening. Likewise, the drink in her hand also was proving to be of no assistance in that regard. The dismal mood in which she had chosen to wallow was showing no signs of abating.
I should probably shake this off, she decided. I’m thinking the captain probably doesn’t want a drunk, depressed chief of security standing behind him on the bridge.
The door chime sounded, and Choudhury continued to sit in silence until whoever stood outside her quarters pressed it twice more, before she finally called out, “Come in.” She heard the door’s pneumatic hiss as it slid open, and she could see a dark figure reflected in the window before her. There was no mistaking the tall, muscular silhouette standing at her threshold.
“Since when do you knock?”
Worf hesitated before replying, “I did not . . .”
“It’s an expression, Worf,” Choudhury said, not turning from the window. “What I mean is, since when do you need an invitation to come in?” She watched him step far enough into the room that the door closed behind him, returning her quarters once more to near-darkness.
“I was . . . distracted,” he said. She heard him stepping around her, coming around her left side and moving between the coffee table and the sofa. “I’ve been in a debriefing with Captain Picard. He has asked me to reiterate to you the exemplary performance demonstrated by you and your team. Your preparation and training likely prevented an already unfortunate situation from becoming even more tragic.”
Choudhury did not feel deserving of such praise, and had harbored similar sentiments when Captain Picard personally thanked her following the resolution of the crisis on Andor. Despite the best efforts of her and her team—to say nothing of Commander th’Hadik and his people as well as loyal members of the Homeworld Security brigade—there had been casualties. At least eight Andorian civilians had been killed during the near-riot, which almost had engulfed the parliament complex. Dozens more had sustained injuries of one sort or another. Only one Enterprise security officer, Ensign Jacob McPherson, had died during the incident, but for Choudhury that was still one too many. Several more of her people also had various broken bones and other wounds, all of which were being treated by Dr. Crusher and her sickbay staff.
“How’s the captain?” Choudhury asked, trying to change the subject. Despite her motive, her question was one of genuine concern. The past days had been a strain on everyone, but she knew the toll they must have taken on the captain had to be greater than the burden shouldered by anyone else.
Worf replied, “He is tired, of course, and distressed over what has happened.”
“I’ll bet.” Choudhury sighed, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see the day that a planet willingly left the Federation. It just sounds so ludicrous.” There was no denying that the past year had brought its fair share of challenges to the Federation. Threats of secession by a handful of planets—among those Alpha Centauri, itself a founding member—had been put forth. Alliances and the time-honored tradition of mutual collaboration had triumphed in the face of those obstacles, shedding the light of hope on one of the darkest chapters in Federation history, but such was not the case on this occasion. The effects of Andor’s decision would send shockwaves throughout the quadrant, Choudhury guessed, having tangible effects not only on other member worlds but also the Federation’s political rivals. Chief among those, of course, would be the Typhon Pact. How they might benefit from what had happened today remained to be seen. Would Andor seek membership in that unlikely coalition?
Wouldn’t that be something, Choudhury mused, with no small amount of cynicism.
“I suspect the captain blames himself,” Worf said, “even though I cannot see where he would be at fault.”
“That’s what captains do, Worf,” Choudhury said, smiling. “They take the blame even when it isn’t deserved. They take it so that those they command won’t have to. It
’s how they inspire loyalty and respect.”
“Captain Picard does not need to inspire loyalty or respect,” Worf countered. “I would give my life without hesitation in order to save his.” His conviction was palpable, even more so than at any time since Choudhury had known him. It had taken her little time to realize just how seriously Worf considered his Klingon heritage and the concepts of honor that permeated every facet of his life. It was fascinating to see how he had struck a balance between the ethos imbued in a warrior society and the standards of duty and integrity expected of a Starfleet officer. Somehow, and despite more than a few occasions where those two seemingly divergent perspectives had been at odds with each other, Worf had attained a sense of equilibrium that helped to guide him throughout his career. It was but one of the many things Choudhury found so intriguing about him.
And it’s quite the turn-on, too.
“You really do admire him, don’t you?” she asked, after a moment.
Worf nodded. “There is no one I hold in higher esteem.”
“Coming from you,” Choudhury said, “that’s saying something. I’m pretty sure the captain knows that, which is probably just one of the reasons he wanted you as his first officer. He needed someone he could trust without question, and who better than a Klingon warrior who pledges the kind of allegiance you offer him? He’s a better captain because you’re by his side, Worf.” Her words seemed to have an effect, as Worf now appeared to be standing just a bit straighter.
“It’s interesting you should say it that way,” he said, moving so that he could sit on the sofa. “During our meeting, the captain asked me to consider pursuing a command of my own.”
Making no effort to hide her surprise, Choudhury pulled her feet from the coffee table and sat up in her chair. “Really?”
Worf nodded. “He said that it was important to consider my options, but that with all Starfleet has lost, there is a need for good captains. I found it an odd discussion, considering how long it took for him to assemble a senior staff that works well together. I’d think he would want to keep us together, at least for a while.”