“You’ll have it, ma’am,” Piñiero said.
“Good. See you all soon.”
Everyone in the room, with the notable exception of Molmaan, said, “Thank you, Madam President.”
Abrik himself only said it because it was proper and it was expected. It certainly wasn’t a sign of respect. He had a feeling that President Bacco was going to lead the Federation to ruin.
March 2380
“Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.”
—Winston Churchill
Chapter Seven
COME ON, ALREADY! Sephara directed the thought at her roommate. It’s going to start!
Using her voice, Gira said, “I’m coming, I’m coming,” from the other room.
Sephara sighed. For some reason, Gira always preferred to use clunky vocal communication instead of speaking telepathically like any sensible Betazoid. It wasn’t as if they were dealing with weird flatbrain aliens who could only communicate verbally.
But then, ever since Enaren University’s housing department had seen fit to put Gira and Sephara together, the latter had spent most of her time wondering about the eccentricities of the former.
Gira came in holding a bowl full of hilrep fruit in her right hand. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Sephara’s face scrunched up in annoyance. I’m allergic to hilrep!
“Ow!” Gira put her left hand to her forehead. “You don’t have to broadcast so loud.”
You could have brought a fruit that I can eat.
“You said you weren’t hungry.” Gira fell, more than sat, on the couch, her body language echoing her thoughts, which indicated irritation with her roommate.
Well, Sephara had plenty of irritation to throw back at her. Giving up on speaking telepathically—honestly, it was like talking to a child—she said, “I said I didn’t want a meal. There’s a big difference between eating a meal and munching on fruit while we watch ICL.”
“I’m sorry, but hilrep is all we have in the pantry.”
“I thought you were going shopping.”
Sephara read guilt in Gira’s thoughts as she said, “I never said that.”
Aghast at so bald-faced a lie, Sephara sat down in the easy chair, as far from Gira as possible. Since the war, replicators on Betazed were at a premium, and university dorm rooms didn’t have them as a power-saving endeavor. Sephara had always found that ridiculous, but nobody had asked her.
Fine. I’ll just sit here and eat nothing while you munch on your filthy hilrep. Sephara then picked up the remote unit and activated the holo unit that would show them the discussion program they needed to see as a requirement for their political studies class.
The image in the center of the room lit up with four people sitting at a desk: the Kriosian host, Velisa, along with a female human in a Starfleet uniform, a male human wearing a suit that Sephara found hideous, and an Antedean of indeterminate gender who looked just like Sephara’s seafood dinner last night. Behind them, a viewscreen was visible, showing a Vulcan woman.
“Good evening. This is Illuminating the City of Light, I’m your host, Velisa. Originally, we were going to be spending our time talking about the war between President Bacco and the rest of the Federation Council that has been going on for the past six weeks—however, this morning, FNS broke the story that a ship full of Reman refugees is heading for Federation Neutral Zone Outpost 22 at low warp and will be in Federation space within a few days. We’ll be getting to the president’s problems with the council soon enough, but we’ll be discussing the Remans first. With me tonight to do that are Admiral Kathryn Janeway of Starfleet; Edmund Atkinson, a political reporter for the Times; Councillor Selora Quintor of Antede III; and, remotely from the Palais de la Concorde in Paris, we have Sorlak, associate counsel in the Palais legal office. Welcome, all of you.”
The panelists all made indications of acknowledgment, except for the Antedean, who seemed to just wiggle. Sephara found it gross.
“Sorlak, I’d like to start with you,” Velisa said, looking back at the viewscreen. “What are the legal ramifications of these Remans asking for asylum?”
“It is premature to speak of such things, Velisa, until such a time as the Remans actually do so.”
Adopting a supercilious tone that Sephara found rather enticing, Atkinson said, “So you haven’t talked to them yet?”
“I am not in a position to speak to them, Mr. Atkinson, as those communications are being made by the personnel at Outpost 22. However, since you are no doubt speaking figuratively, I can only say that several attempts have been made to contact the vessel that is approaching the outpost, but they have yet to respond. Sensor scans indicate that their communications systems are only operating at a low power level, and it is possible that they are using their minimal power only for internal communications.”
Velisa said, “Well, let’s assume that they do ask for asylum. What happens then?”
“The petition will be reviewed by the legal office and a decision will be made.”
“And what would that decision be?”
Sephara thought that while Velisa was being a bit too aggressive in her question, the Vulcan lawyer was being ridiculously obtuse.
“Until the actual petition is reviewed, it would be the height of illogic to speculate as to what the legal office’s decision would be.”
The Antedean spoke in a high, squeaky voice. “It should be added that the legal office’s decision is only a decision for the legal office. It will then take the form of a recommendation to the council, and the council will make a decision.”
“Councillor Quintor, do you think that the Federation will grant an asylum request—if that’s what the occupants of this ship are after?”
“I’m not entirely convinced that that is what they’re after, but a lot of it would depend on the reasons for the asylum request.”
Atkinson chuckled without mirth. “I should think that would be obvious, Councillor—they’ve lived as slaves for centuries, and violence between Klingon vessels protecting Remus and Romulan military vessels has been escalating since the incident in the T’Met system two months ago, and the settling of the Remans in the Ehrie’fvil colony has not gone especially smoothly. Just yesterday a dozen Remans were attacked in their homes by supposedly unidentified attackers.”
“It should be pointed out that the Remans are not slaves now, so if that is their only reason, they would not be granted asylum.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Atkinson said. “They’re being attacked in space, they’re being attacked on Romulus. What other reason do they need?”
“One which actually applies, Mr. Atkinson.”
Velisa spoke up before Atkinson had a chance to respond to that. “Admiral Janeway, you look like you want to say something.”
Janeway hesitated for a moment. “I’m sure, of course, that certain legalities need to be worked out, and I can understand Ms. Sorlak’s reluctance to commit to any course of action—but the Federation was founded on the principles of freedom, of self-determination, of equal rights for every sentient being. I can’t imagine that the Federation would turn away refugees who have suffered oppression in an enemy nation for so long. When I commanded the U.S.S. Voyager, and we were trapped in the Delta Quadrant, we took in several people who had separated themselves from the Borg collective. One of them is at Starfleet Academy now. They were in the same situation as these Remans, and if they want to seek a better life in the Federation, who are we to turn them down?”
The Antedean councillor wiggled again. “You make a very compelling argument, Admiral, but there are several flaws in it. One is that the Romulan Star Empire is not an enemy nation. They have not been our enemies since they joined forces with us and the Klingons during the Dominion War six years ago. And, indeed, the Romulan Star Empire barely exists as a political entity right now.”
“The kind of chaos that results in the fall of a government,” Janeway said in a tight v
oice, “is exactly the sort of situation into which the Federation must provide humanitarian aid.”
“What an ethnocentric term,” the Antedean said.
Atkinson joined the conversation again. “The word’s root may come from the word human, Councillor, but the meaning has evolved. Are you and Ms. Sorlak really going to sit here and tell us that the Federation is going to turn away refugees from its border?”
“I have said no such thing,” the Vulcan woman said archly. Sephara decided she didn’t like her. “And the Federation has, in fact, been providing aid to many parts of the Romulan Empire for the past three months. But there are several factors at stake, not the least of which is that the presence and/or status of the Romulan Star Empire is wholly irrelevant to this discussion.”
“How is that, exactly?” Atkinson sounded annoyed, not that Sephara could blame him. How could the Romulans be irrelevant to a discussion about Reman refugees?
“Because the Remans are a protectorate of the Klingon Empire. If we grant them asylum, we risk endangering the Khitomer Accords.”
Janeway said, “These Remans may view the Klingons as simply exchanging one oppressor for the other.”
“They may, yes. That is why I cannot speculate as to what the legal office’s decision—or, rather,” she added with a look at Quintor, “recommendation will be.”
There was a very brief pause, which Velisa filled in quickly. “Obviously this is a more difficult issue than one might think. We could probably go on for some time, but I would like to cover what we originally invited you all to discuss.”
“That’s it?” Gira asked, and Sephara could read her roommate’s irritation. “They barely started covering the issue.”
“What else were they supposed to say?” Sephara asked verbally. “All they did was say ‘I don’t know’ fifteen different ways. Honestly, if they were telepaths, the conversation would’ve been over five minutes sooner and wasted a lot less of everyone’s time and energy.”
Velisa was still talking. “Six weeks ago, President Bacco railed into the rest of the Federation Council over the Federation’s trade agreement with Aligar for kellinite. She urged the council to vote to discontinue the agreement, which is up for renewal. Here’s an excerpt from the speech, made in an open session of the full council.”
The image switched to that of the Federation Council Chambers, which Sephara knew was in a city called Paris, though she couldn’t remember what the name of the building was. I hope that isn’t on a quiz.
“It probably will be,” Gira said snidely.
Sephara stuck her tongue out at her roommate.
At the center of the image was a white-haired human woman, who was standing at a podium emblazoned with the symbol of the Federation. Some of the councillors were visible on either side—Sephara picked out a Bajoran, an Andorian, a Tellarite, and a Zakdorn—though most of the council seats were not visible.
“Over ninety percent of Aligar’s population work for no compensation of any kind, are given no freedoms of any kind, have no liberties of any kind. They have no choice in their lives, no say in their government, no voice to be heard. And the work they do is backbreaking and humiliating. They don’t have any proper medical care—workers who are injured are discarded and left to die, with new people sent in to take their place. All of Aligar’s wealth is concentrated in the ten percent of their population that does the least to earn it. Now that’s how they run their world, and if they won’t change their ways, there’s not a lot we can do about it. But we can—we must —cease our support of it. During the Dominion War, we had trade agreements with several nations that we found distasteful, that we found repugnant: the Son’a, Aligar, Mordaliia. But the war’s long over, and it is far past time that we allowed ourselves to support this sort of vicious oppression of almost an entire species. We cannot continue to call ourselves a society that values freedom for all sentient life, and then happily take kellinite from a world that doesn’t consider its sentient life to even be sentient.”
Velisa resumed, “Although her argument was enough to sway several swing votes on the council toward non-renewal, the effects of her speech to the council have been tremendous. The council has ground to a proverbial halt, as several orders of business proposed by the president’s office have been slowed down. Councillor Quintor, is it true that President Bacco’s—there’s no other word for it—chiding of the council has resulted in this slowdown?”
“First of all,” Quintor said in her annoying voice, “I would like to say that I voted against the initial trade agreement with Aligar and have voted against it every time the agreement came up for renewal. Antede has never had any kind of ownership of people in its history—in fact, our world was first introduced to the concept when we made contact with other worlds, and we always found it to be repugnant. Lack of any kind of slavery is a basic requirement for any world to be even considered for Federation membership, so the notion that we should trade with a nation that has a population that is ninety percent slaves is abhorrent.”
“And yet, we continue to be allied with the Klingons,” Atkinson said snidely, though Sephara had to concede that the reporter had a point.
“Yes, we do,” Quintor said, “and I find that equally abhorrent. When the Klingons withdrew from the Khitomer Accords six years ago, there was a resolution for the Federation to remain signatories to the agreement, so that if the empire wanted to re-ally themselves with us, they could simply re-sign the treaty—as, in fact, they did a year and a half later. I voted against that, as well. I have always been against the Federation-Klingon alliance.”
Before Atkinson could say anything else, Velisa said, “We’re getting off-track, Councillor.”
“Yes, of course, my apologies, Velisa. In any case, I disagree with your assertion that there’s been any kind of ‘slowdown.’ We are carefully considering any legislation or appointments made by the president’s office, as we always do. Such decisions do have far-reaching consequences.”
Atkinson laughed. “Oh, come off it. Councillor Artrin was nominated for the judiciary council two months ago, as were Councillor Beltane for commerce and yourself for government oversight—with no movement in sight for the council to ratify any of them.”
Quintor wiggled again. “I was honored to even be nominated for government oversight—but it is a position that requires careful consideration. As does judiciary.”
“I would disagree with the councillor on the second point,” the Vulcan woman said. “Councillor Artrin has an impeccable record, and has long been qualified for the judiciary council.”
“So you do think the council is stonewalling President Bacco as a punishment?” Velisa asked.
“I would never presume to ascribe such motives to esteemed members of the Federation Council.”
Sephara laughed at that. If this conversation had been telepathic, Sorlak would never have been able to get away with such a bald-faced lie. That reminded Sephara that Vulcans weren’t supposed to lie—she wondered if that held true for Vulcan lawyers.
“Turn it off,” Gira said.
“What?” Sephara asked, though she, of course, heard both Gira’s words and the thoughts of disgust that prompted them.
“They’re not saying anything interesting. I can’t believe that we’re required to watch this idiotic program.”
Not wanting to get into an argument, Sephara turned it off, just as Atkinson started raving about something. It was easier to do that than to argue with Gira when she was being unreasonable—which was pretty much any time she was awake.
So what do you want to do now? Sephara asked.
To her shock, Gira also responded telepathically. Anything else, as long as it doesn’t have to do with school.
Why don’t we do that food shopping you never did?
Gira liked that idea, and the roommates got up to get food, the world of Federation politics forgotten until they would need it for class.
Chapter Eight
ESPERANZA P
IÑIERO got off the turbolift on the fifteenth floor to see Sivak seated at his desk and none of the security guards present—which meant that Bacco wasn’t in the office.
“Oh hell, are they still in session?”
Sivak didn’t look up from his workstation. “Were I to answer that in the negative, it would be a lie.”
Sighing, Esperanza looked at the chronometer. The session had gone on for eight hours, four hours longer than expected. She knew that the new business had taken up three and three-quarters of those hours—most of that being the Reman situation, now that it had gone public—to be followed by voting. If it was taking this long, there was obviously some contentious discussion going on before the votes could actually be taken. They had hopes that the council would finally vote on Artrin, Quintor, and Beltane, but Esperanza was starting to think that that was a forlorn hope.
“Call me the instant she walks out of that turbolift, all right?”
“That is unlikely.”
Esperanza frowned. “Why the hell is that?”
Sivak looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. “There is no need to yell, Ms. Piñiero. I merely consider it to be highly unlikely that you will be in your office to receive a call when the president comes off the turbolift.”
Her mood already crappy, Esperanza found that Sivak’s usual nonsense was fraying her last existing nerve ending. “And why is that?” she asked in a tight voice.
“Because seventeen-point-nine seconds ago, the session did end. President Bacco is on her way up now.”
Esperanza counted to ten in English, Spanish, and Bajoran, then said, “Why didn’t you just say that?”
As the turbolift doors opened to reveal four of the six bodyguards, who then went through the side doors to take up their positions at the other two entrances to the president’s office, Sivak said, “I believe I just did.”
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