Ne’al stood staring at Esperanza for several seconds. Then it picked up the padd. “We’ll make this work, Ms. Piñiero. First thing in the morning, you’ll have an itinerary.”
“Thanks, Ne’al.”
It nodded and departed.
Esperanza picked up the glass again and drank down the rest of her Jack Daniel’s. Then she hit the intercom. “And with that, Zachary, I’m going—”
“Esperanza, Ashanté and Fred are here to see you, along with Toh. They need to talk to you right away.”
Closing her eyes, Esperanza said in a voice that made it sound like her throat was coated in Klingon bloodwine, “Can’t this wait until morning?”
Fred answered, “It really really can’t, Esperanza.”
Opening her eyes back up, Esperanza said, “Fine, come in.” She stared at the empty glass. I get the feeling I’m gonna need another one of these. Or three.
President Nan Bacco stood alone in the Ra-ghoratreii Room, just down the hall from her office on the fifteenth floor of the Palais. She looked up at the painting of President Ra-ghoratreii. The Efrosian was known to most Federation citizens as the president who signed the Khitomer Accords on the Federation’s behalf. Previously, the room had been simply called the Red Room, after the color scheme of the walls, provided by President al-Rashid in the early days of the Federation. After Ra-ghoratreii served out his third and final term, his portrait was hung in the Red Room, and the space was renamed (and repainted).
During the administration of President Amitra, she had converted this room to her office. She’d felt the presidential office was too ostentatious, a feeling shared by Jaresh-Inyo. However, Min Zife had felt the president should have the grandeur of the larger room, and so he’d converted this room back to a meeting room and returned to the larger room with the panoramic view.
There weren’t a lot of things on which Nan agreed with her predecessor, but that larger office was one of them.
This room now had a large replicated wooden table in the center, rectangular in shape, and able to seat up to fifty people if needed. Nan had arranged for there to be only seven chairs—one at the head, three on either side. The wood on the table was meant to simulate oak, and the only thing that broke its elegance was the padd sitting in front of the head chair.
A few moments later, one of the doors opened. Nan turned away from Ra-ghoratreii’s image to see Councillors T’Latrek of Vulcan, Matthew Mazibuko of Earth, and Kellerasana zh’Faila of Andor enter. They each nodded to Nan and took their seats. Soon they were followed by the last of the permanent members of the security council—Bera chim Gleer of Tellar, who did not nod, but simply took his seat, and Huang Chaoying from Alpha Centauri, who gave Nan a small bow before taking her seat.
Finally the subject of their meeting entered: Artrin na Yel of Triex. He also served on the security council. Along with the ones from the five founding worlds of the Federation, the security council also included councillors from eight other worlds. The present configuration had Cait, Damiano, Gnala, Huanni, Rigel, Sulamid, Triex, and Zakdorn as the “back eight,” as it was called around the Palais.
Nan feared that Triex would be off that list by the time this meeting ended.
When Artrin took a seat between Gleer and Mazibuko, Nan sat at the head of the table. “Thank you all for coming at this late hour. I apologize for being cryptic, but it was necessary.”
“Madam President,” T’Latrek said, “should this meeting not be held in council chambers?”
Somehow, Nan managed to control her reaction. After the previous day’s eight-hour marathon, she was in no rush to go back there, especially since she was the only one who had to stand the entire time. “It may come to that, but I want to keep the meeting informal—and off the record—for the time being. I want to tell you all something that my staff informed me of tonight, and then I want Artrin to tell his side of the story just to the six of us.”
With an understandable undertone of indignance, Artrin asked, “My side of what story, exactly, ma’am?”
Nan picked up the padd. “On 5 Torus in the year of the Fortil on Triex, in an emergency session, you rendered a judgment in your capacity as SMA to imprison a Federation citizen by the name of Wusekl without a trial.”
Most of the councillors looked at Artrin at that. T’Latrek, however, looked at Nan. “There is no record of Councillor Artrin rendering any judgments in emergency sessions during his time as Supreme Magisterial Authority.”
“Public record, no,” Nan said.
Artrin spoke up more readily than Nan had been expecting. “The emergency session was classified. The year of the Fortil was eight years ago. It was shortly after the explosion at the Antwerp Conference and the declaration of martial law on Earth.”
“During the height of paranoia over changeling infiltration,” Matthew said.
“Yes.”
Kell looked at Nan. “Ma’am, what was this Wusekl person accused of?”
“Funny you should ask.” She looked directly at Artrin. “Being a changeling infiltrator.”
“Was he?” Gleer asked Artrin.
“Witnesses saw him altering his shape,” Artrin said matter-of-factly.
Nan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s hardly surprising, since Wusekl is a chameloid. See, the Founders aren’t the only shape-shifters in the galaxy by a long shot.”
Artrin shrugged, an odd gesture from a three-armed being. “We couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t a Founder posing as a chameloid, and using that species’ own shape-changing ability to divert suspicion.”
“Right.” Nan leaned back in her chair. “So of course you opened up an investigation, did a full medical workup, got testimony from Wusekl’s friends and family, right?” Her question was laced with sarcasm; she knew full well that hadn’t been done.
“That would not have been prudent,” Artrin said.
Chaoying stroked her chin. “You feared a public outcry.”
“Exactly.” Artrin seemed relieved that Chaoying, at least, understood his position. Certainly Nan was having a hard time with it. The Triexian looked at her. “Madam President, I do not see what the issue is. It was a time of war—”
Before Nan could explode at Artrin, T’Latrek came to the rescue. “That is incorrect, Councillor. War with the Dominion was not officially declared by this council for one year and seven-point-three months after 5 Torus Fortil, shortly after Dominion forces took Deep Space 9.”
“That isn’t the point. The Triexian people needed to be protected.”
This time, Nan wasn’t letting T’Latrek’s cooler head prevail. “Really? I’m a little befuddled, Councillor, as to how people in a free society are being protected when innocent people are imprisoned without any kind of due process. Those are the actions of a totalitarian state, and I will not tolerate them in this government for as long as I am president.”
Kell asked, “That poor man isn’t still imprisoned, is he?”
Shaking her head, Nan said, “No, when our friend here got elected to the council, his replacement as SMA reversed the decision within about six seconds. Wusekl’s a free chameloid today—although, Artrin’s replacement being a politically savvy type, Wusekl’s freedom was contingent on keeping quiet about his imprisonment. Well, that particular gag is going to come off.”
Artrin stood up. “Madam President, you cannot use your access to classified Triexian documents to let loose with a vendetta against—”
Nan smiled at that. “Oh, you think I got this from Triex by waving around my executive privilege? No, no, no. You see, Councillor, I got this from a member of my staff.”
“How can someone on your staff give you such information?” Artrin sounded justifiably confused once again.
“Someone gave it to him in a public restaurant.”
Now Artrin’s voice sounded dangerous. “Who?”
Nan snorted. “Don’t get your bowels in an uproar, Councillor. We don’t know who. He gave a name, but it belongs to a Tri
exian who’s been dead for seventy years. The reason why he gave it to one of my junior staff is because someone else already gave it to Councillor Severn-Anyar.”
Gleer slammed his furry fist on the table. “That is why she requested a further delay on his ratification vote?”
Nodding, Nan said, “That’s right. And if they can give it to a councillor and a presidential staffer, you can bet all the ale on Romulus that they can give it to someone in Jorel’s press room. I can tell you one thing, Councillor, we are not going to let the story break there.”
Artrin was still standing. “My actions were wholly within the purview of Triexian law.”
Matthew set his hands gently down on the table. “Your actions were wholly in conflict with Federation law—more to the point, sir, they were wholly in conflict with natural law.”
Nan held up the padd. “Do I take it, Councillor, that you do not regret this particular decision?”
Artrin said nothing for several seconds. “Our people were scared. When Wusekl changed shape, he was almost lynched. Yes, we could have done a medical exam to reveal that he was not a changeling—the Founders are a liquid life-form, and chameloids are basically humanoid. But it wouldn’t have mattered. The people would have called for his blood. I did what I had to do to keep him safe—and to keep Triex safe.”
Nan then looked at the other councillors in turn. Each of them nodded affirmatively. Taking a breath, Nan then said, “For the safety of your political career—not to mention mine—you’re going to go into the press room tomorrow morning, and you’re going to announce your resignation from the Federation Council, and you’re going to tell them why. I want the Palais to control the story for as long as we possibly can. But I also want the word to go out far and wide that we are not this. We were manipulated by an awful foe who did everything they could to break us, to tear us asunder, and to bring about our ruination. We have come dangerously close to sacrificing our ideals, but we will not go over that precipice. And the first sign that this is so will be your resignation tomorrow. Is that understood, Councillor?”
Artrin shook his head. “What I did needed to be done for the safety of Triex.”
Matthew shook his head and chuckled. “There is a saying among my people, Councillor Artrin. It was said six hundred years ago by a great man. He said, ‘They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.’ ”
Artrin simply stared at the other councillors. Kell looked aghast, Gleer annoyed (which wasn’t much different from how he normally looked), Matt pitying, Chaoying thoughtful. T’Latrek, of course, was the soul of equanimity.
Finally, the Triexian said, “Very well, Madam President. I will resign first thing in the morning.”
“Wrong. You’ll come to my office first thing in the morning, at 0500, where we’ll go over your resignation speech, then you’ll go with Jorel to the press room.”
“As you wish.”
“That’ll be all.”
Artrin stood at attention. “Thank you, Madam President.”
Then he departed.
Nan let out a long breath. “Nice job with the Franklin quote, Matthew—I’m just sorry I didn’t get to use it.”
“It was not my intention to steal your thunder, ma’am.”
“S’all right. I had plenty of thunder left over.” She looked around the table. “Thank you all for your support.”
“We could hardly do otherwise,” Gleer said. “His actions were appalling. I cannot believe he said nothing.”
“He could hardly have done otherwise,” T’Latrek said with a withering look at Gleer. “By Triexian law, he was not permitted to speak of a classified judicial session in the presence of anyone who did not participate in it.”
Chaoying added, “And he was doing what he felt was right for his people.”
Before anyone else could say anything, Nan said, “Maybe he thought it was necessary eight years ago.” She sighed. “I don’t know, maybe it was—maybe it did keep that chameloid protected. But his resignation is just as necessary, if not more so.”
“Agreed,” Kell said emphatically.
Nan stood. “Thank you, everyone. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Everyone also rose, except for T’Latrek. “May I stay a moment, Madam President?”
“Of course,” Nan said. T’Latrek had served on the council for over eighty years. She hadn’t run for president only because she herself had never felt the need to. Hers was one of the wisest and most respected voices on the council, and Nan was not about to turn down a request for a private meeting.
After the others departed, Nan took her seat again. “What can I do for you, T’Latrek?”
The Vulcan councillor folded her arms on the table, her fingers interlocked. “It was not necessary for you to have the five of us participate in this meeting, Madam President. I am, however, gratified to see it.”
Not expecting a Vulcan to express gratitude, Nan smiled. “It was necessary—for a lot of reasons.”
“Perhaps, but you could have simply spoken to Councillor Artrin in your office and demanded his resignation. But you gave him the opportunity to speak his peace. For that, you are to be commended. It is my hope that this spirit of cooperation will become more typical of your administration than it was of the previous one.”
Nan smiled. “Or of my first few months?”
“The first few months of any presidency are fraught with precisely the sort of difficulties you have been suffering. They are exacerbated by your predecessor, who, during the war, took a much more autonomous role than is usual for a Federation president. In the years following the war, that autonomy remained, despite the best efforts of the council. It caused a certain amount of resentment among the more emotional councillors.”
Chuckling, Nan said, “Everyone but you?”
“Not quite everyone.”
Was that a smile she almost started? Nan wondered.
T’Latrek continued. “Your statements regarding the Aligar trade agreement were interpreted by many on the council as what you humans sometimes call ‘more of the same.’ ”
Nan sighed. “Yeah, you’re right, I haven’t exactly been playing well with others.”
“Perhaps the most important lesson in your job, Madam President, is to learn that one cannot do what one thinks is best, but rather what will do the job best.” T’Latrek looked up at the painting of Ra-ghoratreii. “I served in President Ra-ghoratreii’s administration, as a junior policy advisor on external matters. I was one of his advisors during the Khitomer conference. One evening, at Khitomer, after the final negotiating session with Chancellor Azetbur and her staff, he met with myself and several others.” T’Latrek paused to take a breath. “The president informed us that he thought the Khitomer Accords—which he was preparing to sign the following morning—were a terrible idea. That the Klingon Empire was only suing for peace because they were crippled by the destruction of Praxis, and that they would use the treaty to use us to build up their resources, and then—when they were truly a superpower in the quadrant again—they would wage war on us. He was convinced that this would be the case—but he also knew that he could not turn his back on Azetbur, and that the treaty was necessary for the short term, even if it would be disastrous in the long term.”
“But he was wrong,” Nan said. “Aside from that one blip eight years ago, the empire’s been our staunchest ally.”
“Yes, he was incorrect in his prediction. People in your position often make mistakes, Madam President. What matters is how those mistakes are dealt with afterward. In President Ra-ghoratreii’s case, it did not matter, because he did not truly commit the mistake. In yours—” T’Latrek unfolded her hands. “—it remains to be seen. But I have faith in your ability to learn from those mistakes and not repeat them.”
“I appreciate the confidence, Councillor,” Nan said, then added with a smirk, “Though I suspect that learning from my mistakes will just result in newer,
more interesting mistakes down the line.”
“That too is in the nature of the position you occupy.” Then that almost-the-beginning-of-a-smile came back. “It is one of several reasons why I have avoided running for your office, Madam President.”
Nan laughed. “Well, Councillor, you’re a much smarter person than I am.”
“That, Madam President, goes without saying,” T’Latrek said archly. “One other item, if I may?”
“Of course,” Nan said with a “go-ahead” gesture.
“I understand you are meeting with Ambassador Spock tomorrow morning.”
“Assuming the travel office didn’t send him to the Badlands by mistake, yeah.” Nan figured out where T’Latrek was going before the councillor had the chance to articulate it. “You want to be in on the meeting?”
“I believe my inclusion would only be logical.”
Not only could Nan not argue with that but she was also kicking herself for not thinking of that sooner. T’Latrek was the councillor in charge of external affairs; she supervised most of the Federation’s foreign diplomats, including Spock. When Spock had spoken before the council after Captain Riker had brokered the agreement with the Klingons to make them the Remans’ protectors, T’Latrek had been one of those who had argued against him—but who had eventually been persuaded by his arguments for the council to support Riker’s solution. “More than logical—sensible. I apologize, T’Latrek, you should have been part of the meeting from the git-go.”
“Apology accepted, Madam President. May I ask who else will be participating?”
“Jas Abrik, Raisa Shostakova, and Starfleet’s sending Admiral Akaar over.”
“I would recommend that Starfleet send a different admiral, Madam President.” T’Latrek spoke with as much disapproval as the president was ever likely to hear from the councillor.
“Why is that?”
“Admiral Akaar has a personal relationship with Ambassador Spock. The ambassador was instrumental in saving the admiral’s mother when the latter was pregnant with him. I do not believe he will serve as an objective judge of Spock’s words.”
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