Articles of the Federation

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Staring at Abrik, Esperanza said, “Funny—the Klingons’re using the same argument you did, Jas.”

  Abrik just scowled at her. As manager of Fel Pagro’s presidential campaign against Nan Bacco, Abrik had encouraged a more hawkish attitude toward the Klingons. Both Pagro and Abrik felt that the Federation shouldn’t be allied with such an imperialistic nation. Esperanza didn’t entirely disagree with the position, but she also knew that the only alternative to being the Klingons’ allies was to be the Klingons’ enemies. More long-term good would come from being their allies, whereas being their enemies could not possibly have a good end. An Organian magic trick had been the only thing to stop an all-out war a hundred years ago, and then Praxis had forced a détente. Neither was something that was likely to happen twice.

  “Madam President,” Ross said, “I have to question the wisdom of risking the Federation-Klingon alliance over this.”

  “I agree,” Abrik said. “I said this before and I’ll say it again—these are hostile Remans.”

  Councillor Mazibuko said, “They are not hostile, Admiral.”

  “Not yet,” Bowles muttered.

  Shaking his head, Abrik said, “They were allied with Shinzon, Councillor. I think that makes them hostile by default.”

  “No one is hostile by default,” Akaar said, “only by experience, and the Remans’ experiences have not been pleasant.”

  Shostakova added, “There is also the legal issue, and the reports from the Klingons. This is not a simple situation.”

  The president rolled her eyes. “Believe me, Raisa, the lot of us wouldn’t all be banging our heads together if the situation weren’t so damned complicated.”

  Esperanza, however, was more interested in the commander’s mutterered aside. “Commander Bowles, what’s your impression of the situation?”

  Bowles ran a hand through her short, dirty-blond hair. “I’ve spoken with Jianuk and a few of the others about a dozen times now, and well—” She let out a breath. “They’re all saying the right things.”

  “But you’re not buying it?” Esperanza asked.

  “No, ma’am, I’m not. Every time we ask them why they’re doing this, their answers are rehearsed, and they’re the blandest reasons—freedom, liberty, and to avoid persecution from their fellow Remans. They’ve got something planned, I’m sure of it.”

  Councillor Bera chim Gleer said, “While I’m sure the commander’s instincts are well honed, we can’t just turn these people away because she’s sure of something.”

  “Agreed,” said Councillor Tomorok of Rigel in a tone that indicated his historic disdain for Starfleet. Esperanza had been on the receiving end of that disdain several times, even though her Starfleet career was almost four years behind her.

  “It’s not just that.” Bowles sounded a little defensive. “One of my officers is Betazoid, and he thinks they’re hiding something. He can’t get more than impressions—the Remans have pretty good telepathic shields—but they’re definitely keeping secrets.”

  “That’s not conclusive evidence,” Akaar said.

  “No,” Abrik said, “but combine it with the Klingon reports, and these people’s history, and it doesn’t look good.” He turned to the screen. “Madam President, granting their asylum requests carries too many risks for insufficient gain.”

  Esperanza’s arms spread wide in a gesture of frustration. “We’re not in this for gain, Jas. The question is whether or not to let them in or turn them over, not what we win if we do the right thing.”

  “There is a third option.” That was Spock.

  “Good,” President Bacco said, “we could use one. What is it, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “Do neither. Deny their asylum request, but do not turn them over to the Klingons, either.”

  Akaar nodded. “The Federation and the Klingon Empire are hardly the only possible destination for Jianuk and his people. It might be wisest for the Remans to pursue other avenues.”

  “In what?” Bowles’s expression was one of disbelief, her eyes squinting, her prominent cheekbones becoming even more so. “The ship they came in is being held together with rusted stembolts and happy thoughts. It can’t break warp three-point-five without falling apart. It’ll take the Ditagh maybe three and a half seconds to track them down, and without our protection, they’ll be sitting ducks.”

  Ross said, “The Intrepid’s in the area. Can they get there before the Ditagh arrives?”

  Bowles shrugged. “Sure.”

  Esperanza looked at Akaar. “I’m not up on the latest Klingon ships—can the Ditagh catch the Intrepid?”

  “The Ditagh is one of the Chancellor-class vessels. It has a cruising speed of warp eight.”

  Eyes widening, Esperanza asked, “That’s its cruising speed?” She knew the Intrepid’s cruising speed was warp six.

  “Yes, but I have faith in Captain Emick’s ability to avoid the Klingons.”

  “That raises a critical difficulty,” Councillor Krim said. “If the Klingons learn of our taking the Remans to neutral space, it will cause the same damage that granting them asylum would—with the added difficulty of leaving the Remans outside the protection of Starfleet.”

  Esperanza couldn’t help but smile at the look of irritation that Gleer shot at Krim. It was only a few days ago that the Tellarite had impugned Krim’s ability to judge events on the galactic stage. Krim’s quite cogent point belied Gleer’s accusation rather handily.

  Spock said, “The Intrepid also has shuttlecraft and runabouts, all of which are capable of warp speeds far in excess of what the Vkruk can achieve. Such craft are notoriously difficult for some starships to hang on to.”

  Esperanza squinted at the viewer. “You realize what you’re suggesting, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “Yes. I am suggesting a way to keep the Remans alive without damaging our relationship with the Klingon Empire.”

  The president put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Ambassador, for the record, I have to say that I’m ashamed of you, and find your suggestion that we allow the Remans to steal from the Intrepid to be repugnant in the extreme, and unworthy of your position as a Federation ambassador. That’s the sort of thing that would make us look like idiots.”

  “Yes, Madam President.” Spock spoke the words in his usual deadpan.

  After a few moments’ silence, the president then said, “Commander Bowles, I assume you recorded everything that Ambassador Spock and I just said?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I’d say I feel about the same way you do.”

  “Glad to hear that. I certainly wouldn’t want to look like an idiot more than seven or eight more times in my administration.”

  Bowles smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All right, I want regular updates on the situation. Ambassador Spock, Ambassador Rozhenko—keep working on the High Council on the relocation notion. Since they do like that, we may as well keep their focus there.”

  “It may not matter,” Shostakova said, “if they take umbrage to not getting the Remans.”

  “One step at a time, Raisa,” the president said. “I want hourly updates, people. Let’s make this work.”

  Zhres was running late for the afternoon meeting, but when he saw Krim, he had to stop to talk to him. “Excuse me, Councillor?”

  Krim, who had been walking down one of the hallways on the second floor of the Palais, stopped at the Andorian’s words. Zhres walked briskly down the hallway to catch up, admiring the complex earring that dangled from the councillor’s right ear. It’s certainly more impressive than Jorel’s.

  “What can I do for you—” Krim paused. “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. You’re Kant Jorel’s assistant, yes?”

  “Yes, sir—please, call me Zhres. Do you have a moment?”

  “I was just heading for the transporter bay. I have a reception to attend.”

  “Right, the London Dinner.”

  Krim frowned. “Is that what you wanted me to talk about?”

  “No.” Th
e London Dinner was an annual reception for selected members of the Federation Council. This year, Krim’s name had come up for it for the first time since he’d joined the council three and a half years earlier. “We’ve gotten a request from FNS to do a feature on you.”

  At that, Krim smirked. Zhres had noted that the man rarely smiled. “Why would they wish to do that?”

  “Well, Councillor, yours is an interesting story. You went from supporting a political movement on Bajor that favored breaking all ties with the Federation, and now you represent Bajor to the Federation. Not to mention your service both to the Resistance and the Bajoran Militia.” Zhres then smiled at Krim’s slightly irritated look. “That, at least, is how Alhara sold it to me.”

  “And Alhara is whom, exactly?”

  “The producer at FNS who wishes to do the feature.”

  “Does Kant think this is a good idea?”

  “Yes, Councillor.”

  Fixing Zhres with a stare that he had no doubt perfected as a Bajoran general, Krim asked, “Do you?”

  “Absolutely,” Zhres said. “FNS is the most comprehensive news source I’ve ever encountered, and the one with the most journalistic integrity. I firmly believe that it should be rewarded wherever possible, and this feature not only does that, but helps us.”

  “In what way?”

  “I think it’s good for people to see the real face of politicians.”

  Now the smirk came back. “I find that statement difficult to credit from someone who’s met as many politicians as you have.”

  Zhres laughed.

  “One thing confuses me, Zhres—why didn’t Kant come to me with this himself?”

  Zhres’s antennae wiggled. “Well, he likes to delegate anything he considers unpleasant, and he numbers talking to you among those things.”

  That seemed to surprise Krim. “For what reason?”

  “Well, Councillor—” Zhres hesitated. How to put this delicately? Then he thought, What am I doing? Jorel wouldn’t be delicate, why should I? “Jorel’s afraid of you, Councillor. Or, more to the point, he’s afraid of your ex-wife.”

  “Many people are afraid of First Minister Asarem, Zhres, but former employees aren’t usually among them.”

  “He thinks that she thinks he betrayed her by taking this job.”

  “Wadeen only has kind words to say about him.”

  Which makes her unique, Zhres thought. “Either way, I think it’s best if you didn’t disabuse him of that notion, Councillor. Anything that limits your contact with him is best for your mental health.”

  “Yes, I had gotten that impression both on Bajor and here in the Palais. In fact, you seem to have lasted considerably longer as his assistant than anyone else. Why is that?”

  Again, Zhres’s antennae wiggled. “I already knew before I took the job that he was an ass. But I also knew that he was good at his job, and that I’d be good at this.”

  Krim nodded. “Interesting. Very well, I shall do this show.”

  “Good. I’ll have Farak set it up with Elos.”

  After Krim said his good-byes and continued toward the transporter bay, Zhres turned around and headed to Jorel’s office. That’s one less thing to think about.

  He arrived as Jorel was finishing up a conversation with a Tellarite whom Zhres placed after a moment as being the political editor of the Tellarite News Service. “I’ll do what I can, Phant, but you know how the Tzenkethi are. They’ll probably deny that Brek was even on Kliradon.”

  “I have proof,” Phant said testily.

  “And they’ll say you manufactured it.” Before Phant could object, Jorel said, “Look, I’ll talk to Esperanza Piñiero, and we’ll see what we can do, all right?”

  “That’s all I request, Jorel. Thank you.”

  As soon as Phant’s face faded from the viewer, Zhres asked, “Did Brek get taken by the Tzenkethi?”

  “I have no idea, but the evidence is pointing that way.”

  “He was warned not to go to Kliradon.”

  Jorel let out a long breath. “Everyone is warned not to go to Kliradon. But Brek doesn’t view warnings as warnings, he views them as challenges. If he wasn’t such a good reporter…” He trailed off.

  Zhres said quietly, “If he wasn’t such a good reporter, he’d probably be dead by now.”

  “How melodramatic. Why are you late?”

  “I ran into Krim. He’ll do the FNS piece. He also says you shouldn’t be scared of First Minister Asarem.”

  “The man who divorced her thinks I shouldn’t be afraid of her?” Jorel stood up from his desk. “That’s advice I’m guaranteed to ignore.”

  Zhres smiled. “That should put it in good company with every other piece of advice you’ve ever received.”

  “At least I know not to go to Kliradon. All right, let’s go over—”

  “Excuse me.”

  Zhres turned around to see Esperanza Piñiero standing in the doorway. Zhres hadn’t even noticed her approach.

  “Esperanza, I’m glad you’re here. We lost a reporter.”

  The chief of staff winced. “Where?”

  “Kliradon.”

  “They’re given warnings not to go to—”

  “It was Brek.”

  “Ah.” Piñiero scratched her ear. “I’ll talk with Safranski, see what we can do. That’s got to wait, though.”

  “It can’t wait too long, Phant’s breathing down my neck.”

  Zhres, however, felt the change in the air as soon as Esperanza walked in. Something bad has happened.

  “We’ve got a situation on the Romulan border.”

  “The refugees?”

  Piñiero gave a smirk that was frighteningly similar to Krim’s. “Well, the Remans at Outpost 22 anyhow. About half an hour ago, shortly after their leader, Jianuk, had lengthy conversations with both Captain Emick of the Intrepid and Commander Bowles of the outpost—” Piñiero took a breath. “—the Vkruk made a suicide run at the outpost.”

  “In Thori’s name,” Zhres muttered.

  Jorel’s eyes went wider than Zhres had ever seen them. “How many people—?”

  “Believe it or not, only three of our people died. Bowles was suspicious of the Remans from the start, so she beefed up the shields, stayed on yellow alert and at battle stations, and evacuated all the outer portions of the outpost for the duration of the Vkruk’s stay. As soon as they detected a warp buildup in the Vkruk, the Intrepid fired on them, which also reduced the damage to the outpost. The Remans are all dead, as are two engineers and one security guard who were part of the outpost’s damage-control team.”

  “May they walk with the Prophets,” Jorel muttered. “I assume you want me to brief.”

  Piñiero nodded.

  “You sure that’s a good idea? If they don’t have the story, we can—”

  “One of them’s gonna have the story,” Piñiero said. “You know that as well as I do. Besides, how’s it going to look if Regia Maldonado or Edmund Atkinson or Sovan or somebody reveals it in the press room first? And what good reason do we have to keep it secret anyhow?” Piñiero chuckled mirthlessly. “In a lot of ways, this solves most of our problems, as ghoulish as that is.” She shook her head. “Zachary’s downloading the info to you now—the details, the names of the three dead people—”

  Zhres asked, “Their families have been notified?”

  Piñiero turned to Zhres. “The president’s handling that right now.” She turned back to Jorel. “One other thing—Jianuk sent a message out on all Federation frequencies right before the suicide run. It’s why we’re pretty sure somebody’s gonna pick this up even if we do keep it quiet, which is all the more reason to let it out sooner rather than later.”

  “What’d they say?” Jorel asked.

  “ ‘Victory and freedom.’ ”

  Jorel rolled his eyes. “How idiotic.”

  “Not entirely. That was Shinzon’s battle cry.” She sighed. “I’ll talk to Safranski about Kliradon. Get this out ASAP, al
l right?” With that, Piñiero turned and left.

  Zhres watched her walk down the hall toward the turbolifts. “Why does this make things easier?”

  “Hm?” Jorel looked up.

  “She said that the Remans’ committing suicide—”

  “I honestly have no idea, Zhres—and even if I did have an idea, I wouldn’t waste precious moments of my life explaining them to you.” He checked his workstation. “Get me everything there is to know about Outpost 22, the U.S.S. Intrepid, and—” He peered at the screen. “—Chief Avro Wraor, Technician Rulan Moody, and Ensign Jaron, all assigned to the outpost.”

  “They’re the casualties?”

  Jorel glared at him. “No, they’re the dancing troupe I’m sending over to the London Dinner. Yes, they’re the casualties, Zachary just sent ’em.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  Zhres sat down at his desk and started a search through Starfleet records. He soon learned that Wroar had been in Starfleet security for fifty years, that Moody’s enlistment period was going to be up in a month, and that Jaron was the first Evoran in Starfleet. And now they’re all dead.

  And thanks to his work, everyone in the Federation who read the news would know these things about them—know who they were, not just that they’d died. It might not have been grand work on the scale of what the president and Piñiero and Krim and the rest of the council and the cabinet and the president’s staff did every day, but it was still, to Zhres’s way of thinking, work worth doing.

  May 2380

  “There is no such thing as a perfect leader either in the past or present…. If there is one, he is only pretending, like a pig inserting scallions into its nose in an effort to look like an elephant.”

  —Liu Shaoqi

  Chapter Thirteen

  TIM LINCOLN WINCED as he watched the screen that took up the entire north wall of the Pioneer Pub. “They’re bringing in Martinez.”

  Sitting on the bar stool next to Tim, Natalia Hatcher muttered, “Well, this game’s over.”

  Tim held up a cautioning hand. “Now now, don’t be so sure.”