Articles of the Federation

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “You are asking me to accept scientific data provided by a Mizarian?” Martok found the entire notion repugnant.

  “No, Chancellor, I’m not. I’m asking you to accept scientific data provided by some of the finest minds in the galaxy, one of whom happens to be a Mizarian. He doesn’t even live on Mizar, for pity’s sake. He’s in no way representative of the Mizarian people, he doesn’t speak for them, doesn’t represent their pacifist ways, which I know disgust you—he’s one person. One person who, along with a lot of other people who are, frankly, smarter than any of the three of us, might be able to tell us more about the place we live in. Isn’t that worth putting aside a prejudice that doesn’t do you any good anyhow in the hopes of a much greater goal?”

  Laughing mirthlessly, Martok asked, “Is that all that is required of me?”

  “It’s nothing you haven’t done before, Chancellor.”

  “That is ridiculous.” Martok was losing patience. “This is a minor scientific curiosity that has no benefits in the short or long term. For that, you wish me to set aside the empire’s policy regarding Mizar.”

  “This has nothing to do with Mizar. And how the hell do you know it has no benefits in any kind of term? You haven’t even read MOE’s research, and you don’t know what they’re going to turn up. Think about how many Defense Force vessels have come across spatial anomalies that they didn’t know how to deal with—or that destroyed or damaged them. MOE might actually be able to figure out where they come from and how to survive them. And you’re just gonna let all that potential fall by the wayside because you don’t like the Mizarians.”

  “It is not a question of what I like, Madam President. You cannot ask me to reverse centuries of—”

  Tal’Aura interrupted: “Klingon bigotry?”

  It took all of Martok’s willpower not to unsheathe his d’k tahg and kill Tal’Aura where she sat.

  Bacco glanced at the Romulan woman. “There’s a human cliché, Praetor, that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” At Tal’Aura’s confused look, which matched Martok’s own, she added, “It means that you don’t have any basis to get superior toward Martok regarding bigotry toward other species—or should we go into the treatment of the Remans, the Miridians, the—”

  Tal’Aura held up a hand. “Your point is noted, Madam President.”

  “Fine, then shut the hell up.”

  Martok couldn’t help but smile at that.

  Turning back to Martok, Bacco said, “About a year and a half ago, I met Benjamin Sisko for the first time.”

  The vicious smile directed at Tal’Aura changed into a warm one for the human Martok respected more than any other.

  “He told me an interesting story from the war about how your flagship rendezvoused with the U.S.S. Defiant and you beamed aboard because you wanted to see the Starfleet doctor instead of the one in your own medical bay. I’m fully aware of the Klingon prejudice toward good medical practice, and I’m also aware that that’s changed over the years, in part because of your own initiatives after becoming chancellor. That sounds a lot to me like reversing centuries of Klingon tradition for the sake of something better: healthier, longer-lived Klingons who have the opportunity to extend their record of battle and have a better chance of going to Sto-Vo-Kor.”

  Once again, Martok was reminded why K’mtok had so changed his feelings about this human. Not only had she given an argument that a Klingon would understand but she had also done so in a manner that was eminently human. She could easily have made her point by accusing Martok of lying, citing his position on medicine as an example of his duplicity, an accusation that would have been sure to provoke a violent response in the chancellor. Instead, she performs that irritating human task of appealing to my better nature.

  “What is it,” he finally asked after a long pause, “that you are proposing?”

  “That our governments jointly support MOE—or HapHoch, or whatever it winds up being called—and give them every chance to do what they want to do, and do it right. Let’s give them support from Starfleet and the Defense Force. And let’s show that we can work together on this and move forward on this and not let outmoded prejudices get in the way of doing the right thing.”

  Martok threw his head back and laughed. “It has been a long time, Madam President, since I was able to convince anyone on the High Council to admit their prejudices were outmoded—much less that they should do the right thing. However, I will bring this to them and make it clear that I wish it to be so.”

  Bacco smiled now, for the first time since she brought this up. “Thank you, Chancellor. I think the best thing for all our people is to work together as much as possible. The galaxy’s gotten too small for us to keep hiding behind neutral zones and ethnocentric biases. And I think, my friends, that that’s it.”

  Tal’Aura then spoke. “I’m afraid there is one more thing that I must discuss with you both.”

  Looking at Martok, Bacco said, “Well, I already went off the playbook, so I’m in no position to argue. Chancellor?”

  Martok’s instinct was not to care what the Romulan had to say, but she had also been very subdued throughout this entire summit, participating only as much as had been necessary. Given how hard her people had worked to get her here, it seemed odd to Martok that she would then have declined to involve herself in the goings-on of the summit itself. He suspected that the answer to his unspoken question would come from Tal’Aura now, so he nodded his affirmation.

  Tal’Aura took a moment before she finally spoke. “Within a few days, an announcement will be made on Achernar Prime by Commander Donatra. She will be calling herself Empress Donatra, actually, and she will declare Achernar Prime, as well as all the worlds in that star system and three or four more besides—including Xanitla, Ralatak, and Virinat—to be the Imperial Romulan State under her rule.”

  “And how does this concern us?” Martok could have answered his own question—it was a cause for celebration. Tal’Aura had been holding the empire together with her teeth, and now two large morsels had slipped through.

  “Those three worlds are our primary farming planets,” Tal’aura snapped in a voice that sounded even more like Sirella.

  “Does she have the support of the rest of the military?” Bacco asked.

  “No—many are still loyal to me. However, the ships she has are guarding those three worlds.”

  Bacco nodded. “She’s holding the empire’s food supply hostage?”

  Tal’Aura nodded. “I have managed, over the past year, to unite at least some of the factions. The Tal Shiar, Durjik and his radical sect, and several admirals and commanders have all pledged their loyalty to me. But Donatra has fought me every step of the way. Now she has seceded from the empire.”

  “I’m afraid,” Bacco said, “that I’m with Martok. What is it you want from us?”

  “To not recognize the Imperial Romulan State. To refuse to trade with them, to impose sanctions upon them, and to aid us in retaking their worlds for the Romulan Empire.”

  Martok snarled at her. “You wish me to commit Klingon warriors to fight for a united Romulan Empire?”

  “Donatra will reach out to you as an ally, or at least as a trading partner, offer you the resources she is now denying us in order to build her strength. And then, when she is powerful enough, she will try to succeed where Shinzon failed. Remember, Donatra was on Shinzon’s side.”

  “So, Praetor, were you,” Martok said in an even tone.

  Bacco had been unusually quiet. In a soft voice, she said, “You’re giving us a lot of hypotheticals here, Praetor, but none of this has even happened yet. Either way, though, I can tell you this: Like Chancellor Martok, I can assure you that there’s no way in hell I’m committing any military resources to help you out.”

  “If you don’t, our people will starve.”

  “There, we’ll be happy to help you. If your people need food, we’ll provide it. But we’re not gonna take sides in your little int
ernecine conflicts.”

  Sneering, Tal’Aura said, “You are condemning the Romulan people to a slow and miserable death.”

  Bacco stared intently back at the praetor. Then, speaking with more iron than Martok would ever have expected from a frail-looking, elderly human woman, she said, “No, Praetor, you did that when you left a thalaron bomb in the senate chamber on Shinzon’s behalf. That is what put you on this course, and if you find now that you can’t turn around, then I will pity you, and I will help you in whatever way I can, but I will be damned if I will let you try to foist the blame on me. You got into bed with a lunatic, Praetor, and now the people you claim to lead are paying the price for your stupidity. If the Imperial Romulan State does indeed declare itself a sovereign entity, then the Federation will carefully consider whether or not to recognize it as a legitimate government. I can tell you this for damn sure: Our decision will take a lot of factors into account, but what makes your life easier will be extremely low on that list.”

  Tal’Aura turned her gaze to Martok. “I assume that the Klingon Empire, as usual, trails behind the Federation like a pet eager for approval?”

  “No.” Martok smiled. “The Federation may require time to make that decision, but the empire’s is already made. We will recognize any political entity that fractures the Romulans further.”

  That obviously did not please Tal’Aura, which only pleased Martok more. After a brief silence, she rose from her chair and left the meeting room, the two centurions trailing behind her.

  Bacco looked at Martok. “Can’t say as that was much of a shock. Honestly, I’m amazed the empire’s held together as long as it has. I figured they’d start falling to pieces once you guys took the Remans to Klorgat IV.”

  Martok nodded. “That was, in fact, our hope.”

  Chuckling, Bacco said, “Yeah, we kinda figured that.” Growing serious again, she said, “I meant what I said, Chancellor. We won’t get involved in the Romulans’ internal politics, but we’re not just gonna stand around and let their people die.”

  “I would not expect you to do anything other than what you have always done, Madam President,” Martok said.

  Bacco rose from her chair. “I’d say this summit is concluded, Chancellor.”

  “Indeed, Madam President.” Martok also got up.

  “I think we’ve done some good work here today, Chancellor. I hope this isn’t the last time we do this.”

  “I can promise nothing, Madam President. If I have learned nothing else in my five years as chancellor, it is that predicting the future is unwise.”

  “Wasn’t asking for a promise, Chancellor—was just asking for hope.”

  “My only hope, Madam President, is to die in battle and cross the River of Blood to Sto-Vo-Kor. Whatever happens on that journey happens, and we can do little else but fight it to the end.”

  “Well, I’m a little more concerned with getting the most I can out of this life.” She smiled. “But I think we’ve done a pretty good job on both ends.”

  She held out her hand. Recognizing the human gesture, Martok accepted the handshake.

  As they shook hands, Bacco said, “Qapla’, Martok, son of Urthog.”

  “Qapla’, Nan Bacco.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  DR. REBECCA EMMANUELLI had been to many dangerous places in her seventy years of life: the brutally hot sands of Vulcan’s Forge, the treacherous fire caves of Bajor, the uncertain mists of Berengaria, the toxic Mayak swamp on Ferenginar, and the hideously dense petrified forests of Selmak. Plus, of course, there were the four years she’d spent on Tzenketh, but she tried not to think about that.

  None of those places made her as nervous as she was right now as she sat outside the president’s office in the Palais de la Concorde.

  An elderly Vulcan sat at a workstation, giving her the occasional disdainful look. She wondered if that disdain was a direct result of what she had been refusing to do for the past two weeks and would continue to steadfastly refuse to do, no matter what it was that President Bacco said to her when she went into her office.

  She knew what was going on, of course; given the fact that the patient in question was in Starbase 1’s infirmary, it would be impossible for her, as the head of that infirmary, not to know. The son of one of the Tzelnira—the people who’d ordered the attack on Starbase 55, during which Emmanuelli had been captured; the people who’d ordered her to be declared dead so she could remain on Tzenketh and treat their sick and wounded—was now in one of her biobeds, awaiting an operation that only she could perform and that she swore she would never perform again as long as she lived.

  The door to the office slid open, and Rebecca saw the face of the president herself. Under any other circumstances this would be a thrill. It had been a big enough deal, talking with the chief of staff back in August during that mess with the Trinni/ek, but now…

  “Dr. Emmanuelli, please come in.”

  The Vulcan looked at the president. “Is the intercom no longer working, ma’am?” he asked in an arch voice that made Rebecca realize that the disdain was more general and not directed necessarily at her. For some reason, that relieved her.

  “It’s a personal touch, Sivak.”

  “Whatever excuse you feel compelled to give to cover your inability to remember how to use the intercom from day to day is—”

  Gesturing to the inside of her office, the president interrupted her assistant. “Come in, please, Doctor, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Emmanuelli got up and followed the president in. Seated on the couch was the very same chief of staff she’d spoken to before, Esperanza Piñiero, as well as Chirurgeon P’Trell. I guess I should’ve expected Ghee to be here, Emmanuelli thought with a sigh. They weren’t going to make it easy on her.

  Well, I’m not gonna make it easy on them, either.

  “Have a seat,” the president said as she herself sat in one of the chairs perpendicular to the couch.

  Rebecca took the chair facing the president, grateful that Bacco had given her the opportunity to sit face-to-face. The president could just as easily have chosen to preside at her desk, with all the power that conveyed. Instead, she was treating this as a conversation among equals, even though it most assuredly wasn’t. Rebecca truly appreciated the gesture.

  “My head speechwriter has this thing for old, dead languages. He likes to put references to them in my speeches. Half the time I take ’em out, since I don’t think it’s such a hot idea to try to convey something to people by using words they’re not gonna understand. But thanks to him, I know all kinds of odd bits and pieces in Latin and ancient Greek and the like. So I know a certain phrase that goes, primum non nocere. It’s the start of an oath you—”

  Rebecca had intended to interrupt much sooner, but it had taken her this long to screw up the courage to do so. “Madam President, with all due respect, I think throwing the Hippocratic oath in my face is cheap.”

  “Maybe it is, Doctor, but so’s what you’re doing.”

  Aghast, Rebecca asked, “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re not the only one who took an oath, Doctor. I took one a little over a year ago, and it said that I would lead the Federation and do what was best for its people.”

  “And how does my operating on a Tzenkethi fulfill that oath, ma’am?” Rebecca asked in a tight voice.

  “First of all, it’s not ‘a Tzenkethi.’ It’s a two-year-old boy named Zormonk. Secondly, the Tzenkethi have been at loggerheads with us for decades. We fought more than one war against them, and they still view us as some kind of evil empire that has to be stamped out of the galaxy. Not a day goes by without our press liaison coming across some piece of anti-Federation propaganda from the Tzelnira.”

  “Ma’am, I’m aware of what the Tzelnira are capable of. In fact, I think I know better than anyone in the Federation, to say nothing of anyone in this room.”

  “True. I know what you went through was horrible, but—”

  “Horribl
e? Ma’am, it would have to improve by several thousand orders of magnitude before it got as good as horrible!” Realizing that she was yelling at the president, Rebecca took a breath and said in a softer voice, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you have to understand what they did. It wasn’t just that they held me prisoner, and it wasn’t just that they forced me to treat their sick and injured. They only let me treat certain people—certain important people, who were worthy of it. I had to let two women, one man, and three children die because they weren’t of the right social caste while I wasted my time operating on the cousin of one of the Tzelnira who had no hope of recovery, no matter what I did, which I told them over and over, but they forced me to do it anyhow, and he still died. And then, when the armistice happened, they told the Federation I was dead and kept me there. My husband remarried, my children grieved for me—and then when I came back, it destroyed my husband’s new marriage, and my children blamed me for lying to them. So ma’am, please, don’t presume to tell me that you know anything about what I went through.”

  Somehow, Rebecca managed to keep her composure. It helped that she had been rehearsing this very confrontation for the past two weeks. She felt like her chest was about to explode, but outwardly she remained calm.

  The president sat and listened to everything she said. Then she picked up a padd from the table in front of her. “For the last five days, we’ve been getting more reports from Tzenketh—things about the son of one of the Tzelnira being kidnapped by the Federation and being experimented on.”

  Unable to contain a snort of derisive laughter, Rebecca said, “Ma’am, if you’re trying to convince me to perform the operation—”

  “I’m not finished.”

  In a small voice, Rebecca said, “I’m sorry, ma’am.” She suspected she had tested the president’s patience as much as she was going to get away with.