She gave him an icy glare. “You are attempting to offend me in order to avoid confronting my questions about yourself.”
“Well, evasion seems to be what I do now, doesn’t it?” He began pulling on his pants under his robe. “Maybe I better just be true to form and slink back into the shadows.”
“If that is where you are most comfortable.”
He tossed the robe aside and pulled on his shirt. “If you don’t mind, I’ll show myself out.”
“Technically, I never invited you in.”
He gave her a meaningful stare. “Now, we both know that’s a lie.”
T’Pol merely stared back in silence until he left.
Then she curled up in bed, alone, and longed for sleep that never came.
March 24, 2164
U.S.S. Endeavour, Kandari Sector
“The Rigelians are hiding something,” said Aranthanien ch’Revash.
Captain T’Pol studied her first officer from across the situation table at the rear of Endeavour’s bridge. “Why do you say that, Commander?”
They stood around the table with Lieutenant Commander Hoshi Sato and Lieutenant Elizabeth Cutler, discussing the scientific surveys they would undertake of the Raij’hl system (which humans called Beta Rigel to distinguish it from their soundalike name for a more distant star) while Admiral Archer handled the political negotiations. The system was astrophysically unusual—not necessarily for having multiple planets in its habitable zone, for many star systems were similarly densely packed, but for having all of them be Minshara-class and actually inhabited. Not to mention that its primary star Raij was a type-A subgiant and thus should not be long-lived enough to host life-sustaining worlds. The Rigelians’ leading theory, Cutler had explained, was that it had originally been a binary pair of smaller, slower-burning stars that had merged together shortly before multicellular life arose in the system—the resultant upheavals possibly prompting faster evolution as life was challenged to adapt.
But Thanien’s interest was in the twin-world system currently displayed on the situation table, Rigel VII and VIII. The latter was a barren, heavily cratered and ridged ice planet, like some of the sister moons of Andoria; any liquid water it held was buried a thousand kilometers or more beneath its icy crust. But the larger Rigel VII was a more terrestrial world, beyond the habitable zone but heated by internal radioisotopes and tidal kneading from its sister planet’s gravity, and thus warm enough to host sparse but stable oceans and a viable ecosystem—as well as an indigenous humanoid population. “The databases they have sent us say almost nothing about these Kalar. Nothing about their origins, their biology, their government. Why so little information?”
The science officer pursed her lips. “Well, the Kalar aren’t part of the Trade Commission, sir, and aren’t even spacefaring like Rigel IV. And there’s a total ban on contact, so the other Rigelians wouldn’t have much sociological information.”
“Even so, there must have been enough early contact to give them reason to forbid subsequent interaction. Yet the information here is not even commensurate with that. There is no data on how the other Rigelians became aware of these Kalar in the first place.” He frowned, antennae curving forward and wide in wariness. “It smells of secrets. Once we reach the system, I recommend we investigate. Conduct extensive scans of Rigel VII, perhaps send a shuttlepod to conduct a clandestine survey.”
“Is that wise?” Sato asked. “We’re in the middle of some pretty delicate negotiations with the Rigelians. We don’t want to risk offending them.”
Thanien turned to her. “Nor do we want to risk inviting them into the Federation without knowing what it is they wish to hide from us, and why.”
The communications officer nodded. “Granted. It’s worth trying to find out. But we should find a way to broach the subject delicately, give them the chance to tell us themselves. If they seem to be hiding something, then we can look into diplomatic avenues to convince them to be more open. We shouldn’t just go sneaking around.”
Thanien closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “You are being naïve, Hoshi. All governments spy on other governments, even potential allies. It is a natural part of the vetting process.”
“We should at least show them the common courtesy of asking first.”
“That would tip them off to our interest.”
“Of course we’re interested! That won’t come as a surprise to them.”
“Nonetheless—”
“Commander.” T’Pol spoke softly, but it was enough to bring Thanien up short. “Hoshi is correct. At this point, the nature of the Kalar is a matter of scientific curiosity, nothing more. Without good reason, there is no logic in risking the disruption of our diplomatic relationship with Rigel in order to sate our curiosity. I am sure that Admiral Archer will agree.”
She delivered that last comment pointedly, aware of the esteem in which Thanien held the admiral. Yet that did not mollify him. If anything, it made him feel manipulated. He held his peace as the briefing continued, but once it ended, he requested to speak with the captain in her ready room.
“How may I help you, Commander?” she asked as the bare metal door closed, securing them within the compact, Spartan volume of the captain’s office.
He replied with care. “Captain . . . I am here to help you. As your first officer, my responsibility is to be your chief advisor.”
“I am aware of your job description, having held the position myself.”
He knew she did not mean to be snide, but it did not seem like her to retreat behind Vulcan literalism. Perhaps she was simply puzzled, in which case it would be best if he got to the point. “But it seems to me that you more often default to Commander Sato’s advice. I am aware you have served together for many years . . . that you consider her a friend and confidante. On a personal level, you are wholly entitled to that relationship, of course. Yet it sometimes feels to me as though you allow that friendship to get in the way of the proper chain of command.”
T’Pol studied him icily for some moments. “I see. Then let me assure you that is not the case.”
“I would be assured by your actions, not your words.”
“Commander—Thanien—while I understand your concern, the fact of the matter is that it is unwarranted. While I would need to review ship’s logs to compute a precise figure, I would estimate that in those instances when your advice and Commander Sato’s have come into conflict, I have favored hers no more than . . .” She paused, eyes drifting upward for a moment. “. . . fifty-seven percent of the time.”
“More than half.”
“You are not in competition with Hoshi, Thanien. I consider advice from all my senior staff and other relevant advisors in making my decisions. Just because I do not make a choice aligning with yours, that does not mean your input has not been valuable to my decision-making process.” Her mouth quirked slightly, a brow along with it. “In my time as Jonathan Archer’s first officer, he frequently arrived at decisions that went against my recommendations. Sometimes, he was even proven right.” Thanien knew T’Pol well enough by now to recognize the deadpan humor in her delivery. “Yet I came to understand that I was of value to him as a sounding board and a source of alternatives, even when we did not agree. Indeed, those experiences led me to the opinion that a first officer who is routinely in agreement with their captain is somewhat . . . redundant.”
She rose from her desk and stepped closer to Thanien. “If your suggestions do not routinely win out, it is because your training is that of a military officer, while this is a vessel of exploration. Yet it is precisely because of that difference in perspective that I shared Admiral Archer’s belief that you would make a fine first officer for Endeavour. I find our command dynamic similar to that which I shared with Malcolm Reed while he was my first officer—though of course you bring your own unique perspective.”
Thanien considered her words. “Very well. I understand, and I appreciate the explanation.”
T’Po
l studied him. “Yet you still seem uncertain.”
“I accept that you appreciate my place in the chain of command. I still wonder whether Commander Sato does. You and she have served together longer than anyone on this crew save Phlox. It sometimes feels to me that she assumes a special standing in the crew as a result.”
“I have perceived no indication of that,” T’Pol said. “For myself, I have no reason to doubt her appreciation of the proper chain of command. Any problem you have with her, Commander . . . I suggest you resolve with her.”
• • •
When Thanien arrived in sickbay, still mulling over his talk with the captain, he found Doctor Phlox feeding the menagerie of strange creatures that the physician kept on hand for medicinal purposes. Generally Thanien liked to time his arrival to coincide with the end of the feeding process; he found several of the creatures unnerving and didn’t like to lose his appetite just before taking the doctor to lunch. He knew he’d been on time as always, so Phlox must have been delayed. Perhaps the news broadcast playing on the main sickbay monitor was the cause.
“Ah, Thanien!” the cheery Denobulan called. “Forgive the delay—I’ve been caught up in listening to the news. A major development in the presidential race today—T’Nol is throwing her support behind Councilor Thoris!”
The news was startling enough to make Thanien’s antennae recoil slightly. “That seems unlikely.”
“Listen for yourself,” Phlox replied, gesturing to the monitor.
Indeed, the subspace news feed was replaying a press conference held earlier in the day (according to the caption) by Professor T’Nol, leader of the Vulcan Anti-revisionist Party and—until today—one of multiple candidates for Federation president in the election that would be held later in the year. This would be the first presidential election under the rules recently ratified by the Federation Council, the first whose winner would serve a full four-year term. And the sitting president, Thomas Vanderbilt of Earth, had chosen not to run for re-election. Thus, the stakes were high and the field was wide open. Every group with an agenda had someone in the race, making for a lively campaign.
But this was the last development Thanien had expected, and the question asked by Earth journalist Gannet Brooks reflected his own thoughts. “Professor, your movement up to now has advocated rolling back the post-Kir’shara reforms on Vulcan and restoring the High Command and its policies—including its antagonistic stance toward Andoria. How do you reconcile that with backing Councilor Thoris’s candidacy?”
T’Nol, a stern-featured and rail-thin Vulcan woman just past middle age, gave a measured reply. “It is true that there are many points of conflict between the traditional Vulcan values we represent and those of the Andorian Empire. But one thing on which we agree is our right to preserve that very freedom of dissent—the right of every world, every species, to retain its unique and separate identity. On every world in the Federation, movements have arisen in protest of the haste with which the union was imposed upon us. Yet the voices that advocate greater consolidation and homogenization of our disparate societies have the intrinsic advantage of being united behind a single movement, a single candidate. Those of us who seek to defend our racial independence against that spreading federalism cannot hope to succeed so long as we act separately. Thus, the logical solution is to cooperate in standing against that which we all oppose, at least until we have succeeded in its defeat.
“I have assessed the relative standings of the various Planetarist candidates and have determined that the candidate with the highest probability of victory over Councilor al-Rashid is Councilor Thoris. He is an experienced and respected statesman and is better known on an interstellar stage than other candidates such as myself. He has a sizeable coalition backing his efforts already and a well-organized support structure for fundraising and message promotion. If the Anti-revisionists, Lechebists, and other Planetarist and pro-independence factions combine their support behind Anlenthoris ch’Vhendreni, our estimates show his odds of victory to be at least sixty-one percent, based on currently known variables.”
“Quite a stimulating twist, isn’t it?” Phlox asked with relish. “I wonder if they’ll actually be able to make a partnership work, or if their traditional rivalries and resentments will scuttle the whole thing.”
“People like that are generally poor at tolerating those they disagree with,” Thanien replied, his current mood inclining him to cynicism. “I doubt it was so easy for the Anti-revisionists to set aside their hatred of Andorians. I’d just bet that T’Nol’s ‘logical’ calculation was helped along by some generous concession or payoff from Thoris’s camp.” Phlox simply chuckled at his cynical assessment and continued feeding his Calrissian chameleon.
Now the broadcast had switched to an excerpt from Councilor Thoris’s response. Andoria’s erstwhile ambassador and foreign minister was a thin-faced, aging chan with a reedy but commanding voice. “I am grateful for this endorsement,” he said, “not only for how it affects my political chances, but because it shows that despite our different views, goals, and ways of life, the races and cultures of the Federation are able to choose to work together when it is in our common interest. And that is precisely why the centralization of government that we see occurring with such haste is unnecessary, and why it must be halted before it compromises our planetary sovereignty. The members of the Federation rushed into union in the wake of the Romulan War, out of the desire for a strong and united defense. But while such mutual defense is certainly of value, in our haste we failed to consider the negative consequences of entrusting too much power to a central state. The Articles of Federation contain too few provisions for protecting planetary rights and resisting cultural homogenization. Starfleet has been given too much power of enforcement in matters that should be the purview of the members’ own security forces. Is it right that we even have a combined, consolidated Starfleet? Is it not better for each member world to bear responsibility for its own defense, to have forces specialized for its own particular needs?”
Thanien’s mouth twisted in scorn. It was a small-minded, ignorant objection. Starfleet was still quite a diverse organization, with each member world’s space agency assigned to its own particular specialty: exploration and diplomacy for the United Earth Space Probe Agency, border defense for the Andorian Guard, operational support and supply for the Tellar Space Administration, and so on. But that mix of specialties benefitted all the member worlds equally. And Thanien had learned as much from his fourteen months aboard Endeavour—an Earth-built, human-crewed ship with a Vulcan captain and a Denobulan chief medical officer—as he had from his thirty-two years in the Guard.
“And is it right,” Thoris continued, “for the Vanderbilt administration to be in such haste to enlarge the Federation by pressuring the Rigel system to join along with the Vega Colony? The current member states must already compete for standing and resources with five other members. How much more will each of our influence and independence be diminished if we must compete with seven others? Or ten, or twenty? How much further will our individual cultures be eroded away, subsumed within a mixture of so many ingredients? And what precedent does this imperialistic fervor set for the future?”
“Sad,” Thanien observed. “Thoris was one of the strongest advocates of cooperation against the Romulans. His willingness to share Andorian technology was critical to Earth’s victory.” He shook his head. “To see him pandering to the voices of fear and isolation just to win an election—it’s pitiful.”
“Try not to be so hard on him,” Phlox said, “or them. There’s value in considering all points of view. That’s the key to democracy!” He grinned widely.
The feed was now showing a rebuttal from Thoris’s principal rival, Earth’s Councilor Haroun al-Rashid. “What candidates such as my fellow councilor and Professor T’Nol are overlooking is that the type of loose partnership they advocate has already been tried, and failed, as the Coalition of Planets. History has shown us that we need
a partnership strong enough that it will not disintegrate at the first sign of trouble. And last year’s incident between the Tellarite and Boomer colonists at Iota Pegasi shows that we need clearly defined guidelines for managing disputes and delineating rights and responsibilities among our members. We need institutions in place that will guarantee and facilitate our cooperation while still protecting our sovereign rights.”
Phlox finished up his feeding rounds and moved to the monitor. “Shall we go to lunch now, or would you like to keep watching?”
“No, I have no interest in hearing more,” Thanien said.
Phlox shrugged and shut off the news feed. “Your loss,” he said as he and the first officer exited through the frosted double doors into the corridor beyond. “I find this whole noisy political process most entertaining. We Denobulans, you know, are a patient bunch—slow to anger and slow to change. Politics for us is a cautious and deliberate affair; we’re sometimes too slow to adapt to a change in circumstances.”
“A pervasive problem, it seems,” Thanien said. “I, for one, find it an embarrassment that so many of my people are so irrationally frightened of the new era the Federation has created. That even lunatics like the Lechebists are being taken seriously is a source of shame for all Andorians.” It had been a year since Lecheb sh’Makesh had been elected governor of Alrond, a colony world in Andoria’s home system, and declared it the seat of the Andorian Empire in exile, in defiance of Federation authority. At first it had seemed to be mere words, with the Alrondian government pursuing no aggression but simply wishing to be left alone. But as the election drew closer, the rhetoric from Lecheb had become increasingly confrontational, helping to fire up the Planetarist and isolationist factions that sought to weaken or dismantle the Articles of Federation that they claimed had been forced upon them. Thanien still wanted to believe these were just a small fringe of the Federation population, a disproportionately vocal minority too small to have any real impact. But he feared that they might be more than a mere nuisance.
Star Trek: Enterprise - 016 - Rise of the Federation: Tower of Babel Page 5
