After a moment, Vons chuckled and nodded to Damreg to release Kirk from the immediate threat. Once the blond Zami had complied, the historian retreated to Grev’s side, rubbing his throat. “At this point, Mister Grev, I think I’m keeping you alive mainly for the entertainment value. But bore me . . .” Vons made a show of taking the knife from Damreg and inspecting the edge. “. . . and I’ll entertain myself another way.”
Oh, a born performer, this one, Grev thought. Just the kind to say too much, with the right prompt. As Vons turned and started to leave, Grev called, “Just tell me one thing, Mister Vons. How can you betray your people this way?”
Vons turned back to him and gave a knowing chuckle. “Oh, I always serve my people, Mister Grev.”
Once Vons and Damreg were gone, Grev smiled. “That’s what I wanted to know.”
Kirk stared. “What?”
“Something’s been off about him this whole time.”
“I know . . . that he was trying to act like he wasn’t trying to act suspicious, or something.” Kirk coughed. “But he’s not exactly hiding it now.”
“That’s just it, Sam. I thought that was why he seemed off before, but now he still seems off, and I’ve been trying to figure out why. Something about his body language, and the way he enunciates just a bit too perfectly. Everything about that man is a façade.”
The historian frowned. “You think he’s not really Vons?”
“I think he’s not really Rigelian. You catch how he subtly emphasized ‘my’ when he said ‘I always serve my people’?”
“But . . . we saw him use the biometric sensors to enter the vault.”
“Exactly,” Grev replied. “So either he’s Vons . . . or he’s using a form of disguise more advanced than Rigelian technology can recognize.”
Kirk considered. “Suliban Cabal, maybe? There can’t be many left, but . . .”
Grev was skeptical. “They were active at Rigel over a dozen years ago. The RTC would probably have countermeasures for their shapeshifting by now. Besides, what would they have to gain? No, I think we’re dealing with a group that’s currently active, has a mastery of disguise, uses transporters, and has an agenda to undermine the Federation.”
The human had figured out where he was going before he’d finished. “The Malurians.”
“The Malurians,” the Tellarite affirmed.
Kirk’s gentle features grew solemn. “These people have already tried to start a war once. They don’t care who they hurt.” He went on with resolution. “Grev, we can’t let them get the data in those servers. We have to destroy the files if we get a chance.”
Grev stared in shock. “But, Sam—what about the loss to history? That information . . .”
“I know,” Kirk replied, looking pained. “But . . . the future is more important.”
The communications officer took his point, albeit with little pleasure. “What about our future? With those files gone, they won’t have much use for us anymore.”
“Yeah,” said Kirk. “That’s the other downside.”
June 20, 2164
Babel Station
Commissioner Soval was surprised when an aide informed him that Anlenthoris ch’Vhendreni had arrived on Babel. He could not see why a presidential candidate in the midst of a campaign tour would involve himself in a diplomatic conference. Surely a former diplomat as seasoned as Thoris would appreciate the political delicacy of such a venue, particularly in the midst of the ongoing Rigelian crisis.
Thus, Soval found it difficult to control his shock when he arrived in Babel’s reception hall to find Thoris addressing the pool of reporters accompanying him on his campaign. “While I have the utmost respect for my diplomatic colleagues . . . particularly my former deputy and esteemed advisor, Avaranthi sh’Rothress,” the candidate added, gesturing toward the tall, regal shen, who acknowledged the praise stiffly, “the recent events in the Rigel system simply intensify my concern that President Vanderbilt has forced the issue of Rigelian admission. Moreover, they underline the recklessness of the Federalist doctrine espoused by the likes of President Vanderbilt and Councilor al-Rashid—their inexplicable haste to enlarge and consolidate the Federation without regard for the unique needs and heritage of each society.
“In particular, I question the role of the Federation Starfleet in these events. Not only why they were unable to protect the victims of this assault or prevent two of their own officers from being abducted, but why their assailants opted to target Starfleet personnel in the first place. Now, I do not join with those voices who suggest that Starfleet might have somehow provoked this act, that it was some sort of defensive strike against perceived cultural imposition. But I think we need to explore why many Federation citizens might have cause to feel that way.”
Soval looked on with dismay. Being seen to exploit a tragedy for the sake of political advantage must surely backfire against Thoris, yet here he was doing it anyway. And indeed, Soval saw similar consternation on the faces of other spectators, particularly Admiral Archer and Ambassador Selina Rosen of Earth. Ambassador Solkar looked on with admirable stoicism, but his aide T’Rama bore a look that a human might approximate to their emotion of pity. Ambassador Baur, an avowed Federalist, looked on with positive glee at the misstep by the leading Planetarist candidate. Yet Avaranthi sh’Rothress struggled to hide her distress at her former mentor’s behavior.
On the other hand, the more dedicated Planetarists, Ysanne Fell and Mikhail Kamenev, seemed entirely drawn in by Thoris’s words—so persuaded of the truth of his critiques against the Federation that they were untroubled by the manner in which they were delivered. No doubt there were others in the Federation public who felt the same. But did Thoris truly calculate that their numbers would be sufficient to make this speech politically advantageous?
Indeed, the reporters raised that very question when he finished. “My friends,” he replied, “I understand the media’s incentive to focus on the political calculus of every act. I was advised that many would misunderstand my intentions here today, or would attempt to twist this against my campaign. But in the face of events such as these, we must put political considerations aside and speak from our hearts. Babel simply happened to be the nearest available venue for my campaign caravan to reach when the incident occurred. As you know, it was chosen as a diplomatic site specifically for its isolation. Stopping here also gives me the opportunity to consult privately with high-ranking officials such as Admiral Archer of Starfleet and my good friend Commissioner Soval. I have always prided myself on remaining fully informed on all matters that affect the security of the worlds I represent.”
It proved impossible for Soval to approach Thoris afterward without the candidate attempting to create the appearance that the commissioner endorsed his statements. But Soval had long experience managing the press and was able to avoid responding to the questions they called out as a group. Soval had long wondered why human, Tellarite, and Andorian reporters believed that ganging up on reluctant interview subjects and shouting questions at them would somehow make them more receptive to cooperating rather than less.
In any event, Soval finally persuaded Thoris to give him a few moments to speak privately in a small, currently empty conference room. “I know what you’re going to say, Soval,” the thin-faced Andorian told him. “I know that many will see my words today as a shameful, mercenary act. I was fully aware of that risk when I came here.”
Soval studied his old colleague closely, seeing something beneath the surface. “You disagreed with that decision.”
Thoris’s antennae drooped. “I needed to be convinced, yes. It is a rather . . . unconventional gesture.”
“Your entire campaign seems unconventional in light of your past record,” Soval told him. “I have always known you for your ability to compromise. You fight fiercely for what you believe in, but treat opposing viewpoints fairly. And in the past, you were one of the strongest supporters of interworld cooperation. Together, we helped create th
e Coalition of Planets. We both resisted its dissolution.”
“I know, Soval, I know. I haven’t gone senile, however it may appear.”
“Then your endorsement of the extreme Planetarist position is puzzling.”
Thoris tilted his head, his antennae twisting sardonically. “I’m well aware there are some rather . . . irrational voices on the Planetarist side. But don’t you see? That’s a symptom of the real problem. The Federation formed too fast, centralized too swiftly. That was bound to anger and alienate the more extreme nationalists and . . . well . . . those who have not yet learned how to trust other species. And that has provoked a backlash that could have been avoided had we proceeded more carefully.”
“Then why do you encourage such groups now? All you do is intensify their radicalism.”
The Andorian spread his wrinkled hands. “What’s the alternative, Soval? Let someone like Professor T’Nol or Governor Lecheb carry the Planetarist flag? The Federation would never survive if they were elected.”
“Their odds of being elected at all would be minimal. Yours are not.”
“Exactly. Many Planetarists are not against the Federation’s existence, but recognize its hasty formation has left many questions unresolved. There are still too few checks on central power, too little institutionalized protection of planetary rights. A moderate president motivated to solve those problems can make the Federation better, healthier.”
“But you do not campaign on a moderate platform.”
“Because my constituents wouldn’t let me. This is about emotion, Soval, not logic. It’s anger and fear of government domination, fear of the change that’s come with this new era, that’s firing up our base. I’d have no chance of winning if I didn’t speak to those fears. But once I’m in office, once those fears are mollified, I can lead the Planetarists in a better direction. I can compromise with the Federation Council in ways I can’t be seen doing as a candidate.”
Soval responded with a skeptical gaze. “Are you sure you will be able to do so? In hopes of winning this election, you have compromised your own beliefs, succumbed to your advisors’ judgment over your own, and pandered to the wishes of an extreme and vocal few who disproportionately dominate political discourse. Do you really believe that those who are working to place you in office will tolerate your abandonment of those practices should you be victorious? Will they not instead feel betrayed and pressure you to remain in line? And how far will the other factions trust your integrity if it becomes evident that your campaign strategy was based on calculated deception?”
Thoris studied Soval silently for a time, his antennae tensing and curving forward, then sagging. “I’m sorry you perceive my campaign in that way, Soval. But this is the strategy I’ve chosen. It’s too late for me to change course now.” He strode toward the exit.
“Yes,” Soval told him, halting him in the doorway. “That is exactly what I fear: that it is too late.”
• • •
Jonathan Archer hastened to track down Ambassador Jahlet and Director Hemnask after Thoris’s inflammatory speech. He caught up with them in a widely curved hallway near the outer edge of the habitat dome. “I really have to apologize for what happened back there,” he told the Rigelian women. “Here we go to such lengths to make you feel welcome, and then he has to come along and . . . Well, I want you to know that this is not how we usually do things in the Federation. I’m very sorry you had to go through that.”
“Your apology is appreciated, Admiral,” Jahlet said. She retained her usual easygoing manner, in contrast to the stern, pinched appearance her craggy features lent her. “We know that you do not share the candidate’s views—or his tactless manner of expressing them.”
“Still,” Hemnask said, “in his defense, he did seem to be speaking out of concern for our people’s rights and free choice.”
“I wish I could believe he really meant that,” Archer said. “But he was trying to use your tragedy to score political points. To pander to those factions that are afraid of opening up to new races, new ideas. I want to assure you that most people in the Federation aren’t really like that.”
Hemnask smiled. “You don’t need to explain plurality of viewpoints to a Rigelian, Admiral. No formal apology is necessary.” She took a step closer, softening her voice. “But your personal apology is most gracious, and most appreciated. It is gratifying to feel . . . welcomed.”
Her big green eyes held his, and he smiled back. “You are certainly welcome, Director.” After a moment, he caught himself and turned to Jahlet. “Both of you.”
She gave the other two a knowing look. “I thank you, Admiral. But if you will excuse me, I must consult with our government. You and Director Hemnask will have to carry on your dialogue without me, if that is all right with you.”
“It is, Boda,” Hemnask told her. “I’m sure the admiral can keep me entertained.”
Hoping to live up to that expectation, Archer took Hemnask for a walk on Babel’s esplanade, a public area beneath a transparent dome affording a view of the stars above. The esplanade was home to a variety of shops whose vendors had come from many worlds to cater to the diplomats and reporters attending the conference. “This Babel is quite a place,” Hemnask told him as they strolled among the shops, casually looking over their exotic wares and inhaling the eclectic aromas of their foodstuffs. “So many different peoples . . . it reminds me of the Colonies back home. Yet so few are in your Federation.”
“Well, not yet, anyway,” Archer replied. “Maybe someday.”
“Hmp.” She gave him a teasing look. “Councilor Thoris would accuse you of cultural imperialism.”
“We’re only seeking partnership.”
Hemnask smiled. “Aren’t we all?”
She stopped at a clothing kiosk run by a middle-aged Mazarite man, who gushed about the privilege of being visited by Jonathan Archer himself. Archer resisted his offer of a free suit, but Hemnask laughingly prodded him to play along and let himself be measured, if only to see holograms of various options. He found them all uniformly garish and embarrassing, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Hemnask, who seemed quite impressed by them. She put in an order for a pair of dresses herself.
But once they left the shop, she grew pensive. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She sighed. “I’m . . . concerned. I wonder if Thoris may have been right.”
“That the Federation’s bad for Rigel?”
“That Rigel’s bad for the Federation. That we aren’t ready for it. It can’t be a coincidence that this raid on the archive happened now. We have our own factions who fear new races and new ideas. Perhaps this attack shows that we are not as united as the image we project to the galaxy.”
Archer touched her shoulder lightly. “But the First Families aren’t part of your community.”
“And maybe that’s symptomatic of something—that we haven’t been able to make peace with those who are right in our midst.” She shook her head, causing her hair to tumble appealingly. “They’re Zami, just as I am. We have a kinship—and kinship is paramount to our people.” A bitter scoff followed. “But we are so far from being able to build common ground. Not with the likes of the First Families.”
Archer clasped her shoulder more firmly, sensing her need for comfort. “Sedra . . . there’s something personal between you and the Families, isn’t there?”
She gave him a grateful look, calming under his touch. “Yes, Jonathan, there is. My own . . . shameful secret that’s in those archives along with everyone else’s. A secret I keep not to protect myself, but to protect my mother,” she continued softly, for his ears only. “Who, before she came to Five and married Gorvel Hemnask . . . was the kept woman of a minor scion of the Thamnos clan, one of the leading First Families. Who, when she fled . . . was already pregnant with me, and not by choice.”
“My God,” Archer breathed. “Sedra, I’m so sorry.”
She stared and gave a confused chuckle. “That’s sweet, bu
t . . . why do you apologize? You bear no culpability.”
“Uh . . . well, it doesn’t just mean ‘I apologize.’ It means . . . I feel sorrow. I sympathize.”
“Ah. I understand. Thank you. But I long ago accepted that how I was conceived did not diminish who I am, or who my mother is. It only diminishes the man who did it to her.” She sighed. “Yet not everyone would agree, so I keep it private, for her sake.”
“You’re certainly entitled to.”
Hemnask reached out and snagged an elaborate necklace hanging in another kiosk, letting its multicolored beads slide between her fingers. “We’re so proud of this community we’ve built on trade. But it’s really about enlightened self-interest, held together only by a mutual craving for profit and a tenuous balance of secrets and extortion.” Hemnask turned back to him. “Maybe you’re asking too much from Rigel, expecting us to be like you. You have your holdouts, but you formed a union with no commercial incentive, no threats. You came together out of trust and mutual friendship. And perhaps that makes you overly ready to trust us, when you should not.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, clasping both her shoulders now. “I thought you wanted Rigel to join the Federation.”
“Because I feel it would help us change. Force us to crack down on the crime and the piracy, give us the will and the means to break the Families’ power once and for all. I’m just not so sure now that it would be good for you. And I . . .” She stepped closer into his embrace, gazing up at him. “I know that as a politician I should be selfish, should place the good of my Commission, my world, my constituents first. But . . . I can’t think only of myself when I’m with you.”
Archer learned moments later that a Zami’s lips were just as soft as a human’s, and maybe a few degrees warmer. Although he couldn’t be sure, for it had been a while since he had last felt a woman’s kiss. So he proceeded to repeat the experiment, to gather more data for the comparison.
Although by the time Sedra got him back to her room, he had long since forgotten about any other woman.
Star Trek: Enterprise - 016 - Rise of the Federation: Tower of Babel Page 15
