by Dayton Ward
One problem at a time, Admiral.
“It doesn’t hurt that zh’Tarash is advocating using the entire affair as the catalyst for reaffirming Andor’s bond with the Federation,” Troi said. “Polls indicate her popularity is growing every day. At the rate she’s gaining on Ishan, this could end up being a very close election.”
“Don’t count Ishan out yet. There’s still plenty of time for him to pull a rabbit out of his hat.”
The upcoming special election to select a successor to the late President Nanietta Bacco now was mere weeks away, in keeping with Federation law that such proceedings were required within sixty days after a sitting president’s death or permanent removal from office. It now had been more than a month since Bacco’s assassination during the dedication of the new Deep Space 9 and the nomination of a president pro tempore to hold the office for the period leading up to the election. For this, the Federation Council had selected Ishan Anjar, a relatively junior council member representing the planet Bajor. Ishan had been serving in this capacity for less than a year at the time of his appointment, which many within the Federation government and Starfleet had viewed as a questionable choice, made as it was while preliminary evidence had implicated a Bajoran as Bacco’s assassin. There were those who believed Ishan’s selection was intended as a symbolic gesture to the people of Bajor, to demonstrate that the Federation would not allow the heinous actions of one individual to undermine its relationship with an entire civilization.
With the special election drawing ever nearer, the two front runners had staked out their platforms, each opting to place themselves on the opposite sides of what had become the hasty campaign’s key issue: security. Ishan Anjar was advocating a much more proactive stance with respect to the Federation’s role in interstellar politics, wanting to prevent future threats from enemies like the Borg or even more “conventional” adversaries like the Typhon Pact. Though Kellessar zh’Tarash was expressing similar sentiments, her vision was more in line with what many—Riker included—considered to be bedrock Federation principles, with peaceful coexistence being the ideal goal even while standing ready to meet whatever threat might present itself. Many had noted that there existed only a fine distinction between the two philosophies, but the relevant differences in attitude all were to be found within that narrow rift. Ishan was encouraging a more aggressive stance with respect to potential conflicts, even putting forth the notion that preemptive action was justified against verified targets presenting clear and imminent danger to Federation interests. Amity could be maintained, he reasoned, but any threat, no matter how benign it might appear on the surface, had to be met with overwhelming force.
Peace through superior firepower. Riker released an irritated grunt at his own dour joke. Despite a lifetime devoted to Starfleet service even after all the threats he had faced, such an attitude still sounded alien to him. It certainly was not in keeping the oath he had sworn, and while many railed against such a fundamental shift in thinking, Ishan Anjar seemed to be enjoying the growing support from a vocal segment of the population still reeling from the loss of a beloved leader.
“If Ishan wins the election,” Troi said, rising from her seat to join Riker at the window, “there’s no telling how far he’ll go to get what he wants. Just based on what we believe he’s done to this point, the possibilities are frightening.”
In light of recent revelations, Riker had been forced to consider the very distinct possibility that Bacco’s assassination and everything that had followed was part of some larger plan with the ultimate goal of elevating Ishan to the presidency in order to push antagonistic policies that, though motivated by the legitimate cause of securing the Federation against possible enemies, ultimately would lead to war with the Typhon Pact. On this matter, Ishan Anjar had spoken at length, citing his own experience as a Bajoran living under the oppressive rule of Cardassian Occupation. Never again, the interim president had vowed, should anyone be forced into such a hellish existence.
As for Ishan’s extraordinary career trajectory, it had become obvious to Riker and others that it all had been orchestrated by Ishan’s close confidant and former chief of staff, Galif jav Velk. Having served as a member of the Federation Council’s support staff since before Ishan’s arrival, Velk had a deserved reputation as someone who suffered no fools while knowing how to get things done, even if it meant ruffled feathers, bruised egos, or bloody noses. The Tellarite’s stance with respect to the issue of Federation security, like Ishan’s, was well-known and widely regarded, particularly in the wake of the Borg invasion that had taken place four years earlier and driven the Federation to within a hairsbreadth of annihilation.
“The question I’ve been asking myself,” Riker said, “is how much can Ishan do without his biggest cheerleader? If Velk was really propping him up behind the scenes, how far can Ishan go without him? Was Velk the one with the contacts—and the guts—to pull off all of this?”
Troi shrugged. “It’s too bad you can’t ask him.”
Insight into the true extent of Velk’s involvement in pushing Ishan’s plans had become apparent after intelligence data revealed the location of the assassins responsible for President Bacco’s murder. Tzenkethi agents had been implicated in the conspiracy and supposedly could be found on a remote, unimportant planet on the fringes of Federation space. Velk had dispatched to the planet a special-operations team that had included Commander Tuvok, Lieutenant Commander Nog, and Riker’s “brother,” Thomas. Upon arriving at the planet, the team had discovered that the assassins were not Tzenkethi, but Cardassians: members of an extremist sect known as the “True Way.” After a fierce skirmish that saw the Cardassians taken into custody, they were not returned to Earth but instead taken to what was revealed to be a secret “black site” prison facility on the Klingon world Nydak II.
Upon realizing that the strike team’s leader, Lieutenant Colonel Jan Kincade, was working for Velk with orders to make sure the Cardassians—and anyone else who knew the truth—never left the planet alive, Tuvok and Nog attempted to mutiny against the colonel in order to escort the Cardassians to Earth for proper trial. In the resulting chaos, which ultimately had resulted in the deaths of the Cardassian prisoners, Tuvok confronted their leader, Onar Throk, who confessed to being the one responsible for killing Bacco. Throk also revealed that Velk had given him all the information and support required to carry out the assassination. Despite the Tellarite’s best efforts to cover his tracks by ordering the elimination of Tuvok and Nog, the officers had been rescued by Riker and the U.S.S. Titan.
Perhaps to avoid being exposed as the mastermind behind Bacco’s assassination and implicating Ishan as a co-conspirator, Velk had been arrested by the Federation Security Agency and remanded to a classified detention center, though the charges against him had been limited to his unauthorized use of Starfleet resources and the illegal orders sending the team to Nydak II. Riker knew it was an end-run maneuver, designed to insulate both Velk and Ishan from being implicated in the murder plot. With Onar Throk’s claims being at best dubious and with no physical evidence to corroborate the story he had given Tuvok, there was no way to level such accusations and have them stick. What was needed was a confession or some other evidence that might still be out there, waiting to be discovered. To that end, Riker had dispatched a small cabal of trusted officers consisting of Titan senior staff members as well as his oldest and closest friend, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, to seek out and find that evidence, in whatever form it might take. Meanwhile, it went without question that no confession would be coming from Ishan, so that left Velk, wherever he might have been taken to await his trial.
Velk will never live to see any trial. Of this, Riker was certain, which was why tracking down the Tellarite—assuming he still was alive—in order to get from him the confession needed to expose Ishan once and for all was of paramount importance.
“What makes you think Velk’s not dead already?” Riker asked.
“As you say,
Ishan probably needs him, at least in some capacity. He’ll want to stop Velk from going to trial and perhaps exposing him, but it’s almost certain that he has information that could cripple Ishan if it got out or access to people who somehow are a threat to him.” Troi leaned against the window, pausing to look out at the cityscape of San Francisco far below them. “For all his talk about strength, I think it’s obvious Velk is the one with most of the power. Without him, Ishan may well be in over his head.”
Nodding in agreement, Riker allowed his own gaze to wander over the breathtaking sight that was San Francisco at night. Though he had not yet settled into his role as a desk-bound admiral rather than the captain of a starship, he had conceded that one of the job’s perks was the view outside his office. Still, even on its best night, any city on Earth could not compare to staring out a viewport at open space and distant stars.
You’ll get back there. One day.
“We definitely need to find Velk,” Riker said after a moment, “along with anyone else Ishan may have contacted or corrupted to get this far.”
“And what if we don’t find him?” Troi asked. “He’s the only link connecting Ishan to President Bacco’s murder.”
Riker sighed. “Then we’re going to need to find something else.”
Two
U.S.S. Enterprise
As the doors leading to the observation lounge parted and she got her first sense of what awaited her inside the room, Lieutenant T’Ryssa Chen wanted at that moment to be somewhere else.
Anywhere else. Rura Penthe. The Delta Quadrant. Remus. Wherever.
There was no mistaking the palpable tension permeating the room. Sitting in his customary place at the head of the curved conference table and facing away from the door was Captain Picard, his head visible over the top of his high-backed chair. Standing next to the row of viewing ports that formed the room’s rear wall, Doctor Beverly Crusher stopped in mid-sentence, her right arm extended and pointing an accusatory finger at Picard as she looked up in reaction to the doors opening. Her features were clouded in an unmistakable expression of anger, though she did an admirable job of composing herself upon seeing Chen.
“I’m sorry.” Chen managed to force out the words. “I was told the captain wanted to see me. I can come back.”
Please let me come back later please let me come back later please . . .
Without turning his chair, Picard said, “Come in, Lieutenant. Take a seat.”
Fabulous.
If there ever was a situation where an ability to suppress her emotions might be useful, Chen decided this was it. Despite her half-Vulcan birthright, a childhood spent with her human mother following her parents’ divorce had seen to it that she had embraced the human aspects of personality. To this day, Chen still wore her long dark hair in a style that covered the pointed ears that were the obvious outward clue as to her split heritage. Her life choices had seen to it that she was woefully deficient when it came to many facets of Vulcan customs and cultures. That especially was true with respect to the broad spectrum of physical and mental disciplines to which Vulcans subjected themselves.
I really should look into doing something about that, one of these days.
Chen cleared her throat as she stepped into the room and allowed the doors to close behind her. She was unable to shake the notion that she just had cut off her avenue of escape. For her part, Crusher moved to the table, took a seat, and crossed her arms, and Chen could not help noticing that the doctor had chosen to keep two empty chairs between herself and the captain. Saying nothing, Chen focused her gaze on the conference table and selected the seat to Picard’s left. The captain spun his chair to face the table, his expression unreadable as he looked to the ceiling and called out, “Picard to Commander Worf.”
A single tone sounded in the room as the intraship communications system activated, followed by the voice of the Enterprise’s first officer. “Worf here.”
“Number One, a runabout will be required for departure no later than tomorrow morning. Please assign Lieutenants Konya and Cruzen as pilots. It will be traveling to Deep Space Nine with one passenger. Doctor Crusher will provide the relevant details.”
Though she said nothing, the doctor did release a small, annoyed sigh.
“Understood, sir,” Worf replied. “May I ask . . . ?”
“Doctor Crusher will provide the details, Mister Worf,” the captain repeated, his tone hardening. “Make it so. Picard out.” Leaning forward in his chair, he seemed to forget about the conversation that had just ended as he turned to Chen. “Lieutenant, we’ll be heading back down to the surface later this morning. Another meeting is scheduled with the Grand Nagus, though I expect it will follow the same path as our previous conversations as we wait for the conference’s other participants to arrive.”
Crusher snorted, and though Picard said nothing, he did direct a scathing glance at her that Chen tried not to notice. It was obvious that Chen’s arrival had interrupted whatever the couple had been discussing, or arguing, and that the matter was anything but resolved.
As though sensing her discomfort, Picard said, “Doctor Crusher and I were reviewing the meeting from yesterday. She seems to think that we’re wasting our time at Ferenginar. Since you’ve been acting as my aid during these meetings, I thought it would be helpful to hear your opinion.”
“Sir?” Chen could help neither the simple response nor the look of confusion she now knew was evident on her face. “Well, that is . . . I’m sure Admiral Akaar wouldn’t have sent the Enterprise here if he didn’t think it was important.” When Picard said nothing in reply, she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and added, “Right?”
“It’s a total waste of time,” Crusher said. “The Federation Council doesn’t really think the Ferengi will join the Typhon Pact, do they? Especially now, after everything that’s happened?”
Feeling her anxiety heightening, Chen forced herself not to squirm in her chair. “My understanding is that Ferengi Alliance isn’t looking to join the Pact per se, Doctor, but that the Pact will be hoping to secure trade agreements.”
“And how likely is that?” Crusher asked. “I could see it maybe ten years ago, but now? After everything we’ve been through?”
Picard said, “There were those who wouldn’t have believed a founding member of the Federation might secede, either. If memory serves, we all were counted among that number.”
“But Andor’s coming back,” Crusher said. “It’s all over but the parades and speeches by this point, right? Opening any sort of trade agreement with the Typhon Pact would jeopardize the Ferengi standing in the Khitomer Accords.”
Chen said, “The Ferengi might see it as a profitable venture worth some risk, which they in turn could mitigate.”
“After all the reforms he’s enacted in order to strengthen the alliance with the Federation, Grand Nagus Rom isn’t about to undermine all of that.” Crusher looked to Picard. “You know that.”
“Oh, yes,” the captain replied, “I’m well aware of the situation, Doctor. As it happens, it’s been the focal point of the discussions held during the past several days.” Chen knew that Picard already had been invited to private meetings with the Grand Nagus in which the Ferengi leader had given reassurances that maintaining ties with the Federation was of paramount importance. “However, President Ishan and the Federation Council have expressed great concern over this issue, which is why the Enterprise and a full diplomatic team have been sent here.”
Chen was not sure, but to her ears it sounded as though Picard was being less than sincere with his remarks. Was he not convinced that the Enterprise’s current mission was necessary? If so, he was doing his usual remarkable job of keeping his true feelings and emotions under control.
In contrast, Doctor Crusher was another matter.
“The Enterprise only needs to be here if someone decides to start shooting,” she said. “The Pact isn’t going to try anything like that, at least not out in the open, and even if
they did? We’re talking about the Ferengi, Captain.” She paused, shaking her head before drawing what Chen decided might be a calming breath. “This isn’t the job I signed up for. That’s why I asked for the transfer. Deep Space Nine needs a chief medical officer, at least until they can get a permanent replacement for Doctor Bashir, and the change of view will be good for me, I think.”
Transfer? That’s why she was set to leave the next day in a runabout? Chen froze in her seat, not daring even to blink. Rumors had been floating about the ship for the past several days, intimating that Picard and Doctor Crusher had been “disagreeing” on a number of topics. Though both senior officers had taken great pains to keep their differences of opinion a private affair, it was inevitable that someone—a nurse, a yeoman, a bridge officer—would witness a testy exchange, generating gossip which in turn wound its way at warp speed through the crew. Chen herself had overheard whispered conversations in the officer’s mess or the ship’s library or even engineering. Lieutenant Dina Elfiki, one of her closest friends, had attempted to broach the subject more than once after seeing the captain and Crusher speaking in hushed tones on the bridge. Chen so far had managed to evade such discussions. Given her duties and the extended periods of time she spent in Captain Picard’s presence—in particular since their arrival at Ferenginar—she had elected not to involve herself in the “scuttlebutt,” as Elfiki and some of the other junior officers called it.
How’s that working out for you, Lieutenant?
“A change for the entire crew wouldn’t be such a bad thing, either,” Crusher continued, “and that includes you, Captain. I’m not a diplomat, and neither are you, even if Starfleet keeps leaning on you for those sorts of things. There are better things this ship and crew could be doing.” She turned to Chen. “Don’t you think so, Lieutenant?”
