by Dave Stern
She could stand to relax a little bit.
“Bottoms up,” she said to the man, and took a sip.
Her throat burned. Her eyes widened, and watered.
“Bottoms up?” the server asked, frowning.
She held up a finger. One minute.
“Colloquialism,” she managed a second later. “It means good health. Cheers.”
“Ah.”
“So what is this?” she asked, holding the glass up.
“Romulan ale. You like?”
Hoshi swirled the drink around. Swirl, swirl, swirl. She felt a little swirly herself.
She felt, for the first time in what seemed like forever, like she was starting to relax.
“I like,” she said, and raised the glass to take another sip.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw another shade of blue. Blue skin. An Andorian. Theera, standing a few tables down. Hoshi saw brown as well. Two Mediators standing next to her. The three of them seemed to be arguing about something.
Hoshi set her glass back down on the table, and went to find out what.
The captain had gone searching for, and after some effort found, the Maszakian delegate who had spoken up that afternoon in the Trade Assembly. The two of them had retired to the edges of the crowd, to talk in as quiet—and private—a place as could be found in the solarium.
“Sen represents the last gasp of the old Thelasian autocrats,” the Maszakian—whose name was Yandreas—said. “He does not understand how the universe has changed around him. The Confederacy no longer holds a monopoly on the interior quadrant markets. Species such as yours, Captain, have pushed past the warp barriers that kept them confined to their immediate stellar neighborhoods, and dependent on the Confederacy’s ships for the goods of the larger galaxy.”
“And Sen—and these autocrats as well—they’re not willing to change?”
“Whether or not they are willing to change matters little,” Yandreas said. “The facts are what they are.”
“The Confederacy is in trouble.”
Yandreas nodded. “Revenues from trading taxes and surcharges have fallen dramatically over the last few years. There is great concern among some of the larger interstellar financial consortiums. The viability of some of the outlying Thelasian posts is in question. In fact,” the alien looked around to make sure no one was listening, and then leaned closer, “I would say the viability of the Confederacy as a whole is in question.”
No surprise there, Archer thought.
“It would seem to me,” the captain began, framing his words carefully, “that what happened in the Trade Assembly today—the declaration of war—may impact on that viability.”
“How so?”
“War is—among other things—a commercial enterprise.”
“Are you suggesting that the governor deliberately started this war?”
Archer let the words hang there a moment before responding.
“Not…necessarily. But he doesn’t seem to be trying too hard to avoid it, does he?”
“He was elected to deal with these attacks, Captain. As he dealt with the problems at Coreida.”
“Yes,” the captain said. That was the third time today he’d heard the word. “I’ve heard a lot of talk about Coreida. But I’ve yet to hear exactly what happened there.”
“It’s a long story,” Yandreas said.
“Well.” Archer smiled. “The night is young.”
The Maszakian frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Figure of speech,” Archer said. “It means we have plenty of time.”
“Ah.” The Maszakian nodded. “Very well then,” he said, and began his story.
Archer leaned closer, so as not to miss a word.
Immediately on entering the room, Malcolm had pushed his way through the mob and staked out a spot near the edge of the party, where he could watch what was happening. Captain’s orders be damned, he had no intention of mingling or taking the temperature of the crowd, trying to figure out the relative strength/size of factions for and against Sen, who might be convinced to delay the war and who was determined to fight it. His job was security. Specifically, the captain’s security. Already he didn’t like the fact that the party was so crowded, and he had no backup. So he was going to watch Archer like a hawk. Not allow the captain to get too far away from him. And Sen. He was going to keep an eye on the governor as well.
Right now Archer was at two o’clock from him, clear across the room, at the very edge of the party. The captain was talking to one of the delegates from the Assembly. Pleasant, friendly, private conversation. Nothing to worry about there. Sen was at nine o’clock, almost directly to his left, the center of a large, boisterous crowd, a half-dozen of his bodyguards standing nearby. Close enough that Malcolm could see the expression on his face. Polite interest for the most part, and then, every few seconds, Sen’s attention seemed to drift. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed to Reed the governor had other things on his mind.
It would be helpful, Malcolm suspected, if he knew exactly what.
The governor was paying attention to two different conversations at once, the one going on in front of his face, the inane blather of the H’ratoi ambassador, and the one in his head, the one that Roia was piping in through the implant, a talk being picked up by the security monitors between the human captain and one of the Maszakian delegates, a talk that kept causing him to frown at inappropriate moments during the ambassador’s pontifications.
Had he not been in such a public place, of course, he would have done a lot more than frown, he would have had the Maszakian thrown from the top of the tower, and the human—clearly the instigator in this instance—dismembered, then thrown from the top of the tower. But of course, there were other factors to consider at the moment.
“So do I have it? Your assurance?”
Sen blinked, and realized the H’ratoi had asked him a question.
“Your pardon, Ambassador. I was momentarily distracted—new arrivals.” He waved a hand in the direction of the elevators, toward a group of nonexistent newcomers. The ambassador didn’t even bother to turn. “What were you saying?”
“The Conani particle weapons—they are impressive, but have yet to stand the test of battle. I do feel that our phased-array disruptors offer the fleet a much more powerful—and reliable—weapon.”
The ambassador continued at some length, going on and on about the history of the phased-array disruptor, managing to work in mention of the H’ratoi’s numerous “sacrifices” over the last few weeks, and their deserved rights and the Confederacy’s moral responsibility to acknowledge those rights, but what he really wanted, of course, was the Confederacy to force all ships in the armada to retrofit those disruptors. Sen had to struggle not to yawn. It was all of very little concern to him, the disruptors, or the particle weapons, the fleet, the war, the H’ratoi, the Maszakians…in a very short while, they would all be someone else’s problem.
“Ambassador,” he interrupted. “As you know I don’t make these decisions on my own. But I do want to assure you that my position on these matters will be very clear to the Defense Council when they meet tomorrow morning.”
Which was certainly true enough, as far as it went.
“I appreciate that, Governor,” the Ambassador said.
“Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Bowing, Sen took a step backward, and turned…
Only to have another figure step directly into his path.
He looked up to see General Jaedez blocking his way forward.
“Governor.” The Conani towered over him. Glared down at him. “I wish to speak to you.”
“Of course, of course.”
“As I told your assistant earlier today, I desire to speak further with the Andorian. The translator.”
Sen made a show of frowning. “I thought that meeting had been arranged,” he lied. “Were you not contacted?”
“I received no communication from your staff.”
> “Terrible oversight,” Sen said, though of course the oversight had been on his part, oversight to make sure no such meeting happened, at least not before his plans had been finalized, which they were now, so…
He subvocalized a request to Roia, who informed him that the entire Andorian legation, including the translator, was indeed present this evening.
“But one that is easily rectified,” Sen continued. “I believe the translator is here this evening, in fact, if we are fortunate perhaps we can discover…”
He turned, and saw the Andorian right where Roia had said she would be.
What Roia hadn’t mentioned was that with her, wearing the red dress, was the human female.
Sen smiled.
“…exactly where she is. Ah. You see?”
General Jaedez turned and followed his gaze.
“I do,” he said. “Thank you, Governor.”
“Oh, please, General. Allow me the favor.”
“Excuse me?”
Sen smiled. “I’ll escort you to her. Make the appropriate introductions.”
Jaedez nodded. “That’s very gracious of you, Governor.”
“Not at all. The pleasure will be mine.” He made a show of bowing. “This way, if you please.”
Hoshi stopped a few paces shy of the group and listened for a moment, trying to look inconspicuous. Trying to look interested in the food on the table in front of her.
“S-12 is near,” one of the Mediators was saying. “A further series of interviews tomorrow…”
“No. I have to return to Andoria.”
“We understand that. The interviews would delay your departure by a few hours at most.”
“During which time I would miss my transport.”
“There are courier ships aboard S-12. All have Type-Two FTL, so that the trip to your homeworld would actually be considerably shorter, should that prove…”
“What you request,” Theera said, “is impossible.”
“Not impossible. Quite possible. You are being unreasonable.”
The other mediator spoke up. “We have talked with your immediate superior. Ambassador Quirsh. He assured us of your full cooperation.”
“I have given you my full cooperation,” Theera said, a touch of anger in her voice. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Everything you are consciously aware of,” the Mediator said. “There may be more. There are certain procedures—”
“I have told you everything!” Theera said, much louder than before, loud enough that everyone within earshot—including Hoshi—looked up.
Theera visibly gathered herself, took a step back.
“I ask you,” the Andorian said, in a much, much, quieter voice, “to leave me alone.”
Hoshi frowned. What was going on here? Something to do with the translation, clearly, the Mediators thought Theera was witholding information of some kind, but what?
She walked up to the group and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me,” she said.
The Mediators and Theera turned to face her.
“I’m sorry to intrude. I’m—”
“We do not require the services of a courtesan at present,” the nearest—the younger—of the two Mediators said.
“You are dismissed,” the other added.
Hoshi flushed beet red.
“I’m not a courtesan,” she said.
“Indeed?” the first Mediator said, staring at her. At the dress.
Hoshi mentally cursed Sen for sending it, and herself for wearing it.
“I’m Ensign Hoshi Sato—from Enterprise. My captain spoke at the Assembly earlier today…”
“Ah. Captain Archer.”
“That’s correct.”
“I found his proposal objectionable,” the Kanthropian said. “Mediators do not perform their work in expectation of having it turned toward military purposes.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your captain’s desire to use the Antianna language as a weapon in this war? To say the least, that does not meet with our approval.”
Hoshi frowned. They were missing the point entirely. The captain had, of course, just been proposing that as a way of getting out the information to the Assembly, to let them know that progress on translating the alien signal had been made. But she couldn’t very well say that to the Mediators, could she?
“I understand that,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but I can say on Captain Archer’s behalf that should your work lead to a peaceful resolution of this conflict, that would be looked on favorably as well.”
The Mediator took a moment to absorb those words, and then smiled.
“I believe I understand what you’re saying, Ensign Sato.”
“Good,” Hoshi said, and from the look in his eyes, she thought he did, that he got what the captain’s true purpose in speaking up today had been.
“Now, as ship’s linguist,” she continued, “my job is to find out more about the work that has been done to date on translating the signal. And to offer my assistance in furthering that effort.”
The Mediators exchanged glances. The elder of the two cleared his throat.
“As Elder Woden made clear, our work at this stage is preliminary. No firm conclusions can be drawn.”
“I understand. I’d still like to take a look at the data.”
“It should be available shortly.”
“Shortly?”
“Yes.”
“Why not now?”
Again, the Mediators exchanged glances. “A decision to release our research can only be made by the full Mediation Council. I am certain it will be discussed at the next opportunity.”
“When is that?”
“Soon.”
“Soon.” Hoshi frowned. “In case you’ve forgotten, war has been declared. I would think that would make sharing this kind of information urgent, considering that a successful translation could help save lives.”
The Mediator nodded. “In theory, you are correct. In practice…” He looked right at Theera. “I can safely say that the Council will be hesitant to share data without the confirmation of certain facts.”
Hoshi looked from one of them to the other, and wished she knew what, exactly, was going on here.
“And now if you’ll excuse us,” the Mediator said, bowing. “Ensign Sato, we will speak again, I am certain.”
“Of course,” she replied.
“Technician Theera.” The Mediator turned to the Andorian then, and bowed as well. “We will speak further as well.”
“You are mistaken,” she said. “I am leaving tomorrow.”
“We will speak further,” the Mediator reiterated. “Good evening.”
Without another word, both Kanthropians walked away, melting into the crowd.
There was an awkward silence.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow?” Hoshi asked.
“Yes.”
“Returning to Andoria?”
Theera nodded.
“We were there, a few months ago,” Hoshi went on. “Our captain and Commander Shran…they went down to the ice caves. I saw some images—it’s quite beautiful down there.”
“Yes. It is.”
“We saw the rings too. They were amazing.”
Theera nodded again, but said nothing.
So much for establishing a rapport, Hoshi thought.
“Why is it,” she asked, suddenly tired of dancing around the subject, “that no one wants to talk about this translation?”
Theera glared. “You’ll excuse me,” she said, and moved to go past Hoshi.
Hoshi took a step, blocking her way.
“What is it that the Kanthropians think you aren’t telling them?”
The Andorian hesitated a second before replying.
And in that second, in her expression, Hoshi saw not just hostility, but fear.
“That is none of your affair,” Theera said.
“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I think it is. I
think it’s everyone’s affair. Like I said, we’re about to go to war. People are going to die. Or don’t you care about that?”
The Andorian’s expression softened.
“You do not understand,” she said. “The situation is…complicated.”
“Yes,” Hoshi said. “I get that.”
Again, Theera hesitated.
Then she looked over Hoshi’s shoulder, and all at once, the expression on her face changed.
“Governor,” she said.
Hoshi turned and saw Sen standing directly behind her. General Jaedez was next to him.
“Technician,” Sen said, and then turned the full force of his gaze on Hoshi. “Ensign Sato.” The governor smiled, and the skin on Hoshi’s arm crawled.
“I see you received my gift.”
Archer had heard enough.
He thanked the Maszakian for his time, and went in search of his crew. He spotted Malcolm, standing next to one of the refreshment tables. The lieutenant was sipping from a glass in his hand—something orange-brown in color. There was a table full of similar glasses next to him.
“I thought I told you to mingle,” Archer said, picking one of the glasses up off the table.
“You did at that,” Malcolm said. “I was just taking a litle break.”
“Hmmm,” He held the glass up to his nose and sniffed. A strong odor, but not an entirely unpleasant one. Reminiscent of some of the better scotches he’d had.
“Bottoms up,” he said to Reed, putting it to his lips.
“Sir,” the lieutenant said hurriedly. “It’s rather strong, I would sip gently at first so that…”
But it was too late.
Archer’s throat was already on fire.
“Auh,” he said, setting the glass back down on the table.
“Sir?” Malcolm asked.
The captain gasped for breath.
He turned away from the crowd and coughed. He coughed again. His eyes watered.
“Captain? Should I seek medical assistance?”
Archer waved him away. He’d be fine. In a minute. He was sure of it.
Fairly sure, anyway.
The captain bent over and put his hands on his knees. Coughed a few more times, took a few deep breaths, and then stood.
