by Dayton Ward
Sivak, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, offered an understanding nod. “President Bacco is ready to see you now, and apologizes for the delay.”
Nodding, Picard cleared his throat. “Of course. By all means, lead the way.” As he followed Sivak across the foyer, a pair of ornate doors—each emblazoned with the presidential seal—parted at the Vulcan’s approach. Beyond the portal lay the lavishly appointed suite that served as President Bacco’s office.
The first thing Picard noticed was the large panoramic window that served as the room’s rear wall. With the curtains drawn aside and allowing the rays of the early afternoon sun to warm the office, Picard was greeted by a brilliant, cloudless blue sky framing the Paris skyline.
“Madam President,” Sivak said, observing the customary protocols for visitors to the president’s office, “Captain Picard.” He waited until Picard had entered the room before stepping back into the foyer and allowing the doors to close behind him.
Rising from behind her desk, President Nanietta Bacco smiled in warm greeting. “Captain, thank you for coming, and I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” She shook her head. “There never seem to be enough hours in the day anymore.”
“I can certainly sympathize with that, Madam President,” Picard said as he took Bacco’s proffered hand in his own. Even before crossing the office to greet her, he had taken stock of the room’s other occupants. “Admiral,” he said, nodding toward Leonard James Akaar, Starfleet’s commander-in-chief, who stood to the left of Bacco’s desk.
The towering Capellan, the locks of his long white hair lying across the shoulder boards of his uniform tunic, smiled in greeting. “Always good to see you, Jean-Luc.”
Picard replied, “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
“I believe you know my chief of staff, Esperanza Piñiero,” the president said, indicating the human woman who had risen from one of the chairs positioned before Bacco’s desk. Piñiero stepped forward and she and Picard shook hands.
“Good to see you again, Captain.” Picard noted the firmness of her grip. In her mid to late fifties, as he recalled, her dark hair featured no small amount of gray, doubtless owing to the high-pressure nature of her job. There were deep lines in her forehead and around her mouth, and bags under her eyes. If Picard had not known better, he would have sworn Piñiero had not slept in the months since he had last seen her.
Turning to the fourth member of her assemblage, Bacco said, “And this is Professor Marthrossi zh’Thiin.” The professor was an Andorian female, possessing stark-white hair and soft, indigo features. To Picard’s eye, she appeared to be nearing middle age, at least by the standards of her species.
He bowed his head in formal greeting. “An honor to meet you, Professor.” Her name seemed familiar, though Picard could not place it.
“The honor is mine,” the Andorian replied, her antennae shifting atop her head to point in his direction. “Your reputation precedes you, Captain Picard.”
“She’s the reason I’ve gathered you all here today,” Bacco said, before directing the group to the pair of couches and a matched quartet of parlor chairs situated in the far corner of her office. The president indicated for everyone to find a seat as she took her place in one of the chairs situated so that she had an unobstructed view of her guests. Looking to Picard, Bacco asked, “Captain, what do you know of the current situation on Andor?”
Picard settled himself in one of the other chairs so that he was comfortable and facing Bacco. “It sustained massive damage during the Borg attacks, Madam President. Hundreds of thousands of lives lost, to say nothing of the extensive destruction of its infrastructure, along with contaminated water and food supplies and any number of problems arising from ongoing medical and reconstruction issues.”
“The same on worlds spanning Federation space,” Bacco said, “though in Andor’s case, the damage inflicted by the Borg has only served to exacerbate existing troubles already plaguing the Andorian people.”
“You’re talking about the issues pertaining to procreation,” Picard replied. The problem had slowly yet inexorably been escalating for more than two centuries, and already had caused the near-extinction of the Aenar, an Andorian sub-species. Turning to Professor zh’Thiin, who was seated to the president’s left, he said, “Now I remember where I’ve heard your name. You’re heading up the science team on Andor, working on ways to solve the crisis.”
The professor nodded. “That is correct, Captain. The project originally was overseen by a former colleague of mine, Dr. sh’Veileth, but she was killed during the Borg attack.”
Trying to recall what he knew of the research, Picard said, “I’ve read reports of civil unrest on Andor, in reaction to some controversial theories and solutions being proposed.”
“That’s a very polite description for what happened,” Akaar replied from where he stood just behind President Bacco and over her right shoulder.
“Dr. sh’Veileth’s hypothesis for dealing with my people’s reproductive crisis was greeted with all manner of volatile opinions,” zh’Thiin added. “There were those who reacted with unrestrained joy at the prospect of saving our people from extinction. Many more were skeptical, of course, and there also was a very vocal contingent who were convinced that Dr. sh’Veileth’s ideas would do no less than wipe out the very essence of the Andorian people in order to replace it with something new; something alien.”
Picard remembered more of what he had read. “You mean her idea of possibly needing only two Andorian sexes, rather than four, to complete the reproductive process?”
Zh’Thiin nodded in approval at the captain’s astuteness. “Precisely. As you likely are well aware, the four-gamete fertilization paradigm would seem to be unique, or at least extremely rare, so far as our present knowledge of xeno-biology would seem to indicate. Dr. sh’Veileth simply applied what she had learned from the Yrythny ova and extrapolated a course of action to benefit my people. There are those who believe that taking such action to ensure our survival engenders too great a cost to our cultural identity.”
“I can imagine,” Picard said. He held no doubts that Dr. sh’Veileth had been acting with the best interests of her people as her first priority, likely rationalizing that any arguments to culture, history, or even faith could be saved for another day, after resolving the immediate crisis. “However, there were problems with the proposed Yrythny solution.”
Her expression darkening as her antennae curled downward, zh’Thiin replied, “Yes, there were. Several of the zhen within the test groups where the ova were applied have experienced unanticipated side effects. There were a number of miscarriages, as well as instances where the child died in the womb before being carried to term.” She paused, and Picard was sure he caught a flash of pain and sorrow crossing her features before her passive demeanor returned.
Clearing her throat, she added, “Other children who survived to birth now suffer from a variety of genetic deficiencies. We are still trying to learn what has caused this, but the obvious theory is that something in the Yrythny ova that has escaped our detection to this point must be at the root of the problem. Until this anomaly can be isolated, further testing has been halted, but our research into other alternatives continues.”
Shaking his head, Picard allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. “It astounds me that even with the combined medical and scientific knowledge of the entire Federation, something like this can still be without resolution.”
“It certainly isn’t for lack of trying, Captain,” Bacco said, shifting in her seat. “In addition to carrying on Dr. sh’Veileth’s research, Professor zh’Thiin and her team have been looking under every rock they can find in search of anything which might offer a clue to solving this problem. I even convinced the Federation Council to authorize her group to access whatever data we have on genetic engineering, even of the sort we banned centuries ago.”
This caught Picard by surprise. “I can’t imagine that not causing a public o
utcry.”
Bacco nodded. “Which is why that order and that aspect of Professor zh’Thiin’s research remain highly classified.”
“Several planets scattered throughout Federation and surrounding territories are known to engage in various types of eugenics research,” Akaar added. “There have already been a few covert overtures made to the governments of those worlds. As for our own research, we’ve even cracked open the vaults and pulled out the work of notable figures like Arik Soong. More than two hundred years ago, he attempted to reconstruct some of the advances in genetic engineering made during the late twentieth century. Perhaps the Chrysalis Project sounds familiar to you?”
“Indeed it does,” Picard said, making no effort to hide his surprise. “The Chrysalis Project was what brought about the Eugenics Wars. It gave birth to misguided souls like Stavos Keniclius and tyrants such as Khan Noonien Singh.” Looking to Bacco, he asked, “Madam President, are we sure this is a precedent we want to be following?”
Bacco held up a hand as she shook her head. “Don’t worry, Captain. It’s not our aim to throw open the doors and declare open season on eugenics, not that there’s really a whole lot of information to go on, anyway. You know that records from that period of Earth history are, to put it kindly, fragmented. Still, if there’s something, even a shred of information locked in whatever’s left of that data, that might point Professor zh’Thiin and her people in a new direction, then it’s an avenue we can’t ignore.”
“Agreed,” Picard replied. To zh’Thiin, he said, “And Professor, it was not my intention to imply otherwise.”
Zh’Thiin smiled. “Worry not, Captain. I understand it is your responsibility to point out potential dangers and undesired consequences of any actions your superiors might contemplate. I would expect no less from a man of such conscience and principle as you are known to be.”
Somewhat embarrassed by the unexpected compliment, Picard said nothing for a moment. As an explorer—a man dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge in order to better not only himself but the people he represented and even swore an oath to defend—examining all possibilities without allowing emotion to enter into the equation came as second nature to him. However, reality had shown Picard that unfettered access to knowledge rarely was accompanied by the wisdom to properly employ it. Indeed, he often had been called upon to resolve issues stemming from such disparity, with those undertakings rarely being simple or pleasant.
It was this thought that caused Picard to turn once more to Bacco. “Madam President, I realize this is a sensitive and ongoing issue, but what do you require of me and the Enterprise?”
“Well, as you’ve probably already figured out,” Bacco replied, “even with the additional information at their disposal, Professor zh’Thiin and her people are still seeking answers.”
“That is true,” zh’Thiin added. “Despite several leads that hold great promise to assist my people, much of the information we’ve gathered or studied remains inconclusive with respect to our unique problem. Meanwhile, there is growing discontent among the Andorian populace, given how the effects of the crisis we face have only been worsened by the lingering effects of the Borg attack.”
“More civil unrest?” Picard asked.
Akaar said, “In some areas, particularly those cities that are home to Federation embassies and Starfleet installations. There’s a growing anti-Federation movement on the ground there, Jean-Luc. People feel like they’ve been abandoned, that solutions aren’t being found fast enough, and that the Andorians are being left to eventual extinction. So far, it’s just a few isolated incidents, but our people on-site feel that it will only get worse before it gets better.”
Leaning forward in his chair, Picard frowned. “Given what we’ve all had to deal with over the last year, it’s easy to let emotion take over in the face of adversity, to try and find someone else to blame.” He had seen that sort of reaction on multiple occasions in recent months. “But you’re not suggesting we reduce the Federation or Starfleet footprint on Andor?”
“On the contrary,” Bacco said, rising from her chair and indicating with a gesture for everyone else to remain seated. “Instead, we’re going to hold a conference in the new capital city.” She made her way to her desk, where an etched crystal carafe of water sat on a silver tray. As she poured some of the water into one of the matching glasses, she continued, “Andor’s new presider, Iravothra sh’Thalis, has requested it be held there, and she’s invited prominent scientists from across the Federation as well as a few nonaligned worlds where eugenics research has been conducted. If anything, we want to show that we’re as committed as ever to helping Andor fight this crisis. By hosting the conference there, and bringing some of the Federation’s prominent scientific minds to participate, we hope to put a public face to the effort being expended to solve this problem.”
Now, Picard understood his role. Looking to Akaar, he asked, “You want the Enterprise to transport a delegation to Andor?”
The admiral nodded. “Not only that, but your crew can also augment the existing Starfleet security detachment without being too obvious about it. The Enterprise has been our ship on point for a year, moving from planet to planet and spearheading the resolution of problem after problem as we continue our rebuilding efforts. Having it in orbit while the conference is in session will, hopefully, go a long way toward discouraging anyone from getting any bright ideas about disrupting the proceedings.”
Picard could agree with the subtle tactic. While Starbase 7, the base nearest to Andor, could provide ships and personnel to reinforce the Starfleet contingent already on the ground, none of those vessels carried the same high profile as the Enterprise. Likewise, the resources Picard commanded would likely be more than enough to handle any issues that might arise. Still, it was not his habit to take such things for granted. “Are we expecting that sort of trouble?”
“I have seen several instances of unrest, Captain,” zh’Thiin said. “So far, they have been small, yet still organized. We suspect that a few activist groups may be working in concert to organize a larger, more formal protest during the conference.”
Akaar added, “Though our Starfleet units on Andor haven’t yet picked up anything that might imply active resistance or attacks being planned, you know how things can go from bad to worse if and when tempers start flaring.”
“It’s worth noting that there also are many among my people who understand and appreciate the Federation’s efforts on our behalf,” zh’Thiin said. “Groups representing this viewpoint have been working to make their voices heard as well. I expect they also will be present when the conference convenes.”
“Our Starfleet assets are already working with Andorian counterparts to prepare for the security issues we know this will bring,” Bacco said, still holding her water glass. “And, as always, you’ve got my authority to take whatever action you deem appropriate. I’m obviously hoping things won’t get that far, but if I’ve learned anything during my time in politics, it’s to be ready for anything and everything.”
Offering a small, knowing smile as he contemplated what had been asked of him, Picard nodded. “As it happens, my choice of career has provided me with that very same life lesson.”
6
The doors to her quarters parting to allow her entry, Lieutenant T’Ryssa Chen stepped through the portal, tossing her tricorder in a broad arc to land atop her bed on the other side of the room. Once the doors closed behind her, she released a sigh of contentment as she allowed the tranquility of her private space to wash over her.
Be it ever so humble.
The trouble with being a contact specialist, Chen had learned quite some time ago, was that when there was no one or no thing to contact, such talents were not required, largely leaving the possessor of such expertise with nothing to do. In the first weeks after her permanent assignment to the Enterprise, Chen had taken to assisting Commander La Forge and his engineering staff with whatever assignments might require an extra
set of hands. Her atypical childhood and wealth of experience in a number of areas had given her a diverse set of skills that proved handy when it came to the rather lengthy list of tasks and chores required to keep a starship operating at peak efficiency.
“I really should just make the permanent transfer to engineering and get it over with,” she said to no one as she reached for the closure on the front of her uniform. Unlike a lot of days, today Chen had managed to avoid coming into contact with lubricants or other fluids and grime from plumbing the depths of the ship in search of problems to fix. That did not stop her from wanting to take a shower, however, in order to get on with the evening’s activities. Though tonight was not her regularly scheduled dinner with Taurik, the Vulcan’s recent promotion to lieutenant commander required a proper observance, which Chen had insisted upon despite Taurik’s objections. Ignoring the engineer’s appeals to the illogic of wasting time on such frivolities, Chen had compromised with respect to how the milestone should be celebrated: a simple meal in one of the ship’s recreation halls, followed by the poker tournament scheduled to begin at 2100 hours. She had learned to play during her childhood, and was surprised to learn that Taurik also enjoyed the game, though the Vulcan had admitted to not playing for quite some time.
Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, she mused, smiling at the notion of Taurik deliberately understating his competence for the game as a means of luring her to play. Though he did not often display it, Chen knew from experience that the Vulcan possessed a sly sense of humor. When she had asked early on during their friendship if he ever had any fun, his cryptic response had been, “At regular intervals.” It had taken her a moment to grasp the reply’s multilayered meaning, after which she had laughed in unvarnished appreciation of his dry, deadpan wit. In the year or so in which they had spent as colleagues as well as friends, Chen had come to appreciate the many facets of Taurik’s personality, including those he did not easily share.
