Star Trek(88)
We are a Federation of Planets . . . but we must never forget that we are United.
July 1, 2164
Babel Station
Sedra Hemnask rose from her cot as Jonathan Archer arrived outside the transparent door of her cell in Babel’s security section. She looked as though she wanted to reach out for him, but the door—and something else—held her back. She waited until Archer activated the intercom, then spoke. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again.”
“Honestly . . . I wasn’t sure either.”
Her eyes darted around, staying low. “I heard the news . . . the delegates voted to approve admission. I’m . . . I’m relieved that my sabotage failed. If only . . .”
Some moments after she trailed off, Archer spoke slowly. “I thought you should know that the people of Rigel IV are in open revolt. Many of the First Families have already been overthrown, or have fled the planet with their assets in tow. Others have invited in Trade Commission peacekeepers and advisors to help them transition to a democratic form of government. The Thamnos family is one of them.”
She stared at him in fear, wringing her hands. “That would not spare my kin from their wrath.”
Archer’s tone softened. “We alerted the resistance on Four to get in touch with Voctel Thamnos. It turns out that he already had a plan in place to get his wife, children, and grandchildren to Rigel V so they’d be safe from retribution if you didn’t succeed. The resistance ran interference and helped him get them away. They’re staying with your mother, Sedra.”
She gasped and sobbed in relief. “A great mercy.” She caught her breath. “I suppose I’m both grateful that it’s over—and so terribly ashamed that I helped them for nothing. Voctel was looking out for his heirs. If I’d defied them from the start, my family would still have been safe.”
Archer took pity on her. “You couldn’t know that for sure. You made the best decision you thought you could at the time. You acted out of love, Sedra. I can’t blame you for that.”
She turned back to him, her vast emerald eyes glinting with tears. “Love. Oh, Jonathan, I’m just as ashamed of how I used you. How I hurt you.”
After a moment’s thought, he put his hand on the door. She placed hers opposite it. “I forgive you, Sedra. Yes, I’m hurt—but I know you thought you had no choice. And really . . .” He laughed, lowering his hand. “It’s gotta be the fourth time I’ve let someone manipulate me like that. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me for being so damn gullible.” They shared a laugh, though it was not without pain.
“You deserve better, Jonathan. I hope those experiences don’t harden you to the search for love. I know there must be someone out there you can trust, someone who’ll be good for you. Someone who . . . who deserves you.”
He held her eyes, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He thought of T’Rama, a Vulcan who seemed to draw strength from the bonds of family on far more than the professional and logical levels she confessed to. He wondered if maybe he’d been wrong all these years to see relationships and professional responsibilities as conflicting forces. Maybe the one could actually reinforce the other.
And once again, he found himself thinking of Danica Erickson. And wondering.
July 3, 2164
Lyaksti, Sauria
Charles “Trip” Tucker had been eagerly awaiting Harris’s response for more than a week. Using the real-time subspace relays Starfleet had set up between Sauria and Federation space created too much risk of unwanted attention, so Tucker had needed to bide his time. Time during which the Global League, for all its commendable efforts to distribute the cure (regardless of who took credit for it), had been too paralyzed by political games and collective ass-covering to take any action about the growing oppression in M’Tezir-controlled territory, or to react to the alarming evidence of a massive military buildup beginning in M’Tezir itself. Time during which the Federation government had been just as useless, unwilling to consider intervention when the natives of the planet would not ask for it—and perhaps unwilling to risk the steady flow of dilithium and transuranics from the countries Maltuvis now held in his tightening grip.
In fairness, Tucker could understand the Federation’s position. From the beginning of their time together on Enterprise, T’Pol had argued against aggressive intervention in the affairs of indigenous cultures, and events had often proven her right. Jonathan Archer had come to embrace the principle himself, and now advocated for it as an admiral, insisting that the Federation’s benevolent intentions needed to be balanced by an awareness of the risks of cultural imperialism. To be sure, Federation law was a long way from catching up with that principle—in part due to the growing nation’s need for resources from worlds like Sauria—but even so, helping out when invited was a far cry from imposing aid on a planet that didn’t welcome it. History showed that such impositions proved hard to distinguish from military occupations.