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Enterprise Asides Part 6 - The Idealist
Federation President Ra-ghoratreii could feel the foundations of the galaxy itself shifting beneath him, as though a great creature was stirring, unaware of the havoc its movements caused. They had been so close to achieving peace, so close to forging a historic treaty between a culture whose history with the Federation was long and needlessly violent. There had been moments of possibility, such as when Jonathan Archer returned a Klingon agent to his homeworld shortly after first contact, or when Michael Burnham and future chancellor L’Rell had put an end to a brutal war that had decimated Starfleet. But now, none of that mattered. A time of cold war was rapidly heating up, and with the assassination of the Klingon Chancellor, Ra-ghoratreii feared that tensions would only continue to mount.
He sighed when one of his aides announced that the ambassadorial delegation had arrived. His predecessor had dealt with Klingon Ambassador Kamarag, most notably in the days before the whale probe crisis, and though he found him to be inflammatory, when dealt with one-on one, a lot of the man’s bluster faded and he was known to be quite reasonable. His own blindness helped in dealing with Kamarag, as well, as he was unfazed by grandiose body language, only by tone and inflection. The president wished he could speak with Kamarag alone, but at present, too many higher-ups had gotten involved, including the new Romulan ambassador, a strange unreadable man named Nanclus who gave Ra-ghoratreii the creeps.
Nanclus, distinguishable by his slow measured gait, was the first to enter, followed by Sarek, the Vulcan ambassador who had helped to arranged the initial peace talks with Gorkon. Ra-ghoratreii couldn’t actually hear the Vulcan for he moved so silently, but he knew he was there. He had no trouble identifying Kamarag who burst burst in soon after.
“Have you heard?” the Klingon said, his voice bold but audibly fearful.
The president inclined his head. “Yes, Ambassador, a terrible--”
“Spare me,” Kamarag said gruffly. “I want answers not pleasantries.”
The president turned in his chair to face the Paris skyline through the filmy office curtains. In any other situation, such an action might be considered rude, but those who worked closely with Ra-ghoratreii knew that he could hear them just as well as always, no matter which way he was facing. “I wish I could give you answers.”
“The Chancellor of the Klingon High Council is dead!” Kamarag shouted. “The result of an unprovoked attack while he travelled to see you under a flag of truce on a mission of peace. Captain Kirk was legally arrested for the crime. May I remind you that he and Doctor McCoy boarded Kronos One of their own free will. None of these facts are in dispute, Mister President.”
The president took a moment to allow the ambassador’s rage to dissipate, wondering how much of this was a show put on for Nanclus who was no doubt watching off to the side like a lurking scavenger. Ra-ghoratreii made sure to keep his words calm. “I have ordered a full-scale investigation.” He turned back around. “In the meantime--”
Kamarag interrupted him again. “In the meantime we expect the Federation to abide by the articles of Interstellar Law, which you claim to cherish. Kirk and Doctor McCoy will stand trial for the assassination of Chancellor Gorkon.”
“Out of the question.” He turned to the Vulcan, who always chose to sit to the president’s right, grateful for his calming presence. “Ambassador Sarek, there must be some way to extradite these men.”
The Vulcan’s tone was gentle, but his words were not. “Mister President, I share a measure of personal responsibility in this matter, but I am obliged to confirm my esteemed colleagues legal interpretation.”
Interesting , the president thought, mulling over Sarek’s words like insects buzzing in a darkened room. That wasn’t at all the response he had expected. There was only one other person he could turn to. “And what is the position of the Romulan government, Ambassador Nanclus?”
“I must concur with my colleagues,” was all the laconic Romulan said, his tone noncommittal and infuriating.
“You cannot possibly believe that James Kirk assassinated the Chancellor of the High Council,” Ra-ghoratreii pushed, hoping for anything further.
“Mister President,” Nanclus said in a tone which suggested that Ra-ghoratreii’s question was offensive by its very nature, “I don't know what to believe.”
“I am waiting for your answer, sir,” Kamarag said, his voice growing expectant.
Ra-ghoratreii was not one to admit defeat, but he also knew when to run from a confrontation and regroup. It was suddenly very obvious that there was no way to legally rescue Kirk, and any extralegal means would surely weaken the fragile state of things, igniting tensions into outright hostility. He fixed Kamarag with a piercing stare, hoping his blind eyes could convey exactly what he wanted them to say. “This president is not above the law.” It felt like admitting defeat, but only because he hated how Kamarag was able to win arguments with facts, even though he often framed them in such a way as to make the Federation out to be this monstrous, irrational entity, scheming and manipulating to gain more and more power. Arguing the point would get him nowhere, but if he could ensure that the peace talks would continue, then perhaps keeping silent now would be worth it, no matter how much he hated placing the blame on a decorated officer like Kirk.
Kamarag’s steps as he walked away were measured and gentle, which heartened Ra-ghoratreii. Just then, a voice came through his office communicator. “Mister President, Starfleet Command is here from San Francisco.”
“Send them in.”
He heard three sets of footsteps, but was only aware of two who had been invited to the meeting, Admirals Smillie and Cartwright.
“Bill, Admiral Cartwright, please sit down.” He said, hoping the third man wasn’t bothered by his lack of acknowledgement.
Cartwright, whom the president noted sounded increasingly agitated as of late, spoke up first. “Mister President we cannot allow Federation citizens to be abducted.”
Ra-ghoratreii was hoping for something more helpful, but he understood the Admiral’s concern. “Yes, yes, Admiral, but I am constrained to observe Interstellar Law,” he said, hoping he wasn’t sounding at all dismissive. He needed to focus on what he could do, not what he wished he could do.
Bill Smillie’s voice was calmer. “Sir, would you please take a look at this. Colonel West?”
Ah, Colonel West , he thought, wondering why the man hadn’t introduced himself. West was actually an admiral, but everyone called him “colonel,” a nickname referencing his militaristic attitude which many found reminiscent of the pre-Federation MACOs. Ra-ghoratreii found West’s intensity a bit off-putting, but the man had a distinguished career and seemed to understand what he was doing.
West launched into his presentation with the fury of a photon torpedo as Ra-ghoratreii affixed his vision-enhancing glasses to his nose, which brought the room from a distant dark blur into that of a monochromatic image, allowing the president to see well enough to read the words on West’s anachronistic flip chart, a smart decision for a classified operation as there would be no computer record of it. West’s voice was gruff, but self-assured. “We've prepared Operation Retrieve based on the rising danger of terrorism between the Klingon Empire and Federation. Sir, we can go in, rescue the hostages and get out in twenty-four hours with an acceptable rate of loss in manpower and equipment.”
Acceptable rate of loss? Ra-ghoratreii thought in horror as West barreled on.
“We have the technology to--”
Ra-ghoratreii cut him off before he could say anything else. “Yes, yes, but suppose you precipitate a full-scale war?”
“Then, quite frankly, Mister President,” West said, calm and unfazed, “we can clean their chronometers.”
“Mister President,” Nanclus added, gentle as a snake, “they are vulnerable. There will never be a better time.”
A better time to annihilate a people facing a cataclysmic ecological disaster? He thought, or a better time to use Starfleet to conveniently rid the Romulan Star Empire of a long-time rival ? Ra-ghoratreii turned to the Starfleet officers for another opinion.
“The longer we wait,” Cartwright said, “the less accessible the hostages will be, sir.”
“Thank you, Admiral, I’ll bear that in mind,” the president said, suddenly frustrated that no other in this room had any sense of how devastating a war would be. The Klingons were weakened and backed into a corner. A rescue attempt inside Klingon space at this point would enrage them to extreme brutality. It wouldn’t be a war, it would be a slaughter, and neither side would gain anything from it. “Thank you, gentlemen, I believe that’s all for now.”
The officers and ambassadors quietly filed out as the president removed his glasses and placed his head into his hands as he eyes readjusted to their natural darkened state. It was the equivalent of stepping into a secluded hideaway, and though his brain found the transition disorienting, he always preferred to keep his glasses off when he needed to think. He sighed, realizing he was facing war not just from the Klingons but from his own people. When had we grown so comfortable with the idea of an inevitable war? He thought, wishing he could find someone who still believed in peace.
He heard the shuffling feet of someone lingering at the door.
“Sir,” Admiral Smillie said tentatively, “those men have literally saved this planet.”
“Yes, Bill, I know that,” Ra-ghoratreii said, suddenly feeling exhausted, “and now they’re going to save it again, by standing trial.”
As soon as he was alone, President Ra-ghoratreii wanted nothing more than to not speak to another living soul for the rest of the day, but unfortunately, he knew that would never happen. And so he sat back, running his fingers over the delicate scrollwork around the edge of his desk, an antique from almost 400 years in the past, as beautiful as the skyline of Paris which he could see from his office when he chose to. France was an ancient part of Earth that had survived revolutions, invasions, and wars. Was that just a fact of life? No matter how hard one worked at peace and enlightened ideals, was war something that sprang up like wildfire to sweep through and cleanse things periodically? He couldn’t accept that, yet hearing his top military advisors practically itching to set off an armed conflict made him unbearably sad. If he were any weaker of a person, he would give in and choose a headline-making rescue over the long-term stability of this half of the galaxy, but here he was, practically offering up two good and most probably innocent officers to a hostile government as a literal peace offering. It wasn’t right. He knew they’d never assassinate a foreign leader. And it hurt him deeply that there was nothing he could do for them.
He shook his head. No there was something he could do. He could avoid rescuing them and hope that there were enough Klingons who believed in peace to be merciful. Klingons didn’t much care for mercy, he knew, but they could be diplomatic, and sometimes mercy could buy more than violence.
He hoped there were cooler heads on Qo’noS than there were here. Enemy or not, there was a lot to admire about the Klingon people, and Ra-ghoratreii hoped that somewhere in the Empire, a Klingon was thinking the same thing about the Federation and its member worlds.
After all, it only took a few brave souls to forge peace.
Ra-ghoratreii took comfort in that.