“Asmund here,” came the voice of his efficient young helm officer. “I trust you’re making progress, sir?”
“A bit,” Picard told her. “Ensign Tuvok and Commander Crusher have beamed back up. As I noted before I left the ship, Commander Ben Zoma and I will stay down here in the—”
“Gladiator pit,” Ben Zoma quipped with a hint of a smile.
“—Benniari’s Grand Council Chamber,” Picard continued evenly, without missing a beat.
He glanced at his first officer. Ben Zoma had a sometimes inconvenient sense of humor, but he was a damned fine first officer. The captain didn’t begrudge him a witticism now and then.
“Acknowledged, sir,” said Asmund.
“Picard out,” said the captain.
Chapter Five
“RECORD MESSAGE,” SAID JACK CRUSHER, leaning back in his chair.
“Recording,” came the response from his workstation.
Crusher smiled at the monitor screen, imagining his wife’s face there instead of a Starfleet insignia. “Hi, honey. It’s me. I hope everything’s working out for you and Wesley.”
The commander hated like the dickens to talk to a computer screen. Unfortunately, it was the only way he could get a message to Beverly, so he put up with it.
“We’re out here in the Debennius system,” he said, “trying to stop a run of terrorist attacks that are bringing a couple of species called the Melacron and the Cordracites to the brink of war. My job is to check out a theory that some third party is responsible for the attacks—presumably, someone who wants that war to happen.”
Crusher knew he didn’t have much time. After all, the captain wanted results—and quickly—and the fact that his shift had ended an hour ago was hardly an excuse.
“I’m working with a Vulcan named Tuvok, who’s had some experience in this neck of space. He’s a little stiff—not unexpected, I know—but deep down, he seems like a good guy. A family man, too. I told him my idea about bringing families aboard a starship and he seemed to like it.”
The commander recalled Tuvok’s reaction and smiled to himself. It had given him a good feeling.
“I’ve never really had a lot of contact with Vulcans. Few people have. You know…they keep to themselves a lot.” He shrugged. “But I like this guy. I think if he sticks around a while, we could become friends.”
The Starfleet insignia on the screen stared back at Crusher, despite his attempts to see his wife there instead. It seemed to be reminding him that he had work to do.
“Got to go now,” he said with a sigh, “but I’ll send you another message as soon as I can. Love you, honey. And give Wes a hug for me. Tell him his daddy can’t wait to see him.”
This was the part the commander hated the most. However, he managed to get it out before the lump formed in his throat. Guess I’m getting better with practice, he told himself.
“Bye, Bev,” he concluded.
Crusher instructed the computer to end the message and send it with the next subspace packet intended for headquarters. Then he got up from his chair and headed for the door.
The lounge awaits, he mused.
The sound of a gong filled the council chamber, then died.
Sitting in a seat on the second level of the speaker’s platform, Picard watched First Minister Culunnh rise from his ornately carved wooden chair and approach a small lectern.
By then, all the delegates had presumably taken their seats. To the captain, the chamber looked absolutely full. There were even a few observers standing in the back.
Culunnh’s small, furry head poked over the top of the lectern. His large violet eyes blinked solemnly, his shiny metal medallion glinting in the filtered sunlight.
“The four hundred and forty-first session of the Kellasian Congress is now in session,” intoned the Benniari. “First Minister of Debennius II Cabrid Culunnh presiding. May I remind you that this is a place for discussion and debate—nothing else.”
Ben Zoma leaned toward his commanding officer. “Not a good sign when you have to say that right off the bat.”
“No,” Picard breathed, “it’s not.”
Culunnh consulted a small screen built into his lectern. “The chamber recognizes Sammis Tarv, Chief Delegate of Cordra Four.”
Tarv, a pale-skinned insectoid with Andorian-like antennae, stood up and faced the congress. “Once again,” he said in a rasping voice, “I would like to address the matter of the Melacronai colony on Tebra Six. It must be clear by now that—”
He was interrupted by a warbling cry of protest from a Melacronai throat: “I speak for the dead!”
As Picard scanned the assemblage to determine the origin of the high-pitched protest, he saw a Melacronai female come down the central aisle. She wasn’t alone, either. There was a small child in her arms, an infant really, and one more on either side of her.
“G’aha Avriil cannot decry the manner of his death,” the female shrilled, “but his widow can!”
“I must protest!” Sammis Tarv grated loudly. “First Minister, this woman was not properly presented to this body, nor have children ever been allowed to enter this chamber!”
Before he finished, the entire delegation of Cordracites was on its feet, adding their objections to his. Their voices sounded like a collection of rocks grinding together.
The translator installed in Picard’s comm badge squealed in protest. Both the captain and his first officer winced and removed their badges. Picard scowled, having been warned that this might happen if too many of the delegates decided to speak at once.
“Silence!” demanded Cabrid Culunnh.
The Cordracites fell silent as he asked, though they continued to gesticulate with great vehemence. But the Melacronai female chose not to heed the First Minister.
“First Minister Culunnh!” she cried out. “It seems to me that the Companion of a murdered G’aha ought to be honored within these precincts, not silenced like an unruly ta’pur!”
Her children stared wide-eyed at Culunnh. The smallest of them began to weep, his single nostril flaring and then sealing shut.
Ben Zoma shook his head. “Why do I have a feeling she and the kids didn’t come here on their own?”
Picard knew exactly what his exec meant. He had no doubt the female was what she appeared to be—the spouse of a murdered Melacronai official. However, her presence there was so incendiary as to raise questions.
“More than likely,” the captain whispered, “the Melacronai delegation arranged her passage here.”
“To show the congress how the Melacron are suffering at the hands of the Cordracites,” Ben Zoma suggested. “So in the end, everyone will sympathize with Melacronai territorial claims.”
And the congress hadn’t been in session for more than a minute or two. Picard had to wonder how often this type of thing occurred.
A sharp buzzer sounded, interrupting the G’aha’s widow. Cabrid Culunnh’s tufted ears lay flat against his round head, a sure sign of irritation. “Madam,” he responded, “I grieve for your great loss—”
A roar of protest went up from the Cordracite delegation. However, the First Minister barreled on.
“—and I am certain everyone here does the same. We have never condoned and will never condone the assassination of an elected official under any circumstances at all.”
He glared at the entire assembly. Picard hadn’t thought it possible for a Benniari to glare, but Culunnh was doing it.
“However,” said the First Minister, “it is true that you did not petition to be heard, and that your children are not permitted at these debates. I levy two rounds of silence against the Melacronai delegation as a penalty for violating the established rules of conduct for this congress.”
“I object!” trilled a Melacron. “We had no more warning than you did that this female would seek to address the Congress!”
“Perhaps not,” Culunnh allowed, whether he believed it or not. “However, it has long been a policy here to hold delegates
responsible for the actions of their people. The decision stands.”
The Melecronai delegation warbled their complaints, but to no avail. The First Minister buzzed them a second time and a third. Eventually, they sat down and fell silent.
“Sammis Tarv,” said Culunnh, “you had the floor before the proceedings were interrupted. Please go on.”
However, when the Cordracite got up again to speak, he was shouted down by a group whose species Picard was unable to identify. And when they were silenced, the Melacronai delegation objected, citing some obscure and seemingly useless rule of protocol.
The First Minister denied the Melacron their objection, but they continued to voice it loudly and at great length. Culunnh buzzed them; it didn’t help. Then the Cordracites began to speak at the same time, their deep, scratchy voices grating on everyone present.
Before long, it was a free-for-all.
The captain scanned the crowd, trying to discern who was attacking or defending whom. However, alliances seemed to shift from moment to moment, making it impossible for him to learn anything.
He did make one intriguing observation, however. The Thallonian nobleman appeared to remain silent throughout the conflict. He sat back in his seat observing the ebb and flow of charges and accusations with eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing.
Ben Zoma grunted. “You know, I’m amazed that war didn’t break out a long time ago.”
“That makes two of us,” Picard muttered.
“Captain Picard?” said a soft, fluttery voice.
The human turned and saw that it was the First Minister who had called his name. The Benniari’s large, violet eyes looked at him pleadingly, though Picard didn’t have any idea what would be asked of him.
But he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Yes, Minister?” the captain replied.
Culunnh turned to the congress. “Captain Picard of the Federation has agreed to honor us with his advice on these matters.”
Picard blinked, but otherwise did nothing to reveal his surprise. He had believed that he and Ben Zoma were there to observe the proceedings, not make speeches to the congress.
However, he had been charged with reestablishing the peace in this sector in any way that made sense. If the First Minister of Debennius II thought he could help to calm this assembly, who was he to refuse?
For a moment he wondered if some faction or other would object, saying that the captain had not been properly “presented.” However, the shouting appeared to die down as soon as he stood up and approached the lectern. Clearly, at least some of the delegates wished to hear what a Federation official had to say for himself.
“I would be honored to address this august body, First Minister,” Picard said in his smoothest, most diplomatic-sounding voice. He straightened the red tunic of his dress uniform and approached the lectern. At the same time, Culunnh took a few steps back.
The captain was concerned that he would look silly standing behind a meter-high lectern. However, as he got closer it automatically rose to the height of his chest, removing at least one problem.
It was a good thing, Picard reflected soberly. After all, there were so many other problems to deal with.
He gathered his thoughts as he surveyed the sea of people sitting before him. From the insectlike Cordracites to the small, fuzzy shapes of the Benniari to the long, tentacled forms of the Shera’sha-sha, every sentient race in the sector seemed to have a representative here.
That was good, the captain told himself. He would start there.
“My name is Captain Jean-Luc Picard,” he said, “of the Federation starship Stargazer. I was invited to this planet, this congress and”—he smiled a little—“to this podium by the First Minister of the Benniari. May I take this moment to salute Cabrid Culunnh for his tireless efforts to secure peace in this sector.”
The sounds of accolades followed. Culunnh nodded slightly, receiving Picard’s compliment with grace and dignity.
The captain’s ears strained for sounds of resentment from the audience, but none came. It was a good sign. When parties in conflict turned their attention to attacking their mediator, whether verbally or physically, it was usually time to prepare for war.
“I am pleased to be present at these historic talks,” Picard continued, “and pleased to see that, unless I am mistaken, every species in the Kellasian sector has a representative at this congress. What that tells me is that everyone here cares deeply about avoiding an armed conflict. That gives me, and the United Federation of Planets I represent, reason for optimism that a peaceful conclusion will be achieved in due time.”
“Not until those who murdered my Companion are caught and punished for their crime!”
The outburst from the widow of the Melacronai G’aha was unexpected. So was her sudden rush toward the stage. After all, the female had already been escorted from the chamber with her children.
Picard didn’t think she posed a threat, however. So he stayed where he was and let the Benniar guards deal with the woman.
Under different circumstances, the thought of Benniari guarding anything effectively might have seemed ludicrous. Fortunately, they didn’t have to rely on their physical size. A touch of a button on their baldrics immobilized the woman’s limbs, if not her voice.
“Justice, Picard of the Federation!” she screamed. “Justice! Help us find the Cordracite killers of my Companion!”
The captain swallowed. “Those responsible for the terrorist attacks will be caught and punished, I assure you,” he said in the most tranquil voice he could muster, hoping desperately that fate would not prove him a liar. “But so far we have no proof that the Cordracites—”
“Who needs proof?” came the gurgling, hissing voice of one of the Shera’sha-sha. Its pale green tentacles waved frantically. “We all know what the Cordracites are! We all know what they do!”
“The Cordracites defend themselves against the aggressions of the Melacron, nothing more.” The flat voice of the skeletal-looking Tikraat who had spoken made the words a statement more than a defense.
No translation device ever devised could convey the emotions of the Tikraata. The best they could do was serve up the words, uttered in a mechanical, atonal voice. “It is the Melacron who—”
“Let us have order in this hall!” Picard cried out. His voice carried and the arguments ceased. For the moment, he thought darkly.
“Listen to yourselves!” he told the assemblage. “Squabbling like children tearing at a new toy! You are diplomats, every one of you. You represent the highest virtues your people have to offer. I understand that tempers are running high, but let us move forward with our eyes open—so that we may truly see and understand what is taking place!”
“The Melacronai murderers are getting away with it, that’s what’s taking place!” someone shouted.
Picard felt his jaw muscles clench. He held his hands up in a call for quiet, but no one would pay any attention to him. Abruptly, the clear, pure sound of the Benniari gong sliced cleanly through the melee.
“Let us recess for a few cycles,” said Cabrid Culunnh, who had taken up a position beside the captain. “As Captain Picard sagely counsels us, it is wiser to proceed thoughtfully and deliberately than to rush forward in the heat of emotion.”
The congress muttered its dissatisfaction, but it was obvious that nothing more could be accomplished that morning. The delegates rose and dispersed, still arguing among themselves.
The First Minister turned to Picard. “Thank you for trying, Captain,” he said in a soft, resigned voice. “Now you have some idea of the obstacles that confront me here.”
“Indeed I do,” Picard replied sincerely. He shook his head. “I doubt that Hercules had a more difficult time.”
“Hercules?” Culunnh echoed. He cocked his head, obviously curious about the captain’s reference.
“A great hero from one of my world’s mythologies,” Picard explained. “He was charged with seven supposed
ly impossible tasks. But in the end, he managed to complete them all.”
Understanding flitted over the Benniari’s furred face. Culunnh chirped once, and then again.
“Your Hercules,” he said dryly, “never had to get a Melacron and a Cordracite to stop arguing. Otherwise, he might still be at it.”
Picard acknowledged the truth of the comment. “Perhaps he would at that, First Minister.” He watched the delegates continue to filter out of the chamber, still contending bitterly. “Perhaps he would at that.”
Chapter Six
PICARD HAD NURTURED A HOPE that the afternoon session of the Kellasian Congress would be more productive than the morning session. That hope was dashed when the Cordracite delegation announced that it was absenting itself from the afternoon proceedings.
“For what reason?” Cabrid Culunnh asked.
“To protest the repeated admission of the Melacronai female,” was the indignant answer supplied by Sammis Tarv.
The captain sighed as he watched the Cordracites file out of the chamber with their heads bowed, to the disgust of some observers and the rather vocal approval of others. Clearly, they would not solve a territorial dispute with only one of the disputants present.
“Those Cordracites sure know how to ruin a party,” Ben Zoma observed in a voice only Picard could hear.
The captain nodded. “I imagine they’ve had lots of practice. But then, the Melacron seem no better.”
The afternoon session went ahead without the Cordracites. But as Picard had predicted, it didn’t get very far. In fact, it seemed to him that it took a few steps backward.
Tempers were running too high, the captain observed. Racial hatreds, some old, some new, had replaced rational objectives. No one was listening, everyone was talking, and poor Cabrid Culunnh seemed to get older and more exhausted by the minute.
The Kellasian Congress had become a joke. He could see that clearly now. Perhaps it had been effective before this latest wave of terrorist attacks, but it was effective no more.
Picard sincerely hoped his research team aboard the Stargazer was making headway. He and his first officer certainly weren’t.