Times and settings filled with moral ambiguities.
He’s the one.
Tabor meditated for a moment, storing as much of the information in his own prodigious memory as possible, before backing out of the hidden files. His computer screen flared for an instant as it disconnected, the recursive Section 31 algorithms covering his exit, and then he was done.
Tabor stood and cleared his throat softly. He extracted his communicator from its resting place in the statue, repinning it to his lapel. He spoke then, his voice cutting the silence. “Computer, please locate Lieutenant Sean Hawk.”
“Lieutenant Hawk is in the Botanical Arboretum.”
* * *
As Tabor had surmised, Hawk was in the section of the arboretum that housed a dazzling array of Martian flora; Sean’s father had bred most of the variations seen here. Tabor circled the area, to make sure that there were no other crew members nearby, and he took the precaution of setting up a personal perimeter device in his chronometer; should another person get within seven meters of them– even someone telepathically shielded–he would be alerted. He was pleased to note that Hawk was sitting near a small waterfall, where the sound of the water would muffle their conversation.
Hawk turned smoothly as Tabor approached him. He seemed to regard Tabor for an instant, as if ready to spring to his feet if he were a ranking officer. In a blink, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he offered a smile.
“Ambassador Tabor. May I be of some assistance?”
“Perhaps. May I sit?”
“Certainly.” Hawk grinned, gesturing toward a stone set near the one on which he sat. The waterfall raised a fine mist in the air, while large purplish fronds from one of the trees provided shade from the hydroponic lamps set high above.
“It’s a beautiful setting here. These are all Martian plants, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir,” Hawk said. He paused, then added, “My father bred several of these plants.”
“Ah, yes. The famed Rhyst Hawk.” Tabor watched Hawk closely, gauging the slight look of surprise in his eyes. “I know of him. I was involved for a few years with a botanist from Telfas Prime. She used to go on and on about her love of your father’s work. That would make you the son of Camille Hawk as well then? I’ve read some of her books. Quite . . . vivacious.”
“Yes, sir. Dad says she’s to blame for my yen for adventure.”
“Oh, you don’t need to call me ‘sir,’ ” Tabor said, holding up his hand as if to push the honorific aside. “I’m Aubin. And if it’s all right, I’ll call you Sean.”
Hawk grinned. Tabor pushed slightly into his mind, seeing that he was unused to the informality, especially from someone older and more traveled. Tabor didn’t give him time to ponder his friendliness, but pressed on. “So, is that ‘yen for adventure’ why you joined Starfleet?”
“I guess so, yes. When you’ve grown up reading about warriors and spies and pirates, I guess a typical job behind a desk seems . . . I don’t know, boring.I had to escape the Martian suburbs somehow, and Starfleet seemed like a good way out. And it hasbeen interesting. I’ve met scores of people from different civilizations and cultures. There are so many things out there beyond what we know about back home.” Tabor raised his eyebrow slightly, as if shocked, and Hawk looked sheepish for a moment. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend you. I don’t mean to imply that being an ambassador would be–”
“It’s quite all right, young man. But I guarantee you that for every day I’ve spent behind a desk or in chambers somewhere mediating a treaty, I’ve also had more than my share of . . . adventures. Not all missions of peace end with olive branches, as your own captain can probably tell you. These upcoming talks on Chiaros IV could be quite difficult.”
“What do you mean?” Hawk asked. Tabor knew that he hadn’t been told much about the mission.
“Chiaros is beset by two factions fighting against each other in a civil war. One of the groups is led by the elected First Protector, but the opposing group feels that her rule is corrupt. Each side is claiming atrocities have been committed against them, and neither seems willing to stand down. They are a warrior race, and reportedly as tough and unyielding as Klingons. How true are either of their grievances? Which side, if any, is in the right? I don’t yet know.
“That’s part of the reason I became a diplomat,” Tabor said with a friendly grin. “Learning about cultures such as the Chiarosans’ fascinates me, but in practicing diplomacy, I have to see those cultures from many different sides. I must foresee all the ways in which any one actcan be interpreted, positively or negatively. I have yet to find a situation in which everything is black‑and‑white and crystal clear. Life is all about color, about variations, not about absolutes.”
Tabor could read Hawk’s mind, hearing his own words as they were processed through his memory. It created an odd echo effect. He’s right,Tabor heard Hawk think, just before the young man said out loud, “I’m learning that. Watching Captain Picard and Commander Riker on the bridge has been an invaluable education for me.”
Although Tabor had initially planned to cite a few of Picard’s and Riker’s more unorthodox decisions–to demonstrate that even high‑ranking officers don’t always follow approved procedures–he could see in Hawk’s mind that the young man idolized his superiors. The ambassador altered his strategy slightly, saving those examples for later. “They certainly are among the best, even if Starfleet doesn’t always recognize it. But we both know that Starfleet makes mistakes every now and then, don’t we?” He paused for a moment, his telepathic power spearing into Hawk’s memories, seeing exactly which memories this evoked. Grasping them, he spoke again. “After all, look at all the mistakes that have been made in strategizing the battles in the demilitarized zone between Federation and Cardassian space. A lot of good men and women have died there. Good Starfleet officers. And good ex‑Starfleet officers as well.”
Hawk looked away for a moment, and Tabor could feel him remembering his loss at hearing the news that his first lover–and several Academy classmates–had been killed in a battle against the Cardassians. He finally turned back toward Tabor. “Yes. I’ve lost several friends . . . out there.”
“I sympathize. On several occasions, as an ambassador, I’ve even argued to the Federation Council that it has badly mishandled the entire Cardassian Demilitarized Zone–Maquis situation,” said Tabor. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?” He knew that it did. He could feel it in Hawk’s mind. “And I disagree with the Council now,regarding the situation on Chiaros IV.”
“But you’re going there as a Federation representative.” It was both a statement and a question.
“Yes, because that is my job. The First Protector has asked for Federation intervention, promising to ally her people with us if we aid in ending the conflict and thereby help keep her in power. The other side has made overtures to the Romulans, and doesn’t want the Federation involved.”
“The Romulans?” Hawk’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“That’s one of the reasons why the Enterpriseis here,” Tabor said, lowering his voice. He knew that in doing so, he was making Hawk feel as though he were being entrusted with privileged information. Which, in a subtly expanding way, he was. “Starfleet’s flagship is a symbol of its military might. The Romulans dare not try anything untoward with Picard around.”
“So what does that mean for the peace summit?”
“It means that an already unstable–and morally questionable–situation has become more aggravated,Sean. I argued to my superiors against the alliance with Protector Ruardh’s side, but they didn’t concede my point. The advantages to having Chiaros join the Federation are few, and the ethical implications are shady at best. And there are advantages to letting the Romulans have the Chiaros system, even though doing so would give them control of the entire Geminus Gulf. I can’t tell you what those advantages are, but they would strengthen both the Federation and Starfleet.”