He tumbled over the edge of oblivion wondering whether she would sense the distant echoes of his death.
Forty‑Seven
Monday, March 3, 2155
The Presidio, San Francisco
“IREGRET TO INFORM YOU ALL that my government cannot participate in the Coalition under the present circumstances.”
I’ve finally said it,Ambassador Lekev of Coridan thought as the chamber was engulfed by the surprised, collective hush of the assembled delegates and representatives from the four other prospective Coalition worlds. For good or ill, the deed has at last been done.
Suddenly it was Lekev’s turn to exhibit mute surprise when Ambassador Avaranthi sh’Rothress of Andoria–rather than the more senior Andorian Ambassador Thoris, or the ever‑argumentative Gral of Tellar–rose to disperse the shocked, murmur‑laced silence. Lekev expected that silence to devolve very quickly into a cacophonous gabble of raised and argumentative voices.
“Why would your government choose to withdraw now,of all times?” sh’Rothress said, her voice high‑pitched but resonant. “Your home planet has never been more sorely in need of the assistance and support of its allies than it is right now.”
A sudden outbreak of perspiration made Lekev’s simple, formfitting coverall bind and chafe against his skin, and he released a weary, resigned sigh behind his traditional Coridanite diplomatic mask. Lekev himself had made sh’Rothress’s present argument to Chancellor Kalev, as well as to the most influential members of her cabinet, but to no avail. Since he had failed to persuade his government’s intransigent senior leadership to alter their course, he’d been faced with a difficult choice: he had to resign, or else meekly fall into line. Even if doing the latter risked so escalating Coridan Prime’s ongoing civil strife that the seemingly inevitable collapse of Kalev’s government came sooner rather than later.
His furrowed brow concealed behind his mask, Lekev panned his gaze across the rest of the diplomatic assemblage, all of whose constituents seemed tensely anxious to hear his response. Minister T’Pau and Ambassadors Solkar, L’Nel, and Soval of Vulcan looked on in grim silence, while the Tellarite and Andorian contingents seemed almost to be vibrating with barely suppressed alarm. Even the human representatives–Prime Minister Nathan Samuels and Interior Minister Haroun al‑Rashid, both of whom were usually far less excitable than either the Tellarites or the Andorians–looked toward Lekev with pleading apprehension in their oddly Coridanite‑like eyes.
If only I had the courage to remove this mask, here and now,Lekev thought, wondering whether the humans would find his true face more familiar and less forbidding than the mask that duty and Coridanite tradition dictated that he never remove in the presence of non‑Coridanites. But he knew that such a blasphemous act of defiance would not only earn him dismissal and imprisonment on his homeworld–if not outright execution–it would also certainly fail to persuade his government’s headstrong chancellor to alter her decision to abandon the new interstellar alliance. Still, doffing the ritual mask that doubtless made Lekev appear so very alien in the eyes of once‑valued diplomatic partners might serve to remind at least somein Coridan Prime’s leadership hierarchy that these Terrans, Vulcans, Tellarites, and Andorians were far more like the Coridanite people than they were different.
Lekev’s eyes caught a hint of motion at the edge of the chamber, and he turned his gaze toward it. On the stairs that connected the edge of the council chamber to the gallery level above it, a group of blue‑uniformed figures was making a silent entrance, coming to a quiet halt at the railing that overlooked the tense proceedings. No one else in the room appeared to have noticed their arrival.
The hard, chiseled features and determined look of the foremost of the blue‑clad humans drew Lekev’s attention most keenly. Nowthere’s a man who probably has sufficient courage to remove whatever masks might stand in his way,he thought, recalling the words of inspiration that Captain Jonathan Archer had spoken here only a few Earth weeks ago–words that had kept this nascent, fragile Coalition of Planets from completely fracturing during the immediate aftermath of the Terra Prime crisis.
But circumstances had changed greatly since then, particularly for those who still clung to life on the infernal ruin that Coridan Prime had become. And Lekev knew he had no choice other than to face that grim reality squarely.
Turning his gaze back upon sh’Rothress, Lekev took a deep breath, gathered his scattered thoughts, and finally addressed the Andorian junior ambassador’s well‑taken question. “Coridan cannot presently afford to concern itself with external matters, Ambassador. More than half a billion Coridanites died as a direct result of the attack, and more than that have perished as a consequence of the hugely destructive dilithium fires that resulted from the collision–which our best energy and environmental experts estimate to have consumed at least half of our planetary dilithium reserves. Our science minister believes that Coridan Prime’s ecosystems will take at least a century to begin to recover, should a recovery actually prove to be possible.”
“You have just enumerated several excellent reasons for allowing the Coalition to stand with you at this time,” said T’Pau of Vulcan. She exuded concern, but also a steadfast, rock‑solid calm that Lekev could only envy.
Lekev shook his head. “Chancellor Kalev does not see matters that way, nor do the partisans in her government who comprise a majority within the Ruling Assembly.”
“But surely the people of your world will see the wisdom of accepting outside help during this crisis,” said Prime Minister Samuels of Earth. “Your chancellor can only put her leadership in jeopardy by failing to recognize that.”
For the sake of everyone who yet remained alive on his homeworld, Lekev could only hope that the Terran was right. But he knew all too well that the truth was far more complex than Samuels knew, perhaps even defying Lekev’s own understanding.
“That is certainly a possibility, Mister Prime Minister,” Lekev said, making no attempt to conceal the sadness underlying his words. “Though it is probably a good deal less likely than you believe. We are a proud people, Minister. Most of us would probably not be sanguine about accepting interstellar charity. In the eyes of many, such assistance would be indistinguishable from a military occupation–and if Coridanites feel that their world has been taken by outworlders, they will behave accordingly, driving out the perceived invaders by whatever means they deem necessary. I am certain that none of the remaining Coalition worlds would relish that prospect in the least.”
Lekev could only hope that such a scenario might motivate Coridan Prime’s many squabbling political factions to set aside their differences, at least temporarily. But he also felt certain that any pause in the steadily escalating civil war back home would endure only so long as the perception of an outside threat persisted, and not a day longer.
Lapsing into silence, Lekev once again raked his gaze across the faces of each of his diplomatic colleagues, eager to see and hear their reactions, while at the same time dreading them. After a seeming eternity of deceptive stillness, most of the diplomats present–with the exception of the characteristically stoic Vulcans–began airing those reactions, loudly and simultaneously. Nathan Samuels, the nominal chairman of today’s proceedings, banged his gavel impotently and all but inaudibly as the room descended further into high‑decibel rhetorical chaos.
His grim duty finally discharged, Lekev bowed respectfully toward the chairman’s podium, then turned and exited the chamber. Outraged shouts and cries for order echoed and competed behind him.