Ronnie's ship is cleared for departure in another forty-eight hours. I'll miss her. She's got a never-ending supply of stories - not that I actually believe any of them, but they're fun to listen to.
Some of them are less believable than others. "Seriously?" I say.
Ronnie shrugs. "I was in Starfleet, female, breathing... those were pretty much all the qualifications you needed. Hell, the Starfleet one was optional. And I looked good enough in one of those mini-skirts... never did figure out what those uniforms' designers were smoking, though."
"James Kirk? Seriously?"
"He was a man, with a man's needs... several men's needs, in fact."
I shake my head. I've heard stories... but I don't know whether to believe this one or not. I take another sip of katheka to cover my bemusement. Whatever. Listening to Ronnie beats doing things I should be doing, like getting more reports on King Estmere's interminable refit....
Something catches my eye, and I look up. Ronnie and I are sitting in one corner of the main commissary on Deck 91; at this time of day, it's three quarters empty... but everyone who is here... is looking at the display screens. No one is ever far from a screen at Earth Spacedock. And, right now, all of those screens are showing one message: PLEASE STAND BY.
"Haven't seen that in a while," says Ronnie. She is frowning. "Matter of fact," she says, "the last all-channels pre-empt I saw was... when V'ger arrived in Sol system."
Well, whatever it is, it can't be as bad as that. But I feel tense as the stand-by message winks out, to be replaced by the face of a human announcer.
He looks tense, too.
In uncertain tones, he begins, "A statement has just been issued by First Minister Stiak of Vulcan -"
"First Minister Stiak?" I say.
"Shush." Ronnie's hand is on my arm.
"- reads as follows." The announcer clears his throat. "The Hegemony of Bresar has requested certain guarantees from the Romulan Republic and the United Federation of Planets, regarding its endeavours to locate the Reman criminals responsible for the assassination of Hegemon Valikra. As of this date, those guarantees have not been forthcoming. In consequence, the Hegemony of Bresar is severing its diplomatic connections with the United Federation of Planets. As a further consequence, the integral part of the Hegemony that consists of the planetary confederacy of Vulcan, the 40 Eridani star system, and its dependent territories and colonies, is withdrawing from membership of the United Federation of Planets, effective as of this date."
I'm on my feet. "What?" I yell, uselessly, at the screen.
"Calm down," says Ronnie.
"They can't possibly do that!"
"I dunno," says Ronnie. The organic parts of her face are thoughtful, and very still; only the laser in her Borg eye seems alive.
"This can't - I mean - even if Stiak's staged some sort of, of coup - this can't be legal -"
"I'm running through the UFP charter now," says Ronnie. "Once seen, never forgotten - if you've got Borg wiring in your head. Besides, I was there when they signed the damn thing. Stood at the back, with a nice shiny medal from the Romulan War and my mouth full of sticky toffee to keep it shut." Animation comes back into her face. "Whoo boy."
"What?"
"Non-interference. Prime Directive. Cast-iron part of the Articles of Federation. UFP membership is voluntary, and no member's internal affairs can be regulated without consent. Foundation stone of Federation philosophy and all that. No, if the Vulcans want out, the Federation is obliged to let them have it."
"But -" I look around, helplessly. Everyone else in the commissary seems to be in the same state of blank confusion. "But Stiak's people are just a - a pressure group -"
"Well, that's Vulcans for you," says Ronnie. "Ever seen the Vulcan nerve pinch? They know where to press."
"It can't -" I put a hand to my brow. "The bulk of the Vulcan people won't want this, surely? Vulcan is a representative democracy - well, mostly. Like I said - Stiak can't be doing this legally."
"Yeah, probably," says Ronnie. "But any legal challenge has got to be mounted by the Vulcans themselves - the Federation can't do a damn thing." Her face is very grim, her gaze intent and focused. I'm beginning to understand how her miswired head works, and this is a bad sign. Ronnie's mind only gets disciplined when there's a crisis. "Someone had better be organizing the opposition to Stiak, and soon."
"Like -" I don't want to mention Section 31, or whatever that agency's real name is "- covert operatives, that sort of thing?"
"Dunno about that. Too risky for them... if they tried anything, they'd have to get it absolutely right, first time, no margin for error. One foul-up, and the situation would get exponentially worse. Maybe irretrievably worse."
"So what can we do?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm not even sure there's anything we can do."
I look around, searching for inspiration. "This can't be right. This has got to be some sort of political stunt. A pressure play, something Stiak can use to make demands...." I make up my mind. "I'm going to see what a high-placed Vulcan thinks of this."
"Who did you have in mind?"
"Obvious choice - a Starfleet Admiral is high-placed enough. My CO, Admiral Semok." And I head for the commissary exit. Behind me, Ronnie sits down, her face hard and calculating.
---
The first time I saw Semok, his office suite on level 18 was almost empty. Now, it's bustling, with people in Engineering uniforms clustered around display screens, reviewing and changing designs... except, today, the holo-images of ship components are hanging unattended in the air, while the engineers gather in tight groups and mutter amongst themselves.
"Vice Admiral Shohl," Semok's Tellarite receptionist greets me. She looks puzzled and exasperated. "I don't know - I mean - oh, you'd better go in and talk to him."
I stalk past her, into Semok's office. It is almost as bare of decoration now as it was when he first took it over. There are blueprints of a drive system on one wall, and on his desk is a decorative holo-imager. At the moment, it's displaying something that would, ordinarily, cheer me up - the distinctive spiky shape of King Estmere.
Semok is standing by the viewport, looking out over Earth. He turns as I come in.
"Ah, Vice Admiral Shohl," he says, in that mild, polite voice. "I am glad to see you - I was hoping to talk to you before I leave."
"Leave?"
He does the Vulcan eyebrow-quirk thing. "Have you not heard any news broadcasts recently?"
"I have, sir. That's why I'm here - to get your opinion on, on -"
"These developments. Quite. I understand your position." He looks down at his feet. "Mine has become somewhat equivocal, I feel. Logically, since my homeworld is no longer a member of the Federation, I can no longer be a member of Starfleet."
"But, sir - this can't be right." There's almost a pleading tone in my voice. "I don't know how, or even why, Stiak has pulled off this coup - but it's got to be a freak, an aberration -"
"I would prefer it if that were so," says Semok. "But that is not specified anywhere in the information obtainable to me. Therefore, I must act in accordance with the known facts and known legalities. I have already arranged for transport to Vulcan on a neutral shipping line. You are now the senior ranking officer in the Experimental Engineering Task Force; you will use your own judgment as to how best to proceed with its operations, unless and until Starfleet Command appoints my formal successor. I have left notes for you regarding the status of current projects."
I feel as if the gravity's failing, or the deckplates are vanishing under my feet. "Sir, please. Hold on. Stay on until this - this business - is sorted out. Until Stiak's secession is - confirmed - or, more likely, he backs down on it -"
"I do not see the logic in making a gesture such as this, and then failing to go through with it," says Semok. "I regret this, personally, but logic dictates that I return to my homeworld. There are other considerations," he adds, in a lower voice. "The political situation is evidently volatile, and I would wish to ensure that all is well with my family on Vulcan." He seems to read my mind, or at least my face, and he adds, "There have been no threats or other intimations of action. I am merely concerned, on general principles, that all should be well with them."
He turns to his desk, and picks up a PADD, while my eyes plead with him. He pauses in thought for a moment, then touches the holoprojector's controls. The image of King Estmere vanishes without a sound.
"I am sure that you are capable of managing the administration of our current projects. Goodbye, Vice Admiral Shohl."
And he walks briskly out of the office, and I stare helplessly after him while the doors hiss shut.
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