“It’s three in the morning,” Lesia Enaren protested as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “This had better be important.”
Over the comlink her Chief of Staff, Janek of Vulcan, answered matter-of-factly, “My sincerest apologies, Madame President. Starfleet Command has requested your immediate presence at the Command Compound in San Francisco.”
“Did they say what they wanted?” She asked as she crossed the distance of her bedroom in the Palais de la Concorde.
“No, ma’am, they did not. They only stated that it was urgent that they see you immediately,” the Vulcan answered. “The T’Maran has been prepped and is awaiting you on the landing platform. I will be at the controls.”
She smiled as she buttoned her clothes, “You’re too good to me. What would I ever do without you?”
“Unknown,” the disembodied voice answered before the channel closed.
Lesia tugged the corners of her tunic in the mirror. Her outfit was simple, yet tasteful – a strong departure from what was expected from the Daughter of the First House of Betazed. She and her sisters had been known for their ornate and intricate outfits, and if they saw her now they’d never believe she was their little Lesia. If only they hadn’t been killed in the Dominion War she may’ve contacted them just for their expression.
She missed them terribly.
Wiping a tear from her eye, President Enaren pulled herself away from the mirror and left her private bedroom while she still had her composure. This was still her first term and she wanted to make a good impression on the galaxy, but these late night visits to Starfleet Command were never good things. They were usually disasters.
At least the ride was comfortable and uneventful. Janek was an amazing administrator, but she wasn’t a conversationalist. It gave her an opportunity to catch up on a short catnap in the few minutes that she had. It was all too short and she woke up to a bigger nightmare. As they circled the Starfleet campus’s landing platform she saw a figure in a long flowing black robe standing waiting for her.
“Is that who I think it is?” She grumbled to the pilot.
Janek nodded, “Yes, ma’am, that is Ambassador Napock of Vulcan.”
She sighed, “Great. I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Unknown,” she answered as her fingers slid over the y-axis controls. “I was unaware that he would be at this meeting.”
“You know if I had known that Napock would be the one to replace you on the Council I’d never have selected you as my Chief of Staff,” Lesia teased. Though, in all truth, it wasn’t much of a lie. Napock had been one of the biggest pains of President Enaren’s term and he’d challenged almost ever initiative that had been suggested by her administration.
“I apologize for the disruption that I have caused you by accepting your offer. If you are inclined I could provide my resignation?” She asked.
The President had been taken aback by what her Chief had said. She was so affected by it that she’d considered trying to pierce Janek’s mental barriers and read her thoughts, but such an invasion wasn’t exactly a prized decision by a Federation President. The direct approach was just as good. “Is that a joke?”
“It was,” she disengaged the engines. “My position has been an honor. I would not relinquish it without a just cause.”
Lesia let a smile form, “I’m grateful for that.”
“Your gratitude is not required,” she answered as she released the airlock. “However, I understand the sentiment.” She got up from her chair, “Shall we proceed?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Enaren answered with a nod. They stepped out into the evening light of San Francisco together. It was strange to go from the darkness of Paris to the early evening of San Francisco, but she’d tried her best to adjust. She just hoped that she’d be able to get back to sleep when she got home. Though, if she really needed help sleeping, there was always Napock.
“Madame President.”
“Ambassador Napock,” she said with false bravado and her best political smile. “How nice to see you!”
The Vulcan Ambassador gave a slight nod, “It is agreeable to see you again, Madame President.”
The President motioned toward the entrance to Starfleet Headquarters. They chatted a bit about nonsensical political matters, but then she came out with it. “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Ambassador,” she said as they boarded a turbolift.
The Vulcan spoke in his baritone, “I was asked to attend by Admiral Gren. I had believed that the invitation had been extended by your office since he was involved. Was I incorrect in this assessment?”
“I’m afraid so,” she answered as the lift neared the Command Center. “But, you’re more than welcome to still join us.” She wasn’t too sure that she’d extend the same invitation to her Starfleet Liaison at this point.
Admiral Gren had been a different man than the one she’d known these last few weeks. There had been a few times that she’d thought about asking Admiral Mon to select a new Liaison and this was one of the last straws. Plus, if he knew what was going on, why hadn’t he relayed that to Janek?
“I accept your invitation,” the Ambassador answered in monotone.
“Terrific,” she tried to hide the sarcasm.
The trio stepped into the cavernous Command Center together. No matter how many times she’d seen it President Enaren had been amazed by the complexity and scope of the Command Center. Spread over two levels, it reminded her of an inverted Starship Bridge. Workstations manned by at least one person lined each wall on both levels. On the upper level a metal railing secured the workers from falling and additional consoles were attached.
In the center of the lower level a large Operations Table sat with a holographic replica of Earth hovering above it. Half a dozen Starfleet Officers stood working at the controls, watching the screens closely as data scrolled over them. Positioned near to the model of Spacedock was a spinning red targeting reticule.
“What’s going on?” President Enaren asked as she joined those at the table.
Admiral Alin Mon – Commander of Starfleet – turned from his place at the head of the console. “Madame President, I apologize for waking you but we have a situation.”
“I can see that,” she pointed at the reticule. “What is that?”
“We don’t know,” the Ardanan answered. “Sensors detected elevated neutr…”
The Betazoid lifted her hand, “I’m afraid I have no tolerance for babble. I want something a bit more definitive.”
The Commander looked to the Starfleet Liaison to the Federation President. The Bolian stepped away from the table and joined them, “Like Admiral Mon had said… we really don’t know what it is. Our evidence suggests that it could be a cloaked vessel. Nonetheless, I find this unlikely.”
“Why?” Ambassador Napock asked the question from behind the President.
“If the vessel had utilized a traditional cloaking device we would’ve detected them well before they even got close to the Sol Sector,” the Bolian explained. “If they were using a Phase Cloak they wouldn’t emit even these readings. So, I doubt that it’s a ship.”
Captain William Teagarden stepped away from the Defense Console, “Are you willing to stake your career on that?”
“That’s out of line, Captain,” the Admiral challenged. “And questioning someone’s career choices is a little funny coming from someone like you.”
Lesia looked between the two and could feel the animosity radiating from her Liaison. Surprisingly the Captain was next to impossible to read. She’d have to find out what exactly happened that Gren had this much hatred.
Before it could go any further, “Gentlemen, I am very interested in knowing what exactly we are facing. She looked around the room at the collection of Starfleet leaders, “If it is a ship what can we do to confirm it?”
“Spacedock could blow it out of the sky,” suggested Gren sarcastically.
“That isn’t helping,” the President challenged him this time. “Have communications been attempted?”
A Commander from the upper level called down, “We’ve been transmitting linguacode friendship messages just to be safe. No response so far.”
“We could use electronic countermeasures from Spacedock,” recommended Captain Teagarden – trying to avoid the technical babble the President so hated. “With your permission of course?” He looked toward Admiral Mon.
The silver-haired man nodded his approval and everyone got to work. He looked at the President, “If this is a cloaked vessel the effects should be fairly quick.”
Gren sighed, “This is futile! Why are we wasting time doing this when the chances of it being a ship are so slim? Why on Earth would they reveal themselves to us like this especially after making it here undetected? It’s pointless!”
“Ever think that they want us to see them?” Captain Teagarden asked as he sent the final preparations to Spacedock. “Channel open.”
“I ask again: why? What’s the point?”
“Starfleet Command this is Spacedock,” the disembodied voice of Captain Linz filtered through the room.
Admiral Mon pressed a control on his table, “Go ahead.”
“We’ve identified the anomaly,” the Commanding Officer of Spacedock explained. “It’s a Romulan Warbird.” The targeting icon was instantly replaced with the cathedral like image of the Gal’Gathong hovering above them.
“Still convinced it’s not a ship?” The President asked her Liaison as the Command Center sprung to life. Dozens of conversations filled the room with white noise, but the President could hear the inner monologues of each person in the room. Crossing her arms she stared daggers at her Liaison.
Gren didn’t need to be a psychic to know what she was thinking, “Madame President I apologize for my error. I will report to Starfleet One…”
“Your resignation will be on my desk by 0900 Paris Time,” she ordered. “Admiral Mon, what is the status of the Romulan ship? Have we been able to reach them?”
“Not yet,” answered the same Commander from earlier. “They know we know about them though.”
The Federation President sighed, “Any ideas why they’re here? One ship is hardly an invasion force.”
More speculation came, but no one had an answer among the Starfleet personnel. Instead she felt something she hadn’t expected. A momentary pang of intense emotion coming from an unexpected source – like a crack had let a solitary light through for only an instant.
“Ambassador is there something you want to say?” Lesia asked as a silence befell the entire room.
Napock nodded, “The Romulan Warbird Gal’Gathong is here at the request of the Confederacy of Vulcan.”
Mutters of surprise became white noise again among them. Admiral Mon cut through it, “For what purpose?”
“The Confederacy of Vulcan has entered into final negotiations to restore our two civilizations into one. The Gal’Gathong is here to provide safe passage for all Vulcans currently residing on Earth and within this Sector to our homeworld.” The Ambassador explained the specifics, but it became mere noise. The unthinkable had happened and it had been on her watch.
Napock extended his hand and gave the Romulan datapad it held to the President. “This is formal acknowledgement from my government signifying our intention to formally -secede from the United Federation of Planets.”
Her head was spinning and she could feel the eyes, and minds, of all around her focusing in on their President for guidance. The problem with it all was that she needed the same reassurance, the same calming hand. She looked at Janek, her unreadable Chief Aide, and knew the truth.
“Guess I’ll be finding out what it’s like to be without you after all,” the President acknowledged. Standing tall, hiding her feelings as best she could, “The United Federation of Planets will review your petition in Emergency Session. In the mean time, please invite your escort ship to take position in formation with Starfleet One. I would like the opportunity to bring you and your countrymen home, Ambassador Napock. It is the very least that I can do in honor of the contributions the Vulcans have made to the Federation.”
There was a long pause on the part of the Vulcan Ambassador, an even more uncomfortable silence falling upon the entire room. With a subtle nod the Vulcan gave his approval, “Madame President, I graciously accept your kind offer of transport and we will be ready to depart tomorrow morning at 0900 hours local time. However, the Emergency Session is not necessary. Our petition of secession is not a negotiable policy.”
Napock looked around the room at the gathered personnel. With finality he gave the damnable reality, “Reunification has become a fact of life.” Instead of the traditional farewell, he offered a new one. “Jolan Tru.”
Over the comlink her Chief of Staff, Janek of Vulcan, answered matter-of-factly, “My sincerest apologies, Madame President. Starfleet Command has requested your immediate presence at the Command Compound in San Francisco.”
“Did they say what they wanted?” She asked as she crossed the distance of her bedroom in the Palais de la Concorde.
“No, ma’am, they did not. They only stated that it was urgent that they see you immediately,” the Vulcan answered. “The T’Maran has been prepped and is awaiting you on the landing platform. I will be at the controls.”
She smiled as she buttoned her clothes, “You’re too good to me. What would I ever do without you?”
“Unknown,” the disembodied voice answered before the channel closed.
Lesia tugged the corners of her tunic in the mirror. Her outfit was simple, yet tasteful – a strong departure from what was expected from the Daughter of the First House of Betazed. She and her sisters had been known for their ornate and intricate outfits, and if they saw her now they’d never believe she was their little Lesia. If only they hadn’t been killed in the Dominion War she may’ve contacted them just for their expression.
She missed them terribly.
Wiping a tear from her eye, President Enaren pulled herself away from the mirror and left her private bedroom while she still had her composure. This was still her first term and she wanted to make a good impression on the galaxy, but these late night visits to Starfleet Command were never good things. They were usually disasters.
At least the ride was comfortable and uneventful. Janek was an amazing administrator, but she wasn’t a conversationalist. It gave her an opportunity to catch up on a short catnap in the few minutes that she had. It was all too short and she woke up to a bigger nightmare. As they circled the Starfleet campus’s landing platform she saw a figure in a long flowing black robe standing waiting for her.
“Is that who I think it is?” She grumbled to the pilot.
Janek nodded, “Yes, ma’am, that is Ambassador Napock of Vulcan.”
She sighed, “Great. I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Unknown,” she answered as her fingers slid over the y-axis controls. “I was unaware that he would be at this meeting.”
“You know if I had known that Napock would be the one to replace you on the Council I’d never have selected you as my Chief of Staff,” Lesia teased. Though, in all truth, it wasn’t much of a lie. Napock had been one of the biggest pains of President Enaren’s term and he’d challenged almost ever initiative that had been suggested by her administration.
“I apologize for the disruption that I have caused you by accepting your offer. If you are inclined I could provide my resignation?” She asked.
The President had been taken aback by what her Chief had said. She was so affected by it that she’d considered trying to pierce Janek’s mental barriers and read her thoughts, but such an invasion wasn’t exactly a prized decision by a Federation President. The direct approach was just as good. “Is that a joke?”
“It was,” she disengaged the engines. “My position has been an honor. I would not relinquish it without a just cause.”
Lesia let a smile form, “I’m grateful for that.”
“Your gratitude is not required,” she answered as she released the airlock. “However, I understand the sentiment.” She got up from her chair, “Shall we proceed?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Enaren answered with a nod. They stepped out into the evening light of San Francisco together. It was strange to go from the darkness of Paris to the early evening of San Francisco, but she’d tried her best to adjust. She just hoped that she’d be able to get back to sleep when she got home. Though, if she really needed help sleeping, there was always Napock.
“Madame President.”
“Ambassador Napock,” she said with false bravado and her best political smile. “How nice to see you!”
The Vulcan Ambassador gave a slight nod, “It is agreeable to see you again, Madame President.”
The President motioned toward the entrance to Starfleet Headquarters. They chatted a bit about nonsensical political matters, but then she came out with it. “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Ambassador,” she said as they boarded a turbolift.
The Vulcan spoke in his baritone, “I was asked to attend by Admiral Gren. I had believed that the invitation had been extended by your office since he was involved. Was I incorrect in this assessment?”
“I’m afraid so,” she answered as the lift neared the Command Center. “But, you’re more than welcome to still join us.” She wasn’t too sure that she’d extend the same invitation to her Starfleet Liaison at this point.
Admiral Gren had been a different man than the one she’d known these last few weeks. There had been a few times that she’d thought about asking Admiral Mon to select a new Liaison and this was one of the last straws. Plus, if he knew what was going on, why hadn’t he relayed that to Janek?
“I accept your invitation,” the Ambassador answered in monotone.
“Terrific,” she tried to hide the sarcasm.
The trio stepped into the cavernous Command Center together. No matter how many times she’d seen it President Enaren had been amazed by the complexity and scope of the Command Center. Spread over two levels, it reminded her of an inverted Starship Bridge. Workstations manned by at least one person lined each wall on both levels. On the upper level a metal railing secured the workers from falling and additional consoles were attached.
In the center of the lower level a large Operations Table sat with a holographic replica of Earth hovering above it. Half a dozen Starfleet Officers stood working at the controls, watching the screens closely as data scrolled over them. Positioned near to the model of Spacedock was a spinning red targeting reticule.
“What’s going on?” President Enaren asked as she joined those at the table.
Admiral Alin Mon – Commander of Starfleet – turned from his place at the head of the console. “Madame President, I apologize for waking you but we have a situation.”
“I can see that,” she pointed at the reticule. “What is that?”
“We don’t know,” the Ardanan answered. “Sensors detected elevated neutr…”
The Betazoid lifted her hand, “I’m afraid I have no tolerance for babble. I want something a bit more definitive.”
The Commander looked to the Starfleet Liaison to the Federation President. The Bolian stepped away from the table and joined them, “Like Admiral Mon had said… we really don’t know what it is. Our evidence suggests that it could be a cloaked vessel. Nonetheless, I find this unlikely.”
“Why?” Ambassador Napock asked the question from behind the President.
“If the vessel had utilized a traditional cloaking device we would’ve detected them well before they even got close to the Sol Sector,” the Bolian explained. “If they were using a Phase Cloak they wouldn’t emit even these readings. So, I doubt that it’s a ship.”
Captain William Teagarden stepped away from the Defense Console, “Are you willing to stake your career on that?”
“That’s out of line, Captain,” the Admiral challenged. “And questioning someone’s career choices is a little funny coming from someone like you.”
Lesia looked between the two and could feel the animosity radiating from her Liaison. Surprisingly the Captain was next to impossible to read. She’d have to find out what exactly happened that Gren had this much hatred.
Before it could go any further, “Gentlemen, I am very interested in knowing what exactly we are facing. She looked around the room at the collection of Starfleet leaders, “If it is a ship what can we do to confirm it?”
“Spacedock could blow it out of the sky,” suggested Gren sarcastically.
“That isn’t helping,” the President challenged him this time. “Have communications been attempted?”
A Commander from the upper level called down, “We’ve been transmitting linguacode friendship messages just to be safe. No response so far.”
“We could use electronic countermeasures from Spacedock,” recommended Captain Teagarden – trying to avoid the technical babble the President so hated. “With your permission of course?” He looked toward Admiral Mon.
The silver-haired man nodded his approval and everyone got to work. He looked at the President, “If this is a cloaked vessel the effects should be fairly quick.”
Gren sighed, “This is futile! Why are we wasting time doing this when the chances of it being a ship are so slim? Why on Earth would they reveal themselves to us like this especially after making it here undetected? It’s pointless!”
“Ever think that they want us to see them?” Captain Teagarden asked as he sent the final preparations to Spacedock. “Channel open.”
“I ask again: why? What’s the point?”
“Starfleet Command this is Spacedock,” the disembodied voice of Captain Linz filtered through the room.
Admiral Mon pressed a control on his table, “Go ahead.”
“We’ve identified the anomaly,” the Commanding Officer of Spacedock explained. “It’s a Romulan Warbird.” The targeting icon was instantly replaced with the cathedral like image of the Gal’Gathong hovering above them.
“Still convinced it’s not a ship?” The President asked her Liaison as the Command Center sprung to life. Dozens of conversations filled the room with white noise, but the President could hear the inner monologues of each person in the room. Crossing her arms she stared daggers at her Liaison.
Gren didn’t need to be a psychic to know what she was thinking, “Madame President I apologize for my error. I will report to Starfleet One…”
“Your resignation will be on my desk by 0900 Paris Time,” she ordered. “Admiral Mon, what is the status of the Romulan ship? Have we been able to reach them?”
“Not yet,” answered the same Commander from earlier. “They know we know about them though.”
The Federation President sighed, “Any ideas why they’re here? One ship is hardly an invasion force.”
More speculation came, but no one had an answer among the Starfleet personnel. Instead she felt something she hadn’t expected. A momentary pang of intense emotion coming from an unexpected source – like a crack had let a solitary light through for only an instant.
“Ambassador is there something you want to say?” Lesia asked as a silence befell the entire room.
Napock nodded, “The Romulan Warbird Gal’Gathong is here at the request of the Confederacy of Vulcan.”
Mutters of surprise became white noise again among them. Admiral Mon cut through it, “For what purpose?”
“The Confederacy of Vulcan has entered into final negotiations to restore our two civilizations into one. The Gal’Gathong is here to provide safe passage for all Vulcans currently residing on Earth and within this Sector to our homeworld.” The Ambassador explained the specifics, but it became mere noise. The unthinkable had happened and it had been on her watch.
Napock extended his hand and gave the Romulan datapad it held to the President. “This is formal acknowledgement from my government signifying our intention to formally -secede from the United Federation of Planets.”
Her head was spinning and she could feel the eyes, and minds, of all around her focusing in on their President for guidance. The problem with it all was that she needed the same reassurance, the same calming hand. She looked at Janek, her unreadable Chief Aide, and knew the truth.
“Guess I’ll be finding out what it’s like to be without you after all,” the President acknowledged. Standing tall, hiding her feelings as best she could, “The United Federation of Planets will review your petition in Emergency Session. In the mean time, please invite your escort ship to take position in formation with Starfleet One. I would like the opportunity to bring you and your countrymen home, Ambassador Napock. It is the very least that I can do in honor of the contributions the Vulcans have made to the Federation.”
There was a long pause on the part of the Vulcan Ambassador, an even more uncomfortable silence falling upon the entire room. With a subtle nod the Vulcan gave his approval, “Madame President, I graciously accept your kind offer of transport and we will be ready to depart tomorrow morning at 0900 hours local time. However, the Emergency Session is not necessary. Our petition of secession is not a negotiable policy.”
Napock looked around the room at the gathered personnel. With finality he gave the damnable reality, “Reunification has become a fact of life.” Instead of the traditional farewell, he offered a new one. “Jolan Tru.”
