Chapter 6
Colin Grove’s Apartment
The Empire State Building
New York
Earth
Colin Groves had yet to grow tired of the view from his new apartment.
No matter how many times he watched the sun rise above the East River, he always felt a thrill whenever the rays revealed the curved glass buildings of the Federation Headquarters complex. Though there were larger towers and more elaborate buildings spread throughout the rebuilt city of New York, it was over in that cluster of seven buildings that the vast majority of the Federation’s government work got done. Where he got his work done.
Cupping a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, he leaned against the balcony, his robe snapping slightly in the sharp spring breeze. Behind him, his apartment was dark and quiet, as was most of the city below him. A few aircars provided the only sound at this early hour. Most of Manhattan slept.
Feeling a slight chill, he headed back inside. He carefully closed the door out to the balcony, not wanting to make too much noise. The woman he had met the night before – Calysta? Alynna? – was still asleep. He glanced at the bottle of wine lying on its side on his low table, resting on a pair of pink panties. He had a vague memory of pulling them off with his teeth. Shaking his head, he headed for the kitchen.
It was funny how women reacted when they found out he worked for the President. Most of the women he had slept with since beginning his job as Deputy Chief of Staff to President Baxter wouldn’t even have looked at him up until three months before. Now they were throwing themselves at him. The woman from last night had just been the latest in a long list.
Not that he was complaining, of course.
Reaching the kitchen, he turned on a light and headed to the small fridge. Before he reached it, though, his attention was drawn to the comm system on the bar. A red light flashed on the panel, telling him someone had left a message. How did I miss that?
Picking up the earpiece, he stuck it in his ear and pressed the button to bring the system online.
“You have one new message,” the mechanised voice said.“New message received this morning at 0510 hours.”
Colin glanced at his chrono – twenty minutes before. He winced. Only one person would call him at this time in the morning.
As expected, his boss’ voice came over the comm system. And she sounded pissed.
“Colin, where the hell are you? Call me.”
Sighing, he pressed another button on the comm panel, putting through a call to a large office on the twenty-seventh floor of Building 1 in the very complex he had been looking at moments before. His boss must have been sat by her comm panel, because she answered almost immediately.
“Colin! Finally!”
He smiled as she sat down next to the bar. “Nice to hear from you too, Myri.”
“Don’t give me that. Where the hell have you been?”
“Asleep. Like normal people.”
“Where are you now?”
“At home.”
“Why haven’t you been answering? I’ve called you five times.”
Colin rolled his eyes. Myriam Jones, Presidential Chief of Staff, sometimes forgot that not everyone slept in their office. Or were awake at five o’clock in the morning. You were awake though, weren’t you? “I was out on the balcony. What’s up?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“No. Why?”
“Turn it on.”
He did as he was told, switching channels until he found the Federation News Channel. When he saw who was stood before the gaggle of reporters, he groaned. The tall Klingon in a Starfleet Admiral’s uniform had been a thorn in the Presidential staff’s side since day one of their mandate.
“What is he doing?”
“Just listen.”
Colin turned the sound up in time to catch a question from Barbara Wilson, a fellow Brit who worked for the New London Times. A right bitch, as well, he thought.
“Admiral L’mpec, are you saying that the Federation is not going to take any retaliatory action against the Klingons for the deaths of tens of thousands of Federation citizens?”
Colin could hear the tension in L’mpec’s voice. They must have been badgering him. “No, Barbara, again that isn’t what I’m saying. What I’m saying is… Listen, all of you, if you feel that the Federation isn’t getting involved enough against the Klingon Empire when we should be, I’d be the first to agree with you. I’m not the man you should be asking about this.”
Colin felt a cold finger run down his spine. Oh no.
“Then who should we be asking.”
Don’t answer that. Don’t answer that. Don’t…
“Have you tried the President?”
Son of a…
There was a moment of silence from the gathered reporters, then the room erupted, men and women, humans and aliens talking over one another and pressing forward to the podium, as if they could force the answer from the Klingon.
“Are you saying that President Baxter is dragging his heels?”
“Has President Baxter refused an actual battle plan, Admiral?”
“Is Starfleet confirming the rumours that President Baxter is scared of attacking the Klingons?”
“Oh shit.”
The FNC commentator’s voice over began while the holo images showed Starfleet press liaison officers almost dragging Admiral L’mpec off the stand.
“These scenes were filmed an hour ago at the Starfleet campus in Moscow, where Admiral L’mpec was giving a press conference discussing the latest developments in the investigation of the Battle of Romulus. The Admiral seemed to imply that Starfleet has been pushing for military retaliation against the Klingon Empire, a solution that a recent poll showed 76% of Federation citizens approved. However, Admiral L’mpec also implied that any kind of military response had been officially vetoed by President Baxter. Starfleet Press Corps officers have refused to comment on the validity of Admiral L’mpec’s statement, while President Baxter’s office has…”
“How soon can you be here?” Myriam asked him over the comm line.
Colin was already getting to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Make it ten.”
“You got it.”
Ending the transmission, Colin popped the commline out of his ear. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Today was obviously going to be one of those days.
Chief of Staff’s Office
Building 1, Federation Headquarters Complex
New York
Colin sat across from Myriam Jones as she read the press release he had written in the taxi on the way over.
“A bit harsh, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes still skipping from left to right.
“After what L’mpec said? I don’t think anything could be harsh enough.”
“The President deplores the political machinations that have led Starfleet Command to this unfortunate impass, and vows that calmer heads will prevail in the decision making process.” She looked up at him. “You’re basically calling L’mpec a manipulative hot-head out for blood.”
“Isn’t he?”
She snorted, then looked back down at the padd.
With nothing else to do, Colin looked around the room. Located just below the President’s, the Chief of Staff’s office had been decorated in the same manner as Myriam Jones’ own home. Wood panneling on the walls, warm red carpet under foot, and three different book cases carrying everything from a full folio of William Shakespeare to three copies of the Teachings of Surak. Behind her desk was a panoramic view of the East River and the forested district of Queens on the other side.
“I think we should have Jean-Luc take a look at it.”
Colin screwed up his mouth. “Oh come on, Myriam. By the time he’s through with it, we’ll be thanking L’mpec for his input. J-L’s a - -”
“Did I hear my name used in vain?”
Colin groaned as Jean-Luc Biseau walked into the office. Dressed in a fine tailored suit, with his hair impeccably brushed back from his forehead, he carried himself with the air of a French nobleman. The fact that he had been born on Mars didn’t seem to come into the equation.
“Morning Myriam.”
“Thanks for coming in J-L.”
The President’s Communication’s Director sauntered over to the desk and took the seat next to Colin’s. Colin caught a whiff of some foul cologne as the other man sat down and started to cough.
“Damn, J-L, how much of that did you put on this morning?”
J-L sniffed and turned back to Myriam. “What have we got so far?”
Myriam handed the padd with Colin’s draft press release over. J-L had hardly read three lines before his eyes began to bulge.
“You can’t seriously be considering sending this out?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Colin demanded
“Apart from the fact that it is amateurish, it’s inflamatory, conflicting and full of spelling mistakes.”
“There aren’t any spelling mistakes,” Colin said in disgust.
“Children, children. Let’s not do this now.” She sighed. “We need to have a press release ready in the next hour. The longer we wait, the weaker we look. J-L, use Colin’s draft as a starting point. Colin, I want you to get on to your contacts at Starfleet Command. I want L’mpec’s retraction on my desk or his head on a plate, you got me?”
“Yes boss,” both men said.
“Good. Now get out of here.”
Nodding, they stood up and filed out of the room. As they stepped into the corridor, J-L took a step closer, the smell of his cologne making Colin gag. Leaning in, he whispered in Colin’s ear.
“Conciliatory is spelled C-O-N-C-I-L-I-A-T-O-R-Y, not C-O-N-S-I-L-I-A-T-O-R-Y.”
“Oh, shut up,” Colin murmured and walked down the corridor to his office.
Deputy Chief of Staff’s Office
Building 1, Federation Headquarters Complex
New York
“I don’t care if he’s meeting with Kahless himself, I want to talk to Admiral L’mpec.” Colin glared at the Bolian Lieutenant-Commander on his screen, trying not to scream.
“I’m doing everything I can, C, really I am. But no one will talk about what happened this morning.”
“Dammit, Hor, we’re friends. Buddies. You know you’d never have passed Basic Klingonese in the Academy without me.”
“Don’t throw that in my face again! It’s been ten years, C. Get over it.”
“Listen, Hor, do you have any idea what a hornet’s nest L’mpec has kicked up? We’ve had every major power in the Federation on the line today demanding to know what the hell the President is playing at. We agreed in the last briefing that for now we were going to try and find a non-military solution to this mess. Officially, the Klingons claim they had nothing to do with attack, that K’mpak was a rogue element. We can’t have Starfleet Fleet Officers spouting off about - -“
The Bolian glanced at something off screen and Colin would have sworn his blue skin began to turn white. “Listen C, I’ve got to go. We’ll catch up later, ok?”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me you…” He trailed off as the screen went blank. He hung up on me. Son of a…
“Not going so well?”
He looked up to see Elyra Li’tal, the Romulan Deputy Communication’s Director, stood in his doorway. He smiled wanly, collapsing back in his chair. “Not so much.”
Elyra slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Colin tried not to stare at her shapely figure, barely restrained by a very tight pant suit. The red brought out the green of her eyes. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes, pretending to be thinking about anything else but the night they had spent together after Election Day.
“None of my contacts will talk to me, Elly. They’ve all clammed up.”
“Well, what did you expect? You’re not one of them any more.”
“What?” He opened his eyes to see her sat in the chair on the other side of his desk. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve gone native, Colin. You may have passed the same Academy courses, have served on the same ships, but now you’ve turned your back on the service. You’re not one of them anymore and so they don’t trust you. Especially not with the President’s office and Starfleet Command at loggerheads.”
Massaging his temples, Colin tried hard not to scream. “I’m serving the Federation, dammit. Maybe not on a starship, but I’m still serving.”
“Not as far as they’re concerned. You need to understand that, Colin. If you keep on acting like you’re still one of them, or like they owe you something, you’ll end up losing every contact you have.” She stood up. “Now, come on.”
“What? Where?”
“The President wants to see us. Everyone else is already in the Room.”
“Already? Great. Just what I need.”
Closing down his comm screen, he followed Elyra out the door into the outer chamber where his Ferengi secretary was working on getting another one of Colin’s contacts on the comm. Looking up as his boss stepped out, he grinned, revealing a tight row of sharp pointed teeth. Even after three months, they still made Colin uncomfortable.
“Nargle, I’m going in to see the President. Try and get me Captain U’lar Batan aboard the Glory on the comm, ok?”
“You got it boss,” the young up-and-comer said, grinning wildly.
Colin forced himself to smile back, then stepped out into the corridor. He followed Elyra to the special turbolift and together they pressed their hands to the security panels, sending the capsule up one floor to the twenty-eighth, where the Office de Concorde – the President’s personal office – was located. Three members of the Secret Service stood on either side and in front of the turbolift doors. Colin and Elyra flashed their badges, and were waved through to the outer chamber.
A dark-skinned Betazoid male sat at his desk just outside the President’s office. The President’s personal assistant, Baral Grax also served as a last line of defence – his empathic skills would allow him to detect anyone with bad intentions. He smiled wearily now and waved them through. “He’s waiting for you.”
Wonderful, Colin thought.
When the doors to the Office de Concorde opened, the President’s voice boomed out into the outer chamber.
“- the hell do they think they’re doing? Tell me. What do they think they’re doing? I don’t have enough to deal with? I don’t believe these bastards. I want a retraction, Myriam. I want one yesterday.”
Colin reluctantly followed Elyra into the semi-circular chamber, built to reflect the former presidential offices in the Palais de la Concorde. A large desk dominated the room, apparently the same desk where President Jaresh-Inyo had signed the Articles of Surrender at the end of the Dominion War. Behind the desk was an even more breathtaking view, this time of the forest of towers and spires of Manhattan.
Seated on the large sofas or the several chairs that dotted the room were the majority of the President’s policy advisors, as well as Myriam, J-L, Press Secretary Gar’ka, a tall imposing Klingon woman, and Jatel Linak, the Cardassian Deputy Security Advisor. Stood with his back to the view, glaring at all of them, was President Morgan Baxter.
“Mr President, we’ve been trying to get a retraction all morning,” Myriam was saying. “I’ve had my best people on it but as of this moment…” She glanced at Colin who shook his head slightly. She glared at him before turning back to the President. “We have nothing.”
The President turned on Linak. “What the hell is Starfleet Command playing at, Jatel?”
The young Cardassian looked very uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have no more information than you do.”
“How brave of Admiral Barker to send you in to play the sheep.” Turning away with disgust, the President’s eyes fell on Colin. “Colin, these were your people. What the hell is happening?”
Stepping over to the nearest chair and sitting down, Colin refused to drop the President’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr President, but I’m getting stonewalled. No one will talk to me. If you ask me…”
He trailed off at a sharp gaze from Myriam, but it was too late. “If I ask you, what?”
“If you ask me, I think L’mpec panicked up there. He didn’t mean to say what he did. Now Command is panicking. They don’t know what to do.”
“And what are we going to do?”
“Mr President, we have prepared a statement,” Myriam said, glaring at Colin again. She stood and handed the President a padd. “We have tried to show strength and yet be conciliatory at the same time.”
“I don’t want to be conciliatory,” President Baxter grumbled, but he started to read the padd anyway. Everyone else stayed quiet until he had finished.
Once he was done, he grunted. “This isn’t bad. Allows us to reiterate our position while still giving Starfleet a way out. Well done, Jean-Luc.” Colin looked away as the French Martian began to preen. “Still, I’d rather we steer clear of any reference to negotiations with the Klingons. Not until we know where exactly the Empire stands.”
“Where does the Empire stand?” Colin spoke up. “Have we heard anything from the Ambassador?”
“Unfortunately, Ambassador Kurak has refused all of my calls,” Mike Hannigan, the Federation Secretary of State replied. “They’re still holding to the party line – K’mpak was a renegade, his actions totally without the Empress’ approval, blah, blah, blah.”
“How lucky for them that he’s dead,” J-L said.
“And how the hell did Starfleet let that happen?” the President demanded. “Surely they should have been trying to capture him?”
“The Klingon ship was destroyed while it tried to ram the Redemption, sir. The Laurentii mission ship.”
“Have we heard anything from the Hegemony?” J-L asked.
“Not since the attack,” Hannigan replied. “They passed on their condolences through Ambassador Benjamani on Romulus and…”
“People, back on message,” Myriam snapped. “What would you like us to do, Mr President?”
President Baxter turned and looked out the window. Colin watched his shoulders rise and fall as he breathed in and out, calming himself. The President might have a short fuse, but he also had the fortunate talent of being able to control his temper when he needed to. Finally, he turned back to the room.
“Release the statement, minus the bit about Klingon negotiations. And I want Admiral L’mpec’s letter of resignation on my desk by the end of the day.”
“Sir, I - -” Colin began, but was cut off by Myriam.
“We’ll get it done, Mr President.”
Before anyone else could say anything, the President’s comm line buzzed. Walking round his desk, the President pressed the button. “Yes, Baral?”
“The Eugenics lobby is here to see you, sir.”
Colin saw the President’s jaw clench. Through his teeth, he told Baral to let them in, then looked at the gathered advisors and staff members. “Thank you everyone. Keep me informed.”
Everyone thanked the President, then stood and filed out. Colin was one of the last ones out. As he stepped into the outer chamber, he automatically studied the group of genetically engineered humans who had come to lobby the President over Eugenics’ rights. He immediately recognised the man stood out in front – Councillor James Kisburn, the charismatic leader of the Eugenics’ faction, and the first genetically engineered man to be elected to a government position. He scanned the others, and when he saw the woman stood near the back, his feet stalled and stopped.
Myriam came up behind him, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the door. “Come on Starfleet,” she growled in his ear. “We need to talk.”
He didn’t hear her, but he allowed her to lead him away anyway. All he could think of was that blond hair and those brilliant blue eyes. The same brilliant blue eyes he had gazed into over a bottle of wine the night before.
Oh this is bad, he thought. This is so, so bad.
)
I wonder, is there any hope for Kane to win them over? He and Sarine seem friendly enough with one another.
