Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise and its characters.
Author: d.e.Miller
Summary: A diplomatic mission goes up in smoke.
Notes: Well, this one is a little different. The story
revolves around a first contact
mission set after some months in the Expanse. It starts
out from the aliens' point-of-
view, then, after a reasonably unexpected twist, it meanders
back to Enterprise,
before finally concluding with the original aliens.
As the title suggests, there appears
to be some confusion regarding a variety of customs...
Rated PG-13 for addicted aliens.
***Complete*** (And now, even more complete...with
Epilogue and Epilogue + )
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Ministers of Misinformation
Chapter 1 - The Impetuous Impending
Foreign Secretary Pelgrath glanced
at his watch and worried aloud.
"Where is that fool?"
He took another nervous puff
before, at last, he heard footsteps in the hall.
He stiffened immediately, and leaning forward, he quickly
extinguished his kretek
and fanned the air with his hand, then he placed the ash tray
in his top desk drawer
and slammed it shut. Suddenly, the door to his office
burst open.
"Branmal! What is all this
nonsense I hear about- ?"
Prime Minister Signost stopped
and sniffed.
"Have you been smoking
again, Branmal?"
"If you must know,"
Pelgrath said. "Yes. But I have good reason."
Signost shook his head and looked
at him pitifully.
"Your health, Bran!"
he chastised. "Those things are dangerous, you know!"
"We don't have time to
talk about my addictions, Relin," he scowled. "The
Humans have just entered our system, and they will be here
any minute!"
"Why wasn't I told about
this sooner?" Signost demanded.
"You were told,
Mr. Prime Minister!" Pelgrath scoffed. "We sat in this very
office less than two days ago! I said, 'Relin, we have
been contacted by a new
species who wishes to sell us dilithium.' You said,
'Splendid, Branmal!', and then
you went into a rant about the Guilly Tax issue and did not
stop talking for twenty
minutes!"
The Prime Minister turned his
back and crossed his arms.
"Do you have any idea just
how important that piece of legislation is?" he
gruffed.
Pelgrath slumped and hung his
head.
"It is meaningless,"
he mumbled.
"Meaningless?"
Signost spat. He spun around and dramatically slammed his
hands down on the Secretary's desk.
"Are you insane?"
Branmal closed his eyes for
a moment and composed his thoughts. Finally,
he took a deep breath and spoke in a calm and clear voice.
"If we have no dilithium,"
he quietly explained, "then our ships do not fly. If
our ships do not fly, then we cannot deliver our Guillys to
Vinopera. If we cannot
deliver our Guillys to Vinopera, then our merchants do not
get paid. And if our
merchants do not get paid, Mr. Prime Minister, you
will have nothing to tax!"
Relin's face turned gray, and
he sat down heavily in the large ornamental chair
next to Pelgrath's desk.
"How much?" he asked.
"How much is left?"
Branmal shook his head and sighed.
"I don't know," he
said, fumbling with his pen. "Nine months... A year, at most."
"A year..." Signost
moaned.
The Prime Minister wallowed
for a few more moments, then he sat up straight
and pulled himself together.
"I suppose you'd better
tell me about these Humins, then," he said calmly.
"How much dilithium do they have to trade, and what do
they want in exchange?"
Pelgrath looked at his watch
again and exhaled sharply.
"I don't know, and I don't
know," he grimaced. "I'm sure we'll find out later.
As for the aliens, themselves... We don't have time
to go into every detail, but
perhaps we can get through the basics."
"You have my full attention,
Mr. Secretary!" Relin beamed.
Pelgrath gave the Prime Minister
a wary glance and thanked him sarcastically,
then he leaned across his desk and turned his monitor.
"First," he pointed.
"They are 'Humans', not 'Humins'. Secondly, they are
somewhat of a warrior race. Thirdly, they are easily
offended. And fourthly, they
are-"
A tone sounded, and a voice
came over the intercom.
"Mr. Secretary, the Humans
have just entered orbit, and they are requesting
the landing coordinates. Shall I patch them through?"
Pelgrath removed his glasses
and rubbed his eyes, and Signost carefully eased
his chair away from the desk. The Foreign Secretary
noticed and shook his head,
but the Prime Minister was busy examining his fingernails.
Finally, Pelgrath reached
and pressed the button.
"No, Alvina," he said.
"Contact Undersecretary Shilála and tell him that they're
here. He knows what to do...and, ahh, tell him to...take
his- Just tell him to stall a bit,
would you?"
"Yes, Mr. Secretary."
Signost quickly completed his
study, then he leaned forward in his chair and
looked closely at Pelgrath.
"Bran," he asked quietly.
"Are you sure that Shilála is...qualified to handle
such
an important task?"
Pelgrath rolled his eyes.
"Deen is the most
qualified," he declared. "Where do you think I got my
information?"
"Ah, I see," said
Signost, rubbing his hands together. "Please go on... I believe
you were up to point number four?"
Pelgrath petted the latch of
his top desk drawer for a moment, then cleared
his throat and continued.
"Yes, well," he coughed.
"Fourthly, they are a matriarchal society, and their
supreme leader holds the title of 'Commander'. Not only
that, they seem to still
employ some kind of caste system, whereby certain races are
more...privileged
than others."
"Barbaric!" Relin
spat. "How on Lius did they ever manage to develop space
travel?"
"I have no idea,"
Branmal mused. "But regardless, they did, and they're here,
and they have a surplus of dilithium... So the establishment
of friendly relations with
them is- Well, it's nothing short of critical."
The Prime Minister nodded his
understanding.
"Is there anything else?"
he asked.
"Oh, there's plenty,"
Pelgrath rolled. "We simply do not have time to go over
it all. We have to get ready for the dinner."
"Dinner?"
"Yes," he grimaced.
"It was one of their...requests. They appear to have some
unusual customs regarding first contact with other
species."
Suddenly, there was a quick
knock at the door. It opened, and Shilála leaned
inside.
"Gentlemen," he gestured.
"Please. They'll be here any minute."
As they walked quickly down
the hallway, the Undersecretary filled them in
on some last minute details.
"Did he tell you that they
have a matriarchy?"
"Yes."
"Well, our intelligence
report states that their leaders rarely speak to outsiders.
They leave that particular task to some subordinate male,
while they sit back and
quietly observe."
"Who do I talk to, then?"
Signost asked.
"You simply address whomever
is addressing you," Shilála explained. "I
imagine that most of the negotiations will be conducted by
the male, a captain I
believe... I've spoken to him already, and he seems
like a decent enough fellow,
but be warned..."
"What?"
The Undersecretary stopped short
and paused at the banquet hall doors.
"They can change at any
minute," he whispered. "Reports suggest that their
mood swings are quite...nasty."
Pelgrath exchanged a wary glance
with the Prime Minister.
"We'll do everything within
our power to appease them," Relin said. "Rest
assured."
Shilála nodded and took
a deep breath.
"I have prepared some...cultural
events...to make them feel more at home,"
he said. "We don't have time to go over them, but
I will coach you as best as I
am able."
Deen opened the banquet doors
and quickly stepped inside.
"Good man you've got there,
Branmal!"
"What did I tell you?"
