2

The new ship was sleek and beautiful, a marvel of engineering. It had left space dock and gone to Andoria, and was awaiting its first mission.

Captain Malcolm Reed sat in his Ready Room, sipping hot tea and gazing a bit at some of the artwork on the walls. These were works by his son, Declan, everything from a child's scrawled crayon picture of a dog to a tempura portrait of the boy's – man's, really, as Declan was nearly nineteen – mother. Declan had even drawn the ship's logo.

The ship was the DC-1505, the USS Bluebird, and its logo was on everything, from the side of the ship to the china cup from which the captain was drinking his tea. The logo was a stylized bluebird, a reminder of Earth and of Malcolm's great love, Lili, for she loved the color blue, and, for her and to celebrate his love, it was the bluebird of happiness.

He had been pleasantly shocked when Starfleet Command had allowed him to change the name of the ship. It was supposed to be something menacing – the Defiant. But he did not want a ship with a name that screamed anger and conquest. He had come up through the ranks in Tactical, and he knew all too well what it was like to go to war. So he had wanted even the ship's name to evoke peace.

He pulled up his left sleeve slightly, to expose a dull grey metal cuff with intricate scrollwork that he always wore. She had given it to him; the first time she had told him that she loved him. He never took it off. To look at it was to look at her. To touch it was to touch her hand. He consulted it, almost like an oracle, when he was troubled or upset or fearful.

She was alive, and very reachable, but communications sometimes took a while or were impractical. A call home during a space battle was simply not going to happen. So he would brush a finger on the metal and could imagine her near. And he could be comforted by the fact that she was far away from the danger.

"Thank you for being so accepting of this life, and for embracing it," he said aloud to no one, "and thank you the most for Declan. Our one and only; I don't even wish for another." He straightened up a bit and chuckled to himself. "Of course at my age it's unfathomable."

There was a PADD on his desk, and it had gone into sleep mode. There were some family photographs – a picture of him and Mark Latrelle horsing around at school, a photograph of Declan's first birthday party, and any number of others. He touched the screen and it immediately switched over to the time – 0900 hours – and the date – August fifteenth 2180.

"I shall be sixty-eight in less than a month. And you, love, you're seventy-one! It would take quite a bit of fancy medical work indeed for there to be a little brother or sister for our Dec. It's all right, though," he said, patting the metal cuff, "I am not disappointed one bit. I love our family just the way we are."

There was a communications chime. "Yes?"

It was his First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Hoshi Sato Kimura, "I've got Admiral Black. He says he's got news about our first mission."

"Perfect," Captain Reed said, "kindly put him through."

"Malcolm," said the admiral, "we have a diplomatic mission."

"Oh?"

"The Daranaeans are going to hold their elections soon. They've asked for observers."

"Observers? We're just going to watch a bunch of people voting?"

"Officially, you're there to just watch. Unofficially, you're there in case things get ugly. Their Alpha –their leader – is a war hero named Acreon."

"Yes," Malcolm said, "I remember now. It was during second contact, there was a battle. He was their military commander, if I've got the right person. It's been a good decade and a half."

"You do. And after their Alpha, Arnis, was disgraced and convicted of murder, there was a provisional Alpha, Elemus. Then they had elections and Acreon got in. He's nearly completed his third five-year term. And that's the limit for them," said Admiral Black.

"Surely they've conducted power transfers before?"

"They have, and those have mostly been peaceful transitions. This time, Acreon is a bit fearful. There are nineteen candidates, but only two truly have a chance. One, Boestus, is a conservative candidate who would haul them back into the Dark Ages. The other is a reform candidate."

"Admiral, you and I both know that getting intimately involved in internal planetary politics is a dreadful idea."

"And you will not get involved," Black said, "if you have one candidate up for a visit, the other one gets equal time."

"I'd rather stay out of it completely, and just spend our time in orbit," Malcolm said, "otherwise, I suppose we'd be weighing and measuring the foods we served them for supper, so as to assure the amounts were the same! Or are we to hold a stopwatch during both visits so that the durations are perfectly identical?"

"Just … try," Admiral Black said, "after all, you have met the reform candidate."

"I have?"

"Yes," Black said, "during second contact. He's the eldest son of the disgraced Arnis. He's thirty years old, and his name is Vidam."

=/\=

On Earth, Federation Councilman Jonathan Archer was awaiting a very special call. There was a communications chime, and he jumped on it immediately. "Yes! This is Jonathan Archer."

"Councilman Archer", said a woman, "my name is Cynthia Brennan. I have a beagle puppy for you."

=/\=

On a small ship, the Corumon, Earth was finally visible. "Look at how green it is!" enthused a young woman. She had off-white fur on most of her body and had never, ever been to Earth before.

"Yes, it's beautiful, Seppa," said her husband, "but don't overexert yourself." He patted her pregnant belly. "Don't want anything bad happening to either of you."

"Of course, Brantus," she said, leaning near him and smelling him. "You smell so good. My pen pal says that there are all sorts of places that even he can smell, so we should enjoy Earth very much."

"Who knew you would become such good friends with a Federation Councilman?" Brantus asked, "He is the same level as Vidam is on Daranaea. Perhaps they will both be Alpha leaders at the same time."

"Perhaps," she said, "I care little for power and politics, though I do support my brother's candidacy, of course."

"He is trying to relax the euthanasia law more," Brantus said, "so I know I support him. I, I don't know what I'll do when the time comes for you. We will; if we must, we can keep traveling. But our daughter," he touched her belly again, "oh, how will she have a husband if we are outlaws?"

"Right now I just want to be sure she is born healthy," Seppa said, "and hope for the best. If I could vote, of course it would be for Vidam, brother or no brother."

"That is what the Beta Council fears the most. If Daranaean women ever get the right to vote, they're terrified that you'd all just vote them out of office in one shot!"

"But that is not what is being discussed as an issue of the day. Right now, it's just whether to relax and, perhaps someday, abolish the euthanasia law," Seppa said. She was only nineteen, but she still trembled a little, even though Brantus was holding her close. It would be, what, another twenty-five years? Thirty? And then she would be faced with choosing whether to be euthanized or give herself up for medical experiments. She was a last caste Daranaean female, and menopause would bring with it that awful choice.

"Right," Brantus said, "you know I do not favor you over my other two wives, of course. But I know I have the least amount of time with you. They are good women, they are indulgent."

"They are," Seppa agreed, "Vidam made sure I was sold to the man who would treat me the best. And you are, most assuredly, that man. But let us not speak of euthanasia. Instead, let us talk about our visit. Jonathan has never met you before! My own father," she paused for a second, for her father had been the disgraced Arnis, "is as good as gone. And I have known Jonathan Archer for a good fifteen years."

"Do you mean I will need to prove myself to him?" Brantus asked.

"Perhaps a little," she teased, "but I shall put in a good word for you."

9