Thanks to campy, conan98002, whitem, spectre666, calamite, Louis Mielke, MichaelCross, AtomicFire, JPMod, Yankee Bard, CajunBear73, daywalkr82, RealityBreakGirl, teddybear-514, Zaratan, Ultimate Naco Topping, happyendingsmaybe, Matri, TexasDad, Taechunsa, suforst, 3VAD127, Commander Argus, Emerald Dark Knight, Molloy, Nikoagonistes, Yuri Sisteble, Supreme Admiral of the Web, Ezbok58a, kemiztri, Skyagent, Visigoth29527, US.Steele, momike, mattb3671, Ace Ian Combat, and Brother to Vorlons for their reviews. Thanks to everyone for reading!
Thanks, as always, to campy for his beta and proofreading work.
This week's story recommendation: Freckles by Molloy. It's badical. Trust me. Read it. You'll be glad you did.
If you saw it on KP, Disney owns it.
I.
Steve Barkin shook his head as he thought how strange life could be. If anyone had told him five years earlier that this was where he would be, he would have thought him insane – and sent him to detention, just to be safe.
Detention. He wished he still had that tool at his disposal. Not anymore. It had been half a decade since he'd been a teacher. If only he hadn't gone to that town meeting. If only the Senator hadn't proven to be such a weasel and crook. If only, if only …
But he had gone to the meeting. And he'd spoken up, giving vent to his righteous fury. Barkin was above all a patriot. He loved the Federation and he loved Mars. He'd attended the Academy and been posted to an elite unit after graduation. He served for more than four years, reaching the rank of lieutenant, receiving numerous commendations, and learning how to cook in the field.
Then he was sent on that mission to Hai I'lai IV and his Starfleet career was over. Something about sustained exposure to warp fields and the parasite in his blood stream that he picked up on the God-forsaken planet being a bad combination. He hated those parasites. They were sneaky little things that wouldn't come out and fight like real men.
After leaving Starfleet, still wanting to make a difference, to contribute to society, Steve Barkin became a teacher. He enjoyed molding young minds. To this day, he took pride in the knowledge that he had helped the greatest slacker in the history of New Middleton maintain his grades at a decent enough level that he could enroll in a culinary institute and begin his journey towards becoming a galaxy-class chef. He wondered how Stoppable was doing. Then his thoughts turned to Possible. He was pleased when she was accepted into the Academy. He always wished those two had gotten together. Something told him they'd make a great couple, outward appearances notwithstanding. He wondered what they were up to. He shook off thoughts of teen romance, acknowledging that he had other, far more pressing things to worry about.
And the only reason these worries were his was because of that accursed town meeting. His angry, gruff, yet honest and heartfelt words dominated the session. People took notice, and the newsnets replayed the image of Joe Citizen Giving Voice to the Disappointment of the People over and over and over again. When the Senator resigned his seat in disgrace, the major political factions could do no better than offer as nominees for the special election the same old faces, professionals who merely mouthed platitudes about the need for change. In response to that development, some business people and civic leaders started a Steve Barkin for Senate movement, which caught on like wildfire. Though stunned, he could not ignore the bugle call of duty and allowed himself to be drafted into the race. Five weeks later, Steve Barkin, New Middleton High School Vice Principal and Starfleet vet, was a member of the Martian Senate.
Then, just a year ago, the incumbent President of the Federation decided that she needed a new running mate, preferably one known for probity and straight talking (the Andorian was not quite known for either) and Barkin once again found himself in the spotlight. He had no – absolutely no – interest in the job. Vice Presidents usually did nothing other than attend funerals, a problem for Barkin since his condition would require him to travel in stasis if he wasn't to be felled by his parasites' problems with warp fields. That seemed like a lot of inconvenience for a job that had once been described by an old Earth politician as being worth no more than a bucket of warm spit. But once again, Steve Barkin responded to a groundswell of grassroots support and reluctantly answered the call of duty.
He'd gone to sleep the previous night Vice President. Then, at approximately 2:39 am Universal Mean Time on Earth, everything changed.
He heard the knock on his door. Barkin was old school and hated door chimes – they sounded girly.
"Come," he said gruffly, as he turned on his bedside lamp.
An officer wearing a Starfleet captain's uniform entered the bedroom.
"Sir, the President is dead."
"Sweet mother of pearl!" Barkin exclaimed, now fully awake. "How?"
"Freak transporter accident."
"I see …" Steve Barkin said as it dawned on him that he was now the President of the Federation, leader of nearly half a trillion sentient beings.
That news had been delivered less than three hours ago.
Now he sat at the ornate desk in the presidential office, Paris still swathed in darkness, reviewing the intelligence dossier that had just been brought to him. He muttered a string of ancient Earth imprecations as he reread the padd, appreciating how Harry Truman felt when he learned about the A-bomb shortly after he'd been told of Franklin Roosevelt's death.
President Steve Barkin had just learned that the Romulans now appeared to be in possession of the most dangerous weapon in human history: the Pan-Dimensional Vortex Inducer. And he knew that detention wasn't going to solve this problem.
II.
They'd been talking for hours, much to Bonnie's amazement. When she'd propositioned Worf in the turbolift, she'd had visions of them having a quick drink before they moved on to more interesting things that would leave the Klingon glistening. But they never made it past Ten Forward. Instead, they were still seated at a corner table, enjoying the view of the streaking stars and the solitude.
Bonnie had to admit she felt very comfortable around Worf. She didn't know if it was all the alcohol she'd had over the course of the evening or the fact that she felt able to talk with him about anything. She found herself intrigued by the Klingon, who was unlike any man she'd met before. He was seemingly simple, a man who saw the world in stark terms of good and bad, right and wrong, black and white, yet one who was remarkably complex, someone who had seen more than his share of life and difficulties. Like her, Worf was someone who presented to the world a gruff, tough image that concealed insecurities, doubts, resentments, and frustrations. He was someone with whom she felt she could be honest.
"Worf, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," he replied.
"Who do you think is more attractive? Me or Kim?"
"That is a fruitless question."
"You didn't answer my question. You must think it's Kim."
"I did not say that. I simply think it is pointless to pursue this topic of conversation. If you do not like her, why do you worry about her so much? I was surprised by how frequently she has come up in our conversations this evening."
Bonnie sighed. "I don't know. I actually haven't thought much of her lately. But all of a sudden, she's back in my life and, once again, she's just Miss I Can Do Anything. And it's not like I haven't done well for myself recently. I am a diplomatic aide to an admiral, after all. But then K finds a way to become ADC to Captain Picard when anybody else would have been busted out of the service. It's just like it's always been. I work hard to get things, she has them fall into her lap, even when they shouldn't." A bit distracted, she began twirling a stray lock of hair. "Growing up she seemed to have everything I wanted. A great home and loving family – my mother was annoying, my father preoccupied, and my sisters were, no are, so evil. She's always had a best friend who stuck by her, even when she ignored him …"
Worf looked surprised, given the intimacy he had seen between Kim and Ron.
"… Oh yes," Bonnie said, seeing Worf's expression. "Ensign Miss Perfect had a very pronounced weakness for hotties. A cute guy came along and she'd be speechless – and Ron would be hanging out alone at Bueno Nacho. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying she used him or anything; I just don't think she realized what she had. They'd been friends for so long they could do stuff like that to each other. Ron had his moments, too. But that's what I envied. A friendship that durable. And now they're doing it like rabbits …"
Worf arched an eyebrow. He did not like rabbits. They made him uncomfortable.
"… Kim got to be cheer squad captain, even though I was every bit as good as her." Bonnie paused and looked at Worf for a long moment. "You know, I'm listening to myself and I'm thinking, Rockwaller, you really are a moron. I'm 22 and I'm still comparing myself to a high school classmate. I am such a loser!"
Worf sat quietly and watched Bonnie stare out the window into space, obviously lost in her thoughts. "You."
Bonnie, startled, turned back to look at the Klingon. "Excuse me?"
"You are more desirable than Ensign Possible."
"You mean that?"
"Yes. You will not repeat this to her. Kim Possible is my friend. She is an outstanding officer, remarkably brave, one of the most dangerous fighters I have ever known, a true warrior. But she looks like an … adolescent." Then with a gleam in his eye he said, "You are a woman."
Bonnie's look of shock turned into a satisfied yet salacious smile as she realized there might still be some glistening in store for that night.
III.
"I'm in the money, I'm in the money …"
"Enough with the show tunes!" Shego interrupted.
"But Shego, we've hit the jackpot," Lore said, waving the PDVI. "And am I ready to test this baby out."
"Men and their toys," she grumbled as she piloted their ship back to the lair.
It was all well and fine to have the Vortex Inducer, she thought. But they still had to find a way to deploy the device. Where they were going to find a ship capable of channeling its energy output, and how they were going to gain control of it, was a mystery.
IV.
"Morning, Ronshine."
Ron opened his eye to see Kim by his side. It still amazed him that they were together this way. A grin spread across his face as she ran her fingers over his bare chest and smiled. He began to respond. Soon she climbed atop him and began to lightly kiss him on the lips. Her thick auburn hair cascaded down around her face. He gently caressed her cheek. "I thought it was 'sunshine' …" he observed.
"I'd so much rather have Ronshine," she purred.
"Ronshine it is, then," he said, pulling her in for another kiss. "So, since you have a slow morning, can the Rondo make you breakfast in bed before he heads off to the galley?"
"Please and thank you," she said. "You know, I could definitely get used to this."
"Waking up with the Ronster or breakfast in bed?"
"Breakfast in bed," she replied with a wink. "Though the Ronster isn't bad, either."
"I dunno about this, KP," he replied. "You're gonna get spoiled."
"Uh huh," she said, brushing her lips on his. "And this is a problem how?"
"Guess you got me there," he offered with a grin. "Okay, eggs and B for my KP," he declared before rolling Kim off of him. He swung his legs out of the bed and stretched.
Kim smiled as she looked at the muscles in Ron's back. He wasn't particularly well developed, just a normal 22-year-old guy in reasonably good shape. Definitely not the hottie she'd always expected she'd end up with. She'd always imagined she'd be with someone well over six feet; Ron was at most two inches taller than she. But none of that mattered now. Ron Stoppable may not have been classic hottie material, but he was something so much more: the guy with whom she wanted to share her life. That he was cute in his own goofy yet special way didn't hurt either; Ron wore his hair short enough that she could appreciate his large and strangely attractive ears. Looking at his body, which she'd gotten to know fairly well in recent days, was a reminder that sometimes the best things in life really aren't what you expect them to be and are often right in front of you.
"Ron?"
"Yeah, Kim?"
"Thanks for being my best friend all these years."
He turned and looked at her. Seeing the expression on her face, he set aside the wisecrack he was about to make and said, "Wouldn't have it any other way, KP."
The two young lovers drank in each other, pleased just to be able to see one another – Kim had tossed aside the blanket; she was wearing the top to Ron's orange pajamas, which was large enough to provide her with cover but short enough to let her show off her legs, while he was wearing the bottoms. That they were now sharing Ron's sleepwear just seemed to be one more sign that they were truly meant to be together.
They were lost in the moment when Picard's voice interrupted their idyll.
"Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking. It is with regret that I must report to you the passing of President Tannis earlier today due to a transporter malfunction. Starfleet intelligence has determined that her death was an accident. As provided for in the Articles of Federation, Steve Barkin has taken the oath of office and is now the new President of the United Federation of Planets. While we mourn the tragic death of Shoren Tannis, we may take comfort that one of Starfleet's own will be at the helm of government. Picard out."
Kim and Ron simply stared at one another in amazement, wonder, and shock.
V.
"Oh, yes, this is very good news indeed, my dear," Lord Montgomery Fiske said to his interlocutor, with whom he was communicating via a secure, secret sub-space channel. "President Barkin is most likely floundering and feeling overwhelmed as he learns just how much Tannis failed to tell him. Given the complications with the Romulans and the Vulcans, I do not think our high school educator is going to worry himself with internal Klingon politics. All the Federation needs is a Chancellor who will honor the Khitomer Accords."
"I think we can arrange for that."
"Very good."
"What of the bat'leth, then?"
"Fear not, I shall be in possession of the Sword of Kahless soon enough."
VI.
"Okay, Doc, what's going on?" Shego asked. She'd not expected to find visitors upon her return. But standing before her were two Starfleet officers.
"Shego, Lore," Drakken said gleefully, "meet the newest members of our evil family. Lieutenants Du and Carter. Gentlemen, say hello to Shego and Lore."
"Hello, Shego and Lore," they said in unison.
Shego looked at Drakken. "Let me guess. You decided to use those gross mind-control slug things?"
"All for the cause of science, Shego," Drakken replied primly.
"Oh, this is good," Lore said. "So, what do you guys do in Starfleet?"
"I am currently seconded to Galactic Justice from Starfleet Intelligence," Du answered in a monotone. "That, however, is cover for my actual assignment with Section 31."
"And what's Section 31?" Shego asked.
"Section 31 is the highly classified covert operations division of Starfleet Intelligence."
"You have got to be kidding me," Shego said, unable to suppress her grin. "This is just too rich!"
"And there's more, my dear Shego. Mr. Carter, tell Shego and Lore where you serve."
"I am an officer in the command division aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, Starfleet registry NCC-1701-D."
"Yesssss!" Lore cried out, pumping his fist.
Drakken was a bit taken aback by Lore's enthusiasm. "I agree that having an officer who serves on board a Galaxy-class starship could be helpful, but …"
"You don't get it, Dr D," Lore said. "These Boy Scouts are our ticket to galactic domination."
"How so?" Shego asked.
"Because my dear brother, my dear identical twin brother, serves on board Enterprise. Our new friends are going to get us on board."
Drakken's eyes lit up. "And then we can hook up the PDVI and generate a worm hole to go wherever we want …"
"Exactly."
What Lore didn't add was that he was pretty sure they'd also be able to channel the PDVI through the ship's main deflector dish to not only open a wormhole – but create a weapon capable of destroying a planet with one blast.
VII.
Kim jumped out of bed. She didn't care that Dr. Crusher had arranged for her to be off-duty that morning. The Orionisi were scheduled to arrive later in the day and the change at the top of Federation government would surely have repercussions. Given her first-hand knowledge of the new President, she felt she owed it to the captain to be at her station as soon as possible.
"Rain check on breakfast, Ron?" she asked as she flew by him.
"Uh, sure, KP," he said, marveling at how quickly she shifted into what he'd long thought of as her mission mode.
She ducked into the bathroom, then poked her head back out. "Well?"
"What?" Ron asked, perplexed.
"Politics doesn't take care of itself. You know Barkin as well as I do, Ron."
"Yeah, so?"
"You're coming with me to see Captain Picard."
"Oh, okay …" he said, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, where he'd wait before cleaning up himself.
"Ron," she said, locking eyes with him. "If I don't get my bacon, I can at least have some extra Ronshine …" Kim's arched eyebrow and mischievous smile told him all he needed to know.
He got up and joined his girlfriend, knowing the shower could accommodate two.
VIII.
"Captain."
"Ensign Possible, Mr. Stoppable," Picard said, surprised to see them on the bridge at 0800 hours.
"We thought you might want some first-hand perspective on President Barkin," Kim replied.
Picard smiled at Ensign Possible's dedication. He was grateful that Ron had come aboard and helped the young women he now thought of as his most promising junior officer begin to fulfill her potential.
"I would appreciate that very much, Ensign. In fact, I was going to invite you to a meeting to discuss that topic, though I thought you had earned a little rest after yesterday's excitement."
"It was so not the drama, sir," she said, before realizing she was being far more casual with her commanding officer than she intended.
A bemused expression crossed Picard's face. "Indeed. Perhaps we should retire to my ready room?"
Kim and Ron followed Picard to the small office on the port side of the bridge. The captain invited his two guests to sit in the chairs before his desk, then asked them if they wanted anything to drink.
Kim declined, already spoiled by the real coffee that Ron had brought on board; she was finding it difficult to drink the brew created by the replicator.
"Mr. Stoppable?"
"I'll have a super-sized Slurpster," he said.
Kim wanted to gag at the thought of drinking such a sugary, cloying beverage so early in the morning. Oh well, she thought, he can't be perfect. Besides, it will be so worth hearing the captain say 'slurpster.'
Picard ordered the requested beverage for Ron. With a look of slight distaste on his face, the captain handed his visitor his drink, then ordered himself some Earl Grey tea, hot, before he sat down behind his desk.
"You two would know the President from your high school days in New Middleton," he observed, wondering what the pre-politics Barkin was like.
"Yes, sir," Kim said, surreptitiously watching Ron sip at his drink. He looked so happy to have that straw in his mouth; and that pleased her, especially given all they'd been through the past few days. "He was vice principal."
"And substitute teacher extraordinaire!" Ron chimed in. "Mr. B. taught us algebra, history, flyer's ed, science, English lit," Ron shuddered as he remembered struggling through Lo, the Plow Shall Till the Soil of Redemption, "gym, home ec …"
"Ron, you taught home ec," Kim interjected, prompting a surprised look from the captain. "Ron and I signed up for home ec together …" she explained.
"Only because you couldn't get into holophotography and I was shut out of –"
"So not the point, Ron," Kim said with a roll of the eyes before turning back to the captain. "Sir, by the end of the first class, Mr. Barkin had put Ron in charge. By the end of the third session, Ron was in charge of the high school's cafeteria."
Picard couldn't help but be impressed.
"And KP, uh, Ensign Possible, helped me!" Ron said brightly, bringing back unwelcome memories of hair nets to Kim. "Mr. B was a regular Renaissance man."
"Indeed, it seems he was," Picard said. The captain was intrigued that the old solider, who had a reputation as being a bit of a martinet, had been flexible enough to put a teenager in charge of a class and a food service operation.
"Mr. Stoppable, how would you describe Steve Barkin?"
"Honestly?"
"Yes."
Kim prayed that Ron wouldn't begin having flashbacks of detention.
"Tough and firm," he said evenly.
Kim again rolled her eyes, which Ron saw. "Hey, he had something against me ever since the ninth grade!"
"Ron …" Kim said skeptically.
"Well it's true, Kim." Ron replied before he looked back at Picard. "Mr. B was ready to send me off to detention for breathing. They could have put my name on that room I was in there so often …"
Picard sipped at this tea. He'd already known Ron long enough to know to let him ramble his way to whatever point he had to make.
"… but after Kim, he was probably the most important influence in my life."
Kim's eyes grew as wide as saucers; she also blushed. She'd never known Ron felt that way about Barkin – and it made her feel both very special and a bit girly to know Ron felt that way about her.
"Don't be so surprised, Kim. Mr. B read my essays for the culinary institute. Made me rewrite 'em five times before he said he'd give me a letter of recommendation."
"Steve Barkin wrote you a letter of recommendation?" Kim asked, unable to hide her surprise.
"Yeah," he said with evident pride.
Kim decided she'd have to wait to ask Ron for more details about this topic; even though she hated the thought there were parts, even minor ones, of Ron's life that she didn't know about, Picard was beginning to look impatient. "Sir," she explained, "Mr. Barkin took his work very seriously. Our principal was sort of hands-off and let Mr. Barkin run the school; He acted like he was XO on a starship."
"I see," Picard replied. Leaning back in his chair he asked, "How do you think President Barkin will feel about negotiating with the Orionisi?"
"Oh, that's an easy one," Ron began to answer.
IX.
"Cheese and crackers, man! They're pirates! Brigands. Outlaws!"
"That's one way to describe them, Mr. President. Others might say that they are a force-based entrepreneurial culture."
Barkin stared at his minister of foreign affairs, a haughty Vulcan, through narrowed eyes. Then he settled his gaze on the Chief of Starfleet Operations, a native of New Kyoto, who suddenly felt like a fresh-out-of-the-Academy ensign and now understood how the new President had enjoyed such success as a high school administrator.
"What do you think of our entrepreneurs," Barkin asked, saying the last word contemptuously.
"Mr. President," the Starfleet officer replied, "it doesn't matter whether they're pirates or entrepreneurs, we need to keep them on our side. Assuming the Romulans do have the Pan-Dimensional Vortex Inducer, we're going to have to deploy the Fleet along the Neutral Zone."
"Excuse me, Admiral," Barkin said sharply. "I may have cashed out of the service as a louie, but if I read those reports correctly, the Romulans can create a black hole wherever they darn well please, including 300 miles straight up from where we're sitting. I'm not very interested in having a fleet of warbirds appearing in equatorial orbit around an undefended Earth. Shouldn't we be stationing the fleet here?"
"Sir, we can't be sure that they'd attack Earth. They could also strike at Vulcan, or Qo'noS or even Cardassia. By deploying the Fleet along the neutral zone, we can at least let the Romulans know that if they move their assets against any part of the Federation, they can expect the most potent strike force ever assembled to move on Romulus"
Barkin sighed. His gut told him that Earth would be the target of anyone in possession of the PDVI. Still, he knew that from a tactical perspective, his admiral was right. If they split up the Fleet, its deterrent value would be greatly diminished. The only way to keep the Romulans in check was to let them know that their homeworld was at risk should they try something rash. "Mutual Assured Destruction 101," the former teacher said evenly.
"Yes, Mr. President," the CSO agreed.
"What do you think?" Barkin asked the chief of the Federation's intelligence services.
Betty Director felt like a tenth grader who'd just been caught passing notes in class. It didn't help that though her top agent was on the case, he had yet to report in since communicating that he had a valuable lead. "What the admiral suggests is sound," she observed. "Deterrence did keep the peace between the Americans and the Soviets in the 20th century, after all."
Barkin snorted. "Didn't do a very good job in the 21st century, though, did it?"
Director shifted uncomfortably. "No, sir. It didn't. But I don't see any alternatives."
"So what you're all telling me is that we have to make nicey-nice to these thugs unless we want additional trouble."
Three heads nodded at him.
"Fine. Write it up in a memo and give me a copy with all three of your signatures …"
The admiral, spymaster, and diplomat all looked at Barkin with surprise.
"… Five years in high school administration was pretty good preparation for a life in politics, people. I may be responsible for choosing what to do, but I'll be darned if mine are the only fingerprints on this decision." Barkin stared stonily at his advisors, then added, "By the way, I've been in this job for less than twelve hours. You've been in yours a lot longer. In the future, I expect results, not explanations."
As the three senior officials got up to leave, Barkin called out to his Foreign Minister. "You have confidence in this Fiske guy?"
The Vulcan dipped his head slightly. "Yes, Mr. President. Lord Fiske is one of the most skilled diplomats in the galaxy. He will most assuredly achieve his objectives at the negotiating table."
X.
The discussion about Barkin concluded, Kim and Ron eyed each other. They knew that this would be as good a time as any to tell Picard about the Sword of Kahless and its effect on Kim during her encounter with Grilka.
Kim explained what had happened to her on board the Klingon battle cruiser. Ron followed up by describing his experiences.
Picard frowned. He'd been in space long enough to know nothing was too strange to be true. The scientist in him assumed that what was happening involved some sort of quantum resonance. The anthropologist in him wanted to know more about the world in which the bat'leth was forged. And the Starfleet officer in him was inclined to impound the blade as a security measure.
"Mr. Stoppable, are you confident that you can control the Sword?" the captain asked. "If there is even a remote possibility that you cannot, I will need to sequester it. I cannot have you succumbing to any dark impulses."
"Captain, trust me, this Sword and me, we're like best buds. I know it sounds weird, but it's true."
Kim wondered if Picard was going to take the Sword, just to be safe. If she were in his position, she wouldn't be as worried about what might happen with Ron and the weapon as she would be were someone else to come into possession of it. That said, she felt the Sword belonged with Ron. She'd experienced its strange, warping aura and worried about what might happen were it to fall into the hands of someone malign. "Sir, I feel confident that we can secure the bat'leth in Ron's quarters. It will be safe there."
"Very well then, Ensign. Make it so."
XI.
The meeting with Picard concluded and a larger conference coming in less than ninety minutes, Kim, who was in uniform, decided to take the helm. She may have loved being with Ron, but she loved piloting Enterprise almost as much, and he had no problem with that. He thought Kim's new job was pretty cool, after all. Indeed, he was a bit jealous – he knew he'd never get to fly a starship. Considering the number of attempts he had to make to get his flyer's license, he had to admit that probably wasn't a bad idea.
So, leaving Kim at her station, he made his way to the galley. His galley. It may not have been a four-star restaurant in San Francisco, but it was his. Or at least it was under his sway. He greeted his two assistants, then found his way to the small office he had at his disposal. He knew he was going to have to prepare something special for the visiting Orionisi.
Ron was searching the culinary database when he was interrupted.
"Excuse me, I hope this is not a bad time."
Ron looked up to see Rufus. He chuckled, still amazed by how much the naked mole rat and Worf not only sounded like one another but spoke in similar fashion. "Nah, c'mon in. I was just nosing around to see what I might make for our visiting guests from Orion …"
Rufus wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"… You don't like them, do you?" Ron asked.
"It is not a matter of like or dislike. They are slavers. They are without honor."
"Yeah, I've heard that," Ron said. "To be honest, I'm kind of amazed that Captain Picard will even talk with them."
"It is not his choice."
"I guess you're right. Even he has bosses."
"Yes. And I do not trust them."
"Well, Nechayev may be a pain, but …" Ron agreed.
"She is cold and calculating, but is proud to wear a Starfleet uniform. She takes her duties seriously."
"Fiske?" Ron wondered aloud.
"He is without honor," Rufus stated flatly.
"I don't know about honor and all that, but he sure gives me the heebie-jeebies. I told KP …"
"KP?"
"… uh, Ensign Possible," Ron explained, "that his lordship is five hundred light years of bad road. I don't like being around him."
"Then you are perceptive."
Ron's eyes opened wide. "Do you have some dirt on the dude?"
"No, I do not," Rufus conceded. "But I am a mole rat, and we are recognized throughout the galaxy as excellent judges of character. Be careful, Ron Stoppable."
Ron gulped. "So, uh, other than the warning, you have anything else on your mind?"
"Yes. We must discuss salsa …"
XII.
Ron was sitting at the conference table in the Observation Lounge. He was glad that Kim was by his side. With them in the room were Picard, Nechayev, Fiske, Data, Troi, Worf, and Bonnie. Though Picard was sitting at the head of the table, Nechayev, sitting at his right, was running the meeting.
"Ms. Rockwaller, do you have anything to add to what Ensign Possible and Mr. Stoppable have told us about President Barkin?"
"No, ma'am," Bonnie replied. "My experience of Mr. Barkin was similar to that of Ensign Possible and Mr. Stoppable."
Kim was impressed with Bonnie's demeanor. Her onetime rival was comporting herself like a professional. Kim thought that Bonnie, if she could maintain this level of poise while retaining some of the underhandedness she'd shown so often in high school, could actually develop into a formidable diplomat.
"Very well, then. Let's spend a few minutes talking about our upcoming visitors," Nechayev said before turning to Ron. "Mr. Stoppable, you may be excused. Your presence is no longer required."
"Uh, sure," he said as he rose from his seat.
Kim was tweaked. Ron may not have been an officer, or even a member of Starfleet, but she didn't like the admiral treating him like he was, well, the kitchen help.
"Excuse me, Admiral."
All eyes turned to Fiske.
"Yes, Ambassador?" Nechayev asked.
"There is a matter I believe we should discuss before Mr. Stoppable departs: the disposition of the Sword of Kahless."
"Would you care to explain, Ambassador?" Picard asked, suspecting he already knew what Fiske had in mind: the diplomat/archaeologist most likely wanted to take control of the Sword so he could study it at his leisure.
"The Sword of Kahless is one of the most important historical artifacts in the Alpha Quadrant. Surely it cannot remain in the hands of a private individual!"
"What are you suggesting, Ambassador?"
"It belongs in a museum."
"On Qo'noS, I presume," Worf interjected.
"Well, yes, in due time, of course," Fiske said smoothly. "However, as it was discovered by a Federation citizen, it would be appropriate for it to first spend some time on Earth."
"Lord Fiske, you seem to be forgetting that the Sword is now also part of Klingon political and cultural life," Picard noted.
"Not at all, Captain. Indeed this is another reason for the Federation to maintain control of the weapon for the time being. We would not want to destabilize Klingon politics, would we?"
"I must confess that the Ambassador is making some valid observations," Nechayev said. "Mr. Stoppable, I want you to surrender the Sword to Mr. Worf, who will secure it for transport back to Earth with Lord Fiske."
Kim was seething and was about to say something when she saw Bonnie out of the corner of her eye. Her erstwhile rival shook her head slowly. Bonnie was right, of course. Kim could not afford to directly challenge an admiral. She didn't have to, however.
"Sorry, Admiral, not gonna happen …"
Nechayev was taken aback by Ron's refusal.
"… First off, you can't order me to do anything; I'm still a civilian. Second, I've been recognized by Gowron as the Chosen One; he might think you're dissing me – and him – by taking away the Sword. Third, I paid for it, even have a receipt for it. I own it and it's not for sale. End of story."
"I think not, Mr. Stoppable. You are now part of the crew of a Starfleet vessel, and are therefore under my command. You will turn the Sword over to Mr. Worf. That is a direct order."
Ron tried to shake off the suddenly potent, indeed visceral, feeling that he could not let Fiske have the blade. Ron turned to Kim, locking eyes with her. They had known each other long enough and had now bonded in such a way that in the right situation they could communicate without words. As the pained expression formed on her face, he knew she understood what he was about to do. That was confirmed when she nodded.
He turned back to Nechayev and said evenly, "If that's the way you want to play it, Admiral, I guess I really have only one choice …"
Ron took a deep breath, then looked at Picard.
"… Sorry, Captain. It would have been great to stay on board. But I quit."
TBC …