Chapter 14 - Salut
Kathryn Janeway swished the coffee (Hawaiian Kona, black) around in her mouth, trying to find the taste she had been dreaming about for seven long years. Her eyes narrowed as she replayed the events of the day and tried to repeat a single phrase to herself: Mission accomplished.
Unfortunately, if there was one thing she loathed even more than the taste of cold, stale coffee, it was the cold, stale taste of willful self-deception.
What was she missing, that a handshake between Naldar and Karon could not guarantee, now that the Syndicate was no longer in a position to stir up a renewed conflict?
The memory of Tom Paris' retreating back bothered her more than she would have thought possible. What had she told him, when she dragged him from the comfort of his bridge to Denaros and Talar, to accompany her to the first round of negotiations? That she wanted an adviser. Someone with Tom's ability to 'cut through layers of obfuscation and see to the core of an issue.'
Her own words.
Then why hadn't she asked his opinion, before going into the final round? Was it because not-so-deep down she still considered him her impetuous helmsman, whose acerbic view of the world found release in a wisecrack far more often than it resulted in considered, actionable advice, and who could be quelled with a single glare for either?
Or had it been to spare herself … unnecessary complications, in case he had something to say that was as substantive as it was inconvenient?
She had been so absolutely sure of what she had wanted to get out of the discussion with Karon and Naldar: Agreement from both Talar and Denaros to relinquish their claim on Midas, that cosmic cornucopia whose promise of untold riches had frozen Denaros and Talar in a conflict so vicious that it had consumed everything it touched.
But would its mere disappearance guarantee a lasting peace, for a generation raised in war?
What was it Tom would have said, after that challenging "what about …"?
She had no doubt that she had been absolutely correct to cut him off when she did; it would not do to show a division of opinion between herself and the ostensible host of the negotiations, with both of them wearing Starfleet uniforms. Points of disagreement should always be settled, and the final arguments fine-tuned, before the resulting consensus was brought to the table for third parties to attack.
Diplomacy 101: The United Front.
And you, Kathryn Janeway, just failed. Because you can't unite a front until you know where the lines are. And you didn't even bother to ask the man knows some of the players as well, or in one case better, than you do, and whose advice you claimed to value.
Just a few short days ago, Tom had been almost ready to abdicate his role as Captain to her. How ready was she to let him play it?
She stared at the coffee cup. Its contents weren't getting any hotter, and were unlikely to get any less stale. With a determined 'clank', she sat the cup down on her desk and looked to the ceiling. Time to own up.
"Computer, locate Captain Paris."
"Captain Paris is in his quarters."
Of course. Normal people – people who consumed sold food instead of quantities of caffeine, in defiance of their physician's express and repeated advice - would be having dinner now. And Tom and B'Elanna, she knew,always made a point of doing so with Miral. And, for the time being, with little Andrée Gallagher, whose older half-brother, an ensign, was now en route to the Antarean sector onboard the USS Spock, a science vessel dispatched to bring the Gettysburg survivors back to Earth.
She tapped her comm badge.
"Janeway to Paris."
"Yes, Admiral, what can I do for you?"
Tom seemed to have taken his time in responding – and was that a slight note of … exasperation in his voice? She had almost heard the 'now' at the end of his response to her hail, suggesting that maybe it came several hours late. No matter.
"I have something I'd like to discuss with you. I hope I'm not interrupting your dinner. Can you come meet me in my quarters?"
…..
Tom looked across the table to B'Elanna, and shrugged. He eyed the half-eaten slice of pizza on his plate regretfully and sighed. One way to keep his weight down …
He gave his response to the ceiling, where he'd always told Miral the computer's invisible ears were located.
"That's fine. I'll be there in a minute. Eating is overrated anyway."
Tom turned to Miral and Andrée, but included B'Elanna in his words.
"Sorry girls, I know I haven't been around much the last couple of days, but duty calls. I'll try and be back in time for a story, okay?"
They nodded solemnly.
"Ratty, Moley and Toad?" Andrée asked, hopefully. Quiet and withdrawn, the little girl had quickly taken to story time at the end of the day. After she got over her amazement at the pile of paper books that littered the Paris-Torres quarters, she had quickly familiarized herself with the contents of Miral's library. Tom smiled at her, and ruffled her hair affectionately.
"Yeah, you got it, sweetheart. Your turn to pick, if I'm right. So Rattey, Moley and Toad it is."
Listening to the soft rush of the wind in the willows, or messing around in boats, would be rather more his speed right now than a session with the Federation envoy, Tom mused regretfully as he rose from the table. Oh well.
He kissed both girls on the head and smiled at B'Elanna, as she wordlessly wrapped his abandoned pizza slice in a napkin and handed it to him to eat on his way. The thought occurred to him, as he headed towards the turbolift, chewing, that if anyone had told him and B'Elanna just a few years ago that they would ever end up this domesticated, he would have invited the person to the nearest cargo bay in search of his sanity. And his loving wife would have gleefully thrown a hyper spanner after the offender as he went out the open airlock.
How long had it been since his ambitions were best summed up as, "Gotta have that car!" …
Beep, beep.
…..
"Come in, Tom."
He heard the voice the moment he touched the panel, almost as if she had sensed him coming. Probably felt the vibrations of my step, now that the warp engines are silent. Tom hesitated briefly, wondering how he should approach the meeting. He had walked out on her, kind of – and not for the first time in their lives, either - but essentially had done so in response at her dismissal. Did that mean he owed her an apology?
He decided not. Just play it cool, Paris, see what she wants …
The sight that greeted him when he entered the well-appointed guest suite provided him with both reassurance and a flash of an old, almost forgotten memory: Kathryn Janeway, pouring two glasses of what looked remarkably like Saurian brandy.
She tried to hand him a glass, but he waved her off to deposit the remains of his dinner in the recycler. He wiped his hand off on his pants before taking the glass, an unselfconscious gesture that made her smile. Some things never changed, and Tom Paris would never entirely grow up.
"It's not real, I'm afraid," she said. "I don't have your or Chakotay's talent for procurement when it comes to alcohol."
"I'm sure it'll do," he said, his voice carrying a question mark.
Do for what?
She came straight to the point.
"You wanted to ask something of the delegations on the holodeck, earlier. I couldn't let you do that then, not without risking the progress we had made. I'm sorry. What was it you had in mind?"
Tom held still, staring at the contents of his glass in silent wonderment.
Kathryn Janeway said she was sorry? To him? Let the trumpets blow and the drums ring out - mark the day and sing out loud!
He gave a self-conscious laugh as the inappropriateness of his reaction struck him rather forcefully. This was serious stuff. He gave a quick swig of his quasi-brandy and instinctively wrinkled his nose at its less-than-stellar quality, but now was not the time to be a snob.
"Well, it's probably stupid and you're the expert here. But I can't help but wonder - shouldn't there be at least a little bit of a discussion as to what happens next between these guys? You've basically won the war for them. Who's gonna be responsible for running the peace?"
Kathryn gave him a thoughtful look. Was that all?
"These are advanced civilizations, Tom, with sophisticated forms of governance. Their leadership is firmly behind the peace agreement, and they will work side by side with the Federation to ensure that the operation to collapse the anomaly will be a success. After you left, Karon even offered to use Denarian ships to help transport the weapons to Midas."
Tom snorted contemptuously.
"I bet Talith just loved that one – giving the Denarians a map to where her arsenal is stored is probably at the top of her to-do list. And I suppose Karon forgot that at the speed his ships are capable of, it'll take several weeks for a single trip to Midas, from wherever they are in the binary system? Perfect opportunities for diversion of a few units on the return trip, once they've got them in their cargo hold."
Kathryn smiled more than she frowned at this easy dismissal. Tom had always been one of the more paranoid among her officers, almost as bad as Tuvok and quite possibly ahead of Chakotay. With a year of advanced strategic and tactical training under his belt, that paranoia had apparently been honed to a scalpel point.
"Well, what I took away from that offer, was the Denarians' willingness to cooperate in the resolution to everyone's problems. And that's worth a lot."
"Maybe. But how able are Karon and Naldar to keep their own people in check when it's all over?"
Kathryn frowned.
"Once the situation with the anomaly becomes public knowledge, and the source of the fighting is gone, both Denarians and Talari will have nothing left to fight about. Peace is in everyone's interest. I'm certain everyone will understand that."
"Farqoth and his buddies didn't think peace was such a great idea."
"Tom, we both know that Farqoth is a fanatic, who …"
Tom shook his head in the affirmative.
"Yeah, I know what he is. But how do we know that there will be no more Children of Talaros? If there's anything I learned from reading all that history stuff people always make fun of me for, it's that people don't remember who got what chunk of planet, or what pile of dilithium, after a war is done. But they do remember what was done to their loved ones, their friends, and their families."
He took a deep breath, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"On Talar, they'll remember Talaros, and the stories of the survivors, or of the soldiers who found them. And on Denaros, they just have to look at Kyven. Someone will find a way of making a new war out of that - especially the kids, growing up in those refugee camps. A few soccer balls aren't going to make them forget what happened to them, if they don't see some justice done. Not to mention the fact that there are people in Government on both sides who seem to be willing to keep the killing going, whether it's for revenge or for profit. Sooner or later, there's going to be a blow-out, peace deal or not."
Kathryn swirled her drink around in her glass. He had a point. Both Karon and Naldar had meticulously avoided the revelations of the previous day in their discussions, even as their respective colleagues were under detention for their respective roles. She had called him into her quarters; she might as well hear him out.
"So, assuming you're right. What do you think needs be done to … to let off the pressure?"
Tom blinked back his surprise. He had interpreted Kathryn's silence during his rather lengthy rant as due to his failure to get his point across. As usual, he had underestimated her. He gripped his glass with both hands and leaned forward.
"You see, I've been thinking."
He waved off an imaginary protest that didn't come.
"Yes, I know I shouldn't do that, or so Harry and B'Elanna keep telling me. Can be dangerous. But I have been. Before we left for this mission, I had a chat with Boothby. He's always got something interesting to say and so I asked him how you end a war. And what he said was, 'The truth is always a good place to start.'"
Kathryn's mouth formed the single silent word: 'Boothby?' Then she added, her voice just a little menacing, "What does Boothby have to do with all this? You didn't tell him where we were going by any chance, did you? That would be a pretty serious security breach, Captain Paris."
She shook her head. Taking a gardener's advice on matters of interplanetary diplomacy might be good enough for Tom Paris, but …
And for Jean-Luc Picard, now that she thought about it. And, rumour had it, Alynna Nacheyev, on occasion went to see Boothby on some pretext or other before a major decision. Not to mention the high regard in which Species 8472seemed to hold the man …
Tom waved her off even as Kathryn straightened to listen.
"No worries. I just asked him a general question. Anyway, I think he's right. There are so many stories in this war that have nothing to do with Karon, or Naldar, or Midas. If the truth doesn't come out, all you get is people telling each other what they think they already know, or what they want to hear. Like me, when I first saw pictures of Kyven. I wanted to throttle whoever did that. Now …"
He paused briefly. His voice turned to a whisper.
"Now, when I think of Talith, all that comes to my mind is, There But For The Grace Of God Go I."
Momentarily sidetracked, Kathryn protested. "You would have ignored Naldar's order and gotten yourself court-martialed, rather than drop those bombs."
"I think you give me too much credit. I remember how I felt killing all those Kazon when they had taken Voyager. It felt … good. And if anyone had done to Miral what Qorath's men did to Talith's little girl …"
He let the thought trail off and took a sip of his drink, to drown the sudden taste of ashes in his mouth.
"Anyway. The point is, when you hear the whole story, when you hear everybody's story, not just the leader's version, it gets a lot harder to keep the hatred going. And I think that's what they need in order to really end this. A trial, or some kind of hearing to bring out the truth. They had those on Earth at the end of the 20th century, if I remember right, for some genocide or other. Kahless knows Qorath and the guys in our brig have it coming, and there are victims of theirs that would want to speak. Need to speak, to be heard, and be able to look them in the eye while they're doing it."
"And Talith? Naldar? Karon? Where would it stop?"
She spoke softly, looking at him intently, watching as he opened his mouth and closed it again.
"I don't know. Frankly I haven't thought that far. But you don't disagree with me, do you?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't. But deliberate remembrance … also makes things rather complicated, when most peoples' instinct is just to want to forget and get on with things."
"That's not what you said when we found that monument in the Delta Quadrant. Bloody thing still gives me nightmares, but keeping it was the right thing to do. I know that now."
She smiled at him, a little ruefully.
"I knew you'd throw that one back at me sooner or later, although I didn't think it would be quite like this. But you're right. Besides, far be it from me to dismiss something Boothby has said. The man practically runs Starfleet."
Tom chuckled. "We could do worse."
Then he sobered again.
"I'm sure Karon would happily throw Qorath to the wolves, if you made the suggestion," Tom offered. "Put him in handcuffs and charge him with treason, then add war crimes as a bonus. Good place to start getting some truths out there."
Kathryn fixed her former helmsman with her grey-eyed stare.
"Let me think about it, Tom. I'm not saying you're wrong, but in order for me to put something like that to the delegations …"
She stopped in mid-sentence and frowned a little as she started to think. Tom poured her another drink, which she gratefully accepted.
"Speaking of Qorath - you hear the guy trashed his quarters today?"
"Qorath?" She gladly left her thoughts behind for now; some ideas did better when they were allowed to simmer in her subconscious for a while. Tom really did know her rather well …
"The very same. Apparently he's unhappy with his confinement, and decided to make his displeasure known."
Kathryn was intrigued, as much by the idea of a Supreme Marshall acting like holovid star with anger management issues, as she was by Tom's deceptively disingenuous effort at changing the topic.
"Really? So what did you do?"
Tom shrugged.
"Nothing. Mike let him go ahead, do what he set out to do. No point risking anyone getting injured, besides he only had his hands and feet. But now he sits in a pile of debris. Some, I gather, with sharp corners."
She looked at Tom with wide eyes that started to twinkle in appreciation.
"You didn't clean up the mess?"
"Nah. Where's the lesson in that?" An impish grin crossed his face.
"Mike disengaged the recycler, too, so he can't throw any of it out without saying 'pretty please'. Good man, Ayala."
And that was it. Kathryn Janeway threw back her head and let out a throaty laugh.
…..
Tom had promised to stay quiet during this, the hopefully last meeting of the Denarian and Talari leaders onboard Voyager before shuttles would be dispatched to return them to their respective home worlds to face their respective peoples.
It wasn't easy, this staying quiet, when all he could read behind Karon's pale green and Naldar's silver eyes, respectively, was calculation and assessment - of the costs and benefits of Janeway's proposal for Truth and Reconciliation hearings for them, personally.
Karon's ledger came up in the black quickly. Tom had been right: Getting rid of Qorath, whom the President evidently regarded as a barbarian thug - however necessary and useful he might have been at one point - was a welcome opportunity.
For Karon, being able to do a spot of housecleaning among the senior military cadre – only those suspected of dealing with the Ferengi, of course! – had to be seen as a bonus. The image of a President betrayed by his forces, just as he was striving to bring peace to his people, would easily overshadow that of the fool who had ignored the enemy's desperate overtures. And if his shortsightedness had caused Denaros a catastrophic loss, well, at least he wasn't the one who had dropped the Scourge.
And thus - in the name of a lasting peace, of course - Denaros was onboard, even insisted that the to-be-constituted Commission would have the power to recommend criminal charges, where warranted. Karon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring a smug challenge at the Talari leader.
Naldar was a different story. Anything that would touch on deployment of the scourge, would "stir anti-Talari feelings within the Denarian population." Even putting Farqoth or Alqil on trial would, in the Supreme Talon's view, "awaken demons best left sleeping."
In Tom's mind, those noble sentiments were just shorthand for "… might remind people that I ordered the scouring of Kyven."
Enlightened self-interest at its finest. He remembered very clearly Neelix' reaction to Jetrel, the curious, well-meaning scientist who had developed the Metreon cascade that had destroyed the Talaxian's home planet: intentions, when measured against consequences, would never be more than a footnote to those affected, especially when those intentions were misconceived to begin with.
Naldar, as Tom had previously determined, was many things – but a fool, never. He would know this. And would not allow himself to be judged.
Kathryn looked over at Tom, regret in her eyes. It had not taken her long to see the justice in how he had interpreted Boothby's comment, and she had spent the night considering how to put it into practice: A Commission, whose goals would be truth and reconciliation, run by the Federation and some of its independent allies, in a neutral location.
But with only one side willing to commit to the idea of opening some of the war's darkest corners to the light, there would be no point in pushing the idea further.
"I would go."
The voice was cool and firm, and when Tom thought about it later, should not have come as a surprise.
The response was two-fold, and immediate.
"Excuse me?" Naldar, pale eyes flashing in ill-concealed, surprised anger.
"Marshall?"
Kathryn raised her hand to stop Naldar from saying anything else, for now. She turned to Talith, her raised eyebrows a question mark. The latter did not blink, but it was to Naldar that she addressed her response.
"The envoy is right; the truth must be told if there is to be peace among our peoples. But you cannot send only Denarians to be judged on what they did, or have only their victims testify as to their suffering. I will go and speak for Talar. And for the dead of Talaros. There must be balance. The Denarians will need to hear how and why their people died, just as we need to see Qorath answer for his crimes."
She turned to Naldar, and looked him straight in the eyes, ignoring Karon's confused expression.
"And I will take Alqil with me. His presence will show that corruption and self-interest exist not only on the world of our enemies, and that it must be stamped out on both sides, if there is to be peace."
Naldar opened his mouth in protest, but she waved him off, just as Kathryn had done a moment earlier. Tom was almost beginning to feel sorry for the man. Almost.
"I don't know anymore what is right, and what is wrong, Talon. I used to, and when I didn't, I relied on you to tell me. But I believe all of Talar lost its way a long time ago; there were good reasons, too many challenges, and too many things to be done now to reflect on whether we were right. How can we expect our people to avoid making the same mistakes?"
"It is not your decision to make, Marshall," Naldar grated, his usual superciliousness wiped away by a reflexive anger at having been countermanded by someone he thought he controlled.
"Hold your counsel."
Tom and Kathryn exchanged an instinctive glance, neither of them blinking as they read each other's thoughts. This particular dynamic was not … unfamiliar to them, in the nearly ten years of their acquaintance; Tom responded to Kathryn's budding glare with just the tiniest of gleams before she turned her attention to the neglected Denarians.
Karon's features, in turn, were a study in animated confusion. Not that he marveled at the spectacle of a military commander trying to take on the leader of her world – clearly that was a concept he was rather intimately familiar with, and had just found a way to turn into a winning formula. No, it was clear to Kathryn that the Denarian was wondering which way he should weight his support, if at all: Testimony by Talith, in whichever forum, would doubtless throw the spotlight on his own role in refusing Talari overtures before the attack on Kyven. Layers upon layers of considerations and fears – was it better to bury them, or to expose them to the cold light of day?
The thoughts were racing across the Denarian's at warp speed, but if there was one thing Kathryn saw with crystalline clarity, it was that she could not permit Karon to speak whichever way he decided to fall off the fence - nor could she permit a standoff between Talith and Naldar at this delicate stage. She cleared her throat, and waited until all eyes were upon her.
"Thank you, Marshall. Your offer to make yourself available to a Commission that will permit the people of Denaros and Talar to understand the nature of the conflict we are all seeking to end, and to find a path to the future, is most generous."
She brushed aside Naldar's attempt to speak with a determined stare, one that any of her senior officers would have recognized as the patented 'Janeway glare'.
"Supreme Talon, President, we are at the critical point in our discussions. We have secured both parties' agreement to an end to the conflict, and to cooperation with Federation terraformers for the end to the threat to both systems from the Antarean subspace anomaly. I believe we also have a unique opportunity to secure a lasting peace, by allowing both your peoples to understand what they have just come through, what the driving forces were, and how they must remain vigilant against the long-term dangers presented by ignorance, hatred, and manipulation by third parties."
Kathryn took a deep breath, and fixed each of the delegates with a penetrating stare of only slightly lesser intensity.
"No one can ensure peace, and there will always be fanatics like Farqoth, or opportunists like Qorath. But we can reduce the probabilities by reducing the soil in which their ambitions can take root. And this, I have come to believe, can only be achieved if President Karon has generously offered to make the Denarian perpetrators of serious crimes available for public scrutiny, and I have no doubt that Supreme Talon Naldar shares in this vision."
Tom sat back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. He noted the way in which Kathryn had not even stumbled the slightest over that last bit, but had made it come out all fluid and … well, with utmost sincerity. If that was what it meant to be a diplomat - getting powerful people to do things they didn't want by flattering them into submission, until they believed it was their brilliance and foresight that had won the day – well, he wanted no part of it.
Tom had been raised in a house where politics and Macchiavellian machinations of inter-planetary reach were regularly the subject of dinner table discussions. Quiet conversation between his parents, private meetings of high-ranking officials in his father's study, indiscreet chats by guests over a glass or three on the porch; he had listened to them all, surreptitiously - precisely because he'd been told to make himself scarce.
But because his father had been at the centre of those discussions, and because his father had wanted him to follow in his footsteps, Tom had turned away from that world – becoming the flyboy, the holovid junkie and the garage tinkerer. Games should be for fun, he had decided early on, not how you decided matters of life and death. And hypocrisy refined to an art form was something best left to the pros.
The woman before him was definitely a pro; she had proven that with that Devorian chap of regrettable memory. Luckily, she was using her powers for Good rather than Evil, and so Tom decided to sit back and admire, rather than despise, her technique.
In the end, Naldar bowed to the inevitable. Maybe it had been the thought of being one-upped by his Denarian rival, or maybe it was whatever Talith whispered into his ear; he stood, ramrod still, the image of seething resentment. But it didn't really matter just how ungracefully his hand did touch his shoulder in the traditional gesture of acceptance.
What mattered was that it did, for the second time in a day.
…..
"You know, I'll never understand it."
"Understand what?" Kathryn gave Tom a level look as they crossed the bridge and entered the Captain's ready room side by side.
"How some people can look at politics or interplanetary economics as a game. Something that's about them, where there are winners and losers and if they make a mistake, it's them that have a problem. When it's really about ordinary people whose hopes and livelihoods they're moving around like in some giant board game. Or in the case of a conflict, they count their little victories like hits in a fencing match, parrying and riposting, feinting and disengaging, instead of measuring what they're doing in lives and futures lost."
Kathryn remained silent for a moment before responding.
"Power is an interesting thing, Tom. It leads people to see things through a completely different lens. Some have called it an aphrodisiac – the enjoyment of it can get really, really personal. Remember the Kazon?"
Tom snorted. "How could I forget? The thugs of the Delta Quadrant, for whom hitting back at one of the other sects was far more important than the survival of their species as a whole. Yes, and that Maj, what was his name? The guy who thought Seska was his ticket to fame and fortune, when it was her playing him like a fiddle the second she got in his bed."
He sobered a little. "You're right about power, I guess. But I still don't get it. For me, the best thing to do with power, when you have it, is what's in everybody's interest. Stuff like, don't start a war except to defend yourself; don't use up resources you can't replace; and for Kahless' sake, don't do something now that causes problems for your children down the road".
Kathryn smiled at him. "Good thing you work for the Federation, then. We have the occasional bad apples …"
"Don't I know it…"
She ignored the interruption. "… but luckily, they're few and far between. And in general, what you think should be done, the Federation does fairly well. Or tries."
Tom smiled. "Even Nacheyev, the most devious person I know."
Kathryn smiled. "Yes. Even Alynna Nacheyev. Who, let's not forget, is the one who sent us both here."
They remained silent for a while, each lost in their respective thoughts. Tom headed over to the replicator and ordered himself a cup of Earl Grey. He looked questioningly at Kathryn, but she waved him off.
"I wonder what she said to him," she finally remarked as she settled down on the couch in Tom's ready room. She touched the blue upholstery with her fingertips, as if still regarding the colour change as something requiring regular verification in order to be considered real.
"You mean, what Talith said to Naldar, to bring him onside?"
Kathryn nodded, and sighed. A small grin, somewhere between impish and smug, played around Tom's mouth as he got up.
"Do you want to hear it?"
He walked over to his desk in a few long strides and let his fingers play over the computer controls set into desktop as Kathryn cast him a questioning look.
Within seconds, Talith's disembodied voice could be heard, hissing out the observation that regardless of whether she would be permitted to speak out in any public forum, history would judge Naldar. And that history might – just might – be kinder to the Supreme Talon's memory, if she were able to provide the proper context for any decisions Talar had taken in those years of a brutal war. She would tell the truth. So what would he prefer – the Talari version, or the Denarians'?
Kathryn shook her head, trying to suppress a chuckle.
"You had the computer spy on the delegates' discussions amongst themselves? I didn't know you were such a sneak, Tom Paris."
He raised an eyebrow, Tuvok-fashion - something he had perfected some time ago to make Harry laugh, but didn't usually use in public. To his delight, it almost worked on their former Captain, who made a helpless gesture with one of her hands.
"Fine, I always suspected it. I gather this … is this something Picard suggested you should do, in one of those … those special course of his?"
Tom shrugged.
"Guilty. We called it 'Dirty Tricks 31'. But no, I haven't been spying on the delegates. I figured if you wanted me to, you'd ask. But in this case … let's just say I was curious as to what she said to change his mind. Personally curious. All I did was to ask the computer to isolate what she said. Same thing we did to figure out what Alqil said, when he killed Chowdhury and that terrorist in the brig. There's nothing particularly devious about it – something the computer could do anytime, really."
He asked the computer to delete the recording before turning back to Kathryn.
"I guess we just never really got the chance to use our technology like that in the Delta Quadrant – that was always more of a guns-blazing, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants environment, wasn't it? Although you did figure out a few rather ingenious ways to infiltrate …"
Kathryn raised her finger to stop him. "Don't change the subject, Captain. But yes, I do have to say, the Alpha Quadrant is a different place altogether. Politics, maneuvers, power struggles, wherever you look."
Her voice took on a slightly sly tone. "And I do have the feeling that you're far better suited to this business than you like to think. Although I'm not sure I want to be around when you decide to take it up full-time."
Tom smiled dutifully, but shook his head determinedly.
"Little chance of that. I'm perfectly happy telling the occasional Ferengi to piss off without starting a war, but otherwise I have zero ambition for diplomacy and the art of negotiation."
Kathryn quickly turned serious again as well.
"I suppose a bit of deviousness on your part won't hurt, though, if the Orion Syndicate takes exception to what you – we - did to their operation."
Tom sat up and drained his tea.
"You really think they will? Based on what I heard, they tend to go only after their own people; otherwise, they're into extortion, not revenge. No money in revenge. I doubt they'd take the risk of bringing Starfleet down on their heads."
Kathryn leaned back into the couch, twisting sideways, her left arm draped over the back, but her eyes only partly focused on the unmoving stars outside the observation window. She remained silent for a while, then straightened and looked back at her former helmsman. It was not lost on her that he was sitting in the same spot he had occupied only a few years earlier, talking about his love of the ocean that would drive them apart with almost fatal results.
How far they had both come since then.
"I hope you're right. But I don't want to think about that now. I really don't. Do you have any more of that merlot, Tom? I think we've earned it, you and I."
…..
Two weeks later
Set against a backdrop of different constellations, far from Denaros and Talar, the rendezvous with the USS Mandela - an Ambassador-class ship frequently used by the Federation's civilian diplomatic corps - went off without a hitch. The Mandela would pick up those members of the erstwhile delegations that would be called to appear before the Commission on Peace and Justice for Denaros and Talar, as it was officially called, and take them to complete their journey while Voyager headed back to Sector 001.
Qorath, Pakoth and Alqil had already been transported over, and their respective security details returned to Voyager. They would be making the journey to Risa confined to their quarters, without access to communications until they could be joined by their legal advisers. After all, the possibility of later criminal charges could not be discounted.
Small, bright, inoffensive Risa: the universal playground had no history of conflict and was linked to the Federation only by a series of mutual cooperation treaties. Its Governing Council had long looked for their world to become known for something other than its opalescent beaches and complete sexual freedom. So when the news broke that a neutral venue was needed for sensitive hearings, the Council had seized on the opportunity, hoping perhaps to turn arbitration and commissions on behalf of third parties into a new industry. The Federation, in turn, had accepted the offer readily, spurred on by op-eds from the holovid media whose stringers were always game for stress-free assignments with recreational opportunities. And if the particular locale were to give warring factions an idea of what bliss a thousand years of peace could buy, well, that would be a side benefit …
Cor Zelis, the young Bajoran transport specialist, was busily resetting the coordinates for the next transfer when Talith strode into the transporter room, a simple duffel slung over her shoulder. The Talari Marshall was not subject to security restrictions, except for her own protection once she got to Risa. Her aide, who had volunteered to accompany her on the journey, had been notified that he might be asked to testify and hence would be transported separately.
And so, for the first time in many years, Talith was unaccompanied, entirely on her own. Naldar had long since left Voyager, without so much as a goodbye for the much-sung Head of Talar's Expeditionary Forces. In the world of politics there was a long way between acceptance and forgiveness.
Talith seemed unaware of the lack of ceremony attending her departure from Voyager – however stark the contrast to her arrival, only a few weeks earlier, on the Gettysburg. Her thoughts contained within herself and her features unreadable, she was about to step onto the platform when the doors to the transporter opened. She turned and blinked back her surprise.
Tom Paris walked into the room, holding hands with Miral. He inclined his head to Cor to signal her dismissal. The Bajoran nodded, simply stating, "Coordinates are set, sir," as she left. Miral for her part said nothing, staring wide-eyed at the Talari soldier and taking in a new – for her – race of people with a mixture of curiosity and awe as she clung to her father's hand.
"Marshall," Tom said formally. "As Captain of this ship, I thought it appropriate for me to see you off."
He stumbled a little, slightly less sure of himself as he continued.
"And I hope you don't mind, but I brought someone I wanted you to meet. And who I wanted to meet you. This is Miral."
Talith said nothing, her moonstone eyes gliding from father to daughter, taking in the dark hair, the softly ridged forehead, so different from the Captain's smooth one, and so clearly not human. But there was no mistaking the eyes, sparkling and blue. She waited for the explanation, which she knew would come.
"Not that many generations ago, her mother's ancestors and mine were at war, for over a century. Bitter enemies, competing in the discovery of space and fighting each other every step of the way. We settled our differences – mostly, anyway. These days, Klingons and humans only snarl at each other occasionally. But when it counts, our peoples stand together."
He paused, briefly, to see whether she was following where he was going.
"You see, it is possible to change. And once you've learned how to do that, and how to accept the possibility of peace, this …" he looked down fondly at Miral and ruffled her hair a little, "… this is the result."
There was a moment of silence in the transporter room, then, "She has he mother's face, I see, but she has your eyes. She is beautiful."
It was quite possibly the most conversational, least consequential thing Tom had ever heard the Talari soldier utter. He gave a small, quietly victorious smile.
"Yeah, among a few other things. She also has my big mouth."
As if to prove his point, Miral pulled free from his hand. She stepped up to Talith, small hands on her hips, Janeway-style, and looked her sternly in the eye.
"My Daddy says you might have to go to jail."
"Miral …" Tom's composure fled him, and he flushed a little. The mouth of babes was one thing, but maybe – just maybe – he should have kept his mouth shut to his perceptive and enterprising child about why he wanted to say goodbye to this woman ...
He needed not have worried.
"Yes, it's true. There's a possibility that I might," Talith replied evenly. "If the Commission finds that what I did in the war was a crime. I don't know whether it was, but I hope they will tell me."
Miral nodded earnestly.
"Well, if you do go to jail, don't worry about it. My Daddy's been to jail loads of times. And he always got out, and now he's the Captain."
Talith cocked an eyebrow at Tom in evident surprise and question, but he wasn't about to elaborate on his checkered past as, respectively, a failed, a falsely convicted and an eco-terrorist. Flying for the Maquis, wrongfully charged with 47 deaths on Akritiri, and attacking the underwater installations of Monea with intent … A rather impressive list of charges, really, when you thought about it.
He stared down at the grey sleeves of his uniform, command red peeking through at the wrist. Tom Paris, erstwhile wannabe world mender, jailbird and rule breaker extraordinaire. He was tempted to snort a little contemptuously at himself. Still, his daughter's artless confession allowed him to say what he suddenly realized had been on his mind all along.
"Yeah, well, I guess maybe that's why I really wanted to come here. To let you know that allowing yourself to be judged for the right reasons is not necessarily a bad thing. I also wanted you to know that I understand what you have done, and why. And that I appreciate what you are doing now, and why. That's why I thought you should meet my daughter. I also want her to remember you."
He stopped, not knowing what else to say. The idea to come here with Miral had come unbidden, and he still wasn't sure whether it hadn't been just one of his more harebrained misfires.
His doubts were dispelled when Talith spoke, in a tone he had not heard from her before. Softly, with an audible catch in her voice, almost as if it was about to break.
"Thank you, Captain. That … that means a lot."
She bent down on one knee, to bring her face closer to Miral's.
"May I touch you, little one?"
Miral looked up at Tom, the question clearly written across her face. You said never to touch a stranger. He nodded his approval with a widening smile and she stepped closer, unsure of what to expect, only to find herself wrapped in an embrace that was a little awkward at first but tightened as Talith buried her face in the little girl's hair.
When the Talari finally let go, Miral stepped back and studied her with all the solemnity she could muster, clearly realizing something was expected of her, and content to deliver.
"Good luck in jail then, Miss, if you have to go. I hope you get out soon and get to go home, like my Daddy."
Talith suppressed something that sounded suspicious like a laugh, or perhaps it was something else. She rose quickly to her feet and picked up her duffel. Stepping up to the platform, she turned to face Tom.
"Goodbye, Captain," she said, her voice hoarse.
"You are right. When I go before the Commission, I will not just speak for Dary. I will speak for all the children. Jail, if it comes to that, is a small price to pay."
Tom simply nodded – what was there to say, really? - and took Miral's hand again. Together, they went over to the console and he activated the command sequence entered earlier by Cor Zelis.
He caught and held Talith's gaze for one last moment. And he may have been wrong, but just as she shimmered out of existence, he thought he saw her eyes fill with years of unshed tears.
NOTE:
The salut (salute, obviously) is what really concludes the match. At its traditional best, it is a ritual movement of the blade, starting with a vertical one to his or her unmasked face to salute the opponent and followed by a three-point wave intended to encompass the judge, supporters and spectators. Most of the time these days it ends up being a bit of a casual wave, frankly, but even that is always followed by a handshake with the ungloved, non-weapon hand.
In rare instances, this beautiful moment is marred by bad blood between the fencers or their teams, or just by plain bad manners. But mostly it is what it is: A beau geste dating back to the Age of Chivalry, intended to show respect for one's opponent and an end to the hostilities.
Until the next match, that is.
.
Epilogue
I
A world away, on a planet circling Bellatrix, the star that forms the right shoulder of Orion, the heavy summer night was pierced by the song of giant cicadas when the news was brought to the Lady: The venture with the Ferengi consortium had failed.
"Who?"
She inquired mildly, Her hungry eyes running down the sweat-sheened body of the servant who had bared himself to Her fully, in accordance with Her preference, to bring the unwelcome news that a promising endeavour had ended in failure. Her sharp, silver-tipped nails ran narrow red trails down his chest as She awaited his response.
His answer began with a hiss of pain - as it should – but subtly vibrant with pleasure that he would be able to give Her what She needed.
"Daimon Kol of Ferenginor and Malis Khar of Rigel, for the Syndicate and its allies. Captain Thomas Paris and Admiral Kathryn Janeway, for Starfleet."
Her nails ceased their travel, and her brow furrowed at the third name. She remembered the last time it had been spoken here, in the mansion carved into the Kalaor hills. And because the scented air carried the bitter taste of Her displeasure, and because Her hand continued to linger on his chest, the servant did not wait to be told what to do.
"I assume Orders will include them all this time, My Lady."
It was a statement much more than it was a question. And it was beyond audacious of the servant to remind Her that there had been a previous time, when She had refrained from issuing an Order that it had been Her right to give. Was he suggesting She had failed?
The Lady's emerald eyes narrowed sharply at his presumption and Her fingertips momentarily caressed the whip that never left Her side. She stopped and rose, allowing the motionless servant to release his carefully held breath as Her lips twisted into the barest of smiles. With the tip of Her tongue, She bent and reached for the thin trail of blood running down his chest, giving Her acceptance of both his suggestion and his willingness to become, once more, the vessel into which She might pour Her disappointment.
They understood one another very well indeed.
II
The rainy season came early to the continent of Kyven, and this time, when it came, the ashes at last stopped their dance - unable to withstand for another year the water that sought to bring them to ground.
One by one the heavy drops fell, turning into rivulets that ran off the hills. Those soon swelled the ancient web of rivers in their annual race to the sea, grey waters carrying dust and memories that would harden into stone where they sank. With the turning years new banks and islands would be born, and the rivers would find new paths – but not yet.
Seabirds were the first to reclaim the empty land. They came with the rains that year, tentative emissaries from the outlying islands, and nested in the barren rocks, small flocks at first that soon grew with the silence they found. The birds carried in their bellies seeds picked up in their journeys, dropping them as they wheeled in the sky; additional seeds would come on the winds they rode.
Small sea mammals returned on the spring tides to sun themselves on the rocks. No longer forced to compete for food with the fishermen of the coast, they too soon numbered in their thousands.
When the rains receded and the sun returned to the sky, a delegation of Federation terraformers came to Kyven, to see what could be done once their other project in the sector was completed. Along the coast they found that the endless sea of grey was pierced by blades of grass, with a promise of wild flowers by summer's end.