Chapter Thirteen
"It is better to discuss things, to argue and engage in polemics than make perfidious plans of mutual destruction." –Mikhail Gorbachev, last Premier of the Soviet Union.
Chez Sandríne
Marseille, France, Earth
United Federation of Planets
"Firewine!"
"You sure you want that, Mr. Mudd?" The female bartender quirked an eyebrow at the flamboyant-seeming man who was rotund, bald, grey-haired and mustachioed. "It's nothing like Andorian ale, you know."
Harry Mudd said, "Just call me Harry. I know, Madame…what's your first name?"
The woman managed to seem to look down her nose at Harry without doing it. This Harry Mudd looked to be in his 70's but he sure didn't act his age. "Just Sandríne will do. It's my family's name and it's on the sign outside. It's been there since the 18th century. Use it."
"Very well…Madame Sandríne. If I'm going to appreciate our new alliance with the Klingon Empire, I must know their drinks. Give it here."
Sandríne shrugged and poured out the Klingon liquor into a glass and set it before her customer. "I got a barrel of it from a friend at Deep Space Station K-7."
As Mudd drank the freshly poured firewine, the female bartender used a hand to make sure that her complex blonde coiffure was still in place and asked, "So you're going there? The Klingon Empire? At your age?"
The man gasped and half-coughed on the firewine. "Whew! Like drinking Andorian ice-bores!" He shook his head to clear it. "Stronger than whiskey! Anyway, yes. At my age. I will keep chugging along until I keel over. I got nothin' else." Harry shrugged. "Anyway, I got some jewelry and Andorian silk that some Klingons might like to buy. This alliance is good for business. New trade routes to explore and open." He took another drink and set to gasping on it. "I think I'll buy this in bulk while I'm in Klingon space. Might do well in keeping Andorians warm during the winter on Andoria. Tastes like it can melt ice."
The aging fat man peered at Sandríne closely. "Since you're already trying to benefit from the new trade relations with the Klingon Empire, I might have something you'd like." Harry Mudd took a heavy glass bottle filled with a dark brown liquid from a satchel.
The French woman looked down at the bottle with suspicious curiosity. "What's this?"
Mudd gestured expansively, saying, "It's the wave of the future, Sandríne! Mark my words, Madame, or my name isn't Harcourt Fenton Mudd! Raktajino. Klingon coffee."
"Coffee. I have plenty of coffee here, Harry. This is France!"
"No, no, it's not just any coffee. It's Raktajino, Madame! Stronger than coffee, sweeter than coffee and has a kick to it. Here, taste it."
Mudd poured some into a small cup for the owner of Chez Sandríne to taste. Rubbing her lips with her tongue, she said, "Mmmm. You're right. The caffeine's strong. Tastes almost like Kailua but with chocolate and spices added. A little less alcohol than Kailua."
Mudd grinned widely. "It'd be a hit with your patrons! It's good for breakfast, good with sweets like icoberry tart. Best served steamed or iced." He gave a wink as he added, "I hear that Talarians could easily get drunk on Raktajino."
Sandríne thought about it for a while, tapping a manicured finger on her lips. "All right. Bring me a crate. We'll see if it's a hit."
"Oh, it will, Madame! I'll remember to buy lots of it in the Klingon Empire. You won't regret it. I might come back here in time for the war with the Minbari to be over. My import-export company could extend operations to the Crux Region and you could benefit from the trade I'll get!" Harry gazed into space as he fantasized. "Raktajino bottles all over the Federation and beyond, on the label, 'Imported by Harcourt Mudd'." He shook himself out of his reverie. "Maybe I could get you a tribble as a gift while I'm in Klingon space?"
Sandríne wrinkled her nose in distaste. "A tribble? My friend at K-7 had some trouble with tribbles before. No thanks."
Mudd shrugged. "They will become extinct soon. Might be mighty valuable because of that." He drained the remains of the firewine in his glass and gasped at it.
The proprietress leaned forward on her elbows on the bar. "Really?"
Mudd's eyebrows rose. "Haven't you heard? The Klingons, they're hunting down tribbles everywhere. Last time I was in Klingon space, I heard that pretty soon, they'll be sending a fleet to Iota Geminorum IV to turn that planet into a ball of cinder. If that's true, tribbles will be gone for good."
Sandríne huffed. "Good riddance, if the stories of troubles with tribbles are any indication."
The male merchant shrugged. "Your loss. Mighty cute, I hear, though." He caught sight of a pretty bald Bolian woman chatting with a purple-haired Boslic woman. He clapped his hands and rubbed them gleefully. "I'm going to see if my luck holds tonight."
Old men. So that ancient axiom was true about them. Sandríne rolled her eyes and chuckled as she cleaned up the bar table.
***
In a corner of the small restaurant bar annex, a Centauri dressed in a hooded cloak observed all this, nursing a glass of iced tea. The cloak's hood hid the Centauri's fanned hair, making him seem to be a member of one of the many humanoid races in the Federation to the restaurant bar patrons including the two cadets playing pool. Unseen by Sandríne and her patrons, Turo Condari's lips curled in a sneer. If he had any doubt about the Federation's decadence, it was gone. The Centauri Republic was very decadent and had slavery but at least the Centauri did not mingle with alien races sexually. Oh, there were a few who did so, like that Narn diplomat, G'Kar, whose fascination for humanoid alien women was already infamous and was no doubt indulging himself in the pleasures offered by such Paris establishments as the Moulin Rouge at this moment. However, the Federation peoples, on the whole, indulged in such unnatural practices without a thought about the potential consequences.
The Minbari were wise to apply the Sum Nee'Verkaff, the Alien Prohibition, when the ancient Minbari began to contact other worlds. It kept the Minbari people purely Minbari.
Not only that, but the Federation was unbelievably complacent and arrogant despite the victory at Regulus and the punishment of the Earth Alliance worlds by the Warrior Caste. In spite of the fact that the Shadows had stained the peoples and worlds of the Federation, the Federation never had to go through the fire and darkness of total war, as the Minbari had in Valen's War and are experiencing in this present war with the Human nations and their allies. Turo Condari, whose actual name was Nur of the Minbari clan Blood Knives, remembered the stories of Markar'Arabar, how those who would later become disciples of Valen had led the fleets into battle against the Shadows at Ikarra Seven, how the Shadows had torn apart the pride of the Minbari space fleets, less than two hundred years old, how fifteen thousand died there and only three hundred survived.
Oh, the Federation had its birth pangs in the Earth-Romulan War but how quickly and completely its peoples had forgotten the lessons of total war! Here, in this restaurant bar in Marseille, France, Nur could see the same evidence he saw in Paris and in the voyage through the superhighway to Earth, evidence that the Federation peoples had no worries at all beyond satisfying the latest whim they had. Here was a culture of instant gratification, with no thought toward self-discipline or toward the issue of spiritual and racial purity or the rights and wrongs of their positions. How incredibly self-assured they were of their place in the universe! They, who had never been blessed with receiving emissaries from the universe in the form of the Vorlons or any other such higher beings!
While Nur didn't agree with all of Dr. Khali's theories and proposals, he agreed that the Federation needed saving from itself. No one could walk in the Darkness for so long that he couldn't come back (or return) into the Light. However, as long as the Federation remains under control of a secret cabal of puppet masters or its current government intent upon darkening the stars themselves, that couldn't be. For nations to walk in the Light, the conspiracy of Shadows must be excised like the cancer it was.
Khali was right about another thing: The Federation was on the verge of destroying itself. Not for the reasons that that self-centered Human garbage imagined. It pained Nur to admit it but the Federation was defeating the Minbari. As soon as the light of Minbar is snuffed out, the Federation will have handed victory to the Shadows on a silver platter. Everyone knew that if the Shadows had complete victory and the Vorlons are driven away, all who had the potential to threaten these Lords of Chaos would face extinction. Much as he hated to admit it, the Federation had that potential so they would be on top of the list to be exterminated in the event of a complete Shadow victory.
As he watched the patrons go about their own business, he pitied them. Harry Mudd laughing and flirting with the two alien harlots, one of whom looked disturbingly similar to a Minbari except for the purple hair and the lack of a head bone, the proprietress selling liquids that would inspire homicidal insanity in Minbari; the two Starfleet cadets ribbing each other over their play at the pool table without a care in the universe. All of them clueless about the influence of Shadow-spawn and their dark masters in their midst. Nur sipped his iced tea and mentally shook his head at the Federation. They knew not what they were doing for they did not understand the peril to their souls. It would have been interesting if he could have studied their culture more, but time hadn't been on his side. The Centauri Ambassador had placed too much work on him and now it was too late. He needed to focus on his mission.
***
The door into the restaurant opened, admitting a hooded Vulcan man dressed in austere brown-gold robes. The Vulcan looked around, ordered a glass of iced tea from Sandríne and came to Nur's table.
"Turo Condari?"
Nur tensed. Vulcans were the puppet-masters of the Federation despite their protestations to the contrary and he had to be careful around them. "Yes. Why are we meeting here? We could have met at either the Café des Artistes or the Club Ingénue or somewhere like that in Paris."
The Vulcan, uncharacteristically, smiled as he took a seat at Nur's table. "I could be recognized in Paris. Here, no one personally knows me. You're an agent, aren't you?"
Nur tensed even more. Underneath the table, he slowly and discretely reached into the Centauri cloak and gripped a Dunshal air pin. How did this Vulcan know? Was he a telepath? He had known that he'd run the risk of telepaths finding out his true identity by looking into his mind by chance.
The Vulcan chuckled and sipped the iced tea, his balding pate visible under the hood. As far as Nur knew, Vulcans did not chuckle, nor did they smile. "Do not worry. We will not expose you."
'We'? Nur frowned. That one word implied that more than this unusual Vulcan individual knew that his identity as Turo Condari was a cover. He had come to Marseille ostensibly to sample the various Earth cultures but had actually been contacted about a secret rendezvous. He slowly took the Dunshal air pin out of his cloak and aimed it at the Vulcan under the table. The poison darts were lethal and instantaneous simulating a heart attack. It was the weapon of choice when a more tradition weapon was unavailable.
Oblivious to the weapon, the Vulcan continued to speak. "We had expected agents from the Crux Region's powers to come with the diplomats through the Cortour-Terra Anomaly. I am pleased to meet one from Centauri Intelligence." The Vulcan inclined his balding head in respect.
Nur relaxed his grip on the Dunshal trigger. Only a bit. So they did not know his true identity yet. "Why are you…interested in me?"
"You do not drink alcohol. We know that this is unusual among Centauri. That caused us to investigate you. We soon realized that you may be an agent who needs to concentrate on his job. We suspect that you have plans to infiltrate the Federation government and Starfleet. Of course. What major power would not try to ferret out the secrets of another major power, especially one like the Federation? We have agents in all levels. We have observed you making visual studies of the first floor of the Palais de la Concorde."
Nur tensed again. Had he been so obvious? He had been so careful with his excuses of being a tourist and of merely preparing Londo Mollari for the upcoming special session of the Federation Council.
"And…?"
The Vulcan leaned conspiratorially close to Nur. "Mr. Condari, we would like to offer assistance. A…preliminary alliance between the agencies of our two empires, shall we say."
"What type of assistance, Mr.…?"
"Nanclus. Ambassador Nanclus."
Nur stared for a while. An ambassador. Like that creature Sarek back at Becerra Alpha. He must be one of the puppet-masters, then. Nur felt sorely tempted to kill the damned Vulcan. But wait. Was Nanclus was a sign that cracks were appearing in the secret cabal that ruled through their puppets in the Federation Council? Did he represent a faction? Perhaps even…an anti-Shadow faction?
The agent had heard that Vulcans were a logical race. Perhaps some of them saw the logic of coming out of the Darkness into the Light and several of them are working to bring about that salvation. The Darkness thrived on chaos, on disunity. Since that was the Federation's nature, Nur could only take advantage of the unexpected boon it offered tonight.
Ambassador Nanclus took a green solid square out of his robes and slid it across the table to Nur. "In this data-tape, you'll find detailed plans for the Palais, information about the Palais security systems."
Nur slid the tape back to Nanclus. "I don't need your help."
Nanclus slid it to Nur again. "We are not expecting compensation of any kind. Consider this a gift from the Tal Shiar. Of course, there's nothing in the tape that could be traced back to us. We made sure of it." The ambassador drank some more of the iced tea. "It is my hope that the Romulan Star Empire will have closer relations with the Great Centauri Republic in the near future. Our best analysts predict that espionage will…flourish in the near future after the war with the Minbari. Alliances of various types will be…important."
Nur looked down at the data-tape to prevent Nanclus from seeing the surprise in his eyes. So this Nanclus was a Romulan, not a Vulcan. He vaguely recalled the introductions of the Crux Region diplomats to the alien ambassadors at a Palais state dinner in Paris. Now he remembered that Romulans looked indistinguishable from Vulcans. That may be why this ambassador was dressed like a Vulcan. It was to avoid undue attention. Vulcans were commonplace but Romulans…? He idly and briefly wondered if there were physical differences between Vulcans and Romulans like the differences between Humans and Centauri. Again, the lack of opportunity to learn had placed him at a disadvantage in hostile territory.
He was mistaken in assuming Nanclus to be a Vulcan. What other assumptions were mistaken? If only he had had more time to study his adversaries, perhaps he wouldn't have been caught so easily. It was always the small mistakes that ruined an undercover mission. It was a stark reminder of the time constraints he was under.
Ambassador Nanclus' smile appeared and vanished before he nodded solemnly and stood up. "Please convey my regards to Ambassador Mollari and to your intelligence minister, Lord Durano. Jolan tru, Turo Condari."
Wordlessly, Nur nodded and watched Nanclus leave Chez Sandríne. He hid the data-tape in his cloak.
Sometimes, one must use the techniques of the Darkness to fight the Darkness. One day, the Shadows will open their eyes to the Light of Order and regret being Lords of Chaos.
One day….
But not today.
The Light must advance step by step. Even the Minbari had to deal with Markar'Arabar and the later loss of their great starbase before being saved by Valen. Nur needed to deal with the Federation first.
He drank the rest of the iced tea and stood up, tossing a quarter ducat coin onto the table. Going through the door outside, he climbed the few steps up to the street level and looked around the evening vista of Marseille's harbor quay. There was no one following him, no one even interested in him. Perhaps the universe was looking up for Turo Condari, AKA Nur of the Blood Knives of Minbar.
Nur pulled his hood and cloak close against the cool sea breeze and turned to go to one of the city's terminals. Minbari loved the chilled weather. Centauri didn't and for now he was Minbari.
The small things.
The small things…
Telepath Annual Retreat Conference
San Diego California, Federation Earth
"Mom, why is Ms. Mehta so angry?" asked Miriam.
Miranda sighed. "She came here hoping that we were suffering from the same types of difficulties and insecurities that they've suffered on their Earth," she explained. "They're much more militant than we are and their motives aren't as straightforward as she wanted us to believe."
"She is kind of uptight," the thirteen year-old said.
Her mother smiled. She hadn't heard that phrase in a long while. "Yes she is. Things are not going as well as she expected."
Indeed, she had been expecting an isolated group of telepathic misfits waiting for a guide to lead them from darkness into the light. But instead she had run head first into something she hadn't really considered and wasn't prepared to handle.
Dr. Androv Povich was speaking now, interrupting her train of thought. "You organization was based on solid premises and I can understand why telepaths on your world had to band together. However, all the information I've seen suggests that it's turning into something ugly and in some cases despicable. Why would I want to possibly join such an organization?"
"What you've heard is rumor and innuendo spread by people who either don't understand us or fear us," Arati countered.
"Do you force children who have telepathic abilities away from their parents who don't?"
"That act is mandate by Earth Alliance law for the safety of both the children and the parents."
"What about the breeding programs instituted by Psi-Corps to produce children with higher levels of telepathy-related abilities and what happens to those children who don't have any telepathy at all?"
"The suggestion that we have a breeding program is disrespectful at the least and outrageous at worst."
"But according to the escaped 'blips' as you call them, this is in fact the case," Povich countered.
"They are malcontents coming here to spread lies about Psi-Corps and everything thing we represent. In fact…"
"Sorry to interrupt, Ms Mehta, but we failed to get your opinion of the multi-species children and how they would fit into the Psi-Corps hierarchy if we were to join. Every image we've seen in the brochures make your people look like a cross between a paramilitary organization and the old style Salvation Army."
"I would be mad if they were speaking to me like that and I'm a kid," Miriam huffed. "Why are they talking to her like that?" It's not her fault Psi-Corps makes them wear gloves. I rather like the idea that I could be in a club for telepaths. It would be nice."
"There's nothing wrong being in a club with people like your," her mother admonished. "In fact, it could be a good experience. You'd make new friends, and see new things. However, there's a difference between a club and what PsiCorps is doing."
"I don't understand?"
"This is how I would describe Psi-Corps, my sweet. It isn't a sorority, or Fraternity or some type of exclusive club. The closest approximation I have to describe it is that is a gang. Their organization doesn't ask that you be a part of them, you're forced into their little clique whether you want it or not. You are separated from your family, forced to wear clothing that separates you from everyone that's not part of your little gang. You're told what to do and they have laws to force to do what they want. They want control of not only what you do but who you can interact with."
"Really?" she asked not liking that definition of Psi-Corps at all.
"Yes, really," her mother responded softly blocking her thoughts as much as she could. "Arati and her entourage came here to recruit the telepaths on our Earth believing that we were just as isolated and alone as they believe themselves to be. But they're wrong and I think Arati is just beginning to realize that she has made a tactical error."
"But why is her coming here a mistake?"
"Because, the Psi-Corps didn't understand that we telepaths here are happy and value our freedom. They also didn't take into consideration that we would find out details they didn't want us to know when that we'd talk to the escaped telepaths on Archanis IV
We can do what we want, when we want, be what we want just like anyone else and we don't have to wear gloves to show that we're different. And," she added, "your friends like the Betazoids and others who share your Human heritage wouldn't be welcomed."
"But why not?" she asked again.
"I think I'll let you reason it out, dear," her mother told her. "Think about it, my dear. Reason it out."
"Well," she began after a moment, "they have different outlooks about life and at least one of their parents is alien."
"Therefore?"
"They wouldn't be trusted by a Human organization," the young girl concluded. "That's what you mean by controlling."
"I don't think they'd like us being a part of Psi-Corps. We wouldn't fit comfortably in their little click. Keep listening."
"Okay."
***
"Exploitation in which you and your organization are also partly to blame, Ms Mehta," the same person interrupted. "I understand the problems your Earth has. What I don't understand your superior attitude battering at my mental defenses every give second."
"Excuse me, Mr.?"
"Dr. Daniel Bryant."
"Dr. Bryant, have I offended you in some way?" Arati asked. "If I have, please explain it to me."
"Don't forget that every single one of us here are telepaths. Most of us are different than you and we 'see' things you're pushing differently than you're assuming that we can. In other worlds, many of us are hearing your words and seeing something else. Forced breeding disgusts me, smacks of eugenics something that most Federation Earth people abhor. No disrespect is intended but you're broadcasting quite heavily, and, you didn't answer the question about the identification of the gene-sequences that govern telepathy?"
"We're very close to identifying the sequences."
"And what happens when you find it?"
"PsiCorps will able to screen embryos and children for telepathy more efficiently, allowing for better protection for those children who would find themselves outcasts. We'll be better able to protect those who would be aborted if their parents found out that they were carrying a child with those gifts."
"You're painting a very bleak picture of your world, Ms Mehta," Professor Arthur Kelly stated. "It makes me wonder why anyone would even consider being part of your organization on your Earth. Maybe it would be better if you all just started a colony of your own. You'd have your own security and probably be happier in the long run."
Arati was angry now and that anger managed to leak through into her words despite frantic warnings from Roberta. Her thoughts were being transmitted despite her best efforts. "Aren't you under some kind of prime directive prohibition for suggesting something like that?"
"No," he answered. "We're not Starfleet; we're not the Federation. We're a part of the Federation. We can ask what we want. Speaking of which, how can we in all sincerity join a society that intends to force people escaping from your grip back to a life they hate?"
"You're wrong. They don't hate us. The Corps is mother and father to them. They have been misguided in their assumptions. We're simply here to remind them of the love that we have for them. That's all we have to do. I'm sure they'll make the right choice."
"I'm amazed you actually believe that, young lady." An elderly woman stood. She looked Human but wasn't. Her eyes gave her away as being alien. "I've listened to everything you've said and I've listened to your thoughts since this is a conference for telepaths. Betazed is a world born of telepathy as much as Vulcan and the world of the Deltans. I can stand her and speak for all of us when we say that your PsiCorps would not welcome us into your little group and we certainly wouldn't want to join. Frankly, you're a bit too immature, too self serving and your agendas are suspect. You're just beginning to see the universe around you but instead you come her hoping to pull others into your little circle. You're young ones just learning to crawl and that frightens you and makes you want to control those around you."
"That's not true. We are trying to survive in a hostile world that fears and despises us."
"Yes, it is, little one," the old woman countered. "It would be better if you come to us and let us teach you."
Arati shook her head. "It appears that I may have erred coming here and asking my fellow cousins to join us. It was for your sakes that we came here. Together we may have been stronger, but I see that this will not happen."
"Your conclusion is illogical," a full Vulcan telepath told her. "I can understand the importance of such an organization. I do not however believe that your method is productive for your people. I also do not believe that one such as I or anyone with higher ratings that your p-thirteen, would be accepted by your people."
"There's some truth to your argument," Arati conceded. 'We don't have more than three P-thirteens!' "This is all new to us as well, meeting other Humans and aliens working together. We're learning as we go along. PsiCorps isn't some evil entity trying to subvert telepaths and take over Earth. We just want to survive and live on our own terms."
Dr. Androv Povich stood up once more. "I'd like to get back to your opinion concerning my theory on Humanity and the telepathy conciliation. If it's true then why might there have been such a radical increase of mutations or telepaths among your people in the last one hundred years?"
"I have no idea. I'm not a biological evolutionary scientist therefore I'm not qualified to give an answer to your question."
"I understand that. But if that theory is true, then might your increase of telepaths on your world be a result of some artificial or aberrant condition? If Humans select against telepathy as it seems to do on just about every Human-occupied world in the Alpha quadrant, then how do you account for the radical increase in numbers, not only on your Earth but on some of the other worlds and species in your territories as well?"
"I have no idea…"
***