Chapter 2: Federation Building on the Foundations of Empire
"I can't believe it!" the G'neld scientist nearly squealed as she lead Spock into a large chamber, full of scientific data. "To have a Vulcan here. I can't tell you how forward I am looking to your helping us increase of harvests. And our scientific knowledge."
"You do realize of course that I can only help you in some instances," Spock said, noting a very thin but fine layer of dust in the Minister's laboratory. Fascinating. "Much of the knowledge will be obtained only by the pursuit of it."
"Yes, yes," she nodded his head, the long white head-dress of pearl-beads bound by silver string jiggling wildly as she did so. "But, much of this is left-over Vulcan science that we have frankly no idea what it is meant to be."
"Have you none of the research notes?" Spock asked, frowning slightly, "We Vulcan do keep notes on all our doings."
"Well, sure," the Minister shrugged, "But Vulcan's do not teach their language to just anyone."
Spock looked at the stack on papers. Curious, they were written in an obscure dialect of Vulcan. Looked like, even from his distance from there that they were Me'laker. Me'laker was the region near the northern ice cap, which was inhabited by very few Vulcans. They preferred a drier and hotter climate.
Even more curious was the fact they were written down on paper, and not on electronic handheld devices. Even back in that time they had electronic hand held devices, called EHHD's. Why had it been written on here and not on them where it could be backed up and saved if the files were destroyed?
Spock walked over to the research notes and picked them up. He was rusty on his Me'laker, but he had learned it much younger, when as a child he had fancied a certain female from the region on a year-long holiday to the village he grew up in. But, that had been year ago. At least 30.
"And you are certain you have no idea what these papers were about?" he asked, turning the pages, but little of it stick out.
"None of it," she replied, "Although the head Vulcan scientist, a woman by the name of Ti'lop, said it'd help us increase our productivity a hundred fold."
"I shall need to take these back up to the Enterprise," he replied, turning and closing the file folder the papers were in, "from there I'll be able to use the databanks there to look up what exactly this was and what the research was intended for. With your permission of course."
"Oh yes, yes," she nodded her head again. "Anything to help the G'neld Empire improve the land reclamation and the food shortages we are having."
"The land reclamation is more Mr. Scott's department," he noted, "But, I will be able to help you with it by showing you quadrotriticali. I am no agriculture, mind you. But it should be fairly simple for you to do create and manufacture it."
"Minister Bok'rat," Kirk said, tossing the PADD to the side, "Your government needs to be totally reconstructed."
The Minister, another tall G'neld, but with a width girth did not look happy. "But this government has run efficiently for over a thousand years. We've had no revolts, no riots in over a hundred years."
"I'm not saying it hasn't work," he replied, "I however note a large rift between the prosperous rich and the less than fortune commoner."
The Minister frowned. "I don't understand," he said.
"Of course you don't," Kirk leaned back into the chair, "And that's the problem. In the Federation, there are no rich or poor. All have the same resources at their disposal. But your Empire does not allow the lower stratus of society to get those same things that your minister do."
"The ones who run the government and towns need more," Bok'rat said, waving a large sausage thick hand at Kirk, "The commoner does not need as much. The military need not as much."
"The Federation is dedicated to the improvement of life at all levels," Kirk reminded him, trying to keep a civil tone with this pompous fat lard, "Not only in wealth, but also health as well. Your hospital system is not the best."
"We give the healers in the hospitals enough money to run efficient operations," the G'neld held his chin up, "Not our problem if they don't invest their money wisely."
"You barely give them enough to run their operations," Kirk retorted.
"The hospitals run."
"At the expense of abundance of bandages and other medical equipment."
"If I may," the advisor of the Minister said, cutting into the argument, "We have been at this for seven standard hours. Tempers are short. I suggest a recess until tomorrow. There is no rush, is there Captain?"
Kirk looked at him and couldn't help but feel like strangling the both of them. Yes, perhaps humanity was above such petty things. But, it hadn't lost all its basic instincts. What was it that charming Councilor on that one planet had called him? A barbarian.
"An excellent idea," Kirk said, slowly pushing himself up from the chair. His back and butt were sore from sitting so long. "If you excuse me, Minister, we shall resume our talks tomorrow."
The Minister was seething but he slowly nodded, his lips tight. "I look forward to it," he struggled to say.
Kirk pulled out his communicator and with a flick of his wrist the cover popped up.
"Kirk to Enterprise," he spoke into the mouth piece.
"Enterprise here."
"Beam me up," he ordered.
The transporter beam grabbed a hold on him, and he felt himself being disintegrated, molecule by molecule. The image of the chamber shifted to the transporter room, and soon the blizzard of transporter particles changed and disappeared.
"Mr. Kyle," he said, stepping off the transporter pad, "Has the rest of the landing party beamed up?"
Mr. Kyle, currently turning off the transporter shook his head. "Lt. Scott hasn't reported in yet. But Mr. Spock has."
"Very well," Kirk said, and with that he strode out of the transporter room and into the corridor beyond.
Doctor Leonard McCoy sat down at the table, files in one hand, a plate of steak and mashed potatoes with milk gravy in the other hand. After a very long day helping people in sick bay, he was more than happy to sit down and eat (in his mind) a well-earned dinner. It was 2000 hours on the Enterprise, and most people had already finished their dinners and gone off to prepare for bed while the night crew was starting to take over their shifts.
The door to the mess hall slid open and he glanced up from his cup of Saurian brandy as he spotted Kirk as he made his way to one of the replicators. He didn't watch him as Kirk flipped through the data cards until he found the one he wanted and stuck it into the card slot. A musical tone came from there as the food finished preparing and grabbing his chicken sandwich and hot coffee, he made his way over to McCoy.
"Room for one more?" he asked.
"Go ahead," McCoy said, raising up a foot and pushing the chair back for his friend as he place the tray of food onto the table. "Place was seeming pretty quiet."
Kirk slid into the seat, his eyes bloodshot from the long day's work. He bent over slightly, rubbing at his eyes, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. But, he remained there for a few seconds, and soon his shoulders began to heave with the steady rhythm of sleep. With a snort, Bones picked up his steak knife, and gentle wacked him on the head with it. Kirk started and looked up, blinking.
"Tired, are we?" he asked his captain.
"You and Spock have at least one un-endearing quality," Kirk muttered as he picked up his fork.
"What's that?" Bones smirked.
"You both have a talent for stating the obvious," Kirk yawned the last part of his pronouncement.
Bones chuckled as he lifted his drink and took a deep swallow. It wasn't often Jim was this tired. But, diplomacy was a taxing job. On any man, not only James Tiberius Kirk.
"So what's the scoop?" he asked, "How much longer do we have to be over this planet?"
Kirk shook his head, picking up the sandwich between both of his hands. "I'm afraid it's going to take more than a week to organize them to fit the Federation," he said, taking a small bite of his food, "I don't understand why they weren't already so before the Federation Council approved their membership. That's standard procedure."
"I'm a doctor," Bones quipped, "Not a politician. But, with the Klingons and Romulans getting more aggressive, we need a planet with the discipline of Sextus Dominar and its military to help us if we should ever come to blows again."
"I doubt we will have trouble with the Klingons," the Captain said, "The Organians scared them something fierce. They've all but kept to every stipulation of the Organian Treaty since it was signed. No, I believe that we'd see something from the Romulans far before we seen the Klingons do anything foolish."
Bones shrugged. "I'll leave that to the diplomats," he smiled, "I'll stick to medicine."
Kirk chuckled weakly. "Good," he said, "I'd hate to see you running a ship."
Both men chuckled and continued eating. While not alone in the mess hall, they weren't disturbed by the Ensigns and crewmen as they enjoyed a few moments before heading off to bed.
The data that was being translated on the screens had Spock curious. None of it had been secretive in nature. One had been how to expand the average Vulcan lifespan from two hundred fifteen to two hundred fifty. One had been work on curing Bendii.
Bendii Syndrome was a disease that shredded the logical mind of a Vulcan and left him powerless to the overwhelming nature of Vulcan-emotions. Emotions ran deeper in Vulcans than humans, which was why they spent so long learning how to master emotions. And even though Spock could tell it wasn't going to work, at least it was progress in research into developing a cure.
But still, why was there a need to do it in an archaic and very much useless dialect? Not that the people who spoke it were useless and it certainly had the secretive factor. But, why would anyone need to keep this work secret? There was no logic in such a movement. All this would have been applauded by the Vulcan community as a step forward in research. And the scientist who had written the paper, a Doctor V'Plok, was not even from Me'laker. So, why was there a need to?
"Computer," Spock spoke aloud, steepling his fingers in front of his face.
"Working," the computer replied in its logical simple and robotic manner.
"Translate the next document from Vulcan Me'laker dialect to Earth English dialect," he ordered, and slid the papers into a slot in front of the screen.
The computer chirped and sounded like an antique type-writer as it processed the information. He leaned back in his chair and picked up the book on Earth philosophy he had been gifted by Kirk back on his birthday. He did not understand the need for humans to celebrate a day they had no memory of. But, his Human ship-mates had insisted on giving him a present and making him part of the Human experiance.
While his Human half was amused, his Vulcan half could not help but roll his eyes. He was continually inundated by Human emotions and passions. And they left a remarkable stench. It was little wonder few Vulcans served in Starfleet. Even fewer on human ships. But, he had grown comfortable with them. They might be illogical and frustrating at times, but...it was a certain guilty pleasure of his to be with humans. They were, as he would say, fascinating.
"Translation complete," the computer mono-toned it's announcement.
"Print paper copy for myself," he commanded, and one by one the pieces of paper were shot out.
First came the original copy. But the next was English translated. Spock set aside the book, closing it after placing the bookmark inside. He grabbed the original documents and placed them to the edge of the table. He then grabbed each page of the translated copy and began to read it.
"I am Doctor V'Plok," the document began, "And I will assume whomever finds this document will be a scientifically-enlightened mind. Three weeks ago, Nel'kerk informed me of a device being kept in the Imperial Lower Archives. According to him, it was a mirror of black glass, that one may step through and enter a dimensional portal where the laws of temporal incursions do not apply."
"I dismissed this as an illogical outburst of emotions from my protégé. But, he can be most persuasive. And. upon studying the device, I accidently fell into the mirror. I believed I had busted the glass, but, there was no glass. Further investigation has lead me to the hypothesis that anyone who enters can step backwards or even forwards in time and visit those time periods. And, if I am right, they can bring people from the past to the present.
"Is it illogical of me to hope that this might be the case? If I am successful, I could bring back She Who Was My Wife. Imagine the potential for both good and evil with such a device."
Spock's eyebrows furrowed. "Fascinating," he commented to himself, and continued reading.
