Chapter 31 – 2400

"Gentlemen," Shaw said as the senators materialize on the transporter platform, "I'm Captain Liam Shaw. Welcome aboard the Titan. It will be necessary for us to search you."

It wasn't necessary, of course. The transporter would have detected most weapons. It would also have detected any contagious diseases, but that didn't stop Dr. Ohk from making an elaborate show of scanning them. Ambassador Radford wanted them to be uncomfortable, back on their heels, and the Titan crew was happy to oblige.

Shaw wasn't sure their efforts made much difference. The two men were already about to jump out of their shoes when they arrived. They looked wide-eyed around the transporter room; they were both about fifty, and had therefore never been off-world, even as far as high orbit. They were political rivals, Shaw knew, but the two of them leaned close to each other as they were searched and scanned.

It had taken them almost two hours to accept the invitation Nico Zarzour had issued on behalf of the ambassador.

These guys were scared shitless, and that was just how Shaw liked it.

He led them down the short corridor to a small conference room, trailed by the security team. Zarzour waited for them with the door already open. "Senator Hald," he said, "Senator Glov. Thank you for coming." He gestured them in, nodded to Shaw. "Thank you, Captain."

Shaw caught a glimpse inside the room. The central table had been moved to the side; there were simply comfortable chairs facing each other in a circle. Personally he would have hate that configuration; it seemed too informal, too intimate. Which was likely the point.

Becca Radford stood at the far side of the room. She was simply dressed, her hair up, and she seemed utterly calm.

In control.

She used to be such a nice girl, Shaw thought. She would have held your hand and walked you through this. But you locked her up and now you guys are so screwed. He nodded back to Nico and the door closed.


When Shaw walked by the conference room an hour later, the door was still closed, but Zarzour was in the corridor, leaning against the bulkhead. He raised an eyebrow. "She kick you out?"

"The senators were struggling to negotiate with the ambassador while I was in the room. They would much rather converse with a man. Any man." He noted Shaw's concern. "Miss Darovich is with them, and also one of your security guards. A female, coincidentally."

"Coincidentally." Shaw relaxed a bit. Every member of his security teams, regardless of gender, was top-notch. With the rest of the team waiting in the corridor, he was not overly concerned about Becca's safety. "How are you doing? You've had a hell of a week."

"It's good to have work," Zarzour said. "When this is resolved, we'll … need to process our experiences further."

Which told Shaw, indirectly, exactly what he was asking: Had Becca really just walked it off her imprisonment and gone back to work, or had she merely set it aside? He had guessed the later. It was good to have confirmation. And to know that she and her assistant at least were aware of what was happening. "Anything we can do to help. My ship Is at your disposal."

The assistant nodded. "Thank you."

"Can I ask you something? How the hell did you end up out here without your own security?"

Zarzour glanced at the others in the corridor, then nodded slightly and drifted down the hall away from them. Shaw followed him around a corner. "We saw no threat, but a team was to meet us. What happened to them – will need to be clarified later."

"Uh-huh. What're you not telling me?"

The man exhaled, and Shaw could almost hear him silently counting to five. "There is a great deal that I am not at liberty to say." He nodded back the way they'd come. "The ambassador may … once the current matter is concluded."

"I see." Shaw wasn't happy about that answer, but he knew he was unlikely to pry anything out of Becca's long-time confidant.

"But if I may, Captain," Zarzour continued, then hesitated. "Be careful what you say to or in front of Darovich."

"Why? She's on your team, isn't she?"

"She was … assigned to assist the ambassador. That is not the same as being on our team."

"You don't trust her."

Zarzour considered. "I don't. Becca doesn't. And you shouldn't either."

"She's in deep shit, isn't she? Becca? Something worse than the current shit."

" … yes."

"And you can't tell me what it is."

"I cannot."

He asked the man a version of what he'd asked Becca when she came aboard. "Does it endanger my ship or my crew?"

"No," Zarzour assured him. "It's … political."

"Then I won't push it. For now. But thanks for the heads-up."

Zarzour nodded, and they drifted back to the closed door of the conference room.


An hour more and the senators emerged from the conference room. They were less frightened, more troubled. Grave. Shaken. And, given their lingering farewells to the ambassador, somewhat smitten with her.

Shaw supposed that was normal when the person who could have dropped a house on you and your settlement instead treated you with kindness. Still, he was glad to escort them back to the transporter room and see them off his ship.


Commander Seven of Nine was not at all surprised that when the ambassador called asking to speak to him, Captain Shaw invited her up to the bridge. She was somewhat surprised he hadn't found an excuse to do so sooner. No civilians on the bridge was his firm and standing rule, but she'd already assumed that his lover would be the exception.

His lover, she mused, and technically his superior.

But Rebecca Radford was clearly not one to throw that weight around, and Shaw knew it. His ego couldn't possibly resist the chance to show off his seat of command.

The lift opened and the ambassador and her assistant stepped out. Shaw stood and turned toward them, and Seven did the same. Radford took a moment to look around, to admire the bridge. Seven snuck a glance at Shaw. She expected him to be puffed out in full peacock mode. Instead, surprisingly, he was watching the woman with deep concern.

The minute Radford looked back at him, his expression changed and the arrogance Seven had expected appeared. And yet …

"She's beautiful, Liam," the ambassador said.

"Thank you." They looked at each other just an instant too long. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to go down to the planet and meet with Bebeen Puk, the president's mother."

He stared at her even longer this time. Finally he shifted his stance, literally. "If your next sentence doesn't include the phrase heavily armed security detail, this will be a very short conversation."

In her imagination, Seven heard Jean-Luc Picard's crisp accent say, he certainly does take liberties, doesn't he? and she almost giggled. Part of her – a big part – hoped that the ambassador would take Shaw's head off. Figuratively, of course.

Instead, Radford shrugged. "We can start with that, of course."

"Then by all means," he raised one arm, "step into my office."

The three of them – Shaw, Radford, Zarzour – went into the Ready Room. Seven settled into the center chair. She could see every member of the bridge crew relaxed fractionally. Some of them were just tense about having a high-ranking official on the bridge. The others, like her, had seen the potential to watch their captain's smart mouth get him busted back to ensign.

But he hadn't been busted, and there'd be no living with him now.

It occurred to her that if she said a word about Shaw calling her by her correct name, if she mildly corrected him in front of the ambassador, Radford would make him call her Seven of Nine. It would be that simple. Except that Shaw would smirk every single time he spoke to her, forever. It wasn't worth it. He would come to respect her in her own right, or he wouldn't.

Which didn't mean it wasn't tempting.

The Ready Room door opened. "Hansen, Esmar, join us please."

Seven shared an uneasy look with the comms officer as they made their way to the Ready Room.

The captain's office had spartan but serviceable furnishings, but no one was sitting down. Zarzour was at the far side of the room, his hip on the windowsill. Shaw parked his own hip against the front of his desk. Only the ambassador was fully standing, and Seven had to admit, she quietly commanded the room.

Radford glanced at Shaw and he nodded. She turned to Esmar. "It's nice to see you again, Ensign. I have a rather complicated task for you."

"Anything I can do, Ambassador."

"I'm going to go meet with the president's mother. We believe that she is largely responsible for everything that's happened here, from the Cannero outbreak to our detention. But there are some gaps in our understanding that I hope she will fill in."

"I … understand."

It was pretty clear to Seven that the ensign didn't.

"We would like to broadcast the audio of this meeting in real time, as it happens."

"Broadcast to where, Ma'am?"

"To the settlement." Because they could inquire further, she added, "To all of the settlement. Every frequency."

"Ma'am …"

"If you're about to ask if this is a legal order, good for you."

From the corner of her eye Seven saw Shaw drop his head and glare at his shoes, but he didn't speak.

"I wouldn't question your authority, Ambassador …"

"You should. Honestly," she shrugged, "I could probably make this stand up under my authority if I had to. But I don't. I met this morning with the majority and minority leaders of the senate. On the strength of our evidence, and their own, they are currently arranging arrest warrants for Bebeen, President Puk, and members of their cabinet, which they'll carry out after the meeting. They will then form a coalition pro tem government while they sort out what to do next. They are the closest thing Trielle has to a functioning government right now – and they have given their permission for this broadcast."

"I see." Esmar seemed to breathe a little easier.

"That said, if this goes sideways somehow, I take full responsibility."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"So can you do it?" Shaw asked.

"Yes. I … yes sir. It will take a little time to set up."

"Get to it, then."

"Aye, sir." Esmar hurried back to the bridge.

Which left Seven alone to face the next request.

Shaw stood up straight. "The ambassador would like you to accompany her to this meeting."

She wants me? Oh, that's gotta prick that giant ego, Seven thought. "Of course," she said calmly.

"To be clear, this is a request," Radford said. "It's strictly voluntary."

"Then I am glad to volunteer."

The ambassador nodded. "Thank you."

"I assume there will also be a security team?"

"Oh, yes."

"Damn straight there will be," Shaw insisted.

"Then if you'll excuse me," Radford said, "I'll go transform myself into the Delicate Ambassador."

"The what?" Shaw asked.

"You'll see," Zarzour said. "She's quite delightful."

"He won't like her," Radford predicted.

"Do you," Seven asked carefully, "wish me to change out of uniform?"

"No." Radford looked her up and down quickly. "No, you're perfect. Except you might accessorize with a sidearm or two."

"And maybe a couple more from the concealed collection," Shaw added.

"You anticipate a threat to the ambassador."

"No," Radford said. "But I didn't anticipate getting stuffed in a storage locker for six days last time, so what do I know?"

Seven nodded. "You make a valid point. I'll be ready."

"Thank you."


Rebecca Radford was right: Liam Shaw did not like the Delicate Ambassador. In fact, he barely recognized her.

What he knew about women's fashion would have fit in a teacup and left plenty of room for a beverage. But he knew he hated the dress she wore. It was dark pink – he supposed it was technically called something like deep rose – and shot through with gold. The fabric itself was soft and unstructured, and though Shaw knew that in reality the heaviness of his uniform jacket provided no real protection against most weapons, the thinness of the dress troubled him. It was perfectly modest, long-sleeved and high-collared, but she seemed underdressed. And somehow, the dress made her seem smaller. It took him a while to figure out that it was because it was slightly too big. The shoulder seams hit out past her shoulders; the hem was almost to her ankles.

Her nails were pink. She had gold rings on every finger. Her hair was caught back in a braid, but tendrils hung loose around her face. She wore a gold headband that wasn't a tiara but had the same effect, and multiple elaborate gold earrings. She'd done something with her make-up, too. Shaw couldn't say what, exactly, but she looked pale and wide-eyed and somehow child-like.

Beyond her appearance, she had changed the way she moved. Her walk, her hands, were all softer. Less certain. She kept her voice low, her eyes soft, her expression sweet and open.

She did look delicate, as intended. She did not look anything like his Becca.

The contrast between her and Commander Hansen – strong, upright, staunchly in uniform, armed – was jarring.

That was deliberate, Shaw knew. They wanted Bebeen as off-balance as possible. Back on her heels. And they wanted her talking to Becca.

But the change, though he knew it was an illusion, made him deeply uncomfortable.

"Ready, Esmar?"

"Ready, sir."

They headed to the transporter.


The security team fanned out as soon as they materialized. Seven moved a step closer to the ambassador and scanned the area. The president's house, as they'd been advised, sat alone in the center of a large lawn. There was no one between them and the building. But Seven noted men scattered along the perimeter. They stood in groups of two and three, half-concealed behind walls and bushes and trees. They did not appear to be armed, but she wasn't about to bet on that.

Still, they were expected.

She glanced at Radford, realized the woman had been waiting for her to complete her survey. "Alright?"

Seven nodded. They walked to the door of the residence and Radford knocked.

"One moment, coming!" a woman called. There was a pause, then footsteps, then the door opened and Bebeen Puk, the president's mother, gazed out at them.

Seven thought she saw a flash of anger, but it was quickly concealed behind gentle confusion. "Oh. Oh, hello. I … was not expecting visitors."

"I'm Ambassador Rebecca Radford from the United Federation of Planets. This is Commander Hansen from the starship Titan. We'd like to speak to you."

"To me? Surely – surely you want to speak to my son. The president."

"No. To you."

The woman looked past them, scanned the yard. She undoubtedly saw the Starfleet security; they made no attempt at concealment. She likely saw at least some of the local security as well. She licked her lips. "Well. I suppose I can … take a moment. I'm making some tea. With winter berries, good for the blood. Won't you join me?"

"No, thank you."

"Well. Won't you come in then?"

"It's better if we sit in the garden," Seven said firmly. She gestured to a decorative table and chairs surrounded by flowers.

"Well." Bebeen turned her full attention to Seven. The commander watched the woman take in her Borg implants, her uniform, her weapons. She didn't like either of them, Seven noted, but she hadn't decided who she liked less. "Well, yes. It's a lovely day. Yes. I'll just … I'll just go turn off the kettle then. Please make yourselves comfortable." She closed the door.

Radford walked serenely to the table and sat down, flaring her soft skirt around her. Seve picked a spot angled behind her, near the house wall, and leaned lightly against it. "You don't want to sit?" the ambassador asked.

"No."

She nodded.

It's too much, Seven thought. The dress, the jewelry – it's over the top. The Delicate Ambassador is too obvious. But it was too late to second-guess Radford, even if she'd been inclined to.

Bebeen was gone long enough to turn off the kettle and to look out her back door and see that her escape was cut off by additional Starfleet personnel. She joined them in the garden with her face pale and her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She settled into the seat across from Radford, then looked to Seven again. "Wouldn't you like to sit down?"

"No, thank you."

"I feel so … inhospitable." She nodded to herself, placed her folded hands on the table. "Well," she said to Radford, "I hope that you have recovered from your … ordeal. We – my son and I – we cannot apologize enough for your unfortunate experience. If we'd had any idea where you were being held, I assure you that he would have done everything to rescue you."

Radford waited, her face expressionless. Oh, tell me you spent a lot of time learning from a Vulcan, Seven thought. She was careful that her own face gave nothing away, either. Tuvok, help me. She almost smiled, thinking of her friend.

In the silence, Bebeen spoke again. "The depravity of it all," she said, too quickly, "the indignity. To lock a woman in such a small room with men, men who are no kin of yours. Shameful! They're not, they're not kin, are they? Not a husband or a brother?"

"No."

"And that poor young girl, oh, she must have been mortified. Bad enough for a woman of your years, but for a mere child, oh, she must have been simply … simply mortified. These men who did this were monsters, and I assure you, they will be punished. My son will see to it. Punished most severely. We revere women here. We care for their well-being. We do not treat them this way. It is unforgivable. Oh, that poor dear."

"When we leave here," Radford said evenly, "you will be arrested by senate officials. You son will also be arrested, and members of the cabinet, and everyone else who took part in these events."

Bebeen drew her hands against her chest. "Oh, you can't think that I had anything to do with this. I am an old woman, a simple woman. Perhaps wherever you come from that would be possible, but not here. Oh, no, not here."

"They will perform a microscopic search of your kitchen," Radford continued calmly, "and they will undoubtedly recover evidence that the Cannero virus was cultivated here. They will also very likely find evidence of unsuccessful attempts to culture the Lowant and Pski viruses."

Bebeen sat very still for a moment, her hands still clutched together over her heart. "Oh. Oh, it must have been … it must have been Puk, then. My son. Oh, my son, what have you done?"

"With respect, no one believes that your son was intelligent enough to accomplish this without assistance."

"How dare you." But there was no heat in the mother's words.

Seven watched while Bebeen realized she was caught. The woman's struggle was evident on her face, but it was short-lived; she'd likely already realized, and was just letting go of her last shred of hope.

Radford remained silent until the woman's hands settled onto the table again. Then she said, quietly, "I requested that you be remanded to Federation custody, to be tried for kidnapping and detaining me and my team, and likely sentenced to a Federation prison. But I was unsuccessful."

"Oh, I'm sure you would have liked that." For the first time, Bebeen's submissive persona dropped away and her voice took an edge. "So you could come look at me and gloat, is that it?"


At their station, Koba Esmar turned sharply. "Sir, there's interference on the broadcast. It's originating from the settlement."

"Oh I bet there is." Shaw sat back in his command chair. "Can you override it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do that, then. I'm sure it's just a minor … equipment issue."

Esmar fussed with the controls for a moment. "Still broadcasting, captain."

"Good."


"In a Federation prison," the ambassador answered, still calm and sweet-voiced, "you would have been provided access to any reading material you requested, to almost any study materials. To courses on a great many topics, to study groups – you might even have been allowed to teach. You would still have been confined, but you could have learned about any topics you wished. I've asked that those same provisions be provided to you here, but it's unlikely that they'll honor that request. And because Trielle is unaligned, I have no authority to do more than make the request. I'm very sorry."

"You're very sorry," Bebeen repeated quietly. "You're very sorry." Her hands fell to her lap; she leaned forward over the table. "When I was in elementary school, I was the smartest girl in my class. The smartest student in my class. In my third year I won a science prize. It wasn't anything fancy, just a certificate and a little jar of sweets, but I was so proud of it. I ran home and showed my mother, and she said I should hide it. But I didn't. I showed my father. And do you know what he did? He beat me. He tore up my certificate, and he beat me. He ate every one of my sweets, right in front of me. He said that I was an ugly child and I was going to be an ugly woman and it would be hard enough to find me a husband without my trying to be smart, too. He told me if I ever won an award again he would never let me go back to school." She paused. "I was seven years old. And he ate all my sweets."

She settled back in her chair. "And you. You come here in your pretty floaty princess gown and your fancy jewels and you're very sorry. Do you even know – do you even know what you're sorry for?"

Seven straightened deliberately as the woman's voice rose. Two things were clear to her now: The Delicate Ambassador's over-the-top appearance was deliberate, with the goal of provoking Bebeen – and it had succeeded. And two, Seven herself was not there just for appearance, though that was part of the reason. She was there because Radford genuinely did not know what Bebeen would do when she lost her temper again. She actually needed a bodyguard close at hand.

Shaw must have known that, and yet he let her come in his place.

Which meant that despite his attitude, he trusted her with his lover's life.

"My father was wrong, you know," Bebeen continued. "I found a husband. He didn't care if I was ugly. Or if I was smart. He didn't care much about women at all. That's forbidden here as well, you know. But we reached an agreement. An arrangement. He had his friend, and I had his library. We got along very well. Until he died. By then I was older. Smarter. More … skillful in getting what I wanted." She shrugged. "A woman can study anything she wants, if she can find the right lie. She can study botany if she says it's so she can grow sweeter fruits for her husband's breakfast. She can study chemistry if she says she wants to learn how to make her bread dough rise evenly. She can study math as long as she says she just wants to help tutor her son, who is struggling. As long as it's for a man. But for herself – never for herself. Never just to learn. Never just ….

"I found a second husband. He was a man of great ambition. Not such great intellect. But we understood each other, too. He was smart enough to listen to me. To let me assist his career." She sneered. "I gave him a son. I gave him the presidency. It was enough. For me. It was almost … enough.

"And then he died, too. And my son … my son has less ambition. And less intellect. He's lazy. And he won't do what he's told." Bebeen shook her head. "I got him into the presidency. But he's made so many enemies. He won't win the next election. He won't get elected again ever. So whatever power I had, behind them, it will be lost. Forever." She gestured to Radford's soft gown. "You don't know. I will live out my life in ignorance and boredom, denied any right to decide, to contribute, to learn … you can't possibly know."

"So you decided to try to join the Federation."


"Interference again, sir."

"Override."

From the helm, LaForge said, "It's almost like they don't want their people to know about us."

"Imagine that."

"Broadcast restored."


"I suppose that was always a foolish hope, but it was all I had left."

"How did you think it would work?"

Bebeen shifted in her chair. "The Federation brings trade, commerce. Technology. Opportunities. Once Trielle has those things, once they taste how rich our lives can be, we will not want to give it up. Our new president, whoever he is, will make whatever changes the Federation demands. He will allow women to go to school, to be educated, to be equals in order to keep those opportunities."

"Federation membership doesn't work that way." Radford's voice was gentle, almost apologetic. "We require social equality to be in place before membership can even be considered."

"We would have lied."

"Every assertion in your application would have been verified. The process is very thorough. It takes years."

Bebeen frowned at her. "You're lying. The other colonies were able join right away. I read about it."

"The other colonies joined under Vespola's membership. They didn't get their own memberships for decades." The ambassador considered. "You might have applied via that route, even after all this time, if you have appealed to Vespola to add you."

"We will never ask Vespola for anything. They drove us out of our homes. Threw us into exile here."

"Vespola officials says that your ancestors wanted to leave. That Treston was eager to have a world of his own for his followers, free from all outside influence and interference."

"They lie. They wanted our land."

"They did. I imagine the truth lies somewhere in the middle." Radford leaned forward. "When you realized there was going to be a delay in the Federation response, is that when you decided to start the epidemic?"

The woman turned her head, looked out over her garden. "That … was never meant to involve you."

"You didn't intend to ask the Federation for assistance?"

She shook her head. "We were told it would be months before anyone even arrived to consider our application. We just wanted … to ensure that my son would remain in the presidency. To give us time."

"But then the outbreak spread south of the river."

"They were all north of the river. We were prepared to close the bridges. To contain it there." Her voice was quieter now and she wouldn't make eye contact. "I don't know … I don't understand how it spread."

"The senate staffers ate the leftover soup."

Bebeen snapped her head around. "What? Those idiots. I'll have them fired. Every last one of them …" She stopped, sighed heavily. "Idiots."

The woman didn't seem to have the least remorse for trying to kill half the population of the settlement, Seven noted. Only regret that her plan had failed.

"Why did you imprison us?"

"Oh, it took you long enough to get to that question didn't it, Pretty? All the rest of this was just garden pruning. You want to know how someone could dare insult your pretty personage, is that it?"

"It did nothing to forward any of your goals."

"Look at you. Look at you. So calm, so confident. With your bodyguard," she gestured to Seven, "and your," she waved to the more-distant security team, "your men that you order around. You don't care about my problems, about our world's problems. Why would you? It doesn't touch you. It never will. You can study, you can travel, you can – tell men what to do and be obeyed. Without having to scheme or beg or bargain with your body. You can have authority. It's been that way your whole life, hasn't it? You never had a minute when your father ate your sweets and tore up your certificate. You were never shamed for being smart. For wanting more. You don't know anything about this world."

"I should have learned more before I came," Radford agreed. "We rushed because your people were dying."

"They weren't my people dying. They were my son's enemies. Mostly. And the rest – they deserved what they got, for being greedy idiots. They ate the soup. Idiots." She glared at Radford. "I never thought the Federation would send someone like you."

"A woman?"

"Yes. After everything … after the epidemic spread, after everything fell apart … and then you. It was too much. It was too much." She sighed. "I suppose it was a mistake."

"Thank you for telling me."

Bebeen sat up. "Have you given them all the vaccine yet?"

"The last batch will be delivered in a few hours."

"You could use that. To bargain."

"Bargain for what?"

"You could tell them they have to give me to you, to be tried in a Federation court. That you won't give them the vaccine if they don't."

"I can't do that."

"You can. They'll do what you tell them. Hald and Glov, you're dealing with them, aren't you? They're weak. They'll make the deal. They don't want me here anyhow, I'll just cause trouble. They'd let you take me. I would … I would plead guilty, whatever you say. Just don't, don't let them put me in prison here."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, you're sorry!" Bebeen stood up, and Seven took a step closer. "If you're so sorry, help me! Do you know what my life will be like here? They won't let me read, they won't let me speak, just me in a cell for the rest of my life with nothing, nothing. I would rather die than to be kept in such boredom! You know what it's like. It was only six days for you. It would be the rest of my life. You can't, you can't!"

Radford stood up gracefully. "I cannot help you."

Bebeen grabbed the ambassador's arm fiercely. "You're condemning me!"

It had to hurt; Seven could see the older woman's knuckles go white with the strength of her grip, but Radford's gentle expression never wavered. "You condemned yourself, when you infected your own people with a deadly disease to retain power. I have done all that I can for you."

Seven clasped Bebeen's wrist with her left hand. With her right, she aimed a phaser at the woman's head. "You will unhand the ambassador," she said firmly.

The woman turned her head. "Kill me," she said. "I would rather be dead than to rot in prison with nothing, nothing to fill even a minute of a day. Kill me!"

Seven knew the phaser was set on stun. Knew she could drop the woman without harming the ambassador. Probably. But certain was better. She released the woman's wrist and threw a tidy left jab that caught Bebeen square in the nose. The woman released her arm, stumbled back, and fell on her ass.

Seven lowered her weapon, but did not holster it. Nor did she take her eyes off Bebeen. "Are we done here?"

"I'm afraid we are." Radford looked at the woman, who was cradling her broken nose in both hands. She started to speak, then didn't. Instead, she nodded to Seven and they walked the short distance back to their beam-down point. The security team joined them.

"Your hand okay?" the ambassador asked quietly.

Seven flexed her fingers. "Fine."

As they beamed up, Seven saw the local authorities descend on Bebeen. The woman did not resist.


Zarzour was waiting for them in the transporter room. He carried a medium-sized box and had some kind of black garment slung over his shoulder. Darovich was with him. She looked like she had no idea why she was there.

"Thank you all for your assistance," Radford said as they stepped off the platform.

The security team didn't know quite what to do with her politeness, and honestly, neither did Seven.

Zarzour flipped the box open, facing the ambassador. There was a mirror fitted into the lid. "Carry this," he said to the aide. "Walk backward in front of her."

"What?"

"Carry the box –"

"I've got it," Seven said. She took the box. "Where to?"

"Small conference room."

She nodded and, as requested, walked backward toward the door.

In the time it took them to walk down the corridor, Ambassador Radford performed a complete transformation. She pulled off the hair band and dropped it into the box, then grabbed a pre-moistened wipe and began to remove most of her makeup as she walked. Zarzour, meanwhile, pulled the rings off her fingers, the bracelets off her wrists, and then waved a little device that removed the color from her nails one at a time. Radford removed all but her simplest earrings. Zarzour swept the stray hair back from her back, sprayed it with water and smoothed it back, neat and professional.

In under two minutes, the Delicate Ambassador vanished.

As they entered the conference room the assistant pulled the garment off his shoulder and held it open for the ambassador. She put her arms in, started fastening it from the bottom. Zarzour worked the collar clasp. It looked ridiculous over the pink-gold skirt, but when she sat down only the severe black jacket and its thin silver trim would show.

"I don't get it," Darovich admitted.

"Diplomacy is part statecraft, part stagecraft," Zarzour said.

"The trick is knowing which to use when," Radford added. "And in what measure." She glanced at Seven. "Okay?"

Seven picked up the discarded wipe and dabbed a stray bit of liner at the corner of the ambassador's eye. "Yes."

"Thank you." She dropped into the chair at the head of the table. On cue, the comm beeped. "Ambassador Radford, the senators from Trielle are asking to speak to you."

Radford took a deep breath and held it. Zarzour and Seven backed away. "On screen," she said.

Seven had seen the two men while they were onboard Titan. They'd looked terrified then. They'd gotten over that. Now they were upset, maybe angry, and they were fighting hard to conceal it.

"Gentlemen," Radford said. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"Bebeen Puc, the president, and the members of the cabinet have been arrested without incident."

"Good. As a reminder, the Federation expects to receive transcripts of all court proceedings in this matter in a timely manner."

"We don't really believe that this trial is any of the Federation's concern."

"Nevertheless, that was the agreement you made, in exchange for our allowing potential Federation charges to be held in abeyance. Do you wish to renegotiate that agreement?"

"No, of course not. But we simply wish to repeat that it is in no way a Federation matter. We will conduct our investigations and trials in a fair manner, in accordance with our own laws."

Radford nodded. "I urge you again to treat Bebeen with all possible consideration."

"She attempted to commit genocide against her own people."

"I understand. But she also shows signs of significant mental disturbance. I can see no harm in allowing her books during her imprisonment."

"That is none of your concern either."

Seven wished the senators were onboard so she could punch them, too.

The ambassador exhaled softly. "Senators, several thousand of your citizens are dead because your society denied a very intelligent woman a chance to express that intelligence productively. Perhaps you might consider changes that would prevent future incidents of the same nature."

"We will prevent them by imprisoning all the perpetrators of that incident."

The other senator said, "While Bebeen and her son may have invited you here, Ambassador, I remind you that the full senate certainly did not. We appreciate your concern. But we will continue to govern Trielle as we always have, in accordance with our long-held beliefs. As is our right."

Her voice did not rise. "In my experience, senators, a society is like a growing plant. It will either continue to grow and change, or it will wither and die, but it cannot remain the same. Your current governance is based on the ideas of a man who died four decades ago. Perhaps it is time to revisit some of those ideas."

The men looked at each other. "When will the final vaccines be available?"

"In about two hours."

"We thank you again for your assistance."

The screen went blank.

"There is still time," Seven offered, "for a strafing run over the capital."

Radford smiled ruefully. "Don't tempt me." She stood up. "I'm going to change," she announced, "and then we'll call home and see who wants to second-guess me before we leave." She took the box from Seven and handed it to Darovich. "Thank you again."

"Glad to be of service."


Just over two hours later, the last shipment of medicine was delivered and the U.S.S. Titan, its mission successfully completed, left orbit.