Available Light, page 15
And yet, here I stand, though I doubt you are laughing today, my friend.
“Have we taken to hushed whispers uttered from the shadows?”
The new voice almost startled Martok but he was able to contain his reaction, and for the first time he noticed the figure standing just inside a nearby entrance to the Hall. It took him the briefest of moments to recognize it as Jo’shwar, another council member. Bald and burly, he moved with surprising stealth despite his bulk, allowing him to enter the room without attracting the notice of Martok or K’shaf. This was of somewhat limited concern to Martok, given the contrary stances Jo’shwar often took when the council was in session and various topics were subjected to rigorous debate. Though he was far from unreasonable or unyielding, he had already voiced fervent disapproval over the newly revealed scandal involving former President Zife illegally arming the planet Tezwa and how those weapons ultimately were used against Klingon forces. The issue had consumed much of the council’s time and attention in the weeks since the allegations became known, and though Jo’shwar was not alone with his opinions about how or if the Empire should seek recourse against the Federation, his was one of the louder voices of dissent. To Martok’s surprise, the other Klingon did not seem to be driven by an agenda of personal advancement or other gain. At least, he had never made known any such ambitions, and to Martok that was a reason to remain wary. Such opportunists seldom worked alone, or without significant planning to achieve their long-term goals. No, Martok had decided long ago, Jo’shwar was an adversary who bore watching.
How long had he stood there? What had he heard? These were the questions that called for Martok’s attention as he and K’shaf moved toward the new arrival.
“Good morning, Chancellor,” said Jo’shwar as they approached. “I did not realize you were in private conference. I did not intend to intrude.”
Hardly likely, Martok mused, but he kept the observation to himself. Instead, he forced a professional smile.
“Jo’shwar, you also grace me with your presence so early in the day. Perhaps we should not waste this energy we all seem to have, and convene the entire council so that we may get on with the business of the Klingon people.”
Ever one to exploit any sort of potential tactical situation whether in battle or politics and likely thinking along the same lines Martok had considered, K’shaf said, “The chancellor and I were just discussing this pressing matter of what to do about our Federation allies. Another perspective is always welcome.”
No fool himself, Jo’shwar could smell a trap being laid for him and rather than attempting to evade the topic, opted instead to charge ahead.
“I have already made my opinion quite clear.” To Martok, he said, “With all due respect, Chancellor, peace treaties mean nothing if one of the bound parties engages in wanton treachery.”
“Agreed,” replied Martok. “However, we cannot condemn many for the actions of a few corrupt individuals.”
Jo’shwar sneered. “The corrupted may not be so few.”
It was but another variation on the same conversation already held several times during the past weeks, here in the Hall with the full council or with individual members in his office or while enjoying a meal in the city. While Jo’shwar had at first been a moderate voice during those discussions, Martok had watched as the other Klingon’s demeanor shifted toward a more extreme position as time passed. Differences between them that he thought had been addressed seemed to be once more rising to the fore, much to Martok’s worry. How far was Jo’shwar willing to push this increasing divisiveness, particularly with respect to the rest of the council?
“We have fought wars against the Dominion and the Borg alongside Starfleet vessels,” said Martok. “A member of my family serves with distinction aboard the Federation flagship.”
His sneer growing more pronounced, Jo’shwar replied, “Serving the whims of one who knew about this plot of Zife’s. Picard has kept this secret for years. What other secrets does he harbor? Of how many other crimes against supposed Federation allies does he possess knowledge? Have you spoken with Worf, Chancellor? Does he still hold his captain in such high regard?”
“I don’t need to speak with him to know the answer to such questions. Worf has stood by Picard since long before you or I even knew his name. His loyalty is absolute. What does it say of a human that a Klingon would respect him so?” Knowing what Jo’shwar was thinking and would dare not say, Martok leveled his eye at him. “Surely you don’t think Worf, a member of my house and a warrior to whom I owe my very life, is somehow unable to judge a person’s character and honor?”
K’shaf added, “And it is not just Worf who views Picard with such respect. Remember that he is one of the very few non-Klingons enshrined in the Hall of Warriors. That alone guarantees the respect of all our people until the end of time.”
“Yes, yes. I have seen the statue. Placed there by Gowron, as thanks for Picard’s service as Arbiter of Succession.” Jo’shwar shook his head. “If only we could have predicted the shame Gowron would bring to the Empire.”
“But we could not,” snapped Martok, “and such hindsight does not negate Picard’s status or honor, just as it does not diminish Worf’s loyalty to him. Surely after all the trials the Federation and the Empire have faced together, these two have earned from us a measure of trust?”
He turned, indicating the Great Hall with a sweeping gesture. “We have all seen Klingons who acted in similarly despicable fashion put to death right here in this very chamber. What Picard and the others did to remove Zife from power is as close to being a Klingon as any human might hope to achieve.”
Of course, he knew that Picard had not been involved in the late president’s murder, but that was beside the point. For any Starfleet officer to even consider acting against a civilian Federation leader was all but unheard of. The known instances of such an outlandish action could safely be counted on one hand. For a man of Picard’s character to involve himself in such matters spoke to the perceived severity of the circumstances at that point in time.
“You and I disagree on a great many things, Chancellor,” said Jo’shwar, “but I confess I find your words on this matter quite compelling.”
“Coming from you, that is high praise.” Martok punctuated the reply with a leering grin, which evoked quiet laughter from both Jo’shwar and K’shaf.
The other council member raised a hand. “Even if you do manage to sway my opinion, others will not be so easily convinced. Many Klingons will want assurances that the Federation has not committed other acts of betrayal and aggression against us while hiding beneath the banner of peace.”
“A view I can understand and appreciate,” said Martok.
K’shaf added, “However, if the three of us, with our differing views and concerns, can have this conversation and see common ground before us, surely by working together, the entire council can reach consensus?”
“Listen to us,” offered Martok. “Babbling on like politicians rather than warriors.” The comment sparked more laughter, and he placed a hand on his companions’ shoulders. “We will find a way to guide our people through this, my friends. There remain a great many questions, and together we will find the answers. On that, you have my word.”
“And what if those answers force us to take action against our supposed allies, Chancellor?” asked Jo’shwar.
Drawing a long breath, Martok replied, “As always, we will do what is necessary to serve the Empire.”
“Even war against an ally?” asked K’shaf.
“Perhaps,” said Martok, “but it is our duty to ensure that is the proper course, for all our people, rather than merely the convenient one.”
17
Less than five minutes had elapsed since Picard left the bridge in the capable hands of Lieutenant Joanna Faur and opted for the temporary refuge of his ready room. Lying on the couch opposite his desk, he closed his eyes, hoping for a brief respite. Fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes at most was all he would need to stave off mounting fatigue. The events of the long day had seen to it that regular duty shifts were off the table while the crew tended to the ship’s various repairs. Add to that a missing member of his crew, and the day’s stresses were becoming too much to bear, but he had no choice. His people were consumed with the tasks before them, acting with their usual high level of performance in accordance with his standards and expectations. Their tireless dedication had long ago won his trust just as he had earned their loyalty.
And yet, despite his fervent desire to continue leading by example and being worthy of that devotion, Picard felt fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. He could not remember feeling this way in quite some time. Of course, these were not normal times.
Just a few minutes, he told himself. No more.
For the first time in hours, he realized he was hungry. Aside from an all but forgotten meal shared uncounted hours earlier with Beverly and René, he had not left the bridge or his ready room. With an away team now back aboard the alien derelict, he would wait until Commander Worf provided the first substantial report on their progress before retiring to his quarters for a proper rest.
Or until Beverly relieves me of duty or shoots me with a tranquilizer.
Across the ready room, his replicator beckoned, but Picard decided he did not want to waste the energy required to move from the couch. Better to remain here, with eyes closed as he attempted to clear his mind for just a few precious moments.
His door chime sounded.
Damn.
Though tempted to do so, Picard could never ignore such a summons or, worse, order away whoever dared to intrude upon his feeble attempt at rest. The demands of command were as constant as they were unforgiving, and he knew that whoever waited for him on the other side of the door would not call on him without good reason. Resigning himself to the situation, he pushed himself to a sitting position, placing his boots on the deck and straightening his uniform tunic.
“Come.”
The door slid aside to reveal Beverly Crusher, standing with arms crossed just to the side of the entry so that she could immediately see where he sat on the couch, as though anticipating that was where she would find him.
“You had to know I’d come looking for you.”
Her tone was light enough that it evoked a small chuckle from Picard as she entered the room, allowing the door to close behind her. He shifted his position on the couch so that she could sit next to him.
“Is that professional experience talking, or a wife’s intuition?”
Crusher offered a knowing smile. “Yes.” Dropping to the couch, she situated herself so that she was resting against Picard’s left shoulder. “We need to have a little chat, Captain.”
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“Well, that sounds like a great time saver, but I’m going to say it anyway.”
“And you’re right.”
“Of course I am, but I’m still going to say it.” She put a hand on his leg. “You need to stop doing this.”
Picard sighed. This was an overdue conversation, and one he should not have avoided for this long.
“What am I doing?” he asked.
“Punishing yourself.” When he opted to say nothing in response, Crusher continued, “I suspect you’ve been doing that in some manner since it happened. That’s a long time to carry guilt, Jean-Luc.”
“Not if it’s justified. We’ve been over this, Beverly.”
Crusher squeezed his leg, just above his knee, hard enough so that he looked up and his gaze met hers. “Yes, we’ve talked about it, to a point.”
In the immediate aftermath of Ozla Graniv’s exposé going public and the entire sordid affair being broadcast across the Federation—including distant starbases and starships like the Enterprise assigned to deep-space exploration missions—Picard had sat down with Crusher and admitted his role in Min Zife’s ousting. Needless to say, the revelation came as a shock to his wife, who like the rest of his senior staff and a select group of other officers drawn into the Tezwa debacle assumed the president chose to resign due to his role in that mess. Learning their captain was involved in the illegal actions evoked a variety of responses, none of them more vocal than the one voiced by Beverly Crusher. While she allowed for his having kept the secret from her prior to their marriage, the idea of him not trusting her with his secret after that did not sit well with her, at least at first.
“My reasons for not telling you haven’t changed, Beverly. You would have been duty bound to report me to Starfleet Command, and of course you would’ve refused to do so. I couldn’t put you in that position. Not then, and certainly not after René was born.” He rose from the couch and began to pace the ready room’s length. “I knew what I was entering into when I had that meeting with Ross and the others. We all did. We all made certain there was no doubt about what we were agreeing to do.” In particular, he recalled the uncertainty on the face of Edward Jellico during that meeting, and how he had to be convinced that quietly coercing Min Zife into resigning without making public the true nature of his crimes was the only apparent means of averting war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.
“Even Jellico, who’s as hawkish a military commander as I’ve ever known, wavered on this, that what we were proposing was the correct course. That’s really the point that best illustrates the issue with what we did, Beverly.” He paused his pacing, turning to face her. “No matter how aggressive he can be when it comes to matters of defense or security, he’s never forgotten that Starfleet is subordinate to the civilian government. He was even more passionate than I was about trying to find some other way to go about the whole damned thing.”
Since that fateful day, Picard had questioned, reviewed, and second-guessed the decision hundreds of times. Might there have been another way? With allies like Martok now leading the Klingon High Council, could some understanding have been reached? The chancellor was but a lone individual, and even his influence extended only so far. At the time, appealing to him carried with it the risk of other council members turning on him in favor of seeking vengeance upon the Federation for Zife’s crimes against the Klingon people.
Not that any of this mattered in this new reality. Though no official statement had yet been issued by the Klingon government, unofficial reports forwarded by Starfleet Command suggested no small amount of turmoil within the chambers of the High Council. Picard could only imagine the stresses under which Martok now found himself. Though he would have plenty of loyal allies, there would of course be those who would see this as an opportunity to advance their own agendas, including removing Martok from power.
And they’d do so without the fuss of keeping everything secret. Klingon honor is a fascinating thing.
Crusher, who had remained silent on the couch for the minute or so that had passed since Picard resumed pacing, asked, “Is that why you’re punishing yourself? Because you think Edward Jellico was a better person than you over this?”
The idea was something he had considered more than once, and every time he entertained the notion it only angered him. This time was no different.
“It’s not about who’s better,” he snapped, instantly regretting the outburst. Drawing a deep breath and releasing it over several seconds, he continued in a more measured tone, “It’s about right and wrong. That’s what it’s always been about. Everything else is just distraction.”
“You all were right,” said Crusher. “You were also wrong. It’s that simple.”
Picard scowled. “That should make for a grand defense at my court-martial when I’m tried for murdering a Federation president.”
“They can’t charge you with that, and we both know it.” Crusher’s voice was beginning to exhibit an edge, an obvious byproduct of their having already had a variation of this conversation. “Damn it, Jean-Luc. You weren’t in the room when Zife and the others were killed. You weren’t even there when he resigned. A good lawyer could argue that you didn’t even make the final decision to act. You’re a captain. The others were admirals, and three of them were directly tied to Section Thirty-One.”
“I’m the one who brought the evidence to them,” argued Picard. “I set it all in motion. All the rest of it is semantics. Besides, those are officers I respect, or at least used to respect. They were friends, to one degree or another.”
Now Crusher pushed herself from the couch, crossing the room and standing in Picard’s path. As he stopped his pacing, her eyes locked with his. “Tell me you would’ve sanctioned Zife’s murder, and I’ll shut up about this forever.”
“You know I’d never do that,” replied Picard.
“I do. Stop punishing yourself.” She pointed toward the port beyond his desk. “Do you think Ross or Nechayev or even Nakamura regret what they helped bring about? Of course not. They’ll stand before a court and tell them they removed Zife for the good of the Federation and the safety of everyone in it.”
Picard broke their eye contact, glancing at the carpet beneath their feet. “That was our argument.”
“And yet here you are, letting it eat at you. Meanwhile, they had to have known even while you were discussing it how things would really go, and you know damned well they never felt an ounce of remorse. Not then and not now, other than the fact they were exposed by that reporter. They violated their oaths by allowing Section Thirty-One to corrupt them; by letting it subvert their loyalties and twist their perception of justice and morality. In their eyes, the ends justified the means, no matter the cost. They knew Zife and the others would be killed, and they never told you. They made you an unwitting accomplice the same way Zife did when he involved all of us in the Tezwa mess.”
