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“And where’s the captain’s— Wait, never mind. I’ll look it up. Get out of here now so I can get some work done before I have to start getting ready.”
“I’m gone.”
As Fisher started for the door, Desai took up her slate and found where she had left off. “Computer, resume playback.”
“What saddens me most is the way Mei-Hua threw it all away, as if the friendship we’d built over the last six months meant noth—”
A crash startled Desai, and she spun around to see Fisher struggling to keep his grip on the tray. A couple of plates had toppled to the deck. She rushed to his side, reaching to steady him. “Zeke, are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine, it’s just . . . Is that Hallie?”
Oh, God, I forgot he knew Captain Ga
“Rana, please. I’m okay,” he assured her. “She’s been on my mind lately, and it just caught me off guard to hear her voice all of a sudden. Was that an old log entry from the mission file?”
Desai nodded, recovering the fallen plates and setting them gently back onto the tray. “Ga
“Is that a fact? How about that. . . .”
“I can authorize your access, if you’d like to—”
“No, that’s okay,” Fisher said. “I appreciate the offer, but . . . I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Desai frowned. What in the world doesthat mean?“Zeke, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Who’s the doctor here?” Fisher asked. “I’ll just be on my way. Sorry I startled you. See you at nineteen?”
Desai nodded. “Nineteen.”
She watched him go, and as he did, it occurred to Desai that Zeke’s life was all about looking after people. And not just his patients; she had long suspected he had delayed his overdue and well-deserved retirement just so he could be there for Diego, and when that was no longer possible, he had honored the obligation he’d felt he owed his oldest friend by staying on to look after the woman Diego loved.
But who looked after Fisher?
“To absent friends,” said Atish Khatami as she raised her water glass. The other five officers at the table, their own small glasses filled with a ruby port, mirrored the captain’s gesture as they echoed her toast. The sweet after-di
The captain’s mess was impressive. Desai had expected to dine in a repurposed briefing room or something similar. This was nothing so austere, with soft recessed lighting, warm colors, real wooden furniture, and art on the walls. Apparently every Constitution-class starship had a small percentage of discretionary space, subject to the preferences of the commanding officer. Khatami’s immediate predecessor, the late Captain Zhao Sheng—whose portrait hung on the wall behind Khatami next to that of Endeavour’s first commander, Captain Mary-A
From there, the evening went downhill as far as Desai was concerned. It was impossible for the group not to talk about the recently resurfaced Reyes, and Desai patiently endured speculations from First Officer Stano about the likelihood of Reyes’s eventual return to Federation custody.
The conversation eventually moved on to the sad subject of Aole Miller, and then more generally to the challenge of safeguarding planetary colonies, which everyone agreed was difficult even in the best of circumstances.
At length, Khatami said, “May I ask how your research into New Anglesey is progressing, Captain Desai?”
Desai took a sip of her port while she considered how to answer. “It’s all a little strange,” she finally admitted. “I’ve been wading through more background material than I know what to do with, yet nowhere is there any explanation for why things went south between New Anglesey and the Federation. Nobody seems to understand why they became so inflexibly isolationist.”
“Aole never figured that out?” Fisher asked.
“If he did, it isn’t in the files. Maybe he hoped to find out by going there in person, effect a reconciliation even while he tried to persuade them of the need to evacuate.”
Fisher chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Nor would I. I’ve seen the man work. He wasn’t always successful at solving every problem, but he never encountered one he didn’t feel he could talk his way through.”
“What is it about this planet that these people are clinging to?” Doctor Leone asked.
“My understanding,” Khatami said, “is that the scientists who founded New Anglesey were granted their colonial charter primarily in order to conduct research on the planet’s ecosystem.”
“That’s it?” Leone scoffed and consumed the last of his port.
“Then why are they being so obstinate?” Stano asked.
“That’s hard to say,” Desai replied. “But in my experience, there are essentially two kinds of colonists: those who believe they can find greater prosperity in the service of Federation expansion, and those who believe they can find prosperity living independently, free from what they consider the too restrictive core worlds of the UFP, so they can build a world better than the ones they left behind. The former expects Federation support and Starfleet protection. The latter expects the same thing—they just want it on their terms.
“New Anglesey falls into the latter camp. It’s almost a case study in a growing trend among the outer colonies, more and more of which believe that the Federation has too much control over their lives.”
Leone shook his head. “Yeah, until the Klingons decide they want the planet. Then suddenly the Federation can’t do enough.”
“That’s a rather ungenerous position, don’t you think?” Mog said.
“It may have escaped your notice, Mog, but I don’t have a lot of sympathy for ingrates who think they can have it both ways.”
“Imagine my shock,” Mog said.
Leone pressed on. “It’s all well and good to think you have better answers than the prevailing authority. But that’s what elections are for. Chucking reason out the airlock and then taking pride in the act is just a stupid way to make a point.”
“To some colonists,” Desai said, “what you call ‘chucking reason’ is actually a narrowing of focus on fundamental issues that they feel aren’t getting enough attention.”
“In other words, provincial thinking,” Leone countered. “They’re so caught up in their own interests, they don’t see the big picture.”
“And they would probably argue that they are too frequently overlooked in the big picture,” Desai said.
“Respectfully, Captain,” Leone said, “if that were true, you and Doctor Fisher wouldn’t be on your way to New Anglesey, and Commander Miller would still be safely back on Vanguard. Instead, he gave his life trying to help those people. And still they don’t trust us!”
“Why is that, Captain?” Stano asked Desai. “Clearly the New Anglesey settlers once trusted Starfleet enough to help get their colony up and ru
Desai sighed. “That’s a puzzle I’ve been trying to solve for the last thirty-six hours, Commander.”
“Are you at liberty to share your suspicions?”
And there it is: the opening.“To be honest . . . with so little time until Zeke and I make planetfall, it might be helpful if I could discuss them,” Desai admitted. “I’m just not sure it would be prudent.”