Two

Friday, January 24, 2155

The Presidio, San Francisco

CAPTAIN JONATHAN ARCHER smiled broadly as he looked over his shoulder and up into the rapt faces of four of his most valued officers. Ensigns Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and Doctor Phlox, Enterprise’s chief medical officer, stood on the steps just behind and above Archer on the broad spiral staircase that overlooked the wide meeting room. Here representatives of Earth, Vulcan, Tellar, Andoria, and Coridan were beginning to take their seats around a series of large, curving tables arranged in a broad semicircle. They were in turn surrounded by assorted VIPs from Starfleet, Earth’s various governmental ministries, and numerous allied and neutral worlds, as well as a fair number of headset‑wearing media people.

Among the ranks of the journalists, Archer spied a slender, youthful woman with straight brown hair whom he recognized immediately as Gannet Brooks, Ensign Mayweather’s former girlfriend. A quick backward glance confirmed that the young helmsman had also picked her out of the crowd. Mayweather didn’t appear exactly thrilled by the possibility of bumping into her again so soon after the revelation that her journalistic credentials were merely a cover for her Starfleet Intelligence work during the recent Terra Prime crisis. Archer was disappointed, though not surprised, to note that Starfleet Intelligence had apparently seen fit to place one of its agents in the midst of today’s proceedings. Fortunately, Hoshi’s most recent translator modifications had made the diplomats’ networked communications devices far more eavesdropping‑proof than ever; Ms. Brooks would find that her work was cut out for her today.

Archer turned his attention back to the ring of observers, which suffused the air with a low gabble of anticipatory murmurs. Thanks to the broad circular skylight built into the chamber’s high, vaulted ceiling, the room was bathed in an early afternoon light that saturated the sections of the room not illuminated by ceiling‑mounted fixtures.

An odd feeling of dйjа vu seized Archer at the scene now unfolding below him and his crew. He turned to Phlox and spoke quietly. “Didn’t we just do this two days ago?”

Phlox smiled sagely and pitched his voice as low as Archer’s. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Captain, that the Terra Prime attacks have strained relations between many of the founding members of the Coalition of Planets.”

Archer returned the doctor’s good‑humored smile with a rueful grin of his own. “You’re right, Phlox. Some things aren’t forgotten very easily.” Or forgiven,he added silently. Terra Prime, whose avowed purpose was to evict every alien from Earth and move into the galaxy pursuing a doctrine of humanocentric force rather than inter‑species cooperation, certainly deserved to be forgotten, and belonged in the dustbin of history. But Archer knew in his heart that the misbegotten terror group hadto be remembered, in order to avoid a repetition of its shortsightedness and violence.

It was forgiveness that Earth and her allies had to seek, rather than forgetfulness. Earth needed remembrance, not amnesia.

Archer had seen Terra Prime’s agenda up close, had lost a member of his crew to its fanatical “Earth first for Earth’s people” agenda, and had nearly asphyxiated on Mars while apprehending the radical movement’s founder, John Frederick Paxton. Staring such naked hatred and xenophobia directly in the face had been one of the most harrowing experiences of Archer’s Starfleet career. And he knew full well that his friend Phlox had been on the receiving end of xenophobia himself, during the crew’s shore leave on Earth immediately after the resolution of the Xindi crisis that had gripped the entire planet for almost a year.

“I imagine that each of the Coalition envoys feels an urgent need to reinforce everything they already agree on as they start negotiating some of the Coalition Compact’s stickier points,” Phlox continued. “It’s quite a testament to the goodwill of all the parties involved. Not to take anything away from the persuasive power of the speech you gave in front of the delegates the last time we stood in this room, of course.”

“I never claimed that public speaking was my strong suit,” Archer said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that the Terra Prime incident frightened the Rigelian government into withdrawing from the Coalition, regardless of everything I said to try to stop it. And the Rigelians weren’t the only ones, Phlox.”

Phlox shrugged. “There would have been still more withdrawals had you not spoken, Captain. And the ones that didopt to leave will be back one day, you mark my words.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I just hope I didn’t make things worse by shooting my mouth off.”

Phlox offered a sniffing chuckle that was clearly meant to dismiss Archer’s doubts as absurd. “Far from it, Captain. From what I’ve observed, your words did indeed inspire the remaining delegates to work even harder to prevent this new Coalition from self‑destructing before it can truly begin. In fact, you might be the main reason why these people are gathered here today instead of warping back homeward to explain their withdrawals to their respective governments.”

Archer was rapidly growing uncomfortable with the drift of this conversation, and his forehead and cheeks had begun to feel entirely too warm. He waved his hand as though expecting Phlox’s overly effusive praise to scatter like smoke. “Your job is safe, Phlox. You really don’t have to keep sucking up to me like this.”

But the Denobulan physician was undeterred. “You’ll recall that it was Ambassador Soval who began the rather resounding round of applause that followed your remarks. I’m certain you’ve noticed by now that he isn’t very easily impressed.”

Archer nodded, his gaze lighting briefly on silver‑haired Admiral Sam Gardner, who was standing in the forefront of the crowd of onlookers beside the stern‑faced Admiral Gregory Black and the ramrod‑straight, crew‑cut MACO commander, General George Casey. Archer recalled that nearly four years earlier, Soval hadn’t been bashful about recommending that Admiral Forrest pass him over for the assignment of commanding Enterprisein favor of Gardner, who then had yet to exchange his captain’s bars for an admiral’s desk. Until only about half a year ago, Soval had rarely missed an opportunity to remind Archer that he continually looked askance at both his captaincy and his judgment.

“I’ve got to admit,” Archer said, “Soval can be tough, even as Vulcans go.”

Phlox’s smile briefly widened to preternatural size before returning to typical human proportions. “Precisely, Captain.”

“So the delegates need to emphasize and reinforce all their points of agreement in the wake of the Terra Prime attack,” Archer said. “That makes sense. What doesn’tmake sense to me is doing it in front of a live audience. They must have already had a closed‑door meeting to nail down the substance of whatever they’re planning to announce today.”

“No doubt, Captain,” Phlox said. “But the general public suffered a great deal of psychological trauma at the hands of Terra Prime. And although the terrorists’ actual casualty count was thankfully low, the incident partially reopened some of the profound wounds inflicted by the Xindi nearly two years ago.”

“People don’t easily forget seven million deaths,” Archer said, his mood darkening with the onslaught of bitter memories. Archer suspected that forgiveness for what the Xindi did would probably come only after there was no one left alive on Earth capable of remembering firsthand the horror of March 22, 2153. That’s a wound for future generations to heal,he thought, pining momentarily for a utopian future he knew he’d never glimpse himself. All the more reason why the Coalition of Planetshas to succeed.