A Contest of Principles Read online

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  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  The events in this story take place in the final year of the U.S.S. Enterprise’s five-year mission.

  PROLOGUE

  Planet Vok

  Sector 8491

  “VOTE!” scrolled the window.

  Bloj stepped back to admire the effect. The new smart-glass window at the front of his downtown art gallery worked just as advertised. The blunt imperative scrolled continuously from the top of the window and back again, spelled out in bold phosphorescent purple letters that appeared almost three-dimensional when viewed from any angle. It was a clear spring morning, awash in sunlight, but the glowing message still popped. There was no way any passing driver or pedestrian could miss it, which was precisely the idea.

  “What do you think?” he asked Lesh, who was standing beside him on the sidewalk outside the gallery. Vintage carnival posters, both classical and abstract, could be viewed through the transparent portions of the window, beyond the scrolling “VOTE!” A handheld remote allowed Bloj to tinker with the color, luminosity, and scroll rate of the message, as well as edit the text if necessary. “Pretty dramatic, isn’t it?”

  “It’s eye-catching, all right,” his nephew said, his worried tone and expression betraying a certain lack of enthusiasm. Lesh glanced nervously up and down the sparsely populated sidewalk; it was early enough that the street wasn’t bustling yet, although the neighborhood was already beginning to stir. The younger man, whom Bloj had hired as a favor to his sister, eyed the window with visible discomfort. “Maybe too much so. Are you sure you want to be so… provocative?”

  “Times are changing,” Bloj said. “We don’t have to watch what we say like we did under the old regime.”

  “So they say,” Lesh said skeptically. “But it’s not as though that regime is ancient history. You certain you aren’t jumping the gun here? Maybe we ought to wait until after the election before getting too political?”

  “After the election could be too late. We need to make our voices heard now, at long last.” Bloj contemplated his modest gallery, which had been shut down more than once over the years. “I’ve spent too much of my life having to appease government censors and propaganda officers. Now that we can finally speak our minds, I intend to take full advantage of our new freedoms, no matter—”

  A hover truck pulled up to the curb, hissing loudly to a stop as it settled to the pavement. The men turned toward the vehicle, which was emblazoned with the emblem of a local EPS repair service. A weathered steel door slid open, disgorging the driver, who strode toward them, displeasure written over her all-too-familiar face.

  “Oh, flux,” Lesh moaned.

  Bloj’s own spirits sank, despite his convictions, but he stood his ground as the hefty technician approached, her tool belt jangling from her waist. He braced himself for an ugly confrontation; he and Prav had clashed before over artwork she deemed insufficiently “patriotic.” He suspected that she had also reported him to the authorities in days gone by.

  “What’s this?” she demanded, scowling at the window.

  Bloj refused to be intimidated, even though Prav was a head taller than him and younger and in better shape as well. Platinum-blond dreadlocks framed her bellicose features. Silver epaulets on her shoulders betrayed her loyalty to the old regime.

  “I would think the message is self-explanatory.”

  His answer did not satisfy her. “Who are you voting for?” she asked. “As if I can’t guess.”

  “Doctor Ceff, of course. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Figures.” Prav snorted in disgust. “Should’ve known you’d support that spineless professor. It’s as though you and your sort can’t wait to tear down everything that has kept us strong and secure for generations. Bet you want to appease those barbaric scum on Ozalor, too. Let them steal Braco from us without so much as a fight.”

  “Ceff represents a more enlightened, more peaceful future for all of us,” Bloj said. “I’m sorry you can’t see that.”

  Prav came closer, invading Bloj’s personal space. She loomed over the elderly gallery owner. “Oh, I see you just fine. I see that traitors like you are in for a big surprise when the General takes power.”

  “If your General wins the election,” Bloj corrected her before resolving to get back to work. He knew better than to get sucked into a pointless debate when there was obviously no common ground to be found. “You vote your way and I’ll vote my way, and we’ll see who ends up surprised.”

  “We shouldn’t even be voting in the first place,” Prav snarled. “Everything was fine before subversives like you divided us.”

  “Speak for yourself, please. That’s not how I remember it.”

  Bloj began to turn away from Prav, but she surprised him by snatching the remote from his hand and hurling it at the window with all her strength. The device shattered the smart glass. Jagged shards rained down onto the sidewalk.

  “Oops,” Prav said with a smirk.

  Fury consumed Bloj. “You ignorant bully! You had no right!”

  “What are you going to do about it, old man?” Prav raised her fists, spoiling for a fight. “Show me what you’ve got, art collector.”

  Bloj had never been a brawler, not even in his youth, but he was sorely tempted to oblige her. He trembled with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. He had put up with the likes of Prav for too long. That she thought she could still get away with such tactics infuriated him.

  Just when I thought things were getting better!

  “Leave it, Uncle!” Lesh grabbed his arm to restrain him. “Don’t let her bait you. She’s just looking for an excuse to flatten you!”

  “Listen to the boy.” Prav snickered as she headed back to her vehicle. “And you might want to think twice before trying to stir up any more trouble. Don’t think we’re going to forget whose side you chose once this idiotic election is over.”

  “You can’t stop the future,” Bloj said, his voice thick with emotion. “The military isn’t in charge anymore!”

  “Right,” she scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  She got into her hover truck and cruised away, leaving the vandalized window behind, its shattered message littering the pavement.

  “You see, this is just what I was worried about.” Lesh released Bloj’s arm once Prav was well away. He shook his head at the wreckage. “This election has everyone worked up. You need to be more circumspect.”

  “But I wasn’t even promoting any one candidate over another,” Bloj protested, still shaken by the encounter. His heart drummed even as his blood boiled at the injustice. “I was just urging people to vote, that’s all.”
br />   “These days, that’s enough to set some folks off,” Lesh said. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he inspected the damage. “I told you before, you’re staking too much on this election. Chances are, the whole thing is rigged anyway, so why risk antagonizing people over it?”

  Bloj was dismayed by his nephew’s cynicism. “That’s not true. Good people have fought long and hard to make this election happen. Why, the Federation is sending its own experts to observe the election to guarantee that it’s conducted fairly. The eyes of the entire quadrant are upon us. There’s no way anyone can steal this election!”

  “That,” Lesh said dubiously, “remains to be seen.”

  One

  Captain’s Log, Stardate 6784.1: As the Enterprise nears the end of its five-year mission, we are en route to Vok, an independent world in a sector bordering the outer reaches of the Federation. The planet is about to hold its first free election after being ruled by a military dictatorship for more than a generation. Because tensions are running high, the Federation has been invited to oversee the election as a neutral observer, which may prove challenging given that the results of the election could affect the future of not just Vok but two other neighboring planets.

  “With apologies to Charles Dickens, this is essentially a tale of three worlds,” Commissioner Imogen Dare informed various senior officers of the U.S.S. Enterprise in the ship’s main briefing room. A distinguished Federation diplomat, she was a human in her late fifties, with silver hair and shrewd brown eyes. Her civilian attire was well tailored and professional. “Vok, Ozalor, and Braco.”

  Captain James T. Kirk listened attentively. He was already familiar with the gist of the mission, but he let Dare take the lead on this briefing. Although he had never met her before she came aboard at Starbase R-3, she’d made a good first impression in that she didn’t strike him as being as overbearing or self-important as some other high-ranking dignitaries he could name. He hoped that boded well for their joint assignment.

  “More than two thousand years ago, an apocalyptic interstellar war pretty much wiped out civilization on all three worlds, each of which occupies its own solar system within a common sector,” Dare continued. “After centuries of struggle, their respective peoples have only now climbed back up from post-atomic dark ages to modernity, although much of their early history remains in dispute, surviving only as conflicting legends and scraps of unreliable data. At this point, they are only just warp capable again; in Earth terms, they’re somewhere between Zefram Cochrane and Jonathan Archer, which means they’ve made contact with the Federation, but are probably still generations away from joining us.”

  Graphics on a viewscreen accompanied her briefing. At present, a star chart demonstrated the three planets’ relative proximity to one another. Kirk noted that each world was only a solar system away from the others, making them only a few days’ travel from one another at warp speed. Just as significantly, their sector bordered various outlying Federation colonies and outposts, giving the United Federation of Planets a vested interest in preserving peace in the region lest any conflicts spill over into Federation territory.

  “Vok is our destination,” Dare said, “but their relations with their neighbors are key to understanding the politics involved, as well as all that is at stake.”

  The image on the screen zeroed in on one particular Class-M planet.

  “Ozalor is Vok’s ancient adversary and rival. As noted before, much of the sector’s history was lost to time and the war, including the particulars of who exactly initiated the conflict, but the enmity between Vok and Ozalor has endured in the collective memories and myths of both peoples long after the cataclysm sent them back to the dark ages. These festered and grew during the millennia or so that they had no contact with each other, prior to rediscovering warp travel in the last century or so. We’re talking thousands of years of bad blood, congealed into the bedrock of both resurgent civilizations.”

  “There’s a grisly image,” Doctor Leonard McCoy said. He was seated at the conference table along with Spock. Yeoman Zahra was also on hand to take notes on the meeting. McCoy shook his head. “Too bad there’s no such thing as a cultural anticoagulant when it comes to clotted feuds and prejudices.”

  “If only,” Dare said. “These days Ozalor is a modern, reasonably high-tech monarchy, with whom, unfortunately, the Federation does not have formal diplomatic relations, due to a tragic misunderstanding a few decades ago.”

  “The Pericles affair,” Spock stated. “A most regrettable occurrence.”

  Kirk recalled the incident. A routine first contact had taken a bad turn, leading to a Starfleet landing party being taken hostage. An ensuing rescue attempt had also gone amiss, resulting in fatalities on both sides. Relations between the Federation and Ozalor had been frosty ever since, despite sporadic attempts on the UFP’s part to mend fences. Ozalor preferred to keep the Federation at arm’s length and so Starfleet had given the system a wide berth.

  “Very much so, Mister Spock,” Dare agreed. “And, for better or for worse, the fact that Vok is on friendlier terms with the Federation doesn’t help matters as far as the Ozalorians are concerned.”

  “I can see that,” Kirk said. “Hard to win their trust when we’re already forging ties with their ancient enemy. That’s a tricky nut to crack, diplomatically.”

  “And beyond the purview of this mission,” Dare said. “But rest assured that we can’t talk about the presidential election on Vok without understanding its rivalry with Ozalor, particularly where Braco is concerned.”

  The focus of the viewscreen shifted to the third planet under discussion.

  “Braco is a major bone of contention. Both Vok and Ozalor lay claim to the planet, which is believed to be the ancestral home of both peoples, while the planet’s own population is divided in their loyalties, with some claiming allegiance to Vok and others to Ozalor. After years of strife and civil war, a tentative cease-fire is in effect, with the planet being jointly administered by a provisional government representing both factions, but the planet’s long-term status and loyalties remain precariously unresolved. The possibility of a proxy war, with Vok and Ozalor supporting opposing forces, or, worse yet, a hot war between Vok and Ozalor, remains a very real possibility… and a major issue in the presidential election on Vok.”

  “How so?” McCoy asked.

  “On one side you have the hardliners, headed by a General Gogg, who is affiliated with the old military regime. He and his fellow hawks feel strongly that Braco belongs to Vok and resist any sort of compromise on the issue. On the other side, you have Doctor Ceff, an intellectual and reformer who is committed to working out a peaceful solution to the Braco issue.” Dare paused to take a sip of water before proceeding. “Frankly, the Federation would prefer that Ceff win the election, but we need to fall over backward to avoid any hint of favoritism. We can’t take sides if we’re to fulfill our role as impartial observers.”

  “Understood,” Kirk said. “What challenges do you anticipate us encountering once we reach Vok?”

  “Difficult to say, Captain. An executive committee is temporarily in charge of the planet’s government, but tensions are running high in anticipation of the election, with threats and accusations flying back and forth between the rival camps and unrest simmering amongst the populace. Among other tasks, securing a fair election may entail preventing voter intimidation, not to mention protecting the safety of the candidates and their supporters.”

  Kirk nodded. He wanted to believe that elections and bloodshed were incompatible, but galactic history suggested that democracies sometimes experienced violent birth pangs—and didn’t always survive. The descent of the First Sybellan Republic into anarchy came immediately to mind, as did the bloody Ballot Wars of Tammuz VI and too many other cautionary examples. Nobody wanted to see Vok turn into another failed state or dictatorship.

  “You can count on the Enterprise and its crew, Commissioner, to provide whatever assistance
you require.”

  “Thank you, Captain Kirk.” She swept her steely gaze over her audience. “Let me stress the importance of ensuring a peaceful transition of power on Vok. Beyond the humanitarian aspects of our mission, the last thing anyone wants is war and chaos spreading into neighboring sectors. Fair elections on Vok won’t resolve all the tensions in the region overnight, but, fortune willing, they’ll bring greater stability to the sector… and that’s in everyone’s best interests.”

  McCoy sighed. “I’ll stick to medicine if you don’t mind. Politics brings out the cynic in me.”

  “You’re not alone there,” Dare conceded. “Ambrose Bierce once defined politics as ‘a strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles.’ ”

  “Let’s hope for more of the latter,” Kirk said, “and less of the former.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” McCoy said.

  * * *

  “So I understand you’ve been to Vok before?” Kirk asked Dare as the landing party prepared to beam down to Yant, the planet’s capital city, to meet with the presidential candidates. He was decked out in his dress uniform for the occasion.

  “That’s right,” she replied. “Years ago, as a junior member of the diplomatic corps, I helped establish formal relations with Vok. One of my first big assignments, actually, so I have a personal attachment to the planet and its inhabitants. It’s a terrific world, full of natural beauty, a rich culture, and warm, welcoming people, even if, politically, they’ve gone through some difficult times over the last few decades. The military staged a coup twenty-seven years ago, during a severe economic downturn, but the people are ready to try democracy again.”

  “I look forward to getting to know them,” Kirk said.

  The Enterprise had made good time getting to Vok. The election was still more than a week away, giving them time to get settled in to observe the proceedings. For this initial meeting, Kirk had kept the landing party to a minimum in order to seem less like an occupying force. Only he, Dare, and Yeoman Zahra occupied the transporter platform. Spock had the bridge, while McCoy had seemed happy to stay put in sickbay for “medical reasons.”