Chapters 21-25

Chapter 21

It all came back to me, immediately, when I saw her face. And I felt ashamed.

Not only had I forgotten about Tuvix, but for months now I’d been telling myself that I’d done so for the greater good--for the Romulans alive who needed my help.

What absurd expediency. And what hypocrisy. Just as I was enraged at the judges’ call for more restrictive rules to wallpaper over their paranoia, I too had used sophistry to wallpaper over my laziness. I could have spent my time working for Tuvix and those refugees. But I hadn’t.

“Who are you?” she barked at me, breaking my daydream.

What happened next happened quickly, but don’t think I didn’t plan it, I didn’t mean to do it, or I acted rashly. And yes, I know that I am admitting to premeditated treason. I do not care. I have justice on my side and you do not.

I jumped to the console, turned off the internal sensors and cameras, and deleted footage for the last twenty minutes. That could easily look like battle damage, no problem. Then I set an alarm on my padd that would be triggered if anyone was within 5 meters of the front door. That would buy me time in case anyone was about to come in without there being a logged event that would show up on an investigation. Yes, I was covering my tracks because I was about to do something very illegal.

“I really don’t want to tell you my name,” I said. “Are you with the rangers?”

“So what if I am?” she demanded.

I looked at the console. “Three of your ships are caught in tractor beams. I can get you back on one of them.”

She looked surprised. “Why would you help me?”

“I’ll offer you a very simple deal,” I told her. “I’ll get you off this ship, in exchange for one thing: you promise to tell Chakotay to talk to me.”

She looked genuinely surprised, even confused, at what I’d said. “Why?” she asked.

“It has to do with a man named Tuvix.”

“Tuvix?” she repeated. “I do not recognize that name.”

“He has a man created by a transporter accident with Neelix and Tuvok. They were combined,” I continued. “I have reason to believe Janeway acted illegally in this case and have been investigating it ever since.”

“Whatever Janeway did, it was the right thing to do,” Seven said, echoing the relentless loyalty to this woman I’d seen from other former crewmembers. I was not surprised.

“Maybe, but I need to speak to Chakotay. You can make that easier.”

“To what end?”

Her persistence annoyed me. “To bring Janeway to justice!” I snapped. “She killed a man in cold blood and I will see to it that she pays for her crimes.”

Seven held my gaze, emotionless Borg-like expression unchanging. “You will fail.”

To be honest, that scared me. She was an imposing figure. Not Borg anymore, but it was honestly hard not to imagine Seven somehow injecting me with nanoprobes and turning me into a drone then and there, even if a force field separated us. I am not tough, I am not brave; I’m a law clerk. I was clearly out of my depth.

So I swallowed, looked down, and said, “I probably will. But I have to try.”

That, surprisingly, seemed to soften her, and her tone shifted from Borg to something much more... maternal. “I understand. I can tell Chakotay to talk to you.”

Was it that easy?

“I trust you,” I said. And I did; everything I knew about Seven of Nine, both from her time on Voyager and afterwards, told me that she had embodied the Federation values of honor and integrity to a much greater extent than her former shipmates, least of all her former captain that she loved so dear.

At the very least, she was no Jenner.

“I’ll lower the force field and let you beam back to your ship,” I said. “You can put in the coordinates and access the site-to-site transporter from here. Then you’ll need to break out of our tractor beam--I’m sorry, but I can’t help with--”

“Not a problem,” she said immediately. “That will be very easy to manage.'

“Okay, let’s get to it,” I said, then immediately lowered the force field. My tactics weren’t perfect; she could have killed me if she wanted to, as I had no phaser and no means to protect myself. But if everything I’d read about Seven was true, she would not hurt me.

She came to me and I instinctually backed off. She was the same height as me, but she felt much taller. And she was unquestionably much tougher.

She turned to the console, started pushing buttons, and said, “thank you. I feel your priorities are misguided, but I can tell you are a genuinely good person. Which is why I am going to do this to you.”

And that’s when I blacked out.

Chapter 22

I awoke in sickbay in the slight haze of some kind of sedative, and a nurse immediately came to my side.

“He’s awake!” she called out.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Seven of Nine broke free and knocked you unconscious,” she said. “You’re lucky she didn’t kill you.”

No luck at all--Seven wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t even the type of person who could harm the innocent. That was obvious. Then I realized what she did--she’d knocked me out to make it look like I hadn’t colluded with her at all. Smart.

“Yes, vigilantes are terrifying,” I said. “My head doesn’t hurt anymore, but I am quite tired--”

“Yes, you need to rest,” the nurse said. And so I did.

I hadn’t forgotten that I’d just broken the law. Unlike the leaking garbage, this time my offense was real: treason, not a small crime at all. In a moment of panic I remembered the alarm on my padd, which, if anyone saw it, could lead them to connect the dots that I’d colluded with Seven on her escape.

I was grateful that Seven had hit me, because I needed to avoid scrutiny if I could. At the same time, I knew that even the slightest hint of a chance that I could be found at fault would have Gaberman sicing attack dogs on me as fast as he could.

“Nurse, do you happen to have my padd?”

She nodded, took it from a tray nearby and handed it to me. “It was with you when we found you.”

I took it, looked at the system log, saw no one had opened it since I did. Good. I quickly deleted the alarm subroutine and purged it from the records. I might even recycle the padd when I got back to my quarters, just for good measure.

I tried to relax--there was nothing more I could do.

Two days later, I was given orders reassigning me back to Earth. I was to act as support to the General Prosecutor on some of the Fenris rangers we’d arrested in the Qiris Sector; they’d all face trial at Starfleet Headquarters, a highly symbolic decision to make it clear that the rangers were not allies to the Federation. That, I knew, was an important decision that I ultimately agreed with; if the Romulans felt the rangers were an extension of the Federation, they’d be furious, furious enough to try to start a war that they had no chance of winning.

So the rangers would face justice in a politically useful suite of trials for the hundreds of captured men and women of the Fenris group. And they deserved it--some of them had done heinous things. All of them faced the same charge: inciting acts of violence and terrorism in a demilitarized zone. The penalty? Five years imprisonment.

From a legal perspective, this was less of an open-and-shut case as you’d expect. The DMZ was such thanks to a longstanding treaty with the Romulan Star Empire, but that empire no longer existed, making it easy for the defense to call into question the validity of these charges. A silly loophole, for sure, but one that had significant legal weight behind it.

That would require us to retry them as domestic terrorists in Federation space--a different charge with the same penalty, but that charge would mean the Federation was asserting the Neutral Zone was Federation territory. The Romulans were no longer a coherent government, so they couldn’t stand to contest that claim, but it would infuriate the Klingons, who would see it as a land grab that could put their own empire at risk. Not to mention the Orions, Ferengi, and Cardassians all looking similarly critically at such a specious claim, possibly resulting in the Federation isolating itself and facing a war on multiple fronts.

The General Prosecutor had been working with the Federation General Ambassador and the Ambassadors of Earth, Vulcan, Bajor, and Klingon on this, and they’d agreed that if they lost this case they’d just let the vigilantes go. That was the most likely outcome of this case, which in turn would make the ex-DMZ a de facto lawless area that the Rangers could feasibly roam with impunity. Billions of lives in that region could suffer as a result.

To my mind, the only way to stop this was if someone with a strong moral backbone rose to power among the rangers--someone like Seven of Nine. I’d never thought the Maquis was evil--after all, you could have good organizations living outside of Federation law (especially, as the case of Tuvix showed, the Federation often failed to live up to its ideals). Maybe the Rangers would be the next generation of Maquis? And maybe they’d give those billions of lives a better life.

Intergalactic politics are hard.

Anyhow, my task for the moment was to ensure the filings in 73 cases assigned to me went smoothly and each went according to schedule. The General Prosecutor and his senior staff would be in the courtroom for the cases themselves--I just had to make sure everyone was in the right courtroom at the right time and the right evidence was where it was supposed to be. Well, it wasn’t just my responsibility; there were 47 of us clerks working on these cases.

My career was shaping up to be a very weird one. From romantic getaways with a beautiful Bajoran to facing death on a battleship patrolling the neutral zone--and now to a job of very dull administrative tasks for a bunch of lawsuits that were probably going to fail. All within two years of leaving the academy. It was my fault, I fully admit; had I not angered Gaberman and incited a mini-rebellion, I probably would have been promoted at the end of my six-month period in the DMZ. As it was, Gaberman pushed me out of my post early, I was disliked by a fair share of Starfleet, and HR was happy to put me in an incredibly boring and low profile position.

Of course, punitive reassignments like this were against the rules, which is why I planned to lodge a formal complaint as soon as I could. Well, that was the plan at first. I spent much of the trip back to Earth drafting it.

A reassignment would not change the fact that I had a lot of enemies now, and the political hot potato that I suddenly was meant I’d have plenty of enemies no matter where I went.

A man in such a situation should do what I had planned to do before meeting Seven: start a political career and work at steering the Federation back to its destined path to greatness. And if I hadn’t met Seven, that’s exactly what I would have done.

I’d been back to Earth just two days, barely over my jetlag and gravity sickness before I got the call from Chakotay. I was stunned--not that Seven of Nine had pulled through, but that he would be contacting me before I could reach him.

“Jason, Chakotay here. Seven told me you’ve been looking for me.”

My heart skipped a beat. My com went off while I was having breakfast with Lauren, and when she heard who it was she did not look happy. I mouthed, “sorry,” and went into our home office and shut the door.

“Chakotay, I wasn’t expecting you to contact me. Thank you for--”

“No need to thank me, Seven told me you wanted to learn more about Tuvix.”

Everyone so far had tiptoed around this man’s name and his story so much that Chakotay’s to-the-point way of addressing the matter really caught me off guard.

But this was in no way as scary as being in a room alone with Seven. I could handle it.

“Yes, would it be possible for us to meet? I’m trying to understand this story as best I can.”

“Let me send you coordinates in Argentina,” he said. “Beam in this evening and we can talk.”

Perfect.

Chapter 23

“You’re quite the rabble rouser, aren’t you?”

It was the first thing Chakotay said after I beamed to his coordinates in Argentina. I’d expected it to be his home or nearby; in fact, I’d beamed into a steakhouse full of families and couples happily eating.

Life was so easy on Earth and so hard elsewhere.

I was about to respond, but Chakotay beat me to it. “Let’s grab a table. Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” I said. I’d never been to Argentina before, but their steak was a centuries-old cuisine that I was eager to try. Before manufactured beef was invented, the Argentinian countryside was devastated to make room for cow pastures; now the rainforest was back and steaks were lab grown, but otherwise the tradition stayed intact.

“Why am I a rabble rouser?” I said in a tone that was hopefully jocular. If Chakotay took offense, he didn’t show it.

“Well, first there’s the whole Romulan thing and now you’re asking about Tuvix? Just what are you up to?”

The waiter came, took our orders. I waited for him to leave before I replied.

“I am a lawyer,” I said plainly, honestly. “I care about justice more than anything, and I seek it wherever I go.”

“Well that’s certainly admirable--everyone can agree with that,” Chakotay said. “But what does that have to do with Tuvix?”

He looked genuine as he asked it, as if he could not possibly fathom that there was anything wrong with how things had unfolded for the man, or that anyone could see it that way.

Was Chakotay an idiot? Was he a monster? I found myself quickly loathing the man. While I regretted yelling at Tom Paris, who was likely a misguided good person, I was now wondering if Chakotay was like the admirals at my trial--simply unaware of their own cruel instincts.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to answer your question with a question. Would you mind telling me what happened with Tuvix?”

“Well that’s pretty easy to answer,” Chakotay said. “There was a transporter accident. Neelix and Tuvok were merged. Then we found a way to unmerge them.”

“That’s it?” I asked incredulously.

“That’s it.”

“How did he get unmerged? I mean, can you tell me the story of how it unfolded?”

“Let me see,” Chakotay said, sitting back in his chair. He took his glass of water, took a deep sip, looked to the ceiling. I genuinely think he’d forgotten about it and needed time to remember Tuvix’s final moments.

I started to lean more towards monster than idiot.

“I was on the bridge,” he said slowly as the memories percolated. “Janeway was there too, of course, and she came up and told Tuvix they’d found a way to get him back to normal. Then they went to sickbay, I think, and--” he trailed off.

“Wait a minute,” he said, opening his padd. “I can just show you. I’ve got access to the records.”

This surprised me. I knew Chakotay would have Voyager log access, but I hadn’t thought of the logs of that moment. I knew bridges were constantly monitored for security purposes, but I’d somehow forgotten this during my investigation as I was focusing so much on just getting to the people involved. But why bother when there’s a record?

So he showed me what happened.

It was jarring seeing Tuvix in a video--he did not look like how I’d expected. He looked better. I’d assumed a kind face; his was kinder. I expected dignity behind his eyes; he was more dignified.

And however much bravery I had expected him to show in his final moments was nothing compared to what he did on that bridge.

I saw the man resign himself to his fate and step into that turbolift, marching to an execution he did not deserve. I cannot say I would be as steely in such a situation. The carpet would be soaked with my urine and tears.

But not Tuvix. The man did not live long, but he lived well. And he died well--something I cannot say for Janeway.

Or, for that matter, her senior officers. I didn’t realize no one stood in Janeway’s way or even voiced a complaint. But when Tuvix pleaded for their support, when he asked them to pay back his friendship with the small act of saying he does not deserve to die, they turned their back on him.

It was horrific, like watching old footage of the callous murders of the Eugenics Wars or the post-atomic horror.

“Each of you is going to have to live with this, and I’m sorry for that. For you are all good, good people. My colleagues, my friends. I forgive you.”

When he said this, I started crying. No, I am not embarrassed about it, and if anyone in the restaurant looked at me, I did not care. I didn’t see anyone or anything except that screen.

“What’s wrong with you?” Chakotay asked, his tone more gruff and antagonistic than what you’d expect from a decent human being faced with someone experiencing grief. I was horrified on so many levels all at once. He clearly did not realize he had been an accessory to murder--or if he did, he didn’t care. And he lacked the common decency to try to console a human being in his presence. Plus, he seemed genuinely not to understand that I was sad for the death of another sentient human being. It was like he was a sociopath.

Why the hell did Seven ever date this man?

I knew Chakotay’s background, about his absconding from Starfleet and his work with the Maquis. Now I wondered if he went to fight to defend people from the Cardassians, or if he went so that he could kill.

And if Chakotay was that sadistic, what else about him was a carefully manufactured lie? Was Chakotay really a Native American? Could his ethnicity be an invention used to manipulate other people?

Who was the monster I was sitting next to?

My realization that the rot went deeper than Janeway meant I had to change my tactics. I was no longer interviewing witnesses to a crime; I was witnessing co-conspirators. They had all killed Tuvix, all of them.

And I would make them pay.

“I’m sorry,” I said, deciding truth was no longer an option nor a moral imperative with this monster. “My mother just died last week, and the video reminded me of that.”

“Oh.”

Yes, he really did say that. No attempt to console me, no words of sympathy, not even the bare minimum “I’m sorry for your loss” that basic manners require. I knew from all that I’d read from Voyager that Chakotay was a charming man who charmed a lot of people (even the hard-to-impress ex-Borg, herself one of the most desirable women of any quadrant thanks to her beauty and intelligence), so it was obvious that he was intentionally turning the charm off with me.

Maybe he really did know that he had been an accessory to murder and that I was on the warpath for justice. And for that reason was not turning on the charm. I was an enemy.

But...that’s not a very sociopathic modus operandi. If he knew that, wouldn’t he then try to charm me to get me off his (and Voyager’s) tracks? And why would he even show me that video?

His demeanour and his personality weren’t fitting, and frankly none of this made any sense at all. Which made me wonder if perhaps that was the goal--get me disoriented so I couldn’t think critically.

There was only one way to figure things out. At the moment I thought what I was about to say was a huge gamble, but it was worth taking. Of course, I now know it was a big mistake.

“The footage you’ve just shown me is clear evidence of a crime,” I said evenly, my lawyer mode helping cool my nerves and get control of my emotions again. Yes, I was still sad, but now I had a job to do. “Janeway committed an act of murder and, according to Starfleet regulations, subordinates are obligated to intervene when their superior commits a felony. That doesn’t apply to you, as you were not technically Starfleet at the time, but your inaction is undoubtedly an act of misdemeanor accessory to a murder, which probably won’t get you jailtime but you will certainly be found guilty of.” I didn’t wait for him to respond. “As an officer in General Prosecutor’s office, I will make sure this evidence is subpoenaed and you are arrested and put on trial.”

Chakotay laughed--a genuine laugh, I could easily tell. He wasn’t trying to intimidate me; he was genuinely amused. Then I realized what he’d been doing all this time--he’d had no strategy with me at all. To him I was like a bug, harmless and miniscule, worth entertaining up to a point, but that point was over.

“You really are a rabble rouser,” Chakotay said calmly. “Look, it’s obvious this was nothing even close to murder and it’s even more obvious that you just like causing trouble for honest, decent, good people. You should take a look in the mirror--if you think you’re a good person, you are not.”

He stood up. “I don’t think it’s wise for me to entertain your delusions any further. You don’t deserve my time. In fact, you don’t deserve the time of anyone who was on Voyager. They were and are all heroes. You are nothing.”

And I was alone, half-eaten steak in front of me.

Chapter 24

I took a shuttle back to Guatemala, figuring I’d use the time alone to think about my next steps. What I’d said was only partly true; I could get a complaint filed to the GP’s office, but it wouldn’t become an actual charge unless I was in the office to make sure it got vetted and followed through. If I didn’t, it’d be considered the lowest priority in the office and wouldn’t get investigated for years, if ever.

And that was the paradox. If I filed the complaint, I’d be considered an interested party and could not do anything with the investigation itself--conflict of interest rules clearly made that impossible. I needed an accomplice; someone to file the complaint, so then I could make formal requests for records, which I could then use to get actual charges filed.

That was the point where I realized just how lucky I was. Gaberman had tried to get me in a dull dead-end job as punishment. Little did he realize that dull dead-end job was actually a tool I could use to right a historical wrong. Maybe when this was all done and Janeway was in jail, I could write him a thank you note?

That thought made me smile.

But one step at a time. My position meant I could get a case going, but only after someone else got it started. That was the hard part.

If I got someone to make the complaint, the rest would fall into place; that video alone was evidence enough, and on-the-record statements from a few officers who were on the bridge, possibly even the Doctor himself, would be enough, pretty much as long as they said that Janeway solely decided as captain that Tuvix would undergo the procedure. That was enough; that and the video of Tuvix resisting were evidence of misconduct leading to homicide.

So I needed an accomplice.

But who? The Doctor and Kim weren't an option; both had something to lose, and neither seemed eager to pursue the matter. Lauren probably wouldn’t do it if I asked, and I can’t blame her for that; angering admirals is a terrifying prospect for anyone, in Starfleet or out. Not that that was even an option; related parties, lovers, friends of an investigator filing a complaint meant having to recuse oneself, and I wouldn’t be able to choose who got the case. If it was someone I couldn’t influence, again it’d be shelved. Plus, the chances of me actually being able to influence someone at the office into going through with the investigation were nil, since that would technically be misconduct and a fireable offense for both of us.

I definitely needed an accomplice.

That’s when I realized I needed a new tack: the junior staff. I first contacted Ayala, an ex-Marquis who worked security on Voyager. He ignored my message. So I went through the manifest and started sending messages to everyone whose name I saw.

Two weeks went by after I sent those mass messages, and no response. This was insane. I messaged a total of 87 people, and not a single one got back to me.

I had no proof, but it seemed pretty obvious to me that Chakotay had told everyone to not talk to me and that I was snooping in their “family’s” business. (It’s a well known fact that the Voyager crew sees itself as a family, and now I was starting to see them as one too--a mafia family).

That was annoying, to be sure, but it also made me even more confident that I was doing the right thing. Innocent people have nothing to hide, and this conspiracy to shut me out was as close to an admission of guilt as you could get.

However, this also put me at a standstill. If I couldn’t talk to any more Voyager crew, I couldn’t get a sympathetic junior staffer to file the complaint I needed. And I needed that to actually see this thing through.

What about family? Neelix was still in the Delta Quadrant and uncontactable, and even if I could reach him, I couldn’t see any way to convince any of them. And while I could theoretically get to Vulcan and talk to Tuvok, none of them would have a motive to file a complaint either.

Even as I thought that to myself, I realized it was not true.

If I could appeal to Tuvok’s logical side, surely he would file the complaint himself. Logically, Janeway’s action fell under the technical definition of murder, and it would be unethical and a violation of Tuvok’s oath to protect the ideals of the Federation to stop her from facing justice. Tuvok once told Tom Paris he would help to get Paris convicted if he’d committed the murder he was once accused of (spoiler: he wasn’t), so even if he weren’t a Vulcan I knew Tuvok would turn Janeway in for her crime--it was keeping with who he was as a person.

But, I couldn’t help but realize in a painful moment, then why hasn’t Tuvok made a complaint yet?

I had to console myself with the theory that Tuvok, who had no memory of his time as Tuvix, also had never been informed of Tuvix’s last moments, his lack of consent, and Janeway’s responsibility. Vulcans did not routinely gossip, and there would be no logical reason to ask too many questions about Tuvix after the fact. Maybe--just maybe--he didn’t know what happened. Maybe subconsciously he didn’t really want to know, either. Who would want this burden, especially knowing their existence was thanks to an act of cold blooded murder?

I arrived at the house in Guatemala. Lauren was there.

I immediately went to my computer console and looked at flights to Vulcan. There were a lot, as always, and not much vacancy for the next three weeks. I did see one open chair on one ship to Vulcan a week from next Friday; other than that, I’d have to wait nearly a month to get to Tuvok.

I would have to reserve the seat fast. Obviously, interstellar personal transport from Earth is rationed; we may be a post-scarcity society, but that didn’t mean things like warp-capable ships were available at the snap of your fingers. All flights had to be scheduled in person at one of the ten interstellar stations, but since it was nighttime in Guatemala the Americas station was closed.

I immediately beamed to Singapore, where it was morning, and rushed to the reservation counters to make my request.

“I’m sorry, that seat has been filled,” the clerk said. I can’t say I was surprised--interstellar travel is hard to find, and humans love filling their time with trips to other planets. Vulcan was one of the busiest hubs for civilian travel; and now, thanks to some sex tourist on his way to Risa, I’d have to wait three weeks.

So be it.

“I’ll take the next available seat, anytime, any craft,” I said.

And that’s how I ended up on a Rigelian freighter to Vulcan.

Chapter 25

Rigelians are known for their multiple biological sexes and rationality, which makes them an enlightened species if not that much fun. For this reason I expected the trip to Vulcan to be dull. This might be unfair and possibly speciesist, especially since I had never met a Rigellian before. But it was the naive assumption I had before I jumped on that ship. And I was fine with that; after all, my journey was a serious one, and I’d just spent three weeks anxiously waiting to get back to the important business of avenging the death of an innocent man.

In reality, Rigelians are a lot more fun than their enlightened philosophy and Vulcan-like reputation would lead you to believe. Perhaps the stupefying complex gender politics in Rigelian culture is why they are gregarious and warmhearted. Whatever the reason, I remain glad that I met Sielox.

Sielox was a Rigelian dostrand (one of their genders) who was assigned as my party’s escort for the trip. There were twenty of us hitching a ride, and Sielox’s job was to make sure we stayed out of secured areas and didn’t try to abscond any of their cargo--not that Earthers were in the habit of stealing things. Still, protocol is protocol, and I was glad of that, because it’s how I got to meet my new friend.

“This is the first time I’ve met a celebrity” I heard her say behind me. I was in the mess hall having lunch. I turned around and there she was, standing behind me, tray in hand with some kind of dish with blue tubers on it. It looked good, if strange.

“I’m hardly that,” I said as she sat down. “Thank you for giving us the tour earlier,” I added, with genuine gratitude in my voice.

“Not at all,” Sielox said. “Your first time on a Rigelian ship?”

“My first time with Rigelians,” I replied. “Humans have a deep respect for your culture, but I admit I’m a pretty sheltered Earther.”

“No need to respect us!” she laughed. “But it is a kind thought.”

“Can I ask what you are eating?” I asked.

“Tapserat,” she replied, cutting a small piece and putting it on the side of my plate. “Please have some.”

I did. The taste is hard to describe; if you imagine a mixture of truffle, garlic, and bacon mixed with sweet potato and a hint of black coffee. It was delicious. “What’s in it?”

She laughed. “Tapserat!” she said. “That’s all it is; boiled tapserat.” She could see the confusion on my face, and I could see in her eyes that she was relishing my confusion. “It is a fruit grown on Rigel V, and it’s one of our stable dishes.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit embarrassed. I felt like a dumb bumpkin, and for good reason. Not knowing tapserat is like not knowing gagh or that Vulcans have pointed ears.

“No need to be shy,” she said, smiling in encouragement. I think she realized I was ashamed at my provincial ignorance of foreign cultures, and she was suddenly very eager to put me at ease. “There’s a lot about human culture I didn’t know either. I had pasta for the first time last week--it was amazing!”

Calling “pasta” amazing was discordant to say the least; what pasta, what sauce, what meat? Pasta by itself is nothing all that extraordinary--and her odd comment made me realize, in a way, we’re all provincial. The universe was too diverse to be able to keep up with it all.

“You know we have five genders, right?” she asked.

I was now comfortable enough with her to admit my own ignorance. She definitely had charisma. “I thought it was four.”

“The fifth is pretty rare,” she said, “so a lot of people make that mistake. But technically five. Do you know which I am?”

I laughed. “I don’t even know their names!” I admitted, which made us both laugh.

“I am dostrand, and in English we’re usually given female pronouns,” she continued. That made sense, I thought; she did not look entirely feminine, but she didn’t look masculine either, and if I had to choose one side of the spectrum for her, feminine is where I’d put her. But I could also see how some dostrands would use another pronoun.

Alien physiology was fascinating, but it could also be a bit exhausting at times.

“I really appreciate knowing that. It is hard with Rigelians, I have to admit. Are you offended if we use the wrong pronoun when referring to you?”

“No, never,” she said. “Rigelians have better things to occupy their time with than finding ways to be upset at minor cultural differences. Besides, most Rigelians don’t know any human languages and the universal translator gets the pronouns right every time.”

I wondered just how many awkward clashes of culture were avoided thanks to the universal translator? Clearly one of the greatest inventions in Federation history.

“Well, I am a ‘he’ if you didn’t already realize,” I said.

She smiled. “Don’t worry--you might find our genders hard, but for us your male/female is pretty easy.”

“Boring, even?”

“I didn’t want to say it,” she said lightly. “But, maybe.”

“I wish male/female relations were boring,” I replied.

“Ah yes, your romance dramas are quite fun. I saw a few human holonovels on Earth.”

“They’re not popular on Rigel?”

“Not particularly,” she said, “but I might change that. I’ve brought some with me that I’m hoping to market back home. There are a few Rigelians will like.”

“You’re an ambassador of Earth culture--I should thank you.”

“Rather I should thank you for the hospitality. Earth was a wonderful place to visit.”

That genuinely delighted me. “I am always happy to hear aliens appreciate our hospitality,” I replied.

“One of my favorite things about Earth is its politics. Especially when it comes to the freedom of information.”

Over the last three weeks I’d been stopped in public more than once by people who wanted to tell me they supported me. It was flattering, if a bit unnerving; I’d always faded into the background, and suddenly having strangers recognize me was an extreme change of pace. Lauren liked it, though.

That was why I knew what Sielox was implying: she knew about my case. “I take it you’re a fan of Gaberman?”

“Of course not!” she replied. “I want you to know you were right to do what you did and it took real courage to tell the Romulans the truth. Your case is not known among Rigelians, but I plan on writing a story about it when I get back.”

“You are a journalist?” I asked, suddenly a bit nervous.

She nodded. “I write for the Rigelian news service in my spare time. I used to do it full time, but I wasn’t getting assigned to any off-world stories, so I went freelance and took up a day job as a freight hauler.”

“I imagine there are few journalist/freight workers.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only one,” she said with a smile. “But I like it that way.”

“Why is that?”

“Working freight is honest, unpretentious work. My colleagues here are genuine people who have no delusions of grandeur. That is the exact opposite of just about every journalist on Rigel.”

“Sounds like lawyers.”

“Including you?” she asked. A month ago I would have been startled, but I’d gotten used to people knowing more about me than I knew about them. It came with fame (or infamy, since I had both).

“Especially me!”

She laughed.

“But seriously, I do hope I can make the galaxy a more just place.”

“By sharing more information?” she asked.

“Of course,” I replied. I didn’t want to tell her about Tuvix--at that point, I felt there was nothing to gain from making my investigation public. Better to let her know me as the guy who fought for Romulans, not as the guy fighting for Tuvix.

“Want to share some information with me?”

Ah--so that was what was behind this friendliness. She was looking for a scoop. I didn’t blame her; it’s not like she was flirting with me, and if she was looking for a human friend there were a lot of options. But a law clerk with a history of telling people things that officials don’t want them to know--how could a journalist not seek me out?

I’d like to say I thought of some masterplan to take advantage of this situation for myself, that Sielox’s meeting was a fortuitous opportunity where I could move the next chess piece in my game against Janeway and injustice, getting closer to capturing the queen.

In reality, I just said the first thing that crossed my mind.

“I think there’s more corruption amongst the admirals than many people think,” I replied. “Think about Jenner’s speech at my trial. He knew the law was on my side but he still tried to use his chance to speak to get the entire Federation to hate me, even when I was in the right, legally.”

“Is that corruption?” Sielox replied. I appreciated this as only a lawyer would; we were still strangers at this point, and perhaps most people would be somewhat miffed at a stranger challenging their moral worldview. For me, it was an opportunity to get closer to the truth and be on the right side of history.

“Not in a legal or technical sense, but it is immoral,” I replied. “He was trying to prejudice the audience by grandstanding and calling me irresponsible and evil, without admitting both he and I were doing what we thought was right--we just had different perspectives on what was the truly right course of action.”

“You sound like a politician,” she replied.

That surprised me. “I do? How so?”

“On Rigel, politicians do their best to describe both sides of a debate,” she replied. “They try to explain why their opponents think they are acting in the best interests of everyone. That way they can then explain why their opponents are wrong.”

“Fascinating,” I said, genuinely fascinated. “Human politicians tend to just say their opponents are acting in bad faith, or they’re lying.”

“Even when they’re not?” she replied.

“Of course.”

“Doesn’t that mean that they, in fact, are the ones who are lying?”

“Lying is part of the job description,” I said. “Politicians have been known for lying for centuries.”

Now it was Sielox’s turn to be surprised.

“However has Earth survived for so long?”

I laughed. “Well, we almost didn’t. This is why we had three world wars.”

More surprise. “You did?”

Now it was my turn--I explained the three wars as quickly as I could, and in doing so I realized just how horrible of a picture I was painting of humanity. “I assure you, we’re not so bad now,” I said. I kind of hated that I was using the rhetoric of post-progression, but in this context it seemed necessary.

“Maybe there are more holonovels worth importing than I’d thought,” Sielox said. “Your history is extremely colorful.”

“I sometimes worry that it’s too colorful, especially compared to our present,” I replied. “Earth is a peaceful place and has been for centuries, but peace is boring. As a result, we’ve explored the stars. And that’s great--we’ve met wonderful species, like Regelians. But we’ve also met the Dominion and the Borg.”

Sielox’s back stiffened, and her mood completely changed. “You aren’t...an isolationist?” She whispered the last word.

“Oh of course not!” I immediately said. I flushed, embarrassed that I’d come across as something so vile. “I would never, ever. The Federation is the most important force for good in the galaxy and has improved billions and billions of lives. I would never go back, and I hope the Federation brings in more worlds and, eventually, makes the entire galaxy a friendly and prosperous place. In fact, if I could bet latinum on the Federation lasting longer than any other institution in the galaxy, I would. Not that I’ve ever owned any latinum, mind you.”

She laughed. “It’s not that special, trust me.”

“I’m sorry if I came across as an isolationist,” I said.

“Oh you didn’t--and I’m sorry for using that word.” It was hurtful, I must admit. “I know very few humans are these days.”

“Sadly there still are some, and xenophobia is a cancer that quickly can spread. I refuse to socialize with isolationists, end of story.”

“Me too,” she replied. “Which is why we can be friends.”

“We’re friends?” I asked.

“We are now.”