Paradise Bought: Chapter 1:
Paradise Bought
Notes: This takes place after the first three years of the initial mission, but prior to the end of the five-year mission.
Chapter 1: I Cried at Pity
But not to touch, or wish for,
Or think of, with a sigh --
And so and so -- had been to me,
Had God willed differently
By Emily Dickinson
Captain’s Log: Stardate: 2271
We are in orbit around Coridan, one of the Federation’s newest members. Their admission into the Federation was and has caused a highly volatile discussion, especially with regard to dilithium mining rights. Politically, they have maintained certain independence, not much is known about their social structures. What we do know is that they have historically experienced a great deal of political unrest. Most recently, there have been reports of terrorism, particularly in their major cities.
Their Council of Elders has requested a Federation Representative aid them with alleged alien incursions and domestic terrorism on their planet. They report ‘undesirables’ have engaged in strikes, particularly with regard to mining operations, bombings of major cities and rioting. They believe these undesirables are funded, in part, by an off planet consortium, that is interested in overthrowing their current government, thus gaining access to the planet’s rich resources.
This opposing faction is made up of a citizens who are protesting their lack of civil rights, representation in the legitimate government, and demanding protection from what is apparently, alien influence in their society. Their definition of ‘undesirables’ is anyone who disagrees with the current government’s position on mining rights and undocumented labor.
At best, we hope to act as intermediaries between the two factions, aided to a large degree by the capable Ambassador Per Ericksson.
Captain’s Personal Log:
I dislike politics. This assignment quite honestly, makes me anxious. There is something off about the Council of Elders claims and I wouldn’t be surprised that the supposed terrorism isn’t some how justified by their treatment of their own working class.
My personal philosophies aside, I have unqualified confidence in my crew and have found Ambassador Ericksson, to be very competent, knowledgeable and engaging. He has managed to easily befriend my command crew and even Mr. Spock seems to enjoy, no, tolerate his company with equanimity.
I am not looking forward to beaming down for the conference scheduled for tomorrow at 800h. Tonight, we are hosting a small reception for five members of the Council and the Ambassador’s aides. I am hoping to gain some insight into the personalities involved and what the real issues are.
Captain Kirk turned the con off with an impatient snap and ran his hand through his hair. He had three hours before the reception and really needed some rest. Or, he could go visit Doctor McCoy and listen to him rant about how over extended he was. In any case, McCoy could probably be convinced cheer him up a bit with his implacable wit.
Ten minutes later found him leaning against the doorway of McCoy’s office in Sickbay. He watched his friend, bent over his computer, frowning over the endless paperwork involved in being the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise. Grumbling and cursing, McCoy looked up and motioned for Jim to take a seat.
“God damn fitness reports. I swear, Star Fleet can make the simplest thing complicated. I don’t know why they bother having a CMO, a computer program could do this. Hey, maybe your First Officer can be useful for once and come up with one.”
“Bones, Bones . . . you know you love the extra attention you get from making a mountain out of a mole hill. Besides, Spock is being useful. He’s entertaining the Coridan delegation before the reception tonight.”
“Brilliant choice, Jim. Better him than me. Diplomacy gives me a belly ache.”
Jim chuckled sympathetically but managed to fuss with McCoy’s picture of Joanna, his seven-year-old daughter. Picking up the old fashion framed photograph, Jim rubbed his thumb absently over the glass.
“Bones, do you ever wonder what the point of this all is? I mean, why these people do what they do? Why make it all so difficult? From what I understand, the Coridans choose to keep their classes separate, workers from the educated. The workers have no say in how their planet is governed. They have no say in how they themselves are governed. How is it that they haven’t learned from history that if everyone is treated equally, given the same rights, they will work for the benefit of the whole? How can they be surprised when the workers rise up and take what is theirs, what would be theirs, on any other Federation planet?” Jim stopped, staring into the space behind McCoy’s head with a thoughtful expression.
“Jim, I don’t know. If you ever figure out the answers, I’d guess we’d have a pretty perfect universe.”
McCoy suspected Jim needed to vent and the reception would be no place for him to express his feelings. He looked at his friend and saw lines of fatigue and tension, marking his handsome face. Normally, Jim would work it off with Spock, playing chess, sparring or just talking. Spock had spent so much time recently with the Ambassador; he had been neglecting his primary duty, to keep Jim on an even keel with his uncompromising support. Damn elf knew better than to let his Captain stew over politics, especially those where an underdog was wronged. Jim’s stress and evident sleeplessness were predictable.
He stood and walked to glassed shelves and pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy. He put two glasses on his desk and poured the viscous blue liquid to the top of both. Picking up one glass, he raised it in an ironic toast. Jim picked up the other glass, smiled grimly and took a small sip.
“I briefly met the Ambassador and his entourage when they came aboard. What do you think of him, Jim? Is he up to this?”
Jim studied his glass for a moment and took another sip. “Ambassador Ericksson and his staff seem well prepared. He comes across as genial and competent. I like him. The crew seems to like him. Hell, even Spock seems to like him. And the Coridans appear to be eager to work with him and us. I am not exactly expecting trouble, but my intuition tells me that things might not go as we expect. I’m confident the Enterprise can handle almost anything. I’m just a little uneasy. No particular reason. Just . . .”
“Well, Jim, when your intuition starts beeping, I’d say we should pay attention. I trust your feelings over most facts. Speaking of facts, what’s the deal with Spock and the Ambassador?”
“What do you mean, Bones?”
“Well, the damn hobgoblin escorted the Ambassador’s party to Sickbay for their initial physicals and never left Mr. Ericksson’s side. In fact, they chattered like a couple of squirrels the entire time, to the point even the Ambassador’s aides were rolling their eyes. Then, your aloof First Officer offered to give Ericksson, not his aides mind you, a tour of the ship. He was virtually glued to his side the entire time. I thought Chapel was going to have a stroke.”
Jim frowned. “He was doing what he thought appropriate to make the Ambassador comfortable. I’m sure that’s all it was.”
“What ever you say, Jim. I think he found the Ambassador quite . . . ”
Jim choked on his brandy and gave McCoy a hard glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. Spock is only interested in his duty.”
“Alright, Jim. All I know is he is mighty comfortable with Ericksson and Ericksson evidently can make even a Vulcan smile.”
Jim kept quiet, considering. Certainly, Ericksson was compelling and clearly Spock found him somewhat fascinating. That did not, however, equate with what McCoy was suggesting.
“Smile, Bones? Surely you jest.” Jim was irritated with McCoy’s insinuation.
“Actually, no. At one point, Ericksson was full throttle, telling stories. I wasn’t paying much attention until I noticed that little quirk Spock does with his mouth. You know the one. The one he does when you say something particularly and illogically human.”
“Oh.” Jim felt curiously uneasy. He put his drink down and stood, giving himself a mental shake.
“Well, Bones, I need to get moving. That full dress rig takes some time to get into. I’ll see you at the reception.” With that, Jim walked toward the door. He paused for a moment and looked back over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” He strode out the door without further comment.
McCoy stared after him. “Huh.” He gathered the half finished glasses, polished them both off and thoughtfully made his way to his quarters to change.