CHAPTER TWO
“The heart has reasons,
which reason itself cannot know.” – Blaise Pascal
USS LIBERTY, CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
Though Jean-Luc Picard could admit
mistakes, like most of his peers he didn’t particularly enjoy reliving or
relating them. Still, in this case, past failure might provide an insight
allowing future success.
So he’d spoken, at length; and as the tale drew to its conclusion,
his colleague sensed the worst was yet to come.
"She had tried to tell me that she could no longer fulfill
her mission—that she would in fact end up jeopardizing it. Instead of
understanding her dilemma, her anguish, and accepting that this had been an
ill-considered plan from the outset, I warned her that to abort then would
irrevocably damage her career … and implied it wouldn’t do much for my opinion
of her, either.”
He shook his head.
“In the moment she most needed my compassion, I instead pushed her
into the all-too-eager arms of the Maquis.”
For a long moment, Picard paused, and
his fellow captain offered the only logical point he could.
“The ultimate choice was
hers.”
Picard nodded a curt acknowledgment of that fact.
“Thank you for that… but I shouldn’t have pressed her to make that choice.
“Wounded as I was at her betrayal, I was also angry with myself
for failing to make a fundamental realization. Atypical though Ro Laren was … is …
she is, at the last, a Bajoran … and a Bajoran’s first loyalty…”
“…is to Bajor.”
Luciano Mantovanni understood Picard’s
conclusion.
“And Ro obviously felt more of an affinity for the Maquis, a downtrodden underdog, than she did for
Starfleet—which, in a way, had become in her mind as oppressive as the
Cardassian Union.”
“Precisely.”
For a moment, remembered pain still clouded his features … but only for a moment.
“Despite my experiences and relationship with Ro Laren, and to a lesser extent, Sito
Jaxa, I most emphatically do not claim any special insight into Bajorans. In all of Starfleet,
only one non-Bajoran officer truly understood them,
and that officer is no longer with us; instead, according to the beliefs of
those selfsame people, he’s been elevated to some sort of semi-divine status as
a reward for his service to their gods."
Mantovanni detected the merest trace of scorn in his friend’s
tone, but was not at all offended or even surprised by it. Picard
was a man of words, action, and principle … but most emphatically not of faith—at least not that kind of
faith.
He didn't relish the idea of summarily refusing a request
delivered by this man in particular… but he didn’t much appreciate the tactic
that lay behind it, either.
"Why did Starfleet send you to cajole me into performing a
duty that could simply have been assigned via impersonal order from distant
admiral?"
Enterprise-E’s captain flashed a smile at once amused and self-effacing.
“Well, we both well know that certain requests aren't truly that,
but rather orders under another guise.
“Some of us accept it more graciously than others, however.”
Only an arched brow answered him.
Picard sighed.
"Admiral Nechayev felt that, since
we wish to seem neither ignorant of the
changes on Bajor nor panicked by
them, a quiet request rather than merely a transmitted assignment might be more
in order.”
“‘A spoonful of sugar,’ as it were,”
Mantovanni noted.
The slight smile bespoke Picard’s
amusement with the notion.
“While I’m not sure I’d categorize myself quite that way...
“I respect and to a limited extent comprehend your reluctance,
Mantovanni declared, "Maybe
they’re just not ready."
At that, Picard frowned.
“I remember another opinionated officer making that observation to
me almost a decade ago. He, by the way, now dwells with the Prophets.”
“I’ll take that as a word to the wise … or at least to me. I’m not
much of a diplomat, Jean-Luc. You have firsthand experience on that score.”
The frown deepened.
“Disparaging your skills doesn’t dispense with them, Cicero.
You’re not fond of diplomacy, but you’re by no means inept. I hardly think
Bajorans will test your restraint in the manner Romulans do.”
The resultant glare took both Picard and
himself by surprise. Though this man was one of the few who could mention
Mantovanni’s renowned antipathy without receiving a viciously eloquent
counterstroke in response, even he
knew not to push it.
Instead, he pushed on.
"And perhaps a diplomat is not what's called for in this
matter."
Despite the circumstances, Mantovanni had always enjoyed matching
wits and trading witticisms with a trusted friend or proven adversary. Jean-Luc
Picard fit that former description far better than
most … but even he wasn’t perfect.
“First I’m a better diplomat than I credit, and seconds later a
diplomat isn’t quite what’s necessary. Where’s Socrates when I need him?”
“I’m hampered by Starfleet’s agenda, here,
The men exchanged subtle grins, and Picard
continued.
“The consensus among those in the know … or at least those who
think they are … is that many of the things Bajor acts on are felt first and
thought out only later—sometimes much later.”
“And oftentimes too late,” Mantovanni muttered.
“Indeed. This leads to the use by some Bajorans,” and he notably
mentioned none in particular, “of circular arguments that could easily
frustrate or stymie a career diplomat. But your style is far closer to the
Vulcan one, while avoiding that uniquely Vulcan tendency towards supercilious
distance many find infuriating. Further, your noted tendency towards directness
will come in handy, I think, against positions that are often passionately
held—if not always rationally based."
“Whether or not Starfleet particularly wishes to acknowledge it,
reason isn’t the only basis upon which to formulate a weltanschauung, Jean
Luc. ‘Fides quarens
intellectum’… or, in other words, send one of
Starfleet’s few religious ‘throwbacks’ against a bastion of fundamentalist
obduracy.”
Picard shook his head. “No one thinks of you as a throwback,
“I know any number of women—one or two of whom serve on my senior
staff—that would disagree.”
This time, they shared a chuckle.
"Be that as it may … Admiral Nechayev
believes you’re the man for the job.”
“I don’t share her conviction … and I’ll not volunteer.”
Picard took the impasse he sensed as final, and rose to leave.
"I'll ask you only once to reconsider,
“It’s my duty to take her orders, not make her happy.” And that
last is a job I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
"This discussion took exactly the direction I’d predicted. I
hope you won’t hold my … devil’s advocacy … against me, Cicero.”
“Never, Jean Luc.” Mantovanni extended his hand. “Our senses
of responsibility may not always bring us to the same conclusions, but I know
you act according to your conscience, with the Federation’s best interests at
heart.
“Hell of a balancing act, isn’t it?”
Picard nodded, and they shook.
“If you speak with Sito—and I wager you
will—tell her… tell her that I’m very proud.”
“I’ll do that. It’ll mean a lot to her.”
Before he reached the door, though, Mantovanni stopped him with a
trio of well-placed observations—delivered like a pair of jabs and a hook.
“Necheyev requested that you try to
persuade me.”
“Yes.”
“At first, you refused on principle.”
“Yes.”
“And at last, she ordered you.”
“Yes.”
“Au revoir,
Jean-Luc.”
“Arrivaderci,
Cicero.”
Within the hour, just as both captains had predicted, the request
was rescinded…
…and reissued as an order.