Fleet Log “Admiral Corgi” || President Jolias Enor, Councillor Iyaru Aniri, FAdm T’Evora
Coil of Darkness
Location: London, Earth
It was odd. To sit in this chair and realize that one might be one of the most powerful people in the entire Federation. Jole lifted his fingertip and stared at it in awe- in this one fingertip he now had the power to influence over a hundred worlds and billions upon billions of people. The mere thought startled him so that he shivered- the responsibility of such power was nearly overbearing. Could he actually build something better? Could he save the crumbling foundation? He was uncertain. Any thought of ever obtaining this post had been the furthest thing on his mind- never once did he desire to become the President…but now that he was here. The ability to bring about real change was energizing him. It was an energy he hadn’t felt since leaving Starfleet- the sense of purpose.
“An election?” Aniri snorted at him from her window-side chair, the sun sparkling against her cobalt flesh “you are really something Jolias. You have the Presidency in your grasp and you throw it all away…”
“I’m saving it.” He said with conviction “the most important thing in the Federation is not Starfleet. It’s not our economic power or potential. It’s not our resources or our planets. The thing that is great about the Federation is the richness and diversity of the people that comprise it. Vulcan, Trill, Tellarite…Andorian. Look how much progress we have made in three centuries. Should we throw it all away for expediency or security?”
“I’m not criticizing you Jole. Just…lamenting about your principles. It would have been much easier if we just proceeded with your appointment as President. The council was behind it after all- now with an election everything is complicated.” Aniri sighed and stared out at the glimmering bay “what will you do about the vacant Starfleet CinC post?”
Aniri’s eyes jerked away from the window and she looked at the Trill with barely contained amusement “you mean Admiral Corgi?”
[Later, President’s Office]
Enor sat uncomfortably behind the massive wooden desk. There was something about residing in a palace that bothered him- it just seemed incredibly opulent and almost gaudy. He would have much preferred a side closet with a small desk to this spacious cavern he now resided in. His eyes moved to the doors as the creaking wood signaled their opening. Standing up he looked at the silhouette at the doorway “Welcome Admiral…”
The lithe, slender figure crowned with silvery white hair moved forward, and the effect of the Vulcan Admiral stepping into the afternoon sunlight pouring through the large windows might have been dignified to the point of regal – if not for the sound of scrabbling paws just outside in the corridor, and a pahkwa-thanh’s exasperated groan as two small canines slipped through the ancient wood doors just before they closed.
“Greetings, Mister President.” The seemingly oblivious – or mayhap simply unruffled - Vulcan stopped a short distance from the desk, her hand raised in the ta’al “We come to serve.”
At her feet, two corgis appeared rather pleased with themselves and proudly plopped onto their rears.
Jolias gave a cursory glance to the two canines at the Vulcan Admiral’s feet. Certainly when it came to Vulcans T’Evora would qualify as an ‘eccentric.’ Though accomplished she was less well known in the Admiralty ranks- her preference towards quiet duty was why Jolias felt she was perfect for the vacant Starfleet Commander position “I hope you are well Admiral.” He waved a hand at the open couch and sat down behind the massive desk- it seemed there was a half a room length of desk-top between him and the Vulcan.
Long since accustomed to this kind of courteous inquiry, T’Evora responded with a polite nod and accepted the offered seat with a fluid, graceful motion. If, within that same movement, she also liberated a PADD from Nayik’s jaws, it seemed almost like an afterthought. One which Commander Dee would no doubt appreciate, as this looked to be her weekly status report on the Neutral Zone outposts.
“I am indeed well, Mister President.” To another Vulcan, the Admiral’s body language would have seemed outright languid - legs neatly tucked to one side, one hand idly propping the rescued PADD (with barely noticeable teeth marks) against the couch, the other settled on the fabric with nonchalant elegance. To most outworlders, this was still a Vulcan – calm and dignified, and slightly aloof; yet inexplicably failing to radiate all the warmth of an Andorian polar cap.
Simply put, she was a Vulcan who somewhere around fifty years of age had decided that being herself rather than what people expected her to be was imminently more practical than having to expend time and energy to maintain a façade; and since this had worked quite well for over a century, saw no logical reason to change a thing.
Steel grey eyes with a startling shimmer of blue rested on the Trill across the expanse of the heavy desk, filled with the patience and serenity of a mountain lake “In turn I should hope you have recovered from recent, so highly unfortunate events, satisfactorily?”
Enor nodded his head “I am recovered somewhat.” He frowned faintly recalling the recent ‘unfortunate’ events in passing “but overall I am alive and as a human might say- that is something to be thankful for.” He glanced at the opaque screen on his desk which slowly illuminated to bring up the document he had made. He quietly perused its contents to ensure, once again, out of caution or slight compulsion that it was to his liking before he read from it. “In the interest of brevity I will simply get to the point. Admiral- I have been tasked or shall I say I have tasked myself with permission from the necessary elements of the Federation council to appoint a new Starfleet Commander. During the Federation crisis last year and your assistance I can think of no one else who I would have serve in this capacity- if you would accept such a responsibility of course.”
If the president had declared that the Sundered were hosting a soiree in Minsk with Orion dancers in attendance, the Vulcan’s finely slanted eyebrows might have climbed a few millimeters more. Might have. As it was, the Admiral’s face displayed the serene yet faintly incredulous aura of the Alps while trumpeting Carthaginian elephants ski down the slopes.
Vulcans, of course, would never say ‘you must be kidding’ or ‘I’d rather swim with wu’zud-alukar, thank you kindly’. Nor would even a mildly eccentric one go so far as emit any sound resembling ‘gah’. T’Evora did, however, lean back slightly on the couch, her fingertips tapping a light staccato against the PADD as she studied the Trill’s expression.
Knowing what she did of the former Admiral, this proposition was likely a well-considered one. An accomplished officer and capable commander, Enor’s service record indicated a person who would not shy away from unpopular or controversial decisions, but he was hardly what some of her colleagues called a ‘space cowboy’. Logic suggested there was a considerable political element involved, but she had no reason to question the man’s integrity. Quite the contrary.
“I am honored by the offer, mister President.” Responsibility indeed. Not that the Vulcan shied away from that, she was in fact quite used to it. But to wield it in such a prominent position, and one mired in the realm of politics, went strongly against her personal preferences.
There is an ancient Vulcan proverb which states ‘The only terrain you truly control is the ground you’re standing on.’ T’Evora had found this to be quite true. Still, as someone who had lived through times of both peace and war, and had quite early on decided the latter was a tremendous waste of time which could be spent in more satisfactory pursuits, she also could not deny that this was an opportunity to work for somewhat worthwhile.
The needs of the many …
Just as Belaar had completed his security sweep of the room and decided no sandwiches were in need of being liberated so he might as well take a nap on presidential shoes, T’Evora nodded once, slowly and thoughtfully. “Before I accept however, I should like to point out that while my skills are in the area of administration and communication, my … preferences tend towards exploration and science. And that I am a strong proponent of Starfleet’s returning to those principles, even and especially under the current circumstances. There are those who argue, quite reasonably, that in the Federation’s current situation Starfleet must needs focus on defense and consolidation, and not waste resources on pursuits which may not have immediate benefit – or even none. I disagree with that assessment in all points.”
Her fingers still lightly, almost playfully tapping against the PADD, the Admiral’s gaze briefly wandered towards the window and the pale sunlight struggling through silver clouds. When her grey eyes came to rest on the Trill again, there seemed to be an air of … satisfaction about him.
“I agree with you Admiral. I believe Starfleet has become too militarized. Not that security isn’t important- but I believe the militarization has been a catalyst of some of the recent conflicts. There is always the potential that I am an idealist- in fact my detractors are adamant that I am a weak minded soft hearted fool that will lead the Federation to ruin.” Jolias smirked recalling all the tirades railed against him recently in all the FNS late night programming “but this is why I want you. I also know you share a similar...vision...if Vulcans have such things. I want the Federation to be greater. I want to bring stability back to this region of space. It won’t be an easy task and unfortunately it will require the Romulans and Klingons to be on the same page…”
“Most certainly Vulcans do have such things, mister President. How else would a man who realized there was a better way to live than kill each other out of sheer habit, have gone about changing a world? One must first see - envision - the goal, before one may bring it into being.” Soft hearted fool indeed. It took a great deal more courage and fortitude to lay down one’s arms and say ‘no more’, than it did to stroll around with armour and guns.
“The latter however might be easier said than done.” T’Evora stated drily, but there was a note of interest, even good-natured humor in her voice. Apparently the stubby-legged dog at her feet picked up on the familiar timbre and approved, its fluffy tail beating against the carpet in rapid rhythm. “For the Klingons, there is little honour in peace, despite the great strides some of their culture has made towards recognizing that random bloodshed is not merely detrimental to a species as a whole, but rather lacking in the glory a warrior should seek. As for the Sundered …” while the Admiral did not exactly share the profound unease which many of her kind experienced when discussing this violent, troublesome offshoot of their race, neither was she immune to a certain … exasperation “then as now, it is xenophobia - the fear of the unknown - which drives much of their actions.”
It would be a challenge. But the Vulcan knew well that most worthwhile pursuits were such.
“Very well, mister President. I will accept this duty.”