Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [24]
“Join the Federation,” Janeway said, keeping her voice calm and even, “and your planet has access to medical and scientific advances as they are discovered and proved safe. Your planet has food if there is a shortfall, technologies to help your people prosper. You’re able to participate in shaping the future of the quadrant.”
“Admiral,” said Kol in a voice of aching sincerity, “I fear for the future of this quadrant, if the last few years have been any indication of where it’s going.”
She threw up her slender, four-fingered hands in exasperation. “All the things you say are true, but what you’re not saying is that the Federation doesn’t have a stranglehold on free trade—at least,” she amended, “not yet.”
Janeway’s eyes narrowed. It took effort, but she held her tongue.
“We can obtain food and technologies and medicine through other means. Means that don’t force us to ally with a huge, anonymous collection of planets. Means that don’t put Kerovi at risk.”
Janeway smiled sadly, the anger bleeding out of her. “Why do I feel dizzy?”
Kol smiled too, her pretty face softening. “As if you’ve been running around in circles? How odd, for I feel the same way.”
Janeway hesitated. “You’ve put forth some passionate arguments, Amar Kol. But you still haven’t committed to formally withdrawing. I take it that you will be at the conference?”
Kol nodded. “Yes, I will. I look forward to meeting you in person, Admiral. I think there are many things we would agree about.”
“I think so, too. I had best let you get some sleep, Amar.”
Kol made a wry face. “Sleep is in short supply for an amar,” she said.
“And for admirals,” Janeway replied. “Good night, Amar.”
When Janeway’s face disappeared from the screen, Kol sighed. This was so difficult. Janeway was such a commanding, persuasive presence it was hard to say no to her, even when Kol knew it was the right thing—and the thing both her people and her government wanted.
She rubbed her cheeks, massaging the sensitive cluster of nerves there. It helped her relax.
Amar Merin Kol had come into power by accident six years ago. Her husband had been killed in an accident and she had stepped up out of a sense of duty to serve out his term. She was not prepared to be reelected, and while she strove to uphold her honorable position by studying, learning, and listening, she was glad that she had so many wise people around her to advise her.
Her computer chimed softly, and she realized it was one of those self-same wise people. Smiling, she touched the screen and the familiar face of her friend and adviser, Sul Alamys, appeared.
“Good evening, Amar,” Alamys said. “I trust I am not disturbing you?”
“Of course not,” Kol said. “My best adviser could never be a disturbance. How has your trip been progressing? What have you learned?”
“A great deal,” said Alamys solemnly, “all of which supports our position. Amar, as I predicted, we are not alone in resenting the bullying of the Federation. Of the six representatives I’ve talked with, three are also considering secession.”
“Really?”
The number was startling. Kol had not realized that so many others were discontented. It would seem, she thought sadly, that the Dominion War continued to produce casualties.
Alamys nodded. “There is a disproportionate number of certain species in the Federation, and they are the ones who seem to control it. Humans, Vulcans, Trill, Bolians, and a handful of others compared to the hundreds of species that are represented. We have only a few officials to represent our interests. We are helpless to control what the Federation does, yet must go along with it.”
Kol nodded sadly. “Forty years is a long time,” she said. “It will be difficult to withdraw.”
“And had things continued as they were for the last forty years,” Alamys said, “I would not advise withdrawing. But the Federation’s policy is tantamount to meddling now, and that meddling led to many