The Red King - Michael A. Martin [58]
Frane looked up at him. “Then why do humans seem to be at the top of all of the Federation’s most significant hierarchies?”
Riker castled, buying himself a move or two. “The Federation Council has always had equal representation, Frane, and a good number of nonhuman presidents. Bolians, Grazerites, Andorians, Efrosians—”
“But a human sits in that office presently. Correct? And humans have held it more often than any other single species.”
Riker found that he was back in check yet again. “Humans are a big constituency in the Federation, Neyel racial guilt notwithstanding. So, yes, garden-variety humans are bound to get into the Palais de la Concorde from time to time. But that doesn’t make us conquerors. I admit that humans have assumed a large role in running the Federation. It’s a heavy burden of responsibility, but it’s one we share freely with many other species. Humans also assume our fair share of the risks involved in maintaining and defending the Federation. But the Federation is a big place, and we don’t see ourselves as having—or deserving—a dominant position in it.”
Frane looked impressed, if not altogether convinced. “What about that large, white-skinned fellow I saw when I visited your doctor in sickbay?”
“You mean Mekrikuk. He’s a Reman—they’re recent wartime allies from outside the Federation—and he came aboard temporarily just before the…accident that brought us here.”
“Ah. I noticed that he seems to be confined to your infirmary, even though very little appears to be wrong with him. Is his enslavement justified by his being from ‘outside the Federation’?”
Riker sighed, unused to such cynicism, particularly from someone of Frane’s tender years. “Mekrikuk is no slave, Frane. At least, not since we freed him from those who had enslaved him and his people. At the moment, Dr. Ree is still keeping him under observation. But I won’t lie to you—Mekrikuk does present us with certain…security concerns.”
Riker felt uncomfortable being reminded that he wasn’t going to be able to keep Mekrikuk detained this way forever. Once he was well enough that Ree felt he could discharge him, the Reman would have to be declared either friend or foe, bound for either guest quarters or a security cell. And Mekrikuk himself had complicated matters greatly by having made a formal request for political asylum.
Riker was also beginning to feel discomfiture about something else: the notion that some of the prejudices Frane was projecting onto him might, even in some small way, be real. He considered the initial revulsion he’d felt when Deanna had introduced him to Dr. Ree. And Frane’s trenchant observation that despite Titan’s highly variegated crew, humans dominated the ship’s command hierarchy. Am I really as species-blind as I’ve always given myself credit for being? When I chose Chris to be my exec, was it really because I thought she was the best candidate? Or was it because I thought I might relate better to a human first officer?
It suddenly became very important to Riker to end this particular debate. “Let me ask you something, Frane: Should I assume the aliens we found with you in your escape pod are your slaves, just because of your people’s history as slavers?”
“But they were slaves of my people, in reality if not in legal fact. At least, that’s very much how it seemed before we came together in common brotherhood as the Seekers After Penance.”
“Ah. Your pilgrimage to wake up the Sleeper. And to punish the Neyel for being slavers, as well as everyone else around here for having allowed the Neyel to enslave them.”
Frane gave a rueful nod, his eyes haunted. He looked as though he was ready to bolt. Riker decided that now might be a good time to change the subject.
“That’s an interesting bracelet,” he said, looking down at Frane’s gray wrist. The Neyel’s tail suddenly rose behind him, going rigid as his other hand pulled the sleeve of his robe down to cover up the bracelet. Obviously, it meant a great deal