A Delicate Dance
A Delicate Dance
A young man wearing a white tunic, sandals, and a pointed hat stood greeted them at the shuttle landing pad on Betazed. He bowed and introduced himself as their guide. He gestured for them to follow him down a winding path into Megara, the capitol city, a paradise of blooming gardens and awe-inspiring architecture.
Naomi took off after him with big, determined strides. The young girl who once begged her senior officers to play kadis-kot with her had grown into a confident and poised captain, and Janeway couldn’t be more proud. “Captain Wildman,” she said, her voice thick with admiration. “How does it feel to be the head honcho?”
“To be honest?” Naomi tugged at her collar. “Kind of hot.”
Janeway chuckled. “For all our progress, our uniforms still drag like woolen blankets. Still,” she said. “They look marvelous.”
Naomi gave her a pained look. “That’ll really help us make our point in negotiations…”
“Can’t hurt.” Janeway shrugged and shifted her gaze as she spotted a squad of Betazoid Peacekeepers marching through the street in full riot gear. That’s ominous, she thought.
All of a sudden, luminous signs started streaming across the screens and windows surrounding them.
“Just what we needed,” Janeway said. “More drama.”
“Megaran Officials Consider Reinstating the Death Penalty For the 1st Time Since Dominion War,” the text read. “After a multi-year search, Betazoid Peacekeepers have finally arrested a suspect in connection with the brutal murder of one of our most talented psionic warriors. Little is known about her or who she works for, but authorities believe she’s a Federation spy. The Megaran judiciary promise to bring back the firing squad if she’s found guilty. Tune in tomorrow for more updates on this tragic case.”
Janeway and Naomi exchanged uneasy glances. “Well that’s an unfortunate twist,” Janeway said.
“Should we turn back?” Naomi asked, her voice wavering.
Janeway shook her head. “Starfleet had nothing to do with this. They can suspect us all they want, but we know we had nothing to do with this. Truth is the best cover.”
Naomi didn’t look convinced, but she kept walking.
Janeway touched her shoulder reassuringly. “I know you’re uncomfortable. But this is part of the job.”
Naomi sighed and nodded. “I get it. I just need to channel my inner Seven of Nine.”
Janeway stopped short and stared at her companion, a familiar ache in her chest. “What do you mean by that?”
Naomi gave her an oddly perceptive look. “No matter how bad things got back on Voyager, no matter how scared or upset she was, she’d find a way to push through. I need some of that energy.”
Emotion tugged at Janeway's heartstrings as another buried memory flickered in her mind. She'd manipulated Seven into listening to the field notes belonging to her parents, nearly triggering an emotional breakdown, but Seven still helped Voyager, at great personal cost. Janeway gave Naomi a tight-lipped smile in agreement, trying to hide her shame. No wonder Seven took off, she thought. She gave me everything I ever asked for and I couldn’t even get her a job at Starfleet.
“Have you heard from her lately,” she finally asked in an attempt to break the silence.
“Not for a long time. She sends me a postcard on my birthday every year, but there’s never a return address. You?”
“No,” Janeway said, simply. She avoided making eye contact with Naomi, and was grateful she didn’t pursue the question.
They walked in silence the rest of the way. The guide occasionally interjected with a story about a building or high praise for Betazed’s idyllic past, the grand times before the planet nearly lost everything in the Dominion War. How Betazed only survived thanks to a rebel band of Psionic warriors defying custom and harnessing the terrifying potential of their psychic powers.
“You should have seen the first raid,” he told them. “They destroyed a fully armed Jem’Hadar fighter vessel with their minds alone. Convinced them to self-destruct in the middle of an armada.”
Janeway raised an eyebrow. If the Psionic faction were that powerful, they wouldn’t be fighting in elections at all. Not unless they had something else up their sleeves.
The guide stopped them by a fountain decorated with the faces of five young women with dark curls cascading around their shining faces. “And this is where we commemorate our lost daughters,” he said, gazing at their statues. “She has the saddest story,” he pointed at the statue of a striking young woman with full lips and broad cheekbones. “If she’d been allowed to use her full psionic potential, maybe she wouldn’t have been slaughtered on a routine medical supply mission.”
“Maybe,” Naomi muttered, her eyes misting over.
Janeway cleared her throat. “We’re late for the party,” she said. And more cheap propaganda, if I have to guess.
—
The reception itself was small but splendid. Fireflies in breathable jars lit the room, along with captured starlight encased on gemstones dotting the walls. The food carried influences from across the Federation, and the conversation never stopped.
Time passed quickly as Janeway flitted from ambassador to ambassador, casting a winning smile at some, offering serious insight at more, and laughing uproariously at others, creating a sense that she was one of them, that they’d want her in their company, that having such a vivacious guest at their parties was worth making a few concessions. She didn’t think of this as subterfuge, she saw it as the art of negotiating. Some used guns, while she used charm.
Naomi curled her lip in disgust at the clumsy, blue-suited figure who stumbled as he refilled her glass. Janeway smirked; she had encountered her fair share of fools over the years and knew Naomi would learn to handle them in due course.
When she turned away, her eyes met Koresh’s, an emissary who had welcomed them as they arrived at the party. His vibrant violet eyes bore into her as he asked her for a dance. There was something menacing about the way he moved, as if his body was aware of something that she could not. Not wanting to look foolish in front of the others and intrigued by the foreign beat of the music, Janeway accepted.
“Your biography doesn’t mention your talent for dancing,” Koresh said after a few minutes of swiveling around the room.
Janeway grinned and kept time with the melody. “You’re not bad yourself. I imagine telepathy helps with predicting a partner’s moves.”
The music shifted into a minor key and decrescendo-ed, and Koresh slowed with it. He leaned in close to Janeway and murmured in her ear, “Many of us still honor the old ways and would never probe anyone’s mind without their consent. There are many other ways to uncover someone’s true intent.”
Janeway raised an inquisitive brow and whispered back into his ear. “So you’re not rooting for the psionics to win the election, I take it?
Koresh flashed her a wide grin before twirling her around and off the dance floor at the end of their duet. “Now that would be telling,” he said, twirling her again. “I prefer to stay out of politics.”
“An original position for a politician to take,” Janeway muttered sardonically.
“No one ever accused me of being conventional, Admiral,” he responded with a wink. The music stopped and he immediately began clapping for the orchestra. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Admiral. For tomorrow, the winds may change.”
Well that sure sounded like a threat. Before Janeway could respond, Koresh glided back into the shadows.