Iteration

 Episode Name:  Iteration

   Written By:  Starfleet

         Cast:  Edwards, Ghorev, Sobek, Starfleet and Tyler.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Starfleet

     Aired On:  Mon Jun 21 00:13:45 2004

     Stardate:  54181.9

Time: Fri Jun 18 20:28:53 2004

Stardate: 54176.8

Federation Governmental Complex. Paris. Earth. Dusk. An empty conference room that overlooks the Seine river which glitters in the sunset, and a short distance away, the Eiffel Tower is lit up against the red sky. A small ball of blue-white light coalesces and forms in one corner of the room, piercing the gloom. It grows larger, slowly at first, and then suddenly expands quickly with a flash. When it is gone, standing in its place is Commander Ghorev, Commander Edwards, and Lt. Tyler. All are well-armed with PADDs, and Tyler has her temporal tricorder out. For Ghorev, who has not transported via artifact as much as Tyler and Edwards, there is a brief wave of nausea.

"Right on time, sir," Tyler says to Ghorev, checking the readout of the tricorder. She snaps it shut with a click, and holsters it.

Ghorev gives a subtle 'yeah, got it' motion, as he quietly steadies himself against the receding rush of artifact-travel. Says nothing.

Edwards blinks and readjusts to the new surroundings. "The only way to travel." he mutters. Then, at a more conversational level, "I guess this is when we hurry up and wait."

Ghorev, more steady now. "We should likely send a message to let them know we're here. I don't really want to break a few Presidential Guards before The Kor realizes who we are and calls a halt."

"Kor's office is the next hallway over and a few doors down," Tyler says. "Commander, with your permission, I'll contact President Kor."

Edwards looks between Tyler and Ghorev and furrows his brow. "Well, I don't mind..." Then he looks back to Ghorev.

Ghorev says, "By all means. If he requires some verification that it's us, let me know."

Ghorev turns to Edwards, after a moment. "You said you've never met him?"

Tyler makes her way over to the com terminal. She taps into the console, bringing up the image of one of Kor's cabinet. She begins to speak quietly to him.

Edwards taps his PADD against the back of a chair at the conference table. "That's right. He's the President. It's not often you get a chance to." he says.

Ghorev nods. "Just remember, he's Kor. He's the best and worst of my people. Our ruling /keth/. His sense of humor, his sense of honor, are uniquely Andorian. As a politican, he's had a bit more exposure to Terrans, especially given that he lives *here* now. But ... some things may still get you a funny look. Your best bet is assuming that if *I* wouldn't get the joke, he won't."

"He's just a guy." Edwards replies. "A really, really powerful guy who could ruin my career and squash me like a bug." He frowns some. "Is he on our side?"

Ghorev says, "He says he is. I have reason to believe he certain *tries* to be. But he's also admitted that the big picture, the compromises we hate, are his job. So ... in the end, that's *also* something to bear in mind." His brow is furrowed now as he walks to the window. "He's made it clear to me that the burden on his soul of makign some of the choices he has to make is something he's steeled himself to live with."

Edwards' frown deepens. "Sounds like the kind of stuff Sinclaire says. That doesn't comfort me." He shrugs. "But maybe I'm wrong. I hope I am. Not every decision that feels bad necessarily is... I hope."

Tyler cuts communication. "Two Presidential Guards will be by shortly to escort us to Kor's office," she says, moving back toward the two Commanders. "The conversation I had with Secretary Chalwey felt... Tense. There's something going on here."

Ghorev still stares out the window. He's about to respond to Edwards when Tyler makes her interjection. He nods. "Thank you, Lieutenant." Given that it would be rude to caught in mid-candid-conversation about the Commander-in-Chief by the Presidential Guards, he simply lets the conversational thread with Edwards drop.

Edwards just looks at Ghorev and remarks, "Trouble just follows you around, doesn't it?"

Ghorev just gives one of those trilling sighs, and nods. "I made the mistake of feeding it once, when it was lost and hungry. Now ... it just won't leave me be."

"I hope the tension isn't because of us." Edwards muses. "Maybe we've become a political liability. That would be..." he searches for the right word, "unfortunate?"

Tyler looks out the window at the darkening Paris skyline, remaining silent. She lets Edwards and Ghorev speculate as she checks out the Seine.

Ghorev says, "Between the Romulan and Klingon situations, and everything else going on, we're likely no higher than fifth place on the list. I hope."

Edwards admits, "I could be wrong. But let's not underestimate our high irritation factor. Especially when it comes to delicate situations like ours." He mills about. "Plus, it makes me feel more important if it's us."

Ghorev says, "Well, on an irritation-factor-scale, we're likely higher, of course." He comes around the table, to wait a short distance from the door. "Let's just ... stay watchful, then."

The doors hiss open and two Starfleet Officers in what appears to be dress-white uniforms appear. They're tailored slightly different, being a little more loose than the overstarched Starfleet dress uniforms, but retain an almost identical cut. Each are wearing gold sashes across their shoulders. They do not look pleased. Three uninvited Starfleet officers who didn't go through the building security protocols are their wards, and the President actually wants to see them instead of having them arrested. "Let's go," says the dark-haired one, in less than a kind voice.

"Our escort has arrived." Edwards motions to the two officers. And he refrains from trying to further antagonize them by going along silently.

Ghorev says, "Indeed." He nods to the two guardsmen. "Gentlemen, we're in your hands."

Tyler follows along behind the two Commanders. The two security officers lead the party down a hall, cut right, further down, and cut left again. Where the conference room had a distinct 'Starfleet' feel to it, the hallways are pretty opulent, with mahogany paneling and parquet floors. Reaching the President's office, the two security officers swing the double-doors open. The President's office itself is decorated in the same style as the hallways but has a distinctly less antique feel. Circular in shape, a broad window across from the doors overlooks an almost identical Paris skyline as the conference room's. The carpet here is Federation blue, and inlaid into it is the seal of the Federation. Flags flank the window. A great desk is before the window, made of mahogany, and an array of chairs is set before it. A larger chair is behind the desk, and seated at it is a large, Andorian male. A Bolian male in a traditional Bolian diplomatic tunic is seated before the President. When the three officers are deposited in the room, the security officers withdraw, and the doors shut behind them with a *click*. The President, wearing a white outfit with a similar gold sash, stands. He cuts an impressive figure. "Commander Akeen Ghorev," Kor says. "This is quite a surprise. And Lt. Tyler. Good evening." He nods to her, then looks to Edwards. "And this must be Commander Michael Edwards, yes, I have heard much about you." He extends his hand for Ghorev, and then for Edwards.

Ghorev extends his own hand for a brief shake. "My apologies for the dramatic entrance, Mister President. This is Commander Edwards, yes. Michael, your Commander-in-Chief, President Rosarev Kor."

Edwards is, yes, speechless. Who knew it was possible? Realizing he really ought to say something, anything, as he shakes the most powerful man in the Federation's hand, he stammers some. "Ah, er... Mr. President!" He clears his throat. "I mean, Mr. President. It's an honor to meet you." Then he clamps his mouth back shut.

Kor gives Ghorev's apology a dip of his head. "I'm always willing to hear about the goings on out on Four One Nine," he says. He indicates the Bolian man. "This is Secretary of the Interior, Bodis Chalwey."

The Bolian does not rise, but inclines his head toward the three officers. "Charmed," he says. But he isn't, if his intonation has anything to do with it.

Kor picks up on the attitude from the Bolian, and his lip turns up very slightly. "So. What brings you here to Earth? It's a long way from your station."

Tyler speaks up and moves forward before the desk. "Mr. President, I have twice sent you a proposal that Commander Ghorev, Commander Edwards, Lt. Jaylas Idrani and myself made. Twice, now, that proposal has not reached your desk. I was assured an open line of communication between the Aegis and your office. It is for this reason that we have intruded upon you this evening. If you have the time to hear us out, we will outline our proposal. If not, we will not trouble you further this evening and we can arrange a more convenient time for you, sir."

The Bolian starts to speak, but Kor gestures for his silence. Kor says, "A proposal." He looks toward Ghorev, then, asking, "Of what nature?"

Ghorev nods. "Of the same nature that all proposals are, Mister Secretary," he says, to the Bolian. "But specifically one proposing certain greater latitude in dealing with our Allies on the frontier ... proposing a certain," he gestures with one hand, as if searching for a word, "freedom of disclosure, as a matter of official policy." He looks at The Kor, as if questioning whether he should be more precise in the Bolian's presence.

Ghorev nods. "A proposal, Mister President, requesting latitude, a certain ... " he gestures with one hand, as if searching for a word, "freedom of disclosure, as a matter of official policy. With regards to our Allies." He flicks the occasional glance at Chalwey, then back to The Kor, as if questioning whether he should be more precise in the Bolian's presence.

Edwards stands back and tries not to make himself look like an idiot while Ghorev clears this up. His attention stays mostly focused on the important government officials.

The Bolian shifts in his chair. "This is highly irregular, Mr. President," he says. "There's a procedure..."

"Which has obviously failed," Kor interjects with annoyance. "Twice. Lt. Tyler's communications are supposed to have a procedure, as well, they're supposed to land on my desk."

Chalwey looks to Kor. "My apologies. But we only have her word. This is the first time I've heard of this."

Tyler remains silent, having said her peace.

Kor looks at Ghorev and gives the other man a subtle nod. "Continue, Akeen. Secretary Chalwey should hear it if it deals with our projects and disclosure to allies."

Ghorev says, "You have more than her word, Master Secretary. I wrote at least one of the sub-sections of those reports." He gives the Bolian an eye for a moment. "And, no disrespect intended, Sir, but given that no one has yet been accused of deliberate malfeasance in this matter by us, I think it's a tad premature to leap to the implication that Lieutenant Tyler has some reason to lie in this matter. That said, my Commander-in-Chief has asked me to continue." He gives the President a nod. "Mister President, the report in question detailed, specifically, our concerns regarding the secrecy of Timefleet. We've proposed that, if it must exist as a separate fleet, it give up the notion of hiding in Starfleet's shadow and, rather like Starfleet Intelligence, at the very least, acknowledge that it exists, even if its operational details and structure remain classified. At Station Four-One-Nine, we're more aware than just about anyone else in the Federation as to the complications of the dual chain-of-command, and that is our best proposal for resolving matters, keeping morale high, regaining the trust of our allies, and being true to our own honor."

Kor makes his way toward one wall, and with the push of a button, exposes a wetbar. He begins to make himself a drink as he listens.

Chalwey states, "Such an acknowledgement would be a political disaster, Commander. The Romulans, the Dominion, the Cardassians, the Tholians... All would take great umbrage if they knew we were dabbling in the timeline, despite the noble chartered actions of patrolling and protecting. They wouldn't see patrol and protection, they would view it from the lens of interference."

Edwards clears his throat and speaks up now. "With all due respect, they'll take greater 'umbrage' if they find out about it without us telling them, and then find out we've been keeping it a secret from them. That's what I'd call a political disaster. And it has to be the worst=kept secret in the sector."

"The Romulans already know, Mr. Secretary," Tyler says quietly. "They just don't admit it publicly." Sneaky Romulans.

Ghorev says, "And, I must stress, we're not looking to make our full arguments here, Mister President. But there's been a concern that the reports are just not reaching you. We've drawn up a full set of arguments, from the political and diplomatic, to the legal and moral, to the strategic and tactical. We've tried twice to get it to you, and failed." After a pause, he simply concludes, "Again, my apologies for the drama, but if this is what it takes to get a report to your desk on this matter, well, I think you can see why we've taken this step. All we want is to give you this report for your consideration. We're at your disposal for discussing it further."

"From the least-diplomatic Starfleet officer in the fleet," Chalwey says to Edwards. He nods at Tyler's assessment, saying, "So you're proposing turning a secret war into a full-blown one, with many, many fronts. Frankly, the Federation can ill-afford another war."

Kor returns to his desk with a glass of Agranu, and settles down in his chair. "I'm interested in hearing more," Kor says. "You have my grabbed my antennae, Commander. Use them." The Bolian flashes the President a perturbed look, which the President meets head-on.

"So you've heard of me too." Edwards says to Chalwey. He flashes a smile then looks back to Ghorev, waiting to see what he says.

Ghorev says, "Our argument is this: The Romulans know, but refuse to admit they know, preferring to sulk over that information and hold it over us by implication. The Klingons know, if one reads between the lines of Chancellor Martok's ultimatum, but don't quite know *what* they know, and are throwing a wide net to find out. Our proposal is simply that, if we make the disclosure to our allies that, yes, in fact, a Timefleet exists, with a charter to protect the timeline from manipulation, but, as with our Intelligence services, the details are classified, it is a first step towards regaining the trust of our allies. In good faith, they cannot fail to support this, and if *they* support it, the Dominion and the Tholians will have no choice but to do likewise. "It *does* defuse Martok's ultimatum, and it's one more knife for the Romulans to juggle during a time of internal crisis on their part. In short, sir, if we disclose *now*, they're in too much chaos to make use of it."

"Not to mention the fact that Four-One-Nine is a temporal anchor, and just happens to house several foreign ambassadors and their staffs. If we can out that, they'll know they have a way to make sure we're not fiddling with the timeline for our own purposes." Edwards points out. "And we should have the Klingons on our side, because they should be included. They're already working with the Department of Temporal Investigations. If we include them, and they come out in support of us, it'll only make our position stronger." He gives Chalwey a look. "Then there's the fact that politics isn't a good reason to keep this quiet. It was a political disaster to have the Chief Diplomat tell the quadrant's major powers about how certain Starfleet officers were murderers, wasn't it? But we did it. It was the right thing to do. And lying to our allies isn't."

"The Klingons have a new weapon," Tyler starts.

Chalwey reminds the President, "The vibration cannon."

Nodding, Tyler continues, "Yes, the cannon. It could help us in our fight against the Lithians, Mr. President. You know that our own development programs have come up empty-handed, sir, and time is growing shorter and shorter. If Timefleet could get that weapon and test and study it, it could perhaps either lead us down a development path that would bear more fruit than what our own scientists have found. Disclosure to the Klingons would go a long way toward getting our hands on that technology."

Chalwey says, "That's pure speculation. There's no guarantee that they will turn that technology over."

Kor nods at Ghorev, then Edwards. He responds to Chalwey, "There's no guarantee that they won't, either. Speculation is a glacier that flows two ways, and were our positions reversed, I would be more willing to share the technology should full disclosure be made."

Ghorev says, "Speculation is the meat and drink of strategists, Mister President, Mister Secretary." He looks at both men. "And there, none dare call it pointless exercise. Because that's the point. There's no sin in planning for the best and worst of what might happen, as long as both plans are honest. What we're pushing for is the first step. There are those who clearly believe, perhaps even more strongly than Secretary Chalwey's protests, that the time is not right for this, else those reports would have reached your desk before now, Mister President. But now *is* the time, sir."

"Of course, those who disagree can't be the sort of people I'd want to associate with, if this is how they go about their business." Edwards remarks.

"Then I guess it is a good thing that I'm not inviting you to dinner, Commander Edwards," Chalwey replies.

Kor regards Ghorev, nodding thoughtfully. "You have your full proposal with you?" he asks.

Ghorev takes up his PADD, taps the screen six or seven times, removes the isolinear chip from it, and places that little stick of memory storage down on the desk. "Your guards might be ... less than understanding, if I left my PADD behind, given the manner of entry, Mister President, but this should satisfy both their professional paranoia and our mission. The comments and analysis of myself, Commander Edwards, Lieutenant Tyler, and Lieutenant Jaylas Idrani."

"Now, you know I didn't mean you, Mr. Secretary." Edwards says to Chalwey, flashing a big, fake smile. "I think you're peachy. I meant the interceptors."

Chalwey ignores Edwards, eyeing the chip as it passes from Ghorev to the President's desk.

Right into the President's hand. Kor picks the chip up and regards it, turning it over in his nimble, blue fingers. "Lt. Tyler, your advice?" he asks.

Tyler clears her throat. "I put the full weight of my position behind the proposal, Mr. President. I think it needs to be seriously considered. For the alliance. Commander Edwards is right; ours is one of the worst-kept secrets in the Beta quadrant, despite our best efforts. The diplomats on board Four One Nine know when there's a problem in the timeline."

Chalwey just frowns.

Kor regards Ghorev and Edwards, then. "Anything else you would like to add?"

Ghorev says, "Sir, I think we've pained the larger dimensions of this as best we can. But there's also the internal to be considered. Commander Edwards and Lieutenant Tyler can both attest that my strongest opposition to Timefleet's existence is the multi-layered secrecy with which it operates. It fosters resentment, and tension, Mister President. I believe that this will go a long way towards resolving that, Sir, and while I know it pales in comparison, it *is* an inset to the big picture that should also be borne in mind: that sense of honor, and dignity, to remind us of what we're striving to protect, to achieve, to remain." He nods, once firmly, asserting his statement. "That's all I have, Mister President."

Edwards nods at Ghorev's words, then considers his own. "Just... it's the right thing to do." he says. "And I have to believe that still means something. That's all I have."

The Andorian President nods thoughtfully, mulling over what has been said as he mulls over the data chip. "I will take it under advisement, then, and have my response to you within a week, after debate of it with the members of the Security Council, Starfleet Command and Timefleet Command. Give Jaylas Idrani my regards," he says. "And thank you for bringing this to my attention." He stands up, then, and offers his hand to Ghorev, Edwards, and Tyler in turn. "How long will you be staying in Paris? There's a state dinner tomorrow, and I would be honored if three of the Federation's finest were in attendance."

Chalwey remains silent, eyeing the three officers with a sour expression.

Ghorev says, "I certainly have no objection to affairs of state, Mister President. It will allow us to regale a few Councilors with the tale of the Eater of Worlds, since I'm sure there's some curiosity, and if people want to assume that's why we're here .... well, I can live with the passive cloak of expectations." He smiles, then smiles *again* at Secretary Chalwey, an extra curl of lip, then back to Kor. "Will there be foreign dignitaries in attendance, or just our own people?"

"We're always pro-dinner." Edwards remarks, nodding matter-of-factly.

Kor smiles at the gentle, subtle jab at Chalwey. All but Ghorev's smile goes over the Bolian's head, though. "It's a reception and dinner for the new Bajoran Ambassador to Terra," Kor says. "I look forward to seeing you there, then. And I look forward to your tale. I shall have to make sure an Aniri is present to record it. I'll make immediate arrangements for your stay in the complex, and I will not take 'no' for an answer."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. President," Tyler says. "We appreciate your hearing us out, sir."

Ghorev says, "Indeed, Sir, thank you."

Edwards offers up his own, "Thank you, sir."

Chalwey continues to sit in silence.

Kor stands up and personally escorts the trio to the door. "Have a good evening." He shakes their hands one more time, and issues instructions to the Presidential Guard that the the three of them are to be housed in the Argentis Suite. The Guard aren't visually thrilled that the three intruders will be spending the night in the Presidential complex, but accept their orders.

The three officers are escorted to the Argentis Suite, which is a set of four rooms separated by a common room. It is filled with furniture from the late 2200's, and over a large ornate wooden fireplace in the common room is a portrait of President Argentis, a dashing Centauran from an era gone by. The rooms are tastefully, if not regally, decorated. They are left there, alone, after a brief tour of the suite by the Guard. They are left with instructions that the Presidential kitchens are open until midnight, but are also shown the replicator that is mounted behind a sliding panel, right next to a huge communications terminal. The doors hiss shut as the Guard disappear behind them.

Ghorev says, "Well, I suppose we should send word to the Captain, and Lieutenant Idrani."

"Probably." Edwards replies, glancing around. "I don't think that Secretary Chalwey liked us."

"Chalwey is the eternal pessimist," Tyler says. "He can always find the dark cloud behind any silver lining." She walks over to the couch and regards it. "I'm almost afraid to sit on it. This place looks like a museum."

Ghorev says, "It was good enough for President Argentis' guests, it's good enough for us." He makes his way to the terminal. "And as for the Secretary, let's assume for now he's in sympathy with those who kept the reports from the President's desk, even if it wasn't him, himself."

"Just wait until you have to sleep. Or go to the bathroom." Edwards remarks to Tyler. He wanders around idly. "I don't know. That's kinda paranoid, isn't it? Then again, we usually have a reason to be paranoid, don't we?"

Tyler sits down on the couch tentatively. "Oooh. Comfy," she says, impressed. She looks over at Ghorev. "Why, though? What would he have to gain by keeping the report out of Kor's reach?"

Ghorev turns to Tyler. "You're used to having the antennae of the Powers-that-Be, Lieutenant. And with this President, so am I. But there are men who fight their whole careers for just one moment of the kind of access we have to The Kor, one shared intimate whisper." He starts to punch in commands to the communications terminal. "There are those for whom whispered secrets are their own coin, their own power. We are, in a way, cutting off one of their revenue streams. Like denying Ambassador Lux his share of the snail juice concession on the Station. It's good for those who love snail juice. Bad for those for whom the monopoly meant something. And I'm waxing philosophical again." He turns back to the terminal. "Is there anything anyone wants to add to this message before we eat?"

"Say hi for me." Edwards says. He stops wandering near the couch and Tyler. "I think I'll give Chalwey the benefit of the doubt and assume he was just giving his opinion and is naturally kind of a stick in the mud. But if something happens, then he's evil."

"I don't have anything to add, Commander. But I see what you're saying," Tyler says. "I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with power-politics. You would think that people would just... do what is right. But I guess that is my own niavete."

Ghorev says, "If people did what was right, all the time, there'd be no need for Starfleet, or Timefleet, or any of us, really. The stability of the ground beneath our feet depends on the fact that we can reasonably rely on a certain number of people to be ... wrong." He shakes his head. "It's a horrible thought to live by, because it makes us all a little bit of pessimist, but there you are." He taps the final commands out to send the message. "And there, we're done. Now what's to eat? I'd forgotten how much that kind of transport takes out of me."

Edwards looks down at Tyler and murmurs, "Between you and me? Don't lose that naivete."

Tyler smiles up at Edwards. "I'll try," she says. "But hanging around with the two of you just might end up jading me. Over all, though, I would say the meeting went well... He at least agreed to give our proposal some serious thought. Do you think he meant it?" She looks over at Ghorev, and says, "I think I'll just take something replicated, myself. I don't want to impose on anyone in the kitchens. Though, something fresh /does/ sound good."

Ghorev says, "He meant it. Whether he'll follow-through, I can't tell you. But I *can* tell you that reading it costs him nothing more than a couple of hours of time and consideration. That's nothing to him, for something like this. It may take him a few days longer than he wants, but he'll do it." A pause, a switching of modes of thought. "Do you know, I haven't any fresh Earth food since the Academy, and my roommates were sadistic enough to keep trying to shove seafood at me. What *do* you people eat fresh, anyway? Or ... is fish really the answer, and I've *always* been paranoid? Please, tell me you have something other than fish. Something that's perhaps farmed or ranched on dry land?"

"Well, we no longer raise animals for consumption," Tyler says. "Some private farms still do. Me? I fished for my supper up until I left for the Academy. I love seafood. A shrimp salad sounds wonderful, for me." She smiles. "Try a hot dog, all the way, though. I bet the Presidential kitchens has them."

"Yeah, a hot dog, that's what you want." Edwards agrees. "You'll love it. And it doesn't come from the sea."

Ghorev settles into a seat. "Then I love it already. So, let's order."

Time: Sun Jun 20 21:13:58 2004

Stardate: 54181.6

It is after the dinner with the Bajoran Ambassador. Ghorev has gone off to talk to The Kor, Tyler has decided that a night in Paris is what she needs before returning to Four One Nine, and Edwards is left to his own devices.

That's always a dangerous thing, isn't it? Edwards attempts to look up where one Professor Sobek, of the Federation Science Council, lives, in a local directory. And works. Although it's probably too late for that now, but it's best to cover your bases.

Professor Sobek lives in London, but he works in Geneva, Switzerland, where the Federation Science Council is headquartered. A transporter hop away, and Edwards is soon walking across the sprawling FSC campus, to the Gorrasha building. The building itself has an antique stone facade, but inside it is as modern as Four One Nine. Finally, Edwards stands in front of the door leading to Professor Sobek's office, which is just one among hundreds of identical offices for the science bureaucrats.

"Well, here we go..." Edwards reaches over and presses the chime, then proceeds to wait for acknowledgement.

"Enter," comes the response from within the office. The office itself is unassuming, looking like many offices of the Federation. Inside, the only thing that denotes an occupant is an IDIC banner hung upon one wall; otherwise it is devoid of personal effects. Sobek, the salt-and-pepper-haired Vulcan sits behind his desk, reading his desk terminal. He shuts it off as Edwards enters, and he stands, bowing. "Commander Edwards. I live to serve," he states.

"Professor Sobek." Edwards greets, as he stands just far enough inside the entrance for the door to shut. "This a good time for a... chat?"

Sobek replies without emotion, "As good as any other. Please sit." He sits back down, himself and steeples his hands before him. "You have questions for which you desire answers."

Edwards wanders over to a chair in front of the desk and seats himself. "Yeah, that's right. Questions. Answers..." He motions around at the surroundings. "I can speak freely?"

"Indeed," Sobek replies, eyeing Edwards from across the desk.

"Okay. You'll have to excuse my paranoia. I'm just paranoid." Edwards remarks. "So. Sinclaire. Does she have the council's backing?"

Sobek nods a single time. "She does," the Vulcan replies.

Edwards replies, "Well, that's great." Of course, he isn't surprised. He shakes his head. "How do you feel about this?"

"My feelings on the matter are irrelevant," Sobek says. "It is illogical to sit back and allow your species to be driven to extinction. Logic would suggest that one fight with all tools necessary to prevent such an occurrence."

"Sobek. Sobek. Sobek. I gotta say, I'm disappointed." Edwards slumps some in his chair. "Maybe you could tell me just how Sinclaire and her time-traveling, law-breaking, fascist compatriots have a better chance of fixing anything than those of us who's job it is to do it legally?"

"You are allowing your emotions to control your argument, Commander. The Department of Temporal Investigations has, through their research, identified the Lithian weapon as a galactic-level extinction event," Sobek replies. "We are ill-equipped to deal with the threat at our current technological level. It has become necessary, in the face of the End of Time, to go back and make minute adjustments, in order to prepare ourselves for what will eventually lead to allowing those whose job it is to defeat them legally to be able to accomplish their task."

"You're damn right I'm allowing my emotions to control my argument." Edwards riles himself up enough that he stops slumping and hops to his feet. "You wanna be cold-blooded and look at decisions based on how many people'll be helped? Then you can justify a hell of a lot of atrocities. We don't do that. And I have /no/ reason to believe Sinclaire's way is the only way to deal with this. Do you even know what happened? Why the Lithians killed everyone?"

"I do, but that information is not declassified at your level," Sobek replies without emotion. "The needs of the many outweigh the moralistic arguments of the few. There have been no atrocities committed, Commander. Winnifred Sinclaire acts within a specific set of guidelines as apportioned by the Federation Science Council, and approved by the President of the United Federation of Planets. I am unsure if you have a Pakled in your pocket or not, Commander, but 'we' do what 'we' must in order to ensure survival of the Federation. To do otherwise is to face extinction."

Edwards replies, "Oh, I see. So we can okay her kidnapping, and torture, and murder. Those are in her /guidelines/." He plants his hands on the desk leans forward. "You mean to tell me that Kor's okayed this?"

Sobek asks, "Kidnapping? Torture? Murder?" Sobek spreads his hands. "Sinclaire has acted within the guidelines of her mission; that at the end of her mission, if all else has failed, then to prepare Wendy Tyler for her role to start the adjustment phase over again. All else has failed, Commander. And people have interfered with Wendy Tyler's role, to the detriment of the Federation. There is a specialized think-tank devoted to specifically tracking the course of the future. Interference by individuals has caused the timeline to divert, and the timeline had to be brought back on course. What was done to Miss Tyler was regrettable, but necessary. And I am unfamiliar with your charge of murder."

"A lot of good Starfleet officers died trying to rescue Wendy Tyler from Sinclaire." Edwards explains in a low tone. "I'm sure that's regrettable, but necessary, too." He just glares for a brief moment. "Why Tyler? And don't give me that classified nonsense. I want some answers. Real ones. Because as far as I'm concerned right now, this is some personal vendetta playing over and over again, and you're allowing it, so that makes you responsible for billions upon billions of deaths."

"That was not murder, Commander, that was self-defense. A hostile out-time force attacked the future-Aegis with lethal intent," replies Sobek. "The Commander of Four One Nine, Balin, I believe, was warned away from that course repeatedly, as was Admiral Whitehorse. They proceeded without concern for the outcome of their actions." He steeples his fingers before him again. "Time is fluid, Commander. There are currents that flow through it, which coalesce at important dates, and around important people. Edith Keeler was one such person. You have probably never heard of her. She was a social worker in Earth's early twentieth century. During an out-time temporal incursion, she was spared from an untimely death via an accident with a vehicle. She then went on to lead a peace movement on Earth, which delayed the United States from entering into World War II. Hitler was able to develop a nuclear weapon, which led to his victory in that war. Time was altered, and Starfleet, the Federation and everything we hold important to us was erased with that one person being spared from death. Sarek of Vulcan was another such person, as was Captain James T. Kirk. People cannot fully understand their full importance in historical events, and to say that one person does not matter in the 'grand scheme of things' is naive. Some do, some do not. Wendy Tyler is one of these people. As are you."

Edwards takes that in, digesting it. One can almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Tell me why." he says. "You think we're screwed anyway. Right? You're writing us off. So tell me why she matters. I'm just going to die anyway in nine months."

"She has been identified as the focal point for the continued survival of the Federation, by the Department of Temporal Investigations, and by the Federation Science Council," Sobek states. "Time flows through her. I cannot answer 'why' any more than I can answer 'why' the universe exists. It simply is. Some things we must simply accept as our fate." He spreads his hands. "If you are so worried about her behaving as a temporal miscreant, Commander, why don't you go with her into the past to keep an eye on her? To make sure the moral end of your argument is met and carried through? She has already submitted an escape plan, to flee into the past, and it has been ratified by the Federation Science Council, and will be signed into Presidential Decree this week. Lt. Tyler is merely taking the steps she is meant to take. As must you."

"I can't do anything to make it legal." Edwards points out. "And I've already done the wrong thing too many times in this lifetime." He stops leaning against the desk. "There has to be something more to Wendy Tyler. That artifact came out of nowhere and latched onto her. It's the closest thing she'll ever have to a child. And the Lithians will kill anyone in their path, except her. Or is that just because 'time flows through her?'"

"Possibly," Sobek replies. "I do not know. I do know that the Artifact is akin to captain, warp core and computer core all wrapped in one, and serves as such on board a Lithian ship. It is more likely that she is being protected by the artifact for the very reason you have mentioned; it has latched on her and shows complete disregard for the other sapients nearby, or perhaps because of her temporal nature. I am lacking in facts in this regard, and it is merely a game of speculation at this point."

Edwards asks, "Do you even know what happened in the original timeline? The actual original one?"

Sobek shakes his head. "That information is tightly controlled by the DTI think-tank responsible for keeping track of the iterations of the loop. As it should be."

"That's just great. Not only is a small group of people deciding the fate of the entire galaxy for the rest of us, both an even smaller group of people is withholding information that might impact those decisions." Edwards kicks the desk in frustration. "Don't you see how... how stupid this is? How is this logical? Don't you think that maybe what happened originally might be /important/? They probably just think you wouldn't be able to handle it, like you think the rest of us can't handle what you do know."

Sobek glances down at the desk at Edwards' kick, then back up to Edwards. "Commander, if you do not control yourself, I will be forced to call security and have you removed from my office," he states.

"Oh, I'm controlling myself. I'm controlling myself like you wouldn't believe." Edwards' jaw clenches momentarily. "You don't care, do you? You're more than happy to just let these people, this think thank, worry about what happened. And you're more than happy to ask Sinclaire to solve your problems for you."

"I am willing to let these people do their jobs, Commander," Sobek replies. "I assure you that the think-tank that DTI has assembled is more than competent to carry out their objective, and is filled with people of the highest scientific and moral caliber that the Federation could find. It is their business to track and monitor our history and our future. It is logical because there is little choice; the alternative is extinction."

"If those people are of the highest moral caliber, and are going along with this, then I really hope you don't consider me a moral person." Edwards shakes his head. "You're lucky there's not a damn thing I can do about this. Just remember this: we're going to die, and you had a chance to really do something about it, but you didn't. You took the safe way out. You handed the problem off. Maybe it'll only take a few hundred loops before someone gets it right."

Sobek spreads his hands. "And what could I do Commander? What exactly could you do? Whose to say that in the last iteration you weren't given every bit of access you have asked for, and failed? Yours is the argument that is illogical. What difference, if I may ask, do you think you can make?"

Edwards replies, "It's just like you said, Sobek. People matter. That's the difference between you and me. You might say it, but you don't believe that people really matter. You're told that all the calculations say one person matters, so you throw everything you have behind her. Damn the rest of us. And all it's gotten you is extinction, again and again and again. But me? I believe in /us/. I believe in myself, my crewmates, Starfleet, and the entire Federation."

Sobek shakes his head. "No, you twist my words for the benefit of your argument. I believe in people, and more specifically, you, Commander. I have no doubt that one day you will make the difference. But we are not at that day, yet, Commander. As I have stated, in this timeline, all else has failed. We have not been able to develop a weapon capable of stopping the Lithians. We are technologically impotent to defeat them. We have to rely on our fallback plan, now, which is to prepare Lt. Tyler for her role in doing this all over again. See, Commander, what you fail to acknowledge is that /significant/ amounts of resources have been devoted to this problem. Yours is not the only group working on a solution. We have research teams throughout the Federation who have been theorizing, inventing, and working to prevent the end of things to come. And it has all been fruitless. Perhaps it will be fruitless in the next iteration, as well. However, we /will/ get it right."

"What about stopping them? Making sure they don't come?" Edwards asks.

"And how do you propose we do that, Commander? We do not know who has sent them," Sobek replies.

Edwards raises both eyebrows. "You don't? Does that mean you don't know who created them?"

Sobek shakes his head. "No," he states. "Lacking authoritative data in that regard, we can only hope to stop them when they get here. The Lithians are creatures that exist outside of time, Commander, and the only way to fight them is by utilizing time ourselves." His eyebrows pinch together. "Fight fire with fire, as they say."

"I asked Sinclaire about who created them. She blew me off with the Temporal Prime Directive. Can you believe that?" Edwards lays one hand on the desk's surface. "I thought it was funny, all things considered. Now maybe she just didn't want to show me that she doesn't know everything. Or maybe someone's keeping a very important piece of the puzzle from you." He shrugs. "Or maybe it doesn't matter. I don't know."

"Sinclaire's mandate prevents her from sharing any knowledge of the past or future with out-time operatives," Sobek states. "Which includes you. You have gone on enough temporal missions to know that discussing or disclosing information to out-time operatives can have disastrous consequences."

Edwards throws his hands up. "What was I thinking? You're right. We wouldn't want to make our /extinction/ any worse now, would we?" He drops his arms. "So what? You're willing to accept that we don't need to know?"

"I assure you that if she knew, I would know, Commander. And I do not. Another part of her mandate says that if she should find those responsible for unleashing the Lithians upon us, that she report it immediately. She follows her orders, Commander. You know what kind of officer Lt. Tyler is, and Sinclaire is just an older Lt. Tyler." Sobek lets that sit there for a moment. "I think we have reached an impasse in this discussion, Commander. I have tried to explain the position of the Federation as best as I can, and you refuse to see logic. Stubbornness, however, is indicative of your species; so I do not fault you for it personally. Good day, Commander," he says.

"Think about it, Sobek. Maybe she won't tell you. Maybe she feels she can't." Edwards backs up, toward the exit. "Maybe you know for a fact that she doesn't know. I don't know. But if there's the slightest hint of a doubt, if you're just trusting her word..." He trails off and stops walking. "I'll see you again. Someday." He turns to leave.

Sobek watches Edwards leave. When the door closes, he says, "Computer, lock door. Establish a subspace link to the Dulcais sector subspace relay, Priority One, authorization Sobek Gamma Five Six Two."

The computer chirrups and responds, "Link established."

"Communique to Admiral Sinclaire, USS Aegis-X: It is done. End transmission."

Chirrup, chirrup. "Communication terminated." Sobek turns his chair to look out the window and across the Federation Science Council campus.