“At the end of the day Commander Allen,” Grand Gentarch Verlan spread his age – spotted hands across the expanse of his desk and a small, regretful smile creased his careworn face (but did not quite meet his eyes) as the holder of the Office of the Grand Gentarch of the Planetary Gerontocracy reflected evenly, “it’s all a matter of optics I’m afraid.”

Nate Allen considered the shriveled but avuncular B’Queth leader, who was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the room. Everything in the Primarion planetary capital seemed to be of a vastly exaggerated architectural scale, encapsulating a broader dialogue between architecture and its sociocultural context, reflecting and shaping the way visitors interacted with and experienced the environment.

In short – like the B’Queth – it was built to dominate.

The Captain of the USS Sacramento shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waved a hand to politely refuse the refreshment, diffidently offered by a demure V’Saal functionary clad in non-descript formal garb and he frowned briefly.

“Optics?” Nate conjectured “I’m not sure that I follow Grand Gentarch?”

In any other setting, Grand Gentarch Verlan might have seemed like someone’s conception of a kindly uncle. Unmistakably geriatric even for a race whose average lifespan was of a Centralian – scale, with quick bright eyes that looked incongruous behind the rheumy folds of his lined eyelids and bushy white eyebrows.

Nate had to remind himself that this particular ‘kindly uncle’ represented a vastly influential hegemonistic charismatic dictatorship and held the fate of millions between his gnarled fingers.

Something that the Starfleet Captain was keenly aware of, as his command was currently in orbit, effectively blockaded by an encircling fleet of Gerontocracy Naval vessels and Nate himself was on the very precipice of a potentially disastrous diplomatic crises that (at best) could portend a damaging breakdown of years of carefully wrought diplomacy between the United Federation of Planets and the Primarion Gerontocracy and (at worst) precipitate a small, but equally disastrous armed conflict.

Bright sunshine framed the Grand Gentarch in a blinding halo of diffuse light streaming from the vast curve of window behind him, causing Nate to squint uncomfortably. This too a careful contrivance of the design of an office built to carefully articulate dominance.

Verlan sighed expansively, as if explaining the current status quo to the Federation Officer somehow pained him beyond his advancing years.

“This…situation we find ourselves faced with, regrettable as it assuredly is Captain Allen, is one of Optics.” The Grand Gentarch expounded, motioning to the functionary to dim the polarization of the window and the glare in the room rescinded to a bearable level as long streams of air – vehicles threaded their orderly way between the vast, gleaming spires of the capital.

“So you said.” Nate nodded carefully.

“We did not compel this, this….” Verlan was at a momentary loss as the V’Saal functionary bent at the waist and quietly whispered in his ear.

“…This Representative Fur’an. Yes, quite.” The Grand Gentarch continued, “We did not compel this Fur’an to viciously attack a member of our Diplomatic Mission Captain Allen, nor are we responsible for the schism that has grown in the breast of our nation, an insidiousness that is poisoning the wound in our body politic and estranging the harmony that has existed for eons between the two races of the Primarion peoples.”

Verlan’s gaze turned pointedly to Nate and the Gentarch’s tone quickly went from avuncular to pointedly chilly as he settled back in his impressive chair.

“No Captain Allen,” Verlan put weight behind each word, “That particular malady began to infect our V’Saal subjects contiguously when your Federation and it’s egalitarian propaganda spread amongst the most impressionable and now here, we are dealing with its unfortunate aftermath.”

“Grand Gentarch, with all respect, the mission of the United Federation of Planets is primarily and assuredly one of non – interference with the natural development of alien civilizations.” Commander Allen began reasonably.

Verlan leaned forward and fixed Nate with a wry smile.

“There you have it, Captain, that word “Alien”.” The Grand Gentarch took a sip of his own refreshment and nodded as if they were a pair of old friends conducting an academic discourse over matters of hypothetical import. “Your precious Prime Directive is purported to prevent cultural contamination. But in your hubris, your Federation ARE the aliens as far as we are concerned, and your alien concepts are as poison to our people. A people that has co-existed in harmony for all of our recorded history, until your people came along.”

It was Nate’s turn to sigh, in essence what the Primarion premier said was at least partially true and one of the more dichotomous pitfalls of First Contact philosophy – no matter how diligently the United Federation of planets might apply the tenets of First Contact, there was always a degree of cognitive dissonance that would be produced by the interaction of two races, alien in most aspects, that would bleed- through from one culture to the next, often with unintended results.

Command Allen pursed his lips, deciding that remaining silent was to be the most prudent course of diplomacy and attempted to steer the meeting back on track to the actual matter of hand – the life of the aforementioned Representative Fur’an.

“Grand Gentarch, whilst I don’t doubt what you say from an intellectual standpoint, I’m just a Starship Captain and I prefer to stay in my lane. Now, about the matter of the Trial?”

At this Verlan levered his decrepit frame to a semblance of a standing position, the façade of good-natured bonhomie creeping back into his voice, despite being the man – holding all the cards in this particular game.

“Optics Captain.” Verlan nodded sagely. “We will indulge your whimsey to stage this trial that you insist this Fur’an must have – a process in pointless brinkmanship as, even if our own laws were not as so very clear as they are – regardless any attack on a B’Queth personage is a capital offence.”

“Grand Gentarch, there are clearly mitigating circumstances…” Nate began before the B’Queth statesman cut him off.

“We will have this rudderless and sanctimonious trial Captain Allen.” Verlan continued and considered the vista outside “We will do so to show how accommodating the Gerontocracy is of our Federation friends – misguided as they may be – we will do so in the full view of the entire system, both B’Queth & V’Saal.” The Gentarch turned back to Nate and there was ice in his words once more.

“We will do so, despite the certainty that a guilty verdict is all but inevitable and the sentence, as ever, shall be death…”

“You promised that a fair – trial will be convened…” Nate protested, not liking the direction this diatribe was heading in.

Grand Gentarch Verlan raised a hand and pointed a finger at the Starfleet Captain, as if Nate had hit upon the very heart of the matter.

“And so, we shall Captain Allen!” There was steel in his voice now, any semblance of joviality melted away “We shall hold a trial and we shall honor your request to do so with impartiality and in deference to your own twisted alien ideals of “what – is – fair” but know this one thing Captain….”

Nate sat back in his seat.

“The Federation will be on trial Captain Allen.” Verlan warned dangerously, “The impact and extent of your interference and the irreparable damage it has done to our peace, through the actions of the malcontents that call themselves the Separatist Tendency will be on trial Captain.” The Grand Gentarch warned acidly.

Commander Allen frowned massively but kept his own council.

“And when Representative Fur’an is found guilty, your own guilt will be manifest to all Primarion and on that day Captain Allen, your United Federation of Planets will have to reap the bounty of the discord that it has so assiduously sown.”

Nate was momentarily speechless at the force of ire expressed by the Grand Gentarch and keenly aware that the old man was merely acting as an echo – chamber to the wider prejudices and discontent of the entire B’Queth Gerontocracy.

He was also keenly aware that the rulers of Primarion, were the dominant minority and spoke on behalf of a subjugated majority that had no voice, so thus he resolved to find his own.

“I thank you for your accommodation of our request to see due process served Grand Gentarch.” Nate swallowed his anger, reminding himself that as an Officer serving with Taskforce 72, the path to diplomacy was often fraught with challenges such as this. “The United Federation of Planets remains committed to the furtherance of positive relations between our peoples and I am sure that we can find some accommodation in this matter that is in the mutual benefit to all of our peoples.” Nate stressed that last qualifier with some emphasis.

The Grand Gentarch considered Nate for a long time with an inscrutable eye and then nodded his assent.

“Quite so Captain Allen, quite so.” Verlan allowed, admonished now that the Starfleet Officer had not so easily reacted to his baited diatribe as was expected.

“We will conclude this sorry state of affairs in short order and whilst we do, the ceremony to commemorate the activation of the Sub – space communications network shall proceed as planned.” Verlan confirmed testily. “The contrivance of the Separatist Tendency will rescind into the past as the hollow echo it is, and the Gerontocracy shall join its great voice in unison with your Federation to reverberate throughout history and establish our culture throughout the stars.”

Commander Nathan Allen, taking this grandstanding display as the signal that this unfortunate meeting was concluded, stood from his chair and straightened his uniform tunic.

“Well thank you for your time Grand Gentarch Verlan.” Nate nodded, “I have full faith that Lieutenant Commander Sorvak will do his utmost to provide Representative Fur’an with an effective and impartial defense.” Nate crossed the luxurious pile of carpet and added “I will, of course, see you at commissioning ceremony Grand Gentarch, Good – day.”

Verlan inclined his head and (not for the first time that day) Nate was struck with the incongruous impression that a kindly old man and a vociferous predator inhabited the same place within the age – wrinkled skin under those stately robes.

“Good day, Captain Allen, I trust our little talk has left you with a number of realities to ponder?’ Verlan smiled thinly.

Diplomacy won out once more as Nate opened a Comm – channel to the USS Sacramento and commanded “Allen to Sacramento – one to beam up – engage.”

In the resulting myriad Brownian – swirl of complex energies that enfolded him and left in his place a pointed silence, Commander Allen was glad that he had held his tongue.