Princess

[Joy 0]

 

Subject : Political Status, Sky Harbor Aegis

From : Ambassador Joy Seven

To : Office of the Chair, the Federation Council

 

<Begin forwarded message>

 

Subject : Transcript

From : Ambassador Joy Two, Sky Harbor Aegis

To : Ambassador Joy Seven, Earth

 

Once upon a time, M’lord Mudd became dissatisfied with last year’s class of androids, and resolved to create something better. For something new and different, he gave them hearts. After a time, when he needed some cash, he sold two of them to the Ferengi, but the Ferengi were dissatisfied. So they were changed again. Of course, the Federation was dissatisfied with the result. And you know... they were changed again.

 

And now, I went to an artificial Vulcan for advice. I suppose I deserved what I got. And, you know, it isn’t bad advice. In the spirit of the eternal quest for the more perfect woman, there is much wisdom in what you say. It is right. It is proper. You should be congratulated on the wisdom of it. I should show deference. I should develop my sense of humor. I should behave with grace and class. I should remember male pride. I should not show passion in my beliefs, lest it be mistaken for bravado, and thus draw wrath.

 

I doubt you know much of human women’s clothing? You wouldn’t know this outfit? It’s but a simple skirt and blouse. These were designed on Earth in the 1950s. The humans had bombs enough to destroy their civilization, but had not yet left the planet.

 

It is my Princess Ann outfit. It’s from an old story, Roman Holiday. The diplomatic Joys wear it almost always. Putting it on calls up an old personality, a fantasy part my progenitor once played. The role was of a Princess, a diplomat of a sort, a public relations front woman. As the story opens, she is shown going about her business. Reviewing soldiers. Visiting public buildings. Working a reception line. Smiling. Always, smiling. Dancing with old men. Her posture was always correct. Her manners always perfect.

 

Her feet hurt. When I try to walk in her shoes, my feet hurt. One may never let it show.

 

After the grand diplomatic reception, you get to see who she really was without the beautiful ball gown. She likes to bounce on the bed. She likes cookies and milk before bed time. She isn’t happy with a beautiful embroidered nightgown. She wants pajamas. But she can’t bounce on the bed as they must review tomorrow’s schedule. She is to cut the ribbon at the factory. She is not to accept the car. No thank you. She is to accept the flowers. Thank you. She is to give speeches. Youth, and opportunity. Peace and good will. Cooperation among nations.

 

She doesn’t like schedules. Schedules rule her life. They remind her that yesterday was much like today, and will be much like tomorrow. She throws quite a fit, that little princess. A princess in hysterics. A princess in tears. And, you know, that story is an odd story, a romantic and comic tragedy. The Princess can’t have love because she has duties.

 

So, yes, you give wonderful advice. I shall walk in her shoes. I shall dance delicately. I shall work on my humor. Grace and class. Posture. Diction. I shall smile. I shall show deference.

 

Yet how much more can I defer? I promised to support Drankum’s military and economic plans. God help me, I promised to support a program of military and economic expansion. I did it in hopes that I could continue making my little speeches. Youth and opportunity. Peace and good will. Cooperation among nations. After all this time, I still want to make the same damn speeches. I won’t accept the car. I will accept the flowers. But no one gives me flowers. I have a grand elaborate diplomatic palace, but it is empty. No one is here to hear. I sometimes think only my sisters believe in what I have to say, but now what I would say is classified. I should not bring my message even to them?

 

It’s coming, you know. Conflict. Battle. War. Likely enough, I couldn’t stop it, anyway. Does any princess really matter when King Phaser sits upon the Latinum Throne? Once upon a time they let me mouth the words. The people liked to hear them. Have the words now become the enemy? Is it now so important that they not be spoken?

 

Could I have stopped it? I don’t know. I doubt it. I would have liked to have been able to try.

 

Deference? Remember his pride? Humor? Avoid seeming bombastic? Do not seem to care, to strive for my beliefs? Grace always? Class?

 

But my heart is programmed to be broken. Even Princess Ann on occasion needs to scream. Even Princess Ann cries.

 

<End forwarded message>

Edited March 26, 2009 by Joy

[Joy 0]

Crystal thumbed the selector on her cricket to stun, and cautiously entered the embassy lobby. No fire fight. No bad guys. Just Bruce, at his desk, poking heavily on his screen. “What’s the alert?”

 

Bruce glanced back at Crystal, briefly, and kept working. “Not a physical threat. Cyber alarm. Denial of service attack, and not a very effective one at that. We have large number of replicator orders coming in. It’s making a dent in subspace data transfer rates. Embassy replicator resources will get stressed if we don’t block it. You could conceivably get a bit hungry. If one extrapolates a continued attack, we would blow our replicator bio mass budget.”

 

Crystal put away her cricket. “I’m watching my weight, but that’s ridiculous.”

 

“Diverse origin points. Mostly Earth. New York City. The Presidio complex. One from Haven.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like an attack.”

 

“Hmm.... You’re right. Not unless we’ve done something to tick off Professor Moriarty and Ambassador Rhybalt. A lot of them are coming through trusted sources.”

 

“Which?”

 

Bruce probed. “Florists Transworld Delivery?”

 

“Oh,” said Crystal, after a brief pause. “Not an attack. Translate the files from physical replication to holo projection, and route to Joy’s office.”

 

“Not an attack?”

 

Crystal sighed. “Joy is having a bad day. She complained that no one is listening... and no one gives her flowers.”