Grand Designs

by Dayton Ward

  “No,” the prefect replied, her expression one of apology. “I do not think so.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  Gold was sure he was hearing things. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “I have no intention of recalling the missiles,” Randa said. “You may have solved the immediate problem, but we cannot tolerate terrorist actions against our planet. I have no choice but to do everything in my power to ensure that such threats are not repeated.”

  Feeling his ire beginning to rise yet again, the captain stepped closer to the viewer. “Prefect, you know I can’t allow that to happen.” To Wong he asked, “Is that course to Rhaax V ready?”

  “Plotted and laid in, sir,” the lieutenant replied.

  “How much time before the missiles enter the atmosphere?”

  At tactical, Shabalala said, “Less than three minutes, sir.”

  “Even with your ship’s speed, Captain,” Randa said, “you cannot destroy all the missiles. Some will still get through, and even if it is only a few, they will be sufficient to send a message to the colonists never to attempt such a foolhardy strategy ever again.”

  Turning from the viewer and moving to his chair, Gold said, “Get her off my screen. Wong, engage.” Two minutes. Was that enough time to intercept and destroy all of the missiles? Logic said no, emotion said yes, and Gold felt the pull from both as they went to war against one another.

  Even with the ship’s inertial damping field, he still felt the subtle change in the omnipresent vibration of the da Vinci ’s engines as the vessel leapt into warp. On the viewer, stars elongated and stretched beyond the boundaries of the screen as the ship hurtled through subspace on its abbreviated journey through the Rhaaxan solar system.

  Please don’t plow us into a planet, Gold pleaded silently, but need not have worried. As fast as the trip had begun, it was over, with the stars reverting to distant pinpoints and the image on the viewer now dominated by the lush blue and green world that was Rhaax V.

  “I’m tracking twenty-four missiles, all on course for the planet, Captain,” Shabalala reported.

  “Plot an intercept course,” Gold said to Wong. “Coordinate with Shabalala for automated targeting and fire control. We’re only going to get one chance at this.”

  How much of whatever deadly biogenic agent created by the Rhaaxans did each missile contain? What kind of damage could each weapon inflict? By failing to intercept them all before they reached their target destinations, how many people was he leaving to die?

  “Captain,” Gomez said, stepping down into the command well and stopping alongside his chair, “you—”

  “Commander Gomez,” Marshall snapped, cutting her off.

  When the diplomat said nothing else, Gold frowned and turned in his seat. What the hell is this about?

  “I don’t have time for this sort of nonsense, Ambassador,” he said, irritation lacing every word. “We’re beyond diplomatic solutions now, and you’re interfering with my people in the performance of their duties.” Looking to Gomez, he said, “What is it, Commander?”

  Before she could even open her mouth to reply, Marshall said, “Commander Gomez and her S.C.E.

  detachment are still under my authority, Captain, and subject to my orders.”

  Why that might possibly matter at this critical juncture was a mystery to Gold. He could feel the eyes of everyone on the bridge turning to watch the rapidly escalating confrontation.

  “We’ll discuss your authority when I’m finished here, Mr. Marshall,” the captain said. He could not afford this kind of lapse, not now. Returning his attention to the task at hand, he asked, “Wong, where are we?”

  “Course computed, sir,” the ensign replied.

  “Phasers ready?”

  Shabalala nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Fire at will.”

  Gold watched multiple beams of orange energy streak away from the ship on the viewer as the computer locked on to the first targets and fired. There was only an instant for him to note tiny distant explosions as the phaser strikes found their marks before the ship altered its course for the next battery of fire, and the sequence repeated again.

  “Seventeen missiles destroyed,” Shabalala reported after the third volley of fire. “Moving to target the next group.” He looked up from his console a moment later, his expression filled with dread. “Sensors are picking up the first missile entering the atmosphere, sir.”

  Damn it!

  Gold slammed his fist on the arm of his command chair. One more pass and they would have had them all!

  “The other six are following,” the tactical officer said, shaking his head in defeat. “I’m picking up detonations within the atmosphere.”

  “Move us to standard orbit, Wong,” Gold said, his voice subdued. “Shabalala, get me Starfleet Command. We’re going to need planetary disaster teams to be sent here as soon as possible.” He felt the bile rising in his throat as he spoke the words. How long would it take for the biogenic weapon carried by the missiles to begin its work of poisoning the planet’s atmosphere, and how fast would that reaction spread? As he rose from his chair, a sudden weakness coursed through his body as he envisioned the thousands of colonists, all gasping for one final tortured breath.

  “Captain,” Stevens called out, drawing the captain’s attention from the viewscreen. “I think you should see this.”

  Gold looked to the science station and saw the very confused expression on the younger man’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m not detecting any chemical reaction in the atmosphere,” Stevens replied.

  His own brow creasing in confusion, Gold moved until he was leaning over the bridge railing that separated him from the upper deck. “Were the warheads on those missiles empty? Did they malfunction?”

  Stevens shook his head. “Each missile released a chemical compound, sir, but according to my scans, it’s inert.”

  “Are you sure?” Gold asked.

  “Absolutely. The compound is breaking down as it disperses through the atmosphere. I’m picking up residual traces, but it’s having no destructive effect that I can find.”

  Pausing a moment to offer a silent thanks to whichever deities or omnipotent superbeings had seen fit to smile on them, Gold breathed a sigh of relief. The Rhaaxans had obviously made some error when manufacturing the biological weapon, taking the research information Gomez had uncovered and failing to capitalize on it in whatever manner the commander had originally feared.

  “Most gracious are the heavens,” he mused, “and the small favors they offer.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but the heavens didn’t have anything to do with it,” Gomez said from behind him. Turning from the railing, Gold saw Marshall and Gomez standing side by side. The ambassador was giving Gomez a look of angered annoyance, while the commander had an expression of relief and, if he was not mistaken, guilt.

  “What are you talking about?” the captain asked.

  Pointing to the viewscreen, Gomez said, “The missiles were designed to fail.”

  The utter absurdity of the statement kept it from fully registering with Gold at first. “What do you mean?” he asked after several seconds.

  “The data they found was bait,” Gomez said, “which I planted on Ambassador Marshall’s orders to see if the Rhaaxans would use the information to act against the colonists.”

  “You deliberately furnished them with the information to create a superweapon?” he asked, his voice nearly strangled by the astonishment he felt.

  “No, sir,” Gomez said quickly. “Like I said, it was intended to fail. The information they obtained from us was designed to create an inert chemical. Originally, yes, the compound their scientists devised was lethal, but that was in order to satisfy test conditions. The formulae devised for the agent were sufficiently complex that it was easy to mask the elements necessary to render the entire mixture harmless as soon as it came into contact with the atmosphere of Rhaax V.”

&n
bsp; “That’s impossible,” Stevens said as he rose from the science station. “You showed us all the—” He cut himself off.

  Gold shook his head. “You set it up in such a manner that you even fooled your own people. You did it that way so you’d be the only one involved.”

  Gomez’s response was simply to nod.

  “That’s right, Captain,” Marshall said, “I ordered Commander Gomez to put this plan in motion. After the Rhaaxan’s bluffed threat, we had to find out if they were willing to carry out a true aggressive action of this magnitude if given the opportunity.” Shaking his head, the ambassador’s expression was one of grim regret. “As we have just seen, they appear to be quite willing.”

  Though he understood how difficult it must have been for Gomez to be torn between her loyalty to him and her duty to obey Marshall’s orders, Gold still felt the sting of betrayal from his first officer. On the other hand, she did speak up, finally. Based on the look of anger on Marshall’s face, Gold had to wonder if the truth would ever have come out if she had kept quiet.

  “You had the authority to give that order?” Gold could not imagine the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps or even the Federation Council advocating such an outrageous venture.

  Marshall stiffened in response to the question. “The Federation wants these people as members, Captain, and I’ve been sent here to resolve the dispute between the Rhaaxans and their colonists. Once it became obvious that all conventional diplomatic measures were proving ineffective here, more drastic action was called for. I’ve been given a great deal of latitude to accomplish my mission here, and I’m confident that once the facts of the matter are presented to the Federation, they will agree with the decisions I made.”

  Shaking his head in disgust, Gold said, “There’ll be plenty of time to sort out this idiocy later.” He turned his back on Marshall, unable to keep the disappointment from his face as he regarded Gomez for an extra few seconds. The captain took no satisfaction when she failed to meet his gaze, but then he pushed the issue away, tabling it until a more appropriate time.

  “Shabalala, open a channel to both prefects,” he ordered as he returned to his chair. A moment later, the image on the main viewer was split in the middle, with both Randa and Erokan looking out at him.

  “Prefect Erokan, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that the missiles launched against your planet were ineffective. The chemicals they carried proved to be harmless to your atmosphere.”

  “That is impossible!” Randa exclaimed, her voice nearly a shriek.

  Gold shrugged. “Believe it, Prefect. Sorry to ruin your plans. Feel free to file a report with Starfleet Command at your earliest convenience.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, Captain,” Erokan offered, but Gold waved it away.

  “Don’t thank me. I wasn’t able to stop all of the missiles. You got lucky, that’s all.” To both prefects, he said, “We have a problem here, one that I intend to resolve very quickly, after which I’m taking my ship the hell out of here. What you do after that is up to you, because I’m certainly not planning on giving a damn one way or another.”

  “Now see here,” Randa said. “We would not be in this situation were it not for Federation interference. You cannot walk away from the damage you have caused here.”

  Rising from his chair, Gold began to advance on the viewer. “Pardon my faulty memory, but was it not you who petitioned us for Federation membership?” To Erokan he said, “As for Numai, you called on us to mediate your dispute with Rhaax, and you applied for Federation membership as a separate body, did you not?”

  “ That’s true, ” Erokan said, “ but—”

  Gold cut him off. “I don’t deny that we might have botched some things with regard to your situation, but let’s not forget the simple truth upon which this entire sordid affair has been erected: We’re only here because you wanted us here and because you couldn’t settle your own disputes yourselves. Now that you’ve amply demonstrated that you’re not mature enough to handle your responsibilities within a larger inter-stellar community, you want us to clean up your mess for you. What do you want us to do? Assuming we can even put a stop to this insanity you’ve created, what’s to prevent you from trying again tomorrow? Why should we bother? Why are you worth saving?”

  For what Gold believed might just be the first time since being elected to their current positions, the prefects were speechless.

  “Good,” he said. “I see I’ve given you a lot to think about. You do that and get back to me.” With that, the captain made the motion of drawing his finger across his throat, and Shabalala immediately severed the connection.

  No one said anything for several seconds, and Gold himself merely stared at the image of Rhaax V’s surface slowly rolling past as the da Vinci continued its orbit. Finally he shook his head, the events of the past hour having nearly sickened him.

  “Captain,” Marshall said, “I remind you that I am still in charge of this mission. If any resolutions are to be offered, they will be offered by me.”

  Turning from the viewer, Gold leveled a withering stare at the diplomat. “Your mission is over, Ambassador. I just completed it for you. The only thing left is the cleanup, and for us to iron out a few nagging details.” He indicated the door to his ready room. “I’d like to talk with you and Commander Gomez in private, please. Now.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  David Gold had never considered himself a violent man. Of course, he had been involved in various forms of conflict throughout his career, from individual fights to space battles, most especially during the brutal two years of the Dominion War. He took pride in his ability and willingness to go to any length in order to find nonviolent solutions to problems no matter their size or scope. Even on those unfortunate occasions where he had been forced to take life, he had resorted to such action only after every other option had been exhausted, and spent much time afterward reflecting on whether or not there had been another alternative he might have overlooked. He was comforted by the thought that subjecting himself and his decisions to such intense scrutiny played a key part in ensuring that he never wavered from his convictions.

  It was precisely that level of restraint, nurtured and refined over a lifetime, which prevented Gold from knocking Ambassador Gabriel Marshall through the bulkhead of his ready room.

  “Mr. Marshall,” he said, “with all due respect, have you lost your mind?”

  The diplomat’s jaw dropped open in response to the blunt query. He said nothing for several moments, for which Gold was actually thankful. When he finally did begin to recover, his trademark overbearing demeanor returned in force.

  “I might ask you the same question, Captain,” he replied. “You forget your place.”

  “Let’s get something straight,” Gold snapped. “Your authority on this ship ended the moment those two planets started shooting at each other. Your authority over me ended the moment you elected to keep information from me that resulted in members of my crew being placed in danger.”

  Marshall snorted. “If I’d informed you of my plans, would you have cooperated?”

  “Absolutely not,” the captain replied, “and you knew that, which is why you made an end run around me to Starfleet Command and shanghaied my people.” He glanced at Gomez, who stood silent near the door, before continuing. “I know that your mission parameters placed the ship’s S.C.E. team under your direct command, but I’m pretty damned certain that order wasn’t intended to let you tamper with the relationship between Rhaax and her colony. Something tells me that somebody’s eyebrows are going to rise more than a bit when they read the report I’m submitting about all of this.”

  Shaking his head, Marshall frowned. “Captain, given the current challenges facing the Federation, we are in need of new allies now more than ever. We must continue to expand if we are to remain healthy and vibrant. The Rhaaxans represent a valuable asset to us if they can be helped to overcome the obstacles they face. That is why we are
here.”

  To Gold it sounded like so much public relations doublespeak. “I realize we’ve had our share of problems in the last few years, Ambassador,” he said, working very hard to keep the distaste from his voice, “but it would seem helpful to remember that the Rhaaxans’ state of affairs is one that the Federation must take responsibility for creating. While it might have been an honest error or a massive lapse in judgment, I don’t think it justifies continuing to manipulate an entire civilization in order to create a solution that reflects our best interests. I’m pretty sure the Federation will believe that, too. After all, I’d hope we learned something after that mess with the Ba’ku.”

  During the Dominion War, that peaceful civilization had become the focal point of one of the most embarrassing incidents in Federation history, to Gold at least. High-ranking officials and Starfleet officers had conspired to drive the people from their world in order to harness for their own ends the life-prolonging effects of metaphasic radiation surrounding the Ba’ku planet.

  After the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise thwarted the plot, the details of the conspiracy were made public during a lengthy series of trials and courts-martial for those involved. Explanations and excuses were offered, citing the need to maintain the health and security of the Federation and the hardship in doing so during a climate of war and its aftermath. Promises were made and commitments pledged anew to the principles upon which the Federation had been founded, including the highest standard of all, the Prime Directive.

  “I think that incident is still fresh enough in a lot of people’s minds,” Gold continued, “that it’ll invite all sorts of unwanted and unpopular comparisons to what’s happened here. I just don’t see how your actions can possibly be justified or accepted.”

  Marshall replied, “My intention was to draw the Rhaaxans out and see if they would develop the biogenic agents if given the opportunity. As it happens, we also learned that the colonists were harboring their own weapon.”