by Dayton Ward
“The fact that you weren’t involved in Zife’s assassination gives me some wiggle room. Not much, but enough. Jellico, Nechayev, and the others are bigger problems, but you at least are out of reach and perhaps out of mind. I may be able to mitigate the damage.”
“I don’t require another cover-up, sir. I will accept whatever punishment is deemed appropriate.” In truth, it was something he should have done a long time ago, but even coming forward to confess his role in Zife’s overthrow might bring unwanted attention to the Tezwa affair and still end up attracting the Klingons and giving them reasons to pursue vengeance.
Akaar held up a hand. “It’s not that simple. We’re only a year removed from President Bacco’s assassination. We’ve had dishonor and corruption polluting the ranks of Starfleet and the halls of Federation power for far too long. The public doesn’t need another scandal right now, and particularly not when it involves one of the genuine darlings of Starfleet. That’s you, in case you were wondering.”
Mulling this over, Picard supposed he could understand this line of reasoning. Even if his punishment was not to be made a matter of public record in order to avoid rousing the ire of the Klingon Empire, surely there remained some means of submitting himself for penance?
“So, we can’t do anything to you publicly, but here’s the reality: You can forget any thoughts or dreams about ever making admiral. I know you said you never wanted a promotion and you wanted to stay in command of the Enterprise. Well, this is for real now. Captain is the highest rank you’ll ever obtain.”
Picard said, “I’ve been a captain for more than fifty years, Admiral. I’ve had my opportunities for advancement. If I haven’t done it by now, then chances are good I never wanted to do so in the first place.”
“Well, that Jim Kirk cowboy act’s not going to work for you, or me, either. Yes, I need you where you are, and your skills and experience are invaluable, but I can learn to live without them. My biggest concern, Captain, is one of trust. Can I trust you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’ll have to convince me, Picard. Until that happens, and assuming I can provide cover and keep you from getting filleted by the media, you’re on a very short leash and I’m holding the other end. We’ll discuss this at length later, once we’ve had time to analyze the full effect of the Section 31 data dump. Just do your duty, and remember my warning.” Akaar made a jerking motion with his fist, indicating an imaginary leash he had just yanked. “We’re done here. For now, anyway.”
He said nothing else before the connection was severed and his face disappeared from the computer screen.
In some ways, Picard was relieved that the truth about Min Zife was finally coming to light. He had not celebrated the president’s removal from office, instead seeing it as an action necessary to prevent a costly and needless war that would have been the Federation’s fault. Likewise, he took no joy from learning the disgraced president’s true fate. If the data exposed by this journalist helped to bring Section 31 and its activities out into the open and onto its knees, then Picard could live with the damage to his career and status.
But what of the wall that now had been thrown up between him and Akaar? How far did that barrier extend into the halls of power at Starfleet Command and the Federation government? Picard had spent a lifetime building a reputation as an officer of the highest ethical standards. How much of a hit would that standing absorb? Could it endure the heightened scrutiny that would soon be coming his way? Might it cost him command of the Enterprise and perhaps even a dismissal in disgrace from Starfleet? Is that what the future held for him?
Only time would tell.
ONE LAST THING
30
New York City
June 7, 2067
“We are at T minus fifteen minutes and counting for liftoff of Friendship 1. Mission Control reports all systems are go, and launch is expected to proceed on schedule.”
Cloaked in darkness save for the beams from the array of floodlights bathing it in their brilliant white glow, the rocket stood silent and waiting. Just visible on the horizon was the first thin ribbon of pink, signaling the approach of another dawn. By the time the first rays of the sun shone across the waters of the Atlantic Ocean and the wetlands of Florida’s west coast, the rocket would be gone. Until then, it remained flanked on one side by the enormous red gantry that provided physical support for the rocket as well as conduits for fuel and electrical power. All of those connections would be severed during the last moments before the rocket’s launch, at which point the craft would be on its own as it climbed toward the stars.
“Even at this early hour,” continued the voice of the female news anchor, “our reporters on the ground tell us that the bleachers at all of the observation gantries are packed with onlookers. People are lining the causeway across the Indian River from the launch site, all of them eager to get a glimpse of history in the making as we send our first truly interstellar craft into deep space in search of intelligent life. We know it’s out there, and we’ve already made friends from another world who came here, to our planet. Now it’s our turn to extend the hand of friendship.”
Mestral stood before the large rectangular monitor that was the centerpiece of the Beta 8’s control panel, regarding the images being transmitted from Cape Canaveral. The supercomputer was culling telemetry from satellite transmissions, surveillance cameras scattered around the high-security launch site as well as the visitor areas of the Kennedy Space Center, and even the portable cameras held by the hundreds of observers packing the stands. After sifting through the litany of data at his fingertips, Mestral had settled on the main video feed being transmitted by the United Earth Space Probe Agency. It was obvious that the fledgling organization, a successor to the various entities that had overseen spaceflight for their respective countries dating back more than a century, was doing everything to avoid incident with this, the first launch under their auspices.
For a moment, Mestral imagined he could still feel the breeze on his face and the tinge of the salt air in his nostrils and on his tongue. Standing on the gantry before setting to work on his modifications to the UESPA-1 rocket—or Friendship 1, as it was being called for the sake of the viewing public—his view of the Atlantic Ocean had been similar to what he recalled of the Voroth Sea during holiday excursions to the city of T’Paal on Vulcan. The Florida warmth had also been a welcome change from the cooler climate of the northern United States, where he now spent most of his time, and for a brief moment he considered a permanent relocation to the more inviting region. Even after more than a century living here, Mestral could not escape the occasional yearning for the desert heat of his home planet. It was a sensation that seemed to grow more acute each year as he aged, and that it was mirrored by elder humans offered him mild amusement.
“It seems you’ve been busy.”
Startled by the voice behind him, Mestral turned toward its source. Was his hearing finally succumbing to age, or was his unexpected visitor just that stealthy? Mestral decided it was the latter upon recognizing the new arrival, who stood just outside the open doorway leading into the otherwise hidden vault containing the transport mechanism. The man, a human, was stoop-shouldered and he used a polished black cane to support his gaunt, withered frame. He wore a tailored, dark gray suit with a black shirt and matching tie. His skin was pale and deeply lined, and though his hair was full, its original pigment had long ago surrendered to stark white. Steel-gray eyes burned with a fierce intelligence and wisdom, though Mestral also thought he sensed weariness there as well. He estimated him to be nearly one hundred forty Earth years of age, well beyond a normal human’s lifespan but doubtless aided by superior genetic engineering and advanced medical care on the mysterious alien world he called home.
“Mister Seven,” said Mestral. “It is agreeable to see you again.”
Stepping away from the vault, even with the cane in his left hand, Gary Seven moved with a grace and speed that belied his advanc
ed years. He smiled as he closed the distance and extended his free hand.
“Good to see you again, too, Mestral. It’s been a long time.” There was a raspy quality to the man’s voice, though it did not stifle the comfortable authority and calm self-assurance that had been a hallmark of Gary Seven’s personality since Mestral’s first meeting with the genetically engineered human nearly a century ago.
The Vulcan took Seven’s proffered hand, something he would never have done before encountering humans. It was yet another simple gesture that had long ago become second nature as part of Mestral’s efforts to blend into human society.
Smiling as he studied the images scrolling past on the Beta 8’s monitor screen, Seven turned and indicated Mestral’s attire with a nod. “As I said, you’ve been busy, and it looks like your efforts were successful.”
Mestral looked down at himself, studying the light blue jumpsuit he still wore, and ran his fingers across the distinctive blue arrowhead patch sewn into the garment’s left breast pocket. The symbol for the United Nations, stitched in white thread, emblazoned the arrowhead’s center. It was with some fascination that Mestral noted the emblem’s similarity to the one he had seen worn by James Kirk, Spock, and other members of the U.S.S. Enterprise crew during his sporadic encounters with them. He had first seen the symbol almost a century ago, on the occasion of his unexpected and intriguing travel forward from 1968 to the Enterprise in the twenty-third century.
As for this logo, it had had only recently been adopted to identify UESPA, the multinational organization that had evolved as a successor to NASA and the European Space Agency along with similar groups from Japan, India, China, and a host of other countries around the world. The symbol also represented an ideal as well as a promise for the future. Memories and scars of the Third World War were still fresh enough that they could not be completely forgotten or healed even in the wake of the realization that humans were not the only intelligent life in the cosmos. This new space agency represented the hope that the people of Earth could finally put aside their differences and push away from their own planet while in pursuit of common, constructive goals for the betterment of all humanity. For reasons he could not fully articulate, Mestral found it somehow gratifying that the icon chosen by UESPA leaders to denote their organization would survive across centuries. From the available evidence, the symbol would progress alongside humanity’s continual reach beyond the confines of their world, eventually coming to embody an even greater, interstellar entity with a simple mandate of exploration and discovery.
And so much of what humans hope to accomplish stands ready, Mestral reminded himself as he studied the monitor’s image of the rocket. Waiting to be sent on its way.
“I believe I was able to make the proper reconfigurations in the probe’s onboard computer software,” he said. “I was just about to confirm that when you arrived.” Turning to the Beta 8’s main console, he said, “Computer, assess my updates to the probe’s onboard control systems. Verify all corrections are in place.”
After a moment during which the supercomputer offered nothing but a stream of flashing digital dots and lines across one of the console’s smaller status monitors, the advanced mechanism’s feminine voice replied, “All updates to onboard computer software have passed validation tests. Systems are operating within expected parameters.”
Satisfied, Mestral nodded. “Excellent.” In truth, he knew even before leaving the gantry that his updates had been correct, but he still welcomed the independent confirmation.
“Good thing,” said Seven. “You were cutting it a little close to the launch time with that stunt.”
“It was a necessary risk, given the security around the launch complex,” replied Mestral. “I was forced to wait until all support personnel were clear of the area before transporting onto the gantry.”
The Beta 8 had detected a flaw in the Friendship 1 computer software that, if left uncorrected, would have issued a false abort and self-destruct signal mere moments after liftoff. Mestral was only aware of the problem because he had been monitoring the launch, and—motivated by simple curiosity—instructed the supercomputer to conduct a scan of the probe and the rocket that would carry it away from Earth.
Such a setback would have been costly just with respect to the loss of equipment and the years and resources that had been expended to bring to fruition the vision put forth by the Friendship 1’s mission planners. To suffer such a catastrophic failure during its first launch would have dealt UESPA a severe blow with regard to public perceptions and government oversight. Both of those groups harbored no small number of critics who had from the beginning denounced the unmanned interstellar exploration initiative as an obscene waste of time and money. In the minds of such people, efforts of this sort might well be better expended toward the goal of continuing to heal the world and its people of the wounds they had suffered during the war.
Upon detecting the fault, he had conducted his own investigation of the onboard software and determined that a correction was critical if the probe was to survive. Updating the defective software was easy enough, though it could not be done remotely, necessitating an onsite interaction prior to the probe’s launch. With less than an hour before launch available to him, Mestral had scanned the entire launch gantry and immediate area, ensuring that all UESPA support and security personnel were well away from the vicinity before using the apartment’s hidden transport vault to put him on the gantry. Once there, it was an easy matter for him to disable or reorient the various surveillance cameras for the few minutes he needed to access the probe and make his modifications to the craft’s onboard systems.
Shifting his stance so that he once more faced the aged human, Mestral clasped his hands behind his back. “Based upon a review of your initial assignment as an active agent here on Earth, you subjected yourself to similar jeopardy during your very first mission. I was merely following your example.”
“Well, things were a lot simpler in my day.” Seven offered another wry grin. “Not so many cameras and other surveillance equipment to deal with. It’s a lot harder to be a good spy or saboteur these days. Or, if you’re one of us, an agent for positive change.”
Mestral nodded. “Indeed.”
His smile fading, Seven stepped closer to the computer console, resting a wrinkled hand upon its smooth, black surface. “Mestral, I heard about Rain Robinson and Kirsten Heffron. I’m sorry, particularly about Rain. I regret that we were never able to settle our differences. She was a natural for this kind of work.”
Both Robinson and Heffron had died of natural causes less than a decade earlier, having never again involved themselves in any of the work begun by Aegis agents in the 1940s. Mestral had respected Robinson’s wishes to never again be contacted, and he had helped Heffron find some measure of peace with a new identity and relocation to Denver, Colorado.
Seven continued, “I also never got a chance to thank you, personally, for agreeing to return to the fold after all this time. I know it probably wasn’t an easy choice to make, given the circumstances.”
“Actually, I arrived at the decision without a great deal of effort. Despite whatever considerations motivated your . . . benefactors . . . to distance themselves from their interests here, their desire to influence positive change for Earth is commendable. I have spent more than a century observing humans, and I have seen them at their best and their worst.” He gestured to the Beta 8’s monitor. “They are poised to be their best once again, and this time the effects carry the potential to be farther reaching and longer lasting than anything they have accomplished to this point. It is a wondrous time to be here, both as an observer and as someone who can offer the occasional discreet hand of assistance.”
Mestral paused, weighing how his next words might be received. “However, there is an argument to be made that the Aegis, by inserting itself into humanity’s affairs, might well be causing more harm than good. Also, I am forced to wonder how an agency that apparently has fore
knowledge of the future—including those involving Earth and its people—could be caught by surprise with respect to events unfolding on this planet. That would seem to be . . . an inconsistency.”
Seven replied, “If you’re asking me whether the Aegis is all knowing, my truthful answer is that I don’t have the first damned clue. Even after all this time, there’s still information they keep from me.” He shrugged, and for a moment the small smile returned. “The reality is that even though I do hold some knowledge of what will happen in the years ahead, I’ve never had the full picture. Even when I was an active agent, on Earth or elsewhere, I was told just enough to carry out my assignments, and if I was lucky there may have been some additional context to help me make a better decision.”
“But these conservative measures on the part of the Aegis,” said Mestral. “Given the knowledge they apparently possess, and their obvious interest in seeing humanity evolve to something more than they are, it is illogical that they would not take a more direct role. And at a time when it seemed Earth would most benefit from their guidance, they elected to withdraw. If they knew what was to come, and yet chose to do nothing . . .” He let the sentence trail away, watching Seven frown. The older man’s brow furrowed, and the creases along his face seemed to deepen.
“The Aegis was never in this to hold humanity’s hand, Mestral, and neither did they ever want to make all the hard choices for these people.” Seven brushed his hand along the Beta 8’s console, and his expression appeared wistful, as though he was recalling memories from long ago. “They see the potential humans carry within them, individually as well as a race, and they know the sort of influence they’ll bring to the interstellar table in the decades and centuries to come. However, in order to do that—to be the people they need to be in the years ahead, they first have to learn how to get out of their own way.”
Mestral replied, “It sounds as though the Aegis sees itself as a parent.”
