SPARTACUS

by T. L. MANCOUR

  “Yes, sir. It is a logical course of action. Your decision allows the Enterprise to avoid potential armed conflict and a difficult legal decision.”

  “Thank you, Data, I—”

  “It is not, however, the only logical solution,” Data continued. “The avoidance of an issue does not remove the issue from existence. It merely postpones the inevitability of facing the issue. Or so I have seen. Alternate courses of action could yield potentially greater results by embracing, rather than avoiding, the problem.”

  “You have an alternative proposal?” Picard asked. “If you do, I would be more than happy to hear it. I don’t like taking this particular solution, and would welcome a viable alternative.”

  “Not at the present time, Captain.”

  “Then I will stand by my decision,” he said. He turned to the other two officers. “Are there any other comments?” Geordi and Riker silently shook their heads. “Then please return to your duties.”

  Data got up and followed Geordi and Riker out onto the bridge. As the doors to the ready room closed behind them, Geordi turned to look at him. “Data, what brought that on? You don’t usually contradict the captain.”

  “I was not contradicting him, Geordi. I was giving him the benefit of my advice and perspective. Starfleet regulations state that a second officer—”

  “I know, I know, must advise the first officer and captain when invited. Yeah, so?”

  “I do not agree with the solution that Captain Picard has proposed. I believe that he has, by avoiding the issue, found a solution to our problems that is inelegant and contrary to the spirit of Starfleet and the Federation.”

  “Data, he has to consider the safety of the ship,” Riker broke in. The three of them took their stations on the bridge, but the discussion continued.

  “Yes. That is his responsibility and his duty,” the white-skinned android said as he took his seat at the Ops console and began a series of routine checks. “However, it is my responsibility as second officer to consider the facts and render my point of view to the captain.”

  “You’d never do anything against the captain’s orders, would you?” asked Geordi, hesitantly.

  Data turned to face his friend. “That would be mutiny,” he said. “A violation of Starfleet regulations. I am incapable of such actions.”

  “It’s nice to hear it, Data,” said Geordi.

  Data worked silently for a few minutes. The Vemlans continued to occupy his thoughts. He did not wish to see Kurta, Jared, and Maran—especially Maran—destroyed out of hand. There was more to this matter than their crimes, the justification of which was still a subject of debate. There was the matter of racial survival.

  Data had been schooled in the thinking and philosophies of the Federation. The rules and regulations of Starfleet were almost gospel to him, and there was a conflict almost of a religious nature in what Picard was doing. The Vemlan androids were a race, Data knew, though official classification by Starfleet had not occurred. They were a race as much as he, the only fully functional Federation-built android, was. The preservation of all species, regardless of their status, was rigidly maintained as one of the central pillars of Federation philosophy. Yet by his actions, or, more correctly, his inactions, the captain was dooming the entire race to extinction. Data felt obligated to find an alternate way.

  Data turned to Riker. “Commander, may I be excused?”

  Riker blinked warily. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, sir.”

  Riker sighed. “Go ahead. Marks, take the Ops console, please.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” Data released the console to the relief crewman, and turned to leave.

  “You okay, Data?” Geordi called from the engineering console. His face wore an expression Data had come to associate with the emotion of concern.

  “I am fine,” Data said over his shoulder as he entered the turbolift. The doors closed with their usual efficiency before Geordi could say any more.

  After deliberating for a while on what to say, Captain Picard went to the bridge to inform the two contesting parties of his decision. It was not a chore he was looking forward to. Not only was it unpleasant to be the deciding factor in a war, but his decision was causing waves in his own command as well.

  He found Ensigns Crusher and Marks at the helm and Ops, respectively, La Forge busily monitoring the progress of the systems check at the engineering console, and Worf at tactical where he was still diligently tracking the few remaining bugs that had not quite been eradicated from the security system.

  They didn’t have warp drive yet, but nearly every other system was more or less functional. Though the storm was safely diminished, its effects lingered on.

  Number One vacated the captain’s chair in favor of Picard and took his usual seat beside him. Crewmen went about their business as usual. The mood on the bridge was back to its normal, relaxed state, which heartened Picard. All things considered, he was genuinely impressed with his crew’s performance during the crisis. With a crew as fine as this behind him, how could a captain go wrong?

  So many different ways that he couldn’t begin to think of them all, his conscience told him. Overconfidence is a deadly trap, Jean-Luc, one you can ill afford. Words from his first days at Command School came back to him with the relentless force of ocean waves. “The captain of a ship is always personally responsible for the lives of his crew, no matter what the situation.” He heard it in the breathy voice of Admiral Fortesque, his instructor in command theory, who had said those very words in every lecture he gave his young students. Fortesque had grimly offered example after example of all the ways the commander of a ship could be horrendously wrong while having the best of intentions. That was the “privilege” of command.

  With that thought in mind, Picard ordered channels opened to both Captain Jared and Commander Sawliru. Soon the faces of the two commanders appeared side by side on the main viewscreen. Picard cleared his throat and addressed them.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, “I spent a good deal of time listening to your stories yesterday, and then spent an even longer time considering the situation. I spoke with my staff advisers, and I have come to a decision.

  “The USS Enterprise is a Federation vessel, commissioned by Starfleet. As such, I, its commander, have wide discretionary powers. I am even empowered to act on behalf of the entire Federation in certain cases.

  “However, your current situation has nothing to do with Starfleet or the Federation. Any crimes committed, or wrongs done, were not done in Federation territory. Even now we are on the frontier, where no one has a just claim to the void. I therefore cannot intercede on behalf of either party in this dispute. It would constitute involving the United Federation of Planets in a dispute not of its making and could possibly endanger the lives of my crew. Our Prime Directive covers all such interactions: it states that we may not disrupt the development of alien civilizations. It is our most important law. Since this matter does not involve the Federation, I cannot intervene.”

  Picard watched the two leaders as he spoke. Jared’s normally stark face became even more grim and determined. Sawliru, on the other hand, became more relaxed and a little less tired, as if a burden had been lifted from him. Not quite a happy expression, but it was as close to one as Picard had seen on the man.

  Jared was the first to speak.

  “Is this how the Federation treats its friends, Captain? Not two days ago we broke bread together, and now you sell me and my ship to genocidal slave lords?”

  Before he could reply to the accusation, Admiral Sawliru’s face was replaced by that of Mission Commander Alkirg.

  “I applaud your wisdom, Captain Picard, though I had hoped you would assist us in the return of our property. You are correct; this is a matter that began with Vemla and the Vemlan people, and will end there.”

  Picard nodded, and turned to face Jared. “Captain, I broke no faith with you. I promised you nothing. I resent your accusation.”

 
; “What about the help you said you would give us?” the android demanded. “What about your vaunted equality of races? You let your own bigotry condemn my people to destruction!”

  “I do nothing of the sort!” Picard shouted back. He lowered his voice a tone, and continued. “This is a question of law.”

  Jared snorted. “Law? Law kept my people in bondage, and now law will see them dead. What about responsibility, Picard?”

  Picard heard Worf begin to growl behind him, and held up his hand, signaling him to be silent. Now was not the time to let Worf respond violently to a casual insult made in the heat of debate.

  “My first responsibility is to my ship and its crew. We ventured into this region for purposes of exploration, not as a mediator of disputes or as participants in a war.” At this, Alkirg opened her mouth as if to speak—but Picard continued. He had a lot more to say. “I feel for your situation, Jared. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a bigot. My decision was based on our legal position here, not on matters of race.”

  “As a representative of the Federation—” Jared began.

  “As a representative of the Federation, I initiated talks between two conflicting parties,” Picard interrupted. “That is the principle the Federation was founded upon. Peace through peaceful negotiation. That doesn’t mean that we take sides and start shooting when the process breaks down. This isn’t our war. We tried to help as a disinterested third party and, unfortunately, we failed.”

  There was a moment of silence. Alkirg’s eyes were wide. Jared blinked. Finally, he spoke, his voice still as grim as iron.

  “Captain, my apologies.”

  “Enough,” broke in Alkirg. “We shall make ready to board the Conquest immediately. Stand by to receive boarding party, Alpha Unit Jared.”

  “Hardly, Alkirg,” the android said, savagely. “Don’t think that just because the Enterprise is leaving that you’ll just walk in here. You won’t take us without a fight. And don’t count on winning. Remember Hevaride, and the Avenger.”

  Alkirg’s face turned beet red. “Captain Picard, do you mean to allow that electronic thing to insult me like that?”

  “I can’t stop him,” he said mildly. “Nor can I keep him and his crew from defending themselves. But you will not ‘make ready to board immediately’; I still have crewmen on the Freedom conducting repairs, and you will make no hostile maneuvers until they are clear.”

  “Captain Picard,” the woman began hotly. “You promised not to—”

  “I have not reneged on my promise to leave the area, madam. I will, however, collect the crew and equipment I left on the ship, and they will not leave until they are finished with repairs.”

  “You’re going to let them finish repairing their ship?” she asked, astonished. “That’s outrageous! They might get away!”

  “Perhaps,” admitted Picard, casually. “That’s none of my affair, however. Certain codes of conduct are seen as universal among civilized starfaring races, Mission Commander. Rendering assistance to a damaged vessel is one of them. I suggest you adhere to these codes if you wish to continue your travels, lest you find the galaxy an unfriendly place.”

  “I will collect my crew and leave this system in twenty-four hours, Mission Commander. Until that time, have your fleet keep its distance. My security officer can be a trifle . . . overzealous, if crowded.”

  Alkirg frowned. “Very well. We’ve waited five years to bring these units to justice; another day won’t matter. I agree to your terms.”

  Jared’s expression had changed little, though he seemed somewhat appeased by the slight extension of time. Though Picard admired the android’s courage in the face of overwhelming odds, and his obstinate refusal to give in, he regretted his violent attitude.

  “I appreciate your assistance, Captain,” Jared said. “If you will not intervene to save us, then let me ask a favor.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do not leave so quickly. Retreat to a safe distance and turn your instruments on our ship,” he requested. “Record the last moments, the dying struggle, of our race. Show it to others you meet on your travels so that we will not be totally forgotten. It would be a great comfort to my people if they had some legacy to pass on to the rest of the universe. If nothing else, the battle is certain to be . . . entertaining.” He smiled, darkly. “We androids fight well. Alkirg and her people can attest to that.”

  Picard nodded, grimly. “It shall be done.”

  Jared closed the channel to his ship. Alkirg’s face floated to the center of the huge viewscreen. She composed her features into a tight smile.

  “Thank you for your help in this matter, Captain.”

  “It was my duty to try to reconcile you.”

  “I know, however foolish it seemed at the time. Believe me, Jared and Kurta will receive a fair trial. The rest of the rebels will, of course, be destroyed for their crimes, but the leading Alphas will get a chance to vindicate themselves, as unlikely as that may be.”

  “Thank you for your assurances, Mission Commander,” said Picard, dryly.

  “And I hope that this historic meeting between us will allow our two great peoples to grow closer to each other in a spirit of peace and goodwill.”

  “Anything is possible. Picard out.”

  Worf cut the transmission instantly, and Alkirg’s face was replaced by the more serene view of the starfield.

  “Of the two, I prefer the androids, sir,” Worf said, behind them. “They fight from the more honorable position.”

  Picard shook his head. “I feel for all the beings who will lose their lives tomorrow—on both sides,” he said, taking his seat. “There are few truly honorable positions in any battle, Mr. Worf.”

  Aboard the Freedom, Jared sat with his officers around a table and discussed their impending death.

  “After all Picard’s promises, he throws us to the wolves,” Jared exclaimed, feeling the anger rise in him. His anger at the betrayal was overwhelming. He pounded his fists on the table—made of reinforced silica, luckily, he thought, or it might have broken—and raged. He had hoped Picard would at least give them safe passage back to the Federation and not sit idly by. “Damn him! I should have killed them all when I had the chance! They were all there in that conference room, Alkirg and Sawliru—and Picard!”

  “And what good would that have done?” Kurta, seated opposite him, asked pointedly. “We are less than a day away from certain death. Let us consider what we can do now, not what we could never have prevented.”

  “Well spoken,” said Dren, quietly. Jared had made sure he was in attendance at this, possibly the last meeting of the command council. He knew the wiry engineer did not want to stay any longer than necessary. His men were already hard at work, preparing the engines, weapons, and subsidiary systems for the inevitable battle.

  “There are seven ships left,” the engineer began. “The main problem will be the Vindicator. She was only lightly damaged at Hevaride. They have assuredly repaired her by now. Her weapons can punch through our shields with little difficulty. The Nemesis and the Victrix have nuclear torpedoes, so even a miss might damage us. Luckily, we took out the Avenger at Hevaride; she was the newest and fastest of the fleet.”

  “What do you calculate our chances at?” asked Jared, concentrating on the tactics of the situation. His frustration was still there, but for the good of his people, he would have to postpone it. Or turn it into inspiration.

  “Less than two percent,” came the grim reply. There was a short silence.

  “We must face facts,” said Kurta. “We’re all going to die in about twenty-three hours.”

  There was a long silence. No one wanted to admit it, Jared knew. He, least of all. They had overcome too many obstacles, come too far from home, killed too many enemies, and watched too many friends die to be defeated now. It was just too hard to swallow. But, as his wife had said, they had to face facts.

  “All right,” said Jared, finally. “We are going to die. The navy is going to de
stroy us. But let us not make it either easy or cheap for them to do so.” He smiled wryly. “I was not programmed to go like that. It’s not sporting enough.”

  There was a general murmur of support around the table. Jared looked at each of his friends and comrades and was overcome with pride. If he had to die, then it was next to people like this that he wished to go. He stood.

  “Very well. Kurta, I want at least ten alternative battle plans, with room for revision, laid out to cover every possible approach by the enemy, using the existing battle templates we have. Next, I want a destruct switch set on each engine. If the navy gets a ship close enough to dock, I want to be able to blow us both to dust. Dren, that’s your department. I also want as much speed and maneuverability from this tub as you can give me.” Those two factors could be decisive in the upcoming battle, he knew.

  “Captain,” Dren asked quietly, “have you considered using the Federation ship? It has a lot more firepower than ours.”

  That was a question that had been popping in and out of his head since Sawliru’s fleet had discovered them. The temptation was great, for though he was proud of his ship, the mighty Enterprise could swallow the entire Vemlan navy in one bite. As a warrior and a defender of his people, Jared could not let such a little matter like property rights stand in the way of survival. Besides, he lusted after that ship, with its sleek lines and magical technology, for either battle or exploration. Jared’s trips to the Starfleet vessel had only fueled the fire of his desire, for with each journey he saw something else that charged his imagination. He suddenly realized that part of his anger with Picard was jealousy. But taking the Enterprise, with its sophisticated security system . . .

  “It would be difficult.” Garan, who had sat quietly at the other end of the table, now spoke for the first time. “But not impossible.”