“It’s his right,” admitted Riker. “The hearing must be open to all interested parties. That includes the Vemlan navy, by the way. If they want to come and speak, they may.”
“Go on then,” said Picard, resigned. It looked as if there was going to be a carnival of argument on his ship, yet again. “You are relieved of duty until further notice, in order to give you time to prepare.”
Data tilted his head, slightly. “Thank you, Captain. That is most thoughtful of you.”
After Data left, Picard let out a great sigh, and rubbed his temples. Will stroked his beard thoughtfully for a few moments.
“Something puzzles me, Captain. Why did you give Data time to prepare?”
“Simple,” explained Picard. “After he dragged all this up, I want the androids to get a scrupulously fair hearing, and he’s the best man, if you’ll excuse the term, to present their case. I am not about to convene this hearing with preconceptions. True, Data may have brought us to the brink of war, but he was correct when he said that he had given us a chance at peace. I cannot fail to follow up on that chance in good conscience.”
* * *
The mood in the staging bay was a strange mixture of apprehension and elation. Mobile infantry and naval personnel stood in long rows waiting for inspection in the main bay, while technicians worked on the larger pieces of military equipment in the rear bays. After three months of bad food, stale air, and shaky gravity, the hunt was nearly over. In a few scant hours, the black-armored warriors of the Vemlan navy would mete out justice to the rogue androids that had turned their planet into one large refugee camp. Some were savagely looking forward to this; they had a dozen or so comrades to avenge, friends or family lost at Gemlov, or Trengard, or the satellite stations, or in countless other terrorist attacks by the rebel androids. Some were afraid, knowing the terrors that the mechanical horrors had produced. There were rumors of obscene tortures, visions of the victims of berserk attackers, memories of pure terror in the face of a faceless enemy. The young men and women were afraid to die so far from home.
Commander Sawliru walked up and down each line of troops, visually inspecting each trooper with a highly practiced eye. He was proud of this force; he had built it almost from the ground up. When he first chose the military as a career, the average soldier was armed and armored and trained little better than a policeman. Now the arc lamps overhead gleamed off the shiny black armor of the finest troops he—or anyone else—had ever assembled.
Sawliru was not a violent or overly militaristic man, but he recognized the need for naked, precise force for defense, and he had tried to ensure that he had the best force possible at his command. This was the cream of the Vemlan crop, people for the most part untainted by the luxury of android labor. There were drones on board, yes, but they were weapons, not slaves. Let’s be honest with ourselves, after all, he thought as he passed the gleaming ranks; despite Alkirg’s objection to the term, we used them like we would have used slaves. And paid for it, in the end.
There were still too many loose ends for comfort, though. Had he been in sole command, the scheduled operation would be planned for maximum efficiency and workability, and politics be damned! Many good men and women would die today because of Alkirg’s incompetence, he knew.
Satisfied that they were ready (he knew his infantry prefects had already inspected each one far more thoroughly than he could), he made his way back to the front of the formation and turned to address them.
“Today is the pinnacle operation of our mission. We have located the opponent, we have prepared ourselves mentally and physically, and as soon as the Federation ship leaves the area, we will strike as quickly and as efficiently as possible. We have the opponent outgunned, outmanned, and outmaneuvered. I will not tolerate this being any less than a textbook operation.”
He paused for emphasis and breath, then continued. “It is possible that the action will be entirely ship to ship, but our orders are to secure the rogue androids, incapacitate them, and return them to Vemla for trial for their crimes. This means that we will have to board the Conquest and take them, one by one if necessary. It is not likely that they will surrender. If this is the case, then it is your job to accomplish this mission by destroying them. I expect you to perform in the manner to which I have become accustomed—excellently, diligently, and effectively.
“Are there any questions?”
Usually, there wouldn’t be. Once prepared for a mission, every trooper should know everything necessary about the mission. These were unusual circumstances, however. A trooper raised his hand, and Sawliru acknowledged him.
“Why aren’t the drones going with us?”
It was a good question, one Sawliru wished he didn’t have to answer. Despite the average trooper’s aversion to androids, the Delta drones were an exception. It greatly improved morale to have a huge, invulnerable, unkillable fanatic on your side, obeying your every command. The men were understandably nervous going into combat without the hulking machines along for company.
“The Deltas were removed from service for this mission on the orders of the mission commander.” He was not about to become the object of resentment for a company of troopers about to enter combat. Let that duty, as well as the blood of the dead, lie on the hands of the mission commander.
“Any more questions?” There was silence. “Good. Stand down until alerted by your prefects. Dismissed.”
Sawliru was glad it was almost over. He had been against the androids since before the rebellion, and he could not wait to see them gone. He paused before two technicians who were hurriedly trying to repair one of the life-support units that regulated air for the great bay. Staring puzzledly at the instruction and repair manual before them, they argued over what went where and why. Sawliru sighed, and stepped around them, unseen.
That was the perfect example of why he wished the androids gone. Ten years ago all maintenance on this ship had been done by android labor—cleanly, quickly, efficiently. The ships had been in a constant state of readiness. But the lowliest human tech rarely had to even lift a wrench, let alone take an active hand in regular maintenance. That was androids’ work, they would sneer, not fit for a man, whose time was more important. Yet now that they didn’t have androids to do their work for them, they had to struggle with even the simplest routines, sometimes, because they had never learned. It was like that all over the ship, Sawliru knew, and even more like that back on Vemla, where people were having to cook for themselves for the first time. But that didn’t bother Sawliru; he knew his people would come back from their long sleep—they had to.
As the Force Commander walked slowly back to the command room, his many duties delegated to subordinates who could handle them more effectively, his comm unit chimed. He snapped it open and spoke as he walked.
“Prefect Morgus, sir. Sorry to disturb you, but the captain of the Federation vessel requests an urgent conference. Shall I beam the transmission to your quarters?”
What does he want, now? Sawliru wondered. “Negative, Prefect. Relay transmission to the recreation room off the staging bay. 1134, I believe.”
“Aye, sir.”
Sawliru sighed, and tried to figure out what would next complicate his mission. These humans were so adept at mucking things up.
He sat down in front of the comm panel and waited for Picard to appear, deciding that this was probably a last-minute appeal to end the conflict peacefully. He would have been quite happy to do so, too. However, unless Jared surrendered unconditionally it was just not going to happen. He respected Picard for what he had tried to do; if he had more men like Jean-Luc Picard under his command, he was certain that he could take any objective, under any circumstances.
“Captain Picard, here,” came the signal, as the man’s head and shoulders appeared in the comm unit. “Commander, I—”
“If you are trying to dissuade us from attacking, Captain, I’m afraid it will not work. Besides, only Mission Commander Alkirg could halt the batt
le, now. It’s out of my hands.”
Picard frowned. “No, Commander, I didn’t call to try to persuade you. I’m afraid I have what you are going to consider bad news.”
Sawliru blinked. “What is it?”
“The captain of the Conquest, on behalf of his people, has just delivered to me a petition for consideration and an application for membership in the United Federation of Planets. I am bound by both UFP law and Starfleet regulations to convene a hearing on this application.”
Sawliru’s mind raced, as he tried to grasp the significance of the statement. “Won’t that be difficult to accomplish in the middle of a combat zone?”
“There will be no combat, Commander. I cannot allow it, under these circumstances.”
“You told me, not just a few hours ago, that this matter was outside of your jurisdiction! Something about the First Law, or whatever . . .”
“The Prime Directive, yes,” Picard continued, apologetically. “It was. The Prime Directive insists that Starfleet does not interfere with the natural course of a culture’s internal affairs.”
“Is this not a Vemlan internal affair?”
“Not anymore. By making the application, Jared has involved the Federation.”
Another great man hamstrung by the whims of bureaucrats and politicians, Sawliru thought. Is this, then, to be a universal law?
“Furthermore,” Picard continued, “I cannot allow hostilities to take place before or during the hearing. You may consider the Conquest to be under the protection of Starfleet, for now. Any attack made upon it will have to be defended by the Enterprise—with full force, if necessary.”
“I see.” Sawliru’s mind swam. He knew exactly what Alkirg would say to this. It would not be pretty. Either she would continue preparations to attack the Conquest, heedless of the Enterprise and what it represented, or she would order an attack directly on the Federation vessel. Or, worse yet, she would split his forces to take both courses of action simultaneously. His heart was in his stomach, for he knew that the outcome in any such situation would very likely destroy the Vemlan navy as he knew it. He, personally, would almost certainly die, but that didn’t really bother him. The thought of the thousands of deaths and the unprotected homeworld made him shiver to the core. Madness. “You realize, Captain Picard, that the nature of our mission might very well put us in conflict? Your ship has a good chance of coming under attack. And, if I recall correctly, you have a significant number of civilians aboard.”
“Indeed,” Picard agreed, gravely. “I don’t wish to put them in jeopardy, but it is a risk I am willing to take.”
Sawliru sighed. “So noted, Captain. The final decision is up to Alkirg, however. She is in supreme command.”
“I understand,” Picard replied. “I would also like to invite the Vemlan government to be represented at the hearing. There will be an opportunity for you to speak, should you choose to do so.”
“I’ll inform the commander. And Captain Picard?”
Picard raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Speaking from experience, I would be very careful about the androids. Very careful.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Commander.”
“Sawliru out.”
As the image on the screen faded away, Sawliru tried to will the dread feeling out of his stomach. He had been speculating on the kind of ally Picard would have made. Now he needed to view him as an opponent.
“So they might attack?” asked Riker, smiling faintly.
“He hinted so, yes,” confirmed Picard, though the possibility of the Vemlans damaging the Enterprise while her crew was alert was very low. “And as much as I’d like to see those militaristic louts break their teeth on my ship, there is still the possibility of damage and injury to the civilians and the crew. I can’t allow that to happen.”
Worf, who had been listening to their conversation from his post, spoke up. “Captain, perhaps a small display of force is in order . . .” he began.
“If you mean a preemptive strike—”
“No, Captain,” countered Worf. “Attacking the fleet would not be the most efficient means of achieving victory.”
“I see,” said the captain. “You have a plan?”
“Yes, sir,” Worf said. “Consider this . . .”
“They did what?” Mission Commander Alkirg shouted. Sawliru had located her on the main bridge, where she was interfering with the way the captain of the Nemesis ran his command. The poor man had been glad of Sawliru’s interruption, but now he realized that his life was about to get even more difficult.
Sawliru had decided against breaking the news to her over the inter-ship communication screens, for fear of her breaking a valuable piece of ship’s equipment in her anger. Besides, he had thought that it would be better to deliver it in person. The look on her face and the rage in her eyes made him reconsider his decision.
“They applied for membership in the United Federation of Planets, and Picard is bound by regulations to hear the application. He may even grant them status, which would give them permanent Federation protection.”
Alkirg seethed, the most emotional and upset Sawliru had ever seen her. “You stupid military types, you’re all alike,” she exclaimed. “We had them in the palm of our hands, and now we may lose them because of some idiotic rule. Bureaucrats! That’s all the military can produce, grunts and bureaucrats!” Sawliru clenched his teeth, choking back a reply that would have cost him his command. She was calling him a bureaucrat? “Can’t those people realize that there are times when you have to break the rules? There is such a thing as political expediency to consider. They will pay for this, in blood, if need be. I don’t care if we have to kill a thousand men to do it!”
Sawliru decided against mentioning that it would take more than a thousand men to take the Enterprise. In fact, he wasn’t certain his entire fleet would be up to the challenge. Now that Alkirg was done ranting, he quietly continued his report. There was a decision to be made.
“Nevertheless, that is the situation as it stands. I have all seven ships on alert, ready to execute the approved battle plan, and I won’t keep them like that all day. You are in charge of this mission, Alkirg. What are we going to do?”
“They can’t get away with this,” she vowed. “They won’t get away with it.” She began pacing back and forth across the deck, hands clenched, and fire in her eyes. At last she stopped, and faced Sawliru.
“Force Commander, this is a military mission. We have the seven finest ships in the fleet here, a highly trained cadre of soldiers, and the most advanced weapons ever made. The Enterprise is merely one ship. I don’t care what kind of technology they have, they can’t stand up to a surprise, concentrated attack. Their action is tantamount to a declaration of war with the Vemlan people. Prepare to attack the Enterprise.”
Madness. He had warned Picard of this possibility, with the hope of scaring him out of his position. But his sense of duty endured. “I will have to meet with my advisers to formulate a potentially successful battle plan,” he advised. “This may take some time.”
“Do it!” she commanded him with a pointed finger. “I don’t care how. I want us to be ready to lay into the Enterprise with everything we have. Without her protection, they don’t stand a chance. We can deal with the rogues later.”
“Is it permissible to use the drones on this mission?”
She nodded fiercely. “Use whatever you need.”
“Picard also said that there would be an opportunity for us to testify at the hearing; I recommend that we do so. It will buy us time, allow us to present our case formally to the Federation. We might also be able to stop the proceedings legally. Politically, it may have other benefits.” He left unspoken the fact that it would also keep Alkirg off of his ship and out of his face for a few hours.
“Yes, I do indeed want to speak my mind at that mockery of a court! I will make the necessary arrangements. You get the fleet in position to attack.”
“As you
wish,” he said as he bowed, and left quickly.
Truth be told, fighting the Starfleet vessel was the last thing he wanted to do. It was a big ship, carrying civilians, and no self-respecting soldier liked to make war on civilians. Worst of all, it was an unknown in this complex equation. The Conquest was a known quantity, an easy, if tough, target to plan for. There was no telling what sort of weaponry the more advanced ship was carrying. Their transporting device alone could cause trouble. How could you plan an attack when your men could be beamed away from their posts without a thought?
But he wasn’t responsible for making policy here. He was merely a link in the chain of command. And the prospect of crossing blades with the Enterprise enthused him, in a primal, visceral sort of way. At least he was doing something, something he knew. Sawliru wasn’t cut out to be a player of politics and diplomacy; he knew when he was out of his element. There were members of the military back home who fancied themselves politicians, which was one reason why Sawliru was chosen to head this command. He was the most politically apathetic of the candidates.
But he knew how to fight, even from the deck of a sinking ship.
At the very center of the Freedom was a large chamber, intended by the original designers as a specially shielded cargo hold. The androids, after their liberation of the prototype ship, had converted the space for another use. It was now the Freedom’s arsenal, and its caretaker, controller, and conscience was Garan. Rows upon rows of boxes of ammunition filled the space, and missiles, combat suits, canisters of biotoxins, remote combat units, explosives, and rack upon rack of personal weapons of all types had turned the big room into a dark, malevolent maze, a monument to the androids’ skill in capturing military hardware.
There was only one light in all of the arsenal, for Garan’s vision required none for most tasks. Over his main work area hung the single lamp, where he could direct its penetrating light where he needed it most. Right now that was in Jared’s chest cavity. The android captain had decided that he could not allow this one last chance at the Enterprise to slip away, and he had enlisted Garan’s help.
SPARTACUS Page 17
