“Is it ready yet?” he asked, impatiently staring down into the open space inside himself. The hearing was less than an hour away.
“Almost.” Jared knew Garan considered the placement and effectiveness of munitions a high art, and himself a craftsman, so he tried not to rush him. Still, the device would do them no good if it wasn’t ready in time.
As he watched, Garan placed a rectangular device the size of an apple next to Jared’s metallic spine.
“There,” the big android said, standing. “This device, if activated by your mental command, will vaporize an area five meters in diameter. The structural integrity of the exterior hull of the Enterprise will be maintained, but the interior hull will be breached in several directions causing subsystems failure and general confusion. This will not incapacitate an Alpha unit, other than the operator,” Garan explained as he made the final connection to Jared’s central processing unit. “But bomb damage might not remove the Federation android from service. All organic beings in range will be killed instantly.”
“Excellent,” the android leader said, pleased. “If the hearing does not go well, I will never have a better opportunity to destroy my enemies. Sawliru and Alkirg will both be killed, the fleet will have no head, and the Enterprise will lose its captain and its first and second officers all at once.” He closed his abdominal panel himself, and began sealing it. “Deprived of leadership, the fleet will be taken unaware. Before another officer in the chain of command can take control of the Enterprise, Kurta will make her way to the transporter room and begin bringing the troops over in droves. Data showed her the cargo transporters; she knows nothing of my preparations, but if the opportunity presents itself, she will act. She can bring over thirty Alphas at a time!”
“And what of the rest of the human crew?” Dren asked, stepping forward.
“Yes, they will provide a problem,” Jared said, thoughtfully. “No doubt they will object to us taking their vessel by force. You have an answer?”
Garan said nothing, but disappeared into the maze of ordnance while Jared finished sealing his body. The giant returned as he was replacing his sash of rank.
“Bioagent 23,” Garan explained, holding up a marble-size canister between his fingers. Jared nodded. Dren had carried several such canisters aboard the satellite stations over Vemla. They contained a virulent biotoxin that destroyed the integrity of the synapses in the central nervous system. It was a quick-acting, extremely potent agent; this one canister could wipe out six crews the size of the Enterprise before they knew that there was anything wrong.
Jared opened the cavity in his left index finger and inserted the tiny vial. Theoretically it would kill every carbon-based life-form on the Enterprise, leaving only the androids alive on board. If given the chance, he would deploy the toxin first, rather than destroy himself in an explosion. But he was quite willing to sacrifice his own life for the sake of his people.
Besides, they could always make more Jareds. That was one of the advantages of being an android.
Androids. Jared considered Data. He would most likely not be affected by the biotoxin, and there were other aliens on board, like the impressive-looking Klingon. There was no guarantee that the toxin would affect Worf and the other aliens.
“Give me a gun,” Jared said as he closed his finger. “Something small and lethal. For Data, should he survive, and other possible obstacles.”
Garan reached behind him seemingly without looking and picked up a cylinder no longer than his massive pinkie. Jared took it and placed it in his belt pouch.
“Four charges only,” Garan warned. “Pick your targets for maximum effect and damage.”
“No need to remind me, my friend. You taught me those lessons long ago. And if it is taken from me, I can kill with my bare hands, if need be. We will have freedom if we must kill every living thing on the Enterprise.”
The thought of murder on that scale did not greatly appeal to Jared. But the fate of his people was at stake, and he knew enough to strike while he had the advantage. Data’s solution, though it gave him some hope of peace, more importantly gave him an opportunity to save the lives of his people. At the expense of others, and perhaps himself, he knew, but it was a price he was willing to pay for the ideal of freedom.
“Prepare yourself and the others, and wait for my signal,” Jared said. “If I don’t return, you are to be in charge of the fighting.”
“As you wish,” the giant said, nodding simply. “Good luck, my friend,” he finished, catching Jared’s eye with his own, and then turned immediately to his work.
Chapter Ten
“CONTINGENCY PLAN ALPHA is ready to be executed at your command, Captain,” Worf said over the intercom.
Riker was in the conference room with Captain Picard, who had a busy telescreen in front of him. He nodded and responded. “Excellent, Mr. Worf. Stand by.”
“Are you sure this is going to work?” asked Riker, doubtfully. As much as he trusted Worf’s opinion on such matters, there was still a potential for failure, which might prove disastrous to the ship.
“No, I’m not,” Picard answered tiredly. “But it’s an inspired plan. Mr. Worf is growing more diplomatically adept, Number One. No doubt he will make an excellent captain himself one day. Now, back to this hearing business,” he said, tapping the screen with a forefinger.
Will checked his own screen for the requirements of such a hearing. They were not arduous, but it was vital that the proper forms were observed in this case. Regardless of the outcome, the two men were accountable to Starfleet and the Federation, and neither wished to give the androids anything less than a fair hearing.
“The hearing is to be held before you and two senior officers, appointed by you. They are to advise you, but you are to make the final decision.” He looked up from the screen and fixed Picard with a knowing look. “In this case, I would recommend that you not choose Commander Data for this duty.”
Picard nodded. “Under the circumstances, I agree. I appoint you and Dr. Crusher for the task. I think you are both capable of making a decision on this order,” he said, smiling.
“After the last person speaks, you adjourn, consult with your advisers, and make your decision.” Riker looked up. “It’s that simple.”
“Very well, make the necessary preparations. And make sure that Worf keeps his eyes on the navy; in case of any problems, you have authority to activate his plan.”
“Captain, I think Worf should watch the androids, as well,” Riker added with a frown.
“You expect problems?” Picard asked.
“Always,” Will said, with a half smile. “Maybe my brief service aboard a Klingon ship made me a little paranoid. But I don’t trust Jared farther than I can throw him, and I consider any group of self-proclaimed terrorists potentially dangerous in my book. I’m probably wrong, but I’d hate to be right and get caught unprepared.”
Picard pursed his lips and nodded. “Agreed. Make it so.”
“Good,” Will said, relieved that the back door would be watched too. “I think it’s time to get this show on the road.”
This time, there was no temple courtyard—the holodeck had been set up to look like a conference lounge, and already many of the crew had settled down to watch the proceedings. Though the occasion was somber, the atmosphere of the gathering was almost festive, and Picard, taking note of it, decided upon entering the room to force the hand of reason and civility. Though the parties involved were virtually at war there was no need for disorderly proceedings.
He wore his dress uniform, and had instructed the other participants from his crew to do likewise. Straightening his jacket, he surveyed the room. On the right-hand side stood the Vemlan delegation—Alkirg in a formal gown standing impatiently behind a table with Commander Sawliru, who wore a black uniform, encrusted with medals. He knew the navy shuttle that had brought them had been empty, save for the two of them and a pilot; it waited now off the Starboard bow, where it was regularly and thorough
ly scanned by Worf.
Kurta and Jared, dressed in their stark tan uniforms, stood to the left. Picard thought they looked more like prisoners than representatives of a race trying to enter the Federation. A calculated maneuver, perhaps? Data, who stood with them as their counsel, was also wearing a blank expression, but Picard hadn’t expected anything else from him. He nodded to the security personnel at the door—also in dress uniforms, though the phasers they carried were standard issue—and spoke to the computer.
“Begin,” he said simply. There was a dimming of the gallery lights, and the star map surrounded by a laurel wreath that was the symbol of the United Federation of Planets formed dramatically on the wall behind the panel’s table at the head of the room.
“Captain on the deck,” the computer boomed forcefully upon his entrance, drawing the attention of the crowd and quieting their murmurs.
“Be seated,” he called to everyone. Riker and Dr. Crusher entered immediately after him and sat, immediately followed by the rest of the assembled. He surveyed the room, noting everyone was prepared. He turned to Number One and nodded.
Riker returned his nod, one eyebrow raised, and began. “This hearing has been convened to hear the petition and application of the Vemlan androids for membership in the United Federation of Planets. The petitioners’ representatives will please present the documents to the hearing officers.”
Jared stepped forward and placed an isolinear chip on the table, then returned to his seat. Riker inserted it into the computer slot, and displayed it on the screen in front of him. It was simultaneously entered into the official record and displayed for the audience to see. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said, nodding to Picard, the chairman.
“Objection,” Beverly Crusher called. The three panel members had consulted exhaustively to prepare for this hearing—to play devil’s advocate—to ensure that no legal question had been overlooked. As primary judge of the application, Picard had to make certain that all considerations were brought up fairly and discussed. The record would doubtlessly be intimately scrutinized by Starfleet and the Federation upon their return to the more civilized parts of the galaxy, and he wanted his actions to be above reproach.
Picard considered the entire process fascinating, on one level, for here the honest question of whether or not Jared and his people were a race—for the purposes of the Federation—was to be decided. Such decisions were not made lightly, nor did one get the chance to make them very often. He was making a bit of history here, and had no idea where it was going to lead. He nodded for Beverly to proceed.
“The petitioners do not represent the populace of a planet.”
“There is ample precedent for nonplanetary membership, Doctor,” Data interjected. “Beginning with the very first years of the Federation, where the artificial habitats in the asteroid belts of the Centauri systems were admitted. The Slao-vecki species, whose planet was destroyed in a nova, was also admitted, as were the Aeorethians, who have no permanent planetary home. In all cases, the races in question have become valuable members of the Federation despite their lack of a planet. Last but not least, the number of Federation citizens who live and work on artificial habitats or spacecraft—such as our own USS Enterprise—have no declared planetary home, but may not be denied their rights as citizens. Shall I quote the pertinent legal precedents?’’
“No need, Mr. Data,” Picard said. “The objection is overruled. The Chairman—myself—recognizes the Vemlans as an organized and self-governing body, as supported by legal precedent,” Picard finished. That question was relatively clear-cut. Before he could begin the actual deliberations, however, they had to clean up a stickier issue—
“Objection,” Riker stated flatly, looking over the document on the screen in front of him. “The petitioners are machines, mechanical constructs, not true living beings, and are therefore not qualified for membership.”
This was the much more controversial part of the hearing. It also hit very close to home. It had taken a landmark legal decision to class Data as a living being with rights and responsibilities, and thus far the ruling had gone unchallenged. If a case could be made that the Vemlans were not living, and thus not eligible for membership, then Data’s own legal standing was once again in doubt.
Picard didn’t like this part.
“The Vemlans are androids of sufficient complexity to rate as living beings by any suggested scale,” Data argued.
“That’s preposterous!” Alkirg exclaimed. “They are no more alive than you are!”
“There has been a challenge to your claim, Mr. Data,” Riker observed. “Do you wish to defend it?”
Picard watched with interest as Data arose and looked intently at the alien politician.
“I submit that the Vemlans cannot be proven not to be alive by any reasonable method. I address the one who posted the objection. Commander Alkirg, why are they not alive?”
“Don’t be obtuse. They have no biological functions!” she insisted, with an irritated wave of her hand.
Data, had he been faced with such a statement before the hearing, would have replied in a logically exact manner that would have answered the question as quickly and efficiently as possible. He had, however, in the interest of the security of his newfound friends and an interest in his own legal rights, taken the few hours available to him for preparation to study law and legal techniques. He found the area most revealing of human strengths and weaknesses. Though the present-day Federation did not depend as heavily upon laws, rules, order, and legal frameworks as human civilizations of the past, there were techniques and forms that went back to a variety of historical eras. He had devoured entire law libraries with inhuman speed and comprehension, placing the talents and wisdom of such ancient legal giants as Hammurabi, Clarence Darrow, and Jose Tarentino at his disposal. The hearing that he had been so instrumental in calling was not technically a legal matter; it was a mere step in the bureaucratic ladder of the Federation. Yet it held a courtlike ambience and order that made knowledge of a twenty-first century trial procedure, the apex of the Legal Era on Earth, invaluable. Unfazed by the intensity of his opposition, Data proceeded calmly with his reply.
“We have an expert witness on all forms of biological activity available to the hearing. Doctor Crusher, I ask your professional opinion. What are biological functions?”
Doctor Crusher folded her hands on the table and thought a moment before she replied. “They are functions of the body that are necessary for the sustenance of life.”
“And what is the definition of life?”
“I don’t have an inclusive definition for that. As long as we were confined to one biosphere, the definition could be at least hinted at. But the universe is so diverse in its formations of life-forms that no true, objective definition exists. The closest I could come would be to say that life is a complex, reactive, self-replicating process that some entities possess. Some say that the best way to define it is by its ultimate negative quality: A living thing is a thing that can die.”
“Is a virus a form of life?”
“Tricky,” she admitted. “Viruses as a class have flip-flopped back and forth over the years, depending upon which authorities you talk to. And they can die, even be killed,” she admitted.
“I am talking with you, as an authority. I repeat my question. Is a virus alive?”
“In my professional opinion . . . yes.”
“Am I, in your professional opinion, alive, Dr. Crusher?”
“In my professional opinion . . . insufficient data, Data,” she said, smiling at the near-pun. “I haven’t seen you die, so I do not know, with certainty, whether you are alive.”
“Yet you were a witness of the death of my daughter, Lal; you were also witness to the apparent destruction of my nearly identical twin, Lore, discovered at the same colony where I was discovered, created by the same hand that created me, from the same plans and designs. As I recall, he was ‘killed’—if temporarily—right in front of
your eyes, after threatening your son’s life. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” she admitted, hesitantly. “Yes, by that definition, both Lal and Lore were alive.”
Data seemed unfazed by the comment. “Since I am Lore’s twin, am I not also alive?”
“As a class, I would have to say that yes, both you and Lore are living beings. The Federation already accepts this legal point; two of the panel members were instrumental in that decision.”
“Yet both Lore and I were constructed androids.”
“Yes.”
“Like the vemlan androids present here.”
“As far as I can tell.”
“The Vemlans, as living beings, have certain mechanical functions that must be maintained for continued operation. I submit that these mechanical functions are necessary for the sustenance of their lives, and are, therefore, biological functions.” He turned back to Alkirg, a little haughtily, Picard thought. No, it must be his imagination. “Therefore, there is a legal precedent for considering an android to be a living, self-aware being.”
“Yes,” Picard replied. “A case which I am intimately aware of, Data.” He remembered his intense preparation for Data’s own trial and was a little relieved that he was not an opposing party in this case. But there was a flaw in Data’s argument. “I will concede that you are, legally, a living being. These other androids are an unknown quantity, however.”
“Exactly,” Sawliru said, rising suddenly to his feet. “Though you cater to your own machines as if they were your pets, rather than your servants, the machines we manufactured on Vemla have no such status. Your doctors may consider them alive; that’s your business. You admit I don’t know how you built your android. Our machines are machines, simply that; complex machines, to be certain, but they can be taken apart and put back together again. When they break, they can be repaired. They are programmed, they are useful, and they are artificial.”
SPARTACUS Page 18
