by Dayton Ward
He’s said that enough times, Gold thought, he actually believes it. “Regardless of whether they actually might want to be replaced,” Gold said aloud. Before Qrana could muster a reply, he was interrupted by Soloman turning from his workstation.
“Captain,” the Bynar said, “I’ve isolated a new series of commands being ushered through the network. It’s a real-time broadcast being disseminated nationwide, transmitting on the same range of frequencies used by the ministry to communicate with the reformant community.”
“Another protest,” Qrana said. “It is the appropriate time of day.”
Gold’s attention was caught by the sound of the door opening at the far end of the room. It swung open to admit Corsi and Konya, who entered the office at a run.
“Captain,” the security chief said, “reformants are gathering in the streets outside. It looks like a mob.” Looking to Qrana, she asked, “Minister, I thought you said these protests were peaceful?”
Nodding, the Lisqual replied, “That is correct. None of the reformants so much as speaks a word, and only a few isolated incidents of violence have been observed.”
“I think that might be changing,” Corsi countered. “Some of them are talking, and a lot of them seem rather…irritated.”
Moving toward the window so he could observe the scene for himself, Gold said, “Corsi, notify your people to step up their alert level. No weapons, though, except as a last resort. And I want a status report from Gomez.”
Even as he issued the orders, the captain felt the first twinge of anxiety gripping his gut. Something big was happening; he could feel it.
Chapter
4
To Sarjenka, the promenade that was Gisela’s main business and retail district had already seemed lively even before the crowds of Lisqual had started to swell with the onset of midday. Still, as she stood with the rest of the away team and Dr. Luluma amid the bustling activity that was continuing to increase, the young Dreman doctor could see that something was wrong.
“Another protest,” Luluma said, pointing toward the entrance of the multistory structure that was the city’s primary medical facility. Exiting the building were more than two dozen Lisqual, each clad in coverall jumpsuits of varying colors. As if guided by a practiced choreography, the workers moved to stand atop the steps leading from the entrance down to the small courtyard that separated the hospital from the public thoroughfares. Their intention was obvious: They were acting to prevent access to and from the building.
“The captain says it’s happening everywhere,” Gomez said as she returned to the group, having just completed a conversation with Commander Corsi via her combadge. “Stay close, people. Hawkins, Banks, keep your eyes open.” In response to her orders, the security officers and their Lisqual counterparts each took up positions on the points of the compass, forming a circle with Gomez and the rest of the group at its center.
Around them, more workers, all of them wearing similar work clothing, were taking up positions at the entryways to nearly every other building within view. Stepping closer to Gomez, Sarjenka watched as still more Lisqual moved into the street and bordering walkways in numbers sufficient to impede the flow of pedestrian and ground vehicle traffic. She heard warning tones issued from several of the vehicles, along with the sounds of frustrated voices beginning to punctuate the air—though she noticed they were the voices of the inconvenienced rather than the demonstrators.
“This happens every day?” Abramowitz asked from where she stood just behind Gomez.
Luluma nodded. “Yes. According to our security forces, Jannim has found a means of compromising the Reformation Ministry’s proprietary data communications network that is most efficient.” The doctor had already explained the series of messages transmitted by the mysterious architect of the daily uprisings, who identified himself as Jannim, the name apparently taken from a figure in Lisqual folklore often referred to as the “Bringer of Light” and a hero of the oppressed. “He issues the appropriate commands to the entire reformant community and directs their actions.”
Watching the scene unfold before her, Sarjenka was overwhelmed by the magnitude of what the Lisqual doctor was describing. She had already explained how the protests had started and the compromised nature of the reformants’ individual neural mediation implants, but seeing it happen before her eyes was something else entirely. “All of these people are reformants?” she asked. While she had expected the number of reformants to be significant, even in comparison to the rest of the city’s population, Sarjenka realized she had been unprepared for the sheer volume of alleged criminals who now moved through society at the direction and discretion of the government. “And this is happening across your entire country at the same time?”
“I am afraid so,” Luluma replied. “It is most disquieting to see it, I must admit.”
“Most masters tend to get upset when the slaves revolt,” Gomez said, with her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed tightly together. It was easy for Sarjenka to see that the commander’s tension level was rising with every passing moment.
“Sonya,” Abramowitz said, her voice taut with warning.
Gomez glared at her. “If you’ve got another definition for this situation that I’m missing, feel free to share it with the group.”
The Lisqual gathered in the streets and walkways. Standing before the entrances to the various buildings, they were chanting no slogans, nor were they inciting any altercations. Sarjenka noted that they were not even talking amongst themselves. They were doing nothing except standing their ground, staring straight ahead as though oblivious to the disruption they were causing. For a moment, she likened the reformants to what Dreman folktales called joromi, or persons inhabited by spirits from beyond the world of the living and tasked with resolving the unfinished business of the dead. Despite her rational dismissal of such superstition, the notion still was enough to give her a momentary chill.
“They just stand there, doing nothing?” she asked. “Why can’t your security forces disburse them?”
Shaking her head, Luluma replied, “If only it were that simple.”
“Right,” Gomez said. “It’s not as though this is their idea, after all.”
Studying the sea of blank faces, Sarjenka’s eyes searched out answers to the questions now filling her mind. “What’s stopping them from becoming violent and hurting each other or anyone else?”
“They are more than capable of defending themselves,” Luluma replied. “During the first two uprisings, citizens and members of law enforcement attempted to break up some of the gatherings. The reformants responded with sufficient force and numbers to quell those attempts. We then realized that Jannim was monitoring for such responses, and each time that it happened, he directed groups of reformants to lash out against property as a means of reprisal.”
Turning to the Starfleet officers, she added, “Otherwise, they never initiate any violent action, and it is worth noting that at no time has a reformant set out to harm a person. Once that was realized, our security forces were issued strict orders to simply allow the protests to take place, and the populace was likewise advised. For now, Jannim only seems to want our attention, but I fear something terrible may well happen soon.”
Worse than they already had been forced to endure? To what end where these people being manipulated? It galled Sarjenka to consider that the reformants—already forced to live as charges of the state for the duration of their criminal sentences and to act only at the behest of their government-appointed masters—were nothing more than pawns, tools to be used and exploited by the radical activist who had adopted the persona of Jannim, storied nemesis of the ruling class and champion of the subjugated.
“It seems so pointless,” Abramowitz said after a moment, and Sarjenka agreed with the observation. The reformants remained motionless, staring blankly ahead.
“Until they receive new instructions,” Luluma said, “they will carry out the last order they received.”
The screens of the numerous video monitors arrayed around the promenade all ceased their various broadcasts, each of them shifting to display the same image. A cloaked figure standing in semi-darkness peered from the screen. The reaction in the square was immediate, with almost everyone halting their frustrated pleas toward the reformants to turn and observe the screens. Sarjenka noted, however, that the reformants themselves seemed to take no notice, but instead continued to stand frozen in place.
“Jannim, I presume,” Gomez said.
As if in response, the figure on the screen said, “I speak now to the representatives of the United Federation of Planets, who grace us with their presence on this day. While you consider our leaders’ request to join your interstellar community, I pledge to take on the responsibility for which they are unable or unwilling to carry out: I will reveal the secret shame of our people.”
“More dirty little secrets?” Hawkins said from where he stood near Abramowitz. “Why am I not surprised?”
On the screens, Jannim continued, “We can no longer compel those without voice in our society to serve our ends, as though they were nothing more than resources to be used and discarded. Those who have been convicted of crimes and who serve their sentences in good faith must be allowed to resume their former lives, rather than to have their tenures as indentured servants illegally extended merely to serve the whims of the privileged.”
Stunned at this revelation, Sarjenka turned to Luluma. “Doctor, is this true?” Though the Lisqual doctor did not reply, her silence was more then sufficient to provide an answer.
“My attempts to gain our leaders’ attentions through these passive demonstrations have yielded nothing,” Jannim said. “Today, Federation representatives, you will learn just how heinous the manipulation of the reformants has become.”
“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Banks said, and Sarjenka watched as both she and Hawkins surreptitiously pulled their phasers from the holsters on their hips, though both security guards kept the weapons down, resting against their legs in the hopes of not drawing attention.
Then the screams started.
Cries of surprise and shouts of alarm punctuated the air, and Sarjenka watched as several of the Lisqual turned and began hurrying away from where pockets of reformants still stood. She caught sight of sunlight reflecting off polished metal, only then realizing that several of the reformants had produced weapons from beneath their clothing, the barrels of which were aimed into the air.
“Take cover!” Hawkins shouted an instant before Sarjenka felt his hand clamp onto her arm, and he pulled her toward him. “Move!” She did not resist as the deputy security chief all but plucked her off her feet and carried her toward a nearby ground vehicle, pushing her down behind it. “Stay down,” he ordered, already moving to ensure the safety of the rest of the away team.
Remaining where Hawkins had placed her, Sarjenka listened as one of Luluma’s security escorts ushered the doctor behind the base of a large statue, while the other produced a communications device and issued a call for additional support. All around them, unarmed Lisqual civilians were fleeing the scene in a rising panic.
“What’s the next move, Commander?” Banks asked, looking to Gomez from where she crouched next to Abramowitz, her voice sounding calm and composed despite the current situation.
“I don’t think it’s being made by us,” Gomez replied, pointing across the promenade. Following the gesture, Sarjenka saw a formation of several dozen Lisqual, each wearing what she took to be body armor and carrying large bulky rifles.
Observing the scene, Hawkins shook his head. “There’s no way this ends on a high note.”
“They’re still just standing there,” Sarjenka said, nodding toward the nearest group of reformants, which with the exception of those who had drawn weapons had done nothing in response to the arrival of new law enforcement troops.
She heard a click, followed by a voice booming through some form of public address system. “Drop your weapons and kneel on the ground. Comply immediately.”
No reaction to the demands was offered by any of the reformants. Not a single one so much as turned to look for whoever had issued the directive. In contrast, the armored troops were fanning out, forming a line that began to march toward the nearest group of reformants. All the while, the commands to disarm were repeated and ignored.
The line of troops reached the first of the reformants, and Sarjenka realized she was holding her breath as one of the security officers stepped up to a seemingly catatonic worker, a female Lisqual, who was holding what looked to be a pistol in her right hand.
“Drop your weapon,” the officer ordered.
The woman said nothing, did nothing to indicate she had heard the command, at least, not until the security officer reached out to wrest the pistol from her hand. Only then did she react, lashing out with her free hand to punch the officer in the faceplate of his helmet. The move did no damage, but it was enough to catch him off guard and give her the opportunity to kick him in the stomach and send him falling backward to the ground.
“Here we go,” Banks said, her voice low and tense.
Even as other members of the riot control force responded to the attack on their comrade, stepping forward with batons and shields to engage the heretofore peaceful mob, the reformants reacted as though possessed of a single consciousness. Despite their diverse appearances—male or female, young or old, tall or squat, lean or muscular—all of them resisted the attempts to disarm or subdue them with the skill of a well-trained and cohesive unit. They did only that which was necessary, acting defensively and passing up what to Sarjenka seemed to be numerous opportunities to seize the initiative. She watched as—time and again—the reformants resumed their calm stances after fending off their opponents.
Until the first crack of gunfire.
Sarjenka flinched as the report echoed above the din of skirmish. Looking around frantically, she could not see from where it had originated, but within the span of a few heartbeats that no longer mattered, as the shot was quickly followed by several more. New screams resounded throughout the promenade, as many of the troops and reformants alike scattered, and more gunfire issued. This time Sarjenka saw the muzzle flashes as security officers aimed their weapons at the protestors.
“This will be a slaughter,” Luluma said from where she crouched near Sarjenka, and the young Dreman heard the anguish in the doctor’s voice. As a fellow physician, she shared her Lisqual counterpart’s worry over the rapidly deteriorating situation, already beginning to contemplate the number of casualties the next moments would bring.
Adjusting the controls on her phaser, Gomez said, “Let’s see if we can end this. Phasers on wide-field stun.” When Hawkins and Banks both indicated that they were ready, the commander offered a curt nod. “Go!”
All three of them rose from their places of concealment, choosing their targets and aiming their weapons at nearby throngs of security troops and reformants alike. A trio of bright orange energy bursts pierced the air, expanding outward to envelop the nearby combatants. Lisqual on both sides of the chaotic melee started to drop in groups, succumbing to the effects of the phaser fire.
Their hasty tactics were garnering other notice, however.
“Commander!” Sarjenka shouted, pointing in the direction of several reformants who were turning in their direction and raising their weapons. “Look out!”
No sooner did the warning leave her lips than she saw Hawkins lurch to his right, dropping t
o one knee and reaching up with his left hand to grip his right shoulder. The phaser fell from his other hand, and Sarjenka saw that his features were screwed into an expression of agony. Without thinking, she lunged from behind the vehicle, running in a near crouch toward Hawkins, pulling out her medical tricorder.
“Are you okay?” she asked, ignoring the sounds of phaser and projectile fire going off around her, as both her eyes and the tricorder rapidly assessed the security officer’s condition. A ghastly wound marred his shoulder, and she pressed her hand against it, trying her best to ignore the blood already beginning to pulse between her fingers.
“Never fails,” Hawkins hissed through gritted teeth. “My streak of bad luck, I mean.”
Sarjenka looked up at the sound of Gomez shouting above the din. “Gomez to da Vinci! Eight for emergency beam out, directly to sickbay! Now!”
Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as Sarjenka waited for the initial tingling of a transporter beam to reach out for her. Keeping her hand pressed to Hawkins’s shoulder, she was checking her surroundings to ensure the entire away team as well as Luluma and her people were close by when another crack of gunfire echoed nearby.
A shriek of pain punctured the air and Sarjenka watched in horror as blood and skull fragments erupted from Banks’s head. She dropped in a limp heap to the pavement just as she was embraced by the sheen of transporter energy.
When a similar beam finally coalesced around Sarjenka, it was in time to muffle her own anguished scream.
Chapter
5
Domenica Corsi was in no mood to take prisoners, and it was with a great deal of effort that she was making an exception in this instance.
“You’re sure you’ve tracked to the correct location?” she asked Soloman as she stood behind the Bynar, who occupied a workstation at the rear of the da Vinci’s transporter room. It was the fourth or fifth time she had posed the question, having quit bothering to count after the second failed attempt to triangulate on the source of the transmissions being broadcast by the mysterious Jannim.
