by S. D. Perry
“And what is Cochrane’s drive really doing to subspace?” Cady had ventured into theoretical territory. “What about the rift theory? The projection of subspace into normal space over an event horizon could cause high energy distortion waves, could conceivably destroy whole worlds ?”
Kent, watching from the side of the stage, saw many in the crowd nodding. Cady was a good speaker. He’d been head organizer for the summit protest over the last seven years and had a long and varied history of fighting the good fight. If the small attendance—well under a thousand, by Kent’s estimate, maybe half of last year’s turnout—bothered him, it didn’t show. Boston’s early spring sun was warm and bright, the crowd comfortably spread out over the grassy lot that had been reserved for a much larger assembly. Some in the back were picnicking.
“Do I think the United Federation of Planets is evil?” Cady said, facing the eager protesters and interested locals pressed close to the platform, his voice clear and strong. “That it deliberately and cruelly seeks out new environments, new species to destroy? Of course not! We’ve all heard about the good that can come from what they’re trying to do, the peace treaties they’ve helped mediate, the medicine and food they’ve brought to the sick and hungry. Why I’m here—why many of you are here too, I know—is because of what we don’t know. Like what will happen to Axanar’s woodlands when the UFP brings in new deforesting technology, so that every family can have their own home? Where will Berengaria VII’s dragons go to breed, when Starfleet decides to mine their caverns for dilithium?
“We don’t know what will happen, we don’t know what Axanar, or Berengaria VII, or half a hundred other planets already have at work within their own delicate ecostructures. But perhaps the same thing will happen that happened here less than two centuries ago. I ask you, how many lives could have been saved if there had been more of Antony’s Flower?”
The crowd cheered, Kent applauding along with them. It was an oft used point, but an effective one. Antony’s Flower, once considered a weed in many of Earth’s southern hemisphere rain forests, had proved to be a key element in the treatment of cancer. By the time Lillian Antony had discovered its medicinal properties in the last half of the twenty-first century, the plant had been all but wiped out by the heavy hand of man. It had taken years to cultivate even one-tenth of what had been lost.
“Thad.”
Kent turned, saw that Don Byers had joined him. One of his core Redpeace team members, Byers looked agitated, serious beyond the content of Cady’s speech. He jerked his head, motioning for Kent to come away. Still ap plauding, Kent backed from the platform. He was supposed to speak, but not until Cady was finished. Tom Cady could go on for another hour, easily.
Byers led him through the press of watchers, toward a small group standing and sitting near one of the park trails, just outside the rally’s boundary. There were eight or nine of them, all young. A couple were watching the speech, the rest talking among themselves. Something about their casual dress, their hair, their smirking, shining faces ? Kent slowed his pace, forcing Byers to do the same.
“Whole Earth? What’s this about, Don?” Kent asked.
Byers shook his head. “I know, I know. But I think you should hear it yourself. Kid’s name is Josh Swanson.”
Kent sighed. Redpeace, while still the IF, had had more than enough to do with Whole Earth, as had every other responsible environmental group in the last twenty years. Whole Earthers advocated the preservation of natural habitat by any means necessary. Their radical and illegal methods ran from spiking trees to tainting crops to wanton destruction of spoiler equipment, and occasionally, people got hurt. Always young, always absolutely certain of their moral righteousness, the presence of the WE almost guaranteed bad press for accountable groups like Redpeace.
As they approached, one of the young men nodded slightly at Byers, standing to move away from the rest of the group. Josh Swanson, presumably. He was tall and good-looking, his sauntering walk a study in arrogant indifference as he wandered across their path, stopping next to an archaic drinking fountain. He had perfected the look of bored apathy.
Youth truly is wasted on the young, Kent thought, sighing again. Still, Don Byers wasn’t an alarmist; if he thought it was important, it should probably be checked out. They walked to the fountain, stopping in front of the smirking young man.
“You Kent?” he asked, by way of introduction.
Byers interceded. “Josh Swanson, Thaddeus Kent.”
Kent nodded at the youth, waited. Swanson smiled, an entirely charming smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I’ve heard of you. You were in on Tyn Sei.”
Tyn Sei. Wonderful. Just after Jess’s death, when he’d been hardly older than the young man in front of them and nearly suicidal with rage, he and some other disaffected youth had somehow managed to blow up a chemical laboratory at an Amerasian industrial compound known as Tyn Sei, owned and operated by several companies. The lab had been a major producer of hydrazine, a hypergolic chemical rocket propellant used by Starfleet. The explosion had actually been an accident, the result of a vandalism attempt that hadn’t taken into account the combustibility of hydrazine vapors, and he and the other protesters had run like frightened children from the ensuing blaze. It was easily the most foolish thing he’d ever done; that no one had been killed or even injured had been a downright miracle. And sadly, it had become the inspiring stuff of legend for groups like Whole Earth, among others. Which was undoubtedly worse than the destruction of the lab in the first place.
Again, Kent waited, neither denying nor confirming Swanson’s statement. His involvement at Tyn Sei was a personal embarrassment, but it had occasionally worked in his favor. Swanson was obviously impressed, for what it was worth.
The youth studied him a moment longer, then spoke in a low, casual tone. “Kraden is about to do some experimental work on Mars. They got their land approval, as of this morning. Fifty acres, for their lab north of Wallace.”
The megaconglomerate had numerous laboratories on Earth and Mars, and was a major spoiler, a big contributor to the “progressive” Starfleet agenda. They had been lobbying for acreage in the southern highlands, but last Kent had heard, the decision was still pending.
Kent glanced at Byers. “Confirmed?”
Byers shook his head. “I put a call in to Sadler, but he’s not answering.”
Of course he wasn’t. Since the move to Mars, Preston Sadler, Redpeace’s primary lawyer, was insanely overworked. He was missing the summit this year to stay on Mars, to continue struggling with a half dozen appeals and twice that many injunctions. He was probably in court.
“What kind of testing?” Kent asked.
“Atomic-level terraform,” Swanson said.
Impossible. Terraforming on Mars was strictly limited.
“Says who?” Kent asked.
“Says someone who knows,” Swanson said. “Someone who’s going to be there.”
If it was true, this was big. Scientists working for Kraden had been responsible for changes, atmospheric and environmental, to a dozen Federation worlds, all for the alleged greater good of the humanoid populations living there. So far, no “lesser” species had been irreparably lost, no habitats ruined, but it was surely only a matter of time.
It had been almost 150 years since the Martian Revolution, begun over licensing issues—an Earth conglomerate had deliberately blown up sixty-five people who had refused to move off of “their” land. Native-born Martians had made the decision to govern themselves, to break free from Earth’s patronage; the Fundamental Declarations had been written shortly thereafter.
And now the government wants to do it all over again, selling out to companies like Kraden. And if Kraden can get in, anyone can. The people won’t stand for it, they won’t!
“Thank you for this information,” Kent said, as politely as he could, his thoughts racing. “It always helps to know what we’re up against.”
He turned to Byers, started wal
king back toward the rally. “Get hold of Sadler. Tell him we’ll be filing for another injunction within the next twenty-four hours. In fact, you and Karen should both go back. You can help Sadler with the writing and have Karen organize a meeting with the Conservatory people, get them behind this. I’ve got to stay for the panel, but once the summit’s over, I’ll—”
“Wait, what about ? aren’t you going to do something?” Swanson was hurrying along behind them, the smirk finally gone from his chiseled features. He seemed incredulous, almost angry.
Kent stopped, perfectly aware of what Swanson was asking. And as impatient as he was to get things moving, he felt a reluctant responsibility to set the kid straight. After helping create the legacy of Tyn Sei, it seemed the least he could do. He nodded for Byers to go ahead before answering, keeping his voice low.
“Tyn Sei was a mistake,” he said. “Anytime people can get hurt, it’s a mistake. There are better ways to get things done.”
Swanson looked disgusted. “Work with the system, right? I should have known. You’re bought and sold, just another willing participant in the destruction.”
Kent shook his head at the stock rhetoric, feeling more tired than anything else. The kid was what, twenty-two, twenty-three? The span of years, of experience, between them seemed an insurmountable barrier. What could he possibly say that would make a difference?
Try. You should at least try.
“There was a time I felt like you do, a time I was angry and frustrated with how long things take and how blind people can be,” Kent said slowly. “They just break things without understanding how they work. They walk into new places and claim them as their own because they feel like they’ve got a right, and change them without any thought to how things ought to be. They take something beautiful, in and of itself, and decide it’s ugly because it’s not what they want.”
Swanson actually seemed to be listening. He nodded, his clear green gaze angry with validation. “Right, exactly. Like this summit, right? The Federation says they want to honor other cultures, other worlds, and then they send Starfleet out to ? to violate them.”
Kent felt a rush of hope. “Yes, that’s right. Their hypocrisy is shameless. And if the Martian government allows Kraden to terraform for profit, considering their own history, they’re just as bad. It’s important for those of us who care, who don’t want to live in a ‘progressive’ reality that amounts to bland sterility and corporate comfort, to stand up and be counted, to make a difference. But when people get hurt for a cause, sometimes the cause takes the damage, you understand?”
Wonder of wonders, Swanson was still nodding. “I reach,” he said, a glimmer of something like respect in his eyes. “So the thing is, if you’re trying to make a difference and something goes wrong, make it look like their fault.”
Kent stared at him a moment, his mind blanked by the perfection of the misunderstanding. As he struggled for something to say, the crowd at his back began applauding, shouting, signaling the end of Cady’s speech. Kent turned, saw a few faces on the platform scanning the audience, looking for him. One of the searchers caught his gaze, beckoned him back toward the stage.
“Excuse me, I have to go.” He turned his back on the youth, wondering why he’d even bothered. Whole Earth was as single-minded and cheerfully sociopathic as your typical toddler, a perpetual accident waiting to happen. Swanson raised his voice, shouted after him.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything!”
Kent waved over his shoulder without turning around, fairly certain he’d never see Josh Swanson again and not sorry for it. Redpeace would stop Kraden on Mars, through the system. And if they couldn’t ?
We will, he thought firmly, and managed a smile for the waiting crowd as he made his way back to the stage.
“Commander James T. Kirk, as I live and breathe!”
The shout was amused, almost teasing. Kirk turned, smiling, and saw Carol walking toward him, her legs bare and tan beneath a short, casual green dress, her blond hair swept back in a loose knot. She looked as radiant as the spring day, and younger than most of the college students she moved past to reach him.
“Doctor Marcus,” he replied, and stepped in to meet her. Her arms circled his neck, and he picked her up as they embraced, loving the sun-warmed smell of her hair, her light perfume of citrus soap.
She let out a slightly breathless squeal, and he set her down for a proper kiss, not caring if the whole campus watched. Just touching her had his heart hammering, and the feel of her lips on his made him ache in all sorts of ways, but he managed to step away again after a moment.
“Giving up so soon?” she asked, holding his hands, smiling up at him in that way she had, that Carol way, confident and inviting.
“Well, we wouldn’t want your students to think you’re not a lady.” Kirk glanced around at the few dozen young people walking to or from class, or wandering across the campus lawn in small groups. A handful looked in their direction, their attention presumably drawn by his uniform. He felt conspicuous, but he was due back on the ship in a few hours and hadn’t wanted to waste even a second changing clothes. From what she’d been telling him about her Inception project, she didn’t have a lot of spare time, either.
“They are awfully impressionable at this age,” Carol said, nodding.
“Think of the children,” Kirk added, and then they were both grinning, and he felt a sudden rush of love for her that was impossible to ignore. He leaned down and kissed her again, a softer, sweeter kiss, one that promised softer, sweeter things to come. When they broke, her face was flushed, her eyes a bit glassy. He felt the same way himself.
“You learn that in Starfleet?” she asked, her voice hitching a little.
He cleared his throat, glancing around them again. “The Academy.”
Still holding hands, they walked to a bench in the shade of an ancient oak tree, drawing a few more looks from passing students. Were some of those expressions less than respectful? A young couple walked by, the woman practically glaring at him. A beat later, he got a distinctly unfriendly glance from a young man with spiked, iridescent hair.
“Is it my imagination—” he began, but Carol had noticed as well.
“Probably not the best week to show up in uniform.” She smiled. “There was a small rally here yesterday, to work up protestors for your summit. The big one’s today, I believe, in Boston.”
Kirk shook his head. “What exactly are they protesting?”
“Oh, the usual,” Carol said. “Environmental causes here and there, exploitation of foreign cultures, using military as first contact, Starfleet, the Federation, and probably anything their parents agree with.”
“Starfleet is extremely sensitive to the environments and cultures it encounters. Haven’t they heard of the Prime Directive? And considering that some of those ‘foreign’ cultures consider military weakness a failing, it would be ludicrous for us to—”
“I know.”
“First contact with the Klingon Empire was as friendly as we could make it, and look what happened. If Starfleet hadn’t been involved, they would have—”
“Jim,” she interrupted again, touching his arm. She met his gaze, her own gentle and smiling. “I know.”
He made himself relax, though it took some effort. “Right,” he said. “You know.”
“They’re kids,” she said. “It’s their job to protest the establishment. And Starfleet’s approval rating can certainly afford it.”
Deserved or not, he thought, but decided to let it go. Carol was a wicked debater, and as much as she seemed to support the Federation’s goals and methods, she was always willing to argue Starfleet’s handling of scientific matters. Most scientists were, he’d found. As thorough as the FSC had been, laying out guidelines for Starfleet to follow when it came to collecting and analyzing data, different specialties always favored different procedures; xenobiochemicists insisted on one way of doing things, astrophysicists another. He didn’t want to argue wit
h her, not on such a beautiful day, not when there were other, more pleasurable things they could be doing.
“That’s true.” He smiled. “Enough about them. How about lunch? I have to be back on the ship at sixteen hundred, but only for a half shift. After that, I’m free until the summit opens, zero eight hundred tomorrow.”
“Lunch I can do,” Carol said, and took his hand again. “And believe me, I’d love to see you later tonight, but I’m meeting with some of team for dinner, and it’ll probably run late. Takeout in the lab.”
