Sralanya
2386
Picard watched T’Ryssa Chen pace her fiftieth circuit of the holding cell, if his count was to be trusted. In all fairness, he was unsure of his own figure. Losing track of time was easy in a place such as this, with no windows or timepieces. It was without doubt a deliberate measure on the part of his captors and part of a preplanned strategy for dealing with prisoners that would disorient them and make them more receptive to interrogation.
It might be working.
“Lieutenant,” he said when it appeared Chen might begin her fifty-first trip around the room. “Perhaps you should have a seat. The rest might do you some good.”
Chen smiled. “Thank you, sir, but I’m not really tired.”
“But watching you is exhausting your captain.”
Her smile turning to an expression of embarrassment, Chen moved to take a seat next to him. “Sorry, sir.”
Along with Chen, Picard was relieved to be reunited with the rest of the away team. Lieutenants Dina Elfiki and Austin Braddock along with Glinn Ravel Dygan occupied seats on one of the four benches lining two of the holding cell’s walls. Like him, the other members of the away team had been relieved of their communicator badges as well as any weapons or other equipment they may have been carrying. The communicators were the biggest loss, as without them there was no ready way to contact the Enterprise. If they were being held in an underground facility, the starship’s sensors might have difficulty locating them through whatever interference was being produced by the surrounding rock and mineral deposits.
The room they occupied was unremarkable, with stone walls, floor, and ceiling colored a uniform pale gray. Lighting panels set into the ceiling provided ample illumination, and the only exit was a heavy metal door set into the forward wall. The benches, each fashioned from a single piece of unidentified metal with no joints, right angles, or sharp edges, were secured to the floor against the side walls. An angled section of wall jutted out from the room’s far corner, providing a modicum of privacy around a hole in the floor that served as the holding cell’s lavatory.
Noting that Braddock had said little since Picard’s unceremonious arrival, he said, “Mister Braddock, I’m sorry about Lieutenant T’Sona. She gave her life defending mine, without hesitation. Presider Hilonu assures me that her remains will be treated with respect.” She had told him about the postdeath rituals observed by many Eizand, which involved cremation and interment in a special vessel that could, she promised, be delivered to the Enterprise at a more appropriate time.
“Thank you, Captain.” The young security officer swallowed before reaching up to wipe his forehead. “She was a good officer and an even better friend. I know she could come off sounding aloof, but once you got to know her, you realized she had a wicked sense of humor.” A small smile brightened the man’s features. “Even for a Vulcan, she had one of the best deadpan deliveries.”
One aspect of command with which Picard had never been comfortable was dealing with the death of a crewmember. He could in time come to accept it as an unfortunate aspect of a chosen life, but that did not ease the accompanying pain, in particular when it involved someone sworn to serve under his leadership. It did not matter how well he knew an individual officer—it was impossible to know each of the more than one thousand beings assigned to the Enterprise—for that lack of familiarity did not lessen their loss. It was no different when it came to those horrific occasions when he ordered subordinates on missions that led to their deaths. He never undertook such action lightly, and the repercussions of those decisions would always haunt him. Picard was grateful for that burden; it reminded him of the sacrifices made by those who answered the call to service and the tremendous costs that duty sometimes exacted.
“What about the Enterprise?” asked Chen. “I don’t care what Hilonu said. You just know Commander Worf is doing everything he can to find us.”
Picard said, “If she’s to be believed, the Enterprise encountered difficulty with the planet’s orbital defense network.”
Sitting across from the captain, Lieutenant Elfiki said, “If those satellites used their EMP generators, Commander Worf may have had no choice but to break orbit, rather than risk the ship being incapacitated.”
“According to Hilonu, that’s more or less what happened.” Picard recalled the terse report the presider had offered, following the message she sent to the Enterprise to warn them about taking us into custody. He was confident that Worf, whose diplomatic skills had evolved to rival his command abilities, would also be employing restraint, at least for the moment. The first officer would be assessing the situation and determining a course of action that would avoid or at least minimize possible casualties, in the hopes of salvaging any chance of brokering peaceful relations with the Eizand people. Crafting such a solution would take time, which meant that Picard and the away team would have to be patient.
Here’s hoping Hilonu and her people are equally tolerant.
“Captain,” said Elfiki, “can it be true? Is it really possible that we—Earth, I mean—could be responsible for what happened to these people?”
It was a question Picard had been pondering since Presider Hilonu’s startling revelation. “There’s strong evidence to suggest it, Lieutenant, but I’m not yet convinced. However, if it is true, then we are obligated to find out everything we can about what occurred here, and do everything in our power to balance the scales with the Eizand.”
“Three hundred years ago,” said Braddock, shaking his head. “It seems impossible, sir. I mean, we were barely able to leave our own planet back then. How could we possibly have managed something so advanced?” His expression turned sour. “And so terrible.”
Picard nodded. “That’s the rub, isn’t it? I suppose it’s possible that someone on Earth found and was able to exploit some piece of alien technology and use it for such a purpose, but that doesn’t give us a reason.”
“It couldn’t have been a sanctioned action,” said Chen. “I understand that Earth was having its share of problems during that time, but that’s what makes this illogical. Earth and humanity were embroiled by all sorts of internal strife, including the Third World War. How would they have had time or resources for something like that?”
Braddock added, “There’s certainly nothing in any of the history texts. According to everything I ever read, our space program slowed down considerably after the Mars missions of the mid-twenty-first century and didn’t really pick up again until after first contact with the Vulcans.”
Sitting next to Elfiki on the bench with his hands clasped before him, Glinn Dygan replied, “History is usually written by those in power, Lieutenant; all governments have their secrets. A lack of record does not mean that event did not happen.”
“Dygan has a point.” Picard offered a small, wan smile. “After all, history doesn’t record my witnessing humans’ first contact with the Vulcans.”
Chen crossed her arms. “Point taken, sir. Still, this? It’s just so beyond anything that makes any sense.”
“On that, we agree,” replied Picard, “but Glinn Dygan makes a valid observation. Why would such an action take place, and why would it be carried out in secret?”
The Cardassian said, “There have always been groups and organizations that have operated in the shadows, working clandestinely and often without accountability while striving for what they perceive to be a greater good. In many of these cases, the ends, in their mind, justify the means. Sometimes, these groups take the form of the Obsidian Order or the Tal Shiar. Even Starfleet Intelligence carries out covert missions in the name of security, Captain.”
“But even those groups answer to someone,” replied Elfiki.
“What about groups like Section 31?” asked Braddock. “We know they’ve been around in one form or another for more than two hundred years.”
Picard nodded. “And perhaps longer.” His own encounters with the mysterious shadow organization were few, but all were memorable, including one or two instances he would prefer to forget and even was ashamed to acknowledge. The group, which was active even before the Federation’s founding, had been involved in countless acts and decisions from behind the proverbial curtain, guiding and influencing and even coercing the history first of Earth and later the entire Federation. Even today, and despite a greater awareness of its existence and activities, the group remained couched in shadows, and pinning down the group or anyone affiliated with it continued to be a daunting task.
“When I was first offered command of the Enterprise—the predecessor to our current ship—I read the official logs of every captain of a ship named Enterprise dating back to the twenty-second century. Jonathan Archer, the captain of the first starship Enterprise, with the first propulsion system capable of achieving warp five, had a lot to say regarding his own encounters with Section 31. Even then, he expressed concerns that such a group, despite whatever noble intentions had led to its creation, ultimately could undermine the principles that had brought together the people of Earth and Vulcan, and later the Andorians and the Tellarites and indeed the entire Federation.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Could something like Section 31 be behind whatever happened here?” asked Elfiki. “Regardless of what it became, the group was formed with a mission of defending humanity from external threats. It wasn’t a bad idea, but the lack of accountability probably doomed them from the start.”
Rising from the bench, Picard straightened his uniform before beginning to pace his own circle around the room’s perimeter. “There have been stories about such organizations, created for similar reasons by every national power on Earth dating back centuries. Nothing substantiated, but can every account be fiction? Most likely not.”
Was it possible that a forerunner to Section 31 was responsible for the calamity visited upon the Eizand? Might such a group, perhaps born out of genuine concern for the safety of Earth and operating with autonomy and anonymity, grow over time to become so corrupted that it undertook the sort of horrific preemptive action inflicted upon the Eizand, for whatever reason? The answer to that question was too troubling to contemplate.
And yet, it’s not impossible, or even out of the question.
The sound of the holding cell’s door unlocking made everyone rise from their benches. Picard could sense the anticipation, particularly from Lieutenant Braddock and Glinn Dygan, both of whom seemed ready to pounce at the first opportunity. Despite their enthusiasm, he doubted that, even with their Starfleet unarmed combat training, they could take a guard detail that likely was prepared for just such a situation.
“At ease, gentlemen,” he cautioned. “If they’d wanted to harm us, they could have done so by now.”
Tell that to Lieutenant T’Sona.
The door opened outward without benefit of automation, doubtless to prevent accidental breaching in the event of a power loss, and a tall, thin Eizand male wearing the uniform of a Tevent Coalition soldier entered the room. Picard recognized him as Janotra, the soldier in charge of this facility’s guard detachment. He was followed by five more soldiers dressed in similar fashion, and each of them had unlimbered sidearms from their holsters. While the other five moved into a protective formation around Janotra, he eyed Picard. His weapon’s muzzle was pointed at the floor.
“Captain, I have been ordered to escort you to Presider Hilonu.”
“Where are you taking him?” asked Braddock, taking a step forward and earning a stern glare from the soldier.
“As you were, Lieutenant.” Picard’s sharp command was enough to halt the security officer, who looked to him and nodded in acknowledgment. Turning his attention to the guards, the captain raised his hands. “I’ll go with you without trouble. There’s no need for this to be any more unpleasant than it already is.”
“Captain,” said Chen, but did not continue when Picard eyed her. Instead, she nodded in silent understanding.
“You’re in charge, Lieutenant Elfiki,” he said, proceeding at Janotra’s direction from the holding cell into the long, stone corridor. With the cell door once more secured, the Eizand guard made a simple gesture for Picard to begin walking. No further words were exchanged, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Now what?
• • •
“Valmiki Goswami. Meredith Harper. Park Ji-hu. You have been charged with committing wanton acts of aggression against this planet and all of the Eizand people. You represent a race of beings that can only be deemed a threat to our very existence, and we are compelled to act in defense of our world and to seek justice for the uncounted millions of Eizand who have perished through direct result of your actions. After hearing your testimony and weighing the evidence presented against you, this tribunal has found you guilty. Punishment for your heinous crimes is death, and sentence is to be carried out immediately without delay or reprieve.”
There could be no mistaking the fear and defeat on the faces of the three humans as they stood alone on a raised podium before a stone wall. Picard heard a low murmur like the muted voices from an audience somewhere nearby, but no one else was visible on the recording. All three were bound by cables or chains that kept them standing against the wall.
The humans, two males and a female, wore what Picard guessed were standard jumpsuits or flight suits common to Earth astronauts of the early to mid-twenty-first century. Each garment was adorned with different patches and other markings, including a simple white stripe over the left breast pocket, with the wearer’s last name rendered in English. One of the males, who appeared to be of Indian descent and whose name tag identified him as Goswami, looked around as though searching for someone or something, but there was a lethargy to his movements that suggested he might be drugged. His companions exhibited similar behavior. None of them spoke, or so much as lifted their heads in a final expression or remark of defiance.
A row of six soldiers stepped into view. Their clothing was different and yet evocative of the uniforms now worn by members of the Tevent Coalition military. Knowing what he was about to witness, Picard wanted to look away, but forced his gaze to remain locked on the screen. The three humans, as though realizing for the first time that their end was at hand, began to shift in their restraints, but there was no way for them to escape. Each of the approaching soldiers wielded a long-barreled rifle. Someone still not visible on the screen issued a sharp, military-style command that Picard could not understand, and all of the soldiers raised their weapons to aim at one of the humans. He tried to brace himself for what was about to occur, but there was no time for that as each member of the execution detail fired in unison, their weapons unleashing hellish streams of bright crimson energy. Two beams struck each of the humans in the torso, and their bodies convulsed in the face of what was obviously a brutal assault. Goswami remained silent, though the woman and the other man cried out in agony as the beams continued to tear and burn their flesh and clothing. Over the sound of the rifle reports, Picard heard the low rumble of the audience, and—though he was not certain—he thought it was approval.
The vile display lasted for several seconds before the soldiers reacted to another voice command and ceased fire. Against the wall, the tortured remains of all three humans, their skin and clothes scorched almost beyond recognition, hung limp in their restraints, and Picard felt his gorge rise as he saw wisps of smoke rising from the ravaged bodies. The sounds from the unseen audience were growing now, along with Picard’s anger, and he almost flinched when the mounting noise stopped as the image halted.
“In hindsight, it was a barbaric form of execution, having evolved over generations from methods that were even more heinous. Fortunately, we discontinued the practice soon after this incident. Capital punishment is now a much more humane means of dealing with those deserving of such harsh penalties. Thankfully, it is a rare occurrence. I suppose you might call that progress, after a fashion.”
Picard turned from the screen and its haunting image to face Presider Hilonu, who stood on the far side of the windowless, bland circular room in which he had been brought from the holding cell. She was dressed in a simple maroon gown that covered her from neck to feet, and one of her long, thin hands still rested on the control pad set into the wall behind her. Near the door leading from the room, a pair of soldiers stood in silence, hands resting on holstered weapons and watching Picard’s every movement.
“My people once embraced similar forms of justice,” he said, “though we too learned that it was not an effective deterrent. It seemed only to serve a need for vengeance, and we eventually did away with the practice altogether.”
Hilonu stepped away from the control pad. “In time, I can see our people taking a similar path. A significant portion of the population is already in favor of such a change, which I honestly find heartening.”
In time, Picard thought. But not yet.
“I do wish to thank you,” he said. “My people and I have been treated with care and respect.”
Moving to stand just beyond an arm’s length from him, the Eizand leader clasped her hands before her. “I would like nothing more than for that treatment to continue, Captain, but a great deal of that decision rests on your shoulders. I need to show that your people admit to and regret the actions taken against our world. All Eizand must see justice for the harm inflicted upon them.”
“I assure you that I do regret what happened here, Presider. What I cannot say with any honesty is that I understand it. I don’t know why the action was taken or who was responsible.” Picard nodded back toward the screen, though kept himself from taking in the paused image. “However, I can see to it that an investigation takes place. If we can identify those people, we may be able to learn where they came from and who sent them here.”
Hilonu said, “Is it your assertion that these criminals were not human?”
“I can’t assert anything of the sort without evidence or more information.” Pausing, Picard drew a breath while collecting his thoughts and trying to plot a course of action. “What was done with their bodies?”
“Like your Lieutenant T’Sona, they were reduced to ashes and placed in ceremonial vessels. For a time, they were displayed in one of our museums that chronicled the war. As you might imagine, the exhibits detailing the conflict’s beginnings are of great interest.” Hilonu’s gaze shifted to the screen. “I suspect those events will receive even more attention and study, given your arrival.”
Picard said, “If we could have access to those remains, we might be able to identify them using records in my ship’s computer or information available to me from my superiors. We can solve this mystery, Presider, for all time.”
“Are you not afraid of what your efforts might reveal?”
“I do not fear the truth, Presider. If Earth was responsible for inciting the war that engulfed your planet, then the Federation will want to do everything in its power to see that tragic wrong is corrected. Indeed, we are willing to render assistance now, regardless of the circumstances. All I request is the opportunity to answer the questions you’ve posed for generations.”
For the first time since entering the room, Hilonu smiled. “As I told you before, Captain, I find it easy to trust you, and I take comfort in your words. It is obvious that what you have seen here troubles you, and I sense a genuine desire to help us. That is comforting, to a point, but I hope you can understand my position. I am bound by a duty to seek justice in this matter not just for the Tevent Coalition, but all the Eizand people.” As she spoke, Picard noted that the anger that had threatened to seize her during their last meeting was absent, replaced by worry and even a hint of resignation.
“Because of that duty, I am compelled to act in accordance with our laws. You will stand trial, Captain, and answer for the crimes of your planet.”