The Sarpeidon Chronicles Part 6
The Ever Moving Shadow
"The present is the ever moving shadow that divides yesterday from tomorrow. In that lies hope." Frank Lloyd Wright
Chapter 1
When he looked back on the events of the night that had changed his world forever, Governor I'gara realized that he had sensed that something was about to happen. This vague premonition wasn't the result of telepathy, since his species had never been blessed with that particular talent. Rather, his longstanding devotion to his duty and, in a strange way, to the prisoners assigned to his care, made him almost preternaturally sensitive to even the slightest shifts in their collective mood.
Only a few days before everything changed, the inhabitants of Federation Penal Colony 28 had become restless.
Of course, some ill feeling was to be expected among a population of political prisoners, traitors, and disgraced Federation officials. Before I'gara's tenure, anger and deceit had fueled attempted coups every few months or so. Five years earlier, I'gara's own predecessor had been injured so severely that he resigned his post. He had been a Terran, a harsh man, served by a throng of unbending disciplinarians. Unfortunately, his tactics had bred not genuine rehabilitation, but a malignant resentment that continued to this day.
Not that he hadn't tried to make things different. I'gara came from a species known for its commitment not only to a strict moral code, but to benevolence and forgiveness-and he still found it odd how many of his inmates, and even some members of his staff, found those two ideals incompatible. For I'gara, the connection was obvious. Perhaps it helped that his race was blessed with what more humanoid species considered a fearsome appearance, with a hulking body that easily doubled the girth of an adult male human, and a face with protruding eyes and lips that, according to some, resembled a Terran bullfrog. I'gara had seen this animal in holographic images and found it a most handsome creature, so he did not resent the comparison. Primarily for this reason, but, he liked to think, for others also, the prisoners in I'gara's charge had slowly begun to respect him and tolerated his efforts to rehabilitate them both physically and morally.
There was, however, an exception. Of the hundreds of men that had passed through his administrative control, I'gara considered only one truly unredeemable. Years of captivity, including many in solitary confinement, had done nothing to curb his brash arrogance. On the few occasions when he was allowed to mingle with the other inmates, he bragged of how he had once lived off a succession of wealthy and gullible women, including the daughters of at least two Federation ambassadors. Remorse was a word he had never learned in any of the several languages he spoke fluently; I'gara dreaded the day his thirty-year sentence for terrorism was up.
With the scent of another riot circulating through the air, I'gara went straight to the man who was rumored to have engineered the first one.
He entered the isolation cell alone, waving off his guards when they attempted to follow him inside. As far as I'gara was concerned its occupant had never looked physically threatening, with his thin body and perpetually lazy attitude.
The governor didn't bother with formalities. "Tell me what the others are planning."
The prisoner remained curled on his bunk in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chin. I'gara saw a smirk tug the corners of those tight blue lips.
"But what can I know? Your express orders keep me in isolation here. Not even the other detainees are allowed to speak to me."
"We all know you have ways of communicating among yourselves. If you cooperate with me this time, I am prepared to reward you."
"You? Reward me?" Smugly, Therov crossed his arms and faced the wall. "How strange...I can't think of a single thing of yours that I would want."
"In spite of everything, I still believe you are a man of honor. Your ideals prompted you to behave as you did in the outside world. I am willing to accept that there is still something of an optimist in you, misguided though you may be."
Therov snorted. "I would pity you if I didn't have so much contempt for you. You serve the Federation, along with so many other noble souls. And yet, if a disturbance were to take place here-not that I am saying that one will-I wonder how quickly they would rush to your aid."
I'gara shook his massive head in pity. "If it is escape you are dreaming of, surely you've realized by now that such hopes can never bear fruit. We are a self-sufficient colony; no supply ships have called here since before you were born. Personnel and prisoners, as you may recall, are never brought here by direct route. Physically, the planet itself is invisible unless one knows precisely how and where to look for it. For the forty years it has existed, the location of this colony has remained utterly unknown to all but a handful of Federation officials. You had better get used to the idea that you will spend the remainder of your sentence here. PC28's main function is to punish, true enough, but it can also be a place of renewal, even rebirth, if one is willing to give up old delusions."
Still smiling, Therov shifted position so that he was staring directly into I'gara's fist-sized eyeballs. His own much smaller pupils flashed with a vicious intensity that took the governor aback. "In order for your sanguine little scheme to work, I would have to accept your authority over me as an unchangeable fact. Unfortunately for you, I do not."
Turning his head in an exaggerated motion, Therov leaned against the wall of his cell and began to sing an Andorian folk song-an old ballad from the days before the Federation came. They were bold verses that celebrated copious blooshed and valiant blue-skinned warriors hacking away at each other with primitive but deadly weapons.
I'gara went away, shaken but still unsure whether his suspicions had any real foundation.
Then, two nights later, the assault came-not from within the prison walls, but from the skies. I'gara himself had been huddled in his quarters, his metabolism tuned to its nightly hibernation mode, when all at once his windows lit up and wild shouts reached his ear-slits. He looked out to see multiple fires and phaser-blasts blistering the colorless morning mist. Prisoners-some of them now armed, guards, and strangely dressed men in glistening helmets ran wildly across the smoking grounds. A few from all three groups already lay motionless on the ground.
I'gara grabbed the phaser-rifle he kept in a hidden wall-panel and released his door-latch with the touch of a button. When the door slid open, one of his lieutenants staggered in, blood streaming from a phaser burn to his face and a deep gash in his shoulder.
"Who are they?" I'gara asked as the man crumpled against him, his blood-flecked lips struggling to form words. At the same time, his hand fell open and an unusual weapon skidded across the floor. The governor could only stare in disbelief at what he recognized as a Romulan disruptor. Surely no Imperial vessel would be so foolhardy as to invade a penal colony inside the Neutral Zone!
Quickly he took a first-aid kit from his desk and tended to his wounded subordinate. It would be folly to attempt to drag him to the infirmary now, so he used a hypo spray to dull the pain and dragged the wounded man to a hiding place.
"I'll return with help," he said, then hurried outside with the rifle at his shoulder.
In the open, the chaos was almost more than he could comprehend. He didn't know how many Romulans there were, but by then it hardly mattered. Then inmates he had worked so hard to redeem had happily joined forces with them and were cheerfully slaughtering I'gara's men at will. Uniformed bodies lined the ground, interspersed with a few jumpsuited inmates.
I'gara wasted no time trying to help those he could see were well beyond mortal help. Instead, he slipped into a deserted guard station and down a concealed hatchway known only to prison staff. From there, a series of underground tunnels took him straight to a observation booth directly above Therov's cell, a hidden cubicle used for both security and behavioral observation. For reasons he could not quite elucidate, even in his own mind, he knew he would find some answers there.
Sure enough, one of the Romulans had already found his way into the block of isolation cells and was using his disruptor to short out the protective force field. I'gara watched from above as the invader calmly ordered Therov back against the wall and reduced the high-security screen to a shower of harmless sparks. He then stepped through himself and removed his ornate battle helmet, freeing a cascade of incongruously shoulder-length black hair. Only now did I'gara realize that he was dressed not in an Imperial uniform, but in the stylish garb of an expensive mercenary. Only the helmet and the weapons were standard Romulan issue.
"The other inmates will serve my forces well," he said as he approached Therov with his hand extended, "but you are the man I most wanted to save."
"And I am grateful to you, brother," Therov said, hurrying forward to grasp the stranger's wrist in a military-style greeting. "But who are you? Why have the Romulans come for me?"
The Romulan laughed heartily. "How interesting that you call me brother. In another life, we might well have been brothers-in-law. To answer your question, I am Selyk. And I come to you thanks to the generosity of Ambassador Spock. Now follow me. You will have your own command, of course. But first we shall take what we need and depart this place before anyone heeds the distress call their watchmen have surely sent."
In the cramped space above them, I'gara drew himself up and held his breath until they were gone. Much later, as he recounted his tale to the Federation authorities who had, despite Therov's prediction, come to their aid, he was unsure which was greater: his horror at what he had seen happen to his colony, or his shock at what he'd overheard.
- - -
Elias' manner was curt as he gathered the three most trusted members of the Gamma Aurelius colony inside the Common Room. Their guest, a Raptarian trader who had arrived with his crew only that morning, sat at the table in the corner. Beneath his protruding feathered eyebrows, his hawklike gaze remained grim.
"Our guest has brought some news of a rather urgent quality," Elias said, pacing the room as the rest of them took seats. "I thought we should discuss it among ourselves before disseminating it to the rest of the colony."
"Is it about the pirates?" Jarrod asked. "Everyone's talking about that already."
The Raptarian grumbled what was clearly a curse in his own language. "I told my crewmen to keep their beaks shut. Misinformation can be deadly, especially in this case."
"Well, they didn't tell us much," Leila said. "Only that a supply freighter was hijacked by some kind of marauding band of outlaws. Rather dramatic, really. It would be impossible for people not to talk about something like that. This has always been a peaceful sector."
"To tell you the truth, I'm more concerned about the supplies we won't be getting," interrupted Nicolas, another Terran colonist. "I've been waiting four months for a new pair of boots."
Elias shook his head. "If what Risar, here, tells me is true, holes in our shoes will be the least of our problems. Go ahead. Tell them."
"The signs would seem to indicate that these so-called pirates weren't simply opportunists. Their attack on the freighter was planned, as was their recent liberation of a Federation prison. Their whereabouts were unknown from then until now. With the supplies they captured along with the freighter, they will be able sustain themselves for some time. However, at some point they may wish to establish a home base with sufficient resources to maintain their growing ranks. And, need I remind you, Gamma Aurelius is one of the only suitable worlds within their reach. The freighter does not have warp capabilities."
"That's pure speculation," Jarrod said. "Do you have direct information that they're planning to come here?"
"I do not. However, there is ample precedent. You see, Romulans do not tend to cultivate unpopulated planets. Their typical modus operandi is to invade a society that is already functioning and simply establish their own rule. Gamma Aurelius has two commodities they will find difficult to resist: reasonable self-sufficiency and a supply of slave labor."
For several moments, the group sat in stunned silence.
Nicolas spoke first. "Why would Romulans be in this sector? Starfleet would surely intervene...wouldn't they?"
"You know as well as I do that this colony is not a recognized Federation territory," Elias reminded them. "Leila and I made certain that we would be able to function with complete autonomy when we came here some twenty-five Earth years ago. It was the only way to ensure our scientific as well as our personal freedom. Ultimately, Starfleet may not wish to risk an intergalactic incident over a negligible-and insubordinate-encampment in a territory covered by no extant treaty."
"It looks as if the entire colony may pay the price for our stubbornness," Leila glanced at Jarrod, who took her hand in silent support.
"Not necessarily," the Raptarian said. "I have room for all of you on my ship, though you would have to share the cargo hold for the time being. Still, it's only five weeks to the nearest Starbase. I am willing to drop all of you there." "It's been a long time since we were forced to evacuate a colony," Elias said after a melancholy pause. "I daresay Leila remembers it."
"Of course I do."
"I would not consider forcing you to do anything," the Raptarian assured them. "I offer my services purely out of amity and diplomatic spirit."
"In that case, we had better consider it as a group. We may not be a Federation territory in any official sense, but the ideals of democracy are important to us. We shall present this intelligence to our citizens and inform you of our decision later. In the meantime, Risar, please make yourself at home in our community."
"Thank you." The trader rose and bowed. "Speaking of diplomacy, I do have one other message to deliver. Which of you is the son of a Federation Ambassador?"
"I am." Frowning, Jarrod stood. The Raptarian held out a padd.
"In that case, this is for you. A dispatch from your mother. It has traveled a most circuitous route in order to reach you." With a bow, he withdrew.
"Well?" Elias stood and faced the group as Jarrod stuffed the unread message into his shirt pocket. "What do all of you say to this proposal? Shall we toss our things in sacks and set up shop in a cargo hold?"
"We'd have to abandon our research," Leila said. "Twenty-five years worth of work for nothing. I was just making progress with my zygospores, and Jarrod and I just planted a new hybrid. Perhaps we could take a few cuttings, but their chances of survival are probably negligible."
"Still, they're better than our chances if we stay," Nicolas ventured. "Romulans are not to be trifled with, and history shows that border wars tend to be bloody."
"We have no evidence that this is an organized Romulan attack. At least, that has not been proved to my satisfaction." Elias pressed his knuckles against the tabletop. "In any case, reacclimating myself to modern Federation life is hardly more appealing than death, as far as I'm concerned."
"Well, I disagree," Nicolas shot back. "That cargo hold sounds pretty snug and safe to me."
"The rest of you may do as you like, of course. I plan to stay. I am no longer a young man. I've lived as I wanted to. If this is to be my end, I can accept that. But I promise you, I will fall defending what I have built."
"You always did have an anarchistic streak, Elias." Leila's voice grew thick with emotion. "I suppose I share it, to some extent. Besides, we've been friends for forty years. I won't desert you, Elias."
"And I'm the only one in the colony with Starfleet training, incomplete as it is." Jarrod's hand drifted to the padd tucked into his shirt. He swallowed. "You'll need my help. If you want me to stay, I will."
"I suspected he would risk his life to stay with you, Leila. I'm pleased for your sake that I was not mistaken."
"I think most of us will stay. None of us is eager to abandon our research because of something that might or might not happen."
"Very well. Nicolas, you may gather anyone who feels as you do and make the proper arrangements with the Raptarians. The rest of us will meet here in two hours and formulate a plan of defense, should we need it. Until then, you are all free to reconsider your decision."
"As are you, Elias." Nicolas left wearing a troubled expression.
"Thank you all for your honesty." Elias dismissed them, as well as all further debate, with a gesture. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to our guests."
When he and Leila were alone again, Jarrod removed the padd from his shirt and keyed in the diplomatic security code. He scowled as the opening screen came up and requested a second passcode. "Risar wasn't exaggerating. This was written weeks ago."
"Still, it probably came faster than it would have by subspace radio. And now that there's trouble brewing, we're likely to be more isolated than ever."
"I suppose we were fortunate to get it at all," he said as he punched in the third numerical sequence. "She certainly coded it well. Here it is."
As he read Zarabeth's letter, his face paled.
"What is it?" Leila met his bewildered look with one of dread. "Something's happened. Is it your sister, the one who's in Starfleet?"
"No," he replied quietly. "Nothing like that. It's my father. He's been arrested for treason. The Federation Security Council has accused him of collaborating with the Romulans-something to do with the jailbreak Risar's crew told us about."
"I can't believe it," Leila said, and in response he merely pushed the padd toward her. She scanned it, incredulous. "You'll have to go to them, of course. Never mind what you just said to Elias. He'll understand."
Jarrod closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead for a moment. "No," he said finally. "I meant what I said to Elias. If the Romulans do come, this colony will need every advantage it can muster. I might not be able to contribute much, but what I do have to offer might turn out to be critical."
Leila bent and slid her arms around him, and he clung to her as if some invisible tide were gradually pulling him off balance. Numbly, he read the words on the padd again, then again.
"Anyway, it does look like they have the situation somewhat under control," he said after a while. "My grandfather has hired the best advocate on Vulcan to defend him. And when it comes to my mother, the Security Council would probably have better luck against a female Sehlat defending her brood. They'll manage without me. They'll have to."
- - -
Despite the exquisite tailoring of his brown two-piece suit, and the unusually severe haircut that left most of his bloated frontal lobe exposed, Special Prosecutor Naj Ahkafr paced the courtroom with the air of a predatory species in the wild. Even when he stopped to face his witness, his long legs tensed and his narrow shoulders twitched as if he were steeling himself to pounce.
When he finally spoke, he snapped at each word as if he were doing battle with the sounds themselves. "Madam, you are aware that you cannot be compelled to testify against this defendant?"
"I do know that. However, I feel it is my duty to tell the truth as I know it."
"Arbiter, the Defense renews its motion to block the testimony of this witness." T'Rhan was already on her feet. "As my Learned Opponent has just pointed out, in any other case her testimony would be inadmissible due to the presumption of unreasonable bias. Surely even the Federation Security Council would agree that the Ambassador has a right to an objective consideration of the evidence."
The Arbiter, a grey-skinned Selannarite whose stalklike neck extended delicately from his judicial robe, swayed his head gracefully from side to side as he considered. "I remind you, Counselor, that this is merely a hearing to determine whether the Federation has sufficient cause to remand Ambassador Spock for trial. The standard of admissibility is lower here than it will be should the matter reach open court. Therefore, we shall hear the witness and decide later as to the reliability or relevance of her testimony."
Ahkafr smiled toothily. "I should like the record to reflect this witness' willingness to proceed. Now, to continue. Madam, do you know the defendant, Ambassador Spock?"
"I thought I did."
"Please elaborate on that answer."
Zarabeth paused and glanced at Spock, who sat, expressionless, beside T'Rhan. "He's been my husband for almost thirty years. He is the father of my four children. And, until this matter recently came to light, he was the center of my life. Now I have no choice but to question his truthfulness in a variety of matters-not to mention his honor."
"What was your understanding of the young man Selyk's departure from Amphitrite five years ago?"
"I assumed he had gotten tired of his life here. Young men do have an urge to wander. I thought that was all there was to it."
"And what did you know of Selyk's ethnic background at the time?"
"I thought he was Vulcan. We all did-well, all of us except Spock. Later I learned that he knew that Selyk and his father were Romulans living under Federation protection."
"And what other facts came to your notice after Selyk had left this world?"
"I found out that it was Spock who arranged for Selyk to leave the base and join other Romulans. He even gave him a substantial sum of money to aid him in reaching the Neutral Zone."
"How did you discover this?"
"The Embassy's internal investigation brought it to my attention first. But my husband made no attempt to deny it when I confronted him."
"Did he give you a reason for his actions?"
T'Rhan jumped up again. "Arbiter, we must object. It is already on record that the Ambassador does not wish to enter a plea or state his defense at this time, inasmuch as he has not yet been charged with any crime."
"I will sustain this objection. The Prosecutor may inquire as to what words passed between the parties in question, but not as to the motivations behind those actions."
"Very well. I will withdraw the question. Instead, let me ask you this. Would you say that your husband made a habit of deceiving you?"
"My understanding is that Vulcans are incapable of outright deception. Still, he was-and is-more than willing to withhold information. I learned long ago not to pry into what he called Embassy matters. Looking back on it, I should not have been so trusting."
"The Federation Security Council thanks you for your honesty. Counselor, your witness."
T'Rhan strode purposefully toward the witness box. "Is it not true that at one time, you-and not your husband-considered Selyk, the son of Sumarr, a possible mate for your daughter?"
"I was willing to give him a chance. It was Lidia's decision in the end."
"But the Ambassador never welcomed Selyk's visits to your shared domicile, is that correct?"
"Actually, I never heard him voice a single objection. Apparently they must have conferred privately on at least one occasion."
"Is it your intention to end your marriage to the Ambassador, whatever the outcome of this trial?"
"I...I don't...Well, it's too soon for me to make that decision just now."
"Isn't it true that you would take control of significant financial assets if the Ambassador were sent to prison? More than you might get in a simple divorce settlement?"
This time, it was Ahkafr who towered over the room, his large eyes flashing with anger. "Objection! Opposing counsel is implying that my witness has come forward purely out of personal rancor!"
T'Rhan swung around to face the bench. "If we are discussing personal rancor, Arbiter, may I remind the court that Special Prosecutor Ahkafr is himself one of the last surviving members of a race decimated by the Romulans. If we are gauging personal bias, we might start there."
"Arbiter, it is true that my race, the Ptekosians, were nearly extinguished by a series of Romulan invasions spanning the past century and a half. However, I have served the Federation for many years and take the Federation Loyalty Act no more or less seriously than any Terran, Sarpeid, or Vulcan should."
The Arbiter bobbed his head, eyes half-closed in thought. "Overruled. In the interest of addressing this recurrent issue of bias, the witness will answer."
"Well?" T'Rhan pressed.
Zarabeth shifted in her seat with obvious discomfort. "I would assume there would be some financial advantage to seeing him convicted. On the other hand, I have no reason to suppose he would be less than generous in the event that we separated. We do have two children still living at home."
"The Defense has no further questions at this time. We do, however, reserve the right to recall this witness at a later date."
As she climbed out of the witness box with obvious relief, Zarabeth tried to meet her husband's eyes. As T'Rhan returned to her place beside him and picked up her notes, Spock diverted his gaze toward his folded hands, which had remained motionless on the table throughout the day's proceedings.
"The present is the ever moving shadow that divides yesterday from tomorrow. In that lies hope." Frank Lloyd Wright
Chapter 1
When he looked back on the events of the night that had changed his world forever, Governor I'gara realized that he had sensed that something was about to happen. This vague premonition wasn't the result of telepathy, since his species had never been blessed with that particular talent. Rather, his longstanding devotion to his duty and, in a strange way, to the prisoners assigned to his care, made him almost preternaturally sensitive to even the slightest shifts in their collective mood.
Only a few days before everything changed, the inhabitants of Federation Penal Colony 28 had become restless.
Of course, some ill feeling was to be expected among a population of political prisoners, traitors, and disgraced Federation officials. Before I'gara's tenure, anger and deceit had fueled attempted coups every few months or so. Five years earlier, I'gara's own predecessor had been injured so severely that he resigned his post. He had been a Terran, a harsh man, served by a throng of unbending disciplinarians. Unfortunately, his tactics had bred not genuine rehabilitation, but a malignant resentment that continued to this day.
Not that he hadn't tried to make things different. I'gara came from a species known for its commitment not only to a strict moral code, but to benevolence and forgiveness-and he still found it odd how many of his inmates, and even some members of his staff, found those two ideals incompatible. For I'gara, the connection was obvious. Perhaps it helped that his race was blessed with what more humanoid species considered a fearsome appearance, with a hulking body that easily doubled the girth of an adult male human, and a face with protruding eyes and lips that, according to some, resembled a Terran bullfrog. I'gara had seen this animal in holographic images and found it a most handsome creature, so he did not resent the comparison. Primarily for this reason, but, he liked to think, for others also, the prisoners in I'gara's charge had slowly begun to respect him and tolerated his efforts to rehabilitate them both physically and morally.
There was, however, an exception. Of the hundreds of men that had passed through his administrative control, I'gara considered only one truly unredeemable. Years of captivity, including many in solitary confinement, had done nothing to curb his brash arrogance. On the few occasions when he was allowed to mingle with the other inmates, he bragged of how he had once lived off a succession of wealthy and gullible women, including the daughters of at least two Federation ambassadors. Remorse was a word he had never learned in any of the several languages he spoke fluently; I'gara dreaded the day his thirty-year sentence for terrorism was up.
With the scent of another riot circulating through the air, I'gara went straight to the man who was rumored to have engineered the first one.
He entered the isolation cell alone, waving off his guards when they attempted to follow him inside. As far as I'gara was concerned its occupant had never looked physically threatening, with his thin body and perpetually lazy attitude.
The governor didn't bother with formalities. "Tell me what the others are planning."
The prisoner remained curled on his bunk in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chin. I'gara saw a smirk tug the corners of those tight blue lips.
"But what can I know? Your express orders keep me in isolation here. Not even the other detainees are allowed to speak to me."
"We all know you have ways of communicating among yourselves. If you cooperate with me this time, I am prepared to reward you."
"You? Reward me?" Smugly, Therov crossed his arms and faced the wall. "How strange...I can't think of a single thing of yours that I would want."
"In spite of everything, I still believe you are a man of honor. Your ideals prompted you to behave as you did in the outside world. I am willing to accept that there is still something of an optimist in you, misguided though you may be."
Therov snorted. "I would pity you if I didn't have so much contempt for you. You serve the Federation, along with so many other noble souls. And yet, if a disturbance were to take place here-not that I am saying that one will-I wonder how quickly they would rush to your aid."
I'gara shook his massive head in pity. "If it is escape you are dreaming of, surely you've realized by now that such hopes can never bear fruit. We are a self-sufficient colony; no supply ships have called here since before you were born. Personnel and prisoners, as you may recall, are never brought here by direct route. Physically, the planet itself is invisible unless one knows precisely how and where to look for it. For the forty years it has existed, the location of this colony has remained utterly unknown to all but a handful of Federation officials. You had better get used to the idea that you will spend the remainder of your sentence here. PC28's main function is to punish, true enough, but it can also be a place of renewal, even rebirth, if one is willing to give up old delusions."
Still smiling, Therov shifted position so that he was staring directly into I'gara's fist-sized eyeballs. His own much smaller pupils flashed with a vicious intensity that took the governor aback. "In order for your sanguine little scheme to work, I would have to accept your authority over me as an unchangeable fact. Unfortunately for you, I do not."
Turning his head in an exaggerated motion, Therov leaned against the wall of his cell and began to sing an Andorian folk song-an old ballad from the days before the Federation came. They were bold verses that celebrated copious blooshed and valiant blue-skinned warriors hacking away at each other with primitive but deadly weapons.
I'gara went away, shaken but still unsure whether his suspicions had any real foundation.
Then, two nights later, the assault came-not from within the prison walls, but from the skies. I'gara himself had been huddled in his quarters, his metabolism tuned to its nightly hibernation mode, when all at once his windows lit up and wild shouts reached his ear-slits. He looked out to see multiple fires and phaser-blasts blistering the colorless morning mist. Prisoners-some of them now armed, guards, and strangely dressed men in glistening helmets ran wildly across the smoking grounds. A few from all three groups already lay motionless on the ground.
I'gara grabbed the phaser-rifle he kept in a hidden wall-panel and released his door-latch with the touch of a button. When the door slid open, one of his lieutenants staggered in, blood streaming from a phaser burn to his face and a deep gash in his shoulder.
"Who are they?" I'gara asked as the man crumpled against him, his blood-flecked lips struggling to form words. At the same time, his hand fell open and an unusual weapon skidded across the floor. The governor could only stare in disbelief at what he recognized as a Romulan disruptor. Surely no Imperial vessel would be so foolhardy as to invade a penal colony inside the Neutral Zone!
Quickly he took a first-aid kit from his desk and tended to his wounded subordinate. It would be folly to attempt to drag him to the infirmary now, so he used a hypo spray to dull the pain and dragged the wounded man to a hiding place.
"I'll return with help," he said, then hurried outside with the rifle at his shoulder.
In the open, the chaos was almost more than he could comprehend. He didn't know how many Romulans there were, but by then it hardly mattered. Then inmates he had worked so hard to redeem had happily joined forces with them and were cheerfully slaughtering I'gara's men at will. Uniformed bodies lined the ground, interspersed with a few jumpsuited inmates.
I'gara wasted no time trying to help those he could see were well beyond mortal help. Instead, he slipped into a deserted guard station and down a concealed hatchway known only to prison staff. From there, a series of underground tunnels took him straight to a observation booth directly above Therov's cell, a hidden cubicle used for both security and behavioral observation. For reasons he could not quite elucidate, even in his own mind, he knew he would find some answers there.
Sure enough, one of the Romulans had already found his way into the block of isolation cells and was using his disruptor to short out the protective force field. I'gara watched from above as the invader calmly ordered Therov back against the wall and reduced the high-security screen to a shower of harmless sparks. He then stepped through himself and removed his ornate battle helmet, freeing a cascade of incongruously shoulder-length black hair. Only now did I'gara realize that he was dressed not in an Imperial uniform, but in the stylish garb of an expensive mercenary. Only the helmet and the weapons were standard Romulan issue.
"The other inmates will serve my forces well," he said as he approached Therov with his hand extended, "but you are the man I most wanted to save."
"And I am grateful to you, brother," Therov said, hurrying forward to grasp the stranger's wrist in a military-style greeting. "But who are you? Why have the Romulans come for me?"
The Romulan laughed heartily. "How interesting that you call me brother. In another life, we might well have been brothers-in-law. To answer your question, I am Selyk. And I come to you thanks to the generosity of Ambassador Spock. Now follow me. You will have your own command, of course. But first we shall take what we need and depart this place before anyone heeds the distress call their watchmen have surely sent."
In the cramped space above them, I'gara drew himself up and held his breath until they were gone. Much later, as he recounted his tale to the Federation authorities who had, despite Therov's prediction, come to their aid, he was unsure which was greater: his horror at what he had seen happen to his colony, or his shock at what he'd overheard.
- - -
Elias' manner was curt as he gathered the three most trusted members of the Gamma Aurelius colony inside the Common Room. Their guest, a Raptarian trader who had arrived with his crew only that morning, sat at the table in the corner. Beneath his protruding feathered eyebrows, his hawklike gaze remained grim.
"Our guest has brought some news of a rather urgent quality," Elias said, pacing the room as the rest of them took seats. "I thought we should discuss it among ourselves before disseminating it to the rest of the colony."
"Is it about the pirates?" Jarrod asked. "Everyone's talking about that already."
The Raptarian grumbled what was clearly a curse in his own language. "I told my crewmen to keep their beaks shut. Misinformation can be deadly, especially in this case."
"Well, they didn't tell us much," Leila said. "Only that a supply freighter was hijacked by some kind of marauding band of outlaws. Rather dramatic, really. It would be impossible for people not to talk about something like that. This has always been a peaceful sector."
"To tell you the truth, I'm more concerned about the supplies we won't be getting," interrupted Nicolas, another Terran colonist. "I've been waiting four months for a new pair of boots."
Elias shook his head. "If what Risar, here, tells me is true, holes in our shoes will be the least of our problems. Go ahead. Tell them."
"The signs would seem to indicate that these so-called pirates weren't simply opportunists. Their attack on the freighter was planned, as was their recent liberation of a Federation prison. Their whereabouts were unknown from then until now. With the supplies they captured along with the freighter, they will be able sustain themselves for some time. However, at some point they may wish to establish a home base with sufficient resources to maintain their growing ranks. And, need I remind you, Gamma Aurelius is one of the only suitable worlds within their reach. The freighter does not have warp capabilities."
"That's pure speculation," Jarrod said. "Do you have direct information that they're planning to come here?"
"I do not. However, there is ample precedent. You see, Romulans do not tend to cultivate unpopulated planets. Their typical modus operandi is to invade a society that is already functioning and simply establish their own rule. Gamma Aurelius has two commodities they will find difficult to resist: reasonable self-sufficiency and a supply of slave labor."
For several moments, the group sat in stunned silence.
Nicolas spoke first. "Why would Romulans be in this sector? Starfleet would surely intervene...wouldn't they?"
"You know as well as I do that this colony is not a recognized Federation territory," Elias reminded them. "Leila and I made certain that we would be able to function with complete autonomy when we came here some twenty-five Earth years ago. It was the only way to ensure our scientific as well as our personal freedom. Ultimately, Starfleet may not wish to risk an intergalactic incident over a negligible-and insubordinate-encampment in a territory covered by no extant treaty."
"It looks as if the entire colony may pay the price for our stubbornness," Leila glanced at Jarrod, who took her hand in silent support.
"Not necessarily," the Raptarian said. "I have room for all of you on my ship, though you would have to share the cargo hold for the time being. Still, it's only five weeks to the nearest Starbase. I am willing to drop all of you there." "It's been a long time since we were forced to evacuate a colony," Elias said after a melancholy pause. "I daresay Leila remembers it."
"Of course I do."
"I would not consider forcing you to do anything," the Raptarian assured them. "I offer my services purely out of amity and diplomatic spirit."
"In that case, we had better consider it as a group. We may not be a Federation territory in any official sense, but the ideals of democracy are important to us. We shall present this intelligence to our citizens and inform you of our decision later. In the meantime, Risar, please make yourself at home in our community."
"Thank you." The trader rose and bowed. "Speaking of diplomacy, I do have one other message to deliver. Which of you is the son of a Federation Ambassador?"
"I am." Frowning, Jarrod stood. The Raptarian held out a padd.
"In that case, this is for you. A dispatch from your mother. It has traveled a most circuitous route in order to reach you." With a bow, he withdrew.
"Well?" Elias stood and faced the group as Jarrod stuffed the unread message into his shirt pocket. "What do all of you say to this proposal? Shall we toss our things in sacks and set up shop in a cargo hold?"
"We'd have to abandon our research," Leila said. "Twenty-five years worth of work for nothing. I was just making progress with my zygospores, and Jarrod and I just planted a new hybrid. Perhaps we could take a few cuttings, but their chances of survival are probably negligible."
"Still, they're better than our chances if we stay," Nicolas ventured. "Romulans are not to be trifled with, and history shows that border wars tend to be bloody."
"We have no evidence that this is an organized Romulan attack. At least, that has not been proved to my satisfaction." Elias pressed his knuckles against the tabletop. "In any case, reacclimating myself to modern Federation life is hardly more appealing than death, as far as I'm concerned."
"Well, I disagree," Nicolas shot back. "That cargo hold sounds pretty snug and safe to me."
"The rest of you may do as you like, of course. I plan to stay. I am no longer a young man. I've lived as I wanted to. If this is to be my end, I can accept that. But I promise you, I will fall defending what I have built."
"You always did have an anarchistic streak, Elias." Leila's voice grew thick with emotion. "I suppose I share it, to some extent. Besides, we've been friends for forty years. I won't desert you, Elias."
"And I'm the only one in the colony with Starfleet training, incomplete as it is." Jarrod's hand drifted to the padd tucked into his shirt. He swallowed. "You'll need my help. If you want me to stay, I will."
"I suspected he would risk his life to stay with you, Leila. I'm pleased for your sake that I was not mistaken."
"I think most of us will stay. None of us is eager to abandon our research because of something that might or might not happen."
"Very well. Nicolas, you may gather anyone who feels as you do and make the proper arrangements with the Raptarians. The rest of us will meet here in two hours and formulate a plan of defense, should we need it. Until then, you are all free to reconsider your decision."
"As are you, Elias." Nicolas left wearing a troubled expression.
"Thank you all for your honesty." Elias dismissed them, as well as all further debate, with a gesture. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to our guests."
When he and Leila were alone again, Jarrod removed the padd from his shirt and keyed in the diplomatic security code. He scowled as the opening screen came up and requested a second passcode. "Risar wasn't exaggerating. This was written weeks ago."
"Still, it probably came faster than it would have by subspace radio. And now that there's trouble brewing, we're likely to be more isolated than ever."
"I suppose we were fortunate to get it at all," he said as he punched in the third numerical sequence. "She certainly coded it well. Here it is."
As he read Zarabeth's letter, his face paled.
"What is it?" Leila met his bewildered look with one of dread. "Something's happened. Is it your sister, the one who's in Starfleet?"
"No," he replied quietly. "Nothing like that. It's my father. He's been arrested for treason. The Federation Security Council has accused him of collaborating with the Romulans-something to do with the jailbreak Risar's crew told us about."
"I can't believe it," Leila said, and in response he merely pushed the padd toward her. She scanned it, incredulous. "You'll have to go to them, of course. Never mind what you just said to Elias. He'll understand."
Jarrod closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead for a moment. "No," he said finally. "I meant what I said to Elias. If the Romulans do come, this colony will need every advantage it can muster. I might not be able to contribute much, but what I do have to offer might turn out to be critical."
Leila bent and slid her arms around him, and he clung to her as if some invisible tide were gradually pulling him off balance. Numbly, he read the words on the padd again, then again.
"Anyway, it does look like they have the situation somewhat under control," he said after a while. "My grandfather has hired the best advocate on Vulcan to defend him. And when it comes to my mother, the Security Council would probably have better luck against a female Sehlat defending her brood. They'll manage without me. They'll have to."
- - -
Despite the exquisite tailoring of his brown two-piece suit, and the unusually severe haircut that left most of his bloated frontal lobe exposed, Special Prosecutor Naj Ahkafr paced the courtroom with the air of a predatory species in the wild. Even when he stopped to face his witness, his long legs tensed and his narrow shoulders twitched as if he were steeling himself to pounce.
When he finally spoke, he snapped at each word as if he were doing battle with the sounds themselves. "Madam, you are aware that you cannot be compelled to testify against this defendant?"
"I do know that. However, I feel it is my duty to tell the truth as I know it."
"Arbiter, the Defense renews its motion to block the testimony of this witness." T'Rhan was already on her feet. "As my Learned Opponent has just pointed out, in any other case her testimony would be inadmissible due to the presumption of unreasonable bias. Surely even the Federation Security Council would agree that the Ambassador has a right to an objective consideration of the evidence."
The Arbiter, a grey-skinned Selannarite whose stalklike neck extended delicately from his judicial robe, swayed his head gracefully from side to side as he considered. "I remind you, Counselor, that this is merely a hearing to determine whether the Federation has sufficient cause to remand Ambassador Spock for trial. The standard of admissibility is lower here than it will be should the matter reach open court. Therefore, we shall hear the witness and decide later as to the reliability or relevance of her testimony."
Ahkafr smiled toothily. "I should like the record to reflect this witness' willingness to proceed. Now, to continue. Madam, do you know the defendant, Ambassador Spock?"
"I thought I did."
"Please elaborate on that answer."
Zarabeth paused and glanced at Spock, who sat, expressionless, beside T'Rhan. "He's been my husband for almost thirty years. He is the father of my four children. And, until this matter recently came to light, he was the center of my life. Now I have no choice but to question his truthfulness in a variety of matters-not to mention his honor."
"What was your understanding of the young man Selyk's departure from Amphitrite five years ago?"
"I assumed he had gotten tired of his life here. Young men do have an urge to wander. I thought that was all there was to it."
"And what did you know of Selyk's ethnic background at the time?"
"I thought he was Vulcan. We all did-well, all of us except Spock. Later I learned that he knew that Selyk and his father were Romulans living under Federation protection."
"And what other facts came to your notice after Selyk had left this world?"
"I found out that it was Spock who arranged for Selyk to leave the base and join other Romulans. He even gave him a substantial sum of money to aid him in reaching the Neutral Zone."
"How did you discover this?"
"The Embassy's internal investigation brought it to my attention first. But my husband made no attempt to deny it when I confronted him."
"Did he give you a reason for his actions?"
T'Rhan jumped up again. "Arbiter, we must object. It is already on record that the Ambassador does not wish to enter a plea or state his defense at this time, inasmuch as he has not yet been charged with any crime."
"I will sustain this objection. The Prosecutor may inquire as to what words passed between the parties in question, but not as to the motivations behind those actions."
"Very well. I will withdraw the question. Instead, let me ask you this. Would you say that your husband made a habit of deceiving you?"
"My understanding is that Vulcans are incapable of outright deception. Still, he was-and is-more than willing to withhold information. I learned long ago not to pry into what he called Embassy matters. Looking back on it, I should not have been so trusting."
"The Federation Security Council thanks you for your honesty. Counselor, your witness."
T'Rhan strode purposefully toward the witness box. "Is it not true that at one time, you-and not your husband-considered Selyk, the son of Sumarr, a possible mate for your daughter?"
"I was willing to give him a chance. It was Lidia's decision in the end."
"But the Ambassador never welcomed Selyk's visits to your shared domicile, is that correct?"
"Actually, I never heard him voice a single objection. Apparently they must have conferred privately on at least one occasion."
"Is it your intention to end your marriage to the Ambassador, whatever the outcome of this trial?"
"I...I don't...Well, it's too soon for me to make that decision just now."
"Isn't it true that you would take control of significant financial assets if the Ambassador were sent to prison? More than you might get in a simple divorce settlement?"
This time, it was Ahkafr who towered over the room, his large eyes flashing with anger. "Objection! Opposing counsel is implying that my witness has come forward purely out of personal rancor!"
T'Rhan swung around to face the bench. "If we are discussing personal rancor, Arbiter, may I remind the court that Special Prosecutor Ahkafr is himself one of the last surviving members of a race decimated by the Romulans. If we are gauging personal bias, we might start there."
"Arbiter, it is true that my race, the Ptekosians, were nearly extinguished by a series of Romulan invasions spanning the past century and a half. However, I have served the Federation for many years and take the Federation Loyalty Act no more or less seriously than any Terran, Sarpeid, or Vulcan should."
The Arbiter bobbed his head, eyes half-closed in thought. "Overruled. In the interest of addressing this recurrent issue of bias, the witness will answer."
"Well?" T'Rhan pressed.
Zarabeth shifted in her seat with obvious discomfort. "I would assume there would be some financial advantage to seeing him convicted. On the other hand, I have no reason to suppose he would be less than generous in the event that we separated. We do have two children still living at home."
"The Defense has no further questions at this time. We do, however, reserve the right to recall this witness at a later date."
As she climbed out of the witness box with obvious relief, Zarabeth tried to meet her husband's eyes. As T'Rhan returned to her place beside him and picked up her notes, Spock diverted his gaze toward his folded hands, which had remained motionless on the table throughout the day's proceedings.