Star Trek and all related characters and indicia are owned by Paramount. This work of fan fiction is written for pleasure, not profit.
WWLAOS: It's good to be back. I hope it lasts :)
Troi-junkie: Hope this chapter answers a few questions.
It took Wesley less than five minutes to decide that Geordi had been understating the matter of traffic by at least half. The bus had landed at a place called the 'Metro Southwest Transit Hub', which seemed to be the busiest spaceport in the entire galaxy. Passenger shuttles of all sizes arrived and departed in never ending streams, from every point on the compass. There were at least two or three taking off and landing every minute, and that was just in the areas that Wesley could see.It was even worse curbside, as Geordi termed the part of the terminal where passengers arrived and departed. There were three levels for ground cars, two more for air cars, as well as buses and two light rail lines. Geordi gestured for Wesley and Data to follow him, and split off from the main group of Starfleet personnel. Wesley glanced back over his shoulder. The rest of the group was being split up into groups of four or five enlisted personnel, each accompanied by an officer whose job it would be to keep an eye on them and make sure they returned to the ship. Wesley couldn't help but grin. Since he, Data and Geordi were all officers they wouldn't need a keeper, nor would they have to baby sit a gaggle of would be smugglers and/or defectors. It would make their time dirtside a lot more fun, he was sure.
Their first order of business was, at Geordi's direction, to purchase a twenty-four hour all zone transit pass and board a train bound for the heart of New Chicago. Wesley found it a bit disconcerting that anyone at all could just walk up to a remote terminal, anonymously slide in an untraceable unit of currency, and receive a pass that allowed them almost unrestricted travel. Stranger yet was the lack of checkpoints. Oh sure, there were gates at the entrance to the boarding areas, but they were unattended. All they had to do was let the machine scan their pass to make sure it was current and covered the zone the gate was in, and they were allowed through. No checking of ID's, no questions about where they were going and why, nothing.
The ride into the city center was an eye opener as well. According to the map that had come with each pass, the city center was thirty-one kilometers from the spaceport they had landed at. The route passed through agricultural land at first, then small towns, then entered what had to be a neighborhood reserved for the economic elite of New Chicago. Enormous houses squatted on vast lawns. Each house seemed to have one or two vehicles associated with it, and some had three or more.
Next the train passed through an area dominated by garishly illuminated structures that seemed to be shops of one sort or another, most of which had huge lots around them that were overflowing with ground cars.
When he wasn't staring out the windows Wesley watched the people who got on and off the train. The train, being an express, only stopped a few times on its way into New Chicago but the people were fascinating. The great majority of them were human, of course, but there were Klingons, Ferengi and even a Gorn, as well a couple of beings Wesley didn't recognize at all.
His fellow passengers were wearing a wide variety of clothing. Wesley wasn't conversant with Selenker notions about fashion, but based on simple preponderance, he assumed most of the people aboard the train were wearing casual attire. Interestingly, the Klingons and Ferengi were dressed exactly like the humans were. Even the Gorn, whose anatomy wasn't really suited to clothing tailored for a human, was dressed in an outfit clearly intended to look as much like the predominant fashions as possible.
When the train pulled into what was announced as 'Central Station', Wesley found himself in more familiar circumstances. Surface rail was a very efficient way of moving people and goods overland, and all Federation worlds made extensive use of the technology. Central Station reminded him of the old Union Station in San Francisco. The architecture was quite similar, and he wondered if the similarity was deliberate. Before he could find out, though, Geordi beckoned for Wesley and Data to follow him, and the trio left the station for the early morning sunlight outside.
Jean-Luc Picard sat in the back of the passenger cabin of the VIP shuttle, alone with his thoughts and glad he had no other company. He, Admiral Rhee and Ambassador Magnussen had gone to a meeting with the President of the Selenker Republic and some of the top officers of his Cabinet, ostensibly to discuss the food shipment in particular, but also Federation-Selenker relations in general. Picard didn't know for sure what Magnussen's orders were, and the Ambassador, who had, in Picard's mind, a well deserved reputation for obsessive secrecy and empire building, hadn't deigned to share them. It hadn't helped that Magnussen despised Ambassador Long, the permanent Federation envoy to Selenker. Nor had the man been able to fully contain his loathing for the Selenker economic and political systems and their attendant social inequalities and injustices. Picard didn't like them much either, but at least he knew that the first rule of diplomacy was: keep your mouth shut! Magnussen apparently didn't, and the tone of the talks quickly became...tense.
The Selenkers seemed to have sensed the discomfort Magnussen's arrogance was causing his nominal subordinates, though, and their President had taken steps to alleviate it. At least, that had been the apparent motive. It was possible, Picard supposed, even likely, that the Selenkers had anticipated Magnussen's attitude and schemed to use it to their advantage. The steps had involved the President inviting Rhee and Picard to tour various Selenker military and naval facilities while the talks went on, and Magnussen had hardly been in a position to decline the offer.
So Admiral Rhee had departed in the company of the Chief of Staff of the Selenker Army, while Picard found himself attending the Selenkers Chief of Naval Operations. That was either a sign of pure chance at work, or great cunning on the part of the Selenkers and their various intelligence services. Picard wasn't sure which notion he preferred to believe. It might have been the former, but it was far more likely to be the latter. Still, it wasn't all bad, even if it was the result of a nefarious plot by the Selenkers and their thrice-accursed Directorate of Central Intelligence. A chance to meet Cynthia Braye was a pleasure Picard wouldn't pass up except in the direst circumstances.
Leaning back in the sinfully comfortable seat aboard Admiral Braye's personal shuttle, Picard allowed himself a small smile. Admiral Cynthia Braye was a much studied and respected figure in Starfleet. Of course, Starfleet kept files on all Selenker flag officers, and even a few captains that displayed more than average skill, but Braye was one of the special ones. She was watched closely, and her file was larger than most, and only partly because she'd take the leading role in a war between the Federation and the Republic. Braye's forty year career had been a stellar one, in spite of a few early stumbles, and once she reached command rank she'd really taken off. Not counting one-on-one fights against pirates and others, she had half a dozen actions as a squadron commander under her belt as well. Admittedly, these were small affairs, usually a few cruisers and destroyers against equally small enemy forces, but that still meant Braye had more experience commanding large groups of ships in battle than most Starfleet officers did. Add to that the fact that the heaviest units of the Selenker Navy, unlike their Federation counterparts, trained almost exclusively in group tactics, and it meant that, in any potential war the Selenkers would be at a distinct advantage, at least during the opening phases.
Not that Braye's skill as a tactician came as a surprise, at least not to Picard. She was, after all, the daughter of McKeel Braye, the legendary 'Fighting Admiral', and a hero of Picard's. Admiral Braye had been pleased and a bit embarrassed when Picard had informed her of that fact.
"That's very kind of you, Captain Picard," she'd said, her cheeks flushing slightly to match her still red hair.
"Not at all, Ma'am," Picard had replied. "Your father's victories, especially the one at Silver Springs, are still required study at Starfleet Acadamy."
"So I've heard," Braye had responded, smiling again. "He always considered that a great honor."
That remark reminded Picard of something else he'd wanted to say.
"Yes. I want you to know that I was greatly saddened to hear of his passing. I very much wanted to meet him in person."
Picard glanced up to the front of the cabin. Admiral Braye was sitting in the front row of seats with two of her aides, discussing something in low tones. A few other people, including a handful of government employees from the Selenker Navy Department occupied other seats, but none were too close. Picard smiled thinly. No doubt Braye knew that Picard would have to write up a complete report on everything he had seen and heard during his tours of the various ships and stations he'd been taken to, and was giving him time to collect his thoughts.
It was a complex and subtle game. The Selenkers had to know that Picard was, for all intents and purposes, a spy, and that whatever he saw would be reported back to Starfleet to be used against them in any future war. On the other hand, Picard had to assume that anything the Selenkers allowed him to see was something they wanted him to see, for whatever reason.
Take, for example, the space dock they had just left. Situated at Selenker's L5 point, it was a dumbbell shaped structure five kilometers high, with docking stations for twenty-five large ships. Most of them had been occupied by ships of the largest types: a dozen battleships, at least one carrier, a couple of heavy cruisers and a trio of regimental assault transports. All, Admiral Braye had explained, were either undergoing refit or repair to bring them up to the latest standards, or loading supplies in preparation for upcoming sorties. She hadn't mentioned the icons on the shuttle's guidance display that showed at least six more such facilities, with dozens of smaller stations (and a handful of larger ones), close by. All of which was a way of reminding Picard that the Republic's navy was (in terms of combatants) almost as large as Starfleet (or larger, depending on how you chose to define 'combatant'), despite the fact that Selenker was tiny in comparison to the UFP.
Of course, raw numbers didn't tell the whole story. Most of Selenker's 'combat warships', almost two-thirds of them, were escorts and patrol craft. They were effective against pirates and the like, but would be of little or no use in a proper battle. Also, the Selenker Navy labored under a number of self-imposed limitations that Starfleet didn't have to worry about. For example, the Selenkers used fusion power to run their warships. Sure, fusion reactors were cheaper than annihilation reactors, and the Selenkers had developed fusion technology to unparalleled heights of efficiency, but that didn't change the fact that, ton for ton, fusion reactors had lower maximum output capacities than the annihilation reactors Starfleet used. The Selenkers had to devote much larger percentages of their ships' volumes to fuel storage, and even then their operational ranges were much, much lower than a comparable Federation vessel's. Two weeks between refuelings was the average number, if Picard remembered right, as opposed to a year or more for average Federation vessels. That necessitated an extensive (and expensive) logistical system.
Weaponry was another area where the Republic lagged behind. Well, maybe that wasn't the right word. The Selenker's knew about phasers, they just chose to not use them. Again, it was at least in part for reasons of economy. A laser projector was less expensive on a ton-for-ton basis than a phaser projector. Like their reactors, Selenker lasers were the most efficient in the known galaxy in terms of the ratio of power output to power input, but any laser lacked the raw destructive power of a phaser of the same nominal power rating. That was partially offset by the Republican practice of mounting large numbers of projectors on their ships, but even then Picard estimated that any given class of Selenker ship had at most eighty percent of the firepower of its Federation counterpart.
Picard snorted quietly. He was suddenly reminded of the briefings he regularly received on the naval strength of potential enemies. The sections on Selenker seemed to suffer from a kind of schizophrenia, as they at once warned of the fearful threat posed by the unnecessarily large navy of the Federation's tiny neighbor, while at the same time denigrating the Republic's reliance on 'pathetically outmoded technologies'. The writers of those briefings apparently didn't realize that it was flatly impossible for the Selenkers to be a threat without having effective weapons. The incident with the Romulan warship had been proof of that. Picard knew that some Federation 'experts' went so far as to claim that Republican lasers would be completely ineffective against Federation shields. Just who they thought they were fooling Picard didn't know. He did have a fair idea where said 'experts' had their heads, though.
'Romulan shields are almost as good as ours,' Picard mused, 'And operate on the same principals, and the Repub's didn't have any trouble with them.'
He sighed. Any war between the Federation and the Republic would be a hard fought and bloody one, even if the Federation would ultimately prevail. Still, Picard didn't believe such a war was imminent, nor, in his mind, was one necessary. Oh, sure, there were rabid purists back home who were keen on spreading the Revolution as fast as possible, even if it meant war, and just as many who hated the Selenkers for spitting in the eye of the Federation and its egalitarian ideals. Picard, however, was among those who counseled patience. The people of Selenker would come around. It was only a matter of time.
Deanna Troi fought down the urge to snarl as she helped her friend and sometime lover William Riker process the latest batch of crewpersons headed for shore leave on Selenker.
'I wonder how many of this bunch we'll lose,' she wondered darkly. She spat a silent curse at the Selenkers and their miserable, soul corrupting capitalism. She wouldn't be at all surprised if at least one of Enterprise's crew succumbed to the temptations offered dirtside and asked the Selenkers for 'political asylum'. Despite her efforts her lips twisted in a bitter grimace. It was galling in the extreme for a member of an enlightened society to have to come, hat in hand, to a bunch of filthy money grubbers, asking for a handout. It was equally galling that she had no legitimate way to deny all requests for leave, so she could protect her crewmates from the toxic effects of the society they were all so damnably eager to visit. All she could do was make a note of those among them were unusually eager to go. They might try to smuggle controlled items back aboard ship, something that was always a danger. Troi had made a point of getting the latest version of the Controlled List before they left the Federation, along with an updated copy of the Ancillary List, the list of things (mostly books, movies and songs) that were strong candidates for the Controlled List. Troi took the edge off her anger by imagining the chagrined looks on the faces of returning crew members as she confiscated items they had purchased, and the glee she would feel as she tossed each one into the disposal unit as they watched.
A soft rustling sound drew her attention. Wil was handing a sheaf of Selenker money to a grinning crewman. Troi frowned. That was another sore point. Selenker money was accepted throughout the Alpha Quadrant. Literally everyone would take it: the Klingons, the Romulans, the Cardassians, etc. Federation Work-Credits, on the other hand, were worthless outside the Federation. That meant that Troi's own government had to avail itself of as much 'hard currency' (how she hated that term!) as it could, if it wanted to take part in interstellar trade without resorting to bartering goods for goods, as it was all too often forced to do.
'Like now,' she thought glumly, remembering the cargos they had brought with them to exchange for the food they needed. 'At least this time we aren't borrowing the money from the Selenker government, like we did last time,' Troi consoled herself, before remembering that unless things changed back home, there would be a next time as well.
A buzz at the back of her head drew Troi out of her reverie. She looked up to see a crewperson, one Colleen Gates, turn away from Wil with a huge roll of Selenker dollars in her hand. Gates was, Troi recalled, none too enthusiastic in her support of the Revolution and its ideals. Still, she said all the right things when asked, and was a regular and frequent participant in her weekly political discussions, so there was nothing Troi could do about Gates' lack of zeal. Now Troi tasted quite strong emotions flowing from the woman. Excitement was the uppermost emotion, underlain with anxiety and fear, as well as a distinct contempt for the people around her. Gates' eyes swept over Troi and her face, previously split by a huge grin, went blank. That didn't disguise the spike of fear and hatred that rose in the mousy little bitch. Deanna didn't allow herself to react to that. Not openly anyway. A lot of the people on the Enterprise feared and/or hated her. It was a popular, if not quite accurate, rumor that a single word from Troi could get a person sent to a Re-education Facility, there to be turned into a mindlessly obedient laborer.
Actually, it would take a certain amount of hard proof, in the form of evidence that non-telepaths could agree proved counterrevolutionary activities, before anyone was dragged off. Still, Troi decided that if Gates returned to the ship, which suddenly seemed doubtful, she would start looking for just such evidence.