The atmosphere aboard R.S.S. Victory was different than Picard was used to. He didn't think it was because of the decor, drab grays with only occasional spots of color, or the lighting, which seemed adequate. Victory was a touch on the cramped side, by Star Fleet standards, with machinery seeming to take precedence over the comfort of the crew, but that wasn't what put Picard off his ease either.
It was the crew, he decided at last. By what he had seen they were well trained, with an air of relaxed confidence that suggested that they believed themselves to be skilled and competent, but that wasn't the problem either. It was their attitude toward Captain Richards, and their officers in general. As she strode along the passageways of her ship, crew of all ranks stepped aside to let her by, even though there was plenty of room, some even assuming the position of 'attention' until she passed. For some reason Picard found that display of deference disturbing. He knew his own crew respected him, but he had never experienced anything like what he was observing now.
Of course, he noted wryly, that was due to Star Fleet's mirroring of the egalitarian ideals of the Federation at large. It simply wouldn't do for the captain of starship to demand gestures of obedience from his or her subordinates. And of course, deference to superior ranks was a concept that the Selenkers trained into their military personnel. There was a reason, to be sure. While Star Fleet used a hierarchical system because it was a simple and relatively efficient way of controlling a bureaucracy spread out over millions of cubic light-years of space, the Selenkers used it to ensure that junior ranks obeyed senior ranks. There were whole sections of Selenker military law devoted to the maintenance of discipline, with punishments ranging up to death for offences that would be considered minor in the Federation. The attitude only went so far, though. At one point during the tour they had come upon a group of techs working on something inside an open panel. The senior tech had come to attention as Captain Richards approached, but the others kept right on working, giving her only a casual glance. The tour had paused while Captain Richards gave the work party and the system they were working on the once over.
"How's it going?" she'd asked the tech at attention.
"Just fine, ma'am," had come the answer. "We should have it fixed in a half hour or so."
Richards had nodded once, said, "Carry on," and walked off without looking back.
Picard had been a bit surprised by that. Aside from the fact that no officer had been present in any capacity, the fact that Richards hadn't inquired as to what was being worked on and/or why had struck Picard as odd. True, it might have been something minor or routine, but on board the Enterprise Picard would have asked, partly to see if the techs were up to speed on their training, partly to find out if the work was necessary, and partly to remind the crew of his own competence.
"That might just be her leadership style, though," Picard mused. Both approaches had advantages and drawbacks, but most importantly they both worked.
Picard looked up as one of the stewards refilled his wine glass. Captain Richards' quarters were about as spacious as Picard's own, in terms of overall volume, but were more elaborately subdivided. One of those divisions was a formal dining room, where Picard, Troi, Riker and Dr. Crusher had joined Richards, Commander Cunningham, and two of Richards' other officers. One was the Chief Engineer, a human male named Alexander Singh. The other was the Victory's gunnery officer, a human female named Adeola Yoruba. They were an interesting pair. Picard had concluded that you couldn't tell much about a person from Selenker on the basis of their name. Singh, for example, was a name from the region of India on Earth, as Alexander was of Greek derivation. The man who wore the names looked like he came from neither place, directly or indirectly. Likewise the woman, whose Nigerian name was at odds with her pale skin and flax colored hair.
Picard let his eyes sweep around the table, which was hand carved and polished mahogany under its snow white linen table cloth. Adding to the ostentation were bone china plates, cut crystal glasses, and sterling silverware. Picard could have matched all of it in one of Enterprise's holodecks, but this stuff was real, and probably extremely expensive, even from a Selenker perspective. Even without Deanna's empathic abilities Picard could tell that Lt. Commander Yoruba was uncomfortable in the midst of such finery, though she hid it well. Captain Richards, on the other hand, seemed to regard the splendid surroundings as no more than her due.
Deanna looked as uncomfortable as Yoruba did, but Picard suspected that was more because she was biting her tongue to keep from saying something impolite, if not downright incendiary. The way she tensed up every time a steward approached her was proof enough of that.
Riker, in contrast, was totally relaxed, chatting amicably with Commander Cunningham about the trials and tribulations of serving as the executive officer of a large ship.
Picard found himself wondering just what the point of all this was. Deanna had whispered in his ear that Richards was far from pleased to have Federation personnel aboard her ship, and for all that Picard disliked the purpose Deanna served on the Enterprise, he trusted her judgment about other people's feelings. At the same time, Picard was sure the fine meal (real food, not replicated) and equally fine surroundings were par for the course aboard a Selenker ship, at least where honored guests were concerned. Likewise the tour. Picard had learned a great deal about Selenker warship design and construction, just from what he'd been able to see as they walked through the Victory. True, one could only tell so much about a system from external appearances, but one could make some deductions based on known capabilities as compared to size. Even remembering the truth that anything the Selenkers allowed him to see was something they wanted him to see, Picard was sure that Section 31 had seriously underestimated both the Victory's mass, and far more importantly, its capabilities.
Picard's thoughts were interrupted by Troi's voice.
"Excuse me, Captain Richards."
All conversation stopped, not the least because the words were the first Troi had spoken during the entire meal.
"Yes, Counselor Troi?" Richards asked, smiling politely.
"I'm sure you're aware that I'm a Betazoid," Troi began, "and that Betazoids are empathic with most intelligent species."
Richards nodded.
"I'm sure," Troi continued, "that you also know that I can't shut that ability off, any more than I could my eyesight or hearing."
"Of course," Richards agreed.
"That said, and not meaning to be rude, I can't help but notice that you seem...irritated."
Picard groaned inwardly. Troi's words were perfectly innocuous, but he was sure she was up to something.
"Irritated?" Richards repeated. The blonde captain's expression went thoughtful. Eventually she nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose I am a bit irritated."
"May I ask why?" Troi inquired.
Richards smiled thinly. "We were supposed to sail two days ago for a six month deployment, but the high command held us up so they could show us off to the staff of the Federation flagship."
The candor of the answer surprised Picard, and must have surprised Deanna as well, for she responded with a mild, "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, orders are orders," Richards shrugged.
"May I ask where you were going? If you're permitted to answer, that is," Deanna amended hastily.
Richards smiled again, and this time Picard thought he detected a hint of malice in her expression.
"Certainly. We're going to the Fortuna System," Richards said.
Deanna's face went flat, a Picard nudged her under the table with his foot. the glare he gave her when she looked at him said 'Let it lie' as loudly as any shouted words could have.
Fortuna was the Federation's version of Silver Springs, though the analogy was imperfect. Fortuna was a prosperous system on the fringes of the Federation. A progressive government had negotiated to join the Federation, and a treaty to that effect had been drawn up and ratified by a narrow margin. It was then that some heavy handed and completely unnecessary behind the scenes machinations by the Federation Council had come to light. The progressive Fortunan government had collapsed because of the scandal, to be replaced by a reactionary nationalist regime that had proceeded to repudiate the treaty.
The Federation Council argued that since the treaty had been ratified it was still valid, even though it hadn't officially entered into force. The Fortunans disagreed, violently. A Star Fleet task force was dispatched to 'restore order', only to drop out of warp to find that the Fortunans had allied themselves with the Selenker Republic. Waiting for the Federation task force was the Fortuna System Self Defense Force, backed up by the Selenker First Fleet. Faced with the prospect of a bloody battle he wasn't at all sure he could win with the forces at his disposal, the Federation commander had prudently reversed course, leaving the matter to the diplomats.
The Federation Council had been furious, but with tensions flaring along the Cardassian Frontier (and the Border Wars soon to begin) they had been forced to let the matter go. Of course, the Federation had never relinquished its claim to Fortuna, labeling it a 'rogue system', but as long as the Selenkers maintained a fleet presence there nothing would be done to resolve the matter, much to the annoyance of hotheads and ideologues.
Troi didn't say another word the whole time they were aboard Victory.
Wesley got back to the cafe a little before two. Instead of going inside he sat down on the rim of a large, dirt filled concrete box that was home to a tree of some sort and watched the traffic, both foot and vehicular. Trucks and buses rumbled by constantly, along with more designs of personal automobiles than Wesley had ever imagined existed. And that was just at street level. Overhead were multiple layers of traffic. There weren't as many vehicles, even allowing for the vertical space for them to spread out in, but Wesley supposed that was because counter-grav equipped vehicles were both more expensive and less efficient than ground-based machines.
The smell was interesting too, but not in such a good way. Most vehicles in the Federation were powered by electricity, be it from batteries, fuel cells, or what have you. The Selenkers seemed to prefer internal combustion as a power source, and they certainly didn't use clean burning hydrogen as fuel. The smell of hydrocarbons, burned and unburned, filled the air. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was there, and quite noticeable.
"Unpleasant, too," Wesley said aloud to no-one in particular, fanning his face.
"What's unpleasant?" a familiar voice asked.
Wesley looked around and saw Cissy standing nearby, an amused smile on her face.
"How long have you been standing there?" Wesley asked, blushing slightly.
"Not long," Cissy answered. "Shall we?" she invited, gesturing down the street.
"We shall," Wesley grinned, rising. "Where are we going?"
"There's a little coffee shop I like, and it's not far away," Cissy explained. As they walked she repeated her earlier question. "So, what were you saying was unpleasant?"
"Oh, just the smell of all those engines," Wesley said. Cissy favored him with a blank look and he clarified, "We use hydrogen back home."
"Ah!" Cissy nodded. "Yeah," she said, sniffing, "It's not too bad today, not like it can be. But then, it isn't rush hour yet either."
It was Wesley's turn to give a blank look. "Rush hour?"
"What, you don't use that expression in the Federation?" Cissy asked.
"I've never heard it," Wesley admitted. "But then, I've lived most of my life at Star Bases or aboard ships, so maybe I was never in the right place to hear the term."
"Navy brat, huh? Well, rush hour happens twice a day, when people are coming to and leaving from work. All those cars on the road makes for murderous traffic," Cissy explained.
"Worse than this?" Wesley yelped, gesturing at the crowded street.
"Way worse," Cissy confirmed, then, "You have led a sheltered life, haven't you?"
"I guess so," Wesley replied.
The two reached the coffee house. It was about the size of Ten Forward, Wesley judged, though of course the ambiance was totally different. The walls were plastered with old-fashioned 2D images and brightly colored flyers for concerts, poetry readings, political rallies and other such events. The walls, floor and ceiling showed clear signs of wear, despite being spotlessly clean, and lent the place an air of great age.
The coffee bar itself dominated one wall. There were two people behind it, a human male with longish hair and a beard and moustache, and female Bolian. The man looked to be in his forties, with streaks of gray in his hair. The woman was much younger, though Wesley couldn't really say how much younger. Bolians were hard for him to read that way.
Stepping up to the bar Wesley studied the menu while Cissy placed her order. The menu sported the usual varieties of coffee-based beverages, as well as various juices and food items. After not much pondering, Wesley ordered a cafe au lait. The process of making the drinks was familiar to Wesley, so he tuned it out and concentrated on other things. Like Cissy. She was chatting amiably with the girl behind the bar. It seemed obvious that the two were friends. Still, the display of casual familiarity was a touch unsettling. Part of Wesley felt a little guilty for thinking that, but it was true none-the-less. Vulcans just didn't act that way. Period. They were always serious and formal in public, and even those Vulcans he'd known personally tended to be, well, a bit stiff, even in private.
Cissy, on the other hand was...Wesley grouped for a word...bubbly.
When their drinks were ready Cissy led Wesley to a corner table.
"So," she asked solicitously, "What do you want to talk about?"
Aboard the Enterprise, things were running smoothly, despite the absence of the senior staff. Lieutenant Hallam Hayes wasn't surprised by that. After all, they were in a parking orbit, operating at minimal power. There wasn't a lot that could go wrong, really. Oh sure, accidents could and did happen, but the odds were low, and Captain Picard had decided that the ship's more junior officers could use a little bridge time.
From his post at Tactical, Hayes glanced at the center seat. Lieutenant Commander Prieto had the con, and was managing to look very authoritative, despite not having much to do.
The other bridge stations were manned as well, per standard procedure when the ship was free in space. Some of the officers on watch were running simulated drills, while others were catching up on required reading or doing routine system checks.
Hayes returned his gaze to the Tactical Console. He at least had something interesting and productive to do. He was using the ship's sensors to observe the forts that surrounded the planet Selenker itself. The forts were actually space stations, spherical structures averaging seven hundred meters in diameter, with the largest reaching a full kilometer across. There were twenty-one of them at present, orbiting Selenker at a distance of a million kilometers. They formed a shell around the planet, protecting it and the multitude of orbital facilities, both military and civilian, that surrounded Selenker in closer orbits.
Hayes' job this day was to glean as much data as he could on the characteristics of said forts. Starfleet knew they existed, as did everyone else in the galaxy, probably, since they were in plain view of anyone approaching the planet. What Starfleet didn't know was exactly what the forts were capable of. Given their internal volume (many times greater than a Galaxy class ship, even for the smallest known fort) the forts were virtually certain to have power generation, shielding and weapons capabilities that dwarfed any individual ship. That was the logic that made forts attractive, to their proponents anyway. Since a fort didn't have to move, the space and mass saved by omitting warp and impulse drives, and a lesser requirement for certain other ship systems (like inertial dampers) could be plowed into armor, shields and firepower.
The problem was that, obviously, forts couldn't move. Massive firepower did you no good if it wasn't where you needed it. That was the main reason the Federation shunned such structures. For the same investment of resources that would yield a fort, you might be able to build ten, or even a hundred ships. Now, it was true that in the Federation Star Bases, Space Docks and other such facilities might be considered forts, given the heavy shielding and weapons mounts they sported. But there were no purpose built fortresses.
Hayes snorted. That was probably due to cultural differences as much as anything. The Federation, and by extension Starfleet, were firm believers in the concept of multi-function, multi-role, multi-use. That was why the Enterprise was at once a front-line warship, a long range exploration vessel and, if need be, a transport capable of moving three thousand Federation soldiers to wherever they were needed. The Selenkers were firmly wedded to the opposite end of that particular philosophical spectrum: specialization. Where the Federation built one ship that could do three things, the Selenkers built three ships that could do one thing. The same was true of their orbital facilities. Space docks were places to park ships when you weren't using them. Major repairs and modification were done in shipyards. Fueling was done at a facility that served no other purpose, and so on.
Hayes shook himself out of his reverie. Whatever the philosophical underpinnings were, the fact was that the forts existed. They even made a certain amount of sense, given the small size of the Selenker Republic. With forts to watch over the home planet, the Selenker Navy could operate elsewhere, secure in the knowledge that the forts could hold off an attacker long enough for the fleet to return.
Hayes focused on one of his displays. One of the larger forts filled it, glinting in the light of Selenker's primary. At nine hundred and fifty meters in diameter, it had an internal volume seventy-seven times greater than the Enterprise. Even factoring in the Selenker predilection for obsolescent power and weapons technologies (fusion reactors and lasers) the fort represented a formidable obstacle to any attempt to attack the planet.
Hayes studied the image carefully. Resolution in visible light at this distance (eight hundred and seventy-seven thousand kilometers) was about four meters, so the finest details were obscured, but there was still a lot to see, and when one shifted into other spectra, even more was revealed. The fort had a weak shield up, probably to ward off stellar radiation and micrometeoroids. It was warm (duh), with an average temperature of twenty-one point two degrees Celsius. It had no active sensors on-line. It was surrounded by a very thin haze of water vapor and various gasses (a small degree of atmosphere loss being inevitable). And, by noting the amount of gravitational lensing that occurred when the fort passed in front of a star of known distance, he'd been able to work out the fort's mass: a staggering half a billion tons. That made it as massive, on a per unit of volume basis, as the Enterprise herself.
Hayes felt a small shudder run through him as he considered the implications. Thanks to subspace sensors, energy weapons like phasers (and, presumably, lasers) were effective at ranges in the low millions of kilometers, and effective range increased with weapon output power. Even if their weapons only had the range of Enterprise's main phaser batteries, the forts were all in in range to give each other support. That was, Hayes realized, like having a fleet of a thousand capital ships in permanent orbit. No wonder the Selenkers had built them. They made an attack on the home system extremely unlikely to succeed, even if the attacker was willing to accept massive losses to deal with the obstacle the forts presented.
"Ya know," Hayes mused under his breath, "Suddenly I find myself hoping we never have to fight these people."