Sajuuk note : LoneUnit has written a new chapter. So this chapter 9/14.
PUBLIED ON Mar 6, 2022
Chapter 8: Brave New Universe, Part 2
Unclaimed planet UCP-6532
1200 Local Time
Retrofitting the cargo bay of Novar's ship into a meeting space capable of comfortably hosting the broodmother, named Lunash by her own testimony, had been a tiring ordeal, but mercifully she'd patiently waited. She'd still left Novar's ship under strict watch, but he couldn't really complain about that, partly because he knew he was in no position to do so and also because it was just good business sense on her part. Of course, he'd made sure he was tight lipped on the usual Ferengi opinion of females, and he was very emphatic to his crew about the same. This was chiefly because he was certain this sole "female" (if she even had a proper biological sex) could tear his ship apart without much, if any, aid from her "brood" as she called the other creatures.
Thankfully, once enough space had been cleared to accommodate her, a couch for Novar, and a table to sit between the two, Lunash had proven herself shockingly amicable as a listener. If anything, Novar would describe her as terrifying by presence alone, but oddly polite, even curious. Over the following days since their first meeting, he'd made the usual spiel about the Ferengi Alliance and their interests (which had taken a fair bit of time, he didn't want to leave anything out, especially to emphasize the sheer scale of their trade network), which she seemed hardly surprised by, commenting that so far he'd been "more pleasantly diplomatic than the Kel-Morians and their interests." He didn't quite understand the significance of that, but it sounded like there was local competition, one Lunash and her…people did not quite like. There was a way to use that, he was sure. He was feeling more and more confident.
"So first I'd like to thank you for being so patient, Miss Lunash-" She held up one of her digits to cut him off.
"Once again, Broodmother Lunash, or just Lunash, will suffice," she huffed, shifting her weight a bit on the expensive mattress she'd been using as a cushion, at Novar's urging of course. It would be bad form to have her be uncomfortable on his ship. "Honestly, five years of life and all the knowledge of the Swarm and I still do not understand why Terrans and others have so many formalities and titles. It's so needlessly complicated."
"It's a matter of hierarchies and establishing who's who. That and ego," Novar said with a shrug. "You need some way to verbally identify who's the boss, but some people also use it to make themselves feel bigger than they actually are. You know, the insecure types, the mighty emperors and the like who surround themselves with sycophants and yes-men who reinforce every delusion so long as it advances them. I don't like their sorts, they're bad for business. A term for a married or unmarried person is one thing, but some of the titles people come up with to satiate their own egos, it's just sad. All that time and energy spent on that when they could be doing something productive."
"Like earning profit," Lunash quipped, and it wasn't a question. Novar smiled slightly.
"Exactly. Ask yourself, how many of those emperor sorts and the like are actually self-made people? Did they actually work for anything they have? Probably not, they just inherited things from their progenitors and then did a bit of political dealing, maybe killed some people along the way and that was that. Like I said, they're bad for business. You can never trust those sorts of people to keep to a deal."
"And yet, according to your own Rules of Acquisition that you provided a copy of upon request, a contract is a contract is a contract, but only between Ferengi. What guarantee do I have, does the Swarm have that you, or any of your people, would hold to a deal made between us?" She leaned a bit closer, knowing full well Novar found her sheer size intimidating. She gave him some credit at least; he was a master at keeping his composure despite all of this clearly being outside his experience.
"That's the seventeenth Rule of Acquisition. Rule sixteen states that a deal is a deal, no matter what. Additionally, rule twenty-two, a wise man can hear profit on the wind, and I'd be deaf and blind if I couldn't see the opportunity of a lifetime on this very planet." It was maybe a flimsy counter, and he was somewhat regretting loaning her that copy of the Rules, but he figured it had been the safer option than denying her curiosity. All the same, she leaned back, picked up a small glass on the table with a straw sticking out of it, and brought it to her face.
'Oh here we go again, you know how much seeing that bothers me, don't you?' Novar thought, watching as the facial plating of Lunash split to reveal a mouth of all things. Given what he'd discerned of these Zerg in their prior talks, of their seemingly unmatched control over biology and genetic engineering, he wondered if she'd given herself a mouth for the explicit purpose of trying to unnerve him more than she and her brood already did. Although, part of him thought the effect was ruined watching that toothy maw gingerly grip the straw to drink the liquid in the glass.
She carefully held the glass up to her eyes. "What a curious and mild toxin this alcohol is. Yet another thing I fail to understand about Terrans, or I suppose your kind and others like you now. You drink a toxin for recreation of all things. I suppose there's some merit to it. Imbibing small doses of a toxin can help to form an effective resistance to it over time; to consume it because it is relaxing is bizarre." Again Novar shrugged noncommittedly, he was finding these Zerg to be as weird as she almost certainly found him to be.
"I only drink on certain occasions, usually to success. Some folks drink because they like the taste or the buzz, some drink to forget. Not all species process alcohol the same way, but you'd be surprised how many intelligent species develop it. It's a noted theory that the majority of agricultural revolutions that primitive species undergo in their pre-space flight times is motivated in part at least by a desire to procure more alcohol." Lunash let out what may have been a soft chuckle of all things.
"A businessman and a scholar then are we? Well, at least you have been a better conversationalist than the Kel-Morians. At least according to the other broodmothers. I've never met their sort personally. They usually don't bother talking, they usually just shoot first to take what you have. If they do talk, it's usually a ruse. It's like they don't understand that the Swarm has no need for their contracts and doublespeak."
"Now see, that is just poor business sense," Novar rolled his eyes, not at her but at the idiocy she just described. What morons would willingly provoke things like these Zerg? "War is good for business, but so is peace and right now I don't see anything worth risking my skin through use of force to get. In fact you'll find most Ferengi are like that. We're a peaceful people. Also, correct me if I misheard you, but you've been in contact with your superiors? I was under the impression you were out here alone. I'm surprised they got back to you so quickly."
Lunash inclined her head and chuckled again. "We broodmothers may be individuals inside the Swarm, but we are its will and collective minds made manifest. We help the other Zerg to process and understand things they are not individually capable of processing, such as powerful emotions and rapid influxes of information. But we are the Swarm. Even across vast stellar distances, we can communicate without the technology others are so reliant upon. This may have been my first…single assignment away from Char, to prepare this world for a more experienced broodmother to heal it of whatever disaster befell it in the past, but they have been listening to us both, and I them in turn."
Some part of her elated as Novar's composure briefly broke, the look of sheer horror on his face as he finally grasped what he'd been dealing with this whole time practically set her mind humming. She was still willing to listen to him, but she'd been listening to the council of the other broodmothers in turn, even some advice filtered down from the Overqueen herself. Novar needed to understand that slighting her would slight the Swarm, and so he best tread carefully. She doubted the Overqueen would do anything rash, but if an example had to be made, so be it.
Sweat beaded his brow, and he could hear some of the nearby crew quailing in terror, having heard her words, same as him. This was bad, this was terrible. Throughout all their talks he simply believed that the Zerg were a species that had found a biological alternative for many common place things. He'd not fully grasped it, that the control she'd exerted over the other creatures, the deference they'd shown her, it wasn't just because of some biological directive and light psychic control. By the Divine Treasury, she'd been toying with him the past days as they talked about the Alliance and his quest to find resources for Ferengi industry. This whole time, her superiors had been listening in, even her so-called Overqueen. They weren't just a bizarre species that broke what most thought as the common standards for intelligent life, they were a hive mind, and he'd given them valuable information.
He wasn't an idiot, or so he once thought of himself, he'd avoided anything of actual strategic value for the time being. He'd focused on the Alliance as an overarching culture and its views and related topics, but in the face of such a thing was even that safe? Had he doomed the Ferengi? The only other hive mind ever encountered had sent shock waves through both the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, and that had been the Borg, and their attack on Earth of all planets just a scant few months ago. If the Federation of all nations, as much as he had his issues with them, barely came out on top over one ship, would the rest of the galaxy fare any better against the Zerg? A low, somewhat mocking laugh from Lunsha drew him from his thoughts.
"Be at ease, DaiMon Novar. The Swarm's days of conquest and all-consuming hunger are behind it, even if our fangs and claws are as sharp as ever," her tone was lilting, and he was most disturbed by the smile upon her maw. "The Swarm of today is one that would prefer to live at peace with the rest of the galaxy. Today we dedicate ourselves to healing and nurturing worlds. Treat us with respect, and you will be treated the same in kind. Although I still have doubts as to how your people have anything to offer us. We do not need currency as the Terrans do, we do not practice any sort of large scale economics. We are independently sufficient. And even sitting here, I can tell your essence is of base value at best."
He took that as a simple statement of fact instead of an insult, as marginally comforting as the rest of her words were. Still, that hadn't been the first time she'd mentioned this "essence," this Zerg idea of genetic materials, and in that he knew he had a winning card. Despite the fear, the voice whispering in his mind to just run and leave this planet now, he knew he couldn't do that. Either he would die here, or he'd leave this planet the richest Ferengi in generations, maybe even richer than Grand Nagus Zek.
"And that my dear Broodmother," he allowed himself a winning smile, "is where you are wrong. The Ferengi have something to offer you. And it's something that, from what I have gathered, your entire species needs to…evolve, to manage their biological equivalent to the technologies of other races. I can get you essence, you, your Overqueen, your entire Swarm." He allowed a modicum of pleasure as he watched her expression grow confused.
"And how do you propose that, Novar? As you yourself said, the Ferengi are not warriors. You are merchants, purveyors of trinkets and luxuries when you are not charging for base resources." She was listening to the other broodmothers now, and the collective memory of the Swarm. It and they were warning her of the times the Kel-Morians had tried something similar, promising something, essence or otherwise, for some other good or service, only for it to be a trick. Novar's people may have been peaceful, so he claimed, but she recognized the look of a predator that thought it had the upper hand.
She was young by the standards of the Swarm for a broodmother, barely considered to not be a fledgling anymore. Her first assignment away from Char was supposed to have been a simple one, something out of the way, where she had no immediate watchers but through her link to the Swarm at large. It was a small role to see how well she had truly learned her lessons from her teachers and the Swarm's knowledge. In truth, a part of her feared she had misplayed this.
She was not the Overqueen. She was not versed in interacting with other species. Even as she looked into the memories of the Swarm, and sought counsel from her elders, even as they seemed to be confused even if they tried not to show it, she feared she had wandered into a mental trap Novar had long set. Still, she was a broodmother of the Swarm, and would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her unsure of herself.
"Simple," the Ferengi said, that predatory look still adorning his features even as he snapped his fingers. From nearby one of his crew hurriedly approached and gave him a datapad they had been holding, and he held it up, almost as a prize. "This pad contains a zoological repository of several thousand animal species, a small sample size of the creatures that can be found in both the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. As a reminder, the Ferengi Alliance has one of the largest trade networks, if not the largest, in the entire galaxy." He placed the pad down and slid it to her, which she promptly but carefully began to inspect. "Name the creature and I'll give you a price, and I'll find a way to legally acquire whatever specimens you may choose. Some Ferengi may dabble in the more legally grey area of imports, but not me. Cheat and scam all you want, I don't mess with customs. It may cost a bit more, but it's less messy and fewer questions are invariably asked."
Lunash drew in her facial carapace to help control her response, as each selection went by on the pad, she found herself growing more and more certain that Novar had genuinely outplayed her. She had expected this to end with sending the enterprising merchant-miner on his way empty-handed. Instead he'd handed her a treasure trove of information on creatures rich in essence that could be of use to the Swarm, and it was all but a small taste of what he said he could procure. She could feel the shock of the other broodmothers, their surprise radiating through the link of the Swarm, but through it all there was a stern and cool feeling. She knew it well; it was Zagara, her Overqueen, Kerrigan's chosen heir to her legacy and the Swarm. It urged her on, to stay firm, but curious, to see this through to the end.
"What would you want in exchange for this, DaiMon Novar?" She did her best to put on an air of unbroken authority, to not show how much this sudden gift of knowledge had taken her and her elders aback. "As I have said, the Swarm does not use currency. We have no need for it." That smile, that predatory look did not waver. If anything, it grew stronger.
"That's also simple; you know I was out here looking for minerals for Ferengi industry. I may only understand on a basic level that those big crystals and that gas your brood is mining are valuable, but that's all I need to know. I can't make any promises yet, I think we both have to get full authorization from our superiors. You from your Overqueen, and I from the Grand Nagus, but what I propose is simple. Whatever creatures the Zerg want, the Ferengi will acquire and deliver. In exchange, your people will pay with those mineral crystals and the gas. Nothing exorbitant I assure you, but enough to be profitable. I have connections back home, people who would love to get their hands on some samples of those materials.
Maybe whatever brought your people here made those things start popping up elsewhere, but even if that's the case, the Ferengi Alliance will benefit from being among the first of any local powers to figure out how to mine and use them. You and the Swarm in turn get all the essence they could want, and you don't even have to conquer a single asteroid to get it. Once I make my case to the Grand Nagus with everything I've seen and heard here, he's sure to give me the commanding spot on any future negotiations concerning our peoples. I can make sure the deal is equitable for both sides, because good customers are as rare as latinum, and should be treasured. I see no reason as to why such a promising partnership should go unfulfilled."
Enterprise-D, Holodeck Two
Stardate 40103.2
1125 Shipboard time
As the doors to the holodeck opened, Picard had expected something more in line with a young man's fantasies, a simulation of Riza perhaps. Instead, he was greeted by the stench of sweat and heat, and what was clearly a military camp. The air and ground was heavy with dust and dirt, the sounds of training drills echoed all around him, including the reports of rifles and other old ballistic weapons. There were shouts from all over in the distance, soldiers reciting drill cants as they exercised, sergeants angrily shouting at recruits for lackluster performances. There was even the odd vehicle making its way down a dirt road. He couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at the sight.
Over the din though, the nearby sound of a punching bag being repeatedly hit drew his attention further into the simulation. Soon enough he found Kershaw, dressed for a boxing match complete with the gloves, hammering away one of the bags in an outdoor fitness area. It seemed that, even with it being a simulation, the young ensign was tearing it apart from his punches based on the state of the thing. Kershaw exhaled with every blow, his mildly gold-red hair glistening with sweat, and his face burning red.
As Picard stepped closer, he could hear Kershaw talking to himself, quite clearly upset about something. "Fucking Cardassians!" Another blow; this one tore a new hole in the bag, sand spilling out.
"Fucking Starfleet!" Another blow and the chain holding the bag up jostled from the hit, and for a moment Picard thought he could hear it straining.
"Fucking politicians and their power games!" And with a roar of anger, he hit the bag one last time, the chain snapping and sending the bag to the floor with a bang that resounded throughout the gym. Sand spewed up from the many holes, and Kershaw's hands went to his knees as he gasped for air. Eventually, he turned to get some water, noticed Picard and promptly forced himself into a parade perfect salute, despite his boxing gloves.
"Captain, sir!" His voice wavered somewhat, a mix of surprise and perhaps even fear evident in his voice. "I'm sorry sir; I didn't realize you were there." He was still huffing for breath.
"At ease, ensign," he replied with a nod, his calm air of authority unperturbed by what he had heard moments before. "I did enter unannounced, and I did not want to disturb you in the middle of your workout. As glad as I am that you are taking care of your physical wellbeing, I wanted to talk to you, see how you are doing otherwise. Commander La Forge showed me the work you and your colleagues have done. It's quite good, ensign, but it made me concerned. Further, according to Counselor Troi, you skipped your last sessions with her. I would like to know why you did so."
Kershaw quickly gulped down some water, and Picard could see a mix of emotions, chiefly embarrassment and anger flit across the younger man's features. "Simply put sir, I didn't think she…" he paused and looked down, embarrassment winning out. "I didn't think she would understand, sir. I don't doubt she's quite good at her job, but I don't think she can really understand what happened, or what's going on in my head. I'll admit, I lost my temper in the first session, but while I was in recovery, I had a lot of time to think."
"Yes, and you're quite clearly angry about something beyond the Cardassians and the injury they did to you. From what I heard while watching you work out, it certainly backs up what Counselor Troi told me about your anger. What was it she relayed to me? Something about 'bureaucrats sipping Andorian brandy while sunbathing on a Spanish beach' was what you said to her? I want to help, Mister Kershaw, but if I am to do so, I need to understand what exactly it is you are thinking." Kershaw swallowed hard, and this time it was fear and anger warring in his features. Picard simply nodded. "Go ahead, Ensign. Say what you think needs to be said, you have my express permission to speak freely."
With another nervous swallow of water, Kershaw nodded in turn. "Very well, sir," his voice was still somewhat clipped by emotion, but he was making an effort to reign himself in at least. "I'm just…I don't blame all of what happened on the Cardassians, sir" he said, pulling up a stool to sit on and gesturing to another one for Picard himself, which he promptly took. "They shot me, sure. I also shot and killed several of them during the fighting. It was terrible…and my mind keeps coming back to how it didn't need to happen at all. At first I just agonized over if I'd just been more careful, more attentive, maybe it wouldn't have happened, and maybe Chelos would still be alive." He paused to catch his breath and see Picard's reaction, another simple nod, one that oddly buoyed him, and he didn't understand why. "But then I realized no matter how much I replay that firefight in my head, no matter what I did, it'd probably have turned out the same way, maybe even worse." He wrung his hands, nervously looking about the empty simulation of the gym. "I uh…I get the feeling you've had many moments like that, Captain."
Picard had to sigh sadly at that. "It's true ensign, and I doubt any captain in Starfleet who's been in battle or a crisis would disagree with you. There are still nights I find myself kept awake, wondering if I had done something differently in one moment or another, there's no telling who could still be alive today. Or perhaps there's no telling how much worse the outcome could have been. These self-doubts, minor or major, are just something one has to learn to live with, perhaps even one day accept and put to rest if you find you've grown as a person. It's nothing to be ashamed about." Kershaw gave a weak chuckle and a sad smile.
"Well, I'm not sure I'm quite there yet, Captain. Plus…it's not that just, sir. I'm…angry, sir. I'm angry because none of that needed to happen. The attack by the Cardassians, me getting shot, it was all so…pointless if you think about it. Bluntly put sir, I…I blame Starfleet and the Federation for what happened. I'm sure the counselor mentioned something about that as well. I don't blame all of Starfleet or the Federation, but…the more I lay in bed thinking about it, the more sense it makes." This was not what he had been expecting to hear, and for someone that was self-described as angry, right now Kershaw was being incredibly restrained, and he just looked depressed, even perhaps frightened.
"In what ways, ensign? Certainly Starfleet and the Federation are by no means perfect, despite some people who like to think otherwise, but don't you think pinning the blame for your injury on both is a bit of an overreaction?" Kershaw shook his head, and now there was some anger beginning to brim behind his eyes.
"No, sir, I don't, if for one simple reason. You already told me why you're here, sir. It's not because Counselor Troi told you about me skipping sessions with her. You said it yourself. Commander La Forge showed you the armor I helped design, and that's what made you concerned," one of his fists tightened. "It doesn't make any sense to me, sir. I was shot through the heart, Chelos died, Benson was wounded, and so were several others. Why is a suit of armor that doesn't even technically exist more concerning than the casualties we took?"
Picard tapped his knee for a moment, looking for words. This was not how he had expected Kershaw to frame things. "First of all ensign, I never said anything to that effect. What happened at Konnie greatly worries me, especially since I have Lieutenant Worf, Commander Riker, and now you and apparently multiple other members of security believing you were ill-equipped for the job at hand. I am not necessarily disagreeing just yet, ensign, given what the Cardassians had on the ground. I am here because I believe that this armor design you threw yourself headlong into is a deflection of your trauma. Believe me, I know all too well about that."
Kershaw sighed, shaking his head, and simply looking more and more like the fatigued and terrified young man he really was. "I appreciate the sentiment, sir, but I don't think that addresses the matter. Why is a suit of armor, something that the Federation has condoned in the past, so concerning today? In Kirk's time, armor became standard issue for all Starfleet security personnel, eventually at least. It didn't matter if you were on a mid-world colony, a ship, or some poor bastard toughing it out in a trench and praying that Starfleet didn't send an Arcturian detachment, because that meant you were really deep in it then. Today though? I just find myself wondering how many of our people may still be alive if they had the proper gear." He took another gulp of water, his eyes smoldering now despite the fatigue settling onto his body.
"Those were different times, ensign," Picard sighed, letting his tone become somewhat softer. "In Kirk's time we were in a very real state of internecine warfare with the Klingons and Romulans both. Such measures had to be taken, as distasteful as some today may find them. Things are different today though. The Klingons are Federation allies, the Romulans have only recently begun to try and make moves against the Federation again and so far nothing of major note has come of it. With the exception of the-"
"The Borg and the Cardassians, I know, sir," Picard had to restrain a glare at Kershaw's interruption. A breach of rank it may have been, it was likely a poor idea to press the matter right now. "Except that's part of the issue, isn't it? I know for a fact that you and Commander Riker did everything you could to warn Starfleet and the Federation government after Q forced that encounter on us. And what did they do? They stuck their heads in the sand and ignored the issue except for a small cadre that tried and failed to come up with a means of protecting against them. And what happened? You ended up assimilated, the Mars defense grid is in shambles, God only knows how many people are dead between that and the disaster at Wolf-359 and the Borg nearly assimilated Earth, all with one ship! One ship!" Kershaw swallowed hard, his face growing red, and not from exertion this time.
"And the Cardassians…the treaty is just a piece of paper! What happened at Konnie proves that! It's still up in the air if the region that the colony was located in even really is Cardassian space after the treaty, and that was before the appearance of the Koprulu sector! They still went for it anyway because they didn't see a need to fear Federation reprisal of any sort! Where are the economic sanctions? The Cardassians are hurting for resources as it is, cutting off external sources of those would put them under political pressure! Where are the fleets of ships that should be patrolling the DMZ like it's the Romulan Neutral Zone to make sure the Cardassians are behaving? What's more, they're the ones that consistently started the wars we fought with them and they lost! Where are the demands for compensation for damage done, for lives lost? We should be breathing down their necks to keep them in check because it's damn clear they're going to keep looking for any sign of weakness and keep poking us! What happens if one day they land a force like what was at Konnie on a Federation colony? Do you really think the local security forces could stop them?"
Kershaw's nostrils flared in growing anger, and Picard could even see what may have been tears beginning to form at the corner of the younger man's eyes. Despite his annoyance with Kershaw's interruption, there was no logical way he could find to readily refute the ensign's words. The situation with the Borg had played out as Kershaw had described, and it had been an endless source of frustration for him and Will that the higher ups in Starfleet and the Federation government had ignored their reports.
On the matter of the Cardassians, some element of him wanted to call what Kershaw was suggesting gunboat diplomacy. On an intellectual level though, he knew that wasn't the case. The Federation had historically taken such actions against the Klingons and Romulans both, and for good reason. Learning about the wars between the Federation and the Klingons alone was required at the Academy, and it became readily apparent why such measures had been taken. The more he thought about the ensign's questions, the more he struggled to come up with an answer. Wolf-359 had been a disaster, it had hurt the Federation, and on some level it had almost certainly influenced the outcome of the treaty with the Cardassians, and worst of all he found he knew the answer to the ensign's final question on the Cardassians.
He knew without a doubt that had a Federation frontier colony been attacked by the force at Konnie, it would have fallen in short order.
More and more he thought he was beginning to understand Kershaw's anger and fear. It wasn't just over the Cardassians and what had happened. Even the armor, something that was in many ways a deflection of his trauma, was endemic of the issue. It wasn't just that he had been shot, Picard realized that now. All the political decisions, or lack thereof, that Kershaw referenced made sense, from a singular perspective. More and more it dawned him, but he wasn't sure he could say it.
"Captain, sir…" Kershaw's voice drew him from his thoughts, and it struck him just how hollow the young man sounded. "Are you familiar with the old Earth song 'The Wall' by the musician Pink Floyd?" He didn't bother hiding the confusion that spread over his features at the question. He didn't see how it related.
"I am vaguely aware of it, yes. What does that have to do with the situation at hand though?" Kershaw swallowed hard again.
"It has everything to do with it, sir. Because it embodies what I think is the endemic issue here. To lots of people, it's just a song, a pretty song, but still a song. But look between the lyrics, find their deeper meaning, and you see the real message of the song. And it's backward, even cowardly. In the song, the singer's father was killed fighting the Nazis during the Second World War. But the singer frames it differently, that his father was killed by his own nation, rather than the Nazis, by deploying him overseas. The core message of the song, sir, is that war is never justified, no matter the cause or the enemy, that all causes are just excuses used by the powerful to send citizens to die. This is how, to me, it seems Floyd remembered a war against one of the vilest authoritarian regimes in human history of the era. The Nazis literally conducted genocide against entire segments of the world's population, they had plans for global conquest like some cartoon villain, and they had troops that wore skulls on their uniforms like the minions of some fantastical dark lord.
And more and more, I think that's become the guiding political view of many in Starfleet high command and their allies in the federal government. They're afraid to fight, sir. Afraid to do anything that looks aggressive because they've become so wholly consumed by this notion that it's wrong to fight, even in self-defense, or defense of one's ideals or to stop atrocities from being committed. And that's…that's the problem with the armor I helped design, isn't it? Because the fact it was designed at all sends a message. It says that Starfleet officers and Federation citizens no longer trust the Federation to protect us, to give us the tools we need so that when we do have to fire a weapon in anger, we have a better chance of coming back alive. So they'd just rather roll over, sign an ineffectual treaty and pretend everything is fine. And people like me and Chelos are paying for it. People like the colonists that were abandoned in the treaty are paying for it."
Kershaw hung his head low, and Picard could see tears beginning to run down the young man's face. Driven by trauma or no, it was clear that Kershaw fully believed what he was saying to be the truth, and the worst part of it was, he could not fully refute what the young man was saying. His experiences of trying to get his superiors to take the Borg threat seriously painted a similarly grim picture to what Kershaw was claiming as the overall political situation, in part at least. Some part of him was trying to revolt against the notion, that the ensign was just wrong and horrifically misguided, even irreparably damaged by his experiences on Konnie.
He clamped down on that part of him and made it be silent. To listen to that part was not the sphere of an educated man of the twenty-fourth century. It was cynicism made manifest, it was apathy, perhaps even in some way cruelty to simply label Kershaw as some broken thing incapable of living in peace. He wasn't entirely sure he agreed with all of Kershaw's views on the politics of the matter, but he saw the logic behind them, driven as it was by pain and fear. There and then he resolved that if he was so educated a man, an enlightened human of the time, then he should act like it.
"Ensign," he started, his voice softer still. "I want you to know, I consider what you have said here to be immensely brave on your part. Regardless of what anyone else may think, I believe you have held admirably to the first duty of a Starfleet officer, that being to the truth, in this case what you see as your own personal truth of the matter. And you did so knowing full well you were saying it to a superior officer who may not agree with you, because in your mind it had to be said." Kershaw looked up at him, tears still streaking down his face, a small nod all the acknowledgement he gave.
"I intend to dig deeper into this matter, to see how widespread this feeling of yours is throughout Starfleet, and the Federation as a whole. If it truly is caused in some way by the decisions and philosophy you believe you see in those in power, then perhaps it is time that something be done about it. I still believe that the work you did on the armor was deflective in nature, Mister Kershaw, and I want you to return to your sessions with Counselor Troi. She can offer more tangible long-term help than I can, but I understand your logic, and frankly…I share some of your sentiments. What happened with the Borg…I keep coming back to it all, wondering what may have happened had we been better prepared. And I realize that I did all I could so, so did Commander Riker and anyone else that stood with us on the matter. That does not excuse the failure of those above us for failing to listen, for not taking measures that could have saved countless lives." He paused, set his jaw, and got up to leave.
"Now, as I said, you've given me much to consider, and I intend to write a report to Starfleet. There has to be someone in the higher echelons sympathetic to the matter, and given the situation with this new Koprulu sector and what we know if its inhabitants, your concerns may have just become even more pertinent in the face of what happened at Konnie. For now, I will let you get back to your exercise, but again I want you talking to Troi. She can help, ensign. You just have to let her." Kershaw nodded again.
"Thank you, sir," he whispered, voice strangled. Picard nodded, realizing that perhaps now the young man needed some time alone to gather his thoughts, and made for the exit. As he got there though, he stopped and turned.
"Oh and, Ensign Kershaw, I'll talk to Commander La Forge about having some physical prototypes based on the design you helped create made. I think it's time my crew stopped being victims of political machinations and philosophy that are disconnected from reality." He couldn't help but note the budding smile on Kershaw's face as he left, even as it was marred by the grief across the rest of his features.
Enterprise-D, Ready Room
Stardate 40107.2
1245 Shipboard time
Several days after his talk with Kershaw, Picard had found himself in a quandary of how to proceed. He had made some progress in researching the issues the young man had described, and more and more he found himself greatly disturbed. Although his ship's computer was usually up to date on many things, recent happenings that may have not yet reached the frontier was not among them, and so he was left going back over archives that were at best months old, usually more than that. What he had found disturbed him greatly.
There were those in Starfleet and the Federation calling for sterner action against the Cardassians, as well as the resurgent Romulans. They counted among them Starfleet personnel and citizens from across the Federation. They were calling for action, for reform, for things to be done to safeguard against what were rightly considered external threats to their ways of life and liberties. And they were being ignored, or worse than that, they were being shouted down. These people were being labeled as warmongers, derided for calling for such measures as violent and fringe groups that were against the peace the Federation now enjoyed. Most concerning perhaps, much of it seemed to be orchestrated by the major political coalition in the Federation government and its supporters and allies, the Peace and Progress Action League.
'If it is peace we now have, where people are furious, where founding members like the Andorians are walking out of the council in anger after having cast their votes on matters, then I would hate to see us in a state of war.' He shook his head, it was a deplorable state of affairs, one where members of the Federation who have given much in past wars to defend it and the ideals were now under attack, being targets of sanctions by the same body they had shed so much blood to protect.
In his mind there was one thing he needed to do now as he went to his ready room: write a report to Starfleet on his newfound concerns regarding the potential, no likely, impartiality of the League and its allies in the coming negotiations. If they would try and sanction a founding member like the Andorians for maintaining the fighting forces that time and again had protected Federation liberties, what would they do regarding the Koprulu sector and its inhabitants, human or otherwise? Perhaps it would be for nothing, like it had with the Borg, but he refused to believe that there was not a single sympathetic ear in the whole of Starfleet's upper echelons.
As he arrived at his ready room though, what he found instead as the door opened and he stepped inside was a bar with an almost old western aesthetic to it, were it not for the view screens mounted above the bar itself, the massive alien skull on the wall or the jukebox nearby. He turned towards the door, only to see it opening onto a vast and arid landscape with some homes like those on Konnie dotting it.
"Sorry to drop in on you like this, Captain," he turned and noticed that there was a single other person, if they were such, in the room with him, leaning over the bar. From behind they were wearing a short sleeve white shirt with a vest of some kind over it, heavy pants and boots, and with a revolver of frankly unreasonable proportions strapped to their hip. They turned around to face Picard, hair and beard colored black, and with a stern and hard look to his brown eyes.
"But you and I need to have a talk," the man's voice had a tilt and drawl similar to those on Konnie, but the accent much more strongly reminded Picard of the American west of old. Regardless, this wasn't the first such occurrence like this he'd seen as captain of the Enterprise, and this all too keenly reminded him of Q's antics. He set his jaw and gave the man, if he was that, an equally stern look in return.
"That depends entirely on what it is you want to discuss. If this is another one of Q's games then he will find I am not in the mood for it, and neither is my crew." To his confusion, the man smiled back.
"You don't have to worry about Q here, Captain. He's off doing something else that'll probably piss off the rest of his continuum, even if it may help soon enough. I still don't have quite the best read of him. He's a smarmy son of a bitch though, can't blame you for not liking him." With that the man leaned over the bar countertop and produced two small shot glasses and a large bottle of what was clearly whiskey. He unstopped the bottle, poured two drinks and offered one to Picard, which he carefully approached and took.
"You still haven't explained to me why you are here," the captain said, gingerly taking a sniff of the drink. It was potent, to say the least, stronger than even some of the drinks he'd had in his Starfleet career just by the smell alone. "If you are not Q, then clearly you are someone on a similar level, or at the very least someone very skilled at appearing such. I've long since learned that beings like you rarely act without reason, so I'd rather we get to the point rather than dance around it." The man's smile deepened a bit.
"Straight to the point, I can appreciate that. And you don't need to worry your head. I'm not the one behind this," he gave a brief gesture about the room. "Sarah's doing the heavy liftin', I'm just her man on the ground, so to speak," the man drained his shot. "Your people did good work at Konnie. I'll admit, I had my doubts at first, still have a few truth be told. But there's no denying the bravery your people showed down there, or the guts it took stare down twelve to one odds in space. Smart play keeping that bastard Nantil talking until help arrived, even if it was a close call. Still…the way I see it, both our sides got tossed into this with no star charts or even a working navigation unit. I don't quite understand why Sarah let this happen, let alone helped, but I guess she has her reasons, especially looking at the state of some things."
He poured himself another shot, either not noticing or caring about the quizzical look Picard was giving him. "You seem to know a great many things, sir, but I am still not seeing your point. My crew and I simply did what was right," he inclined his head. "Although by your own words, Q did not act alone in whatever was done here, assuming he was the one behind it at all." The man chuckled a bit.
"Oh, he was behind it alright. He instigated the whole thing, but Sarah helped him make sure it was done right," his smile dropped somewhat. "Honestly, I still don't get how all this works. It's all way above my level, but some of the things I've seen in life, and some of the things I've learned since getting here, maybe it was for a good reason. When Q pointed your Federation out to me, I was skeptical. Nothing good has ever come from Earth, in my experience at least. Sarah thought I was being too harsh, so I took a closer look, so to speak.
Again, I don't get how this works, maybe no human ever will, maybe our monkey brains just aren't evolved enough to get it. I do know one thing, Captain. Something is on the horizon. Something that Q for all his prancing around seems almost worried about. Enough to make Sarah help him get whatever plan this is moving. Y'all need to keep an eye and ear open." he drained his glass again.
"But the way I see it, lookin' at what I saw, what information Q let us have and what we gathered on our own after Koprulu got here…your people have their hearts in the right place, Captain. Most of them at least. You've got some real smart ones too, even some that I'd be afraid to let near Stetman for fear of what they'd come up with. But you've also got some nasty pieces of work hidin' in plain sight. The sad part is, I see everything your Federation has, its freedoms, its peace, those are things I spent most of my life fighting for, and lead one too many good folk into an early grave cause of it. But you've also got folks who take those for granted, or think that others either don't deserve them for being or thinking different, or think they can impose on them all the same. The way I see it, things are going to come to a boiling point eventually. I don't know when, but it doesn't take a genius to see that there are angry people here, in your crew, your Federation."
Picard narrowed his eyes, and found himself wondering if this person had been listening in on his conversation with Kershaw. "Yes, so I have been told. It is a matter I have spent the last several days researching, prior to my writing a report on my concerns to Starfleet before your visitation got in the way of that. Just to start, I dislike the idea of punishing others for not conforming to what some functionary on Earth deems proper and normal, that is amoral and heinous, especially when it is being done to Federation citizens. If I find evidence of such, even among my own crew, I will find a way to take action against it. I have long believed that free will and personal liberty are paramount to the Federation and should be safeguarded. I may not agree fully with some of the things these would-be reformists are calling for, but I will defend to the death their right to say it."
The man remained silent for a moment, appraising Picard. "Well, the folks bein' affected, the ones that care about what's happening to their liberties, they've got some good reasons for bein' angry, but if it's misguided something terrible may happen. And you personally? Well, you talk well, Captain, but we all got choices to make. Maybe this is something that can be settled with just talk, but you may have to decide where you fall when the time comes. No matter what happens, I won't fault you. You're not perfect, hell, neither am I. We're just human. But mark my words, lives are on the line. If things go bad, a lot of innocent and good people on both sides may die."
On that, they were in agreement, and Picard could tell there was something greater he wasn't seeing, not yet. Still, even if this wasn't some test by Q, he wasn't going to play into the hands of anyone that would rule the Federation through prejudice and guilt. Politics be damned, the ideals of the Federation were paramount, perhaps now more than ever with the arrival of Koprulu. With a solemn and quiet nod, he drained his shot. It tasted as strong as it smelled, a potent kick that if he had been a man of lesser constitution may have knocked him down.
From above came the ping of the ship's intercom. "Captain Picard to the bridge, we're near Korhal, sir, according to Brownrigg's information prior to the jump." It was Will's voice. This little diversion was over. The man before he just smiled softly again, even as the door to the bar swung open to reveal his ready room. Before he could turn to go though, the man offered him the whiskey bottle.
"Keep it. I can always get more," he took it with care and respect and made for the door. "Oh," the man spoke up again as he neared it. "When you get to Korhal, tell Swan and Matt I'm sorry for not sayin' goodbye before I ran out on them."
Picard stopped at the precipice of the doorway, and looked back. "I have just one last question if you'll oblige me. Who are you?" The man's smile broadened.
"Call me Jimmy."
Enterprise-D, Bridge
Stardate 40107.2
1315 Shipboard time
Having safely stowed the gifted bottle of whiskey away, Picard burst onto the bridge, finding Will waiting for him along with the rest of the bridge crew. "We should be dropping out any moment now, sir," Will gave with his usual to the point clip in such situations. He simply nodded back. Part of him felt trepidation, not sure what to expect when they arrived. Given what they had seen already, would they find a massive fleet assembled? A star fortress unlike anything else seen so far in galactic history? Would the space around the planet be teeming with stellar traffic?
"Sir, it would seem that the commodore's ship is slowing," Data was at his usual station, nonplussed as usual by the possibilities of whatever may be awaiting them. "I believe we will exit this dimension soon." Not long after, an exit rift tore open before them and gave them their first sight of the system. They had dropped in close to the planet, within astronomical terms at least, and even Data seemed to be taken aback by what they were witnessing.
The space around the planet wasn't just filled with ships, nor teeming, the only way it could be described was clogged. There were designated lanes of approach, something that although normal, the sheer quantity was staggering. There was everything from clear civilian and freighter vessels to military ships maneuvering into port or making to land on the planet. In orbit of the planet though was not just stations, but an immense orbital system that more resembled a fortress than anything else, brimming with weapon batteries and berths for military vessels, already the Enterprise was picking countless transmissions from ships around the system.
"I don't care what sort of time table you're on, stay in your-" came the voice of an irate traffic controller, and many others like him, ship captains and others jockeying for space in the flow of traffic. There were other broadcasts as well, some of them local news, others music and various entertainment.
"This is Radio Free Zerg," this voice was oddly high pitched, "bringing you the best new hit songs, already pirated by the Kel-Morians and stolen right back!" Picard gestured to cut the flow of information bombarding the coms system. It was a crescendo of background noise on an already overwhelming scene.
Ahead of the Enterprise were dozens of assembled military ships of all sizes, clearly arrayed in a parade formation. There were even two of the eleven kilometer long vessels they had found upon entering the sector, but these seemed newer, more modern even when compared to their escorts.
The planet itself though was something else entirely. The natural arid and desert brown of the planet was sectioned off, divided and clearly developed around, and further divided by its oceans. Even as a world which clearly held arid badlands and great deserts, and thus normally considered less suited for humanoid life, it would have not been surprising. Korhal was different. Its vast sea of arid and desert shades was cut through in large swathes by gray, a steely gray across the surface, in the dark spots the lights of cities visible even from where the Enterprise sat in space.
"My God…" Picard found himself involuntarily saying in awe. "It's an ecumenopolis." There was a chime of an incoming transmission, and Brownrigg's voice filled the bridge.
"Captain Picard, welcome to Korhal. Emperor Valerian and Grand Admiral Horner are eager to meet with you."
Author's Note
Special Thanks to knolden , Follower38 , Kisame12794 , Myuu , TripleMRed and my friend Bushie for beta reading this chapter.
So this chapter took longer than I was expecting truth be told. That scene with Picard and Kershaw on the holodeck was a pain to write, and underwent no less than 3 different versions, all of which were in some way radically different from each other. The first version was easily the worst, but I couldn't have gotten the scene to where it is now without it I suppose. Still, as always I hope to feedback and suggestions, and depending on the reception of that scene, I may end up rewriting it again.
Also, for those of you who may be wondering who the "Arcturians" I mentioned above are, they're not an OC species, in fact I found them while doing research on lesser seen species of Star Trek. They're 100% canon, even if they only ever really had any proper screen time in "Star Trek: The Motion Picture." In fact, I'd say their existence is almost hypocritical on Roddenberry's part, as the species was designed by Fred Philips and Robert Fletcher, the latter being given leave to name the species and give them their backstory. They didn't play a huge role in the film besides being there, but the fact they exist at all is immensely hilarious to me, and for one simple reason. Why and why do I think it makes Roddenberry even more of a hypocrite? Simple: They're highly militaristic, even more so than the Andorians.
As much as I usually try to avoid 40k comparisons (as I think they're often over done and inaccurate at best), for once I think it's apt, because the best way I can think to describe the Acturian's from their lore is basically as "Federation Kriegers." Going off what we have, they've been ardent defenders of the Federation since gaining membership, and they're hilariously militaristic. Like people think the Andorians are the face of Federation militarist potential, amd then there's these guys. Depending on which variant of them you're looking at (there are couple of interpretations) they are either singularly a clone species, or they just make heavy use of cloning, especially in war time, alongside a form of very rapidly accelerated and engineered form of pregnancy and reproduction and subsequent growth. And looking at it, even in their interpreation where they make use of natural birth (modified or no) they still have insane cloning tech (if you can call it this because I think this may go beyond basic cloning) such that they could "clone billions of soldiers overnight" if need be. Also their homeworld has a population of 100 billion, and they boast they could take a full fifth of that and turn them into soldiers practically overnight if need be. Similiary, in Kirk's day this means they provided the Federation with a frankly insane number of troops for their infantry forces.
Resultant to all of this, I now can't get the image of a Klingon warrior charging into melee with an Arcturian, only to get brained with a Federation standard issue entrenching tool. Like, seriously, from what little we have, these guys are hilarious and arguably even more of an antithesis to the arguments of the Federation's anti-militarist political elements, because these guys have apparently just been that steadfast in defenidng the Federation. My only real issue with them at this juncture is just their design. They look like melted wax. I get this was probably in part due to the technology of the time and the designers already having a lot of their plate for a species that didn't get much screen time as it is, but yeah, I think even for Star Trek's...diverse designs, it's not one of the better ones.