Chapter 12: From the Unknown
And in those hours following the Time Travelers departure, Picard the Resurrected called together his masters of war, Riker the Number-One and Data the Deathless. And there, in the closed rooms of the spaceship the Enterprise, the plans of war were laid. - The Book of the Federation, The Book of Picard, Chapter XIIX, Verse 9
"Wait, wait, wait," Riker said, his beard doing nothing to shield the effort he was putting into keeping a composed state, "Admiral, the man is obviously lying."
"I concur," Data put in, "We cannot trust this man's integrity."
"So what if he claims he's from the future?" Riker asked, "How do we know that's not a lie? If he's from the Temporal Agency, is not this changing the timeline, breaking their most sacred law?"
"I was there, Riker," Picard replied, "I was on the NX-01. I went back in time."
Data's eyebrows and head lowered in the androids predictable way when he was trying to wrap his head around something he did not totally comprehend. Even with his emotion chip, it still didn't given him the ability to comprehend all things.
"While any story about time traveling is improbably," he said, then raised his eyebrows which had the effect of making him look like a ridiculous clown, "It of course can be accurate."
Picard sighed and leaned back in his chair. He could see the skepticism of Riker, his most trusted companion of so many years. And the wonder of Data, the one he could never doubt his word. But, he needed more than that now.
"Let's assume for a moment," Picard said, "For the sake of argument, that he was not from the future. However, he said one thing that is most certainly true. We need more firepower and men if we are going to attack Deep Space 7."
"That is a logical statement," Data nodded slowly.
"They probably have so many ships there right now," Riker grumbled, "That they could tear us to pieces when we arrive."
"My thoughts exactly," Picard said, "Sela is after me. This is between me and her. She is consumed with hatred against me for what I did way back in '68."
"To be more precise," Data said, "It was me. If I had not disobeyed your orders…."
"Data," Riker snapped, "Shut up."
"If I may remind you, Captain Riker," Data said, turning his lime-green eyes to the Riker, "As you do not outrank me…."
"Data," Picard said with a roll of his eyes.
"Yes sir?" Data asked.
"Shut up," Picard sighed with a shake of his head.
"Yes sir," Data said, then slumped slightly back in chair.
"Anyways," Picard went on, "We will need to get more troops."
"But how?" Riker asked, "Starfleet Command has all Starfleet vessels wrapped up tight. And the Klingons just lost 77% of their military, with all but one of their military installations knocked out."
"Ah," Picard held up a finger, "Your correct. Starfleet has all Starfleet vessels wrapped up tight."
"Captain Riker has pointed out that the Klingons are in no position to carry out anything offensive in nature," Data asked, not understanding, "And the Dominion it would appear wouldn't be willing to help us out."
"I'm not thinking of either one," the bald man stated.
"Then who?" Riker asked, but all Picard did was tap the edge of his nose with his finger knowingly.
"Anyone who looks at the statistics can see what I am saying is true," the Vulcan said, standing with hands clasped behind his back, looking at Councilmember Karl Blaton, from Mars, "You need to allow me to increase the recruitment to my branch of the military."
"You have presented powerful evidence to back up your claims," the man, who looked as if he had never worked a day in his life agreed, leaning back with his hands laying on his wide girth, "But, like they said in committee, we have no need to increase the size of the MACOs. As a matter of fact, we are even dismantling the Borg Defense Force."
"That would be a tactical error," the Vulcan replied, "And to think otherwise is both delusional and idiotic. If the Borg do return, you know that the MACO and BDF are the only two organizations they can't adapt too."
"Why?" Blaton asked, blinking at him, "Because you despise Starfleet? You are better trained? Is that it?"
"No sir," he replied, glad the human couldn't see him tightening his fists behind him, "The Borg adapt to energy weapons. You know we don't use them. They can't adapt to what they can't assimilate. And may I remind you that the Borg have never assimilated a MACO before?"
"Because your superior?" the politician snorted.
"No," came the sharp response, "Because of the fact that the Federation Council has never let us fight the Borg. The only action we have seen since the Romulan War was a singular action during the Klingon War right before the Dominion War. And even then, reports mention only 'ground troops'. That and minor actions in the Sol System."
"General Servak," Blaten sighed, rising up his girth from his chair and waddling over to him, "Please believe me, we are all grateful for the assistance the MACO's provide. But, the Council has voted down your petition. No more can be done or said on the matter. Why don't you go home to Vulcan? Get some rest."
The man had put his hand on the General's shoulder and was steering him towards the door. How he really wanted to Deathgrip the man. But, Servak knew that this meeting was over.
"I won't go back to Vulcan," he replied, "I am going to keep my men ready for anything."
"Suit yourself," Blaten shrugged as he opened the door and pushed Servak out before closing the door.
Servak could hear the Council member snort behind the door and say, 'What a waste of my time."
Servak, feeling heat rise to his face, marched over to a picture and taking his fist smashed the glass out, causing the picture to fall. Then, turning down the hall, and feeling a little better, marched down the hall towards the exit. It wasn't until he reached the door that he noticed his young aide, a Terran by the name of, coincidentally, Private First Class Terran Viler.
It was night in San Francisco, and Servak glanced at young couples walking around the streets, love struck. Like a bunch of rabid targs, he rolled his eyes, and began to head towards his apartment, near the beach. He might be an emotional driven Vulcan, with a goatee and buzzed hair, but, he was no fool when it came to love. Besides, his next Pon Farr wasn't even going to happen for another year.
One thing he enjoyed about this city was the night. There was little that he couldn't hear. Jazz music coming from restaurants, lovers speaking sweet nothing to each other, occasional shouts. The waves of the ocean splashing onto the shore. The seagulls crying.
Ahhh. The seagulls. Something about them helped him center his thoughts and emotions. Retain the balance between logic and emotion.
His commbadge beeped and glancing at his aide, groaned, "What now?"
"Perhaps the President has finally found out he's actually a woman and not a man," the Private said, but at a stern glance from his superior, hung his head.
"Servak here," he said as he tapped the badge.
"Sorry to disturb you sir," the voice of his XO, an Andorain called Skarg came through, "But, you have a call from Admiral Picard."
"Don't worry about it," he said, "Just got done with a fat human. Put it through to my quarters. I'll transport over there now."
"Uhh, sir?" Skrag's voice came through.
"I've been meaning to try out my new little toy," he said, pulling out of his pocket a small personal transporter device.
"Yes sir," Skarg said, not sure what he meant exactly, "Skrag out."
The comm beeped off, and Servak turned to his aide, held up the device, and pushing the flashing button that would transport himself and quoting his favorite human movie, Miracle on 34th Street, said, "Sorry, Gertrude. Phone Call."
He rematerialized in his quarters, and turning on his heel, marched towards his counsel, which was plastered with the all mighty Starfleet emblem, bent over to push the button which would open the channel. Then, like a freakish nightmare that only a ground-pounder could appreciate, a bald-headed human Starfleet Captain appeared on his screen.
"Servak," Picard smiled, "How long has it been?"
"A long time Admiral," Servak said, "And a lot longer too if you would keep your shiny bald head in your job."
"As if the Pointy Ear does his own job," Picard said, "Or do I have to start naming off times you decided to have a good time or mooned the Vulcan Ambassador?"
"Fair enough," Servak shrugged with a small smile, "What can I do for the Hero of Wolf 359?"
"How would you like to get your fat lazy arse off your chair and do some real work for a change?" he asked.
"I'll get back to you on it," he said with a shrug, and pushing a button, closed the channel.
"I might not yet be in Pon Farr," he smiled, "But, my Lady in Red is waiting for me."
Servak marched up to the oaken door, down the same path he had beaten ninety-seven times to be exact. There was old Mrs. Trussel, carrying her equally old cat in her arms to her apartment. The old woman threw him the usual nasty glance, muttering to herself, but he could plainly hear it "Filthy Vulcan." But, it was worth having to face her suspicious ways, and pushing the door chime heard a woman's voice shout out, "Wait a minute!"
"Hurry up woman!" he called back, "The night is young, and we need to get busy, if you get my meaning."
The old woman's eyes grew wide as her mind began to piece the words together, and hobbling into her apartment, slammed the door shut and soon he could hear the locking mechanism engage. He closed his eyes and smiled at his sweet victory over the old hag. He wouldn't care, but, she was the kind of woman who would sneak up on peoples doors and eavesdrop on their conversations, then turn around and gossip about what she had learned.
The door soon opened, and in front of him was a tall woman, half a head taller than himself. Indeed, she was wearing a red dress tonight, one that was flattering to her slim figure. Around her neck she had a yellow scarf, tied off around the neck. Her red hair was tied back in a pony tail, and it fell to the small of her back.
"Servak," she said, her cool blue eyes seeming to pierce his very soul as she slithered her arm around Servaks' clamping just above the elbow which he held as a human suitor would, "How are you tonight, my love?"
"I am doing quite well," he said, waiting as she closed the door and locked it behind her, "Rebecca, why are you locking your apartment?"
"Mrs. Trussel broke into my apartment the other night and made off with the pictures from the County Fair in Idaho," she said, referring to their first meeting two years ago at the Blackfoot County Fair in the state of Idaho.
"You know," he said, jerking his head in the direction of Mrs. Trussels, "My boys have been needing to practice house to house combat for a while. If you need me to, I will surely give her a visit."
She chuckled slightly but clutched her mouth in horror at the dead seriousness on his face. "No!" she said, "Servak, we don't need you barging into people's houses and gun them down whenever they pester me."
"I would have spared the cat," Servak shrugged, "I've been meaning to give my XO a birthday present anyways. I hear the Andorians find them a delicacy."
"Servak," she warned, gripping his with her fingernails, but that only caused the Vulcan to laugh.
"What is it?" she asked.
"You are so easy," he said, "Do you really think I would break into an elderly ladies home and blow them away? I'm sure God would not appreciate that at Judgment day."
Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Of all the people I could have fallen in love with," she said in annoyance, "Why was it the only Vulcan that jokes around and believes in God?"
"I'm irresistible," he prompted, and he began to walk her down the hallway, "But, I'm serious about the cat. All of God's creations look best next to mashed potatoes and gravy."
"Ah," the waiter, a young man of maybe no more than twenty-three said, walking up to the couple as they sat down at the table, "If it isn't General Servak and his lady too."
Servak held a finger, "Uh uhn."
"I almost forgot," the waiter gently smacked his forehead with his palm, correcting himself, "If it isn't the Lady Rebecca and her General too."
"How can you almost forget how to address us Mr. Alfred?" Servak raised an eyebrow, "We have been coming here the same day of the week and the same hour for a year now. If you are wanting into Starfleet, you better get your mind straightened out."
"Really?" Alfred asked his eyes widening, "You've decided if you are going to sponsor me for the Academy?"
"I still have to give it some thought," Servak replied, "I come to eat at the restaurant that you work at because I like the food and company. You have waited my table every evening we've been here. Heck, I've even called you a son Alfred, and this is how you repay me? To spit in my face and go join the Squids? You should join us Bulldogs, but, nooo, you've got to go on some crazy star trek."
Alfred's eyes had widened even further, to the point his eyeballs seriously looked like they could pop out at any moment, "You mean it? You've called me your son?"
"Of course not," he snorted, "So, tell me Alfred. Do they have the rattlesnake for the special tonight?"
"Just like you requested," Alfred said, looking a bit in the dumps after that shutdown by the General.
"Then snap to and get us it," he snapped his fingers and Alfred walked off, his shoulders a couple of centimeters drooping.
"Servak," she said, poking him slightly, "That was really mean of you."
"He'll get over it," he shrugged, "He's a good kid."
The door to the restaurant flung open, and a man flew past the door ushers who were too surprised by him to stop hi, and into the main restaurant. His face was beaten and bloody, blood streaming down his nose and onto his lips. His eyes were nearly swollen shut. His shoulder was torn open by what looked like a phaser blast. He wildly looked around and his eyes lingered on Servak, who was holding a woman's hand in a booth in the corner.
He staggered forward but didn't even reach the table before he collapsed face first onto the ground. Servak, having heard with his sensitive hearing the commotion, had turned his head to see the man, who wore the green and black suits of the Borg Defense Force. He jumped up and leaning over to pick up the man, turned him over and seeing his face, frowned.
"Commander Stone," he called him, and when the man didn't immediately respond, grabbed his cup of white wine and poured it onto his face, "Commander Stone."
"Ser-ser-Servak," he gasped weakly, "Thank Heavens I fou-found you."
"What happened?" he asked.
"They're coming for us," Stone said, his eyes swelling shut completely now.
"Who?" he asked, shaking him slightly.
Stone grabbed him weakly by the shoulder and pulled him close to his mouth and he whispered, "She's dis-solved the MACO's and-and-and the Borg Defense Force. Claims we are a-threat to her. She's given orders to have us hunt-ed down and kil-led."
"Who has?" he said, shaking him again, "Whose dissolved us?"
"Jane-way," he gasped before lapsing into unconsciousness.
"Is he-dead?" Alfred asked, hurrying over to his side.
"No," Servak breathed in deeply, almost too shocked to say anything, "He's just unconscious."
"Good grief," the head chef, a human by the name of Saul said, "That's no good Mr. Vulcan."
"Let's get out of here, Servak," Rebecca said, pulling at his arm, "Before they come."
"You're right, my dear," he said, then looking up at Alfred said, "Saul, you haven't seen us. You got that."
"Righto, Mr. Vulcan," he nodded his head vigorously, "Go out the back door."
"Don't you have a transporter device on you?" Rebecca asked.
"It's only able to do a single person," he shook his head, "And we got to carry Stone."
He stood up, and with his great Vulcan strength, slung him over his back like a sack of potatoes and nodding to Saul and Alfred hurried out of the door, Rebecca trying to keep up with her high heels.
