Well, apparently I can write mirror verse at a decent speed - that's something. Also, thanks to reviewers from last chapter! :)
Disclaimer; I do not own Star Trek, nor any of the characters, ideas, technologies, or other materials within.
Chapter 1
"Any luck, Commander?"
"As of yet, I have nothing of relevance to report, Sir. I can say, however, that the individual who accomplished this feat was clearly a computer expert. He or she has left no visible traces - not even an indication as to the originating site of the program."
Kirk grunted. "I don't see what the Admiralty were thinking, anyway," he grumbled. "What's the fuss with this guy? We don't have time for dealing with some idiot preaching about peace and rainbows, however good a hacker he is. Make your report and get back to work."
"Yes, Sir."
As of yet, the tumult resulting from his actions focused primarily on the fact that he had managed to sabotage so many interplanetary communication broadcasts; the actual message had added to the outrage, due to its talk of dissolution, but the Empire viewed him essentially as no less than a rambling dissident, albeit one with more technical knowledge than was average. And, indeed, why should they consider him a threat?
He was gratified to find that there remained no speculation as to the species of the individual responsible for the event. He had been sorely tempted to simply present, logically, his view supporting a peaceful dissolution of the Empire, but that thought had been quickly discarded, for several reasons. The most obvious was that it would rather blatantly proclaim his origin as Vulcan; but, more importantly, he recognized that such an approach would ultimately end in failure. Humans, Andorians, Tellarites, Trill, Medusans, Caitians, Betazoids - whatever their many differences, one prevailing aspect of Empire-members was that they listened to emotion, with the glaring exception of his own race. Logic would not fire the blood their blood or fill them with the righteous desire to effect change. He knew very well that Vulcans had tried to invoke change before, pointing to the inevitable fall of the Empire as support, but always they were found and executed; furthermore, they only ever gained their scant support among his own people. If he desired to truly affect the Empire, he must appeal to the hearts of every segment of the galaxy.
Unfortunately, it was doubtful that he could accurately repeat the feat; it was risky, whatever his technical skills, and he could expect the Empire to tighten its restrictions on broadcasts now… though, perhaps he had time for one more?
But it didn't matter if it couldn't be duplicated soon; the first and most vital part of the spectacle had been accomplished. He had not meant to change any long-standing ideologies and lifestyles with that one paper; indeed, he very much doubted any would be unduly affected by it. However, the dramatic nature of the piece, which resulted in Empire-wide attention, had brought notice which would otherwise be impossible.
Now he just had to use that attention to manipulate the hearts of the public.
But, perhaps he should make sure the Empire was paying attention…
Two Weeks Later
At an Empire broadcasting studio
Les Naol, a Rigellian, yawned with boredom as he monitored the mostly automatic program. He glanced at a clock with disinterest. Almost 1900 - good. The Empire had mandated that they release the latest propaganda, a video featuring the culture of the Empire's latest enemy. The Unneiks had recently denied the Empire foray into their space. Actually, their planet was boring - it had no minerals or natural resources of any use to the Empire - but, the other planets in the system were valuable, and the Unneiks were refusing them admittance to the entire star system - quite stubbornly. As they had no strong weapons - they had only just achieved warp 1, to put it in perspective - the conclusion was obvious. Two ships had been dispatched and were prepared to decimate the planet within the week.
Naol was unsure why any propaganda was needed, if the race would be extinct within a week or two, for why should the public care about a quick conflict? But, he supposed that was why he was technician, not a politician.
That, and because he liked his neck where it was, thank you.
1900. Uninterested, he turned his attention to the video rolling across the screen, watching for issues but not expecting any.
Lord Mrego's manor, on Rigel III
Lord Mrego, an especially rotund example of the Rigellian species, waited while his attendant brought him his evening meal, beak-like mouth clacking in impatience *. With his meal before him, he settled down, and turned his attention to the Empire-approved broadcast he was watching.
Mrego loved the government programs. There was something wonderfully patriotic, watching the barbaric enemies of the Empire, and knowing their end. It boiled his blood, filling him with enthusiasm and zeal. A bloodlust came upon him at those times, and Mrego liked that. He wondered what the special would show about the newest talked-of enemy, the Unneiks.
The recorded image of a svelte Andorian shen came on screen. Hir green-blue antennae wiggled, as if in greeting, and zhe nodded proudly to the camera.
"Today we will showing our people the image of our enemy - the Unneiks. Many of you conscientious citizens will undoubtedly have heard of this fiendish race, but we believe in making certain that all our people are aware any and all threats to our glorious sovereignty. Therefore, the Empire has graciously deigned for us to present an insight into their culture.
"With this presentation, we hope to allow the Empire's people to understand the nature of her enemy."
The shen saluted. Zhe had no idea just how ironic hir words would later seem - or how they would lead to an inquiry and hir death.
On the vid screen a slow image of a lovely ocean rolled into view, soon morphing to the visage of a sprawling, elegant city.
At an Empire broadcasting studio
Naol frowned at the screen, then shrugged. He didn't remember this part of the video, but then who could tell? He'd watched ridiculous amounts of footage on his job - after a time it all just started to blur together. Shaking his head, he wandered away from his post to get a drink.
Mrego's manor, on Rigel III
Mrego bit into a rancid-smelling fish. His attendant leaned against the doorframe as he awaited any further instructions, watching the program.
On the vid screen, the image zoomed in on the center of the huge metropolis. As if in contrast to the relatively modern buildings, a table, surrounded by a ring of chairs, lay in the open upon a green; the rest of the city seemed to be built around that area.
Seated at the head of the table were three individuals, one representing each of the three sexes of the Unneiks. Their purple fur, ranging from a gentle lavender to a dark, velvety hue, gave them a sleek appearance, and each was fitted in regal, dignified blue garments, robes whose ends touched the bluish grass.
Around the rest of the table sat twenty-four other Unneiks, similarly garbed. Behind each set of eight was splayed a banner. One portrayed a curious cat-like creature; another a blooming flower; the last, a flame reaching from a torch to sear the sky.
Finally, a grey-robed Unneik - who looked female, though that was debatable - stood at the opposite end of the table from the three.
The throng of listeners standing at distance from the tables hushed as she spoke.
"I, Dhãllan of Marsatress, 49th advisor to the Annointed Trio, do hereby call to order the 328th annual Consultation…"
A narrator began speaker over her voice. "The international government of our planet is led by representatives from each of the three continents, Islatrec, Rarnitr, and Elleskatre. Eight representatives of each are elected for life, though any individual may be recalled by their state at any time by popular vote of their constituents, which may occur by national order, inquiry, or petition…"
At an Empire Broadcasting Studio
Naol returned to his seat, sighing happily as he gulped down the caffeinated drink. His job could be tedious at times. He glanced at the screen with disinterest - then did a double-take.
He did not remember this part of the video…
Lord Mrego's Manor, on Rigel III
"…the Anointed Trio are each elected to head their respective nations in the council, and, likewise, serve for life or until recalled - although it is more common for these members to retire, or at least step to a lower position, in their older years. Usually, one of the Annointed Trio will take the place of the advisor, and direct the next members in their duties…"
Mrego stared at the screen, not really interested but more than a little bemused. Where were the barbarians? The bloodshed? The rousing cries of 'glory to the Empire'? This seemed like some documentary - hardly a usual piece of Empire-propoganda.
Mrego did not realize that much of the Unneik's historical files - including this child learning-video about the Unneik government - had been downloaded by the Lexington some months ago. Easy enough to access, for someone in Starfleet.
"Tradition dictates that the public may, of course, attend all meetings of the council, and under certain circumstances may address the council…"
The image began to fade.
That introduction out of the way, a different video came to the screen - one not so readily available to the public, Starfleet officers included, unless one had especially adept hacking skills…
A newly-promoted Starfleet officer, Captain Estebon, was potrayed. He stood, chin held haughtily, as his dark eyes swept over the assemblage. Fourteen security officers stood behind him, phasers ready. Standing back, the watching citizens seemed unusually solemn.
"I don't believe you understand what you're saying," Estebon said.
"We do," said the male-ish member of the Trio. "The council is unanimous; the planets in this system are rightfully ours. Colonization efforts have already begun, and our third planet is a valuable mining site…"
"Precisely. Which is why the Empire had laid claim to it."
"We mean you no harm, and are willing to trade," he protested. "And there is no claim to be made - "
"Do you think that matters? Shut up. If you truly want to 'benefit' your people, as you've been going on about all day, you'll sign over the planet, keep your heads down, and recall your colonists. Those planets belong to the Empire now."
A pair of orange eyes blinked at him slowly. "We will defend what is ours," he said, almost sadly.
"You will die."
The Unneik did not respond.
Estebon waited, then grunted. "Fine. No matter to me. If you have any gods, I suggest you get to praying - the world you're standing on will be ash in a few month's time."
He flipped out his communicator. "Ensign - beam us up."
A shimmering blue light came over the Starfleet officers.
Right before it consumed them, each security officer held out their sidearms and pressed the trigger.
Fourteen council members fell to the ground, dead.
The video crackled; screams erupted. Whoever was filming seemed to be caught in the writhing of a shocked and horrified crowd.
The screen went dark.
At an Empire Broadcasting Studio
That was definitely not part of the program.
Desperately, Naol rushed about the room, trying to halt the broadcast. All attempts failed. At last, desperately, he bolted from the room, weaving through the mostly-empty building, until he reached a small chamber. From there he shut down all power to the studio.
Or tried to.
"Access denied," the computer told him helpfully.
"What? Why?" Naol cried, shocked.
The computer made a haughty sniffing sound. "There is no need to be rude."
Lord Megro's manor, on Rigel III
"And now," read the words appearing on screen, "I return you to the Empire-approved retelling of the Unneik culture."
There was a pause. The screen was black. Then, more words rolled across, glaring white against the background.
"Sections of a popular Unneik horror-movie, placed roughly three thousand years ago, have been utilized for the upcoming program. While generally regarded as unrealistic, some Unneiks enjoy the movie greatly."
Mockingly; "Have a pleasant watching."
Mrego stared at the screen blankly.
Blaring, savage music assaulted his ears as the screen depicted a group of blood-drenched savages running through overrun-forests.
"The Unneiks," an authoritative voice declared, "have defied the will of the Empire. This savage race of people responded violently to any attempts to meet with them, and have been declared enemies by…"
Mrego frowned.
"Something you wanted, my lord?" the attendant prompted.
"…No. No." He frowned uneasily. "…Just, turn that damn thing off, hrmm?" Grunting, he snatched his plate.
"And get some more fish!"
On the Enterprise
" - should be a quick mission, in other words," Kirk concluded. "It's a minor rebellion - just in a damn difficult place. But I expect us to be off this planet within two days - understood?"
His glare made it clear what answer he expected, and there were quick murmurs of assent.
"Dismissed."
The officers filed out of the briefing room. Spock remained, instead approaching the captain.
"Spock?" The captain questioned.
"Might I ask, Sir, if we will be investigating the recent events that occurred on Rigel III? It is my understanding that Starfleet will be heading the matter."
Kirk shook his head. "No - assigning a few scientists to run through possibilities on-ship is one thing, but posting a ship is an entirely different matter. They're not stupid enough to post a constitution-class over a member planet that long - better not be, anyway." He frowned. "Why the interest?"
"While our previous investigations ended in failure, it was a possibility that Starfleet would request further assistance," said Spock stiffly.
Kirk's lips twitched. "Ah. Bruised pride, Commander? Feel you have something to prove?"
Spock just looked at him stonily.
Kirk chuckled, seeming significantly cheered. Clapping his First Officer on the shoulder - a move no one else would dare make - he left the room with a jaunt in his step.
Spock picked his way through the rubble, a phaser held ready as he searched for any rebels hiding among the wreckage of the once-proud city on Arnos VIII.
He disliked rebellions. They were messy, time-consuming, and altogether uncomfortable. It wasn't as though the rebels' concerns were unjustified, after all. But, he was Starfleet, and this a vital part of his duty. Protect the borders of the Empire, find new territories to conquer, subdue uprisings among the populace. As science officer he generally helped strategize attacks, adapt technology as the situation warranted, and so forth. He also had an obligation to investigate any useful technological advances, such as in weaponry, but those duties were scarce.
He ducked around the remnants of a few uprooted trees that had, perhaps, shadowed the shattered sidewalk. His keen ears detected footsteps, and the phaser he held - set to 'kill' - was positioned in readiness.
"Quickly, quickly!"
Three shapes ran into view, fifty yards away. They ducked low, shuffling along and glancing about themselves anxiously.
One was tall, a woman; her hair was high, tangled in disarray above her head. Her violet eyes were wide with panic and alarm, and her slit nostrils flared with fear. The same features could be seen on the two children. The oldest was a short but weedy male, perhaps eight, tugging along a toddling girl of only a few years; noting this and wondering, he returned his attention to the woman. Ah, yes. Her arm was broken.
He should have killed them.
No mercy was granted to rebels, nor their families. It was a method of preventing uprising, and usually a rather successful one. But this…
Well, it would hardly be the first seditious activity he had engaged in recently, now would it?
In one smooth motion, he leveled the phaser on them and rose. "Halt!"
He expected them to try and flee, at least. Instead, they followed his directive, freezing and staring at him with wide eyes. The mother grabbed her son, clenching his thin shoulders hard, but seemed too shocked to react.
He held the phaser for a long moment, then slowly lowered it. The woman flinched.
"You cannot run this way. There are more officers searching for survivors."
The woman stared, the boy gaped uselessly, and the girl looked between the two, bewildered and plainly terrified.
He moved toward them.
Startled into action, the woman grabbed the boy's shoulder. "Run!" She screeched, shoving the boy forward. He tripped and fell; the girl landed heavily on her knees, and let out a short cry. Terrified, the woman tried to drag them upright, but in fear they resisted her.
Not precisely a logical reaction, but one understandable. Spock quickly moved to their location, though he doubted they could manage to flee. It was a miracle that they had survived thus far; he only hoped no one else had heard her cry.
"I mean you no harm."
She had succeeded in getting them up. They started to stumble away, awkward on the rubble. The woman was sobbing, herding the children before her as they slipped over stone shards.
He caught up easily enough, and grabbed her shoulders. She twisted, struggling, and screeched again. He covered her mouth with his hand. "If I had wanted to kill you," he reasoned, "I could have done so already."
She stiffened.
The children were not moving now. Illogical creatures. But, innocent. "Listen to me carefully," he ordered. "Assuming that your screams have not yet attracted the rest of the searching group, you may still be able to escape. I previously passed a building made of such materials that our sensors are of little use, approximately .512 miles from this location; if you retreat there, and stay silent and hidden, you may yet live. Do you understand?" He carefully took his hand away.
Very slowly, she nodded.
"Quickly."
He released her.
Trembling, she herded the children, and followed.
He took her some half-mile away, to a low, but decently intact building which seemed to have escaped the worst of the Enterprise's assault. "In here. Stay for a minimum of fourteen hours; my ship will have left by then. I do not know the intent of local officers."
He gave her a small pack of his emergency supplies, and turned to leave.
He did not know if she would live. Local soldiers could still find them; furthermore, Kirk's mood was difficult to predict. The explosives they had beamed down, which had heavily damaged the city, only made up a small portion of their supplies; it was not unknown for him to set off a few in farewell as the ship left. But now, she and her children had a chance.
He realized the irony in this, considering he had been the one to override the rebel-city's shielding in the first place.
He opened the broken door, tilting crazily on its hinges, and stepped out -
"Wait!"
He paused, turned his head slightly.
She was staring at him, clutching her children like something precious, slow, stunned euphoria and gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you."
He left.
"Any problems, Commander?"
"None, Sir."
"Good." Kirk surveyed the planet on the view screen, then shrugged. "Take her out of orbit, Sulu, Warp 2."
It would have been illogical for Spock to feel relief, so he did not.
*Rigellian, not to be confused with Rigelian. The first race, as seen in this chapter, are descendents of saber-tooth turtles on Rigel III; the latter are vulcanoid-reptilians (or something like that) on Rigel V.