Chapter 4 – On the Outside, Looking In
"Guard towers. Perimeter security. Prisoner housing." Tom Paris' finger stabbed at each feature on the screen as he spoke, in an unusually clipped tone. "Different groupings of accommodations – likely segregating different classes of prisoners. You know, cooperative, non-compliant, dangerous …"
He pointed out the perimeter fences – there were likely more than one; it was hard to tell as the cloaks continued to interfere with image resolution. The guard towers, eight in total, which probably also held force field generators. The buildings inside the perimeter. Rows of cellblocks? Dorms? The larger buildings would hold such things as admin offices, an infirmary, maybe a courthouse - although out here the latter was doubtful.
"And these …" he pointed out the buildings outside the perimeter, "accommodations, mess hall and rec facilities for prison staff. It's all there."
He did not mention interrogation facilities, nor facilities for the administration of discipline, both likely features of a Romulan penal institution. There were things best left unspoken, until the need to speak of them arose.
A chill went down Tom's spine as he remembered two days in an airless room with screaming accusers, blinding lights, no sleep or food, threats – mostly about what his failure to confess would mean for his younger companion, once they had figured out what would get to their detainee, and what would not. The unbearable pain of a device being implanted in his head.
Tom Paris forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly as he cast a quick look at his best friend, Harry Kim. Harry looked up from the Ops console to find Tom's blue eyes locked on him; the unspoken memory flowed between them.
For Tom Paris, Akritiri had been his second foray into life as a prisoner, not counting his detention on Banea. In many ways Akritiri had been more hellish than Auckland, but as far as he was concerned, far less personal. The viciousness of life at the bottom of the chute had come from the system that created it and the devices implanted into the prisoners, not from the people who inhabited it. And so, apart from the lingering revulsion at a society and a political system that would generate such a place, he had been able to file it in his memory banks as just another nasty Delta Quadrant experience – survived, dealt with and shelved under 'don't need to look at that anymore', except as a milestone in his friendship with Harry.
Unlike Auckland.
Auckland. Tom quickly suppressed that particular thought, clamped down on it with the experience of years of doing just that and summoned the mask of unconcern he had shown to Kathryn Janeway on that day in the New Zealand sun, so long ago now.
For Harry Kim, on the other hand, the experience of Akritiri was still raw, for a great number of personal reasons, and so Tom tried to send a silent message of reassurance to his best friend in a tiny nod, a slight narrowing of the eyes. We're good, Harry. You're good.
Harry gave a small, grateful smile in return and found his voice. With a casualness he did not feel, calculated to fool all but Tom Paris and perhaps the Counselor, he said, "I wonder what a Romulan prison camp is like on the inside."
Tom turned to Riker. "Personally, I don't. My detailed anthropological studies of differing methods of detention are complete, as far as I'm concerned. And in case anyone cares, all things considered I prefer the relative serenity of a Starfleet brig. But I do wonder whom they're keeping down there, and why. And why whoever sent the distress signal was calling rather specifically for Federation help."
He took a deep breath, almost forcing out the words. "I guess we'll have to go down there to find all that out. Shall I ready an away team, Captain?"
Riker glanced an unspoken question at Deanna Troi, who had been holding herself very still during the wordless exchange between Harry and Tom. The half-Betazoid's black eyes locked with the blue ones of her imzadi, and she gave a nearly imperceptible headshake, almost more a sideways flicker of the eyes. Riker understood. He also understood that he could not give voice to that understanding; not here – not on the bridge.
"No Tom, I think I'd like you to stay up here with the ship. I'll go down myself. I think in light of the possibly rather enormous political complications we're facing here we're better off playing the rank game. I'll need you up here in case we get unwanted company."
He paused for a minute to think things through. "Also, I want to take B'Elanna so she can have a look at the technical make-up of the facilities; you know we can't have both of you on the same mission. Jorak, Henley and Dr. Crusher will make up the rest of the team; we'll take the Flyer. You have the bridge, Number One."
Riker rose from his chair even as Deanna's eyes flashed her gratitude and approval at her husband's approach. It would obviously have been advantageous to have her on the team as well, but then one of the reasons for keeping Tom off it would not have held.
Harry shouted after the Captain's retreating form, "Remember to tell the away team to change uniforms for hot weather protocol, sir. It's a scorcher down there."
…..
With Sue Henley at the helm, the Flyer's descent to the cloaked moon went as smoothly as Riker could have hoped for. She was one of the most experienced pilots in Starfleet with the new shuttle, and Riker congratulated himself once more for his foresight at recruiting so many of the personnel formerly assigned to USS Voyager. Even the less senior and non-academy trained officers, like Ensigns Henley and Mulcahy, were beyond seasoned; nothing at all appeared to faze them, and their readiness to embrace an onboard community as if they were family meant that they acted as positive influences for team-building purposes. A package beyond a Captain's wildest dreams.
Some of Riker's fellow Captains had shaken their heads at his deliberate effort to court former 'Voyagers', especially those of the ship's crew who had been with the Maquis: Torres, Ayala, Henley. Tom Paris, arguably. But in addition to these officers' experience, their unique perspective on all things Starfleet had appealed to Riker. None of the Maquis had come to Starfleet through rose-coloured childhood stories. They had learned its ways by necessity and stayed with it out of conviction; their commitment was all the more genuine for the hard way in which it had been earned.
As for Sue Henley herself, she had been trained in the operation of the Flyer by its designer, Tom Paris, and had flown it regularly for the better part of two years, before anyone in Starfleet had ever seen as much as a picture of the shuttle that was now being phased in as the new Fleet standard. The pilot in Riker felt a stab of jealousy at the familiarity and ease with which she handled its unique controls; one of these days he really had to drag Tom off to the holodeck and fly a few sims with the thing.
Dr. Beverly Crusher was seated in the aft section of the cabin, and kept herself occupied going over emergency evac proceedings. With the distress signal having been cut off so abruptly and evidence of an explosion remaining, she had her nursing staff prepare Sickbay for multiple casualties. When she was satisfied that all was in place, she called up the "Essentials of Romulan Physiology" on her PADD. She had treated Romulans before, under Picard, but it had been a while. Fortunately, they were closely related to Vulcans with whom she dealt regularly, and a brush-up would suffice for her to feel confident of her ability to carry out any necessary triage.
B'Elanna Torres, for her part, quietly checked over a number of readings, calibrating the Flyer's instruments to compensate for a variety of potentially disruptive energy bursts. Anyone who had gone to such great length to conceal this detention facility could be expected to have other defensive systems in place, and the last thing she wanted was for the Flyer's multi-phasic shielding to be compromised.
Jorak was all business at the ops console, routing his findings on the local topography to the helm, while conducting regular instrument sweeps to ensure that the Flyer had not acquired any cloaked shadows. To his – unvoiced – satisfaction, their descent to the island proceeded without disruption.
Until they were hailed from the surface. The universal translator picked up the incoming language as Romulan.
"This is Mokan Duty Station, welcome back, Ares. You are cleared to land; coordinates herewith. Mokan out."
Riker replied. "Thank you Mokan. This is not the Ares, this is the shuttle Flyer One of the USS Enterprise. We intercepted a distress call and have come to determine who may require our assistance."
Neutral Zone politics required that he justify his presence with as many fig leaves as he could come up with, and Riker felt compelled to layer them a bit, for maximum opacity. "Unfortunately there are energy forces at play that seem to interfere with our main instruments, so we considered it necessary to bring a shuttle into the atmosphere rather than hail you from our ship. Request permission to land so we can conduct our investigation."
There. That should set the cat among the pigeons. Now the Romulans knew not only that their illegal operation had been discovered, but that there was a Federation starship in orbit that would by now have transmitted its existence back to Headquarters. No surprises, then, for anyone. Most importantly, though, the reference to the distress signal would provide both sides with an excuse for diplomatic cordiality, in the face of a blatant treaty violation by Romulus and the entry into forbidden space by Starfleet's flagship.
Let the station commander figure out how to respond.
Riker nodded at Henley to continue with the landing sequence and muted the comm link. He muttered to himself, "Now why would they sound like they're expecting us? Or someone whose signature looks sufficiently like ours that they get them confused?"
"I sincerely doubt that they were expecting a crew from the Enterprise, Captain." Jorak was his usual slightly supercilious self, failing to recognize the rhetorical nature of Riker's question. "Logic would dictate that personnel on the ground might have experience with a shuttle of similar configuration as the Flyer. Since there are still relatively few vessels of this type in operation, they could reasonably expect this vessel to be the one with which they are familiar."
It was moments like this when Riker most missed his new XO. Despite the relatively short time he and Tom Paris had worked together, they had found an easy rhythm in which they could complete one another's thoughts or bat ideas back and forth. Having someone restate the obvious, as Jorak was wont to do while he worked through the logic of a particular situation, was not something the Captain considered particularly … useful. He resisted the temptation to whisper "duh" – a habit of Tom's that was rapidly rubbing off on him – and opened a secure channel to the Enterprise.
"Riker to Paris. Tom, it looks like the locals have seen something like the Flyer before and in fact were expecting it. Given our tasking I highly doubt they'd be 'Fleet. Can you have someone check the database for other models in circulation? The name 'Ares' was mentioned."
"Acknowledged, Captain. Can't be that many; I was told my own prototype is one of very few in private hands. We'll keep an eye out for incoming traffic, too, since they were expecting company. Paris out." Riker closed the comm link and gave a small, satisfied nod. Now that was more like it.
He watched with more interest than usual as Henley keyed in the landing sequence and brought the Flyer down at the coordinates provided by the station – provided before they had identified themselves as a Federation vessel. Riker somehow suspected that this was a hasty step the local dispatch operator had already come to regret. Apart from the initial mistaken welcome, the local Romulans had not reopened the hailing channel. Instead, they appeared to be still mulling over what to do with their unexpected guests, who were within their right under the Treaty of Algeron to investigate the distress call.
Given the unknown reception, Henley would stay with the shuttle, transporter locked on the away team and her fingers on the button. Comm links would remain open throughout.
"Jorak?" Beverley Crusher's voice cut through the momentary silence. "Before we land could you check for bio signs?" Riker slammed his flat hand on the side of his chair. Of course. Should have thought of this as soon as we broke through the Faraday cage.
The tactical officer nodded his acknowledgement, tapping commands into his console. He looked up with something as close to a frown as Riker had ever seen on him. "Captain, Doctor, I read a total of 738 life signs in this facility. Mostly Romulan and Reman. But also two hundred and forty-eight Cardassians. And unless my instruments are mistaken, four humans."
"Humans?" the Captain's head flew up. "How …"
"All life forms of one species are located in close proximity to one another. In fact, apart from a number of Romulan life signs dispersed throughout the facility, the population seems to be segregated by species. The pervasive presence of Romulans would be consistent with guards moving around the prison."
Riker would have liked more time to digest this information as the Flyer set down; instead he asked Jorak to transmit it to the Enterprise. Clearly this prison camp was of a more complex nature than they had considered: Romulan cloaking technology; human, Cardassian and Reman life signs inside the complex; familiarity with the latest Federation shuttle design; traces of Federation technology on site …
He relayed the information to the Enterprise. This was a good time for Paris and Deanna to put their thinking caps on from a distance, while he and his team would definitely need to be … subtle.
A small jolt signaled the Flyer's landing. After reconfirming Henley's instructions, Riker directed the away team to disembark. No time like the present…
The sight that met the Enterprise's officers as they exited the shuttle would be forever etched into their minds. B'Elanna's throat went a little dry as she considered just why her mate had been so quick to recognize the structure that had puzzled the rest of the bridge crew, and how close she had once come to spending a significant part of her own life inside a place like it.
The Flyer had set down on a small landing pad approximately a hundred meters away from a structure that reminded Riker of nothing so much as an ancient fortress, albeit with 24th century modifications. The complex was already shimmering in the heat despite the early morning hour, the mirage effect giving it an air of unreality.
The guard towers that Tom had remarked on from orbit were some twenty meters high, topped with small plasma cannons mounted on platforms that provided 360 degree mobility. Two of the guns were pointed directly at the Flyer. A quick sweep of Jorak's tricorder confirmed that one of the cannons, at the far side of the facility, had recently been fired; likely the source of the explosive residue Harry's sensors had detected. Through the windows of each of the towers they could see shadowed movement, as well as glinting reflections that suggested telescopes - and possibly additional weapons - were trained on the unexpected arrivals.
The facility's perimeter, they could see now, was outlined by fences made of a steel mesh that looked strong, while at the same time being sufficiently porous to offer little resistance to the gusty, hot wind that was blowing in from the sea even on this otherwise sunny day. There were three distinct fences actually, creating two corridors between them that were approximately five metres wide and barren of anything but sand. The steel wire shimmered in the sun; a refraction in the spacing in between the mesh made the whole construct appear slightly opaque. The opacity suggested it supported some kind of force field of unknown technological specifications, likely anchored in the guard towers. B'Elanna eyed the set-up with professional interest, even as she shivered slightly despite the heat.
Each of the three fences was topped with numerous coils of razor wire – nasty-looking stuff that Riker figured was intended as a low-tech back-up, in the event the force field failed. The shimmering opacity of the force field made it impossible to get a clear sense of the structures inside; only vague outlines could be seen, and no apparent movement, apart from that inside the guard towers.
From the slightly higher vantage point of the Flyer's landing site, the Enterprise crew did, however, get a good glimpse of the surrounding landscape – arid, rocky hills, covered with sparse vegetation that in turn seemed dominated by succulents and low, scrub-like underbrush. The occasional dip in the hills afforded a glimpse of the deep blue sea and the distant shore on the other side of the bay. A small jetty with a couple of speedboats with clearly outlined gun turrets could just be seen behind a rock outcropping.
Small, scaly four-legged creatures that could have been relatives of Terran lizards or geckos were darting in and out of the shrubbery, or sunning themselves in their hundreds on rocks in the blazing heat. The humming of flying insects permeated the silence; the lizards seemed content to wait until one came within striking range of a sticky blue tongue, or a quick movement of the head and a snapping jaw. Occasionally, one of the lizards would venture under the fence in search of crawling prey – the smaller ones quite successfully so, but Riker and Beverley both winced as they watched a larger specimen get seared by the force field with an ominous buzzing sound and a spray of sparks. It twitched briefly and died, a blackened, shriveled mass. Thanks for the demonstration, Riker thought regretfully. Remind me not to try that …"
As he was finishing that thought, the main gate opened and a group of five humanoids emerged. Even at the distance they were easily identifiable as Romulan, all male, dressed in a somewhat lighter and more climate-appropriate version of the traditional quilted Romulan uniform jacket. As they approached, Beverley and B'Elanna quickly finished running their tricorders over the facility.
B'Elanna's eyes widened slightly as she looked at the last set of data on the small screen. She touched her hand to Riker's arm. "Captain – something you should know before those guys get here." He inclined his head slightly, so that his rather short Chief Engineer would not have to speak loud enough to be overheard by the rapidly approaching group. "Yes?" he asked softly.
"My tricorder … I ran it over that force field. I've never seen anything like it before, the way it fried that lizard thing, but the EM emissions themselves are consistent with Federation technology. Similar to the non-lethal force fields we use around the ship, only … amplified. Not sure if that means they are Federation-sourced, but they certainly are related. I thought you should know."
"Thanks, B'Elanna. Let's just add that to the mysteries of this place that need to be investigated, shall we?" Riker responded in equally low tones. "I'm making a list. Suggest you do the same."
The apparent greeting committee approached with quick, decisive steps and the away team did not get the opportunity to speak again before the Romulans came within earshot. Four of the men appeared to be of lower rank - uhlans or sub-lieutenants at best - although all were carrying what appeared to be phaser rifles of Romulan design.
They clearly deferred to the fifth man, whose uniform was of a darker, plainer material and who carried himself with an air of arrogant authority mixed in with … resentment, or was it resignation? As well he might – Riker thought that the posting to an invisible, largely uninhabited planetoid in an officially closed region of space had to be at or near the bottom of what Romulan Empire had to offer in terms of professional opportunities. Quite possibly, the man walking towards them was the embodiment of a once promising career coming to a rather inglorious end; it sure as hell wasn't a patronage appointment.
"And what brings the Federation's flagship into the Neutral Zone?" the Romulan asked by way of introduction, signaling that he had done a spot of research into his visitors on their descent. His inflection lacked heat, even though it was clearly intended to convey a challenge; Riker certainly noted that the man certainly did not seem to possess that innate air of superiority most Romulans oozed out of every pore. Either the man was not very good at dealing with the unexpected, or not very certain of his position and a lousy dissembler. His skin, sallow and pale despite the unrelenting sun overhead, suggested that he spent as little time as he could out in the open.
"Captain William Riker, of the USS Enterprise. These are Lieutenant Commanders Torres and Jorak, and our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Beverley Crusher. As we advised from orbit, we received a distress call from this location," Riker responded, schooling his voice into cool, neutral tones. "You will of course appreciate that, as I noted, your particular … location and certain … technological challenges make it rather difficult to assess the situation from orbit."
He concluded his remarks with one of his more studiedly wolfish smiles, displaying his impressive canines with patent insincerity. Dealing with Romulans in general, and in or around the Neutral Zone especially, called for a certain amount of posture at the best of times; Riker had learned his craft from Jean-Luc Picard, the Grand Master of the politely delivered veiled threat. That, and over two decades of serious poker.
Riker continued to smile, somewhat more superciliously now. "You will of course know that the Treaty of Algeron permits - and customary inter-galactic law requires - that a ship who receives a distress call in unclaimed or uninhabited space investigate such calls and, where possible, act to preserve life." He paused once more and smiled again, even more broadly if that were possible, and raised an eyebrow. "So – just how can we be of assistance, Commander …?"
The Romulan's eyes shifted slightly. "Talar," he said brusquely, "Commander Talar." He did not bother to introduce the guards, whose lowly rank in the Romulan military establishment clearly deprived them of any entitlement to even minimal courtesy. "And we require no assistance."
"But the distress call?" Jorak promoted with a raised eyebrow. "Explain."
Talar glared at him for the effrontery of his tone, then proceeded to address himself to the Captain as if the Vulcan officer were a gnat whose insignificant little buzz must not be allowed to disrupt the dialogue of equals. Riker thought, rather inconsequentially, that Talar should consider equipping himself with a blue, sticky tongue to keep his underlings in line periodically.
"Nothing to concern you. The facility here on Mokan houses a number of the Imperium's more dangerous and sophisticated criminals. One of them, a … Reman, succeeded in creating a subspace transmitter out of materials provided to him by a corrupt guard." Talar seemed a bit more energized now. "You, Captain Riker, will appreciate this: The individual concerned was a follower of Praetor Shinzon's. I seem to recall that your ship … played a role in foiling the Praetor's attempt to take over the Imperium."
You could say that, Riker thought drily. All the more reason why he did not believe for a second the assertion that it was a Reman who had specifically sought Federation assistance. Perhaps Talar's people had not actually heard the call before disrupting it with the plasma cannon, and didn't know about that detail?
But before he could complete that thought, the Romulan Commander surprised him by motioning him aside. His voice assumed a more conciliatory, almost ingratiating tone as soon as his and the Captain's subordinates were outside of hearing range.
"So, Captain, you and I both know that this alleged distress call is not the only – or even the real - reason you are here, regardless of what your crew may have been led to believe. Your need not pretend that your proximity was an accident; it was only a question of time when Starfleet would avail itself of our facilities here. We are both busy men, so let us cut through the formalities. Tell me whom you came to drop off, let us come to terms, and you can be on your way."
Riker's mind went into overdrive. Whom you came to drop off. Talar had mistaken the Flyer for something called the Ares. A ship originating in the Federation. Just what kind of person might such a ship have wanted to drop off?
If he betrayed his ignorance and surprise, he would certainly not get any meaningful answers from the Romulan Commander - even if he could ask questions directly. And Talar would obviously not be offering him a tour of the camp.
Stall. Pretend to know more than you do. "You are a wise man, Commander. Yes, our proximity was no accident. And yes, word of this … facility is getting around in certain circles."
If only he could speak to someone inside, preferably one of the humans.
Inside.
Why did the name 'Tom Paris' suddenly pop into his head?
Tom Paris. The man whose reaction to the mere sight of this facility had so disturbed Deanna that she had practically pleaded with her imzadi to keep him off the away team? The man who had seen the inside of more prisons and temporary detention centers than anyone else serving in Starfleet … and survived them all.
Who bore the mark of his experience, visible to all.
An idea was beginning to take shape in the Captain's head, coming into focus and crystallizing more and more clearly. He decided to gamble; he could always pull back later. Talar expected a drop-off …
A drop-off requires a backstory, one that had to be at least partially verifiable …
Riker pasted the insincere smile back on his face. "Walk with me a ways, Commander?" Beverly and B'Elanna looked at him non-plussed, while Jorak raised an eyebrow as their Captain pulled Talar aside and headed away from the group.
The extra steps bought some more time for thought. "I didn't really think it would be this hot here. Our last mission was quite a climatic contrast to this place." They came to a halt, backs to the rest of the away team.
"We had business on Andoria a few days ago, Commander. The Imperial succession announcement - news must have reached even this … far corner of the Imperium. But I'm afraid in the process we picked up a … rather delicate problem. A question of … certain rather indiscrete dealings involving the heir to the throne. Only snippets of the real story made the news, of course; in fact, the public side of the whole matter was dealt with rather … efficiently and effectively by the Andorians."
Talar nodded his understanding sagely, his lips quirking a smile that vied with Riker's for mendaciousness. Cover-ups involving senior members of the leadership cadre and their families were not entirely unknown on Romulus.
"The trial and conviction were according to the book, of course," Riker looked at the Romulan meaningfully, "even if they were conducted somewhat outside the public eye. Following the trial I undertook to take … the problem back to Earth as a personal favour to the late Chancellor, to have the individual concerned serve his sentence away from where his presence would be a reminder of the … embarrassment he had caused to the Royal family."
He sighed with feigned exasperation. "But now that Chancellor Erdilev is so unfortunately deceased … Let's just say, it occurred to me that when we get back to Terra, the man's lawyers are going to have a field day with the conviction. His family is well connected and can afford to make my life hell. And if he gets out, I'll be left holding the bag with the Andorian Government. Unless we could find a way …"
Riker let the thought dangle and float between them like bait, shiny and light, dancing in the hot breeze. This far from the Imperium, opportunities for temptation – and business - would be rare, and hard to resist; the invitation to deal had practically been delivered by Talar on an embossed card.
The Romulan Commander stood quite still, his shoulders straightening, a calculating look stealing into his eyes. "We … could be making space for one more individual," he said, his voice bordering on sly now. "Of course, if he is not a part of the regular drop-off, there is the issue of … maintenance expenses."
"Of course," Riker smiled mirthlessly, allowing all remaining warmth to drain from his eyes even as he inclined his head to signal his understanding of the unspoken message. "And that would be …?"
The Romulan Commander looked at him speculatively. "Three bars of gold-pressed latinum."
Riker frowned and pursed his lips in denial. Can't seem too eager. "Any more than two, I'd have a hard time explaining its absence to the Starfleet comptrollers."
Talar pretended to look thoughtful. "With the right paper work you should be able to explain two and-a-half. Surely your mission on Andor was … expensive." It was Riker's turn to consider, and he did so, ostentatiously, for a minute or so. Stroking his beard thoughtfully and letting his glance slide over the shimmering razor wire in the distance, he nodded slowly.
"Yes, I believe it is worth it. I'll find a way to justify the … loss. One question though; even though he has proven a terrific embarrassment to myself and my ship, and may have a hard time keeping his hands to himself and his fly zipped up, the crewman in question is not violent or particularly dangerous. I wouldn't want him harmed. I mean, you do have Cardassians here and one hears things about them …"
"We do keep our races segregated, for security reasons. But I take it from your question that you will not require us to … extract information from this prisoner, or administer physical punishment?" Talar asked, all business now. If he had a note PADD with him, his fingers would be poised to check off certain boxes.
Riker resisted the temptation to swallow, as his throat suddenly dry. Maybe this was not such a good idea …
"No," he replied, as diffidently as he could. "The circumstances of the man's offence do not require further investigation; he's had his trial in Andoria. All I really need, frankly, is to avoid having him turn up on Terra with … embarrassing details to relate to the media about Andorian justice, and about a future Federation Head of State. Who, by the way, is only seventeen." He managed to waggle his eyebrows suggestively.
"I understand," Talar nodded. "Of course." He was practically purring now. Riker could see the calculation cross the man's face; for the Romulan, efficient bureaucrat that he doubtless was, it was all about logistics now.
"If he is not a violent offender, we will put him into Ulak One with the other humans then, for initial observation. And if he presents no trouble, given the relatively minor nature of his offence and his rank, we could move him out to Ulak Six in a month or so."
"Ulak?" Riker couldn't help but inquire. His Romulan was limited to utility phrases such as 'another ale please' or 'don't move or I'll pull the trigger', and this word was new to him. For some reason, the Universal Translator seemed to think it was a term of art that did not require translation.
"'Ulak' is a term we use for 'unit' or, in the case of prisons, for 'camps'," Talar explained superciliously, as if slightly indignant that his interlocutor seemed to lack even the most basis knowledge of relevant terminology.
Riker faked a convincingly diffident shrug and nodded his agreement with the disposition suggested by the Commander –what exactly he had agreed to he hoped to find out in due course. Time to nail down the verisimilitude, and administer a test. No point sending Tom down here if Talar had access to the Federations convict database, and could find out that his new inmate's criminal record had in fact been formally expunged over a year ago.
"I trust Romulus is associated with the Federation's numeric penal record system? The prisoner was marked on Andor for onward transfer to … New Zealand. So you should be able to enter him into your system easily." Talar shook his head. "I have heard of the scheme and it is brilliant in its simplicity and durability, but the Empire does not have access to it. Something I personally regret. We do have different methods of record-keeping. Usually."
The implication that these methods did not apply here hung in the air. Prisoners here were not recorded.
Riker shrugged diffidently, injecting his comments with just the thought of pregnant pauses he thought someone like Talar could relate to and appreciate as meaningful. "No matter. We are agreed then. Since he was … my crewman before he could not control his … baser urges, I would appreciate it if he could be treated … humanely. As I said, He is not so much a criminal as he is … politically inconvenient."
The Romulans eyes glinted. "Most of them are, here on Mokan, Captain," he drawled with a slightly contemptuous smile. "Most of them are."