AN: Here we are, another piece to this one.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Great captains didn't have wives and families. They lived lives free of distraction, and their commitment was only to the ship and her crew.
Jean-Luc wasn't sure where he'd heard that, but he was certain that he'd heard it. Perhaps it was some long ago quote from James T. Kirk. Maybe it was something he'd heard at the academy from a jaded instructor who had never made it to the position he'd dreamed of having because of the hindrance a family had caused him.
What Jean-Luc was certain about was that beaming down to a hostile planet, as a newly married man, with his expectant wife in tow, had felt fundamentally different than anything he'd ever done before. Immediately upon their arrival, his senses had been assaulted with the scent of something that, after a moment, he was able to identify as being the after-scent of a combustible mineral used to fire projectile-launching weapons that were somewhat similar to ancient firearms that they'd once used on Earth and other planets. Mixed with that was the scent of sweat, the tang of blood, and the smell of fear.
Beverly had gone to work without even a breath of hesitation. She'd divided her team previously—half for each of the warring factions, to help provide some relief to their wounded—and she'd chosen the side she would accompany to their field hospital—the side that had, from what Jean-Luc understood, risen up to try to overthrow the current government of Merobi II.
Jean-Luc went with the others for negotiation in a more comfortable environment, and he'd only offered Beverly a quick squeeze of the arm before letting her go—imagining that a greater show of affection would be entirely against decorum. At least he'd given her a much greater show of his feelings for her that morning, before they'd left the ship and in the privacy of his quarters, which they would now be sharing.
When they'd been seated, Jean-Luc hadn't had to ask Deanna for information about what she felt. Evidence of her overwhelm had been clearly visible since the moment they'd beamed down, and she'd required some assistance just to stay oriented well enough to accompany Jean-Luc into the meeting room with the chosen representatives of each faction.
"It's remarkably overwhelming, Captain," she whispered to him, leaning close. "Confusing. Pain, anger, deception—but it's not clear where it's coming from or where it's directed. I can't read any individual clearly, and it almost seems as though it were planned."
"Planned?" Jean-Luc asked.
Deanna nodded, but she didn't clarify. She had turned her attention to the people gathered in the room, and it was clear that she was trying to focus her attention on any one of them instead of on the mixed emotions offered by everyone present.
The first part of the negotiations, to Jean-Luc, came across as little more than something like the squabbling of toddlers. Despite his best efforts to stop the back and forth bickering of the two representatives present, Jean-Luc was unable to bring them to any kind of peace. It seemed like they needed to argue themselves out, and Jean-Luc was at the mercy of his orders to listen to them.
Merobi II had been a long-standing member of the Federation. Their leading faction had been in power since they'd joined the Federation. The opposing faction had always been at least somewhat opposed to being Federation members, though things had never escalated to anything like the civil war that was currently taking place. It seemed that, at this point, the opposing faction was being led by an individual who thought the time for discussions and voting was done. With that belief, the conflicts had broken out in a society that was, at least in terms of their chosen weapons, at least a little behind the advancement of many other Federation planets.
That was, at least in part, one of the biggest complaints of the anti-Federation faction.
"We are slaves to the Federation," the representative complained. "We provide them with everything they request, but we're never offered anything in return. They take from our people, and they promise goods in return, but we never see anything."
Jean-Luc checked his temper and frustration.
"Merobi II has very little to offer anyone in the Federation that cannot be obtained elsewhere," Jean-Luc said. "Their contribution to the Federation is limited, at best. Let's not over-represent the importance of gifts and donations made for show. In addition, the Federation has always maintained, with all of its members, something of a hands-off policy when it comes to certain areas of consideration. The Federation aids in needs for survival. It aids in protecting its people from attack by non-Federation groups. It does not take sides in civil wars, nor does it provide its members with weapons with which to kill each other. You say the Federation offers you nothing, yet we're here with medical supplies and our own people, out there, in a war zone, trying to offer relief from suffering that you're bringing about because you do not have the ability to work out your differences without resorting to violence."
"You do take sides in this civil war, Captain," the anti-Federation representative offered. "The side of the Federation."
"If Merobi II withdraws from the Federation, and especially if it does so with violence, it cannot expect Federation support for its people," Jean-Luc said. He wasn't certain that his temper was as checked as he'd wanted it to be, but he was tired of the silly squabbling. It was true that they weren't supposed to take sides, but it seemed to him that the anti-Federation group was simply upset that the Federation wasn't providing them with "more," even though there was no clear sign of what would ultimately be "enough" for these individuals.
Jean-Luc didn't like the look on the anti-Federation representative's face, though, when he smiled—the kind of smile that always made the hair on the back of Jean-Luc's neck stand up.
"For that reason, Captain, we've decided that we're tired of traditional negotiations with the Federation. They've proven ineffective…but we're hoping other, more extreme methods might be more convincing…"
It was instinct. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Jean-Luc may have to explain it later, and he may even be sanctioned for leaving the site of a negation where he'd been ordered to be in attendance. He didn't care one way or another. He touched his combadge, knowing that Will was waiting on the other side of the communication and, knowing Will, he was doing so quite anxiously.
"Number One, lock on and beam the entire away team up immediately."
111
Jean-Luc could barely breathe. He only hoped that nobody else knew that except for, perhaps, Deanna, who had to be aware of his feelings of panic, anguish, and helplessness—no matter how good he was at hiding them from everyone else.
"Number One, report," Jean-Luc demanded as soon as he reached the bridge.
"Reports are still coming in," Will said. "We're bringing in the away team as quickly as we can. It wasn't possible to beam everyone back at once, so we're bringing them up as we get a lock on them. There's clear interference with our transporters. It's not environmental."
"This is an act of sabotage," Jean-Luc said.
"It would appear so," Will agreed.
"Captain…"
Jean-Luc touched his communicator.
"Go ahead," he said.
"We've brought most of the away team aboard."
"Very good, Lieutenant," Jean-Luc said. "What about the rest?"
"I'm afraid we can't get a lock on them. It's as though they've been hidden from us. Our communications with them are scrambled. We're trying to vary sensors in an attempt to pull them out."
Jean-Luc closed his eyes for a second and steeled himself. He tried to take the deepest breath that he could without giving himself away.
"Who is missing, Lieutenant?" He asked.
"I'm sorry, sir. It's the medical team headed by Dr. Crusher."
Jean-Luc already knew that. She'd taken the team that had headed toward the faction that he could now only think of as the anti-Federation faction. It was clear to him, now, that they'd pretended to want peace only to try to get some other bargaining chip with the Federation.
"Very well. Keep trying. Picard out."
"Captain—we're being hailed."
"Onscreen," Jean-Luc said.
The face of the pro-Federation representative appeared on the screen. Jean-Luc ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. The representative appeared to be alone, and he appeared to have changed to a different location from the one where they'd been meeting only a matter of moments before.
"Captain—my sincerest apologies. You have to know that we had nothing to do with this…"
"I imagine you didn't," Jean-Luc said. "Some of our people have been cut off from us. At the moment, we don't know what's happened to them, but it's possible they've been taken hostage. Is there any way you can assist us in finding out what's happened to them and recovering our medical team?"
"We have troops nearby," the representative responded.
"I will be contacting Starfleet for further instructions," Jean-Luc said. "In the meantime, I must ask that you proceed without violence on our account. We'll be back in touch as quickly as possible."
"Very well, Captain. Again—we are sorry."
Jean-Luc tried to offer something of a smile of understanding. He nodded.
"We'll be in touch." Jean-Luc broke the connection. He looked at Will, and tried to ignore the expression on the man's face. "Have we been hailed by the other side?"
"Nothing yet," Will said.
"I want to be informed immediately of any new information," Jean-Luc said. "I am going to contact Headquarters and see if we can't get some help out here."
"Captain—for what it's worth…I'm sorry," Will offered.
"Don't be sorry," Jean-Luc said, his stomach turning slightly. He put on the best smile he could, attempting to reassure himself as much as anyone else. "We're going to get them back. All of them."
Jean-Luc headed toward his ready room to make contact with Starfleet. He already knew, though, that they were likely to move the Enterprise out of there as quickly as possible and replace her with other ships to handle the unexpected escalation of the conflict. After all, now they would likely be seen as too close to the problem to remain effectively neutral.
Jean-Luc only hoped they had their people back aboard before they were ordered to leave the space surrounding Merobi II.
111
For what they'd come to do, Beverly had brought a small team. Given the extent of the suffering on the planet, she could have used three times as many people as she had. She'd been cleared by Starfleet to choose twenty people, total, since her team would be split into two groups on the ground. Of each of those teams, at least half of the individuals were really little more than volunteers with basic emergency medical training. Many of them had never seen anything like this before. Beverly had taken more of the unseasoned ones in her group than she'd sent with the others, hopeful that her abilities could help to make up for some of the greenness of some of those accompanying her.
The weapons used on Merobi II were projectile weapons that were reminiscent of Earth's old guns. They were effective weapons, as most projectile weapons were, but that also meant that treating wounds caused by them had a certain level of difficulty that wasn't quite the same with energy weapons.
They'd been meant to bring in supplies and to offer some short-term help in relieving less-than-complete medical teams, in an attempt to help save lives while agreements for peace were being reached. Beverly was up to her wrists in the chest cavity of a Merobian soldier that was already nearly dead when she realized that things might be moving in a direction that they'd never anticipated.
Beverly's blood had nearly frozen when the armed soldiers came into the space. They were pointing weapons and, when Beverly addressed one of them, she was loudly informed that they were anti-Federation.
The Federation, according to the loudest soldier near her, had never given them anything. It made promises and didn't deliver. The Federation denied them the things that they most needed. The Federation denied them everything.
These soldiers, it seemed, were ready to entirely ignore the fact that they had their weapons trained on the medical team that the Federation had sent to help them—a medical team that had come with supplies they desperately needed and asked nothing in return.
Beverly tried to stay focused on what she was doing, trying to repair damage from a projectile that had nearly turned the soldier's chest-cavity into something with the same overall consistency of ground meat.
"We're trying to help," she offered as calmly as she could.
"We contacted the Federation a thousand times for help," the soldier with the weapon growled. "They never provided us with weapons…ammunition."
"But they provided you with the means to have food and water for your areas that were struggling to produce enough of each," Beverly said. "They provided you with medical care. We're not arms dealers. We're not even armed." It was true, though Beverly did wish for something at the moment.
"The Federation wants to deny us everything we ask for," the soldier said, waving his weapon in Beverly's direction in a way that made her muscles tense involuntarily. "We're tired of asking. We'll see if they negotiate now." He smiled at her, and Beverly didn't know if he could read her mind, or if he was just good at reading her. "Don't even worry about trying your communication devices, Doctor. We may not have everything we need, but we do have the technology to scramble your connection to your precious Starfleet ship."
"The only thing I'm concerned about is…trying to save lives," Beverly said.
"If the Federation doesn't start giving us what we want, you'll have a lot more to save."
A Merobian doctor came and nudged Beverly out of the way. The doctor said nothing to Beverly. He didn't make eye contact with her. He acted as though she didn't exist to him.
"His vital signs are stable," she said. She took the only thing available to wipe her hands—a nearby towel—and she wiped the blood off of them as best she could. "He'll need to be closed up. Treated for infection. I was able to remove all the projectile pieces."
"Everyone to that corner over there, so we can see what we've got," one of the soldiers demanded. "You too, Doctor."
Beverly nodded and held her hands up to show that she wasn't resisting. Resisting, at this moment, would do nothing but get them injured or killed. The weapons that the soldiers carried didn't have stun options, after all.
Unfortunately, one of the green team members—a woman who was practically a civilian volunteer—didn't see things the same way that Beverly did. She panicked and, in that panic, she seemed to believe that she could run past the soldiers to some kind of freedom. Beverly jumped at the loud sound of the shot that was fired, the noise echoing in the room in the field-constructed hospital building to the point that it nearly deafened all of them.
That noise was replaced by the squalling of the woman, shot in the leg.
"Why did you do that?" Beverly asked. "You could have stopped her without shooting her." She reached for the nearest kit she could get her hands on. Nobody stood in her way. In fact, the soldiers let her go toward the woman.
"We don't have time to waste with stopping anyone any other way. Besides—we want the Federation to understand we're serious. Everyone else should choose their actions carefully—or you'll have a lot more injuries to deal with."