Hearts and Minds

by Dayton Ward

  Annoyance was now warming toward actual anger as Picard returned to his seat. He reached for one of the padds on his desk, holding it in his right hand while tapping the device’s edge against his left palm. Was it a way to occupy his hands while his mind processed what he had heard, or was it an unconscious means of allowing him to ensure his own self-control was firmly in place before he said something he might later regret?

  “I don’t fault you, Commander. You’re following the orders of a superior officer, but rest assured that Admiral Akaar and I will be discussing this at length. That will be all, Mister Taurik.”

  The engineer rose from his seat, bringing himself to his full height and dropping his hands to his sides. It was not quite the position of attention a fresh-faced Academy cadet might adopt, but still provided a level of formality and respect Picard could appreciate.

  “I apologize if I have given offense, Captain, or if my actions communicate a lack of trust. I was merely—”

  “That will be all, Commander. Dismissed.” There was an edge in his voice that he had not intended, but Picard said nothing as the Vulcan offered a formal nod before pivoting on his heel and marching out of the ready room. Picard waited until the door closed and he was once more alone in his sanctuary before allowing a groan of anger to escape his lips.

  “Damn you, Akaar.”

  That out of his system, he said in a louder voice, “Picard to bridge.”

  “Worf here, sir,” replied his first officer.

  “I require an encrypted subspace communications link with Admiral Akaar at Starfleet Command. Priority one.” During its initial journey from Earth to the Odyssean Pass months earlier, the Enterprise had deployed a series of subspace relay stations at regular intervals. That endeavor continued the longer the starship remained in this region, extending the Federation’s communications network farther than had been done in quite some time. It was but one more aspect of Starfleet’s renewed commitment to deep-space exploration and the ongoing effort to expand knowledge, and also made it easier to “call home” when circumstances warranted.

  There was only the briefest of pauses before the Klingon replied, “Aye, sir. According to the ship’s computer, it is oh-three-forty-eight hours in San Francisco.”

  “I did not inquire as to the time, Mister Worf. I want the link established immediately. Make it so.”

  Picard paused, catching himself. It was not his crew’s fault that he was angry at a flag officer hundreds of light-years away from the Enterprise. Taking out his irritation on his subordinates was unfair and poor leadership.

  Pull yourself together, Captain. Save it for the admiral.

  While he waited for the communications request to be processed and the link established with Earth, Picard retrieved a fresh cup of tea from his replicator and was back in his seat when Worf’s voice filtered through the intercom.

  “Subspace link established, Captain. Admiral Akaar is ready for you.”

  “Excellent, Number One. Thank you.”

  On his desktop computer, Picard watched the Federation seal disappear for a second time, replaced once again by the aged visage of Leonard James Akaar. Despite the early hour, the admiral was wearing his Starfleet uniform and showed no signs of having been roused from slumber. It was an interesting detail, Picard decided.

  “Hello, Jean-Luc. I’ve been expecting you to make contact.”

  “Obviously.” Picard made no attempt to school his tone, instead allowing his festering irritation to lace the single word.

  “I take it you’ve talked with Commander Taurik.” There was no humor in the older man’s face, which was fine with Picard. He was in no mood for that sort of thing anyway.

  “Yes, I’ve spoken with him, Admiral. Briefly, considering that he appears to have no real information about why he’s been placed in his current position. Sir, why did you feel it necessary to take a member of my crew and enlist him as your eyes and ears aboard my ship?”

  From the way his eyes narrowed as he listened to the question, it was evident that Akaar was expecting this line of questioning. This only served to heighten Picard’s annoyance.

  “It was deemed a matter of Starfleet security to keep this information contained to as small a group as possible.”

  Picard leaned closer to the computer screen. “It was ‘deemed’? Admiral, you are the head of Starfleet. Nothing is deemed anything unless you authorize it.”

  “Very well.” There was now a hint of irritation in Akaar’s voice, as though responding to Picard’s own elevated emotions. “I gave the order, based on recommendations from the Department of Temporal Investigations. You, better than most people, should understand and appreciate how seriously they take any potential contamination of the timeline. That said, I made the decision, and I’m the one who briefed Taurik directly. So, are you questioning my decision or my motives?”

  “I’m questioning both, Admiral.” There was no hesitation, no doubt on Picard’s part. He wanted his feelings on the matter made clear, without any possible confusion. “I’m questioning why you or anyone else felt the need to act in this manner. Is it a matter of trust or confidence? Are we believed to be a risk to Federation security?”

  “Now hold on, Captain. I—”

  “No, I most certainly will not hold on, sir!”

  The outburst was enough to echo off the ready room walls and sufficient to reduce Akaar to stunned silence. Picard was certain his words had to have been heard by his bridge crew, but he did not care. Instead, he glowered at the admiral and saw the surprise in the elder man’s face. He had struck a nerve. So be it.

  “After everything this ship and crew have done, after everything I have done, this is how you choose to proceed? When Taurik made it known that he had encountered whatever information he saw about the future, he acted immediately and in accordance with all appropriate regulations to contain the situation. I fully supported him in that action. We’ve done all that can be asked, and more, acting in the best interests of Federation security and the safety of my ship and crew. Apparently, that’s insufficient, but instead of telling us what more can be done, you choose instead to keep us in the dark and plant an informant in our midst. I won’t stand for it, Admiral. Not for a moment.”

  Now it was Akaar’s turn to lean closer to his computer screen. “Are you countermanding my orders, Captain?”

  “No. Taurik may continue to observe and report whatever he feels appropriate, to you or the Department of Temporal Investigations, but no report will leave this vessel without my authorization. Further, I don’t appreciate a member of my crew being placed in a position where they may have to choose whose orders they’re going to follow, and without being given the information needed to make a proper decision. Taurik isn’t even fully aware of why you’ve given him this assignment, and now he’s trying to navigate the obstacles you’ve thrown in his path. There may come a time when he sees his loyalties as divided. Should that happen, Admiral, have you authorized him to undermine my authority as captain of this ship?”

  It was a verbal trap, and Picard knew Akaar recognized it as such, just as he intended. Challenging the authority of any starship commander was a serious matter, and both men knew it. This was particularly true of vessels like the Enterprise, which operated far from the comfortable environs of Federation space and whose captains therefore enjoyed great latitude and autonomy in order to respond to any number of situations where waiting for guidance from back home was impractical if not impossible.

  Then there was Picard himself. He rarely trumpeted his own record or list of achievements, but the simple fact was that after more than fifty years wearing a captain’s rank and with most of those years spent in command of starships, he believed he had damned well earned the consideration the current situation seemed to be lacking. He suspected Akaar knew this, as well, even if the admiral did not like being bullied into admitting as much.

  “All right, Captain,” he said. “We’ll do it your way, for now, but just so
we’re clear with each other: this conversation isn’t over.”

  Not even bothering to hide his disdain, Picard replied, “And just so we’re clear, Admiral: I wasn’t asking your permission. If I can’t be trusted to command my ship with the best interests of my crew, or Starfleet, or the Federation at heart, then relieve me. Otherwise, let me do my job. I won’t stand for half measures.”

  Akaar bristled at that comment, but did not reply to it. Instead, he said, “We’ll discuss this later. Akaar out.”

  The communication ended before Picard could say anything else, not that anything more was required. He had made his position clear, and the admiral would either accept it, or not. Whatever happened next, Picard was certain of one thing: he and Akaar would settle this matter, and soon—one way or another.

  Now, however, Picard had a more immediate concern: Taurik, and the knowledge he possessed not about the future, but rather Earth’s past.

  4

  “Bring us to full stop. Maintain this position.”

  Rising from his chair, Picard moved around the flight controller and operations manager positions situated at the front of the Enterprise bridge’s command area so that nothing stood between him and the main viewscreen. The current image, magnified thanks to the screen interpreting data collected by the starship’s array of sensors and scanners, showed a pale brown and dull blue world. Even the clouds obscuring portions of the land masses and oceans seemed dreary.

  Behind him and just off his right hand, Lieutenant Joanna Faur reported, “Full stop, Captain.” The flight controller tapped another set of controls at her console. “Holding position.”

  “Sensors,” said Picard. “Are we alone out here?”

  From where he sat at the operations manager’s station to Faur’s left, Glinn Ravel Dygan replied, “Sensors show no activity in the immediate vicinity, sir. I am detecting indications of interplanetary travel. Seven small vessels with minimal crew complements, each moving at sublight velocities. There are also artificial satellites orbiting the fourth planet, though they’re also pretty small and fragile. I would liken them to first-generation space stations placed in orbit around Cardassia Prime, or perhaps even Earth during your late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.” The young Cardassian exchange officer turned in his seat. “Earth’s stations of this type were far more robust than those of my people, sir.”

  Standing at the bridge’s primary tactical station behind and to the left of Picard’s command chair, Lieutenant Aneta Šmrhová added, “The ships are armed, but their weapons are fairly primitive. Even if they were able to intercept us at this distance, they wouldn’t pose a significant threat.”

  “Nor should we,” replied Picard. He was uninterested in any sort of confrontation, but given his lack of knowledge about this star system or its inhabitants, it was prudent to examine and prepare for all possibilities. To that end, he had opted against approaching the system’s lone inhabited planet, preferring instead to linger at the solar system’s outer boundary while the Enterprise’s sensors did their work. This would allow them to conduct a discreet if incomplete surveillance until he was more comfortable with the situation and decided it was safe enough to move closer for a more thorough survey of the planet.

  Turning from the viewscreen, he regarded T’Ryssa Chen, who stood next to Dina Elfiki at the science station on his right. “Lieutenant, what do the official records say about this system?” As he asked the question, he was unable to keep himself from casting a brief glance to Taurik, who stood silently near the bridge’s aft engineering stations. For his part, the Vulcan simply raised his right eyebrow.

  “The library computer’s file is pretty thin, sir,” replied Chen. “According to our records, the unmanned probe that surveyed this region designated this as System 3962 in the Federation stellar cartography database. It was among the first mapped by the probes sent to chart the Odyssean Pass. The system contains eight planets, but none are reported as being inhabited, or even having a Class-M atmosphere.”

  For the second time, Picard glanced in Taurik’s direction. “Isn’t that interesting? Lieutenant Elfiki, what do our sensors show about the fourth planet now?”

  Tapping a control and studying something on her console, the young science officer replied, “It’s definitely Class-M, sir. I estimate a population of approximately thirty million higher-order life-forms on the planet, along with a few hundred on its only natural satellite as well as a dozen or so stations in orbit. However, there are approximately one hundred other, smaller constructs also deployed around the planet that aren’t inhabited. Some look to be communications satellite relays, but all of them appear to be equipped with some form of energy weapon.”

  “An orbital defense network?” asked Commander Worf, from where he sat to the right of Picard’s chair.

  Elfiki frowned. “Maybe, but some of our scan readings aren’t conclusive, sir. There’s a high degree of background radiation in various concentrations across the planet that’s causing a bit of interference, but it’s not anything I can’t filter out with a little time.” She gestured toward the image of the planet on the viewscreen. “There are numerous unaffected areas down there, such as at higher elevations or along coastal regions, which not coincidentally is where the bulk of the surface life signs are located. However, there’s still radiation in the atmosphere. Something major happened here, sir. I’m guessing two hundred fifty to three hundred years ago, give or take a couple of decades.” She frowned. “Sir, there was nothing about these radiation levels or possible global conflict or other catastrophe in any of the records I was able to find.”

  “Mister Taurik,” said Picard, though this time he made a point of not looking in the Vulcan’s direction. “Do you have anything to add?” In his peripheral vision, he saw the engineer move away from the engineering station so that he now stood abreast of Worf.

  “The planet’s indigenous inhabitants call this the Vorlyntal system, and refer to their own world as Sralanya. They identify their species as Eizand.”

  That was enough to make Worf scowl as he regarded Taurik. Rising from his seat, the first officer glared at the Vulcan. “How do you know this?”

  Picard held up a hand. “All in good time, Number One. Commander Taurik, please continue.”

  He knew that the engineer now possessed at least some further information about the Enterprise’s intended destination; he had made a preliminary report to Admiral Akaar following the conversation in his ready room, and presumably had been authorized or briefed with additional details. Taurik had reported as much to Picard following that communication, and while the captain was certain the junior officer would not lie to him, Taurik nevertheless might opt to keep some things to himself unless asked directly. Once again, Picard considered the awkward position into which Taurik had been placed by the head of Starfleet, and once more he sensed irritation welling up within him.

  Taurik said, “Almost all of the information collected by the unmanned sensor probes regarding this system was originally entered into official records, but later expunged and reclassified as top secret.”

  “So you’re saying that someone in Starfleet ordered that information pulled from our data banks?” asked Chen.

  Shaking his head, Taurik replied, “No. I am saying that this information was pulled from all such records and moved to a classified archive. The intention at the time was to keep it stored in secret until time and circumstances warranted its access. Even then, such authorization could only be granted by the Starfleet commander-in-chief.”

  “Admiral Akaar,” said Worf, before turning to Picard. “Sir?”

  Picard replied, “Yes, Number One. Admiral Akaar.”

  He had considered updating his first officer with the information Taurik had already given him, but instead had decided on prudence, wanting to see how the next steps in this odd mission began to play out. He did not like keeping his people in the dark, about anything, and normally bristled when orders required him to do so.
This was particularly true when it came to Worf, or any first officer, so far as Picard was concerned. He believed that the person serving as a starship captain’s figurative right hand could only truly function in that role if they possessed as much information as possible at any given time. Under normal circumstances, Picard would already have briefed the commander, but there was still too much that was unknown. If this turned out to be some kind of unsanctioned mission that might cause embarrassment or worse for the Federation, he wanted to insulate his people from any fallout. He did not believe Leonard James Akaar would place him or his crew in such a situation. It had occurred to Picard that the admiral might also be receiving higher direction, and perhaps it was that guidance that was not born of noble intentions. There was nothing about this situation that made Picard comfortable, and he needed more information before he brought Worf or anyone else into the fold.

  “I do not understand,” said the first officer. “Such an action would suggest the Federation or Starfleet is deliberately concealing information about this planet. That suggests it represents a threat that we wish to keep from being publicly known, or else we have had earlier dealings with its people.”

  Taurik replied, “I believe it to be the latter, Commander.”

  “But you are not certain?”

  Looking first to Picard, the engineer shook his head. “Admiral Akaar has not yet deemed it appropriate to share that information with me, sir.”

  Picard noted the shift in the Klingon’s body language as he absorbed this response. A subtle glance was enough to communicate that Worf understood the position his captain seemed to occupy, even if he took issue with how he, along with the rest of the bridge crew, was being brought into the loop.

  “It seems we’re dealing with a matter of extreme delicacy, Number One, and the admiral prefers to take things slowly, at least for now.” He turned to Taurik. “However, given the fact that Akaar is not here, I don’t know that I like having to wait for information to be parceled out.” His patience for these games, whatever their intentions, was wearing thin.