by Dayton Ward
Hilonu’s gaze remained on the people outside her window. “And where do we go from here?”
“Forward, Presider Hilonu,” said Picard. “Always forward.”
29
U.S.S. Enterprise
2386
Positioned atop a table along the far wall of the small sickbay conference room Beverly Crusher had appropriated for this purpose, the trio of ceremonial urns seemed to radiate a simple yet undeniable somberness that was more than sufficient to communicate their purpose. Picard had already seen the vessels following their extraction from the catacombs beneath the city of Ponval, but it was only now that the captain was gripped by the solemnity of what they represented. Each was an unadorned black oval, with a flared base to provide stability. Their exterior showed no obvious visual evidence of seams or other means of opening, and neither were they polished or otherwise reflective. Indeed, the urns seemed to absorb the light, remaining unrelentingly black and at total odds with the room’s color schemes and other gleaming surfaces.
“Not much of a legacy, is it?”
Picard glanced over his shoulder to see that Beverly had entered the room. Wearing a blue medical smock over her uniform, she stood with her hands in the light jacket’s pockets.
“No, I’m afraid not.” He returned his attention to the urns, which provided nothing in the way of insight as to the people whose remains they now held. “Were you able to learn anything new?”
Beverly frowned. “Not much more than we already knew. Starfleet Command went through every historical data bank there is and confirmed that there were three astronauts named Goswami, Harper, and Park in service to the international space agencies during the mid-twenty-first century. However, the records from that time are pretty scattershot thanks to the war. No family connections were found, but that’s not unusual by itself. A mission of the sort they volunteered for would’ve meant leaving behind nearly everyone they knew and loved, so viable candidates likely had no ties.”
“And they also were part of a clandestine group engaged in secret activities,” replied Picard. “It’s entirely possible that any record of their mission and even their entire existence was deliberately destroyed decades if not centuries ago.”
The tragic irony of this situation was not lost on Picard. Humanity’s involvement with Sralanya corresponded so closely to Earth’s official first contact with the Vulcans. That latter event had positively changed the course of his homeworld forever, even as astronauts Goswami, Harper, and Park carried death and destruction to another people. While they may not have actually caused the devastation that had gripped the Eizand, their actions had set into motion a sequence of events that should never have been allowed to unfold in the first place.
“We might not be able to change the past,” said Beverly, “but we can influence the future, and hopefully for the better.”
Picard could take some solace in knowing that the Federation would be doing all that was possible to heal the wounds inflicted so long ago upon this world, and with hard work and trust earning a new ally. Even as the Enterprise maneuvered away from Sralanya and back toward the Odyssean Pass, he had left behind a team of sociologists who were already working with Hilonu and the Tevent Coalition as well as other world leaders to assess what long-term aid might be provided to the Eizand.
“I’ve been informed by Starfleet Command that a dedicated first-contact team is already en route,” he said. “They should arrive in about eight weeks.” It was a necessary first step, the first of many along what was hoped to be a new bond of friendship between the Federation and this newly discovered civilization.
You mean rediscovered.
He gestured to the urns. “We won’t be able to confirm their identities, will we?”
Shaking her head, Beverly fidgeted with her hands still in her smock’s pockets. “Not without something to match against their DNA, or perhaps facial recognition from the visual data Hilonu gave us. Federation and Starfleet historians are still searching; we may get lucky.”
“You’re talking about public records,” said Picard. “But we already know that Starfleet has access to information that’s obviously not generally available. That’s why we were in this mess to begin with.” He had to wonder as to the nature and scope of the secrets to which Admiral Akaar and others were privy. How old was some of that information? Centuries, to be sure, but all the way back to before the Third World War? To a time before humans had even made any meaningful leaps beyond the boundaries of Earth, but were still fighting each other and entertaining various flavors of paranoia about threats from around the world as well as from others hidden among the stars? How dark were the chapters of human history that seemed destined to remain concealed from view and immune from judgment?
“I’ll take what I can get,” replied Beverly. “Whatever helps put this matter to rest forever is fine by me.”
In addition to excavating and transferring the remains of the three astronauts to the Enterprise, Presider Hilonu also had delivered to Picard all remaining personal effects and other artifacts taken from the three humans during their incarceration. There was precious little in the consignment, and according to Beverly almost nothing that might aid in providing definitive identification. This, coupled with the fragmentary prewar records of the early to mid-twenty-first century ensured that researchers and historians faced a formidable challenge. It also was a task that could not even commence until the astronauts’ remains were returned to Earth.
“I’ve asked Mister Worf to prepare a runabout for transport back to Federation space,” said Picard. “Three members of the crew are due for rotation, so they’ll serve as escorts for the remains, including those of Lieutenant T’Sona.” Starfleet observed rigid protocol when it came to the handling of remains, with procedures designed to accommodate numerous species as well as religious beliefs and personal preferences. While the rules were in place for those attached to Starfleet, extending them to cover any remains in the care of a starship’s crew was a long tradition. The three crew members Picard was sending aboard the runabout Roanoke would see to the proper transfer of the remains to a liaison from Starfleet Medical, who in turn would work with a civilian representative acting to identify the astronauts and see to it that they were interred in accordance with the wishes of any known descendant. Lieutenant T’Sona’s ashes would be escorted to her family on Vulcan. A memorial service for Lieutenant Austin Braddock was scheduled for later in the day, after which the security officer’s remains would be sent into space in accordance with his wishes.
“What happens if no one’s able to find a link to any relatives?” asked Beverly.
“Then the Federation Council will likely see to it that they’re given whatever final respects and honors are their due, which may prove to be its own unique challenge.” Given the astronauts’ role in this unfortunate chapter of both human and Eizand history, and despite their ultimate actions in defiance of everything that had led to their traveling to Sralanya, Picard suspected putting this matter to rest would prove to be politically sensitive.
I don’t envy the poor bureaucrat who’s about to inherit this rather sticky wicket.
“Captain Picard.”
Standing at the entrance to the room was Taurik. As always, his features were stoic, and he stood ramrod straight as Picard acknowledged him. “Commander.”
“I was informed you wished to see me immediately, sir.”
“That’s right.”
With a final glance to the urns, Beverly turned and left the room without another word, leaving the two men alone. Picard studied the Vulcan for another moment, deciding how he wanted to start this new conversation, but there was really only one thing to say.
Gesturing for Taurik to follow him from the conference room, Picard said, “I’m told that your assistance to Commander La Forge was invaluable. Your actions had a direct impact on the successful outcome of our mission. Thank you.”
Taurik bowed his head. “It was my duty, sir. I
know that by doing so, I disobeyed your orders to remain confined to my quarters. However, as the situation evolved I felt it prudent to—as I have heard it described—ask forgiveness, as I was unable to request permission.”
Hearing such an explanation from a Vulcan almost made Picard laugh, but he managed to fight back the impulse at the last instant. “Yes, Mister La Forge has already given me his side of the story. I will tell you what I told him: I will always value loyalty and initiative, Commander, particularly when it comes to the safety of this ship and its crew.”
Now standing in the middle of the sickbay’s patient examination area, Picard sighed. “I’ve never doubted your loyalty to me, Mister Taurik. Not really. My concerns with your current role are that you might be placed in an untenable position between two superior officers and forced to choose between contradictory orders. That’s unfair to you. However, I cannot discount the possibility that your unique knowledge may one day prove of vital importance as we continue our exploration of this region.”
“I am still unable to offer any insights about the information I saw in the Raqilan weapon ship’s computer files, sir. Admiral Akaar and the agents from the Department of Temporal Investigations were very clear on that point. Unless or until circumstances make it necessary, I am forbidden from disclosing any aspects of future events.”
Picard nodded in understanding. “Yes, I understand. Just as I trust your loyalty, Commander, I also have full faith in your judgment. This business with Admiral Akaar is mine to deal with, and it was improper of me to subject you to my frustrations. I hope you can forgive me.”
“I hold no animosity, Captain.” Taurik raised his eyebrow. “I would hope the reasons are obvious.”
Now Picard laughed. It was small and quiet, but needed, and he felt better for it. The strain of the mission and having to navigate the uncertain waters separating him from Admiral Akaar seemed to fade, if only a tiny bit.
“Somehow, Mister Taurik, we’ll figure this out, one way or another.” He gestured toward the sickbay’s exit. “You may return to duty, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir.” The Vulcan offered a final, formal nod before turning and exiting the room.
“Well, that was easy enough,” Picard said to no one, now that he was alone. He gave brief thought to dropping into Beverly’s office, but decided against that notion. There was still one more conversation to have.
• • •
“I’ve been reading your report, Captain. Given the mess you were dealt, you handled things exceptionally well. My compliments to you and your crew.”
Sitting behind the desk in his ready room, Picard stared at the face of Leonard James Akaar as displayed on his desktop computer screen. The admiral was sitting at the desk in his office back at Starfleet Headquarters on Earth, and Picard knew thanks to a computer query that it was very late in the evening in San Francisco, well after normal working hours. Despite the hour, Akaar seemed as fresh and alert as if he had just reported for duty. Only his expression gave away anything, along with the underlying tone of disapproval behind his words of praise. There could be little doubt as to what was bothering Akaar, so Picard opted to let the other man bring it up on his own terms.
“What of the astronauts’ remains?”
“The runabout Roanoke left the ship less than an hour ago. It’s a long journey back to Earth, but hopefully by then more information about their identities and activities can be confirmed.” Deciding there was nothing to lose from some gentle probing, Picard added, “I’m hoping that whatever resource provided you with insight into what we would encounter out here can also shed some light on these other questions.”
Akaar’s expression was cold and hard. “To be honest, this situation is one big jumble. Temporal Investigations is involved, but not because of anything relating to what you just went through. Even their records are stitched together from different sources, mostly owing to what they learned about alien activity and time travel here on Earth during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. You know about some of that, obviously.”
“Indeed I do, sir.”
“They’re the only group that seems to have anything resembling a full picture, but rest assured we have people combing through every file and computer record we can find. I’ve even sent a team to our classified archive at Aldrin City.” Akaar grimaced, seemingly at the very mention of that facility. “I’m almost afraid to hear what they might find up there. It seems like every time something comes out of that place, it makes our lives a lot more difficult.” The admiral’s expression seemed to grow even more dour. “I only wish that was the biggest problem I had to deal with right now.”
Uncertain as to where this was heading, Picard frowned. “I don’t understand, sir.”
Akaar leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he stared out from the screen. “Tell me about Min Zife, Captain.”
The request was so abrupt and so unexpected that Picard had no time to control his reaction. He felt his mouth open in shock in response to hearing the former Federation president’s name spoken aloud.
“What about him?”
Settling back in his chair, Akaar rested his hand on the desk. “He was removed from office. He didn’t step down for the good of the Federation and then disappear quietly into exile. That’s the story that was fed to the general public, but that’s not what really happened. The truth is that he was forced to abandon his office without due process, without articles of impeachment being presented, and without any sort of formal investigation into his actions. Yes, those actions were heinous and cost millions of lives, and President Zife deserved to face a trial for what he did and allowed others to do, but he was denied that, wasn’t he, Captain?”
Damn.
Picard supposed he should not be surprised. He had always known that this day would come and that the sins of his past would come forward demanding retribution. President Min Zife, during the Dominion War, had seen fit to arm the people of the planet Tezwa, an independent world near the Klingon border, as part of a fallback strategy should Federation forces find themselves retreating in the face of a Dominion advance. The act was a direct violation of the Khitomer Accords, to which both the Federation and the Klingon Empire had been signatories for decades. Such a breach, if discovered, would give the Klingons cause to declare war against the Federation, leaving massive sections of both the Alpha and Beta Quadrants ripe for conquest by other interstellar powers such as the Romulans and the Tholians. When the weapons were used years later against Klingon vessels, Zife and some of his trusted allies initiated a massive cover-up of their actions on Tezwa, attempting to steer blame for the attack away from the Federation and onto the Tholians. Only the actions of the secretive, renegade group Section 31 had uncovered the truth.
“With Zife’s crimes revealed and knowing that bringing them to public attention would only provoke the Klingons to retaliate against the Federation,” said Akaar, “you and a few other officers decided to take matters into your own hands.”
Picard nodded. “Reluctantly, but yes.” His voice was quiet and sounded feeble, even to his own ears. “At the time, it was believed that forcing President Zife to step down and allowing him to live in exile was the best course of action for the Federation.”
“It was a damned coup d’état. You forced him from office at the muzzle of a phaser. Yes, the ends were justified, but the means were deplorable, and despite your best efforts, the whole story’s public. Everything, Picard. It’s all out there, including all the players. The next time you’re able to access the Federation News Service, you’ll be able to read how Section 31 lied to your faces. Zife never went into exile, Captain. He and his collaborators were assassinated—murdered—right there in the Monet Room just as soon as he was done delivering his final speech.”
Picard blinked several times, unwilling to accept what he had just heard. “What?”
“Two centuries worth of Section 31’s dirty laundry has been tossed into the open, thanks to a nosy inv
estigative journalist who hit the mother lode. On any other day, I’d be happy, because it might just mean that group is finally getting what’s been coming to them for a long, long time. However, the list of people they’ve recruited, corrupted, blackmailed, and simply disposed of in order to continue their games behind the scenes is staggering. People in this building, Picard. Members of my own staff have been implicated. Respected officers, like Edward Jellico, William Ross, Alynna Nechayev, Owen Paris, and you.” The admiral shook his head. “You, of all people.”
“I’m not proud of my part in that affair, Admiral,” said Picard, “and I’m prepared to answer for my actions, but I did not suggest, sanction, or stand by while President Zife was assassinated. That was not part of the bargain.”
He had regretted his part in the ousting of a duly elected Federation president, regardless of the crimes of which he was guilty. There could be no denying the enormity of Zife’s transgressions and the very real possibility of all-out war with the Klingons. With extreme trepidation and the knowledge that he was acting for the greater good, Picard had gone along with the plan to oust the president and send him far away to live out the remainder of his life in obscurity. It was not a good choice, but it was—by far—a lesser evil than sentencing millions if not billions of Federation and Klingon citizens to death. That, at least, had been enough for Picard to swallow such a bitter pill, but murder? How had that even happened?
Section 31, of course.
Akaar continued to glare at him. “Yes, the information revealed so far shows that, so we can’t hang a charge of conspiracy to commit murder on you. That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods, though, not by a long shot.”
“Very well, Admiral.” It hurt Picard to even say the words. “Where do we go from here?”