SPARTACUS

by T. L. MANCOUR

  “I’d be honored, Captain,” Jared said. With that, dinner broke up, Data taking the Vemlans in tow to begin the tour of the Enterprise, while Picard escorted Jared to his own quarters, and, as promised, produced a bottle of the Picard family vintage.

  Jared was staring out of the massive viewport that dominated his cabin at his own ship, glass in hand, while Picard relaxed on a low couch.

  “Captain, I congratulate you on your command,” Jared said. “You have a superb crew, and the Enterprise is all any commander could hope for in a ship. I must admit, I envy you. My own crew is enthusiastic, but . . .” he shrugged. “They lack a certain polish.”

  The admission surprised Picard. Throughout the meal, Jared had been militantly proud of his people and his ship. The frank admission was a good sign; perhaps the truth would come out.

  “Thank you. I think you underestimate your own crew, however. They seem to have come through . . . all they have admirably.”

  Jared turned, drink in hand, and looked Picard in the eye. “Don’t misunderstand me, Captain. I have a fine crew. How does your saying go—they have been to hell and back. But they weren’t cut out for this. Your crew is. Each one of them is an explorer at heart, in some fashion. In my crew there are only a few who can make that claim. Even my wife is more concerned with establishing a new world than in exploration, deep down.” He sighed. “After we find an adequate world to settle a colony, perhaps I can have a command such as yours . . .” He shook it away as if the wish might fully possess him. “But now I must lead my people away from the terrors of war and into a better future. A future we may have to build one stone at a time.”

  Picard nodded, and sipped at his wine. “You’ve made reference to this war that destroyed your planet several times, Captain Jared. I’d be interested in hearing more about it—what happened to you during it. What you were doing before you took command of the Freedom.”

  Picard had purposefully taken a calculated, dangerous first step, directly addressing what they had waltzed around all night. Perhaps here, in private, Jared would answer.

  The alien captain turned away from Picard to look at the stars. He stayed that way for a moment, then turned back.

  “I was a scholar, a researcher. Tasks a machine is eminently suited for, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Picard said nothing. He wanted to keep the burden of the conversation on the android captain.

  “My entire crew, as I’m sure your Mr. La Forge has told you, is composed of androids. Does that bother you, Captain?”

  “Not particularly,” Picard said. “I have worked with an android for several years now and have nothing but respect for him.”

  Jared almost smiled. “Yes, the unique Mr. Data. I, too, am impressed by him. He is very different from our kind, yet at the heart I think he is the same. An excellent piece of engineering. He was well designed.”

  “He is a good man,” Picard said quietly, remembering how he had gone to court to prove the point. While humanity had made great strides in conquering its fears and hatreds where its own and alien races were concerned, the almost-but-not-quite-human Mr. Data had brought those same undesirable feelings disturbingly close. Picard himself had wrestled with the problem of his own attitude toward Data. In the end, he treated Data as he would anyone else, with the respect due him for a job well done and with the friendship due to one who offered it freely. Data was a person, a comrade, and a friend, and Picard had no trouble justifying his defense of him as such.

  “Of course, Captain,” said Jared. “That was what I wanted to hear. Yes, Data is a man. Whether he is good or not is a matter of philosophical debate, but I am inclined to like him, as are my officers. Data is a man. This question has been a problem to my people. Not everyone feels the way you do about androids.”

  “Was that the reason for your evasiveness, then? A fear of bigotry?”

  Jared nodded, setting his glass of wine down on the table in front of Picard. “Put yourself in my position, Captain. Our creators laid an entire world to waste. We had no recourse except to leave and find a new planet. But the galaxy is a dangerous place, and we have heard tales of all manner of horrors. Imagine, if you will, what would have happened if a race like the Ferengi had found us. The Saren told us of their heartless merchantilism. My people are skilled and our ship is rich, by many standards. We would have become their property—to be sold at a profit.” He motioned towards the window, and his ship looming outside. “I had my crew to think of. We’ve come too far to be treated like machinery.”

  What Jared said was true, Picard had to admit; the number of unfathomable dangers in the galaxy made it as terrifying as it was wonderful.

  “I can appreciate your desire for caution. In your place I might have done the same.” He paused, sipping again, which gave him time to collect his thoughts. “But once we had offered to help you—why didn’t you tell us then?”

  “Two reasons. First, because we didn’t think of it as important. And second,” said Jared, grinning softly, “because you didn’t ask.”

  Picard smiled back. “True enough. How could you be expected to answer questions you weren’t asked?”

  “It would be similar to me becoming upset over the omission of your blood type in our first transmission. How does one bring up the fact that one is a machine in conversation? Seriously, Captain, I hope you will look beyond what power moves my hands and look to what thought inspires them to move.”

  Picard relaxed. “I understand. Let me ask a few more questions about you and your people, just so this type of misunderstanding won’t happen again.”

  “Certainly,” said Jared, taking a seat on the couch.

  “Tell me about the war you escaped—and tell me why you didn’t take any hum—organic Vemlans along.”

  The Freedom’s captain nodded. “I don’t know too much about the war, itself—I was stationed at a research base on Vemla’s outer moon.” Jared finished his drink and poured another glass. “I do know that it was very bloody. The fighting was between two rival political groups and took most of the planet by surprise. Our world had enjoyed over two hundred years of uninterrupted peace. The destruction was horrendous. Billions died. All sorts of terrible weapons were used. Including androids.” Jared closed his eyes and sighed. “Garan was specifically designed for battle—a prototype. It doesn’t take much intelligence to be a killing machine. When the Capitol was destroyed, and all was in chaos, we reprogrammed him to keep him from fighting. Kurta uses him in the hydroponic gardens when he isn’t needed for more physical tasks. But he is incapable of violence. He couldn’t hurt anything now.

  “The war eventually spread to the moons. The humans in our facility were killed one night by a virulent contaminant brought in by terrorists. We were all that was left. When we saw what the war had done to our home, we knew we couldn’t stay. So we took the Freedom—and we’ve been traveling ever since, looking for a place to settle.”

  “I believe I understand your actions now, Jared,” Picard said, deeply moved. He’d heard similar tales before, of races whose technology had outpaced their emotional growth. But the idea of a planet destroying itself was always horrifying. “It is . . . regrettable that your builders failed to come to terms with their aggression and political turmoil. It sounds as if they were very close to developing a truly civilized culture.”

  “They were. And I feel certain my people will not repeat their mistakes.”

  Picard nodded. For all their sakes, he hoped so.

  After the Vemlans returned to their ship, Picard headed to the bridge for one last look around before retiring for the day. As he entered the turbolift, he was joined by Riker, who had changed back into his standard uniform.

  “Did you learn anything important in your—interview?”

  The captain nodded. “Yes. I don’t think we have much to worry about from Captain Jared and the Freedom, Number One. They were merely concerned about our intentions. I believe them to be exactly what they said they were—refugees
in search of a place to settle.”

  “I’m still suspicious,” Will remarked, his brow knit in thought, “but I have to admit, they were delightful as dinner companions. Especially the executive officer—quite attractive.”

  “Yes, they were all very attractive,” Picard said, raising his eyebrows. He wasn’t immune to earthly beauty. “A credit to their . . . designers.”

  “It’s hard to dislike something that beautiful,” Riker admitted. “But that just makes me all the more suspicious.”

  The turbolift came to a stop and the doors whisked open. The bridge was quiet; only the Ops and helm consoles were occupied, though Worf was diligently checking the sensor relays. He glanced up, saw the captain, and spoke.

  “Sir, I’ve been realigning the sensor relays, and have discovered an anomaly.”

  Picard turned. “That’s hardly unexpected, Mr. Worf. The sensors still haven’t fully recovered from the storm.”

  “Yes, sir. I am aware of that. But this anomaly looks very much like another ship.”

  Picard raised an eyebrow. “Can you get a fix on it?”

  “Trying, sir,” Worf said, fingers stabbing at the console.

  “Whatever it is, it’s closing on our position,” Riker said, leaning over the Ops console.

  “Sir, a second ship has been detected,” Worf said, looking down at the tactical station. “No—four—six—a large group of ships in a tight formation.”

  Riker looked over the Ops panel. “They’re all traveling slowly, though—just at warp one.”

  “A fleet?” asked Picard, alarmed. “This far out in space? Can you identify it?” he asked his tactical officer. Peaceful craft tended to roam the sea of space singly. Large groups often meant trouble.

  Worf shook his head. “The computer couldn’t get a fix on it long enough to identify it. But it ruled out a number of possibilities. It isn’t a Federation, Klingon, Sirian, or Ferengi fleet of any known composition. The computer also ruled out the possibility of a Romulan fleet, in consideration of the small size and slow speed.”

  “That narrows it down. There are only another hundred or so known spacefaring races that it could be.” Picard took his seat. “Mr. Worf, what else do the scanners say about the fleet?”

  “The ships have impressive armament for their size. Seven capital ships of nine hundred thousand metric tones, with a number of smaller craft escorting them. Estimate they will intersect our position in approximately six hours.”

  “Let’s find out what they want then, shall we? Open hailing frequencies, Mr. Worf.” Picard cleared his throat. “Greetings. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets’ starship Enterprise.”

  There were a few moments of silence before any response came. When it did, it came without a visual aspect, as a slightly tinny vocal message.

  “This is Prefect Morgas, of the naval ship Vindicator. Stand by to be addressed by the Fleet Force Commander. Do you have visual capabilities?”

  Worf was still at his security console behind the command area. He seemed intent on the readings before him.

  “Yes, Prefect, we do,” Picard answered, warily.

  In moments the image of a tall, elderly man in a black, military-looking costume spread itself across the forward viewscreen. He was slightly built and had a severely hooked nose. Gold and silver medallions were pinned to his chest, though whether they were rank, insignia, or military decorations, Picard couldn’t tell. He held himself as one who expected to be obeyed in all things, yet was not overbearing. Picard’s overall impression was that the man was a hawk, a predator.

  The man smiled, a tight-lipped and stern expression. His eyes were bright and intense, but not necessarily friendly.

  “Greetings, Captain Picard. I am Force Commander Sawliru of the Vemlan navy.”

  Vemlan? Picard exchanged a troubled glance with his first officer. According to Jared, there were no more Vemlans. Perhaps they had been mistaken. Or perhaps, they had lied.

  “Force Commander,” Picard said. “I’ll get right to the point. We’ve noted you’re on course to intercept us and wonder what your intentions are.”

  “We are not violating your space, are we?” the man asked with a frown.

  Picard shook his head. “No, Force Commander, we are too far from the settled regions of Federation space to make any formal territorial declarations.”

  “If I might ask, then,” Sawliru interrupted, “what brings you this far out?”

  “We were simply exploring and mapping this territory when we had to pause for the storm.”

  “You weren’t damaged, were you?” Sawliru asked. “We would be glad to offer assistance—”

  “No, thank you for your offer. We are just finishing up repairs. We should be on our way before long.”

  “Then I wish you a safe journey, Enterprise.” He made a motion to cut the transmission, but Picard’s insistent voice stopped him.

  “Force Commander, I am still curious about your present course. Why are you coming so close to us?”

  The other man smiled nonchalantly. “There is a stray robot freighter near your position. Something went wrong in the programming and it wandered off course. Nothing major. We’re just going to collect it and go on our way.”

  There was a silence on the bridge. Picard took a deep breath. “My apologies, Commander. We know of only one ship in our vicinity, and it is not a robot freighter. Our sensor equipment is very accurate. Could we be of assistance locating the ship you are seeking?”

  Sawliru glanced at something or someone offscreen for a moment.

  “No, Captain, I think we have the ship we want. It’s a prototype cargo vessel, the Conquest. She lies about seven hundred kilometers away from your port bow.”

  This time it was Picard’s turn to frown. “Force Commander, there is a ship in that position, but it isn’t a robot freighter. It’s the exploration ship Freedom. I enjoyed dinner with her captain just tonight.”

  Something troubling but indefinable flashed across Sawliru’s face. “The Freedom, is it? Captain, that ship was commissioned the Conquest not over ten months ago. Whoever told you otherwise was lying to you.”

  “Strong language, Force Commander,” Picard said, raising his eyebrows. “You said that it was a robot freighter, yet my second officer toured her extensively and tells me that it is definitely a crewed colonization ship.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he did. Not that I’m doubting your second officer’s opinion, but there are . . . things that he doesn’t know about that ship.”

  “Indeed,” said Picard, again raising an eyebrow. “And what might these things be?”

  There was a momentary pause as the Force Commander chose his words. Then, with a decisive gesture, he spoke. “Captain,” the Force Commander said deliberately, “the Conquest is crewed entirely by machines. There are no people on board at all.”

  The Vemlan Force Commander leaned back, waiting for Picard’s expression of shock. It never came.

  “We are aware of that, Commander,” Picard replied nonchalantly. “Your point, if you please.”

  Picard watched as Sawliru’s face became the battleground of conflicting emotions. He seemed as if he was both excited about the discovery and disappointed with Picard’s response. He started to speak, then stopped, then started again, and again stopped. Finally, he collected his thoughts and proceeded more calmly, and his voice took a decidedly demanding tone.

  “Captain, that ship and those androids are property of the Vemlan government. The fleet that I command has been sent to reclaim them.”

  Chapter Five

  SAWLIRU’S WORDS HUNG heavily in the air between the alien commander and the captain of the Enterprise.

  “Is there a problem, Captain Picard?”

  “I sincerely hope not,” Picard said. “One minute, please.” He signaled to Worf to cut off the transmission.

  “Somebody is lying here, Captain,” Riker said, coming up behind him. “And right now it looks to be
the androids. Obviously, if that’s the Vemlan fleet out there, all the Vemlans weren’t killed in that war Jared talked about.”

  “If there was a war at all,” Worf interjected.

  “So how did Jared and his crew get hold of that ship?” Picard wondered.

  “We know their version of the story,” Riker said. He nodded toward the viewscreen. “Why don’t we get his?”

  Picard nodded, and indicated to Worf he should reopen communications. “Commander,” he began, “if the crew manning the Freedom were your androids, how did they escape your control?”

  While he was speaking, a soft hiss sounded and out of the corner of his eye he saw Data, summoned by Riker, appear from the turbolift. He glanced momentarily at the screen and made his way to science one. The significance of who and what he was, was apparently lost on Sawliru, Jean-Luc decided. He was too busy with debate for close inspection of the background.

  “They are criminals,” Sawliru stated firmly. “In addition to other crimes, they have pirated a very valuable spaceship and stolen priceless equipment and art away from our planet. The Vemlan people demand their return, and our governing council has sent me to conduct their will.”

  “You claim these androids are your property, then?” Picard asked.

  “Of course. Is not your ship property?”

  “Commander, there are some races that see human lives as valuable property,” Picard explained. “We in Starfleet and the Federation, which we represent, do not see any sentient beings as property or chattel.”

  “They are machines, not people,” Sawliru insisted. “We designed them, we created them, we programmed them, and they have malfunctioned. Because of them countless lives have been lost. However, Captain, their sentience is not the issue here,” he replied. “I am coming after what I have been sent for.”

  “In several hours, perhaps; you must get here first. We shall speak again on this matter. Enterprise out.”

  The image of the hawk-faced man disappeared in a blink, to be replaced by the glowing starfield. Picard stood up from his chair, stretched his arms slightly, and continued to stare at the screen, where only the stars broke the blackness. “Number One, I want to see you and Mr. Data in my ready room in five minutes.”