by Dayton Ward
“Interesting,” Jodis said, casting his eyes toward the deck as though pondering this new information. When he looked up again, he once more regarded the Golvonek guards before staring at Picard. “If that is true, then you can be certain the Raqilan military leadership will be most interested in learning all they can from your officers.”
Picard nodded, understanding his unspoken meaning. At this point in time, the Arrow’s construction would be a secret, with everyone involved operating under strict security protocols, and it would have to be that way for the next several decades in order for the ship to avoid discovery by the Golvonek. In his view, concealing the ship’s existence for such a lengthy period of time was nothing short of astounding, but the truth of its construction would likely be revealed in short order.
“Are my people safe?” he asked. “Will they be well treated?”
Jodis’s eyes narrowed. “They will be questioned.”
“Questioned? Do you mean interrogated? Tortured?” As he posed the questions, Picard watched Jodis’s female companion move to stand behind her leader. Though she said nothing, her attention was riveted on him.
“We do not torture prisoners, Captain,” Jodis replied. “That said, our interrogation techniques can be quite persuasive. However, your officers will no doubt be something of a curiosity to our people, though I suspect there also will be an element of fear present, as well, given that you are the first beings we have ever encountered from beyond our star system. Our people as well as the Golvonek will have many questions, particularly with respect to your vessel’s offensive capabilities.”
“I for one hope that a demonstration of those capabilities will not be required,” Picard said. “That is not why we are here.” His comments elicited a disbelieving expression from Jodis’s crewmate, but as before, she remained silent. It was obvious that Jodis alone would speak for them.
“Captain, surely you understand that both my people and the Golvonek will be suspicious about your motives with respect to the other side. Are you colluding with us, or them? Are you inclined to show bias toward them, or us?”
Picard replied, “That is why I have requested an audience with leaders from both your worlds. I have no doubt that your conflict is complex, and I certainly don’t presume to tell you how best to resolve it, but my ship and my crew will not become a part of it.”
His laughter echoing in the room, Jodis exchanged glances with his companion. “Not become a part of it? Captain, you are already a part of it, and your efforts to revive us have alerted the Golvonek to our presence here. It is likely that the impacts of that are only just now beginning to be felt.”
That reality, and its ensuing Prime Directive implications, had troubled Picard from the moment it became clear that the Arrow was not simply an abandoned derelict. The situation was now even more muddled and getting more so with each passing moment. Had the Enterprise not come across the weapon ship, it was not unrealistic to presume that the massive vessel would have continued to drift for decades before being discovered. Perhaps it would never have been found, at least not by the Golvonek or the Raqilan, before their unrelenting conflict succeeded in destroying both worlds. Was that what was meant to happen? Had the Arrow been fated to wander in the void, undisturbed? Its mission an abject failure as the Golvonek and Raqilan obliterated one another?
It really doesn’t matter now, does it?
The time for discretion with respect to the Golvonek and the truth behind the Arrow was coming to a close, Picard knew, and particularly if Mynlara believed what Jodis had told her about his mission. Even if she doubted the Raqilan, which would be understandable, she still would pass on that information to her superiors. How they might react was anyone’s guess, but if the Raqilan of this time period were monitoring those communications, then someone aware of the weapon ship’s construction might well be taking action at this moment to protect its secrets.
Picard had been forced to conclude that while such matters likely would be discussed for years once this incident was concluded—regardless of the outcome—such debate and analysis would be put forth by minds far better than that of a simple starship captain. For now, more pressing concerns demanded his attention. The damage had already been done with respect to whatever might be the normal course for the Golvonek and the Raqilan from this point forward, and the only options now left to him involved mitigating that damage and safeguarding his ship and crew.
“We will find a means to reach a mutual understanding,” Picard said. The words did not quite sound hollow to his ears, but he could not deny the doubt beginning to manifest itself within. “Fleet Legate Mynlara has told me that your leaders are attempting to forge a peaceful, diplomatic solution. It’s obvious that both sides want to end this war. While we cannot ally ourselves against one of your worlds, we can help you to end the hostilities. Help me to do that, Jodis.”
The Raqilan replied with another small laugh. “During our training, there were those who put forth the idea that history cannot be changed, that our fates are sealed.” He gestured around the room. “If that is true, then will all of this not happen again?”
“If you really believed that,” Picard countered, “would you have accepted command of this vessel and the mission you were given?” Was he sensing some narrow sliver of common ground forming between them?
Jodis smiled. “You are a wise man, Captain. Perhaps there is hope, for all of us.”
20
Text on the computer screen was beginning to blur together. Her eyes ached from fatigue, and it required physical effort to keep her head from falling onto her desk. How long had she been sitting here, staring at what was supposed to be her latest status report for her superiors at Directorate Command? Mynlara did not want to look at the chronometer, afraid to see just how little of her scheduled sleep cycle remained before she was to report for her next duty shift.
Command has its rewards, she reminded herself, but also its price.
It was not the reports themselves that were tiring, or even time-consuming. As it happened, senior officers within the command hierarchy of the Protective Directorate had neither the time nor the inclination to become mired in missives of great length or specificity. Instead, they tended to delegate the consumption and summarization of lengthier narratives to luckless subordinates. Conversely, those same leaders demanded frequent updates to remain informed about the activities of their field commanders. Therefore, while the substance of the reports she submitted might have decreased as her career progressed, the sheer number of them had proliferated to the point that it seemed Mynlara’s every waking moment was devoted to their composition and transmission.
Every waking moment, her exhausted mind repeated as she pushed herself away from her desk, and many of the other moments, as well.
Crossing to the table that served as the dining area in her private quarters aboard the Calkurizar, Mynlara refreshed her stein from the decanter of herbal brew provided earlier in the evening by her aide. Though the drink was no longer hot, it still retained much of its flavor.Mustering the energy to return to her desk, she paused to increase the room’s lighting. When she had started her work, Mynlara thought the reduced illumination would allow her to relax after the events of the day, but the effect was proving detrimental, as evidenced by her increasing inability to remain focused on the tasks before her. Sleep would provide the restorative result she needed, but for now that was an option that must remain tantalizingly out of reach. As she sipped from the stein, Mynlara sighed while purposely looking away from her bed in the room’s far corner, as she knew it would remain empty for some time yet.
She had not made it back to her desk when the shrill chirp of the door alert echoed across the room. Glancing in that direction, she saw the indicator light above the entrance glowing pale orange, signifying the presence of a visitor outside her quarters. Who would be calling on her during her scheduled sleep shift? If
there was an emergency or other matter demanding her attention, the duty officer on the Calkurizar’s command deck would have contacted her directly through the communications system. So, what was this? With a grunt of minor irritation, Mynlara reached for the intercom control on her desk. The small screen embedded into the panel showed her a visual feed from outside the door, revealing the image of Foctine Vedapir.
Without replying, Mynlara pressed another control and her door opened to admit her second-in-command. As was almost always the case, he and his uniform appeared ready for a formal inspection, despite his having to work for several linmertu after the end of his scheduled duty shift. He had not even removed his sidearm, and she knew from experience that were she to inspect the weapon, it would be as immaculate in appearance and function as its wielder.
“You wished to see me, Fleet Legate,” he said, pausing just inside the doorway. For the briefest of moments, his eyes shifted to look toward her bed, and Mynlara saw the slight change in his expression. There was a small intake of breath, and she worried if he had come to her quarters with an agenda of his own. Despite his exemplary career, the one potential obstacle to Vedapir’s advancement was his occasional misstep with respect to separating professional and personal relationships. Mynlara had almost fallen prey to his charms before rebuffing his overtures and making it clear to him that, since he was her subordinate, a romantic liaison with him was out of the question. To his credit, Vedapir had conducted himself in proper fashion since that incident, with both agreeing to mark it as a shared, passing error in judgment. Thankfully, his fleeting distraction seemed to fade before he returned to her his full attention.
“I am completing my latest status report for Directorate Command,” Mynlara said. “You have to wonder what our superiors are thinking. To say that we are dealing with events that are unprecedented seems to be minimizing their significance.” Meeting representatives from not one but many civilizations hailing from worlds orbiting distant stars, was nothing short of exhilarating. Despite her best efforts, Mynlara had been unable to keep much of her excitement out of the official report she had already transmitted. At first, she was concerned that her superiors might not believe her account, but the images and scan data she had included with her statement should be more than enough to convince the senior leadership that today had borne witness to a momentous, historic occasion.
“Have you received a reply from Directorate Command?” Vedapir asked.
Mynlara nodded as she directed him to the chair situated next to her desk. “Yes. Naturally, they are very troubled by my report.” She had dispatched her initial account soon after her first formal meeting with the human captain and the Raqilan discovered in cryogenic suspension. Balancing the need to observe her orders and duty with respect to the Raqilan battleship and its crew along with the necessity of interacting with Picard was proving quite the challenge. She was struggling against being overwhelmed by the dual pressures, and the guidance she had received from her superiors back on Uphrel had only added to her burden.
After settling into her proffered seat, Vedapir said, “There is much to consider. That the Raqilan have constructed a vessel of such power is troubling enough, but couple that with our first meeting with another interstellar power? The potential for the war to shift against us to the point that victory will be forever out of our reach?” He shook his head. “I would be dishonest if I said that such thoughts did not fill me with great dread.”
As she studied her still-warm cup of herbal brew, Mynlara considered and understood the foctine’s anxiety. There were aspects of their current situation that unsettled her, as well. “The weapon ship certainly represents a grave threat to our security. If the Raqilan are capable of attacking us from the future, then I fear the war is already lost. Why confront us directly when they can simply circumvent history itself?”
“You do not believe this fantasy Jodis communicated to us?” asked Vedapir, making no attempt to conceal his disdain. “Traveling through time is fodder for children’s stories.”
Sighing, Mynlara placed her cup on the desk. “Yesterday, I would have agreed with you, but Captain Picard has told me that they are able to verify Jodis’s claims. Also, you must admit that the technology we observed aboard the ship is far more advanced than anything we know the Raqilan to employ.” She had studied several examples of the systems and equipment harbored aboard the Poklori gil dara, and there was no denying that much of what she had seen bore only slight resemblance to technology she knew the Raqilan possessed. The computer interfaces were of particular note, linked as they were to what could only be a sophisticated information management apparatus of far greater ability than anything she had ever seen. As for Picard, the captain had offered to make available evidence collected by his crew which would validate the admittedly odd notion that the vessel had come from the future, at a point in which her people were still at war with the Raqilan, and both worlds had borne the brunt of generations of unremitting conflict.
The idea that hostilities would continue beyond her own projected lifespan and do lasting if not irreversible damage to her planet and those still living upon it threatened to make Mynlara ill. Did it mean the peace negotiations currently under way would prove futile? She presumed there would be further discussions as cycles passed, until one or both sides finally decided that there would never be peace, and all energy and focus would instead be directed toward victory and one civilization’s total vanquishing of the other.
Vedapir asked, “Even if such a feat were possible, what would be their ultimate objective?” He gestured toward the wall of Mynlara’s quarters and in the general direction of the Poklori gil dara. “Destroying Uphrel makes no sense, as the planet itself even now is resource rich. If what Jodis said is true, and they originally traveled back in time to a point before the war began, then such an attack would be further steeped in madness.”
“I agree,” Mynlara replied. “The very idea seems ridiculous.” Though Jodis had not revealed the details of his mission, such an action would not be consistent with Raqilan strategy, which included among its many hallmarks consistency, patience, and efficiency with a pronounced emphasis on avoiding waste of personnel or resources. From the large, more common campaigns waged ship to ship in the void separating their homeworlds to the occasional skirmishes that took place on the system’s other planets and moons as each side vied for territory and resources, the Raqilan military prided itself on how it expended such assets in proportion to the objectives achieved. Every weapon, every foot soldier, every last piece of equipment was utilized to its maximum potential for maximum gain, and not simply cast as fodder into the heat of battle.
“What would be the point of obliterating Uphrel,” she said, “and particularly doing so at a point a hundred cycles in our past? If that truly was Jodis’s mission as a means of somehow preventing the war, then why not travel even further back, to a time before we had settled there?” Even then the idea seemed ridiculous, so what was the Raqilan objective here? The only thing that seemed at all plausible to Mynlara was that the Poklori gil dara was meant to be the ultimate deterrent. Had it been sent back to a point before the war’s onset? Was it a warning to the Golvonek and possibly also the Raqilan that the conflict in which they soon would embroil themselves would result in the eventual, tragic devastation of two entire worlds? Was it possible that the Raqilan would, in cycles to come, decide that their decision to incite the war was a dreadful mistake to be undone and perhaps even prevented by any means available?
If that were true, then there might be hope for us all. Somehow.
“The only way to know for certain,” Vedapir said, “is to interrogate Jodis and his crew, though I suspect getting them to divulge any useful information will take considerable time.” Then, his voice lowering, he added, “Assuming the proper conventions are observed, of course.”
He did not need to elaborate for Mynlara to understand his veiled reference. Am
ong the many agreements to which Golvonek and Raqilan leaders had agreed to with respect to the conduct of war were several pacts regarding the treatment of prisoners. Indeed, the rules had raised no small amount of cynical commentary among the military ranks, in that diplomats seemed able to agree on anything that prolonged the conflict, but nothing that might bring about its end. Both sides had pledged that the handing of prisoners as well as other noncombatants and civilians always would be carried out with utmost dignity and benevolence. For the most part, those guidelines had been observed, with violators punished in accordance with the penalties established for such behavior.
“You and I have discussed this before,” Mynlara said. “There is no place for anything other than the ‘proper conventions.’ Even after everything that has happened, the Raqilan understand that, as well.” Mynlara supported the prisoner accords, believing that such acts of consensus communicated a deeper desire to seek the ultimate, peaceful end to the war, even if both sides seemed incapable of finding further common ground. Though she carried out her duties and obeyed her superiors in keeping with her oath as an officer, there were occasions when she found herself outraged at the apparent unwillingness of military and civilian leadership to reach a final, lasting peace between the two worlds.
Vedapir clasped his hands and rested them in his lap. “Still, we now face most unusual circumstances.”
“If we abandon our principles at the first sign of adversity,” Mynlara countered, “then they are not principles worth upholding. That would seem especially so now, given that we have been contacted by beings from other worlds.”
“About that,” Vedapir said. “What are you going to do about the newcomers? Do you believe their captain can be trusted?”
It was a fair question, Mynlara knew, and one she would expect him to ask. “He has presented himself as one deserving of such trust. Our probes of their vessel tell us that if he had wanted to destroy our ships, he could have done so with little effort.”