by Dayton Ward
There was a noticeable pause before the first officer replied, “Understood, sir.”
“Captain,” Vale said, walking up to him with her phaser rifle cradled in both arms, “with seven of them in there, you’ll need another hand.”
Shaking his head, Picard replied, “Given the risks, I can’t allow that, Lieutenant.”
“Sir,” the security chief said, “Starfleet general orders require starship captains to be accompanied by an armed escort when entering a hazardous situation.”
Regarding her warily, the captain replied, “As I recall, that regulation only applies to officers of flag rank.”
Her eyebrow rising in almost Vulcan-like fashion as the hint of a smile teased the corner of her mouth, Vale’s voice nevertheless maintained a composed tenor. “Perhaps you’re right, sir. I’ll make it a point to review the manual when we’re finished here.”
There was no resisting the small smile creeping onto his own face. “Very well, Lieutenant. Let’s go to work.”
No sooner did the transporter beam release him than Picard exchange relieved looks with Vale, and he even made a show of patting himself down to ensure that nothing was missing.
“I seem to be in one piece,” he offered, remembering to keep his voice low so as not to attract the notice of anyone outside the office. Tapping his combadge, he said, “Picard to Enterprise. Excellent work, Mr. La Forge. Stand by for the next stage.”
“Good to hear your voice, Captain,” the chief engineer replied. “Standing by.”
“Vale to Commander Riker,” the security chief said into her own combadge, “We’re getting ready to move in, sir.”
“Understood,” Riker replied, and Picard noted the unfettered relief in the first officer’s voice.
Always the mother hen, the captain mused silently as he moved across the office of the first minister. The door leading to the council meeting chambers was closed, thankfully, offering the two Starfleet officers some small measure of concealment.
Picard could not keep himself from looking over the empty office, suddenly struck by the tragedy of its occupant’s loss. Hjatyn, by all accounts, had been a remarkable leader who had triumphed in the face of unimaginable strife. The legacy he had forged would live on for generations, especially if Picard himself had anything to say about it.
He felt his pulse quickening and his muscles tensing in anticipation, adrenaline beginning to fuel his body for the coming action. There was no reason to delay any longer, he decided. Taking a final look at the tricorder Vale had given him to pinpoint his first target, he nodded to the lieutenant.
“On three,” he whispered, then began to count and when he reached three he said, “Now, Mr. La Forge.”
At the same time Vale pulled the door open and Picard pushed out of the office, phaser rifle up and sighting in on the first Dokaalan he saw holding a weapon. His peripheral vision registered the telltale signs of transporter beams as sixteen columns of energy dissolved and disappeared, but he gave it no further thought as he fired without hesitation, the power level on his phaser set high enough that a single shot was more than enough to incapacitate his target.
Even as the first opponent fell he was firing at a second, and then he sensed Vale moving to his right and taking aim on another of the disguised Satarrans.
Then the room erupted into chaos as both sets of doors leading from the council chambers burst open and the Enterprise away teams flooded into the room. They began to spread out as they entered, weapons leveled on the five remaining Dokaalan. All five froze in place, obviously stunned at the sudden overwhelming nature of the assault.
“No!” Picard heard a voice yell, the one he now knew belonged to Lorakin, and the captain swung his phaser until the disguised Satarran, still presenting the image of First Minister Hjatyn, was centered in his sights.
“Enough!” he yelled, his finger beginning to depress the weapon’s firing stud, but it was obvious that Lorakin had been caught completely off guard by the swift and decisive raid. Defeat and anguish were clearly visible even in the artificially created Dokaalan maroon eyes as he raised his hands in surrender, allowing his own disruptor to slip from his fingers and clatter uselessly to the deck.
Taking a moment to regain some degree of composure, Lorakin nodded slowly. “Excellently played, Captain. We were under the clearly mistaken impression that your transporter systems were inoperative.” He motioned to his left forearm, which Picard knew was where the control pad for the Satarran’s mimicking shroud was located.
Picard nodded in assent and Lorakin touched his forearm. Immediately the façade of Hjatyn disappeared and was replaced by the now familiar black and silver exoskeleton. The Satarran next reached for his neck and pulled back the garment’s hood and mask to reveal his natural pinkish complexion. Narrow, golden eyes filled with pain and sorrow looked back at him.
“I will order my people to surrender immediately and without condition, Captain,” Lorakin said.
“And I will see to it that they are treated properly,” Picard replied. With members of Vale’s security team now flanking the Satarran leader, the captain lowered his own phaser rifle. To Vale and Riker he said, “Number One, please see to the rest of the operation. Alert Dr. Crusher of any injuries requiring her attention. Lieutenant, have the Satarrans transferred to detention on the ship. Since they’re going to be our guests until we get back to Federation space, make whatever long-term arrangements for their security and comfort you see fit.”
As the officers acknowledged their orders and set about their assigned tasks, Lorakin looked to Picard once more. “What will happen to us now, Captain?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Picard replied. As neither race was a Federation member, if the Dokaalan wished to hold the Satarrans and try them under their own system of justice, the captain was obligated to respect that decision.
Of course, considering the undeniable disruption to their leadership cadre caused by the Satarrans, they could well decide that restoring order to their own society took precedence over dealing with this band of criminals. Should that be the case, Picard would then remand the Satarran renegades to the nearest Federation starbase and let the Starfleet legal experts sort things out.
“And my people?” he asked. “What becomes of them?”
Stepping closer, Picard said, “As I said to you before, the Federation will almost certainly offer whatever assistance they are able, be it working to solve your homeworld’s environmental issues or relocating your people to another planet suitable for your species.”
Lorakin shook his head. “You would do all of that, despite what has happened here?”
As he signaled for the security officers to take the Satarran out of the council chambers and to one of the shuttlecraft for the transfer back to the Enterprise, Picard offered Lorakin a tired, humorless, saddened smile.
“Yes,” the captain said, “we will do all of that, because that is what we do.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“WELL, DATA,” LA FORGE SAID as he unhooked the optical cabling from the side of his friend’s head and closed the small access panel located beneath his hairline, “it’s official. Your neural net is completely repaired. Welcome back.”
“My own internal sensors would seem to agree with that assessment,” Data replied as he stepped out of his diagnostic alcove. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Coiling the optical cable so he could return it to his toolkit, the chief engineer smiled. “You know I couldn’t resist taking a look for myself.” In truth, Data’s own repair efforts, as laborious as they had been, had actually required little in the way of improvements. The android’s positronic network was now operating at its normal efficiency, and La Forge had found no signs of fault in any of the rerouting Data had done. His friend was as good as new.
“I have been meaning to ask,” Data said abruptly, “are you…all right?”
The question caught the engineer off guard. “What?”
“I
know that you were held captive by the Dokaalan and were forced to devise your own escape,” Data said, “but I have not yet inquired as to your condition. I am doing so now.”
“Wow,” La Forge said. “I mean, yeah, I’m fine, Data. Thanks for asking.”
Though he did not say so, he was relieved that his friend had posed the question. When they had begun their mission to the Dokaalan sector, he had been burdened with worries that without his emotion chip, Data would remain cold and uninterested in connecting with the crew on a personal level.
Not just the crew, La Forge admitted, but with me.
During his tenure on the Enterprise, he had developed many close friendships, many of which would endure long after his time on this vessel had passed. None of them, however, resonated with him as much as did the bond he shared with Data. With the removal of Data’s emotion chip, La Forge had worried that its sudden absence, after having been integrated with the android’s sophisticated network of software and positronic network for years, would have some sort of debilitating effect as his friend worked to adjust to life or, rather, functionality without the chip.
One of the most immediately noticeable aftereffects of the chip’s removal had been Data’s apparent loss of interest in many of the hobbies he had acquired over the years. By his own admission, the android no longer needed such diversions, opting instead to devote time once spent in pursuit of those activities to his regular duties.
Also noticeable was a lack of attachment to any personal recollections of past experiences. Data possessed memories of those instances, of course, but without the emotion chip he was now only able to recall them much like one would access information from a computer. Where was the camaraderie they had shared over the years? Was it gone forever, or at least until such time as Starfleet saw fit to return the chip to Data?
With but a single question, however, Data had alleviated some of that concern. Even if some parts of it would have to be re-created, La Forge was relieved to know that their friendship seemed to have remained intact.
“During the reconfiguration of my neural net,” Data said, recalling the engineer from his reverie, “I reviewed my internal archives, concentrating on the missions and experiences we have shared together.”
“Remembering the good old days?” La Forge asked, offering a smile as he spoke.
“That is an accurate analogy, yes,” the android replied. “I found that my review generated a sense of…familiarity. It is a response that seems to recur whenever we converse or perform our duties together. I wanted to acknowledge that to you.”
“Thanks, Data,” La Forge said, patting his friend’s shoulder as he dropped the optical cable back into his toolkit. “I like you, too.”
Cocking his head slightly to the left in that manner he employed when he was curious about something, Data asked, “Do you believe it is a result of low-level software modifications resulting from my prolonged use of the emotion chip?”
Pausing to consider the idea, La Forge finally shrugged after a moment. “I wouldn’t rule it out. It’s like I said before. There’s no reason to believe that the chip didn’t affect your entire positronic network while you were using it. When everything is said and done, it really isn’t anything more than hardware and software enhancement. Some residual effects to the overall system are likely, even after a single component’s removal.”
Data nodded in agreement. “I would like to test that theory by continuing to engage in activities of mutual interest. Perhaps after your evening meal, you would care to accompany me to the holodeck? I had intended to resume my review of the latest additions to the program database.”
“Sounds like a plan,” La Forge said, a mischievous smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Once more unto the breach, and all that?”
“Shakespeare,” Data replied as the pair began crossing the floor of engineering on their way to the exit. “But, Geordi, the program for Henry V has been on file since Stardate 43462.5. That is hardly new.”
There was no way for La Forge to resist laughing at his friend’s response. “Data, emotion chip or not, you’re still the best straight man I’ve ever known.”
“Thank you,” Data replied. “I think.”
Resilience.
The single word continued to resonate in Picard’s mind as he, Riker, and Troi stood in the chambers of the Zahanzei Council. All around him, the business of governing the Dokaalan colony was under way as those entrusted with the mantle of leadership forged ahead with the process of returning their society to something approaching normalcy.
Standing alone in the rear of the council chamber, Picard was content to wait for Myjerol, who had been appointed temporary first minister until such time as a new round of democratic elections could be held to replace the council members lost to the Satarrans. The captain could see that the Dokaalan was already quite busy even in his provisional role as the leader of his people. As he watched the procedures of governmental rule unfold around him, however, Picard became aware of someone moving to stand next to him. Glancing to his right, he saw the smiling face of Dr. Crusher.
“Credit for your thoughts,” she said.
Keeping his voice low, the captain replied, “I’m just standing here thinking that I’m leaving these people in a worse state than we found them.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Crusher asked, and Picard noted the shocked tone in her quiet voice. “If not for us, the Satarrans would still be using these people, for who knows how long before they finally decided the Dokaalan were of no more use to them. You saved this colony from monstrous treachery, Jean-Luc, and you’ve provided them with assistance that will help them realize their dreams generations ahead of schedule. That’s pretty good for one mission, if you ask me.”
“I did all of that?” he said, though his tone was teasing.
Crusher nodded. “You’re damned right. Not to mention the fact that you introduced them to a huge, wonderfully diverse universe surrounding them and, most of all, you proved that universe to be welcoming. You restored their hope, and it was wonderful to see.”
“I only hope Starfleet Command shares your confidence,” Picard said. He had not yet transmitted his report back to Earth, opting instead to wait until they had departed the colony and the Enterprise was free of the asteroid field. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a wan smile as he added, “It would be interesting to be there when Admiral Nechayev reads it. I’m sure she has several people already in mind with whom to share it.”
“To hell with Starfleet,” Crusher snapped, “and to hell with anyone who can’t see what you’ve done here. If that includes Nechayev, then so be it. I know the truth, and so does everyone on that ship and in this colony.”
She placed a hand on his arm and, in a reaction that was uncharacteristic of him, he allowed the gesture of affection to remain. A smile warmed his features as his gaze met hers, once again comforted by the compassion and support of this, one of his oldest and closest friends.
Perhaps, he decided, it was time to start allowing himself to be uplifted by such encouragement from the people he cared most about, rather than letting himself wallow in the shame and self-doubt that had come at the hands of bureaucrats and diplomats thousands of light-years away. Everything he needed to be certain of his decisions and actions was here now, with him.
“Thank you, Beverly,” he said, reaching over to pat her hand with his own.
Looking up, he saw Riker and Troi approaching. His first officer nodded to him. “The last shuttle just departed the colony, sir,” he said. “We’re the last ones.”
“Excellent,” Picard replied. “All that remains is to take our leave of the Dokaalan.” He indicated the council members and their various staff assistants milling about the large conference table. “I imagine they’re more than ready to return to something resembling their normal lives.”
Looking to the far side of the conference table, the captain watched as Minister Myjerol reviewed a rep
ort of some kind brought to him by one of his assistants. Once he was finished, he handed the report back to the other Dokaalan and turned to cross the chamber floor toward the Starfleet officers.
“As you can see,” the minister said, “we have much work ahead of us, but eventually all will be as it was.”
Nodding, Picard replied, “The Federation stands ready to assist you in any way possible, Minister. I have already contacted Starfleet and they have dispatched a team of engineering specialists who will help you see to any repairs required of the colony, as well as constructing more permanent facilities to see your people through until the terraforming process is complete.” The U.S.S. Musgrave, carrying a team from the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, would not be here for several more weeks, but when they arrived Picard knew that the group of engineering specialists would be more than able to see to the Dokaalan’s needs.
“I have also spoken with Healer Nentafa,” Dr. Crusher said. “He has provided me with all of the relevant medical information that will allow us to continue the research we’ve begun here. Perhaps one day, we will develop a medicine that will allow you to travel outside your system. I know the Federation would greet you with open arms.”
Myjerol smiled at that. “Nentafa has informed me of that, as well. He has even said that he already has volunteers to test any treatment you devise. Apparently, there are many who are willing to take such risk in order to see what lies beyond our own world.” Reaching out to take the doctor’s hand in his own, he added, “However, should that prove impossible, I would ask that you not consider it a failure on your part. Even if Dokaa decides that we are meant to remain here, your efforts on our behalf will not be forgotten.”
Her eyes welling up at the words, Crusher nodded respectfully. “Thank you, Minister.”
“You’ll also be happy to know that Terraform Command is sending out a team of experts,” Riker said after a moment. “Their mission will be to help ensure that the changes Ijuuka has been put through aren’t permanent or damaging, and they’ll continue what Data and your people have started.”