
THE CAPTAINS' HONOR
Prologue
Silence.
That is the one overriding characteristic of space
--not the immensity, or the beauty of the
star-flecked blackness, but the silence.
The M'dok battleship Restoration
drifted soundlessly into orbit around Tenara, a
shining speck in the ebony void.
On the command deck, however, there was the sound of
playful chatter.
"Our greatest victory," commented the
helmsman.
The captain nodded. "If this raid
succeeds," he promised, sinking back onto
his command cushion, "the heads of our victims will
adorn your cabins for twelve twelvedays."
"Great honor," the weapons officer
purred. "Just three twelvedays ago, my
year-wife bore a new litter. The little ones
will enjoy the delicacies we bring them, I
think."
Even now, the captain knew, back home
all the M'dok little ones were yowling with hunger.
Time was growing ever shorter for all his people.
A stranger looking at the M'dok captain
would see none of this tension. They would note
only his ramrod-straight posture, the
polished sheen of his uniform and blaster, and, if
they were conversant with M'dok culture, the
orange and green horizontal banding around his
neck that marked him as one of the higher caste.
If they were not conversant with M'dok culture,
they might easily mistake the captain for a
member of any of the other feline races common
to so many class-M planets. Which would be a
mistake--for unlike the other, more typically
gentle feline races, the M'dok had once
ruled this entire quadrant of space. Ruled
with an iron fist--that is, until the coming of the
Federation had robbed them of their colonies, and
confined them to their own stellar system. Now, with this
ship, the captain intended to put right that ancient
wrong.
"Alarm," said the sensor officer suddenly,
his back arched. "A starship is approaching,
falling into orbit from one-eleven."
"They request we identify ourselves," added
the communications officer.
"Radio silence!" the captain snapped.
"Categorize."
"Federation--constitution-class starship,"
replied the sensor officer. "Considerably
smaller than our vessel, sir."
As we expected. The captain nodded
with a smile of satisfaction.
The Restoration was larger, more powerful than
all but the great Galaxy-class starships of the
Federation, and there were only a handful of those.
Too few to waste on such a backwater
planet, certainly.
He studied the readouts in front of him,
scratching the edge of the console absentmindedly.
Power-consumption levels indicated that the
Restoration outgunned the starship by a factor
of at least four to one.
Disappointing. It won't even be a
fight.
His officers crouched over their stations
expectantly, awaiting their captain's
orders.
"Sir!"
It was the communications officer who had spoken
--a disturbing breach of protocol, considering his
youth and inexperience.
The captain turned, ready to admonish the
young officer.
The communications post was at the rear of the great
open command area. The youth was standing there, back
to his captain, his tail straightened, his
posture indicating great agitation. "The starship
has identified itself as the Centurion!"
At once the captain felt the fur on the
back of his neck rise. All thoughts of
censuring the youth were gone, replaced by an
excitement he knew the rest of his crew shared.
The Centurion. To destroy this ship
...
There could be no better way to prove to the
Highest of M'dok the worth of the Restoration
--and its captain.
He sprang off his command cushion and stalked
the length of the deck to the weapons officer's
side.
"Unsheathe our weapons, but wait for my
order to strike."
"Aye."
"Another request for identification, sir,"
the communications officer reported.
"Do we have visual?" the captain asked.
"Yes, Captain."
"Then put it on-screen!" the captain
snapped.
The view of space at the front of the
M'dok command area disappeared--to be replaced
by the image of a human, sharp-featured, of
middle age, in what the captain assumed was
Starfleet uniform.
"... repeating our request that you identify
yourselves. This is Captain Lucius Aelius
Sejanus of the Centurion."
The M'dok captain leaned forward.
Sejanus himself, and the Centurion. Even
within the M'dok Empire, cut off by the
accursed Federation from galactic civilization
these past two hundred years, the victories
of this captain, of this ship, were well-known. The
defeat of the J'ationakan convoy, destruction of the
Romulan war fleet in the Adharan system
...
Yes, the Centurion would be a worthy
opponent and a most worthy test for the
Restoration.
"Very well, Captain Sejanus," the
captain said softly. "We will identify
ourselves." He clamped a hand on the weapons
officer's shoulder. "Full phasers ...
now!"
The weapons officer pulled the phaser lever.
Triple bolts of red-yellow light seared the
darkness ...
... and disappeared harmlessly into the Tenaran
atmosphere.
"What happened?" the captain hissed
angrily.
The weapons officer looked as angry at
himself. "They dodged, sir, and disappeared."
"So quickly? Where?"
The sensor officer scratched his cushion in
frustration.
"Sensor traces indicate that they entered the
atmosphere, sir, but I can no longer track
them."
"The atmosphere ..." the captain said
thoughtfully. "Perhaps we struck them after all?"
"Possible," said the sensor officer, "but
unlikely."
Then he yowled, "Directly below us,
sir!"
"Helm--hard left! Fire phasers
again!"
The Restoration shuddered as the engines and
artificial-gravity units whined--but it
escaped the photon torpedo fired by the
Federation ship.
"They just sent a tight-beam subspace
transmission," the communications officer
reported. "A call for assistance."
"It will do them no good," replied the
captain. "Helmsman, take us out of orbit
--put some hunting distance between us."
The Restoration leapt ahead, leaving the
Federation ship still mired in Tenara's
atmosphere and gravity well.
"Sejanus has earned his reputation," the
captain acknowledged. "But a reputation will do
no good against this ship."
"Picking them up ahead of us," the sensor
officer said.
Now the main viewscreen was filled with the
image of space--and ahead of them, the
Centurion, a silver dot, moving slowly,
erratically around the planet below.
"It appears we struck them after all," the
sensor officer said. "My readings indicate
loss of warp-speed capability, power output
in their engineering section down by fifty percent."
"Close on them," the captain said harshly.
He savored the moment, committing it to memory,
so that for years to come he could tell of his defeat
of the Federation's greatest warrior.
The captain turned his back on the weapons
officer and took up his seat on the command
cushion. "Once we are within range, you have
my leave to destroy them."
"Then Tenara will be ours for the taking."
Chapter One
According to the regulations manual he had so
recently finished reviewing, a starship
bridge officer receiving an emergency call for
assistance should pass the message on to the
senior officer on the bridge in a calm,
detached manner.
But when Lieutenant Worf received the
distress signal from the Centurion, he
responded not in the manner of the trained
Starfleet professional, but as a
Klingon warrior with a thousand generations of
warrior blood running through his veins.
In other words, he yelled.
"Commander Riker!"
The Enterprise's first officer, who had
been sitting conversing amiably with ship's
counselor Deanna Troi, started forward in
his chair.
Worf immediately realized he had spoken rather
louder than he'd intended, and made a
distinctive effort to calm down.
By the book, Lieutenant, he told
himself. By the book.
"Sir, I am receiving a request for
assistance from the USS Centurion. She is
in orbit around Tenara and is coming under heavy
attack from an unknown assailant."
Riker jumped to his feet. "Data, how
soon can we get there?"
At the ops console, the android lieutenant
spoke calmly and precisely. "Two hours
minimum, sir, at top warp speed. At our
present rate, two days."
"Damn," Riker muttered. "Maximum
warp, then. Immediately."
"Warp nine-point-six--aye, sir."
Worf knew the commander's thoughts paralleled
his own. Even at maximum warp, we'll be
there in time to do nothing better than pick up the
pieces. If there are any. Worf felt the
subtle sensation throughout his body as the ship
accelerated.
Riker turned to Worf again. "Send a
message to the Centurion that we're on the
way."
Worf complied as Riker touched the fleet
insignia on his chest and spoke again.
"Captain Picard, to the bridge."
"The Centurion," Worf said after he had
completed the transmission. "Captain
Sejanus' ship."
Riker nodded. "Let's hope we get there
in time."
All ships, all lives, were equally
valuable, but it was difficult to believe that a
ship and a commander so famous for daring exploits,
so apparently invulnerable, could be destroyed.
That can't happen to legends, Worf thought--
but of course he knew better.
There were numerous examples of just such
occurrences quoted in the Starfleet regulations
manual.
When the call came, Jean-Luc Picard
was sleeping in his cabin. Riker's voice
requesting his presence on the bridge brought him
awake instantly. As Picard's eyes
opened, he was sliding off the bed. He pulled
on his boots quickly, but without wasteful haste.
Other than his boots, he was fully
dressed he had learned years ago that it was
wisest to nap fully clothed and lying atop the
covers rather than under them. At first he had found
his naps less than re/l, but he'd adjusted
and realized the truth in the old saying that a
starship captain is always on duty.
Minutes later, the turbolift doors
whooshed open and Picard stepped out onto the
bridge. Riker turned quickly at the sound.
"Captain."
"What is it, Number One?" Picard's
eyes swept over the bridge, noting the
quiet efficiency of his crew.
"We just received a distress signal, sir."
Riker turned. "Lieutenant Worf, play
that message again."
The scene of onrushing stars on the forward
viewer vanished, replaced by a hugely
magnified view of a man. Behind him, Picard
could see busy movement, figures passing from
one side to the other, and crew positions much like
those on the bridge of the Enterprise. The man
himself was stiff, erect, proud, his gray hair
cropped close to his head.
"This is Captain Lucius Aelius
Sejanus of the USS Centurion," he
said, his voice beautifully modulated and
resonant, each word carefully formed. "We
are in orbit about the planet Tenara and have just
come under attack by a powerfully armed unknown
assailant. I request immediate assistance from
any Federation or allied vessel within range
of Tenara. If you are unable to come to our aid,
I request that you pass this message along to the
nearest Federation starbase or outpost." The
image faded, replaced by the starfield.
"Lucius Sejanus," Picard said
softly. He stared at the screen for a long
moment, as if fascinated by the afterimage in his
mind. Finally he tore his eyes
away. "Status, Number One?"
"We received that message about fifteen
minutes ago, sir. We increased to top warp
speed immediately, but even so we won't reach
Tenara for almost two more hours. I'm afraid
we might get there too late to help."
Picard nodded. "Still, Number One, your
swift action maximizes the chance that we'll be
able to do some good. Does Captain Sejanus
know we're coming?"
"We sent out a response immediately, sir,
but there's been no reply."
The implications of that hung in the air. After
a moment, Picard managed a half-smile.
"If anyone in Starfleet has a chance of
surviving such an attack, Number One,
it's Captain Sejanus and the Centurion."
He wheeled about, heading for the captain's ready
room off the main bridge. "I'll want
to see all staff officers in the meeting room
in half an hour. And let me know the instant
you hear anything from the Centurion."
"Tenara," Jean-Luc Picard said,
"lies on the frontier between the Federation and the
M'dok Empire. The Tenarans requested
membership in the Federation seven years ago, but
it's only within the last year that they were able to join
us. The delay was caused by M'dok objections
to what they saw as the Federation's expansion
into their sphere of influence. The situation was
resolved only by years of delicate
negotiations." Picard stood, and began pacing
back and forth in front of the spectacular view
of the onrushing starfield that dominated the meeting
room. His senior officers--Riker, Data,
Worf, Chief Engineer Geordi La
Forge, and ship's counselor Deanna Troi
--were seated around the conference table in front of
him.
"One very important item of the treaty between
us regarding Tenara," the captain went on,
"is that, while Tenara is a full member of the
Federation, we will continue to regard the surrounding
space as unclaimed territory. Recently,
however, the Tenarans have come under attack--
by hostile ships we believe to be M'dok."
"So nothing has changed, has it,
Captain?" Geordi said bitterly.
"They're still up to their old tricks.
We negotiate with them, but it does no good.
A peace treaty doesn't mean anything
to them."
"The present situation is still quite different from
open warfare," Picard cautioned. "And you must
remember that the treaty their empire signed with the
Federation almost two hundred years ago was
imposed on them by us. It has never sat well
with them. By that treaty, we allow them only
police ships, to keep peace within the small
space they still control."
He looked at the assembled officers one
by one. "I know that the feeling is widespread and
growing in the Federation that violence is the proper
response to this violence. That's a normal
reaction, I suppose. Certainly it's an
emotionally satisfying one. I hope that everyone
in this room is capable of stepping back from that
initial reaction, though, and thinking of the
consequences. That's exactly the sort of
difficult task the Federation Council has
had to undertake. The Centurion has been
assigned to help the Tenarans protect their
world. We will assist them in that effort when we
reach Tenara--and that is all."
"Seen from a certain perspective, the
M'dok attacks do make sense, sir,"
Data said. "Their attacks on Tenaran
industry should discourage the inhabitants there from
venturing out into space and carving even larger
chunks out of M'dok territory."
"Fear of losing more of what little they have left
--to the Tenarans or to the Federation,"
Counselor Troi added. "Perhaps this is their
way of posting a "Keep Out" sign."
"Why are the attacks coming now, though?"
Geordi asked. "Just as Tenara has joined the
Federation. Why not before, when we wouldn't have been
obligated to protect Tenara?"
Picard nodded. "A question I've asked
myself, Lieutenant. Unfortunately, our knowledge
of the M'dok's motives is very limited.
Mr. Data?"
"I have been researching, sir, but the task
is most difficult. The M'dok have not
permitted Federation envoys to their worlds in almost
fifty years."
"Understood. Keep on it."
The intercom sounded.
"Bridge to Captain Picard.
We're now within sensor range of Tenara."
"Thank you, Mr. Crusher. We're on
our way."
Led by their captain, the Enterprise
officers returned to the bridge.
On the viewscreen, Tenara was a
blue-green-and-white sphere sliding away beneath
the Enterprise, city lights glittering on the
nightside and winking out as daylight raced across
the planetary surface.
Captain Picard took his command chair.
"Any sign of the Centurion, Mr.
Crusher?"
"No, sir." The young ensign studied the
instrument panel in front of him. "But I am
picking up traces of debris in a low
orbit around Tenara."
"Thermal radiation indicates that it came from
the explosion of a starship by photon torpedo
approximately two hours ago," Data
added, pointing at the screen, where a
brilliant light had flared and then disappeared
in Tenara's upper atmosphere. "That was one
of the fragments."
"Then the Centurion ... is gone?"
Commander William Riker's question was more an
assertion than a request for information.
Data responded anyway, "That is a
distinct possibility, sir. I must point out,
however, that the quantity of the debris is
significantly larger than would be expected
from a ship the size of the Centurion. A ship
three or four times that size would, in fact,
seem to be indicated."
A cautious hope grew in Picard.
"Data, announce our arrival ... and,
Lieutenant Worf, raise the shields, if
you please."
"Already done, sir," the Klingon said.
Picard glanced at him with quiet
amusement.
"Starfleet regulations," Worf began,
"specifically state that when entering a
potential combat zone--"
"Yes, Lieutenant." Picard waved off
his security chief. Worf had recently
developed the annoying habit of quoting from the
manual quite regularly. Picard made a
note to speak to him about it later.
Data spoke quietly into the ship's
communication system. "This is the USS
Enterprise, code Open Flag. Does
anyone read? I repeat, this is the USS
Enterprise, code Open Flag, does
anyone read?"
There was a long silence.
Then the speakers crackled into life. "This
is Captain Sejanus of the USS
Centurion. Come in, Enterprise."
There were general sounds of relief on the
Enterprise bridge.
Picard pressed a button on his command
chair and said, "This is Captain Picard.
We're relieved to find you alive and
unharmed, Captain. When we received your
call, and found nothing but floating debris
..."
The starfield disappeared, to be replaced by the
proud and commanding man they had seen earlier. His
face carried a restrained smile. "Yes,
Captain. That was the ship that attacked us. Their
captain was a brave opponent, but a bit
... overconfident. Gaius Aldus"--he
gestured toward one of the bridge officers, a
stocky, competent-looking man currently
helping a subordinate at another console--
"informs me that the ship's outlines most
closely matched those of the M'dok
battleships in use before the treaty--although this
ship was substantially larger."
"Battleships!" exclaimed Picard.
"Indeed, Captain. As you know, whenever the
Federation raises the matter with them, the M'dok
insist that all they have are the police ships
allowed them under the treaty. Clearly they've
now built at least one battleship, a
vessel of military destruction, and have used it
to fire on a Federation vessel."
"Captain Sejanus." Worf spoke from
his station behind Picard. "You have achieved a great
victory. If it was a M'dok battleship,
you have defeated a ship which outgunned you by a
factor of at least three."
Sejanus' gaze shifted over Picard's
shoulder to the Klingon. He smiled again.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. The victory,
however, is not mine. It belongs to the Federation and
to my crew." He nodded in satisfaction at
the crew members busily working behind
him.
Picard spoke again. "I would like to meet with
you, Captain, to discuss how we can aid you here
--and how we can prevent another confrontation between
the Federation and the M'dok."
Sejanus' face darkened momentarily. "I
don't think a meeting between the two of us will
solve the M'dok problem, Captain
Picard. However"--the Centurion's
captain smiled again--"I would be honored if
you and your officers would join me and my crew for
d inner this evening."
"That is a most generous offer, Captain--
one I gladly accept." Picard shared a
smile with Riker and Troi.
"Excellent! Shall we say eighteen
hundred hours, then?"
"Eighteen hundred hours, Captain,"
Picard agreed. "We look forward to meeting
you."
"The anticipation is mutual, Captain.
And please--come to us by shuttlecraft. We
would like to receive you in the appropriate style."
Picard nodded and Sejanus' image
flickered out, replaced by a starfield.
"A most impressive man," Riker said.
"And a most impressive victory."
"Agreed, Number One," Picard said,
pursing his lips thoughtfully.
"If this banquet is to be a formal
occasion, sir, dress uniforms would be in
order."
"Hmmm?" Picard sat forward suddenly, his
train of thought broken by his first officer's
query.
Riker smiled. "I was suggesting dress
uniforms for this banquet, sir."
"Of course, Number One. Quite right."
Picard leaned back in his chair and fell
silent once again.
Deanna Troi exchanged a concerned glance
with Riker and turned to her captain.
"Sir," she said quietly, "you seem
troubled."
"Hmmm?" Picard turned to look at his
ship's counselor. "Oh, no, Counselor,
it's just ..." He hesitated, trying to put his
feelings into words. "I don't feel a
victory celebration is in order at the
moment."
"I don't think that's what Sejanus
meant by suggesting a banquet," Riker said.
Troi shook her head. "On the contrary,
Will, I think there was a definite element of that
in his suggestion."
"That's natural enough, Deanna," Will
Riker said, his voice rising slightly.
"They've just defeated a ship which heavily
outgunned them. They're undoubtedly relieved
to be alive--"
"It's not relief I sense from them, W.
It's satisfaction."
"Of course they're satisfied,
Deanna," Riker said. "That's the whole
point."
"Counselor, Number One." The captain
stood suddenly, and looked down at the two
officers. "We'll be able to assess the mood
of the Centurion's crew, as well as find out
more about what happened with the M'dok ship, at
dinner."
"Yes, sir," Riker said.
"Of course, Captain." Troi nodded.
"Good," Picard said. "I'll want both
of you, as well as Lieutenant Worf,
Chief Engineer La Forge, and Mr. Data
to accompany me."
"Sir," Worf interrupted, "I believe
I should remain on board the Enterprise."
Picard cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yes, sir." The Klingon folded his hands
behind his back and stood at attention, then
spoke, as if reciting from memory ""In
a potential combat zone, the ranking security
officer--"'"
""--is advised to remain on duty whenever
possible,"" Data said, completing the sentence.
"Starfleet Regulation Zed Alpha-Nine.
I was going to bring it up myself, sir."
"Were you?" Picard glared at the android.
"Yes, sir." Data nodded.
Picard opened his mouth to speak, but thought
better of it and turned back to Worf. "Very
well, Lieutenant. I would, however, like
someone from security available to talk with
Centurion personnel."
"Of course, sir," Worf replied.
"Good. The rest of you, meet me in
shuttlebay six in one hour--in full
dress uniform." He nodded to Riker.
"The bridge is yours, Number One."
Captain Picard entered the shuttlebay
exactly fifty-eight minutes later, in
full dress uniform. Troi and Riker were
already there, as were Data and Geordi La
Forge, chatting amiably next to the
shuttlecraft.
Geordi looked distinctly uncomfortable in
his dress uniform. "I know the real reason
Worf didn't want to go to this dinner," he
said, fingering his collar. "He didn't want
to have to get into this monkey suit."
"Speaking of Worf," Riker said, scanning
the airlock, "I wonder where that security
officer is."
As if in answer, a young woman strode through
the airlock almost at a run and stopped
suddenly, directly in front of Picard and
Riker. "Ensign Jenny de Luz
reporting, sir." She stood at stiff
attention and fixed her gaze somewhere over
Picard's shoulder.
The captain and Riker exchanged an amused
look.
"At ease, Ensign," Picard said.
Jenny de Luz looked to the captain to be
no more than twenty-five years old. She was
tall and lean, with pale skin and bright red
hair, cut short in a shaggy style. Very
much like Tasha's, Picard realized.
Probably no coincidence.
Picard was about to object to Worf's
choice. There were plenty of other, more seasoned
security personnel the Klingon could have chosen
to attend the dinner in his place--and the inclusion of
so junior an officer might be taken as an
insult to Sejanus. Then he remembered that
Jenny was from Meramar, a Federation colony with
martial values similar to those of the Magna
Romans.
Not a by-the-book choice, Picard
realized, but a good one nonetheless.
He turned to Riker. "All right, Number
One. Let's get under way."
The six officers took seats in the
shuttlecraft, Geordi and Data in the
forward section. The chief engineer guided the
shuttlecraft forward through the yawning
shuttlebay door and into the brilliant
starfield beyond. Just visible at one corner was
an even more brilliant segment of the dayside of
Tenara. And precisely in the center of the scene
was a gleaming point of light, brighter than any
of the stars the Centurion, shining in the light of
Tenara's sun.
The shuttle lifted and moved forward and out
into space.
The Centurion grew slowly larger on the
shuttlecraft's viewscreen, until it
filled the entire scene. The Centurion's
shuttlebay doors silently scrolled open,
and the Enterprise shuttle drifted inside.
Behind it, the doors closed, their resounding bang
audible as the bay filled with air. When the bay
was fully pressurized, human figures
marched in.
Ensign Jenny de Luz looked
curiously at the scene outside the shuttle.
The officers of the Centurion were standing at
attention, lined up to provide a ceremonial
pathway for the visiting officers. No wonder
Sejanus had wanted them to come over
by shuttlecraft this kind of ceremony wouldn't
have been possible in any other part of the ship.
When visitors arrived on the Enterprise,
she knew, Captain Picard and his senior
staff waited to greet them in an informal
group, not lined up at attention.
And then Jenny became even more intrigued by the
fact that the Centurion officers were dressed
in armor that looked as though it had come from
ancient Rome, with short straight swords
at their sides. At the end of each of the two
lines, there were crewmembers wearing outfits
similar to those of the officers, though these men held
two-meter spears and large rectangular
shields. She could tell from the set of their
faces and shoulders that they were enlisted security
personnel.
In the briefing she'd received from Lieutenant
Worf, she'd learned that most of the officers and
crew aboard the Centurion were from the planet
Magna Roma. She'd thought this unusual,
until Worf had pointed up examples of the
Intrepid and the Slisha, starships that had
been manned entirely by Vulcans and
Tellarites, respectively, races that
preferred their own company to that of others. She
had also discovered that upon re-commissioning
this starship, the Federation had permitted the
Magna Romans to rename this ship, once the
Constitution-class cruiser the Farragut, in
keeping with their own native traditions.
After the briefing, she'd made a quick study
of the library files on Magna Roma, and was
amazed at the astounding similarity between Magna
Roma's history and that of Earth. Except
on Magna Roma, the Roman Empire
never fell. There were scientific theories,
she knew, that said such incredible parallels were
to be expected, but to actually see evidence of
this ...
It made her wonder if she was looking at
a reception detail or a troupe of
historical actors.
Deanna Troi gave her an amused
glance, and Jenny realized that the counselor must
have sensed the emotion, if not the thought.
Though perhaps she can read my mind. I've
always been so open, no emotional control at
all. Like when Tasha died ... Jenny forced
the thought and the memory away, and rose from her
seat.
Standing at the front of the small ship,
Captain Picard gave his officers a
resigned smile of puzzled amusement and
nodded to Geordi.
At the captain's command, the door rose
slowly, revealing the full glory of the scene
before them. What looked like a time-warped Roman
legion was there in full array, with two
especially impressive soldiers standing next
to the shuttle.
Both wore ceremonial gold armor,
apparently made to fit the contours of their
bodies. One stood firm and held a long
staff, on top of which was a golden eagle
resting on a crossbar reading SPQR. The
other stepped forward, his hand on his sword
hilt; all the other assembled personnel
remained stock-still.
His helmet covered only the top, back,
and sides of his head, revealing him to be an
eagle-faced man with a powerful presence, his
eyes as steely as a Romulan's as he
scanned the Enterprise officers. Captain
Sejanus, Jenny realized.
To the young security officer he looked
remarkably like Captain Jean-Luc
Picard.
"Captain Picard," Sejanus said in a
resonant and powerful voice. "And your staff
officers Lieutenant La Forge,
Lieutenant Commander Data, Commander Riker,
and Lieutenant Commander Troi." He looked
at Troi appreciatively, then turned
to Jenny de Luz. "Ensign, I'm afraid
I don't know you."
Jenny's lips felt frozen, her mouth
dry. The man's natural power of command
stunned her.
"De Luz, sir. Ensign Jenny de
Luz."
Sejanus smiled broadly at her, the
commander giving way to the charming aristocrat. "And
you wear the uniform of Starfleet Security,
Jenny."
Picard interrupted. "One of my more
promising young officers, Captain."
Sejanus' glance lingered on Jenny for jus t a
second longer, and then he turned to Picard.
"And now allow me to introduce my officers."
His pride in them struck Jenny as almost
paternal.
As Sejanus named them, the officers stepped
forward, moving past the ranks of
legionnaires. One by one, they marched toward
Picard, their armor jangling, and halted facing
the captain of the Enterprise. As he stamped
to a halt, each Magna Roman officer
saluted Picard by slapping his right fist to his
chest and then shooting his hand outward, hand open,
palm down, fingers stiff.
They were all male, and they were all
physically impressive specimens. Each
one's face betrayed a powerful, distinct
personality. The ancient Roman statuary
Jenny had seen in museums on her homeworld
of Meramar had that characteristic. Until now, she
had thought it simply the artistic style of those
times. Now she thought My ancestors must have
had that same sort of strength and presence.
She glanced over at Picard and saw a
pleased smile on his face. He admires
them too.
Their names, however, were not so distinctive. There
was a plethora of Gaiuses and Juliuses and
Luciuses. And now I understand, Jenny
thought, why the Romans so often used
the first and middle names or the first and last names
when addressing each other. There's no other way
to avoid confusing one Roman with another! And
then she looked again at Sejanus. But not
him. You'd never address him as "Lucius"
anyway, but even if you did, there'd be no question
whom you meant. Even among these strong-willed
men accustomed to command, he stands out. He'd stand
out anywhere.
She noticed Picard responding with a
grave nod to each salute, and a slight frown
of concentration, as if intent on remembering each
name and the face that went with it.
When the introductions were finished at last,
Sejanus said, "And now, if you'll follow
me, Captain?"
Sejanus led the way down a long
corridor, with Picard at his side, the two
captains conversing in low tones as they went.
Behind them, the officers from the Enterprise and the
Centurion mingled, following their captains.
Jenny walked by herself, close behind Picard,
on the alert without being consciously aware of it.
The corridor decorations were quite unusual
for a starship various sculptures of carved
stone along the walls. Some looked old enough
to be from ancient Rome itself, while others were of
various centuries, up to modern times.
Geordi La Forge, who had been walking
just behind Jenny, stepped forward to her side.
"Nice statues," he commented.
She nodded. "V. Some of the newer ones,
especially, look to be--"
"Bugged," Geordi said, leaning closer.
Jenny raised her eyebrows.
"Sensors right inside of them," Geordi
said, lightly touching the VISOR that covered his
eyes. Jenny didn't know exactly how the
instrument worked, but she did know that it enabled the
chief engineer to see across the
electromagnetic spectrum far beyond the
range of visible light.
Jenny nodded her approval. "Very clever."
"And there's a lot of activity going on
behind--"
"The bulkheads. I know. I can hear them.
Efficient, organized--real Romans! I
like that."
The parade of officers came to a large set
of double doors, which opened to let them
pass.
Jenny had to suppress a gasp as they
entered. The room was as large as any aboard the
Enterprise, surprising considering the
Centurion's much smaller size. It was
filled with nine tables, at eight of which were seated
nine Magna Romans in full military
regalia.
Captain Picard was also surprised.
Nine times nine, he thought, remembering from
the dim days of his schooling in France that the
ancient Romans had considered nine to be the
perfect number of dinner guests. How the young
Jean-Luc had detested the dictatorial
Monsieur du Plessis and his Latin and
history classes! But now it was all coming in
handy for the adult Jean-Luc.
At the center of the room was a
horseshoe-shaped table of hard dark wood
inlaid with abstract designs in gold and
silver and precious stones. The floor was a
mosaic depicting a Roman legion of old
slaughtering an army of poorly armed
dark-skinned warriors. The walls of the large
banqueting hall contained niches for
reproductions of ancient art--Greek
statues alternating with Roman portrait
busts.
The open end of the center table faced wide
floor-to-ceiling windows showing the starfield
and the curving horizon of Tenara as the
planet's surface rolled constantly away
beneath them. It was more beautiful than any of the
manmade art inside the room, but Picard's
attention was drawn more to the heavy curtains on
either side of the window. They were a deep
purple, and their significance, in this
neo-Magna Roman setting struck him
forcefully, for Monsieur du Plessis had also
impressed upon him strongly that purple was a
color reserved solely for the emperors of
Rome.
The two captains took seats side
by side at the head of the table, Picard on the
right, the place of honor. Riker sat to his
captain's right, on Riker's right was
Counselor Deanna Troi, and to her right,
at the end of one arm of the horseshoe, was
Marcus Julius Volcinius--a dark,
slender, young officer who had been
introduced as a cousin of Sejanus.
Opposite Marcus Volcinius, at the
end of the other arm, was Data, and then Geordi
La Forge and Jenny de Luz. Finally, between
Jenny and Captain Sejanus, was Gaius
Aldus, whom they had seen earlier on the
viewscreen on the Enterprise bridge.
Almost immediately, the first course was set before them
--an appetizer of minuscule bits of meat
sitting in a clear golden broth.
Jenny stared at the small bowls, puzzled
as much by the tiny pieces of meat as by the odd
smell of the broth.
Sejanus smiled. "Pickled hummingbird
tongues. And the broth," he explained, "is
what we call liquamen, one of our most
ancient sauces, and still very popular."
"Suppose I could exchange it for a
salad?" Geordi whispered to Jenny.
"This is quite ... astonishing, Captain,"
Picard said, exchanging a quick glance with
Riker. "None of us has ever encountered anything
quite like it. I'm most eager to begin."
Sejanus smiled. "We don't stand on
ceremony, Captain, unlike our
ancestors. Please."
Picard smiled in return, picked up the
silver spoon beside the bowl, and filled his mouth
with pickled hummingbird tongues and liquamen.
He could scarcely taste the meat. It was
overwhelmed by the sauce, which tasted salty,
fishy, and cheesy all at once.
He forced a still-wider smile. "Superb!"
Sejanus grinned. "For non-Romans,
it's something of an acquired taste! Here's how
we do it." Eschewing his own spoon, he
picked the bowl up with both hands and drained it in
one long swallow. The other Magna Romans
followed suit.
Picard took a deep breath and copied
Sejanus.
Encouraged and relieved, his crew members
did the same. Jenny swallowed the appetizer
--and was surprised to find the dish remarkably
similar to one of her homeworld's own
delicacies.
She turned and spoke to Gaius Aldus,
on her right, "This is wonderful!"
Gaius' serious face relaxed. "Thank
you, Ensign. Non-Romans don't
always react that way." He indicated
Geordi, on Jenny's left, whose face had
taken on a distinctly greenish pallor.
Jenny smothered a laugh as servitors
appeared to take away the empty bowls and bring
the next course. To her considerable surprise,
they were all scantily clad young women.
"Not quite ... standard Starfleet uniform, is
it?" she asked Gaius.
The Magna Roman flushed slightly.
"These aren't members of Starfleet. They're
civilian employees, hired directly by the
government of Magna Roma to work aboard our
ships. Most of them are descendants of the
slave class from imperial days." He shook
his head. "I'm afraid the old social
divisions still exist, even though they are no
longer official. Seventy years is not
sufficient to completely change a society that
was based on slavery for thousands of years."
Jenny grimaced in distaste, and Gaius
added quickly, "But we are trying."
"Yes. And I can see that it must be
difficult. But you're still holding on to some
things. Your uniform, for example."
"Strictly ceremonial, Ensign. And this"
--Gaius slapped his metal breastplate
proudly--"has nothing to do with slavery. This
uniform is the part of our heritage we have a right
to be proud of."
Jenny chewed that over thoughtfully. Clearly
there was something to be said for the Roman attitude
--the ship had fought brilliantly against great
odds, and its captain seemed to her the epitome
of strong leadership. Much of their attitude was
surely the nature of the individuals
involved. But she wondered if some of it--perhaps
a great part of it--was in fact an element of
Magna Roma's remarkable heritage.
Gaius said, "Ensign ... or may I
call you Jenny?"
"Oh, yes. Please do."
Gaius nodded, smiling. "In ancient
times, we learned from the Graeci--the
Greeks, you would say--to admire heroes and
personal honor and all the other warrior
virtues. We also learned from them to value
learning itself, for its own sake, even though we
lack their gift for theory. And we absorbed
their admiration of health and physical
beauty." He nodded toward the archway where the
young women had exited.
Through it came four muscular young men wearing
simple tunics and carrying at shoulder height
a huge metal platter upon which lay a roasted
pig swimming in gravy. Steam rose from the
carcass.
"We, however, taught the Graeci about
food," Gaius Aldus added with a chuckle.
The young men placed the platter on the tiled
floor, where it covered up much of the battle
scene. One of them produced a long knife from
somewhere and bent down.
Sejanus jumped to his feet. "Look
at this, Captain Picard!" He was grinning in
anticipated delig ht.
Jenny watched as the young man inserted the
knife between the pig's shoulders, at the base of
its neck, pushed it a short distance into the
body, and then began to draw the knife downward
toward the rump. She realized that the ribs must
already have been severed to make it possible for him
to do this with such ease. When he had completed his
cut, he drew out the knife, and then he and his
three companions gripped the edges of the cut with
both hands and, at a nod from the one who had used
the knife, pulled quickly and powerfully,
spreading the pig's body open.
Exposed within were innumerable small, motionless
birds floating in the gravy.
Sejanus had been watching Picard for his
reaction.
"Thrushes!" the Roman said happily.
"Live thrushes! See?" He realized
something was wrong and turned back to the dead pig.
"What ...?"
"I'm afraid the birds have drowned in the
sauce, sir," one of the young servitors said
nervously.
Sejanus' jaw tightened. "Who's
responsible for this?" He hissed the words between
clenched teeth. The four young men turned pale
and began to back away.
Gaius Aldus, also standing, reached out quickly
and placed his hand on his captain's arm.
"Didn't the ancients say, Lucius
Aelius, that a fowl killed by drowning in wine
has a particularly fine flavor?"
The guests from the Enterprise reacted with
horror to this, but it seemed to soothe
Sejanus. He smiled at his aide. "Right
as always, Gaius." The four young servitors
took the opportunity to scuttle out of the
room. Sejanus ignored them and turned
to Picard. "This man, Captain," he said,
indicating Gaius Aldus, "is a
treasure. He is my friend as well as my
aide and first officer. He has served my
family well and faithfully all of his life.
He has been by my side since we were both
children, guarding my honor as competently as he
guards my life. He is Magister
Navis--master of my ship, navigator,
guide. This is very much a Magna Roman
tradition."
"But the term is yet another parallel between
your world and Earth, Captain Sejanus,"
Picard said as the company relaxed and sat down
once again. The young women advanced and began
carving the roast pig. "I believe the
Romans of ancient Earth used it as well."
"Quite correct, Captain Picard,"
Sejanus said. "Your reputation does not do you
justice, I see. You're a scholar and an
officer."
"The similarities between Magna Roman and
Earth history are uncanny--beyond even what
Hodgkins' Theory of parallel planetary
development would predict," Commander Riker
added.
"Only up to a certain point," Sejanus
said. "From there, our planets followed
radically different paths."
Data nodded. "On Earth the empire
fell--and its dissolution led first to cultural
fragmentation and the Dark Ages--"
"While on our world, the empire flourished
and was able to lead Magna Roma to new levels
of prosperity." This interruption came from
Marcus Julius Volcinius--who had
remained silent and almost antisocial up
until now. He spoke in a patronizing
voice, as if what he was saying was so obvious
as to be barely worth mentioning.
"I do not believe all Magna Romans
would agree with your statement, Lieutenant,"
Data said. "The brutal dictatorship that
existed on your planet until recently was
certainly not prosperous for the great majority of
your citizens--"
"Prosperity is not measured strictly in
terms of money," Marcus Julius
Volcinius said, cutting off Data.
"Culture, stability, peace--those are the
things the great Magna Roman Empire brought
to our world," the officer said, coming as close
to sneering as he could without visibly looking down
his nose at Data. "I would not expect a
machine to understand such things."
To her left, Jenny saw Geordi
visibly tense in his chair.
"Data," the engineer said in a clipped,
tense voice, "is not a machine,
Lieutenant."
"Yes I am, Geordi," Data said.
Sejanus laughed. "Gentlemen, please!
I like to think we Magna Romans took the
best traditions from both worlds--those of our
native culture and those of Starfleet, shown
to us when the Federation visited Magna Roma
decades ago."
"One of the ships that first came to your world,"
Jenny said, "was also named the Enterprise--
the name our ship carries as well."
Sejanus nodded. "Preserving the names of
noble men and noble ships of the past is a fine
tradition. I myself am named after a great man
in our history--our greatest leader, in my
opinion."
Data said, "On Earth, Lucius
Aelius Sejanus was a monster who tried
to overthrow the Emperor Tiberius but was
exposed. He was imprisoned and then strangled
in his cell, presumably upon Tiberius'
orders, after which his body was given to the Roman
mob, which tore it to pieces."
Gaius shuddered in his seat, as if what
Data was describing was happening to Captain
Sejanus.
"You see, Lieutenant, that is the
precise point where the history of our two
worlds parted company," the Centurion's
captain said. "On our world, Sejanus
succeeded. He had the mad old Emperor
Tiberius murdered and made himself emperor in
his place. A cruel act, but one necessary
to save Rome. Sejanus continued the cleansing
by killing off all of the old emperor's
family. He drove out the Christians and the
other foreign religions and strengthened
the old gods once again, thus strengthening
Rome."
"And the dictatorship," Data said.
"And the dictatorship," Sejanus conceded.
"But surely that's enough of politics for now."
He snapped his fingers, and the servitors
sprang forward. "Especially when there is
food such as this to be enjoyed."
The young women began carving energetically,
placing huge portions of meat on each
guest's plate. As they served, other young
women hurried into the room, bearing pitchers from
which they poured generous helpings of dark red wine.
When all had been served, Marcus
Julius Volcinius stood and raised his
glass. All of the Magna Romans stood as
well. Picard gestured to his officers, and
they followed suit. "To Lucius Aelius
Sejanus," Marcus said loudly. "To the
Senate and the people of Magna Roma. And
to victory." He and the other Romans drank
deeply.
After a moment of hesitation, Picard sipped
his wine. His officers immediately did the same.
Then Picard spoke quickly, before the Romans
could sit. "To the United Federation of
Planets and democracy. And to peace."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Then
Sejanus chuckled and drained his glass.
With that, the ice seemed to be broken. The
conversation became general and convivial, and the
Magna Romans and their guests ate and
drank with enthusiasm.
But Gaius Aldus had noted Jenny's
distaste of Marcus Volcinius. "You don't
like him, do you?"
Turning in surprise, she replied, "I
must learn to hide my feelings better."
Gaius smiled, "No need. He's a
blustering fool and no one of significance. As
a diplomatic attache, he has no real
qualifications, but he is Captain
Sejanus' cousin--a distasteful example of
nepotism."
"Another archaic tradition that you still cling
to?" Jenny countered.
Gaius flashed a smile. "As I said,
we are trying."
Jenny returned his smile. "Tell me
about your defeat of the M'dok. You were
severely outgunned."
"We let their own arrogance defeat them.
Using temporary power sinks to simulate
battle damage, we drew them in close enough
to destroy them."
"Your idea?" she asked.
"A technique I developed," he
answered with pride in his voice.
"But was a death blow necessary? Could you take no
survivors? They would have been a valuable--"
"Survivors?" Gaius' disbelief was
plain on his face. "Lieutenant, we were at
war. Would you take the time to judge whether or not
your blow was a crippling one? And risk the
lives of your own crew?"
Taken aback, Jenny replied, "I
only suggested the possibility--"
"We were attacked!" Color rushed
into Gaius' face as he brought his hand down on
the table.
Jenny stared at him in open-mouthed
surprise.
Gaius took a sip of wine and composed
himself for a moment. "I must apologize for my
outburst. I have served with Captain Sejanus
my whole life. He and the crew of the
Centurion have become my family, I have
no other." He managed a slight smile.
"I'm afraid that I can promise no
leniency to anyone who raises a hand to them."
Jenny returned his steady gaze. "Then I
admire your loyalty."
"I suspect it's a quality that you share,"
Gaius said.
Before Jenny could respond, her attention was
drawn by the rather loud voice of Marcus
Julius Volcinius across the table. He was
gesturing with a greasy, unidentifiable bone and
saying to the table at large, or perhaps to the entire
room, "Now, take these Tenarans. They're
just too decentralized. There's no authority,
no one person in charge we can talk to. So
they're easy prey for such fierce creatures
as the M'dok. The Centurion can't stay here
forever, can it, now, Captain Picard? No, of
course not," he rushed on, answering his own
question. Like many of the other Magna Romans,
Marcus was growing flushed, his eyes overbright.
Picard, who had sipped his wine all
evening, looked disapproving.
Sejanus' cousin's words had been clear and
unslurred, Jenny observed, almost as if they
had been thought out carefully beforehand. She
wondered ...
"Nor can the Federation afford to keep ships
here indefinitely, defending a people who are unable
to defend themselves," Marcus went on. "Their very
organization--or lack of organization, I
should say--makes it impossible for them
to organize in their own defense. The gods
help those who help themselves. So do Magni
Romani."
True enough, Jenny thought, that part about
defending themselves. She was about to say so aloud, but
then Commander Riker said part of it for her. "We
can all agree about the problem, Lie utenant,
but I don't see a simple solution.
Tenara is now a member of the Federation and thus
has every right to expect the Federation to protect
it. Moreover, the Federation never dictates the
governmental policy of its member worlds,
only that each government respect and protect
its citizens' rights. We have to deal with Tenara
as it is, not as we wish it to be."
Marcus waved his hand in dismissal. "Yes,
yes, of course, Commander. We're here
to defend them and to rebuild their world. This is
supposed to strengthen them against future
attack, but I say that we have to do more for them.
For their own sake, the Tenarans have to change.
We should teach them, help them to change themselves so
that they can provide for their own defense.
Romans have always been good at organization, and
at teaching it."
"Usually," Data said calmly, "through
conquest. Hardly an acceptable option in
Tenara's case, sir."
Sejanus now broke into the conversation.
"Agreed, Lieutenant. But we do have another
choice."
"Which is?" Picard asked.
"Change the M'dok," Jenny blurted out.
All heads at the table turned to look at
her.
"Hear, hear," Gaius said, smiling at
her. "If the M'dok will not keep to the treaty
voluntarily, we must force them to."
Geordi shook his head. "You're talking
about war, Lieutenant."
"And what do we have now on Tenara?"
Sejanus asked.
"We have a situation we must try
to resolve," Picard said sharply. "We do not
have war."
All at once the room fell silent as the
two captains continued staring at each other.
The communicator on Picard's chest
beeped once, shattering the quiet. "Excuse
me, Captain," Picard said to Sejanus.
He touched his chest. "Picard here."
The voice that came from the communicator was
unmistakable.
"Lieutenant Worf, sir. We've just
received an urgent message from Starfleet
Command."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Picard
turned to Sejanus. "Forgive me,
Captain, but it seems we must return to our
ship immediately."
"Of course, of course," Sejanus said
quickly. "Duty must come first. We can complete
our discussions at some other time."
Picard nodded. He touched his chest again.
"Enterprise. Transporter room. This is
the captain. Six to beam back from the
Centurion, immediately."
Chapter Two
"Let's hear that message, Mr.
Worf," Picard said. The captain and his
staff officers were all back on the bridge.
Jenny de Luz had taken up a position behind
Worf on the upper deck, at the mission
operations station.
"Aye, sir. Audio only, on speakers
now."
The voice was strong and self-assured, the
voice of a man used to getting his way.
"Captain Picard, this is Admiral
Howard Delapore. Starfleet Command has
determined that the situation at Tenara is
critical. The Enterprise is hereby
ordered to stay within the system and to help the
Centurion defend Tenara. Don't let
anyone in. This applies to the entire
Tenaran planetary system. From now on,
only the space beyond the orbit of the outermost
planet of the system is to be considered
unclaimed territory. You are
authorized to do whatever the situation requires
in order to defend the system itself."
Delapore's voice lowered. "I want you
to understand how important that is, Picard.
Command is placing a very high priority on this
mission. You and Sejanus are two of the best
we have, as are your ships and your crews. Good
luck. Delapore out."
"That's all, sir," Worf said. "A
second, coded message is attached, for your
eyes only."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Picard
replied.
"Delapore?" At the engineering station next
to Jenny, Geordi groaned, so softly only
she could hear him.
"Closing off the system--aren't we risking
war, sir?" Riker asked. "Given what you
told us during your briefing."
Picard sighed. "We're certainly a step
closer to it than we were before."
"I remember Delapore from the
Academy." Riker smiled slightly. "A
no-nonsense type."
"We had another name for him," Geordi
said. "Old Iron--"
"I think we've all heard that name before,
Lieutenant," Picard said sharply. "There's
no need to repeat it."
"Yes, sir," Geordi said. "Sorry."
Jenny remembered Admiral Delapore
(and his nickname) from the Academy. He was one
of the senior instructors, a stocky
gray-haired man who made it clear that he
considered himself a man of action, one who
preferred military missions to exploratory
or diplomatic ones. Now, Jenny thought,
he has a military situation to deal with, and
he's thriving on it.
"Sir," Worf said. "Captain
Sejanus is calling from the Centurion.
He wants to know if we'll be rejoining him
for the rest of the banquet."
He wants to know what was in the message
from Starfleet Command, Jenny thought.
Sejanus' face filled the viewscreen.
He was calling from the banquet hall; behind him,
the dinner was still in full swing.
"Captain Picard," he said, his voice
deep and grave, "I hope there's no
trouble."
Picard responded instinctively. "No
immediate trouble, Captain. It seems we've
been ordered to remain here on Tenara and assist
you in your defense of the planet."
Sejanus froze for a second. Then the
Magna Roman relaxed and smiled.
"I don't see that there's a military
necessity for that, Captain Picard, but
Starfleet is, of course, subject
to Federation Council control. Politics must
be taken into account." He nodded in understanding.
"Of course, we're glad to have you aboard. I
have a briefing set up tomorrow with my crew, and then
a meeting with the planetary council. Perhaps you
could join us."
"Of course, Captain."
"Good. Then will you rejoin us now, Captain
Picard? The evening is still young, and the feast far from
over."
"I think not, Captain." Picard affected
a smile of resignation. "I need some time
to review the situation."
"As you wish. I'll have one of my men
return your shuttlecraft." Sejanus bowed
slightly. "Until tomorrow, then, Captain
Picard."
"Until tomorrow, Captain Sejanus."
As the transmission ended, the viewscreen
resumed its display of the stars and the
Centurion.
Picard stood. "I suggest we all turn
in. I suspect tomorrow is going to be a long,
difficult day."
"Aye, sir," Riker said. "Data, you have
the conn."
Jenny began following the two officers to the
turbolift.
"One moment, Ensign," Worf said.
She turned.
"As my presence will be required aboard
ship for the duration of the mission," Worf said,
"I would like you to supervise all planetside
security arrangements."
"Yes, sir," Jenny said. "Thank you,
sir."
"I suggest you prepare yourself by reviewing the
appropriate sections of the Starfleet
manual," Worf added. He turned to the
mission operations console and called up
a portion of the text. "For instance, you will see
here ..."
Jenny sighed, and began reading over the
Klingon's shoulder.
The libraries of a Federation starship are,
without exception, extremely well-stocked.
A device somewhat smaller than a human
thumbnail can hold a quantity of information
several times greater than all that which was contained in
the Library of Alexandria. A much tinier
device can process this information and quickly
provide it for absorption by a human
operator.
Marcus Julius Volcinius served as
cultural attache on special assignment
to the Centurion. An intelligent,
determined, and (by virtue of being the scion of
one of the most patrician families of
Magna Roma) very well-educated young man,
he liked to think that he could absorb quite a bit
of information.
He had left the banquet scarcely an
hour ago, bored with the endless drinking and pointless
banter. Besides, all the talk about changing the
Tenarans, and Magna Roman tradition, had
given him an idea.
"Computer."
"Working."
Machines, he thought with satisfaction, could
always be relied upon to keep their place, never
to overstep their bounds.
Except that walking computer, Data.
"Computer, tell me about the spread of the
English language on Earth."
If there was a pause, Marcus couldn't
detect it.
"English is the descendant of multiple
languages principally Anglo-Saxon,
Latin, and various Celtic tongues. It was
the primary language of England, one of three
nations on a small island in the North
Atlantic Ocean. In an ongoing process
of colonial expansion beginning late in the
sixteenth century and continuing until the early
twentieth century, England established herself as
the supreme political, military, and
economic power in the world.
"With the expansion of English power, the
language spread as well, eventually
becoming the universal language of trade,
science, and international politics. By nature
a dynamic and flexible language, it
provides the basis of current Federation
Standard, continuing to adapt to new words, new
concepts, and new cultures."
It was obviously a capsule lecture,
probably quoted verbatim from a statement
made by some university professor, and it did
not tell Marcus everything he wanted to know.
He thought for a bit, and then asked, "Did the
English make any deliberate efforts
to hasten the spread of their language?"
"It is generally accepted," the computer said,
"that the spread of the language was a natural and
inevitable result of English economic
dominance."
"And their culture spread similarly with the
language?"
"Modes of dress, mores, methods of
education and socialization, and most other
cultural characteristics were based on an English
standard all over Earth by the end of the twentieth
century. It is generally accepted that popular
entertainment had an enormous impact,
particularly after the invention of television."
"But it took centuries," Marcus said,
thinking aloud.
"Correct," the computer said.
Marcus gave the terminal an annoyed
glance. His mind returned to the pr oblem, but this
time he kept his thoughts to himself. It took the
English centuries on Earth, but I only have
weeks.
"During the early days, when the spread of
English was due to economic and military
power, not popular education, didn't the various
native peoples resent this invasion of an
alien culture and try to indoctrinate their young
against it?"
"On the contrary," the computer replied. "The
English people were able to convince others of the
superiority and prestige of an education
obtained in an English-speaking country, and so
the native populations eagerly sent their young
to school in English institutions, where they
absorbed both language and culture. The
students then returned home to spread what they
had learned."
Marcus sat back, drumming his
fingers on the desktop. Conquest was not an
option, in the words of his cousin.
But there was conquest as the warrior Sejanus
understood it ... and then again, there was conquest of
an altogether different kind.
A kind of conquest that Marcus himself might be
better qualified to undertake than Lucius
Sejanus--or Jean-Luc Picard.
The Centurion briefing room the following
morning was crowded. Unlike the banquet
hall where Sejanus had first greeted the
officers from the Enterprise, this room was
organized with function rather than form in mind.
Instead of purple curtains, the viewscreen
was set into the naked wall; instead of Roman
artwork, holographic charts and maps lined the
walls.
Sejanus and Picard were seated at
opposite ends of the long table in the center of the
room, the senior officers from both ships between
them. As everyone found a seat, Sejanus
gestured sharply, and the view of Tenara that had
filled the viewscreen was replaced with a lengthy
organizational chart. All the officers had before
them small personal viewers, which showed the
same chart.
"I assume you have all been briefed?"
Sejanus asked the Enterprise personnel.
Jenny de Luz joined in the general sounds
of assent. Thanks to the extensive preparation
she'd received from Lieutenant Worf, she
felt she now knew more about Tenara than about her
homeworld of Meramar.
"Then let us proceed to the business at
hand," Sejanus said. "On your viewers is
a governmental organization chart given to me
by Melkinat, their planetary chairman. Now,
as I'm sure you're all aware, the Tenaran
government is notably decentralized. Their
system of saavtas is quite primitive, and
is actually a descendant of the council of
tribal elders found in almost all
precivilized societies. Unfortunately,
their attempt to apply this system on a
planetary scale has led not only to the lack
of any strong central government but also to a very
complex system of interlocking obligations and
levels of authority."
But not more complex than Meramar,
Jenny thought, studying the chart. On her
feudal homeworld, her father had owed varying
degrees of allegiance to three separate men,
all of whom had had their own obligations to many
others--one of whom had been one of her father's
vassals! The hierarchy of Tenaran saavtas
was relatively simple by contrast, with each
saavta electing some of its members to the
next most important saavta--all the
way from the village saavta up to the
planetary Great Saavta.
"But I stress," Sejanus continued, "that
this is the framework within which we must operate. As
I understand it, Starfleet has chosen us for a
twofold mission in the short term, to defend
the Tenarans against future attack, and in the
long term, to strengthen them so that they will be able
to defend themselves in the future. Am I
correct, Captain Picard?"
Picard nodded. "Absolutely.
Starfleet Command has ordered both the
Centurion and the Enterprise to assist the
Tenarans--in whatever way possible. We must
begin work immediately, to help them strengthen their
economic and agricultural base, to bring
them advanced medical care. We'll
contribute all forms of training and resources
at our disposal."
"What about their more immediate need, sir?"
Gaius Aldus asked. "That of military
assistance?"
Jenny nodded in agreement. It seemed
clear to her that unless they could provide the
Tenarans with some basic degree of security,
all the other assistance would be meaningless.
Sejanus smiled. "We will begin training the
Tenarans at once in basic combat
techniques--"
"Excuse me, Captain Sejanus, but
haven't the Tenarans been opposed to such
training in the past?" Riker asked.
Jenny frowned. That piece of information
hadn't been in the records she'd been
studying.
"They have, Commander, but their leaders have
requested it nevertheless," Sejanus said. "And
it is something we must be prepared to provide,
given the brutal nature of the M'dok
attacks."
Captain Picard shifted
uncomfortably in his chair. "I must admit that
I am troubled by this whole situation, Captain
Sejanus," he said. "If we only knew
why the M'dok were attacking now--"
Marcus Julius Volcinius, who was
leaning against the entranceway to the briefing room,
snorted in disgust.
"They are animals, Captain Picard.
Why bother trying to understand their motivations?"
"They are sentient beings," Picard said
firmly, glaring at the Centurion's
cultural attache. "And there are reasons
behind their actions, I'm sure. Mr. Data,
have you been able to obtain any other information about
what's happening within the M'dok Empire?"
The android shook his head. "Nothing
definitive, sir. One rather obscure trade
journal indicates that over the last few
months there has been a marked increase in the
importation of several drugs within the
empire--"
"Drugs?" Picard asked. "What kind of
drugs?"
"Mainly certain growth hormones, and their
chemical analogues, sir."
"What possible significance could that have?"
Marcus asked contemptuously, drawing out every
syllable.
"I do not have sufficient information to conjecture
at this point, Lieutenant," Data said.
"However, I am expecting further information from
Starfleet Command."
"We await that information," Sejanus said.
"In the meantime, we must begin organizing the
defense of Tenara."
Picard sighed heavily and exchanged a
look of concern with his first officer. "I would
prefer not to take such action without speaking to the
planet's chairman first, Captain."
"His wishes seem quite clear to me,
Captain, but ..." Sejanus shrugged. "As
you wish. We are scheduled to meet with
Chairman Melkinat in two hours." The
Centurion's captain pressed his hands
flat on the conference table and rose from his chair.
"I will see you on the planet's surface,
Captain."
Chapter Three
Melkinat, Chairman of the Central
Council of the Great Saavta, Most
Honorable and Democratic Among the People of
Tenara, and the nominal leader of that planet, was
in no way prepared to meet with Captain
Picard and Captain Sejanus, or to do much
of anything else.
He was scared. Nothing in his comparatively
uneventful life had prepared him to deal with such
fear as he felt now.
The story Quillen had just told him ...
Melkinat shook his head, trying to brush those
horrible memories away. He had devoted
his life to the people of Tenara, to the saavtas. As
chairman of the Central Council, he stood
for something honorable and decent, for individual
freedom and dignity, for the principle that no
man should rule over other men, and the idea that
all people should make their own decisions so long as
they did not interfere with the rights of others.
But against these things that are attacking us, these
cat-monsters that call themselves M'dok, such
noble principles mean nothing.
Tenarans had fought, he knew that.
Centuries before, his people had been lifted from a
world which, it was fairly certain now, had been
Earth, but well before anyone on that planet had
achieved the crudest aircraft, much less
space travel.
From there they had been placed on Tenara, which
was largely fertile prairie and glittering
sea from pole to pole. With no enemies, no
one to fight, they had exploded across the
planetary surface. Plentiful territory
and resources had made fighting practically
unnecessary.
From their common cultural heritage and spirit of
peaceful coexistence, the Tenarans had
developed the basis of their present
governmental system. When would-be conquerors
had arisen, they had found the task of tearing apart
the social fabric of the planet too great for
even the most power-mad among them.
All this Melkinat knew, as a man knows
his own name. He looked to the opposite wall
of his small office, where a great ax hung on
sturdy pegs. Perhaps it had been intended for
chopping down trees, but notches along
the edge and a few dark stains in those notches
showed that it had once been used for a grimmer
purpose.
It's an effort to find weapons like that on
Tenara, Melkinat thought angrily, not like
on other worlds. We've had few wars, but never
on a large scale. We want only peace
and freedom. Why can't others respect that?
He didn't know the answer to that, nor did
he know the reason for the horrible attacks by the
M'dok.
Which was why Tenara had requested help from the
Federation.
Part of him wished the starships and their
captains would go away. He saw their
technology, their wonders, and felt that if he
even allowed them to beam down to the planet with their
weapons, it would somehow change his world
irrevocably from the paradise it had been for so
long.
Yet what choice did he have?
To be honest, a part of him was excited at the
prospect of receiving help from the Federation, at
tapping the shared knowledge of a thousand worlds.
What must it be like, he wondered, to have
done what both of these starship captains have
done, to have seen so much, t o have done so much? And
what do they think of me, a man who has spent
his whole life on one small world, who has
accomplished so little?
"Father?"
He looked up to see his daughter
Gretna, who stood waiting in the doorway,
hands on hips. She was dressed in sandals,
shorts, and a colorful blouse, and he was
struck again by how quickly she had grown--and how
beautiful she had become.
"One of the starship captains has arrived
already," she said.
"Thank you, daughter," he said, rising.
At least he had one substantial
accomplishment to his credit Gretna, who
showed every sign of succeeding him once his days as
chairman were done. Surely neither starship
captain could boast of offspring such as his.
"We don't want to keep the Federation
waiting, do we?"
"That's ground we've been over before, Father,"
Gretna said. "At this point, the answer is
no."
Melkinat sighed. His daughter, though she
understood why they needed the Federation's help, was
even more reluctant than he to allow their
weapons on Tenara.
He took her arm and strode out to meet the
starship captain.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard tugged at his
dress uniform to smooth out a minuscule
wrinkle. Appearances were important in his
work, and this would be his and Sejanus' first
face-to-face meeting with the Tenaran
leadership, but even so there was a limit to how far
Picard was willing to go with all of this. He
looked at himself in his mirror and decided that enough
was enough.
He slapped his communicator.
"Bridge."
"Lieutenant Commander Data here."
"Mr. Data, please inform Captain
Sejanus that I'm ready to beam down, and then
contact the Central Council of the Great
Saavta and confirm that I'm on my way to the
meeting."
Data replied, "Sir, we've just had a
communication from Captain Sejanus. He's
already on the planet surface. He sounded
... troubled."
Picard felt the hair prickle along the
back of his neck. "An emergency?"
The android hesitated. "He did not so
specify, sir. Certainly we have detected
no sign of any further attacks against
Tenara."
"Hmm. All right, Data. Contact
Captain Sejanus and tell him I'm on
my way to the transporter room."
Picard closed that channel and opened
another.
"Number One."
"Here, sir."
"Captain Sejanus has already beamed
down, and it sounds like there are added complications.
Can you join me in the transporter room?"
"I'm on my way, sir."
Picard's first officer was true to his word,
arriving just as the captain was stepping up onto the
transporter platform. Riker followed
suit, and the captain nodded his readiness to Chief
O'Brien. Picard was frowning, and the
frown was still there when they reformed on the surface
of Tenara.
They materialized in an airy,
many-columned chamber. Two people, a
middle-aged man and a much younger woman, were there
waiting for them.
"Captain Picard," the man said, stepping
forward and extending his hand. "I'm Melkinat,
Chairman of the Central Council. And this"--
he indicated the young woman, who moved to his
side--"is my daughter Gretna."
"It's an honor, sir," Captain
Picard said. "May I present my first
officer, Commander William Riker."
Riker shook hands, his eyes lingering for a
moment on the young woman.
"I understand there is a further problem,
Chairman," Picard said.
Melkinat nodded. "A young man from one of
our more remote villages has just come to us with a
terrible story. Captain Sejanus is with him
now."
"Lead on, Chairman," Picard said.
"A moment, Commander," Melkinat said,
holding up his hand. "The young man seems
uncomfortable with more than two or three people at
once at this time. If you could--"
"I understand, sir," Riker said. "I'll
wait out here."
"Perhaps you'll let me show you some of our
planet, Commander," Gretna said.
Riker looked questioningly at his captain.
"It's all right, Number One," Picard
said. "I'll brief you later."
"Aye, sir." Riker turned to Gretna
and smiled. "Then I'll be happy to take a
tour."
The two disappeared down one passageway,
while Picard followed Melkinat down
another. The chairman led him into a smaller
room just off the Central Council chamber,
where Sejanus and a young man Picard did not
recognize were waiting. The Magna Roman
was clearly upset, striding back and forth
impatiently, muttering to himself.
By contrast, the young Tenaran was silent, and
looked to Picard to be almost in a state of
shock. He was sitting in the room's single
chair, a typically light and graceful piece
of Tenaran furniture that looked too
fragile to bear the weight of a grown human.
But the young man who sat in it was big-boned and
heavily muscled, and the chair held up under him
quite well.
"This is Quillen," Melkinat said.
Picard turned his attention to the young man.
Normally Quillen would have been an
impressive physical specimen, but not now.
He was pale and sweating as he chewed on his
lower lip and pressed himself back into the chair.
Melkinat spoke to him soothingly. "This is
Captain Picard, Quillen. From the
Enterprise. You know you can trust him. He's
also from the Federation, just like Captain Sejanus
--from Starfleet."
"We're here to help you," Picard added.
Quillen squirmed in his chair. "But
I've already told you what happened!" He was
whining and almost in tears. "Why can't you just tell
him, and let me go home?"
Melkinat opened his mouth to say something, but
Sejanus stepped forward abruptly and motioned
him to silence. He leaned over Quillen, who
shrank away from him. Sejanus stared at him
until he met the Roman's eyes, and then
Quillen seemed unable to look away.
Sejanus said in a soft voice, "I want
him to hear it from your mouth, Quillen, in your own
words. I want Captain Picard to know what
you experienced."
Quillen began to tremble.
Now Picard stepped forward, and Quillen
turned toward him. Picard could see the terror
in the young man's face, and he, too, spoke
softly to him. "You may leave if you wish,
Quillen. I'd like to hear your story from you.
Captain Sejanus thinks I should, and I
trust his judgment, but I've no wish to cause
you pain."
Quillen relaxed slightly. "This-thank
you, Captain. I'll try, for the sake of my
world." He took a deep breath, managed
to stop himself from shaking, and began to tell his
tale.
Quillen was a wood collector. In the
communal economy of Tenaran village
life, a few of the strongest young men were
assigned the task of gathering the wood that the
village needed for cooking and, in the
colder weather, for heating. Much of what
Quillen collected in the nearby forest was
deadfall, which he carried back to the village
on his shoulders. When the deadfall wasn't
sufficient, he would search out old or dying or
diseased trees and chop or saw them down. These,
too, he would carry--or sometimes drag--back
home.
He was an orphan, and was by nature a
solitary person with no real friends, so this
life-style suited him. Fond as he was of his
village and most of his fellow villagers,
Quillen loved roaming alone through the dappled
sunlight of the forest most of all. He loved the
sound of his ax and his saws as they cut through the
trunks of trees, and he loved the smell of
fresh-cut wood. He derived great
pleasure from working his own powerful muscles as
he carried great loads of wood home on his
shoulders.
He liked the animals of the forest, large and
small, and with the years they had grown
to recognize him and no longer fled.
"Sometimes," he said proudly to Picard, "they
even stand around and watch me work. They're really
interested, you see?"
Picard nodded. "I spent much time in the
woods myself when I was young, Quillen. I
understand your love for them." He thought of the
holodeck program he had established
to recreate an evergreen forest on the slopes
of the Alps. "I find it can be a refuge from the
complexities of dealing with other people."
The young Tenaran nodded vigorously. "Oh,
yes, Captain!" A bit shamefacedly he
added, "In fact, sometimes I put off going
home for as long as I can, so that maybe it'll
be late in the day and everyone in the village will
be too tired to want to talk a lot to me.
That's what happened that day. It was late when
I got back. Too late ..." He began
to shake again.
It took some gentle prodding by Picard before
Quillen was able to continue.
On his way home, Quillen often chose a
pathway that took him up a small hill in the
forest. The hilltop was bare because of a recent
lightning-caused fire. If his load was a
heavy one, he would circle the hill instead, but
he liked standing atop it and looking out
over the sea of treetops, undulating over
hills and ridges like the waves of a real sea
and stretching away to the horizon in all
directions. Here and there, he could see clearings
containing villages like his own. Last winter, the
hilltop had been covered by a thin layer of
frost that had crackled beneath his feet, and a few
bushes that had survived the forest fire had been
covered by ice, which glowed red in the setting sun.
He had been able to see smoke rising from
chimneys to the south, marking his village.
But this spring evening, he had seen something
different, something at first puzzling and then
terrifying.
"Things flying around in the air over my
village," he whispered. "At first I thought
they were some strange kind of bird, but then I
realized they looked a little bit like the flying
machines that sometimes come to pick up the saavta
members to take them to meetings at the
regional capital. But there's usually only
two or three of those, and this time there were a
half-dozen. And they weren't landing. They were
flying around in circles over the village. And
then ..." Tears began running down his
cheeks.
And then white-hot beams la nced down from beneath
the circling vehicles, and wherever the beams
touched the ground, flames erupted. The
vehicles were silent, the beams were silent, but
even from that distance Quillen could hear the whoosh
of the sudden fires, and the crackling of burning
wood, and he thought he could hear human
voices shouting and screaming.
Too shocked to think of the danger to himself,
Quillen dropped his load of wood and his ax
and saws and ran down the hill toward his
village. His only thought was to save his fellow
villagers.
Quillen ran along the forest track in the
dimming light. He was blinded by tears, but his
feet knew the way. Suddenly he felt the
heat of a fire ahead and saw its glow shimmering
through his tears. He stopped running and knuckled
his eyes clear. The forest ahead of him was
burning, blocking the path.
But he knew the woods here intimately,
knew virtually every tree and bush, every gully,
every creek, every mound of dirt. He left the
trail and slipped through the forest, making
his way around the fire and toward the village
clearing by another route. It was that that saved his
life.
Had he been able to stick to the trail,
Quillen would have emerged into the clearing in plain
sight, and then he would have faced the same fate
as his fellow villagers.
Instead, he was still hidden in the trees at the
edge of the clearing, disguised by rapidly falling
night and the dancing shadows cast by the huge fire
raging in the center of the clearing.
The small, neat wooden houses were gone.
In their place was an enormous bonfire.
Around the fringes of the fire were the remnants of
those few houses that had not been grouped with the
others. They had been burned separately,
reduced to collapsed piles of smoking
embers, nothing still standing but their stone chimneys.
"But worst of all," Quillen whispered,
"worst of all ..."
His eyes stared into the remembered vision of
horror.
Worst of all were the grotesque figures
dancing around the fire in celebration. Big
creatures, bigger than most men, with animal
faces--pointed ears and terrible fangs
glistening red in the firelight. They were covered
with fur, and their arms and legs ended in heavily
clawed paws.
"And they had tails," Quillen said. "Their
tails kept twitching, sweeping back and forth
over the ground. They reminded me of cats.
Man-size cats. But they were wearing clothing--
uniforms, it looked like to me."
Picard and Sejanus exchanged a glance.
If they had needed more confirmation that the beings
attacking Tenara were M'dok, then here it was.
But Quillen had more to tell them.
Now that he had managed to get himself to this
point in his narrative, he had little trouble
continuing. He seemed compelled to press on with
it, to purge himself of his awful memories and
shift them over to these two strong, capable
offworlders instead.
"I could see a lot of the villagers lying still
on the ground, all over the clearing. They
weren't moving at all. I don't think they were
breathing. A lot more of them were still alive, but
tied up. Some of them were unconscious, and some
were awake, but they looked dazed. They
weren't doing anything--not even struggling to get
free. They had bruises, and some were bleeding from
deep cuts on their backs."
The M'dok were yowling and screeching at each
other. Quillen realized it was their speech. It
sounded like a cat fight, he said, but the M'dok
weren't fighting, and he realized that they were
happy, that they were celebrating their victory.
They were swaggering around the clearing, and every now and
then one of them would stalk over to the bound
Tenarans, inspect them, and then walk away
again looking satisfied.
Some of the M'dok had large chunks of meat
impaled on long metal poles that they were
roasting in the bonfire. Fat dripped from the
meat and sizzled in the hot coals. When the
meat was adequately charred, the M'dok drew
it out, grabbed it with their paws, ignoring its
heat, and tore mouthfuls off with their great sharp
teeth.
The village had had a few cows and
goats, used almost exclusively as dairy
animals. It saddened Quillen to see them come
to this pointless end. But then he saw how wrong his
assumption was.
Two of the M'dok, wiping their greasy paws
on their uniforms, walked over to the bound
Tenarans, selected one, and grabbed him by the
arms, one M'dok on each side, and dragged
him away toward the fire. Quillen watched,
more puzzled than alarmed.
One M'dok grabbed the Tenaran's head with a
paw, digging his claws into the man's scalp.
The Tenaran screamed and struggled, but the other
M'dok joined in to help, and the two powerful
M'dok bent the Tenaran's head back further
and further. Quillen closed his eyes, but he
could hear the loud snap as the villager's neck
broke.
When he was able to make himself look again, the
M'dok had both drawn knives and were
butchering the Tenaran as though he were an
animal. Only then did Quillen realize
where the chunks of roasted meat had come from.
Quillen leaned against a tree, dazed and
sickened. Afraid to move at all for fear of
drawing the M'dok's attention, he stayed where
he was until full night had fallen. Then
he backed slowly into the forest and made his way
in the dark, hands outstretched before him.
He stumbled deeper and deeper into the forest,
hoping that the M'dok were making so much noise that
they wouldn't hear the breaking twigs and whipping
branches as he passed through the forest.
Finally he collapsed, emotionally and
physically exhausted, and lay in a daze
until morning.
With first light, Quillen roused himself and
made his way slowly, cautiously back
toward his village.
The M'dok had left, taking the surviving
Tenarans with them. Nothing remained of the
village in which Quillen had grown up but
smoking ruins. Nothing was left of the people he had
known but a few scattered corpses and
half-eaten pieces of roasted meat.
Quillen couldn't bear the sight of his
village. He headed back into the sheltering,
welcoming forest and lost himself there. He couldn't
say how long he had wandered, trying to forget
what he had seen.
The time came when, entirely by accident, he
found himself in another village in a forest
clearing. Later he learned that he had
traveled almost three hundred kilometers from
his starting point.
His first reaction was amazement that this village
was thriving and whole--that it, too, had not been
destroyed and its inhabitants eaten
by catlike monsters. His second reaction was
resentment that this place had survived while his
own home had not. But his third reaction was a
belated recognition of his duty to warn the
Tenaran government about the attack.
Quillen entered the village and asked the first
person he encountered to take him to the village
saavta.
Quillen's voice trailed away.
Picard could tell that the young man's strength was
utterly used up.
"Word finally reached us here in Zhelnogra,"
Melkinat finished the story for Quillen, "and
we had Quillen brought here."
He turned to Picard, and the anguish in his
eyes was almost more than the Enterprise's
captain could bear.
"Now you see why we are in such desperate
need of your assistance."
Before Picard could comment, Sejanus stepped
forward and placed a hand on Melkinat's
shoulder.
"You will have our assistance, Chairman--
everything we can give you. No M'dok will reach
the surface of Tenara again. I pledge my
word."
"Thank you, Captain," Melkinat said.
Picard bit his lip. "Excuse me,
Captain Sejanus, Chairman
Melkinat."
Both men turned to look at him.
"I believe we need some time to consider this
latest development, Captain," Picard
said. "I suggest we pass along Quillen's
story to Starfleet Command, and see if--"
"Am I to understand you do not favor giving us the
weapons we need to defend ourselves?" Melkinat
interrupted.
"I favor finding a peaceful solution to this
problem, Chairman. Quillen's story has
given us another piece to this puzzle. I
suggest we may find its solution somewhat
easier now."
Sejanus frowned. "I see your point,
Picard. But we must prepare the Tenarans for the
worst."
Melkinat shook his head sadly. "For the
worst? What "worst" could there possibly
be?"
Picard said nothing, but somehow he doubted that
the Tenarans understood the ultimate horrors
of war.
William Riker tore his attention away
from the pointing arm itself and looked where the girl was
pointing. She had caught the motion of his eyes,
and she smiled slightly in
self-satisfaction.
"I see," Riker said. "Quite a complex,
by any world's standards."
Gretna Melkinata laughed. "You're
trying to flatter us, Commander. I realize how
small and silly all of this must look, compared
to what you've seen on the more advanced planets
in the Federation."
"Will, please. That's what my friends call
me." He smiled at Gretna, who blushed
slightly and turned her attention back to the
valley below them.
The valley was filling with water. Slowly but
steadily, day after day, centimeter
by centimeter, the level rose, creeping up the
valley sides, covering trees and rocks and
bushes forever. To their right, the river that was the
water's source rushed into the valley through a
narrow gorge. White water roared down a
fall into a deep hole beneath it, and then flowed more
peacefully down the valley. To the left, the
far end of the valley, the river's outlet was
blocked by the high white wall of a newly
built dam.
At this point the surface of the new lake
had not yet reached the spillway atop the dam.
When it did, the water would drop down another
fall--this one manmade. Eventually the dam
would generate more electricity than all of the
existing power stations on Tenara combined.
Even high up on the hillsi de, Riker
could smell the spray from the waterfall. He
breathed in deeply. "What a delightful
place! It's beautiful here."
Gretna nodded. "I've been coming here
since I was a child. But now we're changing it
forever," she said sadly. She shook the mood
away. "Come on, W. Let's get
closer." She ran down the hillside.
Riker watched Gretna appreciatively
for a moment before following her. It was summer now
in Tenara's northern temperate zone, and he
felt suddenly conspicuous and clumsy in his
Starfleet uniform. He liked the way the
Tenarans seemed to blend into their environment, and
he admired their love of their world. Short as his
visit on the surface had been so far, he
had already absorbed enough of the Tenaran mindset
to see how jarring the new dam was, how
conspicuous and clumsy it looked. His
appreciation of Gretna Melkinata went beyond
such considerations, though; he was powerfully
attracted to her.
Which is something that a career Starfleet
officer should know better than to let happen,
he told himself. You'll probably be gone
in a few days. He shook his head in
annoyance at himself and walked down the
hillside in the mild sunlight.
When he reached her, Gretna was sitting on
a low rock looking pensively downward at the
lake. She pointed downward again.
"Right under there, there used to be an old stone
bridge over the river. When I was a child, my
secret hiding place was under that bridge."
She dropped her arm and smiled. "Where I
used to go when I didn't want anyone to find
me. Actually, I suspect my parents
knew where I was, but they used to go along with the
game and pretend not to know."
Such a gentle world, Riker thought. "Tenara
will be stronger with this new power supply," he said
carefully. "Better able to protect itself, if
that becomes necessary."
Gretna sighed. "Oh, I know that." She
put her hands up and pulled her fingers through her
shoulder-length blond hair--a nervous
habit, but one Riker found charming. "But, Will,
what will we be protecting? What's going
to happen to Tenara in the process? And will it still
be worth protecting?"
Riker winced. "Must we destroy all that's
good in a society in order to save it from its
enemies? That's a question the great philosophers
of various worlds have struggled withfor centuries,
Gretna, and I don't feel qualified
to deal with it."
Gretna turned and looked at him
thoughtfully. "So you just put it out of your mind and
follow orders."
"Of course not!" Riker made no
attempt to hide how offended he was. "I
swore an oath to uphold the principles of the
Federation. I'm not expected to follow orders
that violate those principles."
"The problem," Gretna pointed out, "is that
principles tend to be vague and general, but
orders are specific and deal with the immediate
present."
"Yes," Riker said uncomfortably.
"Dammit, Gretna, you're supposed to be
a naive girl from a provincial planet."
She laughed, suddenly lighthearted. "And
why should Tenara's lack of advanced
technology make me naive, Commander
Riker? People are born and die here too, just like
anywhere else. They fall in love; they
encounter happiness and sadness--in short,
we're like sentients everywhere. Do you really find
your assignment to Tenara so dull and unbearable,
Commander?" She smiled and changed that to,
"Will?"
Riker smiled back. "This is one of the most
enticing worlds I've ever been on."
"And there's more to it than you've seen so far,"
Gretna said, looking directly at him.
Now it was Riker's turn to blush.
His communicator beeped.
"Riker here." He rose to his feet and
unconsciously snapped to attention.
"This is Lieutenant Worf, Commander.
Captain Picard and Captain Sejanus have
beamed back from Tenara and called an emergency
staff officers' meeting on the Centurion."
"Understood," Riker said. He shrugged
apologetically and said to Gretna, "I have
to go."
She nodded. "I hope you'll find time
to return."
"We've got to finish that tour, remember?"
"We do at that," she said, standing herself.
"Beam me directly to the Centurion,
Lieutenant Worf," Riker said.
He allowed himself another brief smile at
Gretna before the transporter beam took him.
When Picard finished telling the assembled
officers Quillen's story, there was a moment of
stunned silence.
Data was the first to break it.
"With this new information, sir, I believe I
can now offer a reasonable conjecture for the
M'dok's behavior," the android said. "It
is highly likely that the drugs the M'dok have
been importing--the growth hormones--were
intended to increase the amount of sustenance
available from the creatures the M'dok use as
their food animals--"
Across the table from Data, Jenny grimaced.
"I can further postulate," the android
continued, "that these attempts have failed, and thus
the M'dok have turned elsewhere for sustenance."
"And Tenara just happens to be the closest world
to the empire that qualifies," Riker said.
The android said, "There are of course many
instances of such behavior in the history of all
the civilized worlds. The ancestors of many of the
crew members on this ship once ate their
fellows. In the case of Tenara, the feeding is
inter-rather than intraspecies, so our emotional
reaction is not really justified.
By definition, we are not talking about
cannibalism."
"Commander," Picard said angrily, "the
Tenarans are sentient humanoids, and so are
the attackers. We've all advanced far enough
to feel that all sentient humanoids are
members of the same species."
Data had opened his mouth to protest, but thought
better of it and said nothing.
"Why would their food herds suddenly fail
to supply them?" Sejanus asked.
"A population explosion, a planetary
catastrophe--there are any number of
possibilities. Disease, however, remains the
most likely one."
"Well," Picard said, "at least we know
what we're up against now. Mr. Data,
I'd like you to prepare a message to Starfleet
Command advising them of the situation and suggesting that
they initiate contact with the M'dok Empire
to offer our assistance."
"And if they won't take that assistance,
sir?" This question came from Gaius Aldus, who
was again seated next to Jenny. "Isn't our first
obligation to protect the Tenarans--no matter
the cost in M'dok lives?"
Picard frowned in disapproval. "I would
hope there's a way other than war to protect
our citizens' lives, Lieutenant. Two
hundred years ago, our own society was a more
martial one. Our first war with the M'dok was
particularly vicious and bloody, and a second
war with them might be even worse. The loss of
life on both sides would be unimaginable.
Now that we know what they are doing here, we must
try to help the M'dok--"
"Help them?" Marcus Volcinius asked,
incredulous. "I cannot believe my ears,
Captain. They have slaughtered innocent beings,
eaten them as if they were cattle--and you want
to help them?"
"I want to help them," Picard said
angrily, "because I do not want this to happen
again! What would you have me do, slaughter the
M'dok in retaliation?"
Sejanus raised a hand to calm his cousin,
and then spoke for the first time during the conference.
"I'm sorry, Captain. None of us
wants this to happen again."
"Of course not," Picard said,
managing a tight-lipped smile, "but we must
not rush inffconfrontation with the M'dok. That would
start us down a road we would find hard to turn
back from."
"However, we must still begin the transport of
security personnel and defensive equipment
to the surface immediately," Sejanus said. "So
that when the M'dok strike next, they are not
allowed to plunder the planet freely."
Picard shook his head in frustration. "I
agree. I can see no other option at this time.
Ensign de Luz will act as the
Enterprise's coordinator for all ground
security matters."
"I will be performing that job for the
Centurion," Gaius Aldus said, smiling
at Jenny.
"There is one more thing I would like to say--to all
of you," Picard began. He paused a moment
for effect, and when he began speaking again,
Jenny sensed his words were meant more for the crew of the
Centurion than for his own officers. "I
ask each one of you to remember what it is we
are here to do. Tenara has asked for our help
against the M'dok, but we must be sure that is
all we give them. Neither Starfleet nor the
Tenarans themselves desire a permanent
Starfleet presence here; our goal must be
to aid the Tenarans.
"We're not here for a war, after all. We're
here to prevent one."
Chapter Four
The following morning, security personnel
from both starships began setting up defenses
on Tenara.
Jenny de Luz supervised the team from the
Enterprise, which went quietly and
efficiently to work, establishing their camp and
setting up perimeter security. They brought
down no weapons heavier than phasers,
intending to familiarize the Tenarans with these before
bringing down the ground-based defenses.
In contrast, when the crew members from the
Centurion landed a few hundred meters
away, they spilled out and hit the ground in
defensive positions in an elaborate show of
force, maintaining their positions for several
minutes, glaring out at the unoffending
scenery. Then, at some unheard signal, they
spread out their perimeter and started unloading
weapons shocking in both quantity and type
phaser rifles, tripod-mounted phaser
cannon, and other implements of mass
destruction Jenny had thought long ago
mothballed at Starfleet headquarters against the
worst of eventualities.
She cheered up when she saw Gaius
Aldus.
She saluted him casually as he
approached; he returned her greeting with a
technically perfect stiff-armed Roman
salute.
"I'm a bit ... surprised at the
magnitude of your efforts, Command er," she said
curiously, watching the Magni Romani work
busily in squads of ten. That, too, she
felt, should mean something to her.
"All is as our captains have ordered," he
told her.
"Indeed ..." She continued to look around.
The Centurion crew worked with the
well-drilled efficiency which she knew had
marked the ancient Roman soldiers on Earth
as well as soldiers from Gaius Aldus'
planet. How natural it seems to think of the
Magni Romani as soldiers instead of
simply Starfleet personnel, she thought
suddenly. They were setting up their heavy
weapons in a well-planned, deadly order,
capable of turning the surrounding area into several
square kilometers of shattered rock and
scorched dirt.
"But surely, Magister, it would have been
better to bring down the equipment slowly, to let
the Tenarans grow accustomed to it?" she asked.
"And if the worst happens? If the M'dok
attack in force and manage to break past the
starships to this planet?" Gaius shook his
head. "We Romans can't abide
defenselessness, Jenny. And by the way, when are
you going to start calling me by my name? Even
Romans aren't formal all the time."
She managed a small smile, but did not
reply. She went on watching the activities
of both the Enterprise and the Centurion
personnel--and watching Gaius Aldus out of the
corner of her eye.
She was less disturbed by the
attraction she felt to him as woman to man--that
would have been no more than she expected, for he was
pleasant and handsome--than by the kinship she sensed
between them, soldier to soldier.
Meramar is a martial world, she
reflected, and I am a true child of that world.
A knife was put into my hand as soon as my
fingers were large enough to close around the handle. But
I've turned my back on that for the Federation's
sake, and replaced death with life. ...
Haven't I?
She forced the discomfiting thought away and said,
"I notice that your people don't observe standard
Starfleet work patterns."
Gaius' smile transformed his normally
serious face, giving it an appealing warmth and
charm.
"Ah, the tens, you mean," Gaius said.
"Our ways worked so well for us, didn't
they?" Gave us dominion over our world.
"We're traditionalists in many areas.
Warfare is one of them."
"But Starfleet requires that all of its people
train in certain ways," Jenny began in
protest.
"And we abide by those regulations," Gaius
said promptly. He smiled again. "We
Romans have also always been very good at following
rules to the letter. However, we do train our people in
the Roman way as well."
"If it works," Jenny said doubtfully,
"then I suppose no one can object."
"Oh, yes, it works! Would you like to see how
well it works?"
"How do you mean?"
"I often lead our men in training sessions
on our holodeck. I'd be happy to have you
observe--or even participate, if you like."
The prospect seemed an echo of Jenny's
own upbringing, and for that very reason it both
attracted and repelled her. The invitation
seemed almost to be an offer of friendship, of
closeness, that she wasn't yet ready for. She
temporized by saying, "If I were to accept,
I think I'd be more interested in participating
than observing."
Gaius frowned uncertainly. "Too much
for a non-Roman," he muttered. He looked
her up and down carefully--an analytical
look, weighing and balancing, nothing
sexual in it. "Well, perhaps. Yes, I can
see ..." He broke off, blushing suddenly.
"Forgive me. I wasn't thinking. You'd be
welcome. In fact, we'd be honored to have you
there."
So now the onus was on Jenny. Too
soon! she thought, touched by panic. She had
always reacted to strong overtures of friendship or
affection by drawing back, and, unable to stop
herself, she did so now. She said abruptly,
"I'll let you know."
She turned away and walked rapidly
back to the Enterprise personnel, leaving
Gaius Aldus staring after her in surprise.
Far away from the Tenaran capital city,
invasion of an entirely different kind was taking
place.
On a hillside overlooking a bowl-shaped
valley, Marcus Julius Volcinius
paused to catch his breath. A creek meandered
through the valley, whose floor and sides were
covered with cultivated fields. To Marcus'
eye, untutored in agrarian matters, the
crop in those fields looked like what Magna
Romans called frumentum, grown high and
ready for harvesting. However, he realized that the
plant might be something else entirely, something
native to Tenara, and perhaps it was still at an
early stage of its growth cycle. Such concerns
were the province of farmers, not something an urban
patrician concerned himself with.
It would help to know, though, he told
himself, in order to open the conversation with these
peasants on a friendly level.
Boots would have been impractical on such
uneven ground, and armor out of the question in the warm
sunlight. Marcus congratulated himself on
having chosen sandals and a simple tunic.
Dressed this way, he was very comfortable. As always,
he was very pleased with himself.
Across the valley, a small village sat
near the top of one of the hills. It was well
above the limit of the cultivated fields, its
houses set close together so that they didn't
use up any of the arable land. Marcus nodded his
approval of such efficiency. The village was
his destination. He had beamed down just out of sight
of it but within easy walking distance.
Marcus turned and set out across the
brow of the hills that formed the sides of the
valley. He could have saved quite a bit of time and
distance by cutting across the valley, but that would have
taken him through some of the cultivated land. Such
peasants as these, Marcus knew, would be
angered by any damage to their crops.
At least that was the way it was on Magna
Roma these days. Spurred on by their initial
contact with the Federation, the old Imperial
Government had begun its sudden, yet
surprisingly peaceful transformation into the
Republic of today almost eighty years ago.
Around the time of his birth, the new Magna
Roman government had begun its serious push
for land reform. The latifundia, the great
estates of imperial days, had been broken
up and parceled out to people whose ancestors had been
serfs on those very latifundia. The
descendants of the serfs now farmed their own land,
and would not tolerate the presence of someone like
Marcus on that land. Membership in the
Volcinii gens, or any of the other great,
ancient clans, had once ensured the
terrified obedience of the serfs. Now it
guaranteed only the hatred of their
descendants.
In the valley, a swarm of people moved among
the rows of plants, bent over, searching for
weeds and pest damage. One of them noticed
Marcus and called out to him. The others
straightened and looked where their comrade was
pointing. Still immersed in his gloomy thoughts of the
current situation on his homeworld, Marcus
stiffened in momentary fear of the farmers.
Then he realized that they were waving at him in
normal Tenaran friendliness. He smiled
broadly at them, waved back, and continued
toward the village.
The village was empty, but the schoolhouse
was easy to find.
Once he was in the village, Marcus could
see that it consisted of houses arranged in a rough
circle around a larger building, which he knew
would be the combination meeting hall, saavta
assembly hall, and school.
All of the houses were one-story square
structures made of wood, with rounded roofs of
roughly woven dried grass. It was a
primitive design in Marcus' eyes, but
he had to admit that it probably
served well in the mild climate of these parts.
The central building, though, was two
stories high, fronted by a ground-level
porch. Marcus squinted upward and made out
individual wooden planks, each carefully
bent into a curve, so that together they formed the dome
of the roof. A lot of trouble to go to, he
thought. It graphically demonstrated how
important this building was to the Tenarans. That
pleased Marcus. It was a kinship. The
Senate of Magna Roma still met in the very
same stone building in the city of Rome that the
ancient Romans had used, long before their
empire had conquered their entire world. That
building had an almost religious significance
for Magna Romans, and here, in the care taken
with the saavta building in this obscure
village on Tenara, he saw the foundation of the
same mystical respect. Marcus nodded
approvingly and stepped onto the porch.
The ground floor consisted of one large
room, quite empty. Just like the village,
Marcus thought. All of the inhabitants must be
down in the valley tending to their crops. Then
he heard voices. To his right, he saw a
flight of stairs. He climbed it to the
second floor, moving a bit hesitantly,
still unsure of his reception.
The second floor was divided into four
rooms, only one of which was in use. A dozen
children sat on the floor or on chairs, or
leaned against the walls, listening with varying
degrees of interest to an older woman in the
center of the room.
Marcus stopped in the doorway,
unobserved, and listened for a while. The woman
was reciting a list of names in an almost singsong
voice.
Names to learn by rote, Marcus thought
scornfully. Peasant lore, passed down
orally to the next generation.
He stepped forward and cleared his throat.
The teacher stopped in mid-word and looked at
Marcus in confusion. "Yes? Who--"
But the children knew. Somehow, their grapevine
had carried to them word of the exciting visitors from
space. "He's from Starfleet!" one of them
shouted, and then they all rushed at Marcus,
grinning eagerly.
He was alarmed again for a moment, but
held his ground and smiled at the children.
They surrounded him, fingering the machine-made
cloth of his tunic with awe, and showering him with
questions. He could hardly make out a word they were
saying.
"One at a time," he laughed. "Please!"
The teacher's voice cut through the babble.
"Children! Show some manners!" When their voices
quieted, she said to Marcus, "Are you lost,
sir? Can we help you find your way somewhere?"
Marcus grinned happily. This is so
easy! "No, actually I'm right where I
wanted to be. I'm here to help you teach."
"Help me teach?" she repeated in
bewilderment.
"Oh, yes." He held up the small hand
computer he had brought with him from the
Centurion. "With your permission, I thought
I'd give your students a short course in
Roman history."
The happy shouts of the children drowned out the
teacher's confused protests and were all the
encouragement Marcus needed. Tenara had a
long way to go, and Marcus Julius
Volcinius was here to guide it in the right
direction.
The day's work had been long and physically
exhausting. Jenny was glad when the last of the
equipment was beamed down, and the temporary
shelters for the Enterprise personnel set
up.
Again, by way of contrast, the Centurion's
personnel had beamed down prefabricated
building blocks, which they quickly assembled into a
barracks that resembled nothing so much as an armed
fortress to Jenny, and (from the shocked
expressions on their faces) to the group of
Tenarans accompanying her.
This last part of Jenny's day was the most
exhausting; not physically, but mentally. She was
taking Chairman Melkinat and the other members
of the Great Saavta on a brief tour of the
ground-based defense installations the Magna
Romans were setting up. There were about thirty of
them altogether, walking behind her. Even as she
spoke, pointing out each weapon and detailing
its capabilities, she could sense the
Tenarans' distaste and see the way they cringed from
the machines she was showing them.
Commander Riker was right, she thought. I
don't think these people are ready for this.
Jenny turned to them. "Look, I know you
don't really approve of all of this, but
we're doing it to protect you from further
M'dok attacks. If you really don't
want any of these devices"--she swept her
arm out to indicate the entire collection of
weapons and the crews manning them--"you can just
tell us to take them away and leave, and we will.
This is your world, and we're only here
by invitation."
She'd spoken perhaps more plainly than she'd
intended--the Tenarans seemed to sense the
annoyance in her voice and backed away from
her.
Melkinat stepped forward from the pack and said
gently, "Don't distress yourself on our
account, Ensign de Luz. We all understand the
need for these weapons, and we appreciate the
efforts of your two ships to help us." He
turned to the other Tenarans, who added their loud
assurances to his.
The chairman continued, "Please don't
misinterpret our distaste for disapproval,
Ensign. It's just ... well, difficult for
us."
He drew a deep breath and pointed at the
phaser-mounted cannon the Centurion's
crew had transported down. "These are very
powerful devices. You say they can detect a
ship in space as soon as it approaches
Tenara, and if necessary, even destroy it while
it's still in space. If that's so, then why do
you--I mean, we--need any other installations
than this one? I know you plan to place similar
devices elsewhere on Tenara."
"Because of blind spots, sir," Jenny said.
The Tenarans looked puzzled. "You see,"
she explained, "none of these weapons we have here
can fire through a planet, so that means that an
enemy--a raider, I should say--can approach
in Tenara's shadow, in other words, from such a
direction that the planet itself shields the ship from
the weapons. This means that even though the
satellite system we plan to set up can
detect a raider approaching from any
direction, the weapons may not be able to fire
on it. So we plan--with your permission, of
course--to establish similar
collections of weapons across Tenara's land
surfaces and on rafts out at sea, so that no
matter which direction the M'dok try
to approach from, they can still be kept away."
"All over the world?" one of the Tenarans
repeated. This was an older woman, her hair
pure white and thinning, who had earlier been
introduced to Jenny as Anka. "I had
hoped," Anka went on, "that we could limit
the exposure of our people to these devices, but if
they're everywhere, then that becomes impossible,
doesn't it?"
"I suppose it's the price we have to pay
to protect our world, Anka," Melkinat said
sadly, his distress evident.
"The price is not worth paying,
Chairman."
The loud grumblings that followed her words
indicated that a great many of her fellow
Tenarans agreed with her.
"We have been over this before," Melkinat said.
"The vote was to defend our world--not to die like
cattle."
Anka glared at him. "I call for another
vote, then."
Jenny saw that the Tenarans had split
into two factions--factions rapidly moving
apart from each other. The smaller group consisted
of Melkinat and the other members of the Central
Council. The larger group, about two dozen
people, included Anka and those Great Saavta
members who were not part of the Central Council.
Jenny tried to defuse the situation. "Our
presence here is a deterrent, one we hope will
shortly become unnecessary. If we can convince the
M'dok to stop these raids--"
"And if you can't?" A member of Anka's
faction, a slender, bearded man with a
surprisingly deep voice, moved to the front
of the pack. "What then?"
"We have every hope that we will be able to."
Jenny knew as soon as she spoke how weak
her answer sounded.
"I have another question for you, Melkinat,"
Anka demanded. "What happens when the
Federation leaves? Who will man these weapons
then?"
The grumbling from the people behind her grew even
louder.
Melkinat stepped in front of
Jenny and stood face-to-face with Anka.
To his credit, he did not try to dodge the
issue. "If the Federation leaves, we will have
to man the weapons."
"Never!" she said.
"It is that or perish," Melkinat said
simply.
"Better to die with our principles intact
than to become killers ourselves," Anka said.
"Anka's right!" Yet another member of the
older woman's faction spoke up now. "These
weapons must not stay here!"
Jenny shouted for quiet, but few of the
Tenarans could hear her over their own noise.
Several did turn their attention her way,
though, their faces red and their fists raised.
Suddenly Jenny realized these peaceful people were
just as capable of violence as anyone else. It
was just a matter of finding the right trigger--and she
seemed to have found it.
With outward calm she raised her hand slowly
to the communicator contained in the insignia on
her chest. But then she stopped. The Tenarans were
looking at each other, trying to draw the
courage to make the first irretrievable move.
The air was electric with tension, with the
potential of violence. Jenny feared that her
call to the Enterprise to beam her up would
trigger it. She might get hurt--or lose
control and hurt some of the Tenarans.
And then came the familiar sound of a
transporter. The open space around Jenny
began to fill with gold-shirted security
troops. The Tenarans scuttled backward.
Jenny sighed in relief and dropped her
hand. How did the Enterprise know I
needed help?
And then something odd struck her about this
security force in addition to the normal
equipment, each one wore a short sword at
his waist. Why, they're Magna Romana!
They aren't from the Enterprise at all.
They're from the Centurion.
A stocky figure pushed his way through the
security cordon to her side. "Are you all
right, Jenny?"
She laughed. "Just fine, Gaius. The
Roman cavalry arrived in the nick of time."
Gaius Aldus smiled in return.
"Romans have always believed in
punctuality."
The Tenarans had retreated still further while
Jenny and Gaius Aldus spoke. Now they
were gathered in a group at a distance, acting like
small children aware of their guilt. Melkinat
approached the watchful Magna Roman force
hesitantly.
"It's all right," Jenny called out.
"Let them through."
The security forces parted, forming a
corridor through which the two Tenarans walked
nervously, their eyes flicking from side
to side. Jenny waited for them without
expression.
Melkinat licked his lips and said,
"Ensign, I can't tell you how sorry I
am that this happened."
"I know you are," Jenny said. "Melkinat,
take your people back to Zhelnogra. I'm
sure Captain Picard will be in contact with
you."
Gaius Aldus gestured, and the security
troops parted again for Melkinat to pass through.
Jenny and Gaius could see Melkinat
talking to the other Tenarans earnestly. The
group gestured frequently toward the Magna
Roman security force, then broke up and
headed back toward the handful of old ground
vehicles into which they had crowded for the long trip
from Zhelnogra. They jammed themselves back
into the vehicles and began the trip home.
Jenny hesitated, then gestured for Gaius
to walk a short distance away with her. When she
was sure they were out of earshot of the others, she said
to him, "Do you know what one of the Tenarans told
me today?"
Gaius shook his head.
"There hasn't been a crime recorded on
Tenara in three hundred years. Nothing--
murder, robbery, and certainly not riot. And
yet look what almost happened here."
Gaius shrugged. "Tenara was lucky. It was
isolated from the rest of the Galaxy and hence from
reality. The ancestors of these people came from
Earth, just like yours did. They're no different
from you genetically. They're not some superior
life form. So now reality has appeared, and
they're reacting to it in a normal human
way."
Jenny shook her head
impatiently. "That's not what I meant.
You're right their isolation is over, and they're
going to have to pay a price for that. But that's not the
inevitable result of contact with the rest of the
Galaxy. There're plenty of worlds where it
doesn't happen at all!"
Gaius smiled grimly. "Perhaps, not having
tasted of it earlier, the Tenarans are unusually
susceptible to violence."
Jenny shook her head again. "No! It's as
if it's some sort of virus that we brought with us
from the outside."
"You're wrong, Jenny," Gaius insisted.
He looked at her face, noted the lines of
weariness. "You're tired," he said gently.
"You've been working nonstop all day. You need
a rest."
Jenny managed a smile. "I think you're
right about that."
The two were silent a moment.
Jenny was suddenly aware of her proximity
to Gaius and turned to look at the sun setting
over the valley. The sunsets she remembered
from Meramar were unexceptional. Darkness came
swiftly to the perpetually overcast sky, as if
the sun were simply switched off.
Not so on Tenara, where the sun was dimming
reluctantly and going out in a blaze of rich
blues and purples. As Jenny watched, the
purples turned to reds and golds, and she
felt the cares of the last few hours leave her.
For now, she was content to stand and watch the sun's
last rays play out over the trees of the
valley.
It almost looks like Paradise--except
for the weapons we've brought down here.
As if he'd been reading her thoughts,
Gaius spoke. "This is such a beautiful
world. Why don't you go out and enjoy it?"
"I'd like to," Jenny said.
And then, before she could stop herself, she thought
Before we change it forever.
Chapter Five
Captain Jean-Luc Picard studied the
satellite pattern depicted on the screen
before him. The web of satellites the
Enterprise and Centurion had set up
around Tenara over the last week was in
strict compliance with Starfleet regulations, and a
computer analysis of the resulting defense net
had given the satellites another mark of
approval.
Then why do I feel as if that is not
enough?
He glanced again at the pattern of the
satellites' orbits, examined the encryption
of the carrier waves of their sensors, and pored
over the mechanical stress readouts of their
casings. But they told him nothing new.
Not for the first time in the last week, he wished
someone other than Commander Riker had led the
away team to Tenara. He valued all his
staff officers, but missed his
second-in-command's input at moments like these
--when his instincts were at war with his training.
A soft beep sounded behind Picard.
"Incoming communication from the Centurion,
sir," Worf said.
"On-screen."
The picture of the Centurion, about one
hundred kilometers ahead of the Enterprise,
vanished from the main viewscreen and was replaced
by the stern features of Captain Sejanus.
"I have logged my approval of the
satellite-detection net," Sejanus said.
"If you will now add yours, Captain, our
engineers can begin powering up the system."
"I would like to run one further safety check
with my chief engineer, Captain," Picard
said. "If it meets with his approval, we'll
put the net on-line."
Sejanus frowned.
"I thought all safety checks had been
completed, Picard," the Centurion's
captain said, a trace of impatience in his
voice. "We need to have the system operating as
soon as possible."
"We need to have the system operating
safely, Captain," Picard said. "One more
check."
"Your caution is commendable," Sejanus
said, but he was clearly not pleased. "I leave
it to you to bring the system on-line. Centurion
out."
Picard opened a channel to engineering.
"Mr. La Forge, how are we doing?"
"All set on this end, sir. Just give the
word."
"Lieutenant Worf?" Picard asked,
swiveling in his command chair.
Worf studied his console. "According to my
readouts, the monitor system for the net is
functioning perfectly."
"Naturally," Geordi said, his voice
carrying a touch of amusement. "Did you
expect any less?"
"Excellent work, Mr. La Forge,"
Picard said.
"I didn't do it all myself, Commander. The
Centurion personnel had most of the basic
system already designed."
"Of course." Picard nodded. Over the
past few days, a team of engineers from the
Centurion had been working with the Enterprise
engineering personnel in the design and
implementation of the satellite-detection net.
And maybe that was the problem, he told himself.
Maybe he just didn't trust the work the
Centurion people were doing.
Ridiculous. He was letting the fact that
he was personally uncomfortable with Captain
Sejanus get in the way of his job.
"Congratulate them for me as well,
Lieutenant," Picard said. "Begin powering
up the satellite network."
"Right away, sir." Geordi hesitated
a moment, then spoke again. "Captain, what
about the exchange of technical personnel?"
Picard frowned. A few days ago,
Geordi had reported he'd been contacted
by Brutus Nothus, the chief engineer of the
Centurion, who had suggested that the two
ships exchange technical personnel
to facilitate the work on the satellite
network.
"Do you still think such an exchange would be
useful?" Picard asked.
"After the work they did here?" Geordi sounded
somewhat surprised by the question. "Captain,
they've put some security features on this
net that are light-years ahead of what we've
got. Plus, the phasers on the satellites
are all linked together in such a way that the
power-utilization curve is the most efficient
I've seen on a system this size. I'd
love the chance to find out more about how they pulled that
one off."
Of course, Picard thought.
Security interlocks, highly efficient
weapons systems--they would be expert at such
things.
"Such exchange of personnel is a
fairly common procedure, sir," Worf
said, "Regulations stipulate--"
"I know the regulations, Lieutenant,"
Picard said impatiently. He shook his
head. You're acting unreasonably. This
won't do, Jean-Luc! A bit of personal
animosity, and you behave in this silly way.
Come now! He could almost hear the voice of
Monsieur du Plessis quoting one of those
hoary old maxims he so favored Envy
is more irreconcilable than hatred.
Picard nodded. "Very well. Mr. La
Forge, contact Brutus Nothus and begin
bringing some of their people over here to work with your
subordinates."
"And what about sending some of our people over there,
Captain?"
Picard paused in thought, then said, "Not
yet." He closed the channel before Geordi
could question his reasons.
Sorry, monsieur, he thought. That's
as far as I feel able to go for now.
"That's as far as I'm going," Riker said.
He flopped down on a large boulder and
dropped the pack he was carrying beside him.
Gretna shook her head and studied the
valley floor below them.
"We'll be there in a half an hour, Will,"
she said.
"You said that half an hour ago." Riker
wiped the sweat from his brow and took a sip from the
canteen hanging on his belt. It was hot, and
he was glad to be wearing native clothing--
shorts, loose cotton shirt, and moccasins
--rather than the standard Starfleet uniform.
Otherwise, I'd have drained my canteen
about ten miles back.
Gretna sat down by his side and pulled
a roughly sketched map out of her knapsack.
"According to this, the village should be just past that
stream." She pointed down the valley at a
riverbed perhaps a mile distant. "A lot has
changed here over the last few years--that's how
I lost my bearings."
Riker knew what she meant. They
had passed evidence of the M'dok attacks
everywhere on their journey across the countryside--
patches of razed forest, the burned-out
remnants of a village--yet the land was
indescribably beautiful. They were journeying
across what was once Tenara's breadbasket, a
valley about four hundred miles outside
Zhelnogra. Their survey was intended to help
the Federation evaluate what the Tenarans needed
to rebuild their world and what aid they would
require, though from what Riker could see,
nature was capable of taking care of most of the
M'dok-inflicted scars herself.
"This is a beautiful country--better than
any holodeck illusion," Riker said
quietly.
"Better than any what?" Gretna
asked.
"Never mind," he said, shaking his head. It
would take a long time to explain the workings of the
holodeck. "All right," he said, climbing
to his feet. "A half-hour--but that steak you
promised me had better be as good as
advertised. Because I'm--"
"--starving," she said, smiling. "When we
reach Carda, you'll have the best food and drink
the inn can provide--I promise you."
Gretna, he had discovered, had lived in this
part of Tenara for a few years, before moving back
to the capital where she'd been born. He had
discovered many things about her over the last few
days--none of which were lessening the powerful
attraction he had felt at their first meeting.
"Look." Riker pointed. A thin plume
of smoke was visible just past the river below.
"That's Carda," Gretna said. "Come
on."
About twenty minutes later they came to a
small clearing and a group of five or ten
buildings.
The M'dok had obviously been here as
well. Carda was a ruin.
"Oh, no," Gretna said.
There were ten people gathered on the front steps
of the largest building, talking among themselves.
One by one, they fell silent as Gretna and
Riker approached.
One man, short and balding, detached himself
from the crowd and stepped forward to meet them.
"It's Larten," she said
quietly. "He was the leader of the saavta
here."
As the man drew closer, Riker could see
he walked with a slight limp. There was also a
scar (fairly recent, from the look of it),
running down one side of his neck, and his eyes
were hollow and sunken, as if he hadn't slept
for days.
"Gretna," he asked calmly, "what do
you want here?"
She stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded.
"What do I want here?" she asked. "I
came to see you, to help you."
The man stepped back and eyed Riker--and in
particular the tricorder he held--with a
mixture of suspicion and resentment.
"What's he doing here?" Larten said.
"Larten, what's the matter with you?"
Gretna asked, bewilderment showing on her
face. "Is this how you treat guests now? Is
this how you treat me?"
"We don't want him or his weapons
here," he said coldly. "And if you're with him,
we don't want you here either!"
"I don't understand. What--"
"Sari is dead because of people like him!" Larten
shouted, his face red. "Our homes are gone--
and you ask for welcome?"
"He is nothing like the ones who destroyed your
village, Larten," Gretna said.
"He has weapons like theirs!" Larten said.
"Now, go!"
Behind him, the other men stepped forward, forming a
line behind Larten.
"I think we'd better do as he says,"
Riker said quietly. "Come on."
Speechless, Gretna let him lead her
away from the village.
"What's the matter with them?" she asked.
"They're angry and upset, Gretna. I
can't really blame them, after what's happened."
"They're acting like children!" she said.
"To blame the Federation for what's happened here
..."
Riker shook his head. "As I recall from
my briefings, a certain Gretna
Melkinata was also once strongly against a
Federation presence on this world."
"But not now."
"I'm glad about that," Riker said.
"Otherwise, you might have deliberately lost
me in the forest."
"Please don't joke about it, Will!" she
said. "These are all my friends, and I did
side with them--before the attacks, before I saw
everything the Federation had to offer us." She was
silent a moment. When she looked up, her
eyes were full of tears. "Before I met you."
Will Riker didn't know what to say to that. But
he did know what to do.
Setting down his pack, he took her in his
arms and kissed her.
It had been inevitable that Jenny would
accept.
Counting herself, there were ten of them lined up in
front of the holodeck entrance, with Gaius
Aldus leading the line. Decurion, she
thought suddenly, wondering if it was a reference from
some Roman history course she'd had or
simply a rank her mind had created.
She was also, she realized suddenly, the only
woman. She wondered briefly if the others
resented that, if they perceived her as an intrusion
into their fraternal structure. Any such
resentment, however, was being kept well hidden in
Gaius' presence.
Over the last few days Jenny had finally
gotten around to using his first name. And now she was
accepting his offer to train with the Magna
Romans.
Gaius faced them all briefly. "We will
be practicing scenario alpha
seven-point-three." From their faces Jenny
could see that the Magna Romans were all
intimately familiar with that scenario, whatever
it might be.
He continued. "Your weapons will be waiting for
you inside, as usual. We will move in two
finger-fives. Felicitas." He turned
back to the door and said, "Holodeck entrance,
open."
The doors slid aside smoothly,
revealing a dense forest. As always, Jenny was
amazed at the accuracy and detail of the
simulation. She could smell the leaves, and at
the edge of her vision, something that might have been a
deer flashed by. She stared around her as they
moved inside.
"Holodeck entrance, close,"
Gaius said, and the incongruity disappeared,
leaving them apparently in a huge, nearly
trackless forest.
The Magna Romans bent down and picked
up objects from the ground, nodding their
approval. Jenny looked down and realized that
by her feet were a gladius, the Roman short
sword, and a sheaf of javelins. There were also a
small shield and a suit of armor made of
tough leather covered with riveted metal scales
--this would be quieter than the segmented plate
armor she had seen the Centurion personnel
wearing during the reception.
After a few seconds' study of the gear, she
began putting it on; there had been a time when
she had worn very similar equipment as a
second skin. The sword was shorter and
broader than those she was used to, the shape of the
shield slightly different. But these were minor
differences indeed, and she felt suddenly much more
confident as she looked around her, her hand
hovering over her sword hilt in a manner which
for years had been as natural to her as breathing.
The Magna Romans were moving into orderly
but not too rigid formations. Gaius ended up
next to her. "You're in my five," he said
quietly. "You know the finger-five?"
"As a starship tactic, not on the ground,"
she answered, equally low. "But I'm sure
I can adapt."
He smiled at her, then moved on to check
the rest of his troops. After two more minutes
he took his place at the head of the formation,
giving a subtle signal, and they began
moving.
As her eyes adapted to the dim light of the
forest, Jenny could see that it was not at all
trackless; faint trails, some animal, some
human, were apparent everywhere on the forest
floor. She had not the faintest idea where they
were going, but Gaius Aldus led the way with
surefooted confidence, and she kept formation as
best she could, summoning all her old
skills, stepping carefully to avoid noise.
What are we doing? she wondered as they
moved. Obviously this is some historical
military scenario, but when and where is it set?
What's our mission?
At a point where two trails diverged,
Gaius gave a curious signal which
Jenny was quite sure was not Starfleet regulation,
and the group halted. At another signal, the
second finger-five darted off into the woods
along one of the trails, while Gaius' group
knelt down, moving slowly and carefully
into positions of concealment.
"Now what?" Jenny asked him, whispering.
"Wait."
Soon she heard a group coming along the
trail, laughing and talking in a language she
did not understand. It sounded like Earth's modern
German, but she could make out no words.
Before the group came in sight, there was the sound
of a quick movement from the direction in which the other
group of Magna Romans had gone. The
laughter from up the trail changed to shouts and
screams.
Then there was the sound of metal striking
metal, and finally the unknown group came in
sight, falling back in ragged array as the
Magna Romans threw javelins at them and,
in some cases, closed in for hand-to-hand combat,
thrusting with their swords to deadly effect.
There were about twenty of them, tall, strongly
built men wearing animal skins and carrying
spears or long swords of a material that
looked like bronze. Two had apparently been
carrying a slain deer; as Jenny watched, they
dropped the animal and drew their swords.
Though the Magna Romans were severely
outnumbered, they fought in a disciplined group,
holding a line and covering each other, while their
opponents apparently lacked any such
organization. The enemy tried to turn the fight
into a series of single combats, but the tactic was
failing miserably.
Jenny started to rise, but Gaius grabbed
her arm in an almost painful grip. "Wait!"
Then he scuttled away on his belly to a
different vantage point, watching the fray
intently.
The other Magna Romans were herding their
opponents, Jenny realized then, driving them
toward the positions held by Gaius' five.
Gaius waited until they were about five
meters from the concealed positions, and then rose and
shouted, "Cast!"
Almost as one, the Magna Romans hurled
their javelins, taking the tall barbarians
completely by surprise. Even as she
straightened her powerful arm, casting her last
javelin, Jenny flinched a bit from the sight;
their opponents might be only holodeck
simulations, but the blood was very red and had a
startlingly accurate odor, while the screams
of the wounded sounded painfully real.
But adrenaline rushed into her system and then
there was no time to think at all. The barbarians
were undisciplined but brave, and Jenny found
herself face-to-face with one, a mightily
built man with a shaggy blond beard, who
slashed at her wildly with his bronze sword.
She knocked the blow aside easily with her
buckler and thrust for his face. He jumped
back, and she saw a new respect come
into his eyes.
His next attack was cannier, a feint at
her belly and a slash for her throat, but that,
too, she blocked, feeling the old excitement
and exhilaration of hand-to-hand combat, and thrust
straight in for his stomach, low and vicious.
His sword was too high to block, and they were
too close for him to jump back; she thrust the
sword in and up, driving the sharp blade deep
into his vitals, and he dropped his sword,
sucking in a last breath in a strangled
half-gasp as blood gouted from his mouth.
She pulled her sword out of the crumpling
body, staring around wildly, but the battle was
over. The barbarians lay "dead" on the
ground, already shimmering around the edges as the
holodeck dissolved their "bodies."
One of the Magna Romans was lying on the
ground, very still, and another one was doubled over in
agony, his face white as he held on to a
realistic-looking spear that had apparently been
driven through his abdomen. He was making odd
noises, as though he was trying to scream but
couldn't make the proper muscles work.
Before Jenny had a chance to react, Gaius
said sharply, "Holodeck, open exit.
Simulation, end."
The door opened before them, and the forest scene
disappeared, along with Jenny's weapons and
equipment. Only she and the Magna Romans
were left, standing on a bare holodeck--but the
injured personnel were still not moving, and the
rapidly spreading pools of blood under them were
undeniably real.
Gaius rushed to the other side of the
corridor, slapping his hand against a computer
panel. "Medical to holodeck," he said
urgently. "Two critical."
"On our way," said an answering voice,
and then all was silent except for the horribly
labored breathing of the man with the abdominal wound.
The medics were there in seconds, quickly but
gently lifting the two men onto flotation
stretchers and moving them into the turbolift.
Jenny collapsed against the wall, breathing
hard. "Gaius, those men ..."
Gaius put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Marius should be all right. Julius ..."
He shrugged.
She looked at him, swallowing hard against the
sourness in the back of her throat, trying
to understand. "The safety interlocks aren't
supposed to let things like that happen!"
He shook his head. "My captain had the
interlocks taken out of the programming. It's
entirely possible to die when using our
holodeck."
"Now you tell me," she whispered, breaking
away from him. Then she was running, sprinting
down the corridor toward the transporter.
Confused feelings coursed through her. She was
appalled by what she had witnessed. Yet, she
still felt a tingle of excitement at the memory
of fighting side by side with Gaius.
The only thing she was sure of was her desire
to get back to the Enterprise, where she could
sort through her confusion in peace.
Chapter Six
But Jenny found no serenity aboard the
Enterprise.
There was only one thing to do. She made an
appointment to see Counselor Deanna
Troi.
Deanna listened to Jenny's story, keeping
a straight face with some difficulty. When
Jenny finished, Deanna said, "Jenny, have you
ever been in love before?"
"No, not really. I ... Before? What do you
mean, before?"
"I mean that you're in love this time."
"But, Counselor, how can that be? That
doesn't make any sense!"
"Often it doesn't, although in this
case I think it does. You and Gaius
Aldus have so much in common--background,
training, interests. You're a very attractive
woman."
"I am?" Jenny said in surprise.
Deanna laughed. "Yes, you are. And
Gaius is a very attractive man."
"Oh, he is!" Jenny said
enthusiastically. "And he's both an
excellent soldier and a serious student of the
theater, and he's so ... so--"
"I'm sure he is," Deanna said
dryly. "So you have a great deal in common, as
I said. When you and I were part of the group on the
Centurion for that banquet, I could sense the
physical attraction between the two of you."
Jenny blushed. "Yes," she muttered.
"I'd never experienced anything quite like it."
"And," Deanna continued, "since then,
you've been thrown together often because of the work you're
doing. I would be more surprised if nothing had
come of it."
Jenny looked at her eagerly. "So you
think it's all right, then?"
Deanna laughed. "Perfectly all right,
Jenny. I don't know why you think you need my
permission, but you have it."
Jenny left with a happy glow, but Deanna
sat back to think about more practical matters,
which Jenny had not raised. What if this romance
did progress, and the two decided to marry?
Starfleet had a policy of posting married
couples to the same ship, but in this case, which
ship would it be? Would Gaius Aldus be
willing to leave the service of his captain and
lifelong friend? On the other hand, would Jenny be
happy if she accepted service under Captain
Sejanus on a ship full of Magna
Romans?
When the communicator in his cabin whistled,
Picard was trying once again to take a nap.
Why do I bother? He forced himself to his
feet. "Picard here."
"Lieutenant Worf, Captain. I'd like
to speak to you."
"Fine. I'm on my way."
"No, sir," the Klingon said quickly.
"I'm not on the bridge. I'd like to come to your
quarters if I may."
Klingon personal problems? Life just
refuses to get simpler. "Certainly,
Mr. Worf. I'll be waiting for you."
But it wasn't exactly a personal
problem that Worf wanted to discuss.
When he showed up a few minutes later,
he stood in the doorway looking self-effacing
and nervous.
"Come in, Mr. Worf," Picard said with a
touch of impatience, "and let the poor door
close."
"Sir." Worf stepped in quickly. He
waited for the door to slide shut behind him, then
said abruptly, "I'd like to be assigned to the
surface, sir."
Picard was not entirely surprised, but he
pretended to be. He gestured to one of the two
well-padded armchairs, and when Worf had sat
down, Picard said, "Your role aboard the
ship is essential, Lieutenant."
The Klingon shook his head. "I don't
believe so, sir. I have subordinates who
are quite capable of handling my shipboard tasks for
extended periods. In this case, I feel
I'm needed on Tenara."
"Are you saying, Mr. Worf, that Ensign
de Luz is not capable of handling the job
we've assigned to her down there? Remember that
it was on your recommendation that she was given that
job."
"I did not overestimate her ability,
Captain," Worf said, his pride in his
subordinate quite apparent. "But I think we
did underestimate the task itself."
"According to de Luz's reports, the
defensive installations are all in place and
properly manned. Commander Riker is
supervising other teams from the Enterprise and the
Centurion, helping the Tenarans improve
their agriculture, transportation, education,
and communication. In short, Lieutenant, I
can't see what precisely you feel you can
contribute. I must also tell you that I'm
uncertain about how the Tenarans will react to you.
They're not exactly a cosmopolitan people with a
wide experience of alien cultures and beings."
Worf almost smiled. "You're afraid
I'll terrify them, sir?"
Picard did smile. "In fact, yes."
"That's exactly why I want to go
down there, Captain. What I can do--what
Jenny de Luz and the others don't have the time
to do--is teach the Tenarans how to defend themselves
against personal attack by M'dok. In other
words, the sort of attack that Quillen told
you about. Most of the Tenarans are too peaceful
to defend themselves under any circumstances, but some
of them react differently. Remember the crowd
of Tenarans who almost attacked Jenny,
Captain. They have the capacity to fight and
defend themselves.
"They'll find me frightening, menacing. But if
I can train some of them to defend themselves against
me, to fight back if I pretend to attack
them. Then they can do it against M'dok too. And
those Tenarans I train can be dispersed across the
planet to teach the methods, in case of another
M'dok ground attack."
Picard sighed deeply. An army of
Tenarans trained in personal combat by a
Klingon and dispersed across the planet, he
thought. What are we doing to the nature of
Tenaran society?
Centuries ago on Earth, a soldier had
reported to his superior, in all seriousness,
"We had to destroy the village in order
to save it, sir." That episode had stood
since then as symbolic of the folly of which
military organizations were capable. Would
future generations read about Captain
Jean-Luc Picard's destruction of a
society's pacifist nature in order
to save it? And if so, would Picard be
remembered not only for that folly, but also as the
man who had corrupted the nature of
Starfleet itself by betraying its own peaceful
ideals?
Picard looked up at Worf. "Your
arguments have force," he said. "But at this time,
I cannot advocate--"
"Captain Picard, to the bridge,"
Data's voice came over the communicator.
"What is it, Lieutenant?"
"We have picked up two M'dok ships
approaching Tenara."
"Computer verifies that they are both M'dok
attack craft, on a direct atmospheric
entry trajectory," Worf said.
"Full energy to screens,"
Picard snapped. "Red-alert status.
Contact Centurion and warn them, just in
case--"
"They've just contacted us with the same warning,
sir," Worf interrupted. "And put up their
own shields," he added.
Picard smiled slightly. "Worf, be
ready to fire on the M'dok ships as soon as
they come into phaser range--but only at low
power. I want to warn them away, not damage
them."
Worf's face remained impassive as his
fingers played over the tactical console.
"Yes, sir."
The M'dok ships drew rapidly closer.
Picard stood up and stepped forward, as if the
few steps he took toward the main
viewscreen were bringing him closer to the M'dok.
"Open a hailing channel," he ordered.
"Channel open, sir." It was Data, at
the ops console, rather than Worf at
tactical, who replied. The android had
switched control over subspace communications
to his own console, freeing Worf for any coming
action.
"This is Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the
USS Enterprise. You are about to enter an
area we have classified as a red zone. I must
ask what your intentions are."
Seconds passed with no reply. On the
main viewscreen the spidery shapes of the two
M'dok ships became clearly visible.
"At the limits of phaser range, sir,"
Worf said. "And they've raised their
shields."
"No change in course?"
"No, sir." This time it was an Andorian
named Hjalmar Foch at the conn. "Still headed
directly for atmospheric entry. Suggest
we fire soon, sir."
"M'dok ships, this is Captain Picard.
Your actions are clearly hostile. You must
withdraw from the red zone. I am empowered
by Starfleet Command to enforce this order with whatever
action I deem necessary."
Still there was no reply. Picard said,
"M'dok ships, if you do not withdraw immediately,
we will be forced to open fire." He turned
to Foch and said, "Mr. Foch, at my order,
one-second burst at each ship, with
all phasers at lowest power."
"Aye, sir," the young Andorian said with an
eagerness that disturbed Picard.
Worf said, "M'dok ships continuing their
approach, Captain."
"Fire phasers," Picard growled.
"Why?" he muttered to himself. "They must know
by now that we can destroy them if we have to."
He was oblivious of the whoosh of the
turbolift doors, which opened to admit
Counselor Deanna Troi to the bridge.
She made her way to her usual seat.
On the viewscreen, two brilliant
beams of light speared across the blackness of
space, obscuring the starfield as the computer
controlling the visual display instantly lowered
the illumination level to compensate for the bright
flash. The beams diverged slightly, vanishing
into what was, to the human eye, empty
space.
"Two direct hits," Worf said
calmly. "No damage to either ship."
Foch said, "Both changing course now,
sir." There was a strained silence on the
bridge, during which the computer collected
sensor readings on the two M'dok ships.
Finally Foch said, "Projection is that they're
transferring to geosynchronous orbit, sir."
Picard pursed his lips. "Interesting.
Raise our own orbit to geosynchronous,
Ensign. We'll keep them in line of sight.
And, Mr. Data, keep trying to contact
them."
"Yes, sir. Captain Sejanus has
requested that you speak with him, sir. As soon
as you're free, he said."
"I'm ready now, Data."
"Yes, sir."
Sejanus filled the main viewscreen,
replacing the two M'dok ships. "Well
done, Captain. But why fire your phasers with
no intent to damage or destroy the target?"
Picard rose and stood before the main
viewscreen, dwarfed by Sejanus' face, the
image of which filled the screen. But even though
the image made Sejanus seem like a giant
towering over the merely human Jean-Luc
Picard, the Earthman met those giant eyes
and held them in a contest of equals.
Watching, Troi was struck by the
way any meeting between the two men, whether
face-to-face or by means of electronic
imaging, always contained an element of
confrontation. They're too much the same,
she thought. The same, but different. There's
always mutual respect, but also a contest of
wills--brothers and rivals.
"I choose to appeal to their intelligence and
good sense," Picard said. "If they make
any move to attack Tenara, the Enterprise
will be within phaser range. That will force them
to keep up their shields, which will prevent them from
either launching a shuttle toward the surface of
Tenara or beaming anyone down to the planet."
"Stalemate," Sejanus said.
Picard nodded. "That's all that's really
needed, Captain. The M'dok will realize that
it's pointless to stay here in hopes of eluding us
and they'll leave, carrying that message back with
them."
"Well-thought-out," Sejanus said. "Te
saluto." I salute you. "Not how a
Roman would approach the problem, but I
believe it is a worthwhile strategy."
The giant face faded away, and the
Enterprise bridge crew saw the seemingly
empty starfield once again.
Picard relaxed. Only now did he
realize how tense he had been during his
conversation with Sejanus. "Magnification," he
called out. "Let's keep an eye on those
ships."
The viewscreen display rippled, and then
both M'dok ships appeared. The blurring of
deflector shields surrounded both.
Picard nodded in satisfaction. "They're
not taking any chances. Well, that's what we
want. Conn, what's our trajectory
relative to theirs?"
"Transfer to geosynchronous orbit under
way, sir," Foch replied.
"Mr. Worf, constant surveillance of
both M'dok ships. I want no
surprises."
"Yes, Captain." Worf was hesitant
to speak out on the subject troubling him, but he
forced himself to do so. "Captain, may I ask a
question?"
"Of course, Lieutenant."
"Sir, Captain Sejanus
seemed to be advocating a direct attack
on the M'dok ships. It would be possible
to follow that advice without causing death or
injury to the M'dok, but rather just enough damage
to frighten them away from Tenara. As it stands,
we're tying down the manpower and scientific
resources of the Enterprise just to keep these
two ships under surveillance."
Picard was impatient. "Your question,
Lieutenant?"
"Why don't we attack them, sir?"
"Because of who we are, Lieutenant."
Unsatisfactory as that answer might be,
for the moment it would have to do. Before Worf could say
anything else, Picard turned to Deanna
Troi. "Counselor, can I see you in the
ready room?"
"Of course, Captain." The Betazoid
followed Picard off the bridge. When the
door had shut behind them, cutting them off from the
sight and hearing of the crew, she said,
"Captain, you seem as worried about Captain
Sejanus as you are about the M'dok."
Picard bristled. "I asked you in here
to obtain your opinion, Counselor," he
snapped, "not to have you analyze me!"
Almost immediately, he apologized. "Sorry.
You're right, of course."
He went behind his desk and fell into his
chair. He gestured toward a chair facing the
desk, and Troi sat down. Though she moved
far more gracefully than the captain had, her
tension and fatigue almost matched his, because at
such close quarters, she felt almost
overwhelmed by the powerful negative emotions
Picard was transmitting.
He said, "I need to be sure that I'm
following the best tactics."
Deanna gestured helplessly. "I can't
advise you on that, Captain."
"No, no, of course not," he said quickly.
"Nor would I want you to try. Someone said a
long time ago that if a starship captain has
to order his ship to fire on another ship, then
he's already failed in his mission. I suppose
that's only a generalization, but you know what they
say about generalizations."
"No, Captain. What do they say?"
Picard smiled suddenly. "That no
generalization is worth a damn,
including this one." His expression grew grim
once more. "The choice not to fire on an enemy
can be as momentous as the choice to fire. Either can
lead to war, either can result in the destruction of a
civilization. It's not a morally simple
question."
"Few moral questions are simple,"
Deanna observed.
Picard grunted. Then he said, "I grew
up surrounded by cats."
The remark might have seemed irrelevant
to anyone else, but Deanna sensed its
significance, and she waited patiently.
"My parents were unusual in that way." He
smiled at the memory. "Some of our
neighbors thought they were eccentric. Anyway,
they loved both cats and dogs, but cats
especially. I grew to love the beasts too,
despite the way the creatures destroyed my
belongings." He looked at Troi sharply.
"I don't mean that I'm confusing the M'dok
with the pets I remember from childhood."
"I understand that, Captain. Go on,
please."
"What always struck me," Picard said,
"was the way our cats watched me to see
whether or not I was watching them. As long as they
knew I was observing them, they behaved themselves.
However, as soon as they thought my attention was
directed elsewhere, they would head straight for
my room and tear things up. That trait, the
M'dok share with them not exactly deviousness,
but rather an aptitude for finding the moment when our
attention is diverted. So I want the
M'dok to know that we're watching them constantly
--that our eyes are not directed elsewhere."
"But you worry about leaving Captain
Sejanus behind by himself," Troi concluded.
Picard nodded, mildly surprised at his
counselor's intuition. "It's absurd I
should feel this way! The man's a Starfleet
captain with a brilliant record, commanding a
Starfleet ship. And yet I find myself
reacting as though he were something else
entirely."
"As you know, Captain, I cannot read
minds," Deanna said carefully. "I can't
tell you what Captain Sejanus actually
thinks, sir. All I can do is sense
feelings, emotions, attitudes--
none of which, I'm afraid, can tell you any more
than you already know."
Picard nodded wordlessly.
"The line-of-sight view between ships is
psychologically important in sensitive
security situations," Picard said
obliquely. "Every starship captain knows that.
With Enterprise in geosynchronous orbit and
Centurion in standard parking orbit,
Sejanus will be out of our direct view
roughly two-thirds of the time." He said no more,
but he radiated unhappiness and worry.
"Sir, something puzzles me," Deanna
said. "After their previous attack ended in the
destruction of their ship, why have the M'dok
tried to attack Tenara again? Surely they can
see it's pointless."
"It would be pointless for us," Picard
replied. He sat on the corner of his desk
and stared in thought at the wall opposite. On
it was a small framed photograph of Mont
St. Michel at high tide, bathed in
brilliant sunlight. The ancient monastery
had been a favorite of the Picard family
during Jean-Luc's childhood, a place
they had visited frequently, and usually he
found the photograph re/lly nostalgic.
This time, he didn't even see it. Instead,
he saw bloody images of M'dok raids
on peaceful farming villages.
Picard shook his head as if that could ward off
those terrible images. "The M'dok are a
different species. Completely different.
They do not reason as human beings do. All we
can do is observe their behavior and react to it
when necessary. To predict their behavior, we can
rely only on experience of their past
behavior, not upon logic or our familiarity
with our own ways of thinking."
All of this was of course elementary to
Deanna Troi, but she knew that Picard
wasn't really lecturing her. He was thinking out
loud, working his way toward some conclusion.
"Certain things are basic to all
creatures," he continued. "Hunger is one.
This famine in their empire is terribly
severe. It may be that the M'dok are mad with
hunger. Or they may feel humiliated by their
earlier defeat." He paused, then added with
trepidation in his voice, "Their
defeat at the hands of Captain Sejanus.
"The final possibility is that they may be
quite unaware of what happened to that other ship. It
may not have sent any kind of message back
home before Sejanus destroyed it. In which
ca se," Picard added, "Sejanus should not have
destroyed that ship. I'd much prefer that the
M'dok be warned and undertake no further
attacks."
"Captain Sejanus' own cultural
background may make it impossible for him
to see that," Deanna warned.
"Yes. That's what I'm afraid of."
Picard grimaced. "If only we knew more
about him ..." He snapped his fingers and pushed
a button on his desk.
"Mr. Data," Picard said.
The android's voice came over the
intercom. "Yes, sir?"
"I'd like you to research something for me in our
historical data base."
"Of course, Captain."
Picard paced slowly about in the wide
space between his seat and the operations console.
"I'm interested in knowing more about a clan on
Magna Roma called the Volcinii gens.
At least, I assume it's a clan; that's
what "gens" meant in ancient Latin.
I want to know about their past, their present, and
their cultural significance."
"I will do my best, sir," Data
replied.
"I know you will, Lieutenant." Picard
closed the channel and looked up at
Deanna. "Is there anything else,
Counselor?"
"Well ... yes, sir. It seems to me
that normally, with two ships like ours stationed together
this way, there'd be a great deal of fraternization
between the two crews. But with the Enterprise and the
Centurion, that has never happened. I was just
wondering if that was your decision or Captain
Sejanus'. If you don't mind my asking."
Picard grunted. "I do mind, but I've
found that you tend to ask anyway."
"Yes, sir. It's my duty."
"And your inclination?"
"Perhaps my nature, sir."
Picard smiled, then laughed. "Fair
enough, Counselor. The truth of the
matter is that I've not initiated any kind of
joint social activities between the crews, and
I've managed to avoid approving any
requests for such activities that have come my
way. I admit readily that my reasons
aren't based entirely on reason. I
respect Sejanus professionally, but I
dislike him personally. Admittedly, this is
an irrational basis for command decisions. I
must tell you that the Centurion hasn't made
any overtures to us for social events, either.
Perhaps Sejanus feels the same way toward
me. Is that the explanation you expected,
Counselor?"
"Pretty much," she admitted.
"Captain, I would like your permission
to initiate such activities with the Centurion
--on a limited basis."
"What do you suggest?"
"Well, first I'd like to visit the
Centurion, talk to their ship's counselor,
maybe Captain Sejanus as well."
"I can read your mind," Picard suggested with
some irony. "You want to visit the
Centurion and see what Sejanus is
really made of."
Deanna smiled. "I wish I could see
that much. But, yes, I would like to speak to him in
person to get more of a sense of his true self.
For a number of reasons, sir." She told
Picard about her meeting with Jenny.
"I would hate to lose an officer like de
Luz," Picard said.
"So do I have your permission to visit the
Centurion?"
"Very well, Deanna."
As she turned to go, Picard was suddenly
seized with the urge to tell her to be careful.
Ridiculous.
During the hours that followed, the
Enterprise kept a geosynchronous
orbit, with the two M'dok ships always within
direct line-of-sight sensor view. Under
Picard's standing orders, whenever either M'dok
ship dropped its shields, the Enterprise
increased the power to its own shields and
approached closer to the M'dok ship in question.
Each time, the M'dok responded by quickly
raising their shields again. As Picard
had intended, the M'dok could not use their
phasers or transporters, and their power
levels were slowly but steadily decreasing.
Sooner or later, Picard hoped, they would
give up and leave Tenaran space, headed for
home.
Or something else would happen.
"Civis Tenarus sum," the little boy
said carefully, frowning at the floor. Then he
looked up quickly at Marcus, seated in the
teacher's chair at the front of the classroom.
They were using the large room that occupied the
entire ground floor of the building. The
smaller rooms upstairs, intended as
classrooms, made Marcus feel somewhat
claustrophobic--and struck him as traps if
the locals turned hostile. Down here, with
lots of space around him, he felt closer
to escape at all times. Moreover, he had
commandeered two of the upstairs rooms and, after
having locks installed on the doors, had
filled them with personal items and textbooks
beamed down from the Centurion.
When the boy saw that the Roman was smiling
at him approvingly, he laughed in relief,
and his classmates joined in his slightly
nervous laughter.
"Excellent, Claudius!" Marcus said,
beaming at the class. "Children, you're really working
hard at your lessons. Why, if this were
Magna Roma, you'd all be candidates for
senatorial scholarships." The boys and
girls--all under ten years old--occupying the
rows of desks before him had no idea what a
senatorial scholarship was, but they could tell
that he was complimenting them, and beamed with pride.
They were all intrigued by the idea of being
Magna Roman students. It was a change of
pace from boring, dull, everyday life on
Tenara. One of the girls raised her hand.
Marcus nodded at her. "Yes, Julia?"
Her name was actually Yoolka, but in the
classroom each child used a Roman name
assigned by Marcus. The boy he had called
Claudius was really named Klamnin.
Yoolka said, "Magister, you promised that
today you'd tell us all about the conquest of
Africa."
"So I did, Julia. Yes
... an exciting part of Magna Roman
history, full of the heroic deeds of great men.
It's also a period of our history that greatly
influenced the centralized form of our government.
It took less than a hundred years to add
that entire continent to the empire, but the roots
of the conquest were sown far back in Roman
history, so let's begin with the fall of
Carthage. Remember what I told you about the
Punic Wars? ... Good." Before he could
continue, Marcus became aware that the children's
attention had been diverted by something behind him.
He jumped to his feet and turned.
A woman in native costume stood in the
doorway of the classroom. She was tall, with a
strong, intelligent face.
She was also quite beautiful.
Marcus raised his eyebrows questioningly at
her.
"Please pardon my intrusion," she said
without a trace of apology in her voice.
"You're from Starfleet, aren't you?"
"Quite correct. I'm Marcus Julius
Volcinius."
"Gretna Melkinata," she said, bowing.
She locked eyes with Marcus. "I'm here with
some of the Enterprise crew."
"Oh?" Marcus said.
"Yes, we're surveying the needs of the
local populace throughout this valley." She
stared directly at him. "Forgive my
bluntness, but what exactly are you doing here?"
"He's teaching us about Rome!" one of the children
shouted out.
Marcus gestured expansively. "I was
sharing some of Magna Roma's rich history with
my new pupils."
"I see. Your pupils. And where are their
regular teachers?" she asked evenly.
"In the valley, joining their comrades in
farming while I broaden these children's
horizons. It's part of our
cultural-exchange program."
Gretna nodded. "And who has authorized
this program?"
Marcus closed the distance between them and spoke
quietly. "I understand your concern, but I
assure you that I am operating on the highest
authority."
"Really?"
Marcus nodded. "Perhaps you would like to return
this evening and discuss our plans for the exchange
program and the additions to the curriculum.
I'd be happy to show you my authorization
papers as well, but now I'm afraid that I
must return to my students."
"Of course," Gretna answered with a tight
smile as she turned to go. "Tonight, then."
She left, and Marcus quickly finished the
lessons for the day. After the last of the children was
gone, he headed for the building's stairway.
On the upper floor, Marcus stopped in
front of one of the heavy wooden doors. A
flat male computer voice said, "Nomen."
"Marcus Julius Volcinius."
"Confirmatus."
The lock clicked, and Marcus pushed the
door open. His ancestors would have thought the
whole process wondrous. To Marcus, used
to doors that slid aside for him, the need
to actually push on the door so that it swung on
its primitive hinges was a chore that seemed a
worse burden every time he did it.
Once inside, he pushed the door shut,
listened for the click of the lock engaging, and then
turned to the small communications viewscreen
on a wooden table in the center of the room.
Gretna Melkinata's inquiries
presented him with no small problem, one that could
possibly affect all his plans here ... and
elsewhere.
Chapter Seven
It was barely an hour after sunset, and already
the entire village was dark, its streets
deserted. The only flash of color in the sky
came from the stars above--and the flicker of the
schoolhouse lights ahead of her.
People went to sleep early on Tenara. Not
surprising, since most of them spent the day
hard at work and had to be up at the crack of
dawn for another day of backbreaking physical
labor.
Except for father and me, Gretna
Melkinata thought. Two bureaucrats on
a planet full of farmers.
As a little girl, she remembered staying up
to the wee hours watching her father work, reading,
writing, preparing legislation and speeches. As
she grew older, he had let her help, even
occasionally talked through his ideas with her,
especially after her mother had died. It was a kind
of talk that few people on Tenara were interested in,
except for other old men.
So she had been greatly pleased to discover
politics was a topic Will Riker knew and
enjoyed.
"Part of the job," he'd told Gretna
last night, over dinner around a campfire,
their unsettling experience at Carda several
hours b ehind them. "After all, we're the first
Federation representatives that many worlds meet.
And the leaders of those worlds, if they want to join
the Federation, want to know how their own governments
will be affected by membership."
"You're the only person my age I've
met who likes to talk about these things,"
Gretna said.
"Oh, I can't believe that."
"It's true!" Gretna said. She pulled
the vegetables she'd been cooking out of the fire
and set them aside to cool. "I can remember
going to school, back when the Federation first came
here, and trying to talk about these things with the others.
They avoided me like I was crazy," she said.
"The boys avoided you?" Will asked, a
glint in his eye.
She couldn't help but smile. "Well ...
they didn't necessarily want to talk."
"That, I can believe."
Gretna shrugged. "Maybe it was that I just
knew so much more about it than any of them, since
my father was in charge of the committee
to restructure the government."
Will took a hunk of bread out of his
carrysack, broke off a piece, and began
to chew on it thoughtfully. "I didn't know that."
Gretna nodded. "The whole idea of the
saavtas was his. He wanted to preserve the
independence of the smaller communities and still have a
governmental body powerful enough to make decisions
for the whole planet."
"That's always the problem," Will said. "How
powerful can you let the central government become
before it loses touch with the people and becomes a
dictatorship?"
Gretna reached into her knapsack and pulled
out a canteen. "Some jhafre?"
Will nodded. "Sure."
"How did you settle that on your home
planet?" she asked, handing him the canteen.
"Well ... I can't say that we did
settle it," Will said. "The whole question became
obsolete, in a way, because technology
helped us outgrow the need for that kind of
government. I, for one, have always agreed with
Rousseau--one of our philosophers--who said
true democracy and a large central
government were irreconcilable goals." He
took a swig out of the canteen and made a
face. "What is this stuff?"
"Jhafre--ale."
"Ale? You mean it's got alcohol in it?
Real alcohol?"
Gretna nodded, slightly confused. "Of
course. What else?"
Will shook his head. "Never mind. I'm going
to regret this in the morning, but"--he took a
long swallow--"at least it's better than that
Magna Roman appetizer."
Gretna looked at him questioningly, so he
told her about the banquet aboard the
Centurion.
She thought for a moment before speaking again. "What
about the Magna Romans?" she asked. "How
did they solve the problem--reconciling a
democracy with a large central government?"
Will stared at her. "Did I ever tell you
how perceptive you are for a naive Tenaran
girl?"
"Yes." She took the canteen back from
him. "Now answer the question."
"I'm not sure the Magna Romans," Will
said, speaking carefully, "ever solved that problem
either--until the Federation solved it for them."
The next day, thinking about his answer,
Gretna shuddered. What, exactly, was
Marcus Julius teaching the schoolchildren here? And
how high up did his authorization go?
Suddenly she wished Will was with her now--he'd
get some straight answers out of the Magna
Roman. But he'd taken the other
agronomists from the Enterprise on a
survey expedition this morning, and wasn't due
to rendezvous with her until early tomorrow.
And besides, what if Will already knew what
Marcus was up to? She didn't want
to believe that, but for her planet's sake, she
couldn't let her personal feelings for him get
in the way of facts. He is part of the
Federation, as are the Magna Romans.
"Gretna."
The voice, coming from beside her, was so
unexpected that she almost jumped out of her skin.
She turned, and Marcus Julius
Volcinius was standing there, smiling.
"Sorry if I frightened you." He moved
around in front of her. "I was just on my way
back from the village and thought I saw you standing
out here."
Marcus was now dressed in a maroon
Starfleet uniform, identical to the one Will had
been wearing when she first met him. He was a good
half-foot shorter than she, and somehow that
made her initial shock easier to overcome.
"I'm not frightened," Gretna said, "I'm
angry. I want to know what you're doing with the
children in there." She jerked a thumb back toward
the schoolhouse.
"Of course," Marcus said smoothly.
"I'd be happy to explain--or more
precisely, someone else will."
"I warn you, I'm in no mood for games,
Marcus Julius."
Marcus shook his head. "This is no game.
I need to take you to where the decision to undertake
the program was made--and to the people who decided
to make it."
Gretna eyed the Magna Roman
dubiously. Was he trying to trap
her? To get her somewhere out of the way and kill
her? No, she decided. He's crafty enough for
it, but too many people know where I am.
"All right," she said. "I'll be interested
to see who among you thinks he has the power
to make this decision."
Marcus smiled. "You are familiar with the
transporter?"
She nodded. "I've never actually used
one, but--"
"We need it to get where we're going."
Marcus touched the insignia on his chest.
"Centurion, this is Marcus Julius.
Ready to transport."
He lowered his hand and smiled at her.
"Relax. This won't hurt a bit."
Gretna stood stock-still for a moment, then
felt a strange tingling in her body. She
felt faintly sick, and then ...
They were standing in the Central Council
Chamber, back in the Tenaran capital city
of Zhelnogra.
She looked around in surprise. "What are
we doing here?"
"You've come to see us."
She spun at the sound of the new voice.
Another man in Starfleet uniform was standing
there smiling at her.
"You remember Captain Sejanus."
Marcus nodded. "And of course ..."
Another figure stepped out of the shadows.
"... Captain Picard of the
Enterprise."
Gretna nodded, too surprised to speak.
If Picard knew what was going on, then Will
knew. She felt like a fool.
"All right," she said angrily. "Tell
me why you three think you have the right to interfere in
our affairs--in the education of our children. And
make it good," she said, crossing her arms, "so
I can tell my father."
"Your father already knows."
Gretna spun, unable to believe her ears.
Melkinat stood there smiling at her.
"Daughter," he said, "I am glad to see
you."
"Father!" Gretna rushed to him, and threw
herself into his arms. "What are you doing here?"
"Captain Sejanus asked me to come, child."
She took a step back, holding
him at arm's length. "Then you know what this man
is doing, what he's teaching?"
Melkinat nodded. "Marcus' program is
the only way to save our planet from the
M'dok, daughter. Once the Federation leaves
..."
Gretna's head was spinning; how could this be
real?
"No," she said weakly.
"Once the Federation leaves," Melkinat
continued, "we will have to be strong, to be able
to defend ourselves."
Over Melkinat's shoulder she could see
Marcus smiling at her.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"I'm sorry--I should have. But I feared you
would tell the others--Anka and her group--and
we would lose this chance to educate our people. And,"
he said, bowing his head, "I feared you would think
less of me for not consulting with you. But I know
I'm right."
She shook her head, barely aware that
Picard was now speaking.
"It's a program designed to make your people
self-sufficient, Gretna. Marcus is an
excellent teacher."
Melkinat took his daughter's arms.
"Forgive me ... please."
She twisted free. "I cannot believe this."
She turned to Marcus. "I want to get out of
here. Now."
"As you wish," the Magna Roman said.
He tapped his communicator insignia.
"Centurion."
"Centurion here, sir."
"Beam the chairman's daughter back to our
original coordinates."
"Aye, sir."
Gretna bit her lip and turned back
to her father. "I need some time to think."
"Promise me you won't do anything rash,
child." He looked at her again. "I love you."
She nodded weakly--and then she was gone.
Marcus laughed. ""I love you,"" he
said, mimicking the chairman's voice. "Now,
that was a nice touch."
"Thank you," Melkinat said stiffly.
"And you," Marcus said, turning to Picard.
"I thank you for the recommendation. "Marcus
is an excellent teacher"--indeed."
Picard stood motionless. "I was happy
to be of help."
"You were exceedingly helpful." Marcus
nodded. "Simulation end."
The forms of Melkinat and Captain Picard
faded and disappeared. The outlines of the council
chamber wavered, and suddenly Marcus was standing in
the Centurion's holodeck chamber.
Sejanus laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Well-played, cousin. Well-played. That
should keep the girl quiet until tomorrow, which will be
quite long enough."
"Thank you, my lord." Marcus turned and
knelt before his captain. Sejanus was dressed
in a purple robe and wore a toga of
Magna Roman design beneath. "I am, as
always, at your service."
When Deanna materialized on the
Centurion's transporter platform the
next morning, she was met, as she had
expected to be, by Julia Sicania, the
Centurion's counselor. What she had not
expected was that Captain Sejanus would be there
too.
It was Julia whom Deanna had contacted
to request a tour of the ship. The Magna
Roman counselor was a woman of about forty,
but with the signs of premature aging on her
face. She had responded to Deanna's
request bluntly "Why? What business do
you have here?"
Outwardly calm, though inwardly furious
at this treatment, Deanna had smiled and said,
"I wish to compare the social structures
aboard our two ships. The societies the
crews come from are very different, and I think it
would be educational for me, professionally speaking,
to see how you've resolved your problems."
Julia had grunted something and said she would have
to see if such a visit could be arranged.
However, only minutes later she had called
back and extended a very polite invitation to
Deanna to beam over at her convenience. There
had been something cowed in Julia's manner
during that second conversation.
Now, as soon as Deanna materialized,
she felt herself swimming in the powerful emotions
filling the room, and the explanation for the difference
between her two conversations with Julia
Sicania became clear.
The hatred and resentment the Centurion's
counselor felt toward her captain blazed from
her; Julia made no attempt to suppress
it. From Sejanus, Deanna caught first his
contempt forand then his annoyance with his counselor.
Deanna realized immediately that Julia had not
wanted to be bothered with her but had been
overruled by Sejanus. Then came a
secondary impression from the two Magna
Romans a powerful current of something in their
past, some close and passionate relationship that
was now over.
The Magna Romans were both unfamiliar
with Betazoids, or perhaps did not know that
Deanna was half Betazoid. She could
detect no wariness in either of them concerning her and
no suspicion that she could sense their feelings.
They put on appropriate social faces,
assuming that they could fool her as easily as they
would a human. Julia stepped forward and said
brightly, "My dear Commander Troi! We're
simply delighted to have you aboard."
Deanna, seeing the true feelings behind that
facade smiled ironically and said,
"Counselor. I've been looking forward
to meeting you too." She turned to Sejanus.
"Captain. How nice to see you again."
She was immediately embarrassed by the wash of
primitive emotions coming from him.
Sejanus thought it more than merely nice
to see Troi again. "Welcome aboard,
Counselor. The first time you were here, we had no
chance to talk. I hope we can remedy that."
Deanna raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps after
Counselor Sicania shows me the ship,
Captain."
Sejanus smiled charmingly. "As it
happens, I find myself with a bit of free time
on my hands, and thought that I would personally
conduct your tour. If you have no objections?"
"On the contrary," Deanna said. "That would
be lovely."
"Excellent. We'll begin right away."
He let Deanna precede him through the door.
In the hallway outside, Sejanus said,
"I thought we'd begin with our engineering deck."
Deanna laughed. "Captain Sejanus,
I've seen all I ever want to of
matter-antimatter chambers."
"Of course," he replied. "I forget that
you come from a Galaxy-class vessel beside which
even the splendors of this ship must pale."
"Perhaps your schools," Deanna suggested.
"I'm very interested in finding out more about what
makes your society such an energetic,
vital one."
"This way, then." Sejanus led her down a
long corridor and past one turbolift.
She stopped at one door behind which she heard
crying.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Sick bay," Sejanus replied.
"May I?" Deanna stepped through the door
before he could reply.
Sick bay on the Centurion consisted of a
single room with half a dozen narrow
diagnostic beds crammed into it. Against one
wall stood a small desk. One crew
member was on duty when they arrived, a short,
slender, dark-skinned, curly haired young
man, extremely nervous in the presence of his
captain, who leapt to his feet when
Sejanus appeared and snapped the
chest-slapping, extended-hand Roman salute.
Sejanus responded with a nod. "At
ease, Doctor. Counselor, this is Dr.
Marius Tertius Secondus,
second-in-command of our medical section.
Marius, this is Lieutenant Commander
Deanna Troi, from the Enterprise."
Deanna greeted the doctor, then looked
around in surprise. "Is this all of your sick
bay, Doctor?"
"Why, yes, Commander. It's usually
adequate."
"Usually!" She didn't try to hide her
shock. "This ship has almost half the complement
of the Enterprise, and yet we have three or
four times as much room and equipment in our
sick bay!"
Marius was obviously floundering for a reply.
Sejanus took over. "We emphasize
other kinds of care instead. All of our
personnel are quite competent at first aid for
minor injuries, and our injured convalesce in
their own quarters."
Deanna managed to keep her voice even
this time. "What about an illness of some kind
affecting large numbers of people? Some
sort of plague, for example."
Sejanus smiled. "On my ship, crew
members are encouraged not to get ill." He
meant the remark to be flippant, but behind the
words she sensed his utter boredom with the
subject.
Deanna wondered what Starfleet
regulations were concerning the minimum size and
complement for a starship's sick bay, and if
Sejanus was violating those regulations.
"Now, let me show you that school,"
Sejanus said, taking her by the arm.
As they walked toward a turbolift
entrance, Sejanus said, "You'll find some
differences between our vessels here, as well.
Captain Picard has more specialists of
different types among his civilian complement
--linguists, agronomists, sociologists,
historians, and so on--than I have, and I
understand that most of them serve double duty as
part-time teachers. Since we have few such
experts on this ship, our curriculum is
narrower."
When he said the name Picard, Troi sensed
a flash of anger from him, though not a trace of
it showed in his voice or on his face.
Jean-Luc will be happy to know his affections
are returned, she thought wryly.
When they reached the area set aside for a
school, Deanna found out just how different the
curriculum was from that aboard the Enterprise.
She saw children of all ages being drilled in
Latin and English--and demonstrating, from an
early age, impressive proficiency in
both. She saw history classes, which
concentrated on the history of Magna Roma,
with special emphasis on the
prerepublican empire. She noted that they
covered Federation history quickly and in little
depth. Engineering--technology of all sorts
--was drilled into the students, but basic
science seemed to be given short shrift.
Then they moved on to observe
physical-education classes. The training here
was rigorous and unforgiving. Troi winced as she
saw even small children suffer painful falls or
blows from classmates--and then continue as if
nothing had happened, stoically enduring their pain.
On Sejanus' face she caught a look of
pride.
From puberty up, physical education became
indistinguishable from military training. And
Starfleet regulations would have nothing to say about
any of this, she realized presumably the
government of Magna Roma told Sejanus
how to run the civilian community aboard his
ship. How many of the details did that government
know, though?
As they left the school area, Sejanus
remarked, "Now you can see why we don't
really have human engineering problems on this ship.
Magna Roman tradition--discipline. Those
are the answers. To my mind, the school is the
most important place on the ship. Children are
the future of the Roman nation, of course. I
take great pride in their achievements--almost as
much as I do in the achievements of my crew."
Of course, Deanna thought. And do
all your crew have to undergo the kind of training these
children do?
Would Jenny de Luz have to?
She and Sejanus made small talk at
one another all the way back to the
transporter room.
"I've enjoyed your company tremendously,
Counselor," he said. "I hope to see more of
you soon." He took her hand and kissed it.
There was no doubt at all in Deanna's
mind about what Sejanus meant by that. She
nodded, and stepped up onto the transporter
platform. "And I hope to find out more about you,
Captain--soon."
Sejanus looked slightly disturbed as she
dematerialized.
Deanna went directly to the ready room,
where Captain Picard was waiting for her, hands
clasped behind his back as he paced in front
of the great window that dominated the room.
"Your impressions, Counselor."
"As we knew, Captain, the Centurion
is a very different ship, run quite differently from
this one. It is much more ... military, and there
is a great deal of emphasis on maintaining
Magna Roman values."
Picard chose his words carefully. "An
... unacceptable emphasis?"
Deanna sighed heavily. "No, sir.
Everything was in order ... and yet I must tell
you that I now feel your suspicions of
Sejanus are justified. He is not
what he seems, sir."
Picard leaned against the glass, resting his
head on a clenched fist. "Then what is he?"
Deanna shifted uncomfortably, sensing her
captain's frustration. "That, I cannot be sure
of, sir--not without another visit."
The door chime sounded.
Picard turned. "Come."
Data was standing in the doorway.
"I have the information you requested on the Vol-
cinii gens, Captain," the android said.
Picard fell into his desk chair,
suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue.
"Go ahead, please, Mr. Data.
Counselor, stay," he told Deanna.
"You'll be interested in this too."
The android cleared his throat--purely a
theatrical gesture, a deliberate imitation
of human speech patterns, Picard was
convinced--and said, "You were quite correct,
Captain, about the word "gens." As in
ancient times, it still refers to a clan, a
group of families, the heads of each of which
claim descent from a common ancestor--in this
case, presumably someone named Volcinius,
who may or may not have been a real
historical figure. The parallels with the
clan structures in ancient times on other
Federation worlds are intriguing," he continued,
warming to his subject. Then he caught sight
of Picard's expression and said, "However, this
is not the proper time or place to pursue them.
"The Volcinii gens wa s a patrician
family during imperial times, and quite powerful.
Moreover, they were steadily building their wealth
and political influence. Had the old empire
continued, they might well have managed to put one
of their own members on the throne in time."
"They must have been unhappy to see the
empire fall, then," Deanna remarked.
"Actually, they had prepared themselves quite well
for that possibility. Although they could hardly have
foreseen the events which precipitated the fall
of the empire and the establishment of the present
republic, they had long maintained good
contacts with all parties, including the
democratic forces which took over when
Proconsul Claudius Marcus and his
puppet, the last emperor, were overthrown.
Early in the revolution, the
Volcinians threw in their lot with the
revolutionary army."
As Picard already knew, the fall of the
empire was the direct result of the visit
to Magna Roma--or planet 892-IV
--of an earlier USS Enterprise. The
proof that there were other worlds where sanity ruled rather
than brutality, emboldened the democratic
revolutionaries and, five years later, led
to the collapse of the imperial government.
Soon afterward, the newly established
Republic of Magna Roma joined the
Federation.
"How long has it been since the revolution
on Magna Roma, Data?" Picard
asked.
"About seventy years, sir."
"And during that time, surely the Volcinians
haven't been able to retain the power and influence
they had in the old times--even with their supposed
sympathy for democracy."
"I believe the new republican
government shared your skepticism about the
Volcinians' sincerity, sir. The gens was
steadily excluded from governmental positions,
and the electorate did not treat Volcinians
kindly when they ran for office. However, time
is a great healer of painful memories, and the people
of Magna Roma inevitably forgot the
important role the Volcinians had played
in the oppressive government of imperial
times."
Picard nodded. "How closely is
Captain Sejanus connected to the gens at
this point in time?"
"I do not know, sir."
"Speculate, then."
"Very well," Data said. "The presence of
Marcus Julius Volcinius aboard the
Centurion, even in an advisory role,
suggests that the gens is very much aware of every
move Sejanus makes."
"And possibly guiding his actions?"
"No, sir," Data said. "We are too
far away from Magna Roma for such communication
to be efficient."
Deanna nodded. "But certainly, as
Sejanus' reputation grows--"
"So does that of his family." Picard
stood and began pacing. "What if he
plans to put the Volcinii gens back in
power?"
"They will all have to be elected by the Magna
Romans, Captain," Deanna pointed out.
"Just being related to Sejanus won't get them
into office."
"Perhaps Sejanus' goal is not
political office for the gens, sir,"
Data said, "but for himself."
Picard stopped pacing. Even in
democratic nations, successful generals had
come home from war to public acclaim and
electoral success. Was that the path Captain
Lucius Aelius Sejanus intended
to follow?
He turned to the window again. Somewhere out there were
the two M'dok ships--and Captain
Sejanus and the Centurion.
What, indeed, were any of them planning?
"What do you want me to do, Jenny?"
Gaius asked, a slight annoyance creeping
into his voice. "I have neither the authority nor
the desire to countermand the captain's override
of the safety interlock."
"But, Gaius, it's not right for people to die!
It's only an exercise!"
Gaius shook his head. "It's not that
simple, Jenny. Soldiers don't take the
simulated exercises seriously enough if they know
they're not in any real danger. They're too
casual about the whole thing. Then, when they find
themselves in a real situation--"
"I know that argument," Jenny interrupted.
"I've heard it from you before. I don't buy
it."
Gaius sighed. "Well, we'd better
agree to disagree, then. Since you feel so
strongly about it, why don't you stay out here this
time?"
Jenny folded her arms and glared at him
angrily. "Maybe I will."
"Good." Gaius turned toward the
holodeck entrance, but took only two steps
before he spun back to face her. "In fact,
perhaps you shouldn't come over here for these exercises
anymore, given your opinion of how we do
things."
"I should just wait out here while you go in and
get yourself killed by a computer-generated
barbarian, is that it?"
"I haven't been killed yet!" Gaius
said, practically yelling. "Look--"
Jenny suddenly put a hand over his mouth.
"We're being watched."
Gaius stopped talking and turned to his
left.
Half a dozen Magna Roman soldiers
waiting to enter the holodeck were watching with great
interest.
"What are you looking at?" Gaius
snapped. "Get in there"--he indicated the
holodeck--"and get that camp set up!"
The soldiers scrambled to obey.
Gaius took Jenny's arm and led her a
short distance down the corridor. "I worry
about you during the exercises as well," he said
in a low voice.
"Do you?" Jenny's anger evaporated at
his words.
"Of course I do ... but I still won't
change the way things are. These are exercises
to prepare for life-and-death situations. A
single mistake, and--"
"All right." Jenny admitted defeat for the
moment. "Let's go in there together and watch each
other's backs."
What followed in the holodeck was similar
to Jenny's first experience of the Centurion's
training simulations. The enemy was the same--
German tribesmen--and the ambush tactic was
also the same. But there were also differences, the most
important of which was that no real humans died.
Only simulations were killed, and none of those
deaths happened close enough to Jenny to seem
real. The other major differences were the sizes
of the opposing forces and the setting.
This time, the fighting was the Battle of
Britannia, which historically marked the turning
point in the long Roman war against the
Germans. The German tribes united for
long enough to send a combined army by sea. They had
purchased transport from their northern
neighbors, the Norse, to attack the great
Roman city of Londinium, which they thought was
undefended. It was to be the battle to destroy
Roman power and prestige in the West.
Instead, it was a trap, carefully laid
by Roman army strategists.
The German army landed in southern
Britannia and advanced rapidly toward
Londinium. It wasted little time on pillaging
as it went, for the greater prize awaited.
However, the seemingly empty meadows were
virtually saturated with carefully hidden
Roman legions. When the trap was sprung,
the surprise was complete, and it was German
power that was broken, not Roman.
The purpose of this holodeck exercise was
to train officers for battlefield command, rather
than to expose them to hand-to-hand combat.
Gaius was in supreme command of the legions
waiting in hiding, and those who had entered the
holodeck with him were in various subsidiary
command positions with those legions or on his
staff. Gaius had to use runners and youths
on fast horses to keep track of the advancing
Germans and to transmit his orders to his
legions; none of the communication technologies
taken for granted by Starfleet personnel were
available to him. Thus it was quite possible for the
officer being subjected to this exercise
to mishandle his command badly enough so that the Germans
won this replay of the Battle of
Britannia.
"What would happen then?" Jenny asked.
They were in the command post in the outskirts of
Londinium. Behind them lay the silent city.
Before them were the rolling plains, silver in the
moonlight, across which the Germans were advancing
toward them. The Germans were still out of sight of
their naked eyes--which was all they had in this
simulation--as were the hiding legions. At least
they could talk in normal voices instead of
whispering.
"I suppose the Germans would overrun us
and kill us all," Gaius replied.
Jenny could hear the tension in his voice. She
put her hand gently on his forearm. The
muscles were knotted, quivering slightly.
"Not if you told the computer to end the simulation
quickly enough."
Gaius smiled tightly. "With the score the
machine would give me for losing the Battle of
Britannia, I'm not sure I'd want
to survive."
"Couldn't you just follow exactly the same
tactics the historical general did?"
Gaius shook his head. "These Germans
don't follow the same tactics the
historical ones did. Wouldn't be much of an
exercise that way, would it?"
Jenny took her hand away. She was sure
he hadn't felt it anyway.
"There!" cried one of the officers.
Far away, invisible but for the flashes of
light reflecting from their spears and axes, the
Germans came. As they moved, Jenny's
keen eyes picked out more of them; they were spread
in a long line, and the dust of their movement was
clear long before individuals came into view.
The Germans had been canny enough to send
scouts north to the mouth of the Tamesis River,
which divided Londinium in two, and then toward
the city; but the Romans had anticipated that,
and the scouts had found nothing. Now this scouting
party was moving to rejoin the principal group,
and the main battle party was moving toward the city.
Concealed behind the rudimentary wall surrounding
Londinium, Gaius flicked his eyes over
the approaching Germans. To move too soon
would be a disaster, he knew; waiting too long
would have less dangerous repercussions. This
truth ran contrary to every axiom of Roman
military thinking he had been trained in, but it
was accurate nonetheless.
Jenny de Luz gasped as the Germans
came close enough to make out individual forms.
There were thousands of them--surely the only time the
barbarians had put aside their tribal
differences long enough to form such a huge army--each
one a tall, proud warrior with blond or red
hair and beard. Each held his spear,
sword, or ax confidently in a muscular
hand.
Then Jenny saw that they moved in a ragged,
disorganized mob, with no structure or
order; each warrior moved faster than necessary,
each wanting to be the first into the city. Here and there
some men rode on horses--tribal
chieftains, she assumed--but they made no
attempt to bring the formations into order. Instead,
they whipped their mounts past their men when they could,
so that as the Germans drew closer, the
chieftains were at the forefront.
Jenny saw, too, that the Germans were
plunging in blindly, paying no attention to the
surrounding terrain. As they approached, the line
squeezed together, bunching in between the river on one
side and a long, low hill on the
other. It was a trap that anyone with even the most
elementary training in the techniques of land
warfare should have been able to spot.
From near-motionlessness Gaius changed to a
blur of blinding speed. In his left hand he
held a riding whip, which he cracked twice;
this was the signal for three young, slender men,
nearly unarmored and
mounted on the fastest horses, to ride to his
subsidiary commanders. They were off instantly,
clinging tightly to the horses to keep their
saddles as they raced to their destinations.
"Marius!" he snapped to one of the officers
standing nearby. "Tell your men to form up near the
river. Hurry!"
The man he had spoken to ran to do his bidding.
The German chieftains, mounted on great
shaggy horses, waving swords and crying out with
wild war whoops, were almost on them.
Antonius Appius, a taciturn officer
with the quiet deadliness of a snake, made a
brief motion with his hand, and ten men stepped
forward, each holding a pilum, and cast the
heavy spears. The throws all found their marks,
and no more than ten meters away, ten men
screamed and died. The spear experts picked
up another ten pila from the ground and waited.
The remaining chieftains reined in their
panicky mounts, realizing that something was going
desperately wrong. Then a great shout arose
as the Romans marched from the far side of the hill
to push the Germans into the river.
The Germans were fierce fighters, as
evidenced by the shouts and screams and the noise of
metal on metal, which was, even from this distance,
nearly deafening. But on level ground, the
Romans were and always had been unmatched. The
three unwavering lines of Roman infantry
pushed steadily onward; when they reached the
river, the Germans' advantage of size and
weight disappeared, and they were cut down without
mercy as they slipped and floundered in the mud.
Those few who managed to turn back the way
they had come, trying to escape to the east, were
suddenly charged by several hundred Roman
cavalrymen, who ran them through with long lances
or simply trampled them. Beyond the battle
site Jenny saw the water of the river glint
red.
A greater problem was the
significant number of Germans who had
managed to break free of the main Roman line
on the west side, facing Londinium. Here,
Jenny realized, could be the city's greatest
threat, and certainly the greatest danger to their
personal safety.
The surviving chieftains, who had been
retreating from Antonius Appius' grim
spearmen, were heartened by the appearance of their men
behind them, and swept forward. Then Marcus
Claudius' cohort, three hundred heavy
infantry supported on the wings by javelineers
and by mounted lancers, executed a perfect
left-wheel movement from the river.
The javelin-throwers moved out along the
banks, hurling into the thick of the approaching
German mob, while the cavalrymen ranged
along their flank, herding them toward the
infantry.
With a roar, the Germans closed on the
infantry. The first line wavered and fell
back, but the second line moved quickly to fill
the gaps, while the third threw their heavy
pila to deadly effect. Within minutes the
Germans were all dead or routed, running
back toward the east, only to be met by the main
body of the Roman troops, who cut them down
quickly.
The three mounted messengers came galloping
toward Gaius Aldus; they slowed, then
dismounted and saluted him.
"All commanders are well," one reported.
"Good," Gaius replied. "Simulation
end."
The simulation vanished instantly.
Londinium, the spreading plains, the vast
numbers of legionaries and German
tribesmen all disappeared, leaving a small
group of Magna Romans and Jenny de
Luz standing scattered about on the naked
holodeck.
The lines of worry and tension slowly left
Jenny's face. She took a deep lungful
of air and blew it out again. There, she thought.
The empire is safe again.
She caught Gaius' eye and smiled.
And so am I.
Chapter Eight
The whistle of the communicator awoke
Picard. Data's voice filled the room.
"One of the M'dok ships is breaking orbit,
sir. You asked to be called if any--"
"On my way," Picard snapped, rolling
from the bed.
When he reached the bridge, Wesley
Crusher was at conn, and Data in the
captain's chair. As Picard headed down the
ramp, Data moved quickly to the ops console,
taking over from the crewman manning it.
"Status?" Picard asked, seating himself.
"One of the M'dok ships has left,
sir," Wesley said. "Looks like it's headed
for home."
"And the other ship, Ensign?" Picard
prompted. He watched the fuzzy image of the
single M'dok ship on the main viewscreen.
"Still in orbit, sir."
"The Centurion?"
"Out of our line-of-sight now, sir.
She'll be visible again in about half an hour."
Over the next few hours the M'dok would
lower their shields at irregular intervals
to test the intentions and resolve of the
Enterprise crew. Instantly Picard would
raise shields and move in closer. His meaning
was unmistakable no shuttles, no
transporters. The M'dok would raise their
shields again just as quickly, and Picard would once
again order the Enterprise back to its station and
its shields lowered to minimum.
The M'dok could have turned on the
Enterprise and attacked it. Given the
nature of M'dok society, Picard was
surprised that they did not do so. But such an
attack would have been suicide, and perhaps even the
M'dok were not given to throwing away their lives
to no purpose.
Throughout those boring, potentially deadly
hours, Picard sat in the captain's chair,
elbow on knee, chin on fist, eyes fixed
on the main viewscreen, where the M'dok ship
floated. What was the M'dok's purpose?
What were they doing? And where was Sejanus? The
Centurion had failed to appear at the
expected time, giving Picard cause for
concern.
The captain straightened from his brooding
position, stood and stretched, his spine cracking
audibly in the hush that pervaded the bridge.
"Let's give it another try," he
announced. "Mr. Worf, hailing
frequencies--"
"Captain!" Wesley interrupted. "The
Centurion!"
"Where are they, Mr. Crusher? Exact
position and trajectory."
"Extreme sensor range, coming in from a
highly elliptical transfer orbit
intersecting ours and the M'dok's."
"Damn him!" Picard said, slamming his
fist down on his own knee and rising from his
chair. "The M'dok will see that as an
attack. Worf, hailing frequencies open.
Centurion, this is Picard. Captain
Sejanus, break off your approach, do you
hear me? Break off your approach!"
Worf cut in. "The M'dok have increased
their shields to full power."
Picard shook his head. Damn Sejanus!
"Full power to ours, Mr. Worf."
"Centurion shields are up, sir,"
Data said.
"M'dok firing, sir! On
Centurion!"
Picard rapped out, "Hold your fire,
Mr. Worf."
Wesley said, "Centurion on
intersection trajectory, sir. Attack
mode!"
And then the Enterprise crew could do nothing
but watch as the Centurion approached the
M'dok ship at high speed.
The Magna Roman ship fired its
phasers at full power. The M'dok ship
took the full brunt of the shot, its
defensive shields radiating energy in a
brilliant rainbow display. Then the
Centurion hit it with photon torpedoes,
and the M'dok shields began to fluoresce
dangerously.
"They can't take that much longer," Wesley
muttered--a mutter that everyone on the bridge
could hear. "Why don't they respond?"
Picard knew why not the Enterprise.
He could sense the M'dok captain's
indecision. If he fired on the
Centurion, would the other Starfleet ship
join the battle? Then his ship would be doomed for
sure. The only sensible move was to retreat.
Which he did.
The M'dok ship's shields faded
momentarily, and the ship began to move away from the
two Starfleet vessels, picking up speed
rapidly.
The Centurion followed.
"Should we break orbit and follow, sir?
In case Captain Sejanus needs our
help?" Wesley asked.
"No," Picard said firmly.
"Absolutely not. Our assignment and our
responsibility is to protect Tenara. Just
keep both ships on the main viewscreen."
If Sejanus does get himself into trouble,
I'll have no choice but to go to his aid.
The main viewscreen showed the running
battle. The Centurion was right behind the
M'dok ship, pouring huge amounts of energy
into it in the form of phaser bolts and photon
torpedoes.
"The M'dok are only moving at about
one-tenth warp, sir," Worf said. "That first
barrage from the Centurion must have crippled
them."
There was something unspoken in what Worf said
approval of Sejanus' tactics. Picard
understood the Klingon to be saying that if one were
forced to fight, then that was the way to do it. Picard
hoped that Worf had not failed to see how
unnecessary it had been for Sejanus to fight at
all--that it had been the appearance of the
Centurion on the scene, coming in
unexpect edly from deep space, that had
precipitated the battle.
"Turning and fighting, at last," Worf said
with undisguised satisfaction. "The only
choice left to them at this point."
"A channel to the Centurion, Mr.
Worf," Picard said.
"Channel open, sir."
"Captain Sejanus," Picard said, "I
urge you to break off this engagement now, before there
are casualties."
Sejanus' face filled the screen.
"We--"
A loud burst from the M'dok ship indicated
that the fight was truly joined--and
suddenly the uneven battle no longer seemed
so uneven.
The M'dok counterattack was vicious and
unrestrained. The percentage of energy they were
diverting from their deflector shields to their
phasers was almost total--and the Magna
Romans found themselves under such heavy bombardment
that they were in no position to take advantage of
that lowering of the M'dok shield energy.
"Centurion taking some damage," Worf
said. "Their shields will be in danger soon, at
this rate."
At some level, Picard had known it would
come to this--to his being drawn into a battle
by Sejanus, inffbeing forced to take lives and
to endanger his ship. "All right! We'll go
to help them. Mr. Crusher, lay in course and
initiate. Mr. Worf, full power
to shields. And then full phaser power as soon
as range permits."
But even as the Enterprise was on its way,
the Centurion suddenly accelerated
directly toward the M'dok ship, full in the
face of its continuous phaser barrage.
Still sluggish, and no doubt astonished, the
M'dok were unable to maneuver out of the way. The
two ships collided at an immensely high
closing velocity.
More precisely, their shields collided.
Both sets of shields flared as they radiated
the kinetic energy that had just been dumped into them.
The ships bounced away from each other like rubber
balls.
But it had been a glancing blow, and it had
been under Sejanus' control. So while the
Centurion wobbled drunkenly for a moment and
then came back under control, its shields low
but still intact, the M'dok ship spun away,
rotating wildly, and in one area its shields
went far too low for safety. As soon as that
area rotated back into view, photon
torpedoes flashed out from beneath the Centurion's
saucer and into the area of weakened M'dok
deflector shields.
The M'dok ship exploded soundlessly. The
marvelous construction of metal and energy and
design, of science and technology, of
hardware and software, erupted in a minuscule
fragment of a second into a boiling, expanding
cloud, glowing in every color, a mad
orgy of self-consuming energies.
The terrible image faded, and space was
empty once again.
"Captain Sejanus hailing you again."
"On-screen."
Sejanus' face was a mask of confusion.
"Picard, why didn't you come to our defense?"
For a moment Picard was too stunned
to respond. Then he gathered his wits. "You
deliberately forced this encounter, Captain. I
do not condone the needless slaughter of an
opponent!"
"Needless slaughter!" Sejanus looked
surprised. "We are talking about the animals
who butchered an entire village--or perhaps
you've forgotten that story, Captain!"
"Perhaps you've forgotten what we're doing
here," Picard said. "It was the appearance of your
ship, and the way you chose to come on the scene, that
made the M'dok fight. You forced it."
"If you recall," Sejanus said icily,
"we were fired upon first."
"Semantics, Captain," Picard
replied. "And what about your own ship and crew?
How dare you risk their lives
unnecessarily? That engagement should never have
happened! The M'dok were fleeing!" His voice
had risen in volume. Picard realized he was
close to losing control, to shouting out his anger.
"They came to this planet to attack,"
Sejanus said firmly.
Picard shook his head. "I've been trying
to avoid putting you in this position, but you've
made it necessary. In addition to the orders
Admiral Delapore sent both of us, he
also included coded orders specifically to me,
giving me the authority to place myself in
supreme command of both our ships and the entire
Tenaran operation. I didn't want to invoke
that order, but your behavior makes it
unavoidable, and I am now doing so."
"Why, that's nonsense!" Sejanus
blustered. "Why should I believe that?"
Picard straightened again and lowered his voice
to its normal level. "I'll have a copy of
my orders transmitted to your ship immediately,
and of course you can contact Starfleet Command for
verification, if you like."
"I'll do that," Sejanus said. "Rest
assured, I will most certainly do
that."
Sejanus' image disappeared.
"That fool," Picard muttered softly,
taking his seat again. Is he deliberately
trying to start a war?
"Picking up an interesting anomaly on the
planet's surface, sir," Data said,
breaking in on Picard's train of thought.
"What kind of anomaly?"
"We just caught it on our last pass,
sir. An unnatural concentration of
metallic elements. Coming over the area again
now."
"On viewscreen, please."
At first, it seemed to be merely an
elongated clearing in the Tenaran forest, with something
glittering at one end of it. "Magnification,"
Picard called out.
The picture ballooned outward, and
Picard could see that the clearing was not a
natural one--that trees had been shattered and
thrown violently aside, that the ground had been
plowed up--and that the glittering object was
actually many objects, the remnants of a
ship.
"M'dok," he said. "But how did they get
past us?" He opened a channel to engineering.
"Mr. La Forge, what happened to the
satellite net?"
Geordi's voice came back clear and
strong. "Nothing, sir. It's working just fine."
"An inept landing," Worf said, nodding
toward the picture on the viewscreen. "Perhaps
it killed them."
Picard shook his head. "Didn't you know that
cats have nine lives, Mr. Worf?"
"Sir?"
"Never mind. We'll make no
assumptions. Mr. Data, scan the
wreckage, please."
"Aye, sir." After a brief pause the
android said, "No organic traces in the
wreckage, sir."
Picard grunted. "Then they're somewhere in the
forest."
He had no need to say any more than that. The
forest stretched for thousands of square kilometers
below them, impenetrable from above even with their
sophisticated instruments. The M'dok could be
hiding anywhere in it, and the Enterprise
would have no way of finding them. Everyone near that
crash site was in extreme jeopardy.
Picard rose to his feet. "Mr.
Worf, please find Commander Riker for me on
the planet's surface. And contact the
Centurion and have them warn their personnel
to be on the lookout for the M'dok. I'll be in
the ready room."
"Aye, Captain."
"And, Mr. Data?"
"Yes, sir." The android turned in his
chair to look at Picard.
"Find out how they got past us, and make
sure it doesn't happen again!"
It took close to half an hour for Worf
to locate the Enterprise's first officer.
Finally Picard was speaking to Commander Riker's
image on the small screen on the ready
room's desk.
Picard filled him in on the arrival of the
M'dok ships, and the destruction of one of them
by the Centurion. "Now we've just detected
signs of a crash landing on Tenara by another
M'dok ship. We can detect no signs of
bodies inside the wreckage, so we must
assume that the M'dok survived the crash and
are now at large on the surface--probably
within the forest somewhere outside Zhelnogra, where
they are hidden from our sensors. I'm
transmitting the coordinates of the crash to you
now."
Riker's expression grew tense. "That's
very bad news, Captain. Has there been no
response from the M'dok Empire to our offers
to help them fight the plague?"
"None yet, I'm afraid." He shook
his head. "Number One, this may mean war
yet."
"I sincerely hope not, sir--especially
if Tenara ends up being the battleground."
Riker paused. "How did this ship sneak by the
satellite net?"
"Commander Data thinks that the two ships we
saw were sent to record as many hours as possible
of the satellites' sensor broadcasts, so that
they could later analyze them and learn
to duplicate them. The ship that crashed used that
knowledge to dupe the satellites."
"Could they have staged the battle to allow that
second ship to sneak by?"
"Absolutely not," Picard said firmly.
"Captain Sejanus deliberately
provoked that incident."
Riker shook his head. "I still have trouble
believing that of a man like Sejanus, sir."
"I have the feeling none of us knows him as
well as we thought, Number One." Picard
changed the subject. "How's your survey
coming?"
"Fine, sir. I'll be sending back
preliminary reports tomorrow, but it seems that
all the Tenarans will need from us are basic
supplies and perhaps a few pieces of heavy
machinery to rebuild." He hesitated a
moment. "Are we having problems with the
government, sir? With Melkinat?"
Picard shook his head. "I'm afraid I
don't understand."
"Well ..." Riker looked uncomfortable.
"I'm afraid his daughter seems to have turned
against us--me--over the last day or so. Very
strange."
"Nothing you've done, I trust?"
"No sir," Riker said emphatically.
"She was supposed to complete the survey with us
and then return to Zhelnogra, but now she's
gone off on her own. I'm at a loss
to explain it."
"Well, contact me again when you rendezvous
with her in Zhelnogra. Perhaps one of us will know
the reason for her change of attitude then."
He exchanged a brief smile with his first
officer. "Picard out."
The small screen went dark.
"Mr. Worf?"
"Aye, sir."
"About those personal-defense training
classes you wanted to conduct down on the
planet's surface?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I think now would be a good time to start
arranging those."
The M'dok commander stretched lazily,
purred with satisfaction, and curled up into a
ball. He was comfortably fed (for the first time in
how long?), pleasantly warm, and intended
to sleep for the next few hours. He was on his
way to doing just that when a hissing voice he
knew all too well interrupted
him.
"Commander! Darkness! Now would be the perfect
time."
The squad leader seemed determined to sink his
teeth into that afternoon's argument again, to nibble at it,
worry at it, growl over it--in short,
to drive the commander mad with it.
He opened one eye and bared his teeth.
"Squad Leader! Orders! Now would be the
perfect time for punishment for insubordination."
"But if we fail to move now, and the Federation
finds us, then who will be in the wrong?"
The commander could sense the growing feeling in the
others that the squad leader was right. The most
elementary of battle tactics seemed to be
escaping them; this plague was making them
into animals. It was time to reassert himself. He
rose halfway and shook himself, throwing off
sleepiness, then stood erect. The commander was the
tallest and broadest of the party--which was in large
part why he had risen to a higher rank than
any of the others. Now he glared down at them,
growling as the fur along his shoulders and on his
head rose, making him look even bigger. The
other M'dok stepped back nervously and
avoided his eyes.
He sneered, and his foot lashed out, into the
pile of bones on the ground before him. Tenaran
bones flew into the air and showered down on the
squad leader. To have the bones of prey thrown
upon him was one of the worst insults a M'dok
warrior could suffer, but suffer it he did, and in
silence. He had to.
The sun had set two hours earlier. On
the horizon, the moon was a thin sliver. Even
for humans who lived in rural surroundings, like
the Tenarans, the landscape was only dimly
lighted. But to the M'dok, the light was more than
adequate for killing. It had been daylight
when this party had descended upon a tiny
village, inhabited by only two families,
and killed everyone there. Now the commander wanted
to sleep until the meal was properly digested,
but the squad leader wanted to keep moving,
to head toward the much larger town ahead of them.
We need our minds and bodies clear before
then, the commander knew.
"Enough!" he snapped. "It was I who
devised the method of deceiving the satellites and
thus found a way of landing on this world
once again, despite the Federation defenses.
I decide when we move--and where."
The squad leader, his eyes still averted,
grumbled to himself, bent to pick up a human
leg that still had some meat on it, and retreated behind
a tree.
Satisfied, the commander dropped to the ground
again, curled into a ball once more, and began
to drop off to sleep. The stray thought crossed
his mind that perhaps he would be wise to have the squad
leader tied up until morning. But he was too
sleepy and full of food to bother.
It was the first serious error the commander had ever
made. It was also the last.
Chapter Nine
"Attack me," Worf ordered.
Ingerment, the young Tenaran man standing in
front of him, giggled. The other young Tenarans
seated in a circle around the two giggled in
response. Ingerment stared at the ground.
"I said, attack me!" The deep,
rumbling voice was louder this time.
Ingerment giggled again, but this time with more
nervousness than amusement. The others did not
giggle at all. They were beginning to look
uncomfortable--and some of them, scared. Still, nothing
happened.
"Attack me!" Worf roared. The
Tenaran turned pale, his eyes widening in
fear. He raised his right hand, hesitated, and
then shoved Worf lightly in the chest.
Worf raised his face to the ceiling of the
gymnasium and howled the ancient cry of a
Klingon warrior. The Tenarans all
scrambled backward, widening the circle
considerably.
Well, that didn't work. What does it
take? In as mild a tone as he could
produce, Worf asked all of them, "Why
can't I get any of you to truly attack
me?"
A young woman spoke up angrily from the
circle. "That's not the way we do things."
The others nodded in agreement.
"You said you were going to teach us how to defend
ourselves against the M'dok if they attack us on
the surface again, but now you want us to do the
attacking!" the woman accused him.
Worf could sense their frustration and anger.
Anger, he thought. We already know they're as
capable of that as anyone else. Jenny de
Luz found that out. So why can't they learn
to control and focus that anger when needed?
"It's not that I want you to do the attacking,
as you put it. I had intended to start with a
demonstration of defense--my defense against your
attack. That's the way I was taught
self-defense, and that is the way I'm trying
to teach you. When you see how easy it is for me
to defend myself against you, you'll be encouraged.
You'll want to learn the techniques I know."
The woman spoke again, thoughtfully this time.
"It's true that a student who admires his
teacher's knowledge is motivated to acquire that knowledge for
himself," she pointed out to the others. "Perhaps we
should try."
"Excellent," Worf said loudly. "All
right, then. Y." He pointed to the young woman this
time, ignoring Ingerment, for he could tell that the
young man was trying to avoid his eye now.
"What's your name?" he asked her.
"Nadeleen."
"Nadeleen, do you have any younger brothers or
sisters?"
"Three."
"Good. Do you find me frightening,
Nadeleen?"
"No, not really."
"You don't?" Worf asked with some
surprise.
He drew in a breath, expanding his huge
chest, spread his arms out, his fingers curved
into claws, and bared his teeth.
"Now?" he roared.
Nadeleen stepped back, and the circle of
seated Tenarans widened again.
"Yes!"
"I'm a M'dok!" Worf yelled.
"I'm attacking your family! I'm about
to murder and eat your baby broth--"
That was as far as he got. Nadeleen's fist
shot toward his eye. Worf was so surprised that
he almost waited too long to move. Just in time,
he knocked her arm aside. Still moving, he
pivoted on one foot, hooked the other behind
Nadeleen's legs, grabbed a handful of her
blouse, and kicked her feet from under her. He
used his hold on her clothes to lower
her gently to the floor of the gymnasium. Even
so, she was pale and shaking as she climbed to her
feet. Worf smiled as unthreateningly as he
could and said, "Thank you."
Ingerment said belligerently, "So what did
all that mean? You were a M'dok, and she
attacked you, and you knocked her down. Then you
would have killed her and eaten her!"
"You weren't listening, Ingerment," Worf
said. "My whole point is that I'll teach you
to do what I did. That way, if I had been
the Tenaran and Nadeleen had been the M'dok,
I would still have been the victor. I would have had the
M'dok helpless on the ground." The Tenarans
looked at each other in surprised agreement.
Pursuing the momentary advantage, Worf
said, "Now, why don't you all get to your
feet, pair off, and I'll teach you how to do
what I just did to Nadeleen. There are a lot
of other techniques you also need to learn, but
we'll start with that one."
The rest of the afternoon went well. After some
initial clumsiness and hesitation, the Tenarans
began to treat the exercise as a game and took
to it with increasing enthusiasm. For a while, this
meant an excess of horseplay, but Worf,
who was at first annoyed by it, was able to channel it
in the end.
He was bone-tired when the day ended. His
Tenaran students seemed, if anything,
invigorated. They laughed and chatted happily
and said goodbye to him cheerfully. Worf managed
to maintain a friendly smile and to respond to their
farewells appropriately, but behind the
facade he was trembling with fatigue. He
could not understand it. The physical work had been
slight compared with what he was used to in his
regular holodeck workouts, those martial
simulations he used to keep himself in physical
condition and fighting shape.
Nadeleen was the last to leave. She waited
until all of the others were gone, and then she
approached Worf. "I still have one big question,"
she announced.
Worf sighed. Naturally. Moral
philosophy. Nonviolence as a way of
life. "And that is?"
"Your demonstration at the beginning of the
class, when you threw me to the ground. You said that
showed how you could defend yourself against a
M'dok. However, you know that had I been a
M'dok and not a human, even if you had thrown
me down hard, I'd have been back on my
feet in an instant, attacking you again.
They're much stronger than we are, very
resilient, very aggressive. They go crazy
with a kind of blood lust."
Worf mentally apologized to her. "I was
going to raise that very matter tomorrow afternoon. Thank you
for asking me this in private, instead of in
front of the class, but I'd actually like for you
to ask me the very same question tomorrow, first thing, in
front of everyone else."
Nadeleen looked surprised, then agreed
and walked away toward the exit. When she
reached it, she paused to let two other people enter
the gym first Jenny de Luz and Gaius
Aldus.
Worf greeted them with a pleased smile.
"I was about to beam up. You caught me just in
time."
Gaius said, "We thought you might like to come with
us to see a Tenaran play, Lieutenant.
Jenny and I just heard that there's one being performed
here in the city this evening."
"I've been watching Tenarans play all
afternoon," Worf rumbled.
Jenny laughed at the disgust in his tone.
"Believe it or not, sir, this play tells
about some great battle in their distant past. Or
so I've been told."
Worf grunted. "Very surprising. I will
attend." After a moment, he added, "Since
we're both off duty and not on board ship,
I'd prefer it if you'd call me Worf."
J enny was delighted. Suddenly the forbidding
Klingon warrior seemed almost human to her.
She thought it wise not to tell him that, however.
The theater was much like a theater on any
developed world, Worf thought. Tiers of seats
for the audience faced a stage with proscenium and
orchestra pit. Overhead, Worf assumed,
but hidden from the audience, would be the machinery for
lighting and for raising and lowering sets and equipment
used for special effects.
Members of the theater crew roamed around the
stage completing the setting for the opening scene.
Apparently the Tenaran theater tradition did
not include the use of a curtain
to hide this from the audience.
As the seats filled with eager Tenarans,
chatting happily with each other and waving to friends
in the audience and stage crew, Worf turned
to Jenny, sitting to his right, and said, "Form
follows function. We could be on Earth, and it
would look almost identical."
"Or Meramar," Jenny said, nodding.
Sitting on Jenny's other side, Gaius
Aldus added, "Or my world. Except in
Graecia, where our theater originated. The
Graeci have deliberately retained the archaic
format, and even give many performances in
renovated theaters from ancient times. A few
years ago, the old annual competition was
revived in Athenae. All plays are given
in the ancient language with the proper forms and
costumes. Even the subject matter is
drawn from their ancient mythology." He
laughed. "It's almost as if the Roman conquest
of Graecia had never happened. Which, I
suppose," he added, "is exactly the
point."
Jenny said, "Sounds a bit silly to me."
Gaius turned to her. His face was alight
suddenly with a fascination Jenny had never seen
there before. "Oh, no! Sometime, you must come
to Athenae with me and see it for yourself. It's
magnificent! No true Roman should miss
it. They were our true forefathers, you know, not the
primitive tribes of Latium--our
cultural forebears, I mean. We fight
wars our own way, and that gave us control of our
world. But everything that's best in us, we got from the
Graeci."
Worf knew from his reading that Gaius was
expressing an opinion that the ancient
Romans had held. Or tried to convince
themselves was true, he corrected himself. It
enabled them to think of themselves as something other than
mere barbarian conquerors, which was how the
Greeks really saw them.
Still, he found himself fascinated by an empire
of warriors and conquerors that could give such
praise to the civilization they had displaced.
While Jenny and Gaius talked to each other,
Worf thought The Klingons of the old days
could never have been so generous to those they conquered.
Nor could most human cultures.
In spite of the orchestra pit, there
was no music--at least, not with this play. The
stage crew simply finished setting the stage
and strolled off as the actors strolled on.
Worf glanced sideways and saw Jenny
watching in fascination, fully prepared to enjoy
the presentation. Beyond her, Gaius watched with the
analytical frown of the connoisseur.
The action began. More actors came on the
scene, and the stage was full of villagers
discussing with concern the arrival of a band called the
Lawless Ones. They shared stories about the
crimes and atrocities Lawless Ones had
committed in other saavtas, and what they might
do when they arrived in theirs.
The crowd became more and more agitated and began
calling for the saavta leader. Finally a
distinguished older man arrived on the scene and
settled the crowd. The leader began his speech,
talking about the danger they all faced and the
difficulty he had in making his decision.
Finally he announced that they would fight for their
saavta, and a stunned silence descended on the
crowd, who then began murmuring their fear and
disapproval.
Gaius was startled by their reaction.
Certainly there was no alternative to fighting,
even for the Tenarans. He watched as the leader's
men devised a lottery and chose eight men,
who stood before the saavta. The leader praised
them in turn for their achievements and past
contributions to their people.
The older man handed the chosen warriors
weapons--either sharpened "fighting sticks" or
heavy axes. He commended them again and
expressed his sympathy at the loss of their
honor.
Gaius started again. Surely there was no
greater honor than the defense of one's people.
As the eight men were ushered out, a young girl
broke from the crowd and rushed to the youngest of the
warriors, a barely adolescent boy. She
cried and clung tightly to him until she was
finally pried away, shrieking as the warriors
exited.
Then the scenery was changed quickly to indicate
a forest. The eight warriors entered the stage
disheveled, their clothing spotted with blood.
The battle had obviously been waged and won
offstage. Worf grunted his disappointment.
As the men began speaking, it became
clear to Gaius that they were not making plans
to return to the village. They called themselves
"men without honor" and denounced themselves as
murderers. Now that they had killed, they could
never return to their people and would have to live alone in
the forest.
Gaius watched the play's final scene with
mixed emotions. He understood the importance of
personal honor, as all Magna Romans
did--suicide was still a common practice
to restore lost honor. But for Romans,
honor was inextricably bound with battle, with
fighting and killing when necessary. For Tenarans,
apparently, killing in self-defense meant
loss of honor.
As if reading his thoughts, Worf commented, "A
most curious system of honor."
Gaius nodded. Curious indeed. How could
they change a people who lost their honor when they
lifted a sword? And would they want to?
To Worf, food was something one consumed
to keep one's body functioning optimally, not a
source of pleasure. Solitary by nature,
he had also found it difficult to adjust to the
human habit of treating the eating of food as
a central part of a larger social ritual.
However, over the years he had learned
to tolerate that ritual and even, occasionally,
to enjoy it. Since he enjoyed the time he spent
with Jenny and Gaius, when Gaius asked their
opinion of the restaurant, Worf said quite
honestly that it was as good as any he could
remember.
Gaius was openly pleased. "Well, it's
not what would be considered a feast by a patrician
Roman, of course, like Captain Sejanus,
but by my standards it's just fine."
"I'm surprised that the old distinction between
patrician and plebeian survives in the
republic," Worf said.
Gaius looked a bit embarrassed. "Not
officially, no. That is, people with patrician
blood don't get special favors. But
unofficially, a lot of the old thinking is still
around. I was brought up to consider the
Volcinians, and especially Sejanus'
family, as my natural masters." He
laughed. "That's not in line with proper
republican thinking, I know, but it's
pretty deeply ingrained in some of us."
"I understand," Worf said. "Old
traditions die slowly. The class
structure, the warrior ethos, respect for
imperial rights and privileges--it's the
nature of men to adopt those ways easily and
give them up with difficulty. It requires
a conscious, deliberate effort." After a
pause he added, "It's the nature of
Klingons, as well." He noticed Jenny's
surprised stare and said, "Did you believe I
wasn't capable of such abstract thought, de
Luz?"
Jenny looked away quickly, then back, and
said, "Well, uh, some of us have wondered about
you. Specifically, if you're really as
different from the rest of us as you ... Sorry."
"As I look," Worf completed for her.
He felt a moment of sadness, a sense of his
alienness. "Yes and no," he answered
obliquely. "Nature and nurture, and the
interaction of the two. I am Klingon
by nature, but only part Klingon by nurture."
"My own world has a warrior heritage,"
Jenny said thoughtfully. "How odd that we've
all ended up in Starfleet."
Gaius shrugged. "Civilizations pass beyond
the need of the warrior ethos for anything but
self-defense. Even Worf's people eventually
reached that point."
"Now, if only the M'dok would get there,"
Jenny said. "And the Romulans, and all the
rest of them."
"The Romulans," Gaius said thoughtfully.
"They fascinated us when we first heard of them.
You can understand that, I'm sure. But the more we
learned about them, the less they seemed like us."
Worf nodded and added, "From what I've
observed of you and the other Magna Romans,
Gaius, the true similarity is between Magna
Romans and Klingons."
Gaius was clearly pleased at the
comparison.
Jenny said suddenly, "Then that's another thing
the three of us have in common--Roman or
similar origins. My ancestors were brought
to Meramar by the Preservers, just like the ancestors
of the Tenarans. Except that the Tenarans
apparently came from somewhere in Asia, and we
came from western Hispania."
Gaius' ears pricked up at the familiar
name. "During Roman times?"
"Toward the end, when the barbarians were
overrunning the area. My ancestors survived
for quite a while, because they were even more warlike than
the barbarians who were attacking. Thanks
to Servado"--she made a curious gesture
over her heart with her right hand--"who took
human form and organized us so that we could hold
out. However, in the end there were too many of them for
us, so Servado called the Preservers to take
us away. Well," she added apologetically,
"that's what my ancestors all believed,
anyway. And then he sacrificed his mortal
self in a one-man stand against the barbarians
while the Preservers took away my
ancestors."
"A beautiful myth," Gaius said.
Jenny stared at him angrily for a moment,
until she realized that he had meant it as a
compliment. "If you look at it th at way," she
said, feeling a bit foolish.
"The Preservers," Gaius said thoughtfully.
"I wonder if we'll find them someday."
"If they still exist," Worf said. "The last
trace of them is more than a thousand years
old."
Gaius laughed. "To a Roman, a thousand
years is the blink of an eye."
"The long view," Jenny said.
Gaius nodded. "We Romans always take
the long view."
By noon, there was little left of the commander's
body. The squad leader stood up, stretched,
andwitha smug little purr of satisfaction kicked
the thick, heavy bones of his late commander,
scattering them among the trees. "Now I'm in
command," he announced, and no one was willing
to argue with him. But they were all thinking that this new
commander, like the previous one, would have to sleep
eventually.
Chapter Ten
What I need, Will Riker thought,
looking out over the plains surrounding the Tenaran
capital city of Zhelnogra and yawning,
is a good night's sleep.
The last few days of traveling, and
surveying settlements in the surrounding
countryside, had provided him with little chance for
that. And now, with the M'dok somewhere out there ...
Well, he didn't expect things to change
soon.
He and the rest of the Enterprise's survey
team had arrived in the capital only a few
short hours ago; Riker had sent the
agronomists to sleep immediately, and joined the
security force patrolling the city.
It was ironic that the massive ground-based
security installations and the entire satellite
system they'd installed could do them absolutely
no good now; the crashed M'dok ship confirmed
that the satellite network, with its immensely
powerful network of long-and short-range
sensors, could be misled. And the ground-based part
of the system, the great sensor dishes constantly
sweeping the sky, had been set up to detect
metal ships in space, not bodies of warm
flesh on the ground.
So they had to depend on foot patrols for
their security. Characteristically, the Tenaran
capital city was unwalled and unguarded.
Riker and his men were using hand-held
tricorders, but they would be effective only
once the M'dok got within range--which might be
far too late.
He yawned and turned back toward the city
--just as his tricorder began beeping madly.
Riker glanced at the tricorder's display
screen, then quickly slapped his communicator
insignia.
"Lieutenant Worf ... I'm picking
up a concentration of bodies just outside the city
and heading this way."
"Understood, Commander. Sending reinforcements
your way. Worf out."
Riker drew his phaser and stepped into the long
prairie grass that surrounded the city.
"Who's out there?"
No answer.
"Who's out there?" Riker repeated. Now he
could hear shuffling in the grass. He adjusted the
settings on his phaser to heavy stun, wondering
if even that would be enough to slow down a charging
M'dok.
"Don't shoot!" A young man stepped
into view, followed immediately by several others,
including one person Riker
recognized immediately.
"Gretna!" He put away his phaser and
stepped forward. "Where have you been?"
She paid him no attention, striding by him as
if he wasn't there.
"Wait a minute," Riker said, grabbing
her arm and spinning her around to face him.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Let go of me," Gretna said, jerking her
arm free.
"Keep away from her, Commander." Larten, the
man from Carda who had been so rude to Riker
and Gretna before, moved between the two of them and
faced him threateningly.
Not wanting to provoke a confrontation,
Riker took a step back. "What's he
doing here?" he asked Gretna sharply. "And
who are all these people?"
"I am Anka," an older woman said,
stepping forward. "We are here to demand new
elections to the Great Saavta."
"New elections?" Riker shook his head,
dumbfounded. "Gretna, what's going on?"
"Don't play innocent with me," she said,
"after what Marcus told me the other night."
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"Marcus who?"
"Marcus Julius Volcinius. The teacher
from the Centurion."
"Teacher? He's no teacher." Riker shook
his head. "He's Captain Sejanus' cousin
--a special diplomatic envoy."
"Well, he's teaching Magna Roman
history to Tenaran children," Gretna said
angrily. "And don't pretend you don't know
about it! Your captain--"
That was as far as she got before the screams
started.
No stranger to Federation technology or to the
advantage of surprise, the new M'dok
commander had kept his troops close behind
Gretna's party until they were well into the
tall prairie grass that surrounded the city,
within sight of the largest building to be seen, the
Hall of the Great Saavta.
A few growled commands, and the horde of
M'dok burst from their well-chosen concealment,
moving faster than any human could possibly
have run, sprinting for the building.
They ignored the Tenarans who screamed and
scattered out of their way as they ran; despite
their hunger, this was an elite, perfectly
disciplined company. The new commander had told his
troops not to deviate from the previously
agreed-on plan they were to be allowed a very
brief indulgence, a bit of rest and
recreation, and then they must gather their cattle,
who would also serve as hostages. Finally, they
would commandeer native ground transport and
make for the spaceport.
One Tenaran was foolish enough to stand his ground.
Tall and strong, Yavam Poroviki had
been deeply impressed by the visitors from
Starfleet, and had dreamed of joining it one day.
If I can do something like this, no one can deny
me the chance.
He stepped into the street, both nervous and
exhilarated--but feeling more nervous by the second
--as he watched the ordered formation of M'dok
sprinting toward him.
"Stop!" he shouted, holding up his hand in
what he hoped was an authoritative
gesture. "You have no right--"
The commander understood no human language,
and he wouldn't have cared if he did. The young
Tenaran's body was hurled aside with incredible
force, blood gouting from his mouth as he landed.
He lay quite still.
Then they were at the Hall of the Great
Saavta, breaking formation as they jumped in through
windows and doors; a few leapt onto the
walls, scaling them with literally inhuman
agility, to enter through openings on the second and
third stories. They were all inside within
seconds.
Then began a one-sided battle such as the
Tenarans had never imagined in their worst
nightmares.
Most of the administrative personnel within the
building, generally old and completely
nonviolent for all their lives, were killed
without resistance as they begged for their lives. The
few who tried to resist were slaughtered just as
easily. Soon the walls, the furniture,
and the M'doks themselves were covered with drying
blood.
The famine had lasted too long, too many
young and females had died, and the warriors'
fury had risen too high, along with
their hunger.
This slaughter was far from over.
Melkinat's office was in a relatively
isolated wing on the third floor, so it took
some time for the noise of the battle to reach him.
When it did, he looked up from his paperwork,
shook his head, and tried to dismiss it, until the
sound became too loud to ignore.
He set down his pen and listened, with
irritation, and then, growing fear. At first it had
sounded like workmen; now, as he listened more
closely, it seemed that he could hear screams
and growls, and other noises he didn't even
want to begin identifying.
Suddenly very afraid, he rose from his
desk, the candles casting a flickering shadow of
him upon the wall. His shadow looked larger than
he was. Is this what I've become? A
shadow?
No!
For the first time in years, he looked at himself.
He had never been especially tall; it was his
powerful orator's voice, not his physical
presence, which had made him such a successful
politician. Though he was growing old, he was
still strong--the years of hard work on his
family's farm having left their mark on his
muscles. His appearance of frailty was just an
appearance, not reality. Now, after decades,
he realized that he was not a weak old man, but
a powerful one--and, therefore, potentially
dangerous.
His peers on the Central Council would have
been surprised to see the grin that appeared on
his lips then--a hard, dangerous smile, the
tips of his teeth showing from beneath thin lips. With a
single stride--and how good it felt to walk again,
instead of shuffling!--he was at the opposite
wall, lifting the great ax from the brackets that
held it. Then he opened his door and ran out
into the corridor.
There was blood splattered on the wall.
A M'dok warrior stood there, and clenched
in each paw was a Tenaran. Melkinat could no
longer recognize the faces, but he was quite
sure that he had known both those men.
With a shout that drowned the warrior's growl,
he rushed at the great cat, swinging the ax
two-handed. The M'dok was more than a
bit surprised to find a Tenaran who actually
fought, and he hesitated for a fraction of a
second. That brief hesitation cost him his
life.
Just as the M'dok was beginning to move, the keen
steel sliced deep into his side, crushing
both the inner and outer set of ribs. Melkinat
tightened his grip on the haft as he felt the
force of the impact run up his forearms.
He pulled the ax free, and the M'dok
commander crumpled, blood spilling out across the
floor.
Melkinat stared down into its eyes, and what
he saw there suddenly sickened him.
The creature was in agony.
The M'dok shuddered once and lay still.
Merciful God, Melkinat thought in
silent shock, standing there over the body, fighting
the urge to vomit. A living being--and I
killed it.
Yes, and I will kill many more, and I will go
on killing until my w orld is safe. He
knew something fundamental had changed inside
him, and it would never change back again.
He turned to go down the stairs, toward the
sounds of battle below, ax in hand.
Gretna watched Will Riker's face
closely as he listened to the disembodied voice
coming over his communicator.
"They're inside the Great Hall, Commander.
Ensign de Luz reports heavy fighting.
I'm on my way there now."
"I'll be there quick as I can, Worf.
Riker out." He turned back to the Tenarans.
"The M'dok are attacking the city. Stay
here, and stay together. You should be safe."
With those words he was off and running. He was
fifty feet from the entrance to the Great Hall
before he realized Gretna was following him.
"What are you doing?" he yelled, coming to a
stop.
"My father could be in there!" Gretna said.
"And if he is, his life's in danger!"
Horrendous sounds of battle, of screaming
and yowling, and phasers firing, could be heard from
within.
"In danger?" Will bent over to catch his
breath. "Did I ever tell you how
perceptive you are for a naive
Tenaran girl?"
Gretna tried hard not to smile, but
failed.
"Will," she began. "I--"
The front door to the Great Hall flew
open, and a M'dok warrior sprang out at
them.
Will had no time to draw his phaser. He
simply threw himself in front of Gretna, and
met the charging M'dok head-on. The two of
them fell to the ground, the M'dok's yowling
mixing with Riker's shouts.
Gretna screamed. "Will!"
Riker fell silent. The M'dok gained
its feet, and stood poised over him, its
claws unsheathed to strike.
Simultaneously, a beam of light shot out
of the doorway and struck the M'dok. It
crumpled to the ground and lay still.
A tall alien in a Starfleet uniform,
almost as fearsome-looking as the M'dok, stepped
out of the doorway.
"Are you all right?" he asked Gretna.
"I'm fine, but Will ..."
The alien knelt by Riker's side and
turned him over.
He took one look and slapped his
communicator.
"Worf to sick bay ... Emergency!
Beam Commander Riker aboard immediately!"
When he lifted his hand off the communicator,
blood stained his uniform.
"Will he be all right?" Gretna asked.
Worf nodded hesitantly. "Yes. His
injuries do not seem severe."
She turned back toward the Great Hall.
The fighting within seemed to have stopped. "I've
got to find my father."
"Wait," Worf said.
Gretna turned.
"You are Gretna Melkinata?"
"I am."
"Your father is not in there." Worf
hesitated. "I regret to tell you he is
already aboard the Enterprise. He is very
seriously injured."
Just outside Zhelnogra, where the city
disappeared into prairie that had remained
unchanged for a length of time beyond
understanding, the burial party was hard at work.
Jenny de Luz, Lieutenant Worf,
and a few Tenaran survivors were digging
graves for those who had fallen in the attack
on the city. In places, the giant sensor
dishes of the defense system rose above the
prairie, metal gleaming in the midst of the
tall grass. The system was perfectly
set up, Jenny thought. And yet it failed
miserably. And I'm the one who certified that
the satellite web was complete and sufficient.
I am responsible for much of what happened.
She straightened briefly, breathing in the
cold, clean air, stretching her weary back.
A few hundred yards distant, Worf
continued digging, working at a relentless pace.
Gaius had beamed back scant minutes
ago to the Centurion, to tend to one of his own
men injured in the attack.
Luckily, none of the Enterprise
personnel (save Commander Riker, of course)
on the surface had been caught in the attack
--only the Tenarans. And many more of them would have
lived, had they bothered to pay attention
to Worf's self-defense lessons.
She started to bend back to her work, then
stopped; her trained ears had caught the sound
of a transporter beam. Then she discerned the
approaching figure more clearly, and stiffened in
surprise; the man walking toward her, his
cloak of dark purple swirling about him as he
strode across the dusty field as though he
walked the polished floor of the Roman
imperial court, was Captain Lucius
Aelius Sejanus.
Reflexively Jenny stiffened to attention.
With a little half-smile the captain said,
"Be at ease, Ensign." He laid a hand
on her shoulder. "Gaius told me how
upset you were over this attack. I came down
to make sure you were all right."
"I'm fine, sir. Just a little ...
frustrated."
Sejanus eyed her questioningly.
"Frustrated?"
"Yes." Jenny's normally timid voice
filled with anger. "Had the security teams
been there earlier--indeed, had the Tenarans
themselves accepted our offers to arm them--we could
easily have prevented this."
Sejanus nodded. "Go on."
"The Tenarans are weak, Captain
Sejanus," Jenny said angrily, all the
frustration of the last few weeks eating at her.
"They will not arm themselves, they cannot fight, they
..." Words failed her, and she finished the
declaration with a weak gesture.
"I share your concern, Ensign," Sejanus
replied. "But perhaps they can be protected, so
long as you and your personnel perform as
valiantly as you did today."
"Thank you, sir."
He eyed her carefully a moment before speaking
again. "And perhaps there are other measures we can
take as well."
"Sir?" Jenny asked, slightly confused.
Sejanus' communicator chirped.
"Excuse me a moment." He touched his
insignia. "Sejanus here. Go ahead."
"Captain, we have just received word from the
Enterprise. Chairman Melkinat is
dead."
"Oh, no," Jenny said, the shovel
slipping out of her hands.
Sejanus' face turned grave. "Thank
you, Lieutenant. Hold one moment." He
turned back to Jenny. "I must go ... but I
would like to continue our conversation. The next time you
are aboard the Centurion ...?"
Jenny almost blushed. She was planning to beam
up there later this evening to see Gaius, after her
work on the surface was completed. But there was no
need to tell Captain Sejanus that. "I will
be aboard tomorrow morning, sir."
"Excellent," Sejanus said. "Come
talk to me then." He bowed, then reached up
to tap his communicator. "Sejanus
to Centurion. One to beam up."
It was a long time before Jenny could concentrate
her thoughts enough to go back to work.
Chapter Eleven
Captain's Log, Stardate 41800.9
I have just returned from a very disturbing session
with the remaining officials of Tenara's Great
Saavta.
The death of Chairman Melkinat has
shaken the whole government to its core. They are
now calling for the removal of all
Federation forces, and that call is being led
by Gretna Melkinata--the late chairman's
daughter. Up until a week ago, I would
have counted on her support for a continued Federation
presence here to help the Tenarans defend their
world. I am at a loss to explain her actions
--while Commander Riker, who knew her best of
all, remains unconscious in sick bay,
recovering from wounds received during the latest
attack by the M'dok.
There is one encouraging piece of news in
all this, however. The M'dok we have captured
bear out Commander Data's hypothesis of famine
in the empire. We have dispatched this information
to Starfleet, who are bringing increased
diplomatic pressure to bear. In the
meantime, the situation here remains explosive.
I feel that Captain Sejanus and
Centurion are merely waiting for the M'dok
to reappear to start a full-scale war.
Picard sighed and leaned back in his chair,
shutting off the log recorder.
"Quite a day, sir," Deanna Troi said.
"Indeed, Counselor. And it's only
morning." He put a finger to his lips and
rubbed them thoughtfully. "I wish I could talk
to Commander Riker about all this." He flipped a
toggle on his chair, opening a channel to sick
bay. "Dr. Crusher, how's our patient?"
"He's lost a lot of blood,
Captain." Beverly Crusher's voice came
back. "But he's coming along nicely."
"I need to talk to him."
"And he needs to sleep. At least another
twenty-four hours."
The determination in her voice was clear.
Picard gritted his teeth. "Very well,
Doctor. Keep me informed."
He turned his attention to the main
viewscreen, dominated by Tenara and the
Centurion.
Much more than I need to talk to Commander
Riker, I need to talk to the captain of that
ship. To find out what he's thinking, what he
plans to do next.
And he might as well be a million
miles away.
The door to Sejanus' quarters slid
open, and Ensign Jenny de Luz stepped
inside. Sejanus was waiting for her, standing beside
a desk. He was wearing a simple Starfleet
uniform just like that worn by Jean-Luc Picard;
it made his similarity to the Enterprise
captain all the more striking, even uncanny.
He smiled with pleasure and came forward
to take her hand in greeting. "Ensign de
Luz. Welcome to my ship. May I call
you Jenny?"
"Yes, Captain. Of course."
Sejanus released her hand and walked over
to the windows and stood looking at Tenara spinning
lazily below them. "I've been monitoring your
holodeck exercises." He turned back
to her and smiled. "Your scores are most
impressive."
"It's thanks to Gaius, sir."
"You're too modest, Jenny. He tells
me everything--and he tells me you're one of the
most promising young officers he's come across in
years. Even including the Magna Romans.
But then, there's a little bit of Rome in your
background, isn't there?"
Jenny smiled. "Actually, sir, only
partly. Most of my ancestors were the native
peoples conquered by the Romans."
"The same may well be true of me,"
Sejanus said with a laugh. "I've never been
convinced that the Volcinians, or any of the other
gentis who claim to trace their ancestry
back to the original Roman patrician
families, have kept their bl oodlines as pure
through the centuries as we like to tell ourselves."
He seated himself on the edge of the desk. "I was
brought up believing that all of that--ancestry,
purity of blood--was more important than
anything else. I believed every detail of it.
But for years I've struggled to overcome that
upbringing. First I tried to make myself see that
I had to think in terms of my whole world, of
all Magna Romans, and not just of Romans.
Then I tried to expand my view still further,
to embrace all the member peoples of the
Federation."
"Yes, sir." Jenny nodded. "That's just
what I had to learn when I left Meramar.
That's what Captain Picard says quite often."
"Does he?" Sejanus cleared
his throat. "Your captain is a great man.
He's famous throughout Starfleet and the Federation,
and justly so. A scholar, a soldier when
necessary, a diplomat, a leader--yes, he
deserves his fame. I can certainly understand why
his crew admire him."
"We do, sir."
Sejanus nodded. "And I'm sure that
Captain Picard's real concern is for the good
of the peoples and worlds that make up the
Federation."
"I'm sure of that too, sir."
Sejanus raised his eyes to meet hers.
"But, Jenny, it's important not to be
blinded by hero worship. Even Jean-Luc
Picard is capable of making mistakes."
"Of ... of course, sir. I'm sure
he'd be the first to agree."
Sejanus nodded. "I'm sure you're
right," he said seriously. "That's partly a
measure of the man's greatness--that he's willing
to admit that he's as fallible as anyone else.
Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that he's
always able to see where he's going wrong, even if
it's pointed out to him. He may wish for the best
for the Federation, but he may not be taking the best
approach to ensuring the Federation's health."
Suddenly Jenny began to feel confused.
"I don't know what you mean, Captain."
Sejanus stood slowly. "Let me give
you some background to the Battle of
Britannia. No, I'm not changing the
subject. You'll see; it's relevant. Do
you know why the German tribes put aside their
differences and undertook an expedition
to Britannia to attack Londinium?"
"Gaius told me they thought it was
undefended, that the legions had been
withdrawn."
"Yes, but why did they think that?"
Jenny shook her head. "I didn't
ask."
His voice turned crisp and
authoritative. "Like the Romans of Earth,
my ancestors tried unsuccessfully to conquer
the Germans. We lost untold numbers of
men in those forests, and we scarcely gained any
ground.
"But we noticed that the Germans were becoming
more like us! They resisted us as
conquerors, but between fights, they traded with the
Roman settlements along their borders, they
learned Latin, they learned to emulate our
forms of government and military organization.
If anything, we realized that this made them an
even greater threat to us. But it also pointed the
way to a different method of conquest.
"So we started sending in teachers and traders
instead of soldiers. The first few were
slaughtered, of course, but eventually the
Germans let them survive and stay. Bit
by bit, our culture, our civilization, was
bringing about the conquest that our armies had failed
to achieve.
"And then a revivalist movement started in
Germania--cultural revival,
nationalism, rejecting everything foreign, which is
to say, Roman. Within two years they had
dismantled everything we had built, killed or
imprisoned all of our people, and terrified all
the Romanized Germans into returning
to primitive ways. Food, language,
housing, the arts--everything became primitive
again. And we were back where we had started
centuries before.
"Then we realized that we were even worse off
than we had been. The new leaders of
Germania were cooperating with each other, and they
were more aware than before of our empire as a
threat. Our spies discovered that they were trying
to organize an invasion of the empire, with
Rome itself as their goal.
"Our first impulse was to organize as large
an army as we could and send it north
into Germania to crush them once and for all. But
the Emperor Belisarius feared that his
legions would simply be slaughtered in the
forest, as had happened centuries earlier. He
and his generals hit upon a brilliant
strategy. They sent couriers through Germania,
on one of the shorter routes toward
Britannia, carrying secret messages to the
legions in Britannia."
"But that seems very foolish," Jenny
protested. "They might have been captured."
Sejanus grinned. "They were. And they were
tortured and killed, and their messages were
translated. The messages were orders that the
legions withdraw to Italia to help repel the
expected German invasion. The true
orders, that the legions were to stay where they were,
were sent to Britannia by sea, along with many
reinforcements. The Germans fell for the ruse and
sent the cream of their forces to attack what they
thought was unguarded Britannia. They thought
to eat away at the empire from the edges, but
instead they fell into a perfect trap, as you
saw on the holodeck. The aftermath was that
Germania was denuded of its defensive
forces, and Emperor Belisarius then sent his
legions in and conquered all of Germania in a
brilliant campaign taking only three
months."
"That was a very risky trick," Jenny
pointed out.
"Yes, but it worked, and that's what really
counts, isn't it?"
"Would those couriers think so, Captain? I
mean, the ones who were sent across Germania with
fake messages? You said they were caught and
tortured and killed."
"They were Romans, Jenny. They knew the
risk, and they accepted it as part of their duty."
He paused. "Perhaps you're beginning to see my
point, why I told you this whole story about the
background to the Battle of Britannia.
What saved Britannia and the rest of the
empire was the willing self-sacrifice of
brave Romans. A direct approach--a
brute-force invasion of Germania--would have
failed. It might even have led to the downfall
of the empire. There might be no Magna
Roma today. And that's really my point. That's
what I want you to think about."
Jenny shook her head, confused. "I'm
afraid I still don't understand what you're
getting at."
Sejanus now turned his back on her and
began pacing across the ready room. "What
I'm getting at, Jenny, is that what your
captain is doing now--here, on Tenara--is a
mistake." He turned to face her. "It's
cost the lives of dozens of Tenarans, and it will
cost the lives of many more people--from this ship and yours,
I would say--before Picard will admit his
mistake."
"With all due respect, sir, that's something
you should take up with him, not me."
Sejanus laughed. He walked over
to Jenny and put his hands on her
shoulders. "I can understand Gaius' interest in
you. He has chosen exceptionally well."
His voice vibrated through her. Jenny
stepped away, breaking the contact. "Thank you,
sir."
Sejanus turned toward the window and studied
the stars outside. He waited a moment before
speaking again. "I remember your words on the
surface of Tenara, Jenny--how you felt the
deaths there were unnecessary. Do you remember mine?"
Jenny nodded. "You said there were other
measures we could take to ensure the Tenarans'
safety."
"Exactly," Sejanus said. He turned
back to her, his eyes alight with excitement.
"The time has come to take those other
measures, Jenny. To strike back at the
enemies of the Federation, to do something bold, something
daring, something that will do more to ensure the long-term
safety of our worlds and peoples than any
number of defensive outposts we could ever set
up!" He gripped her shoulders again, and stared
into her eyes. "Something that will require brave
followers of the old Roman mold, followers
unafraid to sacrifice their lives for what
they believe is right.
"Jenny," Sejanus drew her closer.
"I think you are of that mold--I know Gaius
Aldus does. We want you here, aboard the
Centurion, to help in that undertaking."
"I ..." Jenny chose her words
carefully. "Captain, it may happen that
I'll be requesting a transfer to the
Centurion in the future anyway. I've
been thinking that I ought to speak to you about it,
to make sure you'd approve the request."
"Approve!" Sejanus fairly shouted.
"Jenny, I'd be delighted. I want
officers who can think on their feet, react
quickly--above all, officers unafraid to do
what has to be done. People like you, Jenny."
She drew a shaky breath. "Thank you,
sir. Then I would be honored to serve under your
command."
"Excellent, Jenny." He clapped his
hands. "Why don't you speak to your captain?
And I'll make all the necessary arrangements
here."
"Yes, sir."
Sejanus nodded, and watched her
go. The two members of his personal guard who
had been standing outside his door would escort
her safely back to the transporter room--
or to Gaius' quarters, wherever she wanted
to go.
Of course, had Jenny balked at his offer,
or behaved even the slightest bit
suspiciously, he would have had them escort her
someplace else entirely.
It was much easier this way.
Deanna Troi was not surprised when
Jenny asked for a counseling session so soon
after the M'dok attack; she was, however,
surprised by what Jenny wanted to tell her.
"A transfer, Jenny? Why?"
"Maybe I'm just tired of not fitting in
here, Deanna. On the Centurion, I
feel I belong. They're all warriors there,
like I am!"
"Jenny ..." Deanna shook her head.
"I know how fond you are of Gaius, how much
you feel a part of the Centurion. That's all
wonderful. But you need to get one thing very clear
in your own mind. Starfleet is not an
organization of warriors. We fight when we
have to, yes, but--"
"But we have to fight now! After what happened
yesterday, isn't our obligation to pursue the
M' dok to their homeworld and destroy their ability
to wage war?" Jenny asked. "Rid the
Galaxy of the threat they pose! The same
applies to any other enemy that threatens any of
our worlds. Why shouldn't we really train the
Tenarans to defend themselves, force them to change
their society so that they'll be safe even when
our two ships leave? After all, no enemy in
his right mind would attack Magna Roma or
Meramar. We should insist that the Tenarans be able
to fight for themselves--shouldn't we?"
"Isn't that a choice for the Tenarans
to make?" Deanna asked carefully.
Jenny's hand cut the air like a weapon. It
was more than an aggressive gesture; it
betrayed suppressed nervous tension and energy.
"Not if they're going to keep on asking the rest
of us to protect them from attack! They're using
us as their shield so that they can have the luxury of
living the way they want to."
As Jenny spoke, Deanna
listened to her words, and at the same time she
listened to her feelings. The empathic sense
Deanna derived from the Betazoid half of
her told her that Jenny was being torn in two.
This was more than an intellectual argument she was
having with herself, an internal debate about two
conflicting value systems; this was a
fundamental split, a tear in her being.
"Jenny, I can't decide questions of
political philosophy for you. You have to do that
for yourself. Every adult, every citizen of the Federation,
has the duty to do just that. I'm here to help you with
your problems of emotional adjustment. I
don't--"
"That is my problem!" Jenny cried.
"Everything I believed in is coming apart! Can't
you tell?"
Yes, Deanna thought, of course I can
tell. But I still can't prescribe an answer
for you. "Jenny, I think you could use a bit
of a break from your work before you decide to transfer
to the Centurion. One way or another."
"All right," Jenny said dully. "With
Lieutenant Worf down there, they really
don't need me at all."
"Good. I'll get permission from the captain
for you to get some time off, and then I'll want
to see you again after that. In the meantime, here's what
I want you to do. I know you had sections in your
Academy history courses on fascism and
English common law."
Jenny nodded. She seemed suddenly spent,
as if her furious outburst had used up all
her strength.
"I don't feel that they cover either
subject in enough detail," Deanna said. "I
want you to spend your days off reading as much of
what the computer has on those two topics as you
can manage. All right?"
"All right."
Deanna patted her on the shoulder.
"I'll speak to you later."
"Thank you, Counselor."
When Deanna Troi left, Jenny threw
herself onto her bed and stared up at the painting
on her cabin wall. She had brought it with her
from Meramar--the only keepsake she'd allowed
herself from her native world. It was a rendition of
Servado's Agony the semidivine hero
crucified by the barbarian horsemen
he had held off single-handedly for so long.
Below the rough cross, Servado's sword lay
broken in two. Despite the nails through his
palms, the crown of thorns on his head, and the
lance wound in his side, Servado gazed out of the
painting with inhuman calm. His eyes held a
message that Jenny had treasured all her
life "Be courageous, my daughter. Be a
warrior in my image, and we will meet in
heaven."
The message that tradition said was the last he
had spoken in this world was written across the
bottom of the painting "Resorgo." In the
language of Meramar this meant, "I shall rise
again." It was Servado's promise to his people.
Beneath the painting was a small altar covered
with a white cloth. A plain sword lay on
it, much like those produced for generations in
Hispania by Jenny's ancestors for the
legions of Rome. Straight, two-edged,
unadorned, it was a slender, lightweight
version of the legionary's sword. Jenny,
dressed in white, knelt before the altar.
"Holy Servado," she whispered, "bless
my weapon and my undertaking. Be with me as you were
with my father. Show me the right way."
She looked up at the painting hanging above
her. Servado's gaze looked as stern and
loving and approving as it always did, but now she
thought she saw something else there as well.
Something she had seen in Sejanus' eyes
too.
"Holy Servado," she whispered. "Did
you reappear after all on another world?"
But there was no reply. She bent her head
again and continued to pray, sometimes in English,
sometimes in her native language--that
corrupted, convoluted tongue that had once
been Latin.
Chapter Twelve
It was truly beyond belief.
Three days had passed since the M'dok
attack. Worf had even more people in the
self-defense classes he was organizing
than before--so many, in fact, that he had
requested Gaius Aldus' help in teaching the
class. The Magna Roman, who had yet
to arrive this afternoon, was an expert in
unarmed combat as well--and much easier for the
Tenarans to relate to, Worf had to admit.
And still the Tenarans found reasons not to defend
themselves.
As Worf had asked her to, Nadeleen
repeated the objection she had made to him in
private three days ago. "I am glad you
asked that question," Worf said. He had the full
attention of the class.
"Because you are quite right, Nadeleen. A
M'dok warrior would have sprung back to his
feet and attacked again. Your counterattack must
be swift enough, powerful enough, that the M'dok
is no longer able to get up. That is what I
will teach you today."
He picked a young girl at random from the
crowd.
"You--what is your name?"
"Arkanka, sir."
"Very well, Arkanka, please come here."
She stood up and approached him warily.
Arkanka was a couple of years younger than
Nadeleen, but she was as tall as Worf and
looked strong enough. Against the M'dok, she
would have a fighting chance--if she learns what I
teach.
"Now," Worf told the group, "there are
various parts of the body where humanoids, even
M'dok, are particularly vulnerable to serious
injury. Blows struck there, hard enough, done
properly, can even cause death."
The Tenarans all shivered
simultaneously. Engrossed in his lecture,
Worf didn't notice the movement. "We will
pass over most of them for two reasons. First,
I'm trying to keep what I teach you pared down
to the essentials and avoid more advanced
details. And second, you would be foolish
to try for most of those places on a M'dok.
The exception, however, is the throat.
"When the M'dok attack, they do so with their
arms out, so that they can strike with their talons, and
their heads up so that they can bite downward. They
expect their prey to be terrified, frozen with
fear, so they don't worry about the fact that their
own throats are exposed. They are therefore
vulnerable to the few simple strikes I will now
teach you. Arkanka, put your arms out and your
head up. Like this." Worf posed for her.
"Just a minute!" Arkanka
objected. "Are you saying that you're going to teach
us how to deliberately injure someone?"
"Not "someone." An attacker.
Presumably, a M'dok warrior."
The whispers changed to angry mutters.
"We can't do that," Arkanka said firmly.
"Can't ..." Worf took a deep breath
and tried again. "I do not think any of you will use
what I teach you to attack an innocent
person. We're discussing self-defense,
remember."
"Even so," Ingerment said, "we thought it would
be all right, because you showed us how to defend ourselves
without hurting the other person. But now you're
talking about something unacceptable."
"Unacceptable?" Worf repeated. "Is it
unacceptable to do what you have to do to save yourself?
It will take more than simple judo throws
to stop the M'dok."
"Then we won't stop them." Some of them
stood and began to walk toward the exit.
Before a general movement could develop,
Worf said, "Explain that to me, please."
Ingerment looked at the others, and seeing that
they accepted him as their spokesman, went on.
"We'd rather let them hurt us than be forced
to hurt them in order to stop them."
""Hurt"? M'dok do not "hurt,""
Worf pointed out. "They kill."
"All right, then," Ingerment said stubbornly.
"We'd rather let them kill us than be forced
to kill them."
"Better to die than be forced to take on the
moral stain of murder," Arkanka added.
Worf said, "But if one of you is going
to die anyway--you or the M'dok--isn't it
better if it's the M'dok?"
"Why is a M'dok less worthy of living
than we are?" Nadeleen asked. "We're
all sentients, so what's the difference?"
Worf thought a moment. "I like Tenarans a
lot more than I like M'dok." That earned him a
few smiles, but he could see that the issue had
not gone away. "What about Nadeleen's
reaction the other day? What if it is not your
own life at stake, but the life of a child or
someone else unable to defend himself?"
Ingerment had an answer for that. "They'd also
prefer to die rather than force any of us to commit
murder to protect them. Every Tenaran
feels that way."
"Every Tenaran?" Worf asked. "Even
Melkinat, who took down an ancient
weapon from the wall and split a M'dok
skull when the M'dok attacked
Zhelnogra?"
"We're as capable of an irrational
reaction as any other sentient being,"
Nadeleen answered him quietly. "But that
doesn't mean that it's proper to react that
way. Our laws and customs are based on
reason, not irrational rage."
Worf shook his head. "I respect your
beliefs--if every sentient in the Galaxy
behaved the way you do, there'd be peace everywhere.
But you've seen that the Galaxy doesn't work that
way. You have to deal with reality, not theory."
"We are dealing with reality," Nadeleen
said. "You're the one who's fooling himself, finding
excuses to give free rein to his
bloodthirsty instincts. We won't let you
pollute our world with any of that." She stood
up and walked rapidly toward the exit.
The others followed her. Worf called after
them, but they ignored him. Their unwillingness
to fight infuriated him.
Behind him, he heard laughter.
He spun around. Walking toward him across the
gymnasium floor was a young man dressed in
a Roman toga edged with purple and wearing
sandals worked with silver and gold thread. Worf
was annoyed with himself that he had not noticed this
man--presumably a Magna Roman--before,
and even more annoyed at the laughter, which he
took to be directed at him. He stiffened and
waited silently for the other man to come up to him.
The young man raised a hand in greeting.
"I'm Marcus Julius Volcinius, and of
course I know who you are." He became aware
at last of Worf's lack of response
to his greetings. "Oh, forgive me,"
Marcus said quickly. "I wasn't laughing at
you! I was laughing at ... at the irony of your
undertaking."
"Irony?" Worf rumbled.
"Oh, yes. You're trying to undo a
lifetime of training with a few hours'
instruction." He shook his head. "Doomed before
you start."
Worf gestured toward the door through
which the last of the Tenarans had exited. "They're
all young still. I chose them for that."
"Ah, but not young enough! How soon does a
Roman become a Roman, or a Klingon a
Klingon?"
"Klingons have a rite of passage,"
Worf said cautiously, "after which one is
deemed an adult."
Marcus nodded. "Of course, of course.
All societies invent such rituals. That's
not what I'm talking about. I asked you at
what age a child becomes imbued with the values of
its society."
"That depends on the child--and the society."
Marcus grinned widely. "Spoken more like a
diplomat than a warrior. However, it's
clear to me that the younger one gets the children, the
better the chance of changing their development."
Worf frowned. "You mean more than you're
saying. Please explain."
"Hmm. Yes. A Roman habit--to mean
much more than we say."
"A habit this snake is excellent at."
Gaius Aldus had approached silently, and
now stood behind Marcus. "I was delayed
aboard ship, Lieutenant, but I see our
class has left us already."
"More problems over what constitutes
self-defense, Gaius," Worf said.
"Marcus Julius, I think, was going
to suggest a solution to our problem."
"Were you, now, Marcus?"
"Gaius," Marcus said, bowing slightly.
"A pleasure to see you again."
"And for me as well, Marcus Julius,
though I am surprised to see you down here. You
should be aboard the Centurion, where you can't
get in anyone's way." His arm shot out, and
he grabbed Marcus by the wrist. "What are you
doing here?"
Marcus twisted free, bruising his arm in the
process. "You don't know everything that goes
on, Gaius."
Gaius drew himself up. "I'm supposed
to know everything important. I'm the
magister navis."
Marcus laughed at him. "You shouldn't take
archaic titles too seriously."
"All right, Marcus. Don't take my
title seriously." He grabbed
Marcus' arm again, and dragged him closer.
"Take me seriously. Now, what are you
doing here?"
Marcus looked down at the powerful hand
gripping his arm. This time, he could tell,
Gaius would not let his hold be thrown off
easily, and Marcus had no wish to make a
fool of himself by struggling ineffectually against
Gaius in the street.
Besides, it would give him pleasure to show the
"magister navis" how out of touch with
reality he truly was. "I'll show you," he
said. "Come with me."
"Excuse us, Lieutenant," Gaius
said. "I will speak to you later."
"Of course," Worf said.
Marcus led the way to a small one-story
building divided into two rooms. Both were being
used as classrooms, and both were filled with
Tenaran children, sitting attentively at desks
arranged in rows, being taught by Magna
Romans dressed as Marcus was--although without
the purple edging to their togas or the silver and
gold stitching on their sandals.
Marcus smiled at the look of shock on
Gaius' face as he passed by the open doors
of both classrooms.
"By the gods, Marcus, you've gone too
far," he said through clenched teeth. "You have no
authority to assign these personnel here."
Marcus said nothing, merely nodded through an
open door at one of the classes. In answer
to a question from the teacher, a boy of about six slid
from his desk, jumped to his feet, stood at
military attention, and recited, "Nomen
Romanum refers to the Roman power, which is
supreme all over the world of Magna
Roma."
"Very good, Tullius," the teacher said. The
teacher was a middle-aged woman, very erect, very
patrician. "You may sit down."
Tullius smiled happily and sat in his
desk again, like all the other children sat, erect,
stiff-backed.
The teacher called on another child.
"Antonia, finish this sentence for me, and then
translate it into Tenaran "Roma
locutaest ...""
A little girl, no older than five,
jumped to her feet and stood just as
stiffly as her classmate Tullius had and
said in a singsong, "Roma locuta est;
causa finita est. It means, "Rome
has spoken; the case is ended.""
"Excellent, Antonia. Anyone, what
does that really mean?"
Gaius turned away.
"Come," Marcus said. "There's more."
Now he led the way behind the building. There a
high wall blocked their way. It also
protected whatever it enclosed from observation.
The wall was made of the same metal used
aboard starships for interior walls.
"The Tenarans build with stone and wood,"
Gaius said.
"Correct. We added the wall ourselves, for
privacy."
As if to emphasize the off-planet origin
of the wall, the door set into it stayed closed
until Marcus said to it, his Aperi to was At
his command, the door slid to one side, admitted
the two men, and then slid shut behind them. Beyond the
door was a flat space entirely surrounded
by the wall. On that dusty field, Roman
troops were drilling.
"From the ship?"
Marcus grinned. "Look again."
Gaius did. The trainees were boys and
girls, of whom the oldest was fifteen or
sixteen. Then it struck him. "Tenarans!"
Marcus laughed in delight. "Exactly!
Young Tenarans! And they take to it, Gaius,
they take to it! Watch them."
Before them, the ranks dressed in archaic
Roman armor and armed with ancient Roman
weapons marched and wheeled and turned in
response to shouted orders--always in Latin--from
a Magna Roman officer. At his order they
stopped with a simultaneous ground-shaking tramp
of booted feet. Another yell in Latin, and
they all turned to face Gaius and Marcus,
struck their fists to their chests, and then shot out
their arms in a Roman salute. In one
voice they cried out, "Salvete!"
Gaius turned and stalked back to the door.
When it didn't open for him, he said,
"Open!" There was no response. He tried
the same command in Latin, imitating Marcus
his aperi to was Still there was no response.
Behind him, Marcus chuckled.
"It's not set to recognize your voice,
Lieutenant."
Without turning, Gaius said quietly, but in
a deep rumble that carried across the parade
ground, "Then open it for me, or I'll break
my way through it."
"I'm planting seeds. We're doing this
all over the planet. In time, these children will reach
the age when they begin to play a role in shaping
the destiny of Tenara. Some of them will enter the
saavtas. Others will create a native armed
force."
"An armed force?"
Marcus nodded. His eyes shone with pride.
"Modeled after the Roman legions. They
won't need our help to repel attack the
next time. More important, however, they and their
comrades in the saavtas will ..." He
paused, searching for the right phrase. "They will
alter the nature of this world and perhaps the Federation
as well."
"Marcus, you fool." Gaius shook his
head sadly. "I don't know where you got the
idea for this, but it stops now. You'll dismantle
your schools immediately, and you will return to the ship
and bring all of your teachers with you."
Marcus shook his head. "You still don't
understand, do you? I'm not under your command. I'm
Sejanus' cousin, I'm here at his invitation,
and I take my orders from him. What I'm
doing now, in fact, is by his orders.
Furthermore, if I were a plebe like you,
I'd be more careful. Life can be most
uncomfortable for those who insult members of
certain families--even in these democratic,
republican days."
"The captain would never approve of what
you've done."
"Do you really think so, Gaius?"
"We'll see what Lucius Aelius
Sejanus has to say about this!" Gaius
slapped his communicator. "Centurion!
One to beam up, and be quick about it!"
When Gaius Aldus materialized on the
platform of the Centurion's transporter
room, the technician standing behind the console
instantly straightened to attention and slapped his
fist to his chest, then snapped his arm out, hand
straight, palm down, in the ancient
Roman salute.
Gaius did not even notice. He leapt
from the platform and rushed from the room, down the
corridor to the nearest turbolift. He
ignored greetings and salutes from those he
passed. He was unaware of the people along the way.
He was preoccupied with what he'd seen on the
surface of Tenara, and what it implied.
Marcus, of course, was right Gaius was a
plebe. In the old days, that would have meant that
he was nothing, that his family name meant nothing,
that he was not considered to have such a thing as honor.
In these times, he was still unimportant and his
family name still meant nothing. But now he had
honor, and he would protect it. It was all
he had--except for Jenny.
In his quarters, Gaius used the
communicator screen on his desk to contact his
captain. The computer found Sejanus in his
ready room, busy with some of the mundane
details that running a starship required. He
lo oked annoyed at being interrupted, but brightened
somewhat when he saw who was calling him.
"Gaius! What are you doing on board?
Aren't you supposed to be helping that
Enterprise security team with--"
"Captain," Gaius broke in. "I
need to see you. Immediately."
Sejanus frowned. "I'm rather bogged down
at the moment. Can it wait until this evening?"
"I'm afraid not, Captain."
Sejanus nodded, instantly serious at the
undertone in his first officer's voice. "Then come
immediately. The ready room."
The communications screen went dark.
Gaius sighed and pulled off his Starfleet
uniform. Slowly, and with great care, he put on
his dress uniform, reserved only for
ceremonial occasions. This had changed little
since ancient times; it was the garb of the Magna
Romans who had set out to conquer a world--and
succeeded. First came a tunic. Over that, he
put on a heavy breastplate with armored
epaulets. He added a skirt onto which
plates of metal armor had been sewn, a
helmet, and a cloak. Finally he strapped
to his waist a belt from which dangled a short,
broad sword--ceremonial, but sharp-pointed
and edged.
He examined himself in the
full-length mirror set upon one wall. He
adjusted his armor, hiked up his sword belt,
and then, satisfied, stood to attention and gave
his image the Roman salute.
Now he felt ready for what was required of
him. Gaius left his quarters and headed for the
bridge.
Once again, the crew members Gaius
passed saluted him. Before, they had done so because
they respected him and because of his high status on
the ship. Now they did so for both of those
reasons and also because of the ancient, revered
uniform he wore. And this time, Gaius walked
more slowly, noticed the salutes, and returned
them gravely. "Salve," he said
quietly. "Salve."
The turbolift doors slid open, and
Gaius Aldus stepped onto the bridge, the
embodiment of Roma Aeterna, Eternal
Rome. Conversation on the bridge stopped, and the
crew watched in fascination as Gaius walked
across the bridge with great dignity and entered the
ready room.
As the door slid shut behind him, Sejanus
looked up from his desk. "Gaius. Be
welcome." Then the uniform registered on him,
and he raised his eyebrows. "Such ceremony with
me, Gaius?"
"Captain, you paid me the compliment of telling
Jean-Luc Picard that I have long protected
your honor as well as your life."
Sejanus nodded. "Quite true. Not a
compliment, but the simple truth."
"Then it is my duty to warn you that that honor
is in great danger."
"I'm not sure how that can be." The words were
neutral. The voice was cold. This was not
Sejanus speaking to his lifelong friend; this was
a Roman patrician reproving a plebe for
speaking out of turn. "Perhaps you can explain it
to me."
Gaius deliberately ignored that.
"Marcus Volcinius is in Zhelnogra.
He is overseeing a program to turn the children
of Tenara away from their traditional ways and
toward our Roman ways--prerepublican
ways, in fact."
"I see," Sejanus said. The captain
stood, and crossed the ready room to stand in
front of the great window. "Go on."
"Marcus implied that these ... these new
Romans he's creating might play some
important political role in the future,
involving more than just Tenara. He even went so
far as to claim that he was following your orders."
"Indeed."
"Does that mean that he is following your
orders?"
"Are you questioning me? Are you requiring me
to explain my motives to you?" More than ever,
Sejanus was the patrician reproving the
plebeian.
"By our friendship and our history, yes."
Sejanus stared at Gaius for a long
moment. "Very well, then. Marcus is acting in
my interest--mine, and that of Magna Roma."
"I fail to see how that can be, Captain,"
Gaius interrupted. "What Marcus is doing
is against the laws of the Federation and against the laws
of Tenara. It is dishonorable."
"Dishonorable?" Sejanus shook his head
angrily. "No, it is not dishonorable. It
is necessary."
Gaius folded his arms across his chest.
"Explain."
Sejanus sat back in his chair and offered
a smile. "Do you remember the war games we
used to play, Gaius? When we were children? I was
the emperor, and you my general?"
Gaius nodded.
"We could act with impunity then, with utter
disregard for the consequences. We could make
mistakes--die, even--but it was all
make-believe." He looked into Gaius'
eyes. "Do you remember?"
"I remember."
"Well, my friend, this is a game no
longer. The M'dok, the Romulans, the
Ferengi, follow no rules," Sejanus
said. "They will destroy us unless we destroy
them first. Using any method we can."
Gaius shook his head. "Any method?
No, sir. A battle won without honor is
a worthless victory. You knew this once--when
we defeated the Romulans at Adhara.
Then, you let the survivors escape, with
dignity. You showed them true Roman
honor."
"Escape to attack us again," Sejanus
said. "I was a fool."
"No, sir. You were a hero. And now you have
changed. You fight for personal glory, for your
own selfish ends. Not for the good of the Federation."
Sejanus rose from his chair. "No! Now
I act in the interests of the Volcinii gens
and our world. Support me, Gaius Aldus!
Join me! You'll be rewarded." He smiled.
"I'm not asking you for anything new. Continue
to serve me as you always have."
"You say we must destroy our enemies,"
Gaius said carefully. "How will you accomplish
this? Picard has command here--and he will not go to war
against the M'dok."
"True," Sejanus said, eyeing his first
officer carefully.
And then he told Gaius what he planned
to do with Captain Picard and the Enterprise.
"It is a bold plan," Gaius agreed
when Sejanus was finished.
Sejanus turned toward him, smiling.
"But it is the plan of a madman with a
callous disregard for life. I can serve you no
longer, Captain," Gaius said fiercely.
"You have no honor."
Sejanus stiffened at the rebuke. "And you
are no Magna Roman. You disgrace the
uniform you wear."
"Disgrace this uniform?" Gaius asked.
He quickly drew his short sword, and
Sejanus stepped back, hand moving toward his
chest insignia and his communicator. Gaius'
short sword darted out and flicked the
captain's insignia to the ground.
Gaius stared at him for a moment--a clear
look of contempt. Then he lowered his weapon.
"On the contrary, it is you who disgrace this
uniform, Captain. I go now to inform the
Magna Roman government of your plot."
"I am ruined," Sejanus said, distress
spreading across his features.
"No," Gaius said, his voice softening.
"You are saved."
He reached out to take Sejanus' hand--
--and his captain reached inside his guard,
drawing the short sword, and plunged it
into Gaius Aldus' belly.
The first officer groaned once, a horrible
noise like a giant animal gasping for breath.
He grabbed hold of Sejanus' wrist,
trying to loosen his hold on the
sword. But Sejanus stepped forward again,
putting his weight underneath the sword, and lifted
Gaius off the ground.
Gaius' eyes rolled upward in his head,
and Sejanus lowered his body carefully to the
ground.
"I will miss you, old friend," Sejanus
said, kneeling down by his first officer's side.
"But this is war."
He loosened Gaius' fingers from around his
wrist and wrapped them one by one around the hilt
of the sword. He held them there until
Gaius' grip stiffened and his hand grew
clammy.
Sejanus stood and wiped his hands clean on
a towel. He picked up his communicator
insignia and attached it to his chest, then touched
it once, lightly.
"Security here, Captain."
"There has been an accident in my cabin.
Send someone in to clean it up."
"Yes, sir."
Sejanus thought a moment. "And then get me
Jenny de Luz on board the Enterprise."
"Captain Sejanus?" Jenny's
surprised face filled the screen. "I was
told you wanted to speak with me, sir."
"Yes, Jenny, I do." He paused,
choosing his words carefully. "I regret
to tell you that Magister Navis Gaius
Aldus has dedicated his life to Magna
Roma."
Jenny looked confused. "Sir? I
don't--"
"I mean," Sejanus said gently, "that our
beloved friend Gaius Aldus has taken his own
life. He has given his soul to the state."
Slowly the meaning of the strange formal
phrasing sank in. Jenny's mouth opened.
No sound came out. She stared at Sejanus,
and tears filled her eyes.
"I understand your grief, child. Gaius was my
oldest, closest friend," he said softly. "I
am here if you need me."
Sejanus gestured, and the contact was broken.
And you will need me, he added silently.
Very soon.
Chapter Thirteen
"How are you feeling, Number One?"
Riker cracked open his eyes and groaned.
The last thing he remembered was Gretna
screaming ...
The M'dok.
He propped himself up on his elbows. He
was in sick bay, lying on one of the diagnostic
couches. Leaning over him on one side was
Dr. Beverly Crusher, and on the other, his hand
resting on Riker's shoulder, was Captain
Jean-Luc Picard.
"Fine--I guess, sir," he said. "The
attack--"
"Completely repelled, Number One.
Zhelnogra is secure."
"And Gretna?"
"She's fine--in a lot better shape
than you, I might add."
Riker groaned again, and turned to Dr.
Crusher. "Give me the bad news,
Doctor. How much longer have I got?"
"You'll live to a ripe old age," Dr.
Crusher assured him. "You had a number of
deep cuts here"--she pointed to Riker's chest
--"and a couple bruised ribs, and your right
forearm"--he looked down, and saw it was held
in place by a stasis field--"was broken."
She shrugged. "Just what you'd expect from a
face-to-face collision with a M'dok
warrior."
Picard smiled. "Perhaps I should have you take
Mr. Worf's self-defense class."
"Perhaps you should have , sir." Riker returned
the smile, and tried to sit up straighter. He
was rewarded by a bolt of pain that shot through his
chest like a knife. The captain noticed his first
officer's discomfort and leaned forward to help, but
Riker waved him off.
"I'm fine, sir." He took a deep
breath. "Fill me in on what's been
happening."
"A lot," Picard said. "And very little of it
good."
The captain summarized the events of the last
few days--saving the news of the Great
Saavta's impending policy change for
last.
"I still don't understand Gretna's
change of heart, though, sir," Riker said when
Picard had finished. "Have you been able to talk
to her father about it?"
"Aah." Picard hesitated a moment.
"That's a bit of bad news I had left out,
Number One." He sighed heavily.
"Chairman Melkinat was killed in the
attack on the Great Hall."
Riker's face fell. "Oh, no."
"I'm afraid so. Which has left a
thoroughly disagreeable woman named Anka as the
most prominent Tenaran government official--
and Gretna Melkinata has been supporting
her stance."
With his good hand Riker stroked his beard
thoughtfully. "What could have happened to change her
mind?"
"This occurred before the M'dok attack?"
"A few days before, sir. She had stayed
behind in one of the outposts ..." He snapped his
fingers. "When we met back in Zhelnogra,
she mentioned something about Marcus Julius
Volcinius--called him that teacher from the
Centurion."
"Teacher?" Picard frowned. "That man is
no teacher."
"I know that, sir. Perhaps you should ask
Captain Sejanus about what's going on."
Picard straightened abruptly and turned
away from Riker. "I don't know, Number
One. I am frankly convinced at this point that
the man is not to be trusted."
"Captain Sejanus?" Riker was
surprised, but said nothing.
"I'd be more inclined to find out more about Marcus
ourselves," Picard said.
"Captain Picard." The voice was
Deanna Troi's, and it came from the
bridge.
The captain crossed to one of the companels in
the wall. "Picard here."
"We've just had some rather disturbing news,
sir. There's been an accident of some kind
aboard the Centurion. Gaius Aldus is
dead."
Picard and Riker exchanged surprised
glances.
"Thank you, Counselor," Picard said.
"I will be on the bridge immediately."
He turned back to Riker.
"Something is rotten aboard that ship, Number
One--and I intend to find out what it is."
"Good luck, sir."
"Thank you, Number One--and get well
soon, will you?"
"I'll try, sir."
He was asleep, though, before Picard was
completely out the door.
Picard strode crisply out of the
turbolift and directly into the ready room,
motioning Troi to follow him.
"Have a seat, Counselor." He gestured
toward the chair in front of the desk. He
raised his voice slightly. "Computer--put
me through to Captain Sejanus on the
Centurion."
The desk screen cleared to give a view
of the Centurion's bridge, with Sejanus in
the foreground. "Captain Picard," he said,
"I assume you wish to discuss the further
disposition of our forces on Tenara."
It was the first time the two captains had
talked face-to-face since Picard had
assumed command of their joint mission. Troi
noticed that the two captains avoided
pleasantries or small talk of any kind.
She did not need her Betazoid abilities
to sense that these two men actively disliked each
other.
Picard said, "No, Captain. I need
some information from you. I am surprised and
distressed at the reported death of your first
officer, Gaius Aldus. I would like some more
information."
Sejanus' voice softened. "May I
speak in confidence, Captain?"
Picard nodded. "I'm in my ready room.
Your words will not go beyond the door."
"Good. I am reluctant to tell anyone
the details of the story, since it does not
reflect well on the Aldus family, but
I know I can rely on your discretion. Poor
Gaius learned just recently of a scandal
involving his family. It seems an uncle of
his was selling Federation secrets to the
Romulans. Gaius' uncle--and quite
possibly the rest of his family--faces
certain imprisonment."
As he spoke, Sejanus' face
grew ever more solemn.
"My magister navis, Captain, was
perhaps a bit old-fashioned--a Roman of the
old imperial school. He came to me in my
cabin and told me what he had learned ..."
Sejanus' voice trailed off. "I knew
he was upset, but I had no idea he intended
to kill himself."
"I see." Picard nodded. "You have my
deepest sympathy, Captain."
"Thank you, Captain Picard. If I
might ... I would ask you to keep a close
eye on Ensign de Luz," Sejanus said.
"She and Gaius had grown quite close."
"Understood. Picard out." He broke the
connection and turned to Troi.
"He's lying," she said flatly. "There is
much more to Gaius' death than he is telling
you."
"I feel the same way." Picard
hesitated, then said, "If you think it's wise
to tell Ensign de Luz about this conversation, you
may do so, but please do it in here."
For a moment Deanna looked puzzled. Then
she remembered Picard's promise
to Sejanus that what he said would not go beyond the
ready room. "I'll summon her now, sir,
if that's all right."
Picard nodded. "I'll leave. No, on
second thought, I'll stay."
Jenny arrived within minutes. It was clear
immediately that she had not been sleeping much. Her
face was pale and drawn--paler even than her
normal redhead's coloring--and with lines
Deanna had not seen there before. Her eyes were
red-rimmed, her uniform was rumpled and creased,
and her hair, normally a smooth red cap, was
dirty and uncombed. Still, there was a kind of
bright energy in her face, but to Deanna's
eye it was an unhealthy, driven kind of
energy.
"Sit down, Ensign," Captain Picard
said quickly.
Jenny sank gratefully into a chair.
"Thank you, sir." Right away, she turned
to Deanna Troi. "Do you have any news for
me?"
"Ensign--Jenny--the captain and I tried
to find out the details of Gaius Aldus'
death, as I promised you." She
told Jenny what Sejanus had said.
"His uncle betrayed the Federation? And so
Gaius killed himself?"
"That's what Sejanus told us, Jenny,"
Deanna said. "Do you have any reason to doubt
that?"
Jenny shook her head.
"Had Gaius given you any hints of trouble
aboard the Centurion, or with Captain
Sejanus?" Picard asked.
"No," Jenny said quietly. She stared
at the floor silently for a moment. "If that's
all, may I go, sir?"
"Of course." Picard smiled gently.
"And take the next couple of days off,
Ensign. Give yourself some rest."
"Captain Sejanus?"
"Hmmm?" The aide's voice had startled
him; Sejanus had been preparing for bed, and was
unaccustomed to interruption.
"Captain, someone from the Enterprise is
here to speak with you. An ensign." The aide's
voice carried an overtone of disapproval.
"Ensign de Luz?" Sejanus asked, the
fatigue vanishing from his mind. Instinctively
he could feel the importance of the call.
"Yes, Captain," the aide replied,
sounding somewhat surprised.
"Where is she now?"
"In the transporter room, Captain."
"Have her brought here, Lieutenant.
Immediately."
Sejanus had just finished dressing when the
chime rang. "Come," he said, sitting on his
bed.
The door slid open and Jenny walked in.
Sejanus was immediately struck by the difference in
her appearance. She was clearly exhausted, her
face lined with worry and pain. But somehow she
glowed with energy, her eyes oddly luminous.
He had never thought of her as attractive
before, but now ...
"Ensign de Luz reporting, sir." Her
voice was very distant.
"At ease, Ensign. Jenny. Please,
relax."
She moved from attention to a stance with her feet
shoulder-width apart, her hands clasped at the
small of her back, her upper body
still ramrod-straight, and her eyes staring
straight ahead--the textbook definition of
"at ease," and not what Sejanus had had in
mind. "How can I help you, Jenny?"
"Gaius Aldus ..."
Jenny had closed her eyes, and she was
shaking; after a moment, Sejanus realized that
she was crying. He rose from the bed and took her
into his arms, holding her tightly as she
wept.
After a little while he pushed her away
slightly, still holding her shoulders, and looked
into her eyes. "Listen to me, Jenny," he said
gently. "Gaius' death was a tragedy, and I
feel his loss no less keenly than you. But
we must put him behind us and look to other things,
to the future."
"I know that," she said, avoiding his eyes.
"Look." He led her to a chair, helped
her sit down, and stood beside her. In front of
them, on his desk, was an empty computer
screen. "Computer," he said. "Roma, the
Regia."
Onto the computer screen there came the
image of a great city, the view focusing upon a
large building fronted by massive pillars,
magnificently decorated. Men in togas were
walking in and out of the building, looking like
insects in comparison to the gargantuan
structure.
"This is the Regia Republicae, the
Palace of the Republic, our capitol. It
occupies the entire top of the hill we call
the Palatium. It's where the Senate meets
and the center of government on Magna Roma.
This is where the power lies!" He turned her
chair around, gazing down at her.
"That hill, that complex of buildings"--he
gestured toward the screen--"used to be called
simply the Regia, the Palace, and everyone
understood that that meant the Palace of the
Emperor. My namesake's palace, Jenny!
Augustus built his palace up there, and then
Tiberius built one near it, but it was the
Emperor Sejanus who completed the complex and
made the Palatium the true center of the
empire. For two thousand years it was the seat
of the emperors, the center of the empire, and then the
center of the world. For two thousand years, until
the republic, and even now it is st ill the
true center of power. It is the crowning
achievement of our civilization, yet it is in
danger of falling--in the same way Tenara
has."
He clasped his hands behind his back and began
pacing. "Jenny, the M'dok grow bolder with
each attack. The next time they strike, we
must deliver them a crushing blow--a blow that will
send them scurrying back to the safety of their
own borders. The Centurion alone is not
powerful enough to deliver that blow. I need the
Enterprise's firepower on my side to do
that."
Jenny swallowed. "I'm with you, sir ...
but there is little I can do to help you."
"On the contrary, Jenny." He faced her.
"You hold the key to our chances against the
M'dok." He crossed to the computer on his
desk and brought up a display of the
Centurion's defensive systems.
"Look how intricate my ship's
defenses are. No one man can possibly
coordinate them. It takes the thinking power of a
computer--and in any battle involving more than
one ship, the problems of maintaining a coherent
offensive and defensive strategy multiply
exponentially. One ship's computer must take
command of all the others--a procedure
accomplished through the use of a simple
six-digit number called a prefix code.
"We talked before about the Romans who
sacrificed themselves for the safety of the empire--
who were unafraid to stand up for what they thought was
right. Now I want you to stand up for what you
believe in, Jenny." He gazed into her
eyes. "I want you to obtain the
Enterprise's prefix code for me. So that
the next time the M'dok attack Tenara, I
have control of the Enterprise."
For a long moment Jenny was silent, staring at
the computer screen, deliberately avoiding
Sejanus' gaze.
Then she straightened, and nodded. "You'll have
that code, sir. On my honor, I swear
it."
Sejanus nodded, and allowed himself a small
smile.
He had won.
He would use the code to lower the
Enterprise's shields, and destroy
her himself. His engineers on board the ship were
even now sabotaging the larger vessel's
phaser banks, destroying her ability to fight
back. The M'dok, of course, would be blamed
--and that would bring on the war he needed
to catapult him to glory, to the command of his
planet ...
... and perhaps beyond.
"Is there anything else I can do, sir?"
Jenny asked.
He was about to dismiss her, then noticed
Jenny's eyes gleaming darkly, luminously
at him. By God, she was beautiful! If
nothing else, Gaius had shown excellent
taste.
Perhaps there was something else she could do for him.
"Jenny," he said urgently, "there's a
great adventure ahead of me. Join me. I
know you nothing is beyond you. Be my magistra
navis, stand beside me, command my forces."
He bent toward her, touching his lips gently
to hers.
With a passion that surprised him, Jenny
returned his kiss.
"Gaius Aldus! Commit suicide!"
Worf shook his head. "Never, sir."
It was the following morning, and Picard was on
the bridge, having just brought his security
chief, down on the planet's surface,
up-to-date on recent events.
"Go on, Lieutenant."
Worf's image, on the main viewscreen,
said, "I was with him yesterday, and he seemed in
fine spirits." The Klingon paused. "That is,
until Marcus Julius showed up."
Picard's eyebrows rose. "Marcus
Julius Volcinius? That man's name seems
to be cropping up everywhere, Lieutenant."
He thought a moment. "See if you can locate
Marcus yourself, Lieutenant Worf. And find
out what he knows about Gaius' death."
Worf grinned, revealing two rows of sharp,
even teeth.
"It will be my pleasure, sir."
Marcus Volcinius, in his brand-new
sumptuous house in Zhelnogra, was feeling
rather pleased with himself. He was ahead of the schedule
he had proposed to his cousin. Tomorrow
he would begin the organization of what he intended
to call the Young Romans League.
He was wearing the ornately embroidered
toga he would wear the next day when he
addressed the new organization. On his desk
before him was a sheet of paper on which he was
drawing various possible standards that the Young
Romans would carry during their frequent
parades. At this point, the words of the
League's charter were still vague, but he knew
they'd come to him. This kind of organizing was
certainly his talent, what the gods had made
him for. In the future--the future planned
by Sejanus--there would be even more avenues for that
talent.
The sound of a knock on the door interrupted
his pleasant reverie.
"Come in," he said. He was expecting
Julius Apius, his personal assistant.
"Now, Julius," he said, not bothering
to look up, "I need you to arrange for another
case of the local ale--the jhafre--to be
brought here immediately. The first one is simply
unsatisfactory, and--"
"Excuse me."
That was not Julius' voice.
He looked up--and saw Lieutenant
Worf from the Enterprise standing in front of his
desk, hands folded behind his back.
"I was told I might find you here,"
Worf said. "If you have a moment, I would like
to discuss several matters with you."
Marcus glanced quickly at the old-fashioned
clock hanging on the wall behind Worf.
"I find I am running late for an
appointment, Lieutenant." He rose and
pushed his chair back from the desk. "Perhaps tomorrow
afternoon ..."
Worf turned and noticed the clock.
"Hmmm," he said, taking it down off the wall
and examining it closely. "Your clock is
running fast." He turned the hands back a
full hour. "Now it shows the correct time."
The Klingon pulled up a chair and sat
down in front of Marcus' desk. "Now, I
would like you to tell me about Gaius Aldus--
what happened to him after you two left me."
"Ensign de Luz calling, sir."
Sejanus rose from his desk.
"Put this on a closed channel, Ensign.
In my quarters only."
"Aye, sir."
Sejanus strode quickly to the small
monitor in his quarters and activated it.
"I have the information you requested, Captain,"
Jenny said. Her eyes shone with excitement.
"Excellent. Beam over at once."
Jenny shook her head. "It would seem too
suspicious. I will rendezvous with you on the
planet's surface in one hour." She gave
him a set of coordinates outside the city.
Sejanus nodded to himself. The fewer people who
knew he had been meeting with an Enterprise
crew member before that ship's untimely
destruction, the better. "Very well.
Sejanus out."
He placed another call to his personal
guard, to alert the engineers aboard the
Enterprise to stand ready.
Chapter Fourteen
"That is a very interesting story," Worf said
calmly. "Now I would like to hear the truth."
"What I've told you is the truth,
Lieutenant," Marcus insisted. He raised
his right hand and held it out so that his palm was facing
Worf. "I swear it--upon my honor as a
Roman."
Worf frowned in disapproval. "Then we
Klingons have a much different code of honor
than Magna Romans. We would never swear
to such a transparent lie."
Marcus wiped his brow. The Klingon had
remained virtually motionless in his chair for the
last five minutes while Marcus spun a
tale of how Gaius Aldus and he had gone
to a brief meeting with a group of Tenaran
farmers. Now Worf glanced briefly at the
clock behind him again, and spoke in a disapproving
tone.
"I see your clock is beginning to run fast
once more."
But while the Klingon's attention was
elsewhere, Marcus had extended one
hand below his desk, eased open a drawer, and
reached inside.
"I don't know what you want from me,
Lieutenant," the Magna Roman said, "but
I assure you--"
He drew the phaser that had been hidden in his
desk and held it in front of him with both
hands, pointing it directly at Worf.
"--t you are not going to get it."
He would have to kill the Klingon, of course--
but how to explain his disappearance? Then he
remembered; it would not matter. His captain's
plan called for the disappearance of the entire
Enterprise crew.
He laughed.
Worf shook his head reproachfully. "I
know you are not threatening me with that phaser," he
said. "That would be a foolish thing to do."
"Oh?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"How so?"
"It is very simple," Worf continued. "That
is a type-I phaser--currently turned
to setting three. Powerful enough to stun most
humanoids, but unfortunately for you"--and here
he smiled--"we Klingons are not most
humanoids."
Marcus' own grin wavered slightly.
"Of course," Worf continued, "you could
change the current setting. But that would take you
at least two seconds, during which time I would
surely--"
Marcus glanced for a split second at the
phaser, sliding his thumb forward ...
... and Worf bounded over the desk in one
easy motion, ripping the phaser out of Marcus'
grasp as easily as if he was disarming a child.
"--overpower you," Worf finished, sitting
back in his chair again. "I was wrong. It
took you only one second to change the setting
on the phaser." He smiled.
"Congratulations."
Marcus nodded dumbly.
"Now, tell me about Gaius Aldus,"
he said. "The truth. Or perhaps you would like
to experience some of the physical discomfort I
promised you earlier ..."
Marcus slumped disconsolately over his
desk and began to talk.
The Tenaran plains were dusty and dry, and the
wind was high.
Jenny blinked back tears from irritated
eyes as she waited for Sejanus.
He materialized about a meter in front of
her, dressed in Roman armor instead of a
Starfleet uniform.
"Jenny," he said, stepping toward her. He
took her hands in his, and smiled. "Do you have
the prefix code for me?"
"Yes, I do. But first I want to know
something."
"Of course." Sejanus nodded. "What
is it?"
Jenny let her hands drop to her sides and
stared the Centurion's captain in the face.
"Why did Gaius kill h imself?"
"Why did ...? Well ..." He cleared
his throat. "I assumed Captain Picard
had told you. A family scandal." He
looked directly at her. "To talk of it now
... brings me pain. You do understand, don't
you?"
"Of course," Jenny said quietly. "It
brings me pain too."
Her gaze left Sejanus' face and
seemed to focus beyond the horizon, into empty
space. When she spoke again, her voice was
harsh and empty of feeling. "Because when Gaius
and I first met, you see, he told me he had
no family. No one in the world at all--but
you."
She turned back to Sejanus, and now she
couldn't keep the tears from her eyes. "He
loved you. And you killed him--just as surely as
if you had driven the sword through him with your own
hand."
"That's nonsense," Sejanus said
coldly. "Utter nonsense."
"Then why the lie about his family? Why
did he kill himself?"
In response, Sejanus moved closer
to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Forget him, Jenny. You and I are what is
important now. The things we can achieve together
..."
She closed her eyes, shaking her head,
pulling away from him. "You still don't understand,
Captain Sejanus." Her eyes snapped
open. "Captain, in my capacity as
an officer of Starfleet security, I am
placing you under arrest, relieving you of duty
until such time as you may be brought to trial.
You are charged with conspiring to overthrow by force the
democratically elected government of a
Federation member world."
"Jenny ..." He stepped forward, offering
her his hand. "Come with me. Stand by my side. You
can have power, glory, everything--"
She cut him off. "I don't want your
power," she said, spitting out each word, "and I
don't want you."
"Then you're a fool," he said, reaching for his
sword. "And you will have to die a fool's death--
just as Gaius Aldus did."
Jenny stared at him unbelievingly for a
second.
And then she went mad.
There was very little of Starfleet training in her
attack, and nothing of discipline. She was the
daughter of an ancient warrior family of
Meramar, of a people accustomed to fighting their way
to what they wanted through blood and war, and it was this
tradition that sent the adrenaline pouring through her
in a burst of freezing flame, sent her hands
reaching for Sejanus' throat.
He stepped back, hand around the gladius
hanging by his side; before he could do more than
draw it halfway, her foot smashed into his
wrist, and then she was on him.
He was knocked to the ground by her furious
attack, landing with her hands already locked around his
neck. He grabbed her wrists, trying to force
her hands back, trying to breathe.
Slowly the pressure lessened, and he
gained enough leverage to pull his leg out from under her,
placing his knee against her belly and pushing.
Even as she was lifted off him, she struck
down like a snake, fastening her teeth in his arm,
and then they were rolling over and over in the dirt,
each trying desperately to gain an
advantage over the other.
His superior size and weight told
heavily in this type of fighting. In the end,
though cut and bruised, he was on top of her,
holding her wrists with one hand, while the other
drew back for a brutal punch to the side of
her face.
The Roman struck her with a fury as great as
hers, uncontrolled animal
brutality, for that was his way. Both of them children
of warrior worlds, they had both lost control in
the rush of blood lust.
And suddenly Jenny was clearly, coldly
sane.
It's the warrior's way. It's
Sejanus' way. But not Starfleet's way,
not Captain Picard's--and not mine! She could
win, she knew, if she fought as she had been
trained. Even as he was preparing to hit her
again, she shifted under him, finding the weak point
in his balance and throwing him off in a single
convulsive movement.
Before he could rise, she lashed out with a snap
kick, catching him in the face, and then leapt
to her feet. He rose almost as quickly,
stretching out his hands and roaring as he charged for
her.
It could hardly have been simpler. She
stepped aside, dodging him easily, and
delivered a vicious kidney punch before
catching him in the stomach with a powerful roundhouse
kick.
Holding his side, he wheeled and charged her
again. This time she did not step aside; instead,
she met him squarely, stepping forward and
driving a side kick straight into his chin.
The shock jarred her, but Sejanus fell
to the ground, trying weakly to rise and then
collapsing, semiconscious.
She stood there sucking in great gasps of the
clean, cold air, standing over her fallen
opponent.
Then she reached up to her communicator.
"De Luz to Enterprise," she told
them. "Two to beam up." And then she threw
back her head and looked to the sky as her body
dissolved in the transporter beam.
"Lieutenant Worf calling from the
planet's surface, sir."
"Put him on-screen," Picard snapped.
He'd just had another frustrating day of
discussions with the Great Saavta--and another
angry exchange with its hard-line members
over the need for Federation defenses on Tenara.
The captain leaned forward in his chair, hoping
for good news.
Worf's face appeared on the main
viewscreen at the front of the
bridge.
"Any progress, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," Worf replied. "I found
Marcus Volcinius, sir--and some very interesting
information."
Captain Picard listened intently as
Worf relayed the information Marcus had given
him.
"Well done," Picard said when he was
finished. "Bring your prisoner aboard ship, and
then I think we'll arrange another meeting
with the Tenarans."
"Yes, sir." The Klingon's image
faded from the viewscreen.
Picard smacked his hands together in
satisfaction, and sat down again.
"Get Sejanus on the Centurion for
me, and--"
"No need, Captain."
Picard spun.
Jenny de Luz stood in the turbolift,
her hair disheveled, her uniform torn and
dirty, her face bruised.
"Captain Sejanus is in the brig."
She smiled. "And I am reporting in--fit
for duty, sir."
Picard walked slowly up to the deck in
front of the turbolift and studied Jenny for a
moment before he spoke.
"Yes, you are, Ensign." He smiled.
"And we're glad to have you back."
When he had to, Geordi La Forge could
move.
And judging from what little Captain Picard
had told him, he had to move now. When he
reached the turbolift, his heart was pounding
madly; he had covered the short distance from his
quarters with a speed that would have surprised some of the
best runners in the Federation. The human ones,
anyway.
Data, whom Picard had also alerted, was
already in the turbolift, waiting.
"Engineering," Geordi gasped as he leaned
against the turbolift door. He shook his
head. "Appius Cornelius and his Magna
Romans have been crawling all over this ship for
days. They've probably got the engines
halfway dismantled by now!"
"I hardly think that likely,
Geordi," Data began. "Were that the
case, we surely would have noticed--"
Geordi shook his head, just as the
turbolift doors slid open.
Simultaneously, the turbolift doors
on the other side of engineering opened, and three
security officers stepped out, their phasers
drawn.
The Centurion personnel who had been
working on the Enterprise systems looked up,
startled. As the security guards approached
them, most simply raised their hands over their
heads, but one grabbed a heavy tool and swung
at the head of one of the security officers.
There was no time to react, and Geordi
gasped, expecting to see the officer's head
laid open--and then an arm suddenly appeared
between the tool and the officer's head, stopping the
blow with ease.
Data smiled pleasantly, showing no sign
of pain from a blow that would have broken a human's
arm. He removed the tool from the Roman's
grasp and crumpled it with one hand.
"I believe the appropriate phrase is
"Surrender or die,"" Data said.
Geordi laughed. "You've been reading too
many old detective stories, Data. No
one says that anymore!"
"Why not?" Data asked, turning back
toward the Roman, who had his hands held high
and clearly intended to offer no further
resistance.
"It seems to work quite well."
Worf stood behind Picard on the bridge
now, watching the image of the Centurion
floating in space.
"Captain, we have a message from the
Centurion."
"On-screen, Lieutenant."
The ship disappeared, and its place was taken
by a burly, aggressive-looking man wearing a
cloak over a gold-colored uniform, with
commander's rank on his collar.
"Captain Picard, I am Commander
Claudius Marcellus Caecus,
Centurion chief of security and acting
captain. I demand to know what has happened
to Captain Sejanus."
How typical of Sejanus,
Picard thought sadly, that his security chief
should be so high in the chain of command.
"Commander Caecus, I regret to inform you that
your captain has been placed into custody."
Caecus' eyes went wide. "On what
charges? And by whose authority?"
"He has broken countless Starfleet
regulations, not the least of which is the Prime
Directive," Picard said flatly. "We
will keep him on board the Enterprise until
such time as we can release him into Starfleet
custody at Starbase 16. Furthermore,
if I have anything to say about it, Commander, and I
shall"--he rose from his command chair, his powerful
voice ringing out across the bridge--"he will be
court-martialed!"
Caecus' image abruptly disappeared,
to be replaced by a starfield, with the
Centurion floating before them. As they
watched, the smaller ship's impulse engines
glowed, and she accelerated away from them.
"Should I follow them, sir?" Wesley
asked from the helm.
Picard shook his head. "No, Mr.
Crusher, not now. But track them."
Wesley tapped some controls, then shrugged.
"They've disappeared around Tena ra, sir. And the
satellites aren't tracking them."
"Very clever," Picard said, steepling his
fingers. "The Centurion doesn't register
on the satellites' sensors, so we have no
idea where they are or what they're doing. How
did they manage that, I wonder."
Almost simultaneously, Data and
Wesley turned around and said, "The subspace
transtator wavelengths can be--"
Picard held up his hand. "A technical
explanation can wait, gentlemen. What's
really important is how long they've been
doing that, and what they've been doing in the
meantime. Worf, have Captain Sejanus
brought to the bridge."
Several things then happened
simultaneously.
The Centurion appeared suddenly from behind the
Tenaran moon, her phasers glowing with contained
energy. Without pause or warning, she opened
fire.
The Enterprise was totally unprepared, but
Starfleet designers had made the
starship well. The low-level navigational
shields, which protected the great ship from space
debris, absorbed some of the energy. The
immensely fast ship's computer should have done the
rest. It calculated in a picosecond the
direction of fire, how much power would be needed
to counteract it, and how much would inevitably get
through. Normally that would have been sufficient
safeguard to prevent damage. However,
Appius Cornelius' men had done their work
well, and there had simply not been time enough for the
engineers under Geordi La Forge's command
to find all of the Magna Romans'
sabotage. Despite the automatic
signal from the Enterprise computer, very little
extra energy was fed to the shields at the
impact point.
The Centurion's shot had been aimed at
the juncture between the main saucer section and the
warp drive section, resulting in a minimum
of casualties, but totally disrupting power
throughout the entire ship for a little over five
seconds.
Which was all the time Sejanus, down in the
brig, needed.
The Centurion's captain had always been
quick to take advantage of fortunate
accidents. As quick as thought, his powerful legs
pushed hard against the wall and sent him flying out
into the corridor.
The lights and security force field came
on just as Sejanus cleared the doorway to his
cell. He felt a tingling in his feet and
looked down to see that the soles of his boots were
smoking. It had been a near thing.
He rolled to his feet. No guards had
been posted. Foolish.
He ran down the corridor, and as he
ran, he slapped the control plates on the
outside of the other cells holding prisoners from
the Centurion, releasing them. There was a
good-sized pack following him by the time he was
done.
Sejanus gathered them together. "Is this
everyone?" he asked.
One of the Magna Roman engineers spoke
up. "All of us except for Appius
Cornelius, sir. They took him to sick
bay."
"Most unfortunate," Sejanus
said brusquely. Appius was--had been--
one of his better operatives. A pity that he
had to be left behind, but Sejanus had never
wasted time on vain regret. "Follow me,"
he ordered.
Together they sprinted for the transporter room.
"Sir!" Data said sharply. "My
displays show transporters being activated!"
"Cut power to the transporter room, Mr.
Data!" Picard ordered immediately.
Data's fingers flew over his console--but
even as he worked, the android was shaking his head.
"It is too late, sir. A full load
was beamed over to the Centurion."
"Sejanus," Picard said. He cursed
himself for not posting guards outside the brig.
"I am detecting an energy buildup from the
Centurion, sir," Data added.
"Centurion firing photon torpedoes,
sir!" Worf said.
"Evasive action!" Picard cried,
bracing himself. The whole structure of the ship
shook slightly as the powerful engines kicked in
full force.
But the torpedoes had not been intended
to damage the Enterprise. They detonated
several hundred kilometers in front of the
great ship, momentarily filling the main viewer
with a brilliant burst of blue-white light.
When the explosion faded, the Centurion was
gone.
"Can you follow them, Mr. Crusher?"
Wesley shook his head. "They left at
maximum warp, sir. There's no way to tell
where they are now."
Picard nodded; he had expected no other
answer.
"Lieutenant Worf, prepare messages
for Starfleet Command and the Senate of Magna
Roma, informing them of the Centurion's
disappearance and Captain Sejanus' plans."
He stood. "Mr. Data, you have the conn."
Picard headed for the turbolift and his cabin
--and some much-needed rest.
Epilogue
Several hours later, Worf went off
duty, having finished transmitting the last of
Captain Picard's messages to Starfleet
Command. Coded, of course--regulation
procedure in a situation where hostiles could be
monitoring communications.
When he returned to his quarters, he found
a message waiting for him from Jenny de
Luz.
He first thought of calling in Deanna
Troi. But Jenny was his subordinate, his
responsibility. He had recommended her
for the duty on Tenara that had led to her
involvement with Gaius Aldus in the first
place. "Computer," he said, "get me
Ensign Jenny de Luz."
"Ensign de Luz is on Holodeck
Three," the computer answered. "You are now in
contact."
"Jenny, this is Lieutenant Worf."
"I have something to ask you, Lieutenant."
Her voice was strong and purposeful, not at
all what he expected. "Could you meet me
here on the holodeck?"
Worf nodded. "I'm on my way."
When he reached Holodeck Three, there was
no sign of Jenny, and he realized she must be
waiting inside for him. He entered to find himself
in the middle of a simulation.
Before him was a flat plain stretching to a
distant horizon. The tip of the rising sun
showed over the horizon, growing slowly in the
overcast sky. To his left was a heavy forest,
and to his right was a hill, its top crowned by a
massive building. Ringing the hill was a
camp, with men strolling about or standing in clumps
talking. Every now and then, some of them would look
up at the building on the hilltop and then
resume their conversations. Jenny stood a short
distance in front of him, watching his reactions.
"Welcome to Meramar, Lieutenant," she
said. "I've spent the last couple of hours
getting the details right. What do you think of
it?"
"A harsh environment," Worf said.
"Very harsh. That's where I grew up."
Jenny pointed at the hilltop. "Castle de
Luz, which makes it sound a lot
grander than it really was. And that"--she pointed
at the encampment--"is the army of my father's
cousin, Domin Hame de Luz, which is laying
siege to the castle."
"Siege!" Worf exclaimed. "In this
day and age? With modern weapons, that's a
meaningless word."
Jenny shook her head. "Not if all the
parties agree to limit themselves to the weapons of the
first settlers brought here by the Preservers. This
siege happened when I was three years old.
It was finally settled by single combat between my father
and his cousin. My father won. I can still remember
his wounds. And the head of his cousin decorating the
great dining hall for a few days. Fortunately
it was winter."
"Barbaric."
Jenny grinned suddenly. "Remind you of
another world?"
Worf said stiffly, "Klingons were not
barbarians. They reacted to a grim
environment with a grim social code in order
to survive. And then in the end they outgrew even
that code and joined the Federation."
"Yes. Exactly the same thing happened
on Meramar. My ancestors evolved a
grim code too, to survive. They joined the
Federation, but the social code has scarcely
changed."
Worf felt off-balance. "Ensign, you're
not there anymore. This is a simulation.
Problems aren't settled here on the
Enterprise by means of single combat."
Jenny nodded soberly. "I know that, sir.
But I'm a product of this world. It's part of
me. I came here to try to understand something about
myself. The battle between my father and his cousin is
about to begin. Right now, my father is up there in his
castle, in the chapel, dedicating his weapons and
his soul to Servado and praying for victory.
It's an ancient ceremony. And this time
I'll be able to watch the whole thing with a lot more
understanding than when I was three years old."
A shout arose from the camp at the base of the
hill, and suddenly the camp came alive, men
running toward a central point. Jenny
smiled, her face transformed by eagerness. "Do
you hear that, Lieutenant? It's about to begin.
My father is about to come down the hillside and
settle the old feud."
"You said you had something to ask me, Ensign.
I have no interest in watching two men try
to kill each other." He turned to go.
"Computer," Jenny called out, "freeze
simulation."
The shouts from the camp stopped abruptly.
Worf turned back to Jenny. "Well?"
"First I have to correct you, Lieutenant,"
Jenny said, as if she were discussing a
completely neutral topic. "It's not two
men trying to kill each other it's two men
trying, and one succeeding." She took a deep
breath. "I want you to put me on special
assignment. I want to find Captain
Sejanus."
Worf shook his head slowly. Despite the
abrupt change of subject, he was not
surprised. "So you can kill him?"
"So I can bring him back to stand trial for the
murder of Gaius Aldus!" Jenny shouted.
Worf shook his head. "How will you bring
Sejanus to justice? He has disappeared--and
it is a very large galaxy, Ensign."
"I'll find him," Jenny said simply.
"I'll find him."
"Indeed," Worf said. "Then I wish you
luck. But why did you call me here?"
"I thought you might want to help."
"I do," Worf said. "But my duty is
here aboard this starship, Ensign. Not chasing
vengeance across the galaxy."
"I ..." Jenny said, and then she broke,
began sobbing.
There was nothing in t he manual about how to cover
this situation, so Worf acted instinctively.
He growled, and reluctantly allowed Jenny
to lean on him as she cried.
"I'm glad you could come," Will Riker said.
He reached out with his good arm, taking Gretna's
hand and helping her down off the transporter
platform.
"Will," she said, looking at him in shock.
"Your arm--"
"Is fine," he assured her. "It'll be
good as new in another day or two. Now, come
on--and I'll show you how Marcus tricked
you."
He led her down the corridor and into the
turbolift.
"Deck Four," he said. The car began
moving.
"So," he began, turning to Gretna and
smiling, "how do you like the Enterprise?"
"It seems wonderful. I'm very excited
to be here, especially if what you told me about
this ..." She faltered, looking for the word.
"Holodeck," Riker supplied.
"... holodeck is true."
"It may sound like a miracle, but I
assure you, it's quite real."
"I'm afraid I still don't understand how they
got the doubles to sound and behave just like real people."
"They're not doubles. The holodeck is run
by a sophisticated computer program, which they--
Marcus and Sejanus--simply told what
to do."
The turbolift doors opened, and Riker
led Gretna down the corridor to the
holodeck entrance.
"Now," Riker said, "what you'll first see
is a completely empty room--but whatever you
want to make real in there, you can. Anything is
possible in this room. Anything."
Riker touched the control panel, and the door
slid open--revealing Lieutenant Worf
holding Jenny de Luz in his arms.
Riker smothered a laugh.
"Excuse me, Ensign, Commander," Worf
said, detaching himself from Jenny. He strode
determinedly past them into the corridor beyond.
Jenny was just a few seconds behind him,
looking just as uncomfortable. "Commander, ma'am."
And she was gone as well, the holodeck
door sliding shut behind her.
"I think we interrupted something," Riker
said.
"I think so too. Will, what is this
place?"
"I don't know, but it's beautiful."
"It's like we're on another world,"
Gretna said, turning to take in the entire
holodeck illusion. "And you could make
images of people as well?"
Riker nodded.
"My father and Captain Picard?"
"I could," Riker said gently. "Would you like
me to?"
"No," she said quickly, then lowered her
gaze. "Will, I feel like such a
fool. I should have talked to you before about what
Marcus said, not been so quick to believe him."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter
now."
"But it does," Gretna said. "Can you
forgive me?"
Riker smiled. "Well ... anything is
possible," he said, taking her in his arms.
"Especially in here."
There was still too much to understand.
Jean-Luc Picard, scholar, scientist,
diplomat, and sometime soldier, drummed his
fingers on the table-top in his quarters as he
tried to comprehend it all.
The M'dok had at last responded
to Federation overtures--Picard felt confident
their murderous raids would soon end. The
Magna Roman government was itself in the midst
of a massive shake-up, sparked by these latest
revelations about the Volcinii gens. And
Sejanus ...
He was out there somewhere, Picard knew, still
pursuing his ambitions, undoubtedly planning
to pursue his mad dreams, to reclaim his lost
honor.
Picard doubted that he would ever know exactly
what motivations had driven Captain
Lucius Aelius Sejanus. That
Sejanus was truly a madman, Picard
did not doubt--but underlying the madness there had
been a brilliance and a capacity to make things
happen of a sort which altered the course of
civilizations.
Alexander, Picard thought. Julius
Caesar. Saladin. Napoleon. Gandhi.
Hitler. Schroeder. Colonel Green.
Kahless. Cochrane. Surak. Tagore.
It's such a fine line ...
Perhaps, as well, it was another case of power
corrupting? For Magna Roma to leap from the
equivalent of twentieth to twenty-fourth
century Earth technology in eighty years
had to be a heady, destabilizing experience.
To find oneself with so much power, so quickly ...
It could change a man--even one who had
passed Starfleet's strict psychological
tests.
And yet there was more.
For within Captain Sejanus there
had also been something else which, perhaps, only
Captain Picard could fully understand.
It was nothing he could name, nor did he
want to.
"But in Lucius Aelius Sejanus,"
he whispered aloud into the silence of his cabin,
"there was much of Jean-Luc Picard."
He stared at his desk, at his hands lying
folded atop it.
Our hands and our minds, he thought. These are
what make us human. What our minds can
imagine, for good or ill, our hands can build.
And from then on, there are no limits.
Outside the Enterprise were uncounted
gleaming stars, and things that had yet to be
understood, and the absolute silence of space.

