This was the story (in its form as a Deep
Space Nine tale entitled "Justice Served") I thought had a real
chance to be accepted by the editors of the Strange New Worlds III
contest. No such luck.
As far as I'm concerned, though, DS9's
loss is
I hope you feel the same way.
"
By Joseph Manno
"...It is the finding of this
special tribunal that the defendant…"
"Aren't you three done
yet?"
The object of the guard's derisive
question sighed quietly, and looked up from beneath the console under which she
lay.
"It's not quite as easy as you
might think, Ensign. We're going to be here at least another
hour."
The nameless gold shirt—they seemed to
have a different guard every day—shook his head,
grinning.
"No, 'we' won't," he mimicked.
"I'm not spending my off-duty time watching traitors when I could be in
the holodeck or playing parrises squares." After pondering for a moment
what must have been the disposition of his evening schedule, he decided,
"You've got 20 minutes."
The woman looked over at her two
companions. Mark Preston shrugged, Maybe? The second, however, firmly
shook his head.
"I simply cannot finish in 20
minutes," he announced in that sibilant Andorian
half-whisper.
The guard grinned, rather
maliciously.
"Well, it looks like you three
won't be going out on any more work furloughs, then, hmm? Especially since
they're conditional on completing assigned tasks. Couldn't have happened to a
more deserving bunch, as far as I'm concerned."
"...has been found guilty, on all
counts, of the charges and specifications brought on behalf of Starfleet and
the United Federation of Planets..."
"Your compassion's overwhelming,"
she told him pointedly, and quickened her pace. Somehow, she realized, she'd
have to finish her part of the repairs and then move to help Theren.
"Tough luck, turncoat," the guard
snapped. "I'm not losing any sleep over your problems."
"...a sentence of seven years, to
be spent at the Federation penal facility on Dalarian Prime..."
She worked feverishly, which wasn't as
hard as it might have been elsewhere in the complex; the temperature was about
20 degrees above what it should have been. Wiping sweat from her fingers, she
managed somehow to compress what should have been a half-hour's careful
adjustments into just under a ten-minute span. Then, she stood, stretched
quickly, and started towards the station with which Theren was
struggling.
Just as she'd begun assisting him,
though, the guard snidely announced, "Time."
"... complete suspension of rank
and privilege during the period of incarceration ..."
Her head whirled around to face him.
Almost, she raised her voice; but then decided reason might still
serve.
"You said we had 20 minutes
to finish. That was less than ten minutes
ago."
"Not according to my
internal chronometer," he replied easily, tapping his forehead for
emphasis. "Let's go."
"...upon her release from said
facility, an immediate demotion to the rank of lieutenant, junior
grade..."
She tried to keep the anger and
frustration out of her voice. She approached him quietly, but stopped well
away, so as not to present a threat.
"Ensign," she murmured,
"my teammates need this assignment; they haven't been out of their cells
for almost a week. We can be done in five minutes..."
"Now!" he growled; this time, he brought his
phaser rifle around and aimed it squarely at her chest.
"...permanent reprimand will, at
that time, be placed in her record..."
The woman put up her hands, and backed
away even more slowly than she'd approached.
"Come on," she told her
companions. "Looks like we're leaving."
Quickly, the trio gathered their tools
and fell in line, marching back towards the main building. Her companions
grumbled in frustration the entire length of the trip. As she knew it would be,
invariably, some of it was directed at her.
She said nothing in response.
"...furthermore, it is the
additional recommendation of this tribunal that the defendant be permanently
and irrevocably barred from again serving aboard a starship in any capacity..."
Thus, the latest command of Erika
Benteen, former captain of the USS Lakota—and, of late, work leader for
prison detail alpha-seven—ended as successfully as had her last command.
"... prisoner is immediately
remanded into the custody of Starfleet Security.
"Take her away."
***
"Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 52285.6:
"Fleet Admiral Necheyev contacted
me yesterday with a series of questions concerning the abilities and character
of my second officer and chief of operations, Lieutenant Commander Sera
MacLeod. Such inquiries, in my experience, are invariably precursors to
promotions and reassignments.
"For one of the first times in my
career, I found myself actually tempted to downplay her many accomplishments,
so as to lengthen her stay with us. This, of course, means that she's more than
ready for a greater challenge.
"I am thus anticipating both new
instructions for the
Luciano Cicero Mantovanni briefly
considered emendations, decided against them, and leaned back in his chair, now
contemplating the imminent loss of yet another member of his senior
staff.
The war had taken its toll in many ways:
One of the less obvious ones was the unfortunate need to rush a young officer
into a position of authority, when a little—or in some cases, a lot—more
seasoning would have been ideal.
Then again, a young officer carried out
his or her tasks significantly better than did a dead
one.
"Bridge to Captain
Mantovanni."
"Go
ahead."
"We're receiving a communiqué from
Earth." Kate
Sheridan's voice sounded more than a little
hesitant.
"Problem, Commander?" he
asked, curious as to what had unsettled her.
"I'm not sure, sir," she answered. "It's not on a
Starfleet channel. By the frequency, it's a private transmitter; though I'm
amazed one could be so powerful. He refuses to identify himself—it's audio
only—and wants to speak directly to you."
Hmm... Connected, resourceful, or both…
and accustomed to getting his way. Intrigued in spite of himself, Mantovanni told her, "You and
Commander MacLeod join me in the ready room. Let's all hear what our mystery
caller has to say."
Kate Sheridan and Sera MacLeod entered
and seated themselves across from the captain, who angled the viewer so that
all could see; then he signaled the bridge.
"Put it through now, Sito; and keep
it audio only on our side, too, for now."
"Aye, sir. Audio only."
A moment later, a firm but hesitant
voice inquired, "Captain?"
"Who wants to know?"
Mantovanni asked wryly.
"Are you Captain Mantovanni or
not?" he pressed.
Mantovanni and MacLeod were mirror
images of each other; her left eyebrow rose even as his right did. Sheridan,
who couldn't duplicate the trick, settled for a wondering shake of her
head.
The captain's voice grew flinty.
"I'm about to lose interest in this. You have five seconds to start
transmitting a visual, or this conversation is
over."
About halfway to the deadline, a
bearded, brown-haired man, graying at the temples, was suddenly glaring back
from the view screen.
MacLeod identified him immediately.
"Thomas Leyton," she informed the
others.
"It was my intention to have a private conversation, Captain."
The admiral's tone had been carefully cultivated throughout the years to
intimidate if he so chose, and he employed its full power
now.
Mantovanni was perhaps the worst captain
in Starfleet against whom to try such an
approach.
"You have all the privacy you're
likely to get, Admiral. Now you can either tell me what you want, or I can go
back to work." He reached for the cutoff switch on the
panel.
"Wait, Captain... please."
The odd hint of weary regret in his
voice changed everything. Mantovanni drew back his hand, and waited for Leyton
to continue.
"This would be easier for me if we could
speak in private."
"I believe your information is
inaccurate, Commander," MacLeod answered. "If I recall the terms,
Admiral Leyton was to 'avoid all forms of contact and communication with any
person who had ever served under his command.' None of us have done so;
therefore, he has managed to avoid breaking the law—in a technical
sense."
"Lawbreaking didn't seem to be a
problem for him before,"
MacLeod gave no further answer; there
was evidently too much of her that understood Kate's
sentiments.
Leyton waited silently through the
entire exchange, his expression never wavering. Then he calmly addressed
Mantovanni again.
"This was precisely what I was
trying to avoid: The analyses; the recriminations."
The captain seemed
unmoved.
"There's an old expression about
the world's smallest violin, Admiral: It's playing just for
you.
"However, I see your point.
Commander Sheridan, you have the bridge. Commander MacLeod, please continue
that research project on which you were working.
"Dismissed." As one, the pair
rose and departed—MacLeod expressionlessly,
After they'd left, Mantovanni again
turned to the view screen.
"You have my undivided attention,
Admiral… and to be honest, I can't wait to hear this."
***
"Entering the Dalarian system,
Captain."
Now the question is,
"Slow to impulse, Ensign
Parihn," Mantovanni ordered. "Take us to Dalarian
Prime."
"Aye, sir," she complied. The
Sito's tactical board promptly
sounded.
"Sensors indicate a pair of vessels
leaving orbit and moving to intercept us," she informed them. After a few
seconds' analysis, the young Bajoran continued, "Federation starships, Miranda-class."
"They're the penal colony's
resident patrol vessels,"
Luciano Mantovanni was actually smiling;
she was surprised at how his rather severe features seemed to have momentarily
softened.
"Sir?"
He turned to her, and realized
immediately that her own expression was a response to his. The grin faded a
bit, as if he were embarrassed by it, but didn't entirely
disappear.
"My first command was a Miranda-class.
Seeing them always takes me back."
The exploits of the original
Sito interrupted her thoughts.
"We're passing one of the colony's old perimeter satellites; that thing's
got to be two centuries old," she marveled. "I wonder why they didn't
just torpedo her. She's space junk."
"I thought you Bajorans had a
little more respect for antiquity than that, Lieutenant," observed Ensign
Parihn, glancing back from the conn. Sito grinned, and looked for a moment as
if she would continue the exchange. Then her panel
beeped.
"We're being
hailed."
After a moment, the captain seemed to
come out of his own reverie.
"On screen," he
directed.
The image shifted to that of a man who
looked to be in his late forties, gray hair contrasting handsomely with his
near-black skin. He wore the rank insignia of
commander.
And looked rather
angry.
"
"They're spreading out, Captain;
assuming a standard attack posture," Sito murmured, just loudly enough for
he and Sheridan to hear.
Mantovanni didn't react visibly to the
opposing commander's aggressiveness. Instead, he simply ordered, "All
stop, Ensign Parihn."
As the great ship came to a halt in
space, the young captain's tone took on a note of curiosity. "Any particular
reason you feel the need to threaten a Federation starship on a standard
approach pattern, Commander ...?"
"...Warren Carver, USS Antietam," he supplied. His
attitude seemed to slip from bellicose to almost sullen, as he added, "Colony
regulations expressly forbid the approach of any vessel to
transporter range of the facility without the specific permission of either the
warden or the garrison commander."
Mantovanni inclined his head, almost
companionably. "Very well, then. I'll speak directly to the garrison
commander or the warden. Please patch me
through."
"Stand by," he gruffly told them, and the screen
went dark.
"An inimitable charm,"
observed MacLeod.
"I can understand it, though,"
came Mantovanni's rather surprising response. Most of the bridge crew turned to
listen.
"The poor man is a starship
commander during a war with perhaps the deadliest foe the Federation's ever
faced. Instead of being allowed to fight on the front lines, though, he draws
what can only be considered 'garrison duty' at best. I'd probably resent a Sovereign-class
starship gliding blithely into my patrol area, too."
"That seems silly," Sito
interjected. "Without significant upgrades, a Miranda-class
starship is no match for anything larger than a Cardassian Hideki nowadays."
Mantovanni nodded minutely. His
expression seemed to say, You're getting it, Kate.
She felt extremely self satisfied—for a
moment. Then the screen again came to life; this time, an officious-looking
Bolian—then again, aren't they all? thought
"Captain Mantovanni. Welcome to the
Penal Facility at Dalarian Prime. I am 1st Lieutenant Vott Jharr,
administrative assistant to both the warden and garrison commander. Is there something with
which we can help you? Our resources are limited, but if we can render aid in
some way..."
"Negative, Lieutenant; we're fine.
Request permission to assume a standard orbit around Dalarian Prime. I have
something I need to discuss with your
superiors."
Jharr's smile remained in place, but he
shook his head. "Well, Captain, according to the strictest
interpretation of the regulations, since your vessel really has no pressing
need to approach the planet, I must decline.
"You and your party, of course, are
welcome to go aboard either the
"Both the garrison commander and
the warden are looking forward to meeting with you."
Before Mantovanni could frame a
response, the screen returned to a starfield.
He and Sheridan exchanged
glances.
"It's a good thing they wanted to
extend you a 'personal courtesy,' sir," she noted sardonically.
"Otherwise, the patrol ships might have just opened fire."
Mantovanni's slight smile returned
momentarily; then he stood.
"
"Commander Sheridan, you have the
bridge. Have shuttle bay one prep the runabout
"Let's go visit 'Stalag 17.'"
***
"You are here to what?"
The reaction from the Bolian, Vott
Jharr, was startling—at least to Sito and MacLeod. Mantovanni, however, had
expected as much.
It was that of the warden, Seval, that
had garnered most of his attention. The stern-looking Vulcan raised an eyebrow
as the young captain, referring to a hand-held PADD, repeated his
request.
"You heard me correctly,
Lieutenant. I'd like to see the following three prisoners: Mark Preston, Theren
Sih'tarr... and Erika Benteen."
"That is a most unusual request,
Captain," Seval replied evenly. "Might I inquire as to what motivated
your sudden diversion here?"
"We're en route to Federation
Surplus Depot 77-Alpha. Lieutenant Commander MacLeod has waiting for her a
promotion and position as the officer-in-charge of the USS Tereshkova's
refit. The Federation needs every ship it can muster, and it's 'languished' for
far too long, according to Vice Admiral Pierce. Since the opportunity presented
itself..." Mantovanni finished.
Seval was having none of
it.
"That explains opportunity, but
hardly motivation, Captain. Granted, you have a reputation for... eccentricity,
but I shall require more than that to justify allowing you to visit with any
of the three, let alone Erika Benteen."
"I was hoping you'd permit me as
a... 'personal courtesy,' Warden."
The Bolian colored slightly, from sky
blue to azure, at the reference; and his superior's gaze flicked to him in that
moment.
Why do I suddenly have the feeling that
Seval was listening in on the conversation between Lieutenant Jharr and the
captain? Sito
thought. And that the captain knew all along.
The Vulcan was replying, "...would
normally accede to your request without delay. Unfortunately, the behavior of
the prisoners you mentioned has been such that their visitation rights have
been temporarily rescinded.
"Thus," he concluded
pointedly. "I cannot permit it."
It was evident that, with his refusal to
comply, Seval thought the conversation was at an end. He made as if to rise
from the chair behind his expansive desk, but MacLeod, figuratively speaking,
cut him off at the knees.
"Your stance seems based on
obduracy rather than logic," she informed him; to a Vulcan, this was as
direct an insult as one would usually absorb… or employ.
Seval fixed her with what qualified as
an understated glare.
"I do not believe so." His
tone was positively frigid. "I merely refuse to allow your captain free
rein in exercising his well-known penchant for grandstanding at the expense of
myself and my command." He turned again to Mantovanni. "In addition,
I would strongly recommend you discipline your officer, Captain. Her tone and
statement border on insubordination. A more emotionally-unbalanced individual
might proffer charges after such a slight."
Sito watched in growing discomfort as
the dispute became progressively more acrimonious. To her credit, the young
officer maintained her bearing well. Her mind, though, was
racing.
His entire stance just doesn't ring
true, she thought.
It's one thing to disapprove of someone's style—I've seen more than one
person who disliked the captain—it's entirely another for a Starfleet officer
to intentionally insult and rebuff a request simply because of that. It's beyond
unprofessional... there's got to be something else going on here.
"Well, it's obvious that my
reputation doesn't intimidate you, Captain Seval. I should have realized this was
a futile effort." He shook his head, as if chiding himself for the
attempt. "Your many years of experience stand you in good
stead.
"When did you enter
Starfleet?"
Seval was taken aback at the sudden
change in stance and demeanor.
"I was commissioned 42 years, seven
months, and 15 days ago. Why do you ask?" he finished, a touch of
suspicion in his voice.
Mantovanni grinned. Whenever he did
that, Sito was reminded of her childhood in Ketha province on Bajor, where
she'd nearly been killed one day by a haratt beast. They were sleek,
powerful, and possessed of a frightful
intelligence.
Just like her
captain.
"For purposes of clarification. I
was commissioned in 2285, and promoted to captain in 2301. So, you see, I
outrank you."
Seval shook his head patronizingly.
"Surely you don't think that rather transparent maneuver is going to work
with me, Captain? I know something of your history: You were temporally
displaced for almost 70 years. That period simply did not exist for you. Thus,
it is not a factor when calculating either your time in service, or
grade. Starfleet is quite careful in such
matters."
Mantovanni nodded sympathetically.
"You'd think that, wouldn't you? But, see, the manner of my disappearance
was considered unusual enough that Starfleet Personnel thought it a
particularly noble gesture to leave me on the active duty lists. One of
those human 'idiosyncrasies' Vulcans find so
perplexing.
"That is, irritating, but,
'according to the strictest interpretation of the regulations,'
valid."
MacLeod added a point of her own.
"I am intrigued to see how fond you and your subordinate are of the
technicalities when they work against you, rather than in your
favor."
Seval's expression—nearly undetectable to
someone who hadn't worked closely with Vulcans—had faded from smug triumph to
stiff-lipped irritation at having been thwarted.
"Very well, Captain," he
finally conceded. "I shall first have to speak with Admiral Carillo to
ascertain whether..."
"No, Seval," Mantovanni
interrupted brutally. "You're welcome to contact upper echelons if you
wish; but in the absence of orders to the contrary, you will carry out mine.
"And make no mistake: This is an
order.
"Are we clear?"
"Abundantly. See to it,
Lieutenant," Seval ordered. The Bolian rose, gave a stiff bow to his two
superiors, and left the room.
"Now, if you and your... officers...
will excuse me, Captain, I am rather busy." He began to examine a
PADD in minute detail.
Rather than continue the exchange,
Mantovanni motioned to Sito and MacLeod, and they left his
office.
Seval's administrative assistant, a
rather harried looking young lieutenant, directed them to the visitation
area.
In the corridor en route, Sito
quietly observed, "He is rather
busy."
"Of course he is," MacLeod
replied disdainfully. "After all, Hell is a
bureaucracy."
The young Bajoran covered her mouth to
suppress a giggle. The captain, however, was of a more serious
bent.
"It would be laughable, if
it weren't so disturbing." Abruptly, he asked, "What's his next move,
Lieutenant?"
She considered for a moment, and then
answered, "Get in touch with Starfleet, and try to have your order
countermanded."
MacLeod nodded in agreement. "Well
reasoned."
"But why bother? Not simply out of
spite?" Sito speculated.
"There are only two logical
conclusions: One, at some time in the past, Captain, you have either knowingly
or unknowingly offended Seval's sensibilities in some way."
"Considering my popularity in
certain circles, Commander, entirely possible. Assume that's not it,
though," Mantovanni told her. "Go
on."
"Two," she continued, "He
wishes to avoid having us specifically—or anyone in general—speak to Benteen
and the others."
"More
likely."
"That still doesn't answer why,
sir," Sito pointed out.
"True," MacLeod answered. They
halted outside the visitation area. Benteen and her fellow prisoners were being
brought in by a pair of beefy guards, and a severe looking Andorian officer who
must have been the garrison commander.
"But they might."
***
Fourteen hundred hours, mark,"
Ensign Muëller announced eagerly.
Kate Sheridan sighed, and replied with
exaggerated patience, "Acknowledged. Initiate exercise protocol sierra
five, as per the captain's instruction,
now."
"Aye, aye, sir; initiating now,"
he confirmed.
And, admittedly, for an ensign, he's not that loud, she
thought.
"ECM devices functioning optimally,
according to my readouts.
"Commander?"
"Most effectively, I would imagine,
Ensign," she confirmed his observation. Then she turned back to the view
screen—but not before catching the young man's disappointed expression at not
having been given a further explanation.
Sheridan smiled inwardly. I'd tell
you, kid… if I knew myself.
***
As the three prisoners seated
themselves, Sito Jaxa examined each of them carefully, and came to what seemed
an incongruous conclusion.
Life at a penal colony seemed to agree
with them.
Sito had been to a number of such holding
facilities during her life, and had, of course, spent time in one as a captive
of the Cardassians. While it was true that Federation prisons were much more
comfortable and conducive to rehabilitation than they'd been even a century
ago, they were still, by definition, a place you couldn't leave.
She'd seen all kinds of stances and
expressions among prison populaces in her time: Numb acceptance; thinly-veiled
resentment; bubbling anger; and, mostly, that grim, determined look that said,
"I'm going to do my time and get the hell out of
here."
This was the first instance she'd seen
anything she would have identified as serenity… or even, oddly enough, contentment.
The three seated themselves on their
side of the table—on their side of the security force field—and waited quietly
for the captain to begin.
Mantovanni gestured to Commander
MacLeod, and she wordlessly handed over a PADD she'd been carrying. He keyed a
few instructions into it, and carefully read the information
displayed.
He then glanced up at Benteen... and
said something in a language Sito had never
heard.
MacLeod raised an eyebrow; the Andorian
officer, the guards, and the other prisoners seemed
nonplused.
Mantovanni's eyes never wavered from
Benteen.
A few seconds later, she started, as if
awakening from some dream state, and replied in what sounded to Sito the same
language.
The captain smiled warmly, and seemed to
relax. "How are they treating you, Erika? No gruel and daily lashings, I
hope?"
The former commander of the Lakota
grinned in response.
"No, sir. It's not so bad,
considering what I did. I've been permitted to assemble a work detail and
contribute to the upkeep of the facility. It's quite a bit of work,
but..." she trailed off momentarily.
"... it's nice to be able to
contribute. To give something back, even in a small
way."
"Sito, MacLeod," Mantovanni
abruptly announced, "go and prep the Missouri for departure. I'll
be along in a few minutes."
The young Bajoran was surprised, but
stood immediately. By the time they reached the door, Benteen and he were
already into a light-hearted discussion of his last visit to Starfleet
Headquarters.
Outside, she sensed that MacLeod was not
inclined to conversation, and so remained silent until they were ensconced in
the runabout and beginning the preliminary
checks.
Oddly enough, the Vulcan closed the door
behind them.
"Sera, what's going on?" she
inquired as the locks engaged and sealed the ship. "I've never seen
prisoners that well-adjusted in my life."
MacLeod smiled at the Bajoran's
observation.
"Intriguing that you too found
something amiss," she answered, while powering the small starship's
engines.
"Mantovanni to MacLeod. I'm en route to the Missouri.
Please send Warden Seval my... compliments."
MacLeod replied,
"Understood."
Sito was glad somebody did.
***
The tactical board beeped
insistently.
"Commander, we're receiving a
signal from the Antietam. It's on a light-speed carrier
wave..."
"...so as to circumvent the
subspace interference," Sheridan finished for him. "I understand,
Ensign. Well, by all means, put it through."
Muëller complied, and the face of Warren
Carver again filled the screen.
If he had been angry last time, now he
was nearly apoplectic.
"What the hell do you think you're doing,
Commander? Your vessel is putting out enough subspace interference to blanket
this entire solar system! Cease your transmission immediately!"
Sheridan managed to look both chagrined
and apologetic simultaneously, even as she shook her
head.
"I'm sorry, Commander, I can't do
that. The captain left strict orders to have our ECM equipment tested during
the next scheduled exercise—that is, this one. I would suggest you run
one concurrently with ours and test your own vessel's ability to break through
the static. Might as well use your downtime constructively, after
all."
The suggestion was delivered with all
the earnestness she could muster.
Carver seemed less than
convinced.
"You are interfering with urgent subspace messages, Liberty.
As captain of the command ship for this system, I am issuing you a direct
order to discontinue your exercise and deactivate said equipment
immediately!"
In a move that bordered on insolent,
Sheridan crossed her legs with almost sensual
deliberation.
"With all due respect,
Commander," she answered, in a tone that indicated she thought he was due
almost none, "I take orders from Captain Mantovanni, not you. The
exercise will run to its conclusion." Sheridan leaned forward, and
cut the channel, but not before adding a final
declaration.
"Deal with
it."
A moment later, it became clear he
intended to do just that.
***
As Mantovanni settled into one of the
passenger seats on the Missouri, he inquired, "Have you taken
appropriate precautions, Sera?"
"Affirmative. No one is listening
in on our conversation, Captain. I've made certain of
that."
Sito shook her head in self-deprecation.
No wonder they'd both seemed so odd, and why Commander MacLeod had sealed
the runabout upon their return. With all the monitoring devices a place like
this has, we'd have to be inside the Missouri to be certain of a
truly private conversation.
And Warden Seval's already demonstrated
that he'll listen in if he can.
"That's obviously not Erika
Benteen," the captain announced.
Even MacLeod was surprised at that
revelation.
"Indeed? How did you come to that
conclusion?"
Mantovanni smiled slightly. "I'd
read over her Starfleet biography between our conversation with Admiral Leyton
and our arrival here at 'Club Fed.' The name Benteen sounded French. Actually,
it's Basque."
"'Basque'?" Sito asked
curiously.
"A people native to the Kingdom of
Navarré, a small independent province between France and Spain on Earth,"
MacLeod informed her. "While their society possesses similarities to each
of the aforementioned two, these are mostly superficial. The Basques are fiercely
independent, with a unique language and culture that predates either of the two
others mentioned."
"Benteen is a Basque. She grew up
in Navarré, and she's a fluent speaker," Mantovanni added
significantly.
MacLeod nodded immediately in understanding;
it took Sito another moment. Then it dawned on
her.
"That's the language you
used...! And she hesitated before she responded... almost as
if..."
"...the program didn't have that
capability until it had scanned the available data banks and acquired
them," MacLeod finished. "A
hologram."
"And conveniently behind a force
field so that your tricorder, if you'd even bothered to scan, wouldn't have
detected the difference. I can honestly say that I'm getting rather sick of
holograms."
Sito, at that point,
interrupted.
"We have clearance to depart,
Captain."
"Take us up as slowly as you can,
Lieutenant. As she does, Commander, I want you to conduct an intensive sensor
probe of the facility."
As they cleared the hangar, Sera began
her sweep.
"May I inquire as to what precisely
I'm attempting to locate?"
"Scan the more isolated
structures... you're looking for a female, alone—presumably a prisoner.
There'll be either very few or no other occupied cells around her."
"An interesting set of variables. I
shall..." she stopped momentarily, and then continued, "I have found
one person who fits your criteria."
"Discontinue scan," he snapped
quickly. "Feed those coordinates to Sito. Use them to guide your heading,
Lieutenant; I want a flyover of that area; make it look like you're simply
orienting for our orbital ascent."
"Are you guessing that's Erika
Benteen, sir?" Sito asked quietly, even as she demonstrated a pilot's
touch that would have impressed even the unflappable
Parihn.
Mantovanni answered her indirectly with
his next statement. "This is going to require a deft hand, Sera. You're
going to have to lock on to that person and beam them aboard even as colony
operations lowers their security screen for our
departure."
He turned to Sito. "Then you're to
get us back to the Liberty with all possible speed. He grinned slightly.
"Needless to say, ignore any instructions to the
contrary."
"Aye, aye, sir," the young
Bajoran smiled in return.
Another minute passed as they neared the
perimeter of the security screen.
"They're lowering the force
field," MacLeod announced.
"Energizing."
"We're past the perimeter!"
Sito declared.
As the captain watched, the form in the
transporter solidified into that of Erika
Benteen.
The hologram had looked a lot better.
***
"The Hastings is moving
away, towards the edge of the system! ETA seven minutes before she clears the periphery
of our subspace interference." Muëller continued to study his readouts.
When next he spoke, that customary volume was again in
evidence.
Considering what he revealed, though,
Sheridan couldn't really blame him.
"The Antietam is coming about!
She's raising shields as well!"
"What the hell... ?" Sheridan
muttered incredulously. She then snapped off a series of
commands.
"Red Alert! Shields up! Secure for
combat maneuvers. Present minimum aspect,
Parihn!"
The Orion coolly responded, "Coming
to 117, mark 44. Increasing to one-quarter impulse." Her fingers moved
with a virtuoso's precision across her board, and the Liberty leapt to
obey her commands.
"They're locking phasers!"
Muëller warned.
"Hold your course, helm," Sheridan
replied. Locking phasers on us and actually firing them are two
entirely different things.
She clung to that rather hopeful
perspective.
That is, until the first salvo hit
them.
The Antietam's attack run didn't
cease with a single phaser barrage, ether; the aging destroyer escort increased
to full impulse, slashing towards them even as she launched a pair of photon
torpedoes.
"So much for a warning shot,"
muttered Sheridan; the Liberty's bridge shuddered around
her.
"Yes, I'd label that a slight
overreaction," Parihn agreed, and added, "Initiating evasive
maneuvers."
"Shields are holding! Return fire,
Commander?" Ensign Muëller's voice practically trembled with
eagerness.
Down, boy, Sheridan thought briefly. Instead of
voicing that, though, she replied, "Negative, Ensign. We're not about to
contribute to the list of Federation
casualties."
"Ma'am, we can't just let them
shoot at... wait!" Muëller's protest died as his sensor array beeped.
"Now the installation is opening
fire!"
"We're out of range, Ensign,"
Sheridan observed with a touch of sarcasm, "and they're probably not
unloading just to amuse themselves. Give me some specifics." She gripped
her chair a bit more tightly as the Antietam's phasers struck again; the
old lady still had a formidable kick, but it wasn't nearly enough against a
ship like Liberty.
Muëller answered, "No, ma'am... the
colony's not shooting at us.
"They're targeting the Missouri!"
***
As Sito threw the runabout into a sharp
turn to avoid the incoming attacks, Benteen, instead of collapsing onto the
transporter pad, was hurled by the momentum across the deck into the captain's
arms.
"Unusual taste in men," Sera
observed quietly. The Vulcan wouldn't have made the comment if she'd been as
close to their new passenger as Mantovanni was… and could see what he already
had.
It was clear that the former commander
of the Lakota was in no condition to stand on her own for more than a
moment: The left side of her face was covered by a vicious-looking purple
bruise which had only just begun to heal. She stiffened and curled away, trying
feebly to protect her left side as the captain caught, and, as gently as he
could, set her on the runabout's deck.
"Not as bad as it looks," Benteen
whispered.
That particular declaration was exposed
as a rather courageous lie when a phaser burst from the colony's weapons grid
struck home. Missouri lurched, and she gasped at the pain of sudden
movement.
"Sorry," Sito murmured.
"We're out of their weapons range now... the ride should be a bit smoother
from here."
Sera had joined Mantovanni in tending to
Benteen. She ran a quick scan with the onboard medical tricorder; her
expression hardened infinitesimally while she did
so.
"As you may have been able to
determine, she's in bad shape... three broken ribs, multiple contusions over
her entire torso... and a significant amount of internal bleeding." She
pressed a hastily prepared hypo to her patient's neck, and injected its
contents. After a moment, the woman's breathing finally eased, and her eyelids
fluttered closed.
"By the pattern of her injuries,
both current and previous, I would venture to say she's been beaten
regularly," MacLeod informed him.
"And expertly," he added
grimly. "Sito, ETA?"
The young Bajoran studied her readouts,
and then the view-screen. "That really depends, sir: In an ideal universe,
approximately six minutes; in one where both the Hastings and Antietam
are between us and home, I can't be certain.
"The Antietam is
sporadically firing on the Liberty, Captain, for all the good it's doing
them... subspace interference is suddenly clearing," she added. Before he
could react to that, his X-O's voice sounded over the runabout's
speakers.
"Liberty to
Missouri."
Mantovanni replied, "Go ahead,
Commander."
"We've just completed that exercise
you ordered, sir. Would you like us to rendezvous with you?"
He exchanged a wry look with Sera.
"By all means. Tell Shiro we have a patient for him... one of the former
inmates at Dalarian Prime has been severely
beaten."
"He'll be standing by, sir."
"Well, that's half our problem
solved, Captain," Sito interrupted. "However, the Hastings has
come about and will reach us a full minute before either the Liberty or
Antietam.
"A general hail to all ships from
the penal colony, sir. It's Lieutenant Jharr."
His announcement shocked
them.
"To any and all Federation
starships within range of this transmission: The runabout Missouri has been commandeered by
changelings and is attempting to escape with a valuable prisoner. This
individual's knowledge can severely damage the Federation's war effort. Do not
accept communications from this vessel! Close with and destroy her at all
costs!
"It is possible that the USS Liberty is also controlled by
changelings... if it becomes apparent this is so, you are authorized to destroy
her as well..."
***
"What is he, crazy?"
Muëller's indignant question met with
momentary silence. Sheridan chose to interpret it as
rhetorical.
"Damage report, Ensign?" she
finally inquired of him.
"Minimal, Commander... our shields
are holding. There's minor buckling in our port maneuvering thruster;
otherwise, we're fine. They can't hurt us."
The Antietam's rate of fire had
stepped down from fairly intense to an occasional sullen burst. She was
obviously still a belligerent, though, albeit an ineffectual one. Even now, she
and Liberty sprinted towards the imperiled runabout, in a race both were
doomed to lose.
For a long moment, Sheridan mulled over
her options.
Her decision was a bit
startling.
"Ensign Muëller, prepare to lower
our shields."
At first he simply gaped; then the young
officer looked at her as if to say, Are you crazy, too?
To his credit, though, he addressed
himself to the tactical panel, and responded, "Aye, sir. Standing by to
drop shields."
"Open a channel to the Antietam,"
Sheridan ordered.
Muëller again touched at his board, and
confirmed, "Channel open."
Kate took a deep breath, and played her
gambit. "Commander Carver, here's your opportunity to get into the war...
let's just see if you come in on the right side." She glanced back at
tactical.
"Lower
shields."
There was no need to inform her he'd
obeyed—everyone on the bridge could feel their sudden
vulnerability.
Sheridan leaned forward in the center
seat.
"Founders tend not to do
this in combat with Federation starships. But, by all means, if you're not sure
about us, Commander, blast away."
The seconds slowly became a full
minute.
Then, the angry face of Warren Carver
assailed them again.
Briefly, she thought, Doesn't this
guy have any other expressions in his repertoire?
"You want to let me in on what the
hell is happening here, Commander?" he snarled. The stress of being forced by circumstance to fire on a
Federation vessel had worn heavily on him; she could see it in his haggard
face.
Sheridan
shrugged.
"About the only thing I can tell
you is what's in that runabout: Three loyal Starfleet officers, one badly injured
prisoner... and no changelings!"
***
"Any chance of evading the Hastings
until the Liberty arrives to cover us,
Sito?"
She shook her head, and glanced up with
an expression that said she hated disappointing
him.
"I don't think so, sir. That hit we
took from the colony's phaser batteries damaged our impulse engines
slightly." Sito looked at him with a growing sense of desperation.
"Sir, you commanded a Miranda-class starship for years. Doesn't she
have any weaknesses we could exploit?"
Mantovanni considered that; after just a
few seconds, his eyes brightened in that wolfish fashion that had so often
intimidated her. For a moment, Sito felt a strange admixture of hope and fear,
as the captain's matchless tactical mind addressed the problem.
"Actually, there is... I'm almost
certain we could cause an overload in her antimatter pods by..." abruptly,
his voice trailed off and he fell silent.
"Sir?" Sito asked
quietly.
He smiled grimly at her. "I'm
fairly certain we can do it, Lieutenant... but it would mean the death
of everyone on the Hastings... she has a crew of over 170. If it's a
choice between them and the four of us, well..." he didn't need to
finish.
"Good decision," came a whisper from behind
them.
Erika Benteen smiled weakly at them from
the cot to which they'd moved her. "Not what I would have expected from
the legendary war hawk."
Mantovanni nodded in acknowledgement of
his reputation.
"Glad you approve... Captain."
Her eyes closed again as sleep claimed her… but there had been gratitude in
them before she did.
"Hastings will achieve
weapons range in 52 seconds..."
Sera MacLeod, at that point,
interrupted. "While I have an appreciation for a selfless, defiant death
in the grand Scottish tradition, I also have an idea..."
Mantovanni was immediately all business
again. "Let's hear it."
The Vulcan shook her head. "Not
enough time."
Unhesitatingly, the captain ordered,
"Do it."
Even before he'd finished the quick
phrase, she began entering commands into her console at a speed the rest could
barely follow.
Sito monitored the events transpiring
aboard the other ships as well as she could, relaying, "The Antietam
is standing down, sir... she's falling in with the Liberty, ETA one
minute, 45 seconds. No sign of a change in posture from the Hastings,
though... her phasers are fully charged, and she'll achieve optimal firing
range in... 19 seconds.
“Both of the other ships are attempting
to warn her off, but she's not responding..."
"Please gather around our
passenger, with alacrity," Sera
requested.
After they were assembled, Benteen again
cradled in the captain’s arms, the Vulcan pressed a final control, and stepped
to join them. Sito looked confused; Mantovanni, however, seemed to have puzzled
out her stratagem.
"What are our chances?" he
queried.
The ship rocked as the Hastings
struck its first blow.
MacLeod raised an
eyebrow.
"Better than they are here,"
she replied; and the roar of light and sound became the climax of their
existence.
***
"She's gone," Parihn whispered, as the debris of the Missouri filled the
viewscreen briefly before dissipating into dust.
Sheridan felt as if she'd been kicked.
However, her duty still beckoned.
"Keep it together, everyone," she warned firmly, though close to
losing it herself. "There'll be time for grief
later."
All was silent for a few seconds
afterward.
The insistent beep from Muëller's board
brought them out of their sudden fugue.
"That's odd... I'm picking up an
intermittent signal from that antiquated old perimeter defense satellite... I
didn't even know the thing still worked."
Suddenly, hope blossomed in Kate's
mind.
"Tell me it's a tightly focused
pulse and not a general broadcast, Ensign." She found herself leaning
forward in the center seat.
He looked perplexed. "Actually, it
is, sir. I don't think any ship other than the Liberty would be aware of
it.
"Parihn, alter course; make it look
as if we're trying to intercept the Hastings by anticipating her next
move… but make sure you get us between them and that satellite ASAP. Close to
transporter range."
The Orion nodded. "Coming to 45,
mark 72."
Muëller studied his readouts further.
"Commander, they can't be aboard that old contraption... it's not
large enough for four people, and besides, it has no life support
system!"
"Think about it, Ensign. That thing
used to be in place—one of probably dozens dispersed throughout the system—to
block transporter signals for the colony. I bet it could even intercept
them if it was configured correctly."
Parihn glanced back in sudden
understanding. "Sera."
Kate grinned.
"Exactly."
The slight change in Liberty's
heading went, at first, unnoticed, but after a few seconds, the Hastings
began a turn of her own—a radical sweep that brought her back around and
oriented her on the old satellite.
"Son of a ..." Kate muttered. "Who's going to get
there first, Parihn?"
She checked her readouts; then shook her
head in frustration and announced quietly, "They'll reach weapons range
before we can activate transporters—by about two
seconds."
"Transporter room two... lock on to
the signals you'll be detecting momentarily from that
satellite."
"Acknowledged."
"Open a channel to the Hastings."
Sheridan's voice had become like flint.
"They're receiving, even if they
don't acknowledge," informed Muëller.
"This is Commander Sheridan aboard
the Liberty; we would not have fired on you before, because you were no
threat to us. However, you are now obviously intent on destroying three
innocent Starfleet officers and an abused prisoner. Despite my desire to make
allowances for the fact that you're obeying unlawful orders, I can't be that
generous. My duty is clear."
She left the channel open, and carefully
intoned, "Arm your quantum torpedoes, Mr.
Muëller."
A scant second later, he replied, with
that familiar enthusiam, "Torpedoes ready; maximum yield, full spread."
Nice touch, kid, she
thought.
"So let's see, Hastings,"
she continued. "What's going to happen? You'll: Annihilate four people
who've done nothing to deserve it; then you'll all die in a blaze of dubious
glory. Of course, the best part is that your legacy will be 'killed the
legendary Captain Mantovanni with friendly fire.' Quite a war contribution, if
you ask me.
"Go with your instincts, Hastings,
not your orders. Is this the right thing to
do?"
Her plea hung in the air for a few
seconds.
"They're veering off!" Muëller
yelled in triumph; even as they watched, the venerable old starship peeled away
and came to a full stop.
"We're in transporter
range..." Lieutenant Haskell at ops announced. "You were right,
Commander... there are four patterns in what looks to be a hastily reconfigured
transporter shunt that's now serving as a makeshift pattern
buffer."
Sheridan relaxed back into the command
chair.
"By all means, then… bring them
home."
***
"I assure you, Captain, I have the
situation under control. Both Lieutenant Jharr and his accomplices have been
found out and taken into custody." It was rare to hear anything approaching chagrin in a Vulcan's voice;
Seval managed to maintain his equanimity—at least he did in the eyes of those
who were unused to reading through a veil of emotional
control.
Perhaps he fooled Sheridan and Sito;
Mantovanni and MacLeod both knew better. The warden was essentially humiliated
that such a series of events could have occurred under his watch. It indicated,
at the very least, a startling naiveté when dealing with his subordinates; at
most, it constituted a negligence that bordered on the
criminal.
"I am uncertain," he continued, "as to the
possible motivation for anyone resorting to such brutality..."
Sera interrupted abruptly. "I was
able to determine that, despite our victim's reticence to address the subject.
Obviously, she's quite traumatized—no doubt she'd tried to speak up for herself
a number or times—and had been beaten even more severely as a result. Such... conditioning...
is difficult to overcome." Seval raised an eyebrow; this time, he found it
wiser to make no comment as to her manners.
"When the Lakota attacked
the Defiant during Admiral Leyton's abortive coup, a total of five
crewmen from both sides were killed during the course of the battle—or died
later, as a result of their injuries. One of them was a young Andorian ensign
on her first assignment; she was serving with Captain Sisko at Deep Space
Nine.
"Her name was Faerel... Faerel
L'hiar."
She paused for a moment, then continued,
"Care to take a guess at the last name of the garrison commander
here?"
"Oh, no," whispered
Sito.
The warden didn't need the rest spelled
out for him.
"I'll have him taken into custody
immediately." The screen went blank for just over a minute-and-a-half;
then the image of Seval reappeared.
"He offered no resistance. He was
waiting quietly in his quarters—dressed in a prisoner's uniform."
"Merciful Prophets," Sito
exclaimed quietly.
"Knowing the Andorian penchants for
both loyalty to family and regarding coincidence as... serendipity," Seval concluded, "he must have
decided that inmate Benteen's punishment was destined to take a more... personal turn."
"Evidently so. We don't have all
the answers yet—Benteen is still recovering from her injuries in sickbay—but
there are indications that these... extra punishments... have been going
on for a number of months." Sera could barely keep the disgust from her
voice.
If anything, Seval's became even more of
a monotone. "I would estimate less than two point three seven months,
or thereabouts. The colonel was assigned to command the detachment on that
stardate."
"But Lieutenant Jharr must have
been involved in the cover-up. Why would he do that?" Sito
inquired, incredulous.
"Ambition," Mantovanni
answered. "He must have somehow convinced himself his superior had
justification for his actions... after all, the man had seen fit to promote
him; thus, his judgment had to be impeccable. There also has to have
been a knot of younger officers and guards who'd decided they didn't mind
seeing a traitor to the Federation get her just
desserts."
"It was Colonel L'hiar who
recommended Jharr's promotion—and that within one week, four days of his
arrival. I considered it odd, but assumed he had his reasons."
"He had reasons, all right,"
MacLeod muttered. Again, Seval choose to ignore her.
"You may be interested to know,
Captain, that Rear Admiral Carillo is on her way, accompanied by an entire
investigation team from the Inspector General's office. She requested that
Erika Benteen be on hand so as to provide testimony for the IG… and against the
officers in question."
Sera started to reply indignantly, but
Mantovanni, sensing something odd in the other Vulcan, held up a
hand.
"What did you tell her?" he
asked.
"I informed the admiral that,
considering the circumstances, it would be illogical to have Benteen remain in
a locale that must be a constant reminder of the injustices visited upon her,
and that a statement could be taken later. There are a sufficient number of
officers here," Seval
concluded, "who can testify for now."
It was as close as a Vulcan would ever
come to an apology and an admission of culpability. Sera was startled; the
captain merely nodded.
"Thank you, Captain Seval," he
answered simply.
"No... thank you, Captain
Mantovanni... it seems the reputations of both you and your crew are deserved.
"Dalarian Prime out."
MacLeod turned immediately to
Mantovanni.
"The Inspector General is going to
crucify him—figuratively speaking, of course," she added
sarcastically.
Kate Sheridan, who'd stood in silence at
the rear of the captain's ready room throughout the whole exchange, finally
spoke.
"We're just fortunate that the
commanders of Antietam and Hastings knew when to stop
obeying orders."
Mantovanni nodded in assent, then
stood.
"Commander MacLeod, I'd commend you
for your innovation, but I've come to expect that level of performance from
you." Sera inclined her head; the implied compliment was both rare, and
greatly appreciated.
"Commander Sheridan, I knew that
renowned attitude problem would come in handy... you're now learning when
to use it."
Kate grinned. "Gee, thanks a lot,
sir."
"Sito, I'm going to have to take
that runabout out of your pay... otherwise, coming along
nicely."
The young Bajoran's smile was infectious.
"I'll start putting a few credits aside,
Captain."
"You have the bridge, Commander
Sheridan. Stations, please, ladies... I'll be in sickbay visiting our...
passenger."
***
"Well, he wasn't as vicious as you
might have thought," Benteen explained.
"I'll assume that's some form of
the Stockholm Syndrome talking, and not you." Lieutenant Hatshepsut had
spent over an hour speaking with Erika. Thus far, it had been mostly
chit-chat—the "getting to know you" kind of conversation that let
patient and counselor form the bond necessary for more in-depth, intimate
discussion.
"He would visit me in my cell on a
fairly regular basis, announcing his intention to... punish me for what I'd
done to his kin.
"Then he would
attack."
Benteen shook her head in remembered
frustration. "I'm not a bad hand-to-hand combatant, but... I couldn't..."
she almost broke down again as she remembered innumerable attempts to defend
herself—failed attempts, that is.
Hatshepsut purred soothingly. It was a
technique that had proven incredibly effective with many humanoid
patients.
Another voice joined the interplay.
"Andorians have twice the physical strength of most humans, and are
incredibly fast. The fact that you're still alive means you're a little better
than 'not bad.’"
Luciano Mantovanni slid a chair over
from the other side of the room, and sat down next to
Benteen.
"Or," she replied bitterly,
"he simply wanted to draw things out."
The captain shook his head. "Did
you fight back? Every time?" Wordlessly, she
nodded.
"Well, then he beat you... but you
were never defeated. The fact that he couldn't break your spirit will infuriate
him for the rest of his life."
Hatshepsut nodded in agreement—a useful
mannerism she'd picked up from humans. “Or at least until he himself
is healed.”
"Lieutenant," Mantovanni
continued, "I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a few minutes alone with
your patient."
"By all means, sir," she
purred agreeably. "I'll be back shortly." Like her Terran analogue,
she melted away smoothly.
Erika began, "Commander MacLeod
told me that it was Admiral Leyton who wanted you to check on me..."
"Yes," he answered. "His
communiqués and inquiries were all being turned aside... and, as you might
imagine, Starfleet had little affection or regard left for him: they simply
ignored the man when he pushed the point. Leyton had an instinct—no better way
to put it—that you were in trouble, and asked me to check it
out."
"I know it's technically against
regulations, Captain," Benteen murmured, "but I need to talk to him
just once—to thank him."
"I'd like to let you," he
replied quietly, "and had contacted his home about an hour ago so as to
facilitate it."
There was no way to blunt the force of
his next words.
"He's
dead."
She seemed to shrink back into the
recesses of the bed. "Please tell me
he didn't..." her voice left the worst
unsaid.
"...kill himself? No," he
assured her quickly. "He told me in our conversation that he'd contracted
Bauer's Syndrome—something about too much exposure to esoteric radiation
wavelengths a few years ago."
Erika nodded, as if she'd almost
anticipated such a happenstance. "Probably while attending experiments on
coping with the Changeling threat... he was there for every attempt Starfleet
Research made, hoping desperately for a breakthrough."
"I'm sorry; I know you were close.
He was a formidable presence."
Before she could descend into depression
at the loss, he turned her to a new subject.
"I'm about to lose an officer:
Commander MacLeod has been reassigned. I need a chief of operations; are you up
for it?"
She gaped at him. "Sir, you must be
aware that the Special Starfleet Tribunal which sentenced me
recommended..." her voice trailed off as the captain's eyes grew
hard.
"I don't give a damn what
the tribunal recommended," he declared flatly. "Starfleet's absolved
and recruited the Maquis; the Federation's allied itself with the Romulans;
there are new rumors of the legendary 'Section 31' rearing their ugly head; who
the hell is anyone in this organization to say you shouldn't get
a second chance?" He gazed at her
searchingly.
"Just tell me you're worth the
grief and aggravation this is going to cause us both, or I won't even bother
taking it to Admiral Pierce."
She considered it, hard—for all of a
second. Then, with difficulty, she stood.
"Erika Benteen, reporting for duty,
sir."
The captain nodded. That might not mean
much to some.
But it was more than enough for him.