Part 5 (1/2)
Picard relaxed. ”I understand. Let me ask a few more questions about you and your people, just so this type of misunderstanding won't happen again.”
”Certainly,” said Jared, taking a seat on the couch.
”Tell me about the war you escaped-and tell me why you didn't take any hum-organic Vemlans along.”
The Freedom's captain nodded. ”I don't know too much about the war, itself-I was stationed at a research base on Vemla's outer moon.” Jared finished his drink and poured another gla.s.s. ”I do know that it was very b.l.o.o.d.y. The fighting was between two rival political groups and took most of the planet by surprise. Our world had enjoyed over two hundred years of uninterrupted peace. The destruction was horrendous. Billions died. All sorts of terrible weapons were used. Including androids.” Jared closed his eyes and sighed. ”Garan was specifically designed for battle-a prototype. It doesn't take much intelligence to be a killing machine. When the Capitol was destroyed, and all was in chaos, we reprogrammed him to keep him from fighting. Kurta uses him in the hydroponic gardens when he isn't needed for more physical tasks. But he is incapable of violence. He couldn't hurt anything now.
”The war eventually spread to the moons. The humans in our facility were killed one night by a virulent contaminant brought in by terrorists. We were all that was left. When we saw what the war had done to our home, we knew we couldn't stay. So we took the Freedom-and we've been traveling ever since, looking for a place to settle.”
”I believe I understand your actions now, Jared,” Picard said, deeply moved. He'd heard similar tales before, of races whose technology had outpaced their emotional growth. But the idea of a planet destroying itself was always horrifying. ”It is ... regrettable that your builders failed to come to terms with their aggression and political turmoil. It sounds as if they were very close to developing a truly civilized culture.”
”They were. And I feel certain my people will not repeat their mistakes.”
Picard nodded. For all their sakes, he hoped so.
After the Vemlans returned to their s.h.i.+p, Picard headed to the bridge for one last look around before retiring for the day. As he entered the turbolift, he was joined by Riker, who had changed back into his standard uniform.
”Did you learn anything important in your-interview?”
The captain nodded. ”Yes. I don't think we have much to worry about from Captain Jared and the Freedom, Number One. They were merely concerned about our intentions. I believe them to be exactly what they said they were-refugees in search of a place to settle.”
”I'm still suspicious,” Will remarked, his brow knit in thought, ”but I have to admit, they were delightful as dinner companions. Especially the executive officer-quite attractive.”
”Yes, they were all very attractive,” Picard said, raising his eyebrows. He wasn't immune to earthly beauty. ”A credit to their ... designers.”
”It's hard to dislike something that beautiful,” Riker admitted. ”But that just makes me all the more suspicious.”
The turbolift came to a stop and the doors whisked open. The bridge was quiet; only the Ops and helm consoles were occupied, though Worf was diligently checking the sensor relays. He glanced up, saw the captain, and spoke.
”Sir, I've been realigning the sensor relays, and have discovered an anomaly.”
Picard turned. ”That's hardly unexpected, Mr. Worf. The sensors still haven't fully recovered from the storm.”
”Yes, sir. I am aware of that. But this anomaly looks very much like another s.h.i.+p.”
Picard raised an eyebrow. ”Can you get a fix on it?”
”Trying, sir,” Worf said, fingers stabbing at the console.
”Whatever it is, it's closing on our position,” Riker said, leaning over the Ops console.
”Sir, a second s.h.i.+p has been detected,” Worf said, looking down at the tactical station. ”No-four-six-a large group of s.h.i.+ps in a tight formation.”
Riker looked over the Ops panel. ”They're all traveling slowly, though-just at warp one.”
”A fleet?” asked Picard, alarmed. ”This far out in s.p.a.ce? Can you identify it?” he asked his tactical officer. Peaceful craft tended to roam the sea of s.p.a.ce singly. Large groups often meant trouble.
Worf shook his head. ”The computer couldn't get a fix on it long enough to identify it. But it ruled out a number of possibilities. It isn't a Federation, Klingon, Sirian, or Ferengi fleet of any known composition. The computer also ruled out the possibility of a Romulan fleet, in consideration of the small size and slow speed.”
”That narrows it down. There are only another hundred or so known s.p.a.cefaring races that it could be.” Picard took his seat. ”Mr. Worf, what else do the scanners say about the fleet?”
”The s.h.i.+ps have impressive armament for their size. Seven capital s.h.i.+ps of nine hundred thousand metric tones, with a number of smaller craft escorting them. Estimate they will intersect our position in approximately six hours.”
”Let's find out what they want then, shall we? Open hailing frequencies, Mr. Worf.” Picard cleared his throat. ”Greetings. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets' stars.h.i.+p Enterprise.”
There were a few moments of silence before any response came. When it did, it came without a visual aspect, as a slightly tinny vocal message.
”This is Prefect Morgas, of the naval s.h.i.+p Vindicator. Stand by to be addressed by the Fleet Force Commander. Do you have visual capabilities?”
Worf was still at his security console behind the command area. He seemed intent on the readings before him.
”Yes, Prefect, we do,” Picard answered, warily.
In moments the image of a tall, elderly man in a black, military-looking costume spread itself across the forward viewscreen. He was slightly built and had a severely hooked nose. Gold and silver medallions were pinned to his chest, though whether they were rank, insignia, or military decorations, Picard couldn't tell. He held himself as one who expected to be obeyed in all things, yet was not overbearing. Picard's overall impression was that the man was a hawk, a predator.
The man smiled, a tight-lipped and stern expression. His eyes were bright and intense, but not necessarily friendly.
”Greetings, Captain Picard. I am Force Commander Sawliru of the Vemlan navy.”
Vemlan? Picard exchanged a troubled glance with his first officer. According to Jared, there were no more Vemlans. Perhaps they had been mistaken. Or perhaps, they had lied.
”Force Commander,” Picard said. ”I'll get right to the point. We've noted you're on course to intercept us and wonder what your intentions are.”
”We are not violating your s.p.a.ce, are we?” the man asked with a frown.
Picard shook his head. ”No, Force Commander, we are too far from the settled regions of Federation s.p.a.ce to make any formal territorial declarations.”
”If I might ask, then,” Sawliru interrupted, ”what brings you this far out?”
”We were simply exploring and mapping this territory when we had to pause for the storm.”
”You weren't damaged, were you?” Sawliru asked. ”We would be glad to offer a.s.sistance-”
”No, thank you for your offer. We are just finis.h.i.+ng up repairs. We should be on our way before long.”
”Then I wish you a safe journey, Enterprise.” He made a motion to cut the transmission, but Picard's insistent voice stopped him.
”Force Commander, I am still curious about your present course. Why are you coming so close to us?”
The other man smiled nonchalantly. ”There is a stray robot freighter near your position. Something went wrong in the programming and it wandered off course. Nothing major. We're just going to collect it and go on our way.”
There was a silence on the bridge. Picard took a deep breath. ”My apologies, Commander. We know of only one s.h.i.+p in our vicinity, and it is not a robot freighter. Our sensor equipment is very accurate. Could we be of a.s.sistance locating the s.h.i.+p you are seeking?”
Sawliru glanced at something or someone offscreen for a moment.
”No, Captain, I think we have the s.h.i.+p we want. It's a prototype cargo vessel, the Conquest. She lies about seven hundred kilometers away from your port bow.”