Chapter Text
“It’s the EPS waveguide modulator,” Sandhurst explained, his arms elbow deep inside a service hatch within Sagan’s xenobiology lab.
Midshipman Lar’ragos stood by with his arms folded across his chest, looking distinctly unamused. “This is the third systems failure to take this lab offline in the past four days. Did the academy liberate this ship from the scrap yards?”
Sandhurst snorted with stifled laughter as he briefly scanned an isolinear chip before replacing it into its housing. “No. These are simulated systems failures designed to give my fellow engineers and I something to do.”
“You’re kidding? I have to stand here twiddling my thumbs while you make repairs to imaginary systems outages?”
“Looks like,” Sandhurst replied dryly.
“Well,” came Lar’ragos’ acid retort, “at least I get to take a break from my cellular analysis of decades-old tissue samples from exhaustively documented species. Nothing like re-inventing the wheel for the millionth time to make you appreciate the scientific process.”
“Do you know what I like so much about machines?” Sandhurst asked innocently.
“No,” Lar’ragos fumed. “And I’m guessing that whatever I say at this juncture, you’re goin—”
“They so rarely ever complain,” Sandhurst finished, slotting the last of the replacement iso-chips and closing the access hatch with an exaggerated bang. He turned, picked up his tool kit, and gave Lar’ragos his best approximation of the man’s own most disingenuous smile.
The El-Aurian waggled a finger at him in response. “I see what you did there. Don’t think that I didn’t.”
“Is there anything further I might assist you with, Mister Lar’ragos?”
“Not until the next simulated systems glitch, no.”
The smile grew fractionally wider. “Then I’ll be on my way.”
* * *
Commander th’Skaar found Tinubu in the conference room, staring intently at a map of the Federation’s closest border sectors.
“You’ve got your serious face on, Captain,” he noted.
She grunted quietly, running a hand over her shaved head in a gesture he’d long since come to recognize as one of concern. “Captain Anson just sent me a copy of Intel’s latest activity report for the border region. Our Cardassian friends are making noises about our settlements in the Pleiades Cluster.”
“Again?” he sighed as he took a seat across from her. His antennae twitched with irritation. “It’s only been what… eighteen months since we signed the treaty with them? I thought that was supposed to have put an end to all this knife waving.”
“Saber rattling,” she corrected. “And yes, it was supposed to. However, it appears Cardassian politics are somewhat mercurial. A significant power block in their Detapa Council is now pressuring the Central Command to demand more concessions from the Federation, to include a half-dozen settled star systems.”
Th’Skaar gave the Andorian equivalent of a shrug. “Let them complain. They know better than to pick a fight with us. As far as I know, they’ve yet to win a skirmish with one of our ships one-on-one.”
“I’m less concerned with a stand-up fight than I am with the possibility of them attacking our lightly defended colonies along the border. The Federation Council appears to be of the opinion that a mere piece of paper is going to safeguard tens of thousands of settlers.”
“Starfleet wouldn’t allow that to happen,” he announced confidently.
Her answering look was withering as she gestured towards the viewer. “Would you care to wager on that, Commander?”
He reached out a hand to toggle a tactical overlay onto the existing sector display. “Who else is out here if something pops off?”
A list of starships and Border Service patrol vessels appeared on the screen, but their numbers were distressingly meager. “Oberon, Stargazer, Thevid, and a handful of border cutters.” He shot her a wary look. “That’s it?”
Her mouth was drawn into a hard line. “Obviously, a treaty is better than an orbital defense grid or a robust patrol schedule.”
“Should we turn around and find another planet for the kids to survey?”
Tinubu blew out a long breath. “No. If things go wrong, they’ll need every ship they can get out there.”
“I’m not excited about the possibility of taking a boat-load of kids into battle.”
“Nor am I. However, these cadets chose to serve and they’re sworn to the same oath we are. Those colonists out there have no one else to protect them.”
He nodded slowly, already spinning plans within plans.
“If a shooting war does start, Scar, I’ll be grateful to have your steady hand on the trigger.”
He gave her a toothy smile. “My blue blood burns for battle, sir.”
Despite the circumstances, Tinubu laughed at his martial alliteration.
* * *
“What economic forces generated the growing militancy of the Cardassian state?” Lieutenant Jarad Petrich queried the cadet class.
Votor raised his hand, as was his wont. The Vulcan was relentless. He raised his hand for every question asked, regardless of subject.
Petrich had learned quickly to ignore him. The young Vulcan was absolutely without any social awareness whatsoever, completely oblivious that his effusive display of his own genius had alienated all of his classmates.
The lieutenant scanned the midshipmen’s faces. Some were earnestly interested, others assiduously bored, while still others like the young man in his sights were struggling to stay awake.
“Mister Sandhurst, if you please?”
Donald jerked from a half-dozing state to panicked alertness, eyes darting. “I… uh—what?” He caught himself. “Could— could you repeat the question, sir?”
“The Cardassians,” Petrich said again. “What social and economic forces transformed a largely spiritual, agrarian society into a near-monolithic expansionist military state?”
“I—uh… poverty… sir? They had an… uh… economic collapse.”
“An ‘economic collapse’ suggests a limited upheaval in an otherwise stable resource-scarcity driven paradigm,” Petrich replied. “The catastrophic socio-political breakdown of the Hebitian civilization was far more complex.”
He quizzed a few of the others, finding some correct responses. However, it was evident that the cadets had studied a variety of other local space-faring species that they’d thought more likely to be encountered during this cruise.
He targeted an equally uninterested looking cadet who’d situated himself in the back row of the class. “Mister… Lar’ragos, isn’t it? Can you explain the rampant militancy that followed the collapse we’ve identified? In a beans-or-bullets equation, what draws the average citizen into the arms of a police-state?”
The older man sat up, his eyes narrowing as he gave the question due consideration. “When you’re starving, you’ll sacrifice everything for a crust of bread and a warm place to sleep for the night.”
Petrich paused, the unexpected phrasing of the man’s answer piquing his curiosity. “You’re saying the people surrendered their civic freedoms in favor of the state’s largess?”
Lar’ragos pursed his lips, his expression conveying distaste. “No, sir. I’m saying that when you’re starving to death, when you’re watching your children starve, you have no time for the luxury of political ideals. The people with the guns control the resources, and you’ll salute their flag and mutter their oaths of allegiance if it means living to see another sunrise. In this situation, the Cardassian military used food, energy, and shelter as tools to control the population in a planetary crisis. Those who would not kneel either starved to death or met their end at the barrel of a gun. Worship of religious icons were discarded for worship at the altar of the state.”
“You sound like you were there,” Petrich remarked.
“No, sir, but I’ve seen it played out in other places.”
“Have you now?” Petrich smirked. “Was this a failed colony, like Turkana IV?”
“No, sir. I’ve only recently been granted Federation citizenship.”
Petrich sat back on the edge of the lectern. “And you’ve seen such circumstances first-hand?”
“I have, sir,” Lar’ragos answered simply.
Petrich waved a hand to encompass the class. “Please, enlighten us, then.”
“Respectfully, sir, no thank you.”
“And why not, Mister Lar’ragos?” Petrich’s patient smile faltered. “You profess to have observed just the kind of social and political chaos that we’re discussing. Perhaps your experiences can enrich all of our understanding?”
Lar’ragos paused, struggling to formulate an answer that wouldn’t see him cashiered out of the academy. “Permission to speak candidly, Lieutenant?”
“By all means.”
“With respect, sir, for me this isn’t an interesting intellectual exercise. I’ve lived this. I’m a refugee from this type of horror, and I’m not the only one.” He glanced over at the class, knowing with his special insight that there were others among them with similar experiences. “I find it… discourteous to be lectured to about this subject by someone who’s never gone to bed hungry in his life.”
Petrich blushed fiercely. “That’s a bold assumption you’re making about me, Mister Lar’ragos.”
“My apologies, Lieutenant. I neglected to take into account that one time when you were twelve and you stole your friend’s antique pocket watch and your mother sent you to bed without supper.”
Now the color promptly vanished from Petrich’s features. “Clear the deck,” he said quietly, as though from a distance.
The other cadets got while the getting was good, with Sandhurst throwing a last glance in Pava’s direction as he egressed the compartment.
“Would you care to explain just how you know that little detail, Mister Lar’ragos?” Petrich frowned as he appeared to examine the cadet. “I don’t remember having a Betazoid aboard.”
Lar’ragos sighed. “I’m not a telepath, if that’s what you’re worried about, sir. I get… flashes, images from people’s past, mostly when I’m talking to them. My people are renown as ‘listeners.’ That’s our cheat. When people are talking to us, we get all kinds of little tidbits from them.” He took a deep breath. “I apologize if I embarrassed you, sir.”
Petrich’s hard expression softened after a moment’s consideration. “Okay, fair enough. I owe you an apology as well. I was being flippant about your experiences. I thought you were having me on. You’re correct in that I assumed that you were just a run of the mill non-trad cadet trying to blow smoke up my backside.”
“No, sir. I’m a distinctly non-traditional cadet who needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut.”
Petrich smiled ever so slightly at that. “I’m sorry for making light of your suffering.”
“Thank you for saying so, sir.”
What Lar’ragos neglected to add is that he hadn’t suffered so terribly in those particular circumstances, seeing as he’d been the one holding the gun.
* * *