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"Captain's log, Stardate 42117.8. The Enterprise has rendezvoused with twenty-three other Federation starships and seventy-seven Starfleet cargo ships for an emergency humanitarian mission. Under the command of Admiral Rhee Soon Pak and Ambassador Lars Magnusson, we are heading for the Selenker Republic, an independent system lying just beyond the boundaries of the Federation. On arrival we will…" Jean-Luc Picard paused, his lips puckering as if he had just eaten something sour. Or bitter.
"On arrival we will load two hundred-fifty million metric tonnes of food, to be used to offset the failed harvests on Centarus and Andor." Picard touched the pause button and leaned back in his chair. He picked up his teacup, sipped and let out a sigh. He let his eyes wander the Ready Room as he considered how to proceed with his log entry. The Ready Room of the Enterprise-D was a great comfort to him. The large (relatively speaking) compartment just off the bridge was a sanctuary from the pressures of command, where a captain could think about complex problems without the bridge crew, and especially the ships counselor, watching his every move. Picard allowed himself a slight smile. Strictly speaking, Ready Rooms were a bourgeois luxury quite at odds with the egalitarian ideals of the Federation. They were grudgingly permitted though, because their effect on command efficiency was too apparent for even a rabid political purist to ignore.
That didn't mean that said purists were happy about the arrangement. Deanna Troi was less than thrilled about it even now, in no small part, Picard assumed, because it was the one compartment in the whole ship that she couldn't enter without his permission. He suspected that Troi's reports to Starfleet on the crew's emotional health included references to 'the difficulties in assessing the Captain's emotional stability posed by lack of observational access', as she had once phrased it.
"Speaking of phrasing things…" Picard muttered under his breath. He had better choose his next words carefully. He could erase what he had already recorded, but that didn't mean the words he had already spoken on the matter would disappear from every record. And too many erasures could lead to questions by themselves. Best to not mention the five billion tonnes of food the Federation was already importing from the Republic this year. Or that the amount imported rose every year, despite the best efforts of the Federation to encourage more efficient production. The failures were off limits too, he decided. Even he didn't believe the official explanations, of stellar fluctuations in the case of Centarus and planet-wide fungal infections on Andor, and he was sure the Selenker's knew better. With the thought came a flash of inspiration. Picard touched the record button.
"In light of the looming crisis on those two worlds and the 'grave concern' of the so-called 'free people of Selenker', I am surprised the profit-mongers who control the government are not refraining from charging their usual inflated prices. It can only be a sign of their arrogance and utter disregard for sentient life that they don't even care that their hypocrisy is exposed for all the galaxy to see." Perfect. Picard leaned back and smiled again. That entry shouldn't cause any problems for him, no matter who reviewed it later. And it wasn't even a lie. Picard really was upset that Enterprise and the other ships in the convoy were carrying a couple of hundred billion Work Credits worth of raw materials and luxury goods with which to pay for the food shipment, not to mention being diverted from the exploration work that was his true passion. Oh, well. You couldn't always have things your way.
Wesley Crusher sat at the bridge helm station and tried not to let his excitement get the better of him. The Enterprise and her convoy were less than an hour from dropping out of warp at the fringes of the Selenker system and the young acting ensign was bursting with curiosity. He had heard many stories about this bastion of unbridled capitalism, and was looking forward to seeing if any of them were true.
"You're unusually cheerful this morning Mr. Crusher," Deanna Troi's voice sounded behind him. He turned to look at her, a smile on his face. Wesley knew some people were afraid of Troi because of her empathic abilities, but he wasn't one of them. Ship's Counselor might not be a universally admired job, but it was a job that needed doing, and Betazoids were better at it than most.
"Yes Ma'am," he said. "I've studied degenerate societies in my political science classes of course, but reading from a book is no substitute for seeing it with your own eyes."
Troi smiled back. "So it's simple intellectual curiosity that has you so eager to visit Selenker?" The words were said in a perfectly conversational tone of voice, and her smile never faltered, but there was something in Troi's eyes that sent a brief chill down Wesley's spine.
"What else could it be Ma'am?"
"Nothing, I'm sure," Troi answered in the same conversational tone, her smile just as broad but somehow…menacing.
Wesley turned back to the helm and couldn't help but wonder if he had been too enthusiastic.
A short time later Captain Picard strode onto the bridge accompanied by Admiral Rhee and Ambassador Magnusson. "Report status," Picard barked as he took his place in the center seat.
"Our velocity is down to Warp one-point-one. We are fifteen-point-two minutes out from the beacon," Lieutenant Commander Data responded.
"Very well Mr. Data, prepare to secure from warp. Mr. Worf, patch me through to all convoy ships."
"Aye, sir," the Klingon tactical officer replied. A few seconds of work at his console produced the desired result. "All ships patched in Captain."
"Attention all convoy ships, this is Captain Picard. Prepare to secure from warp on my mark."
The transition from warp to impulse drive was made without incident, somewhat to Picard's surprise. Having so many ships in close proximity to one another made a collision a real danger, especially during radical velocity changes. Still, the convoy dropped out of warp and came to rest relative to the beacon right on schedule, four-point-two light hours from Selenker's G3 primary. Almost at once a signal arrived.
"Federation convoy, this is Avalon Control. Welcome to the Selenker Republic. Please transmit the names of your ships for an ID check."
Picard looked at Admiral Rhee. Rhee glanced at Ambassador Magnusson, who nodded slightly. "Proceed Captain," Rhee ordered. "Go ahead Mr. Worf." The Klingon touched a few buttons on his console. "Ship names sent Captain."
After another brief pause Avalon Control came back on. "There are one-hundred-one ships in your convoy. We have ID certificates for ninety-seven of them. Those ships will hold their positions while we verify their certificates." At that, a dozen small craft that had been drifting nearby began to move past the Federation convoy on all sides. "The following ships will stand by to receive inspection parties: Commune, Enterprise, Solidarity and Troika."
"We are being scanned Captain," Worf reported at once "Shuttlecraft approaching portside docking bay," he added a moment later. "Understood Mr. Worf," was all Picard said in reply.
"What are they doing?" Wesley wondered aloud. Data answered. "They are comparing our actual hull maps and emission profiles to the ones in our Identification certificates." At Wesley's puzzled look Commander William Riker spoke up. "The Selenker's are touchy about security, Wes. They keep records on every ship that enters their system. Any ship that doesn't match it's ID certificate has basically two choices: submit to boarding for close inspection, or leave the system. Enterprise has never been here before, which is why we're about to have visitors."
"Speaking of visitors," Picard said, "Number One, please greet our guests for me, and see to it that they receive all the cooperation they need to do their work." The Captain's voice was steady, but Wesley was sure he detected resentment. "Yes, sir," Riker said, rising. "Mr. Crusher, Mr. Worf, with me."
As the airlock cycled, Wesley wondered briefly why the Selenkers hadn't beamed aboard, before remembering that they had transporter technology, but used it very rarely, and never on living creatures. He remembered that from one of his classes, sociology maybe. The Selenkers were of the opinion that people that went into a transporter didn't come out again, no matter what the thing that emerged on the other end claimed. A strange belief, not at all logical. In fact, Wesley recalled, Selenker law stated that anyone who willingly underwent transport was considered to have committed suicide, and that transporting someone against their will was murder. He was still turning that over in his mind when the lock doors slid apart and the boarding party stepped through.
There were five of them, three men and two women. Or rather, three males and two females, since one of the males was a Klingon and one of the females was a Cardassian. Four of them were wearing gray jumpsuits and carrying toolboxes. A Human male stepped forward. He was wearing what Wesley supposed was an officers uniform, consisting of black trousers, gray shirt, black tie, and gray jacket and carrying what looked like an oversized tricorder. Wesley had only seen its like in archival video and historical dramas. A number of -isms came to mind: nationalism, militarism, and fascism. The man came to attention and saluted. "Permission to come aboard sir?"
"Granted, and welcome aboard the Enterprise," Riker replied politely. He didn't return the salute. The Selenker dropped his, a slight flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Lieutenant James Selfridge, Selenker Coast Guard," he said, extending his hand as he introduced himself.
"Commander William Riker." Riker did take and shake Selfridge's hand. "This is Lieutenant Worf, our Security Chief, and Ensign Crusher. They'll give you whatever assistance you need."
"Thank you Commander. I'm sure you're eager to be on your way, so we'll get started right away."
The inspection took just under an hour, and ranged from Engineering to the Bridge. Shortly after the Selenkers departed Avalon Control signaled.
"Federation convoy, you are cleared to proceed at an acceleration of 5 kilometers per second squared along vector 137 by 45 by 36. After eight-point-two-two hours you will begin decelerating by the same amount along the same vector. This will bring you to rest relative to the Sonnetag Corporation's Number Six Orbital Cargo Handling facility. Do you understand your instructions?"
"Yes we do Avalon Control."
"Very well, you may get under way. Avalon Control out."
An hour in, Worf spoke up. "Two warships are approaching from port, Captain."
"On screen," Riker ordered. The display showed two dots of light, moving slowly relative to the background of stars.
"Magnify," Picard commanded. The screen zoomed in. The closer view showed the ships to be vaguely cylindrical, with faceted sides. Picard turned to Worf.
"The computer identifies them as Victory class battleships, eight hundred meters long, three point five million tonnes, heavily armed and armored."
"I wonder what they want?" Riker mused. A tone sounded.
"I think we're about to find out," Picard observed lightly.
"Incoming signal," Worf grumbled.
"On screen." The ships vanished, replaced by a young looking Human male.
"Captain Picard. I'm Lieutenant Gonzales, communications watch officer aboard R.S.S. Conqueror," the youngster said politely. "Admiral Kyle sends her compliments, and asks that all ships in your convoy raise their shields."
Picard glanced at Riker. "My compliments to your Admiral," he said, remembering his manners just in time. "Raise our shields?" he asked, baffled.
Lieutenant Gonzales smiled patiently. "A minor housekeeping matter, Captain. A Romulan ship is trying to sneak into the system, using your convoy as cover. Please raise your shields so we can deal with them."
Picard turned to Ambassador Magnusson, who merely shrugged.
"Very well. Mr. Worf, signal all ships to bring their shields up. Mr. Data, if you would?"
When the shields were up, Worf announced, "The Republican ships are turning to open their broadsides."
Picard nodded. The Victory class were supposed to have twenty-four ultraviolet and eight gamma ray lasers in each broadside, and sure enough, seconds later sixty-four beams were converging on a spot fifty kilometers astern of the Enterprise. A shield bubble flared into view as the defensive screen fought to absorb and reradiate the incoming torrent of energy. A ship shimmered into view and Worf said, "Romulan Warbird de-cloaking dead aft." Picard watched in fascination. The Romulan's shield wasn't strong enough to completely stop the Republican beams, and clouds of vapor erupted from the hull as plating boiled away. A sudden flare indicated a hull breach, as oxygenated air hit superheated matter and burst briefly into flame. The Romulan was turning away, but Picard knew instinctively that it was already too late.
"The Romulan's warp core is de-stabilizing," Worf intoned gravely. The screen went white. Enterprise shook as the shockwave passed over her.
Lieutenant Gonzales reappeared. "Thank you for your cooperation Enterprise, have a safe journey."
As the Republican ships turned away, Riker spoke up. "Well, that was interesting," he said.
"Wasn't it though," Troi's voice was cold, but Riker knew she wasn't angry at him. Deanna hated the Selenker's with a passion that sometimes worried him, and this casual display of brute force was certain to have pushed her buttons.
"Definitely a double meaning to it," Picard agreed.
"How so?" Troi demanded coolly.
Picard fought down a nervous swallow and said, "The Selenker's can obviously detect cloaked ships, whereas we cannot. By putting on their little display they were..." He paused. 'Better put a dodge word in here,' he thought quickly. "They were trying," he went on, emphasizing the word 'trying', "to demonstrate technical and military superiority over us."
Troi regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded once and turned away. Picard allowed himself to relax, but not to obviously.
The comm chimed. Riker's voice announced, "All persons wishing to take liberty must register in accordance with standard procedures. Work-credits may be exchanged for Selenker dollars in 10 Forward beginning at 1200 hours. That is all."
"I think you'll enjoy New Chicago. I certainly did, last time I was here," LaForge commented as he, Wesley and Data, along with one hundred and forty-seven others, watched the Selenker shuttle approach the docking port. "When was that?" Wesley asked curiously. LaForge glanced at him. "Seven years ago. I was an ensign on my first cruise. I didn't have much money then, but I had a great time anyway." LaForge was clearly excited, and Wesley remembered the surprised look on Commander Riker's face in 10 Forward when Georgi exchanged seven years of carefully hoarded work credits for over eleven hundred Selenker dollars.
Wesley turned to regard the approaching shuttle. He frowned. Shuttle wasn't quite the right word. For one thing, he had never seen a shuttle with the words Hanson Transit Lines emblazoned on it's side. Then the thought hit him. This wasn't a government craft. It was a privately owned vehicle.
After everyone was aboard, the 'bus' as the pilot (who called himself a driver) referred to it, pulled away from the Enterprise and headed for the surface. As the planet drew nearer Wesley got another surprise. As they swept around the night side he saw swatches of light, some of them enormous, covering areas of the various continents. His jaw dropped. "Profligate waste of resources," he breathed. That was one of the worst crimes in the Federation, almost as bad as murder, and here the Selenkers were throwing who knew how much energy away to keep their cities lighted at night. All night long in fact, since there were illuminated cities from the sunset to sunrise edges of the night side. The largest pool of light was right on the terminator, moving into a new day, and the bus was heading right for it.
"That's New Chicago," Geordi informed him. "Big, isn't it?"
"I'll say," Wesley agreed. It was far and away the largest city he had ever seen.
"There are almost a hundred million people living in New Chicago, and that many more in it's suburbs," Geordi went on. "You won't believe how crowded it is, and how busy. The traffic is unimaginable."
"Traffic?" Wesley asked. He knew what traffic was, of course. Every city had traffic, but why Geordi should make such a big deal out of it was something Wesley couldn't quite fathom. His confusion must have been evident, because LaForge grinned and said, "You'll understand when you see it."