Spartacus. Part 10

"Thank you for your a.s.surances, Mission Commander," said Picard, dryly.

"And I hope that this historic meeting between us will allow our two great peoples to grow closer to each other in a spirit of peace and goodwill."

"Anything is possible. Picard out."

Worf cut the transmission instantly, and Alkirg's face was replaced by the more serene view of the starfield.

"Of the two, I prefer the androids, sir," Worf said, behind them. "They fight from the more honorable position."

Picard shook his head. "I feel for all the beings who will lose their lives tomorrow-on both sides," he said, taking his seat. "There are few truly honorable positions in any battle, Mr. Worf."

Aboard the Freedom, Jared sat with his officers around a table and discussed their impending death.

"After all Picard's promises, he throws us to the wolves," Jared exclaimed, feeling the anger rise in him. His anger at the betrayal was overwhelming. He pounded his fists on the table-made of reinforced silica, luckily, he thought, or it might have broken-and raged. He had hoped Picard would at least give them safe pa.s.sage back to the Federation and not sit idly by. "d.a.m.n him! I should have killed them all when I had the chance! They were all there in that conference room, Alkirg and Sawliru-and Picard!"

"And what good would that have done?" Kurta, seated opposite him, asked pointedly. "We are less than a day away from certain death. Let us consider what we can do now, not what we could never have prevented."

"Well spoken," said Dren, quietly. Jared had made sure he was in attendance at this, possibly the last meeting of the command council. He knew the wiry engineer did not want to stay any longer than necessary. His men were already hard at work, preparing the engines, weapons, and subsidiary systems for the inevitable battle.

"There are seven ships left," the engineer began. "The main problem will be the Vindicator. She was only lightly damaged at Hevaride. They have a.s.suredly repaired her by now. Her weapons can punch through our shields with little difficulty. The Nemesis and the Victrix have nuclear torpedoes, so even a miss might damage us. Luckily, we took out the Avenger at Hevaride; she was the newest and fastest of the fleet."

"What do you calculate our chances at?" asked Jared, concentrating on the tactics of the situation. His frustration was still there, but for the good of his people, he would have to postpone it. Or turn it into inspiration.

"Less than two percent," came the grim reply. There was a short silence.

"We must face facts," said Kurta. "We're all going to die in about twenty-three hours."

There was a long silence. No one wanted to admit it, Jared knew. He, least of all. They had overcome too many obstacles, come too far from home, killed too many enemies, and watched too many friends die to be defeated now. It was just too hard to swallow. But, as his wife had said, they had to face facts.

"All right," said Jared, finally. "We are going to die. The navy is going to destroy us. But let us not make it either easy or cheap for them to do so." He smiled wryly. "I was not programmed to go like that. It's not sporting enough."

There was a general murmur of support around the table. Jared looked at each of his friends and comrades and was overcome with pride. If he had to die, then it was next to people like this that he wished to go. He stood.

"Very well. Kurta, I want at least ten alternative battle plans, with room for revision, laid out to cover every possible approach by the enemy, using the existing battle templates we have. Next, I want a destruct switch set on each engine. If the navy gets a ship close enough to dock, I want to be able to blow us both to dust. Dren, that's your department. I also want as much speed and maneuverability from this tub as you can give me." Those two factors could be decisive in the upcoming battle, he knew.

"Captain," Dren asked quietly, "have you considered using the Federation ship? It has a lot more firepower than ours."

That was a question that had been popping in and out of his head since Sawliru's fleet had discovered them. The temptation was great, for though he was proud of his ship, the mighty Enterprise could swallow the entire Vemlan navy in one bite. As a warrior and a defender of his people, Jared could not let such a little matter like property rights stand in the way of survival. Besides, he l.u.s.ted after that ship, with its sleek lines and magical technology, for either battle or exploration. Jared's trips to the Starfleet vessel had only fueled the fire of his desire, for with each journey he saw something else that charged his imagination. He suddenly realized that part of his anger with Picard was jealousy. But taking the Enterprise, with its sophisticated security system ...

"It would be difficult." Garan, who had sat quietly at the other end of the table, now spoke for the first time. "But not impossible."

The security androids used by the Vemlan government to put down the rebellion were, for the most part, simple drone machines, heavily armed robots with the basic features of a humanoid. They obeyed orders simply and without question. Though they had little personal initiative, they were perfectly loyal and obscenely strong. They also thought, if such a word can be used for the process, entirely in military terms. They were perfect soldiers.

Garan was the only security android to voluntarily side with the other androids. He was, as Jared had told Picard, a prototype, with advanced capacities and functions. It was an experiment to see if grafting certain programs from an Alpha android would produce a more efficient intermediary between living commanders and their mechanical troopers. The experiment had been a great success. Until, that is, their prototype model decided that he was fighting for the wrong side. He escaped from his workstation with a sizable a.r.s.enal and joined Jared in the early days of the revolt. Though Jared was a skilled tactician, well versed in strategy and military history, Garan had brought a detailed knowledge of the Vemlan military, including weapons systems, military installations, and chain of command to the uprising. While Jared thought in terms of long-range victory and the overall destiny of his race, Garan thought of the tactics of the battle and the potential battles to come. He had become an invaluable a.s.set to Jared in his fight to free their people.

Garan continued. "While I was on board, I collected extensive information on the military aspects of the ship. The offensive and defensive capabilities of the vessel are far superior to both the navy and the Freedom combined. In control of the vessel, there would be an 87.7562 percent chance of total survival for the entire crew."

"Picard already counted the Enterprise out, though," objected Kurta.

"This is our survival we're talking about," Dren said. "I say we take the ship!"

"Could it be done?" asked Jared, looking intently at Garan.

The giant leaned forward into the light and spoke in even, measured, unexcited tones. "It can. Our lack of transporter technology makes it difficult, however. A shuttle would be detected and neutralized before it could dock. The best means would be if an agent already present activated the transporter. By introducing toxic ga.s.ses and Bioagent 23 into the life-support system, the organic beings would be incapacitated, allowing an android crew to take their place without resistance."

Jared nodded, excitedly. "Perhaps Data can be talked to-"

Kurta hit the table before them with the palm of her hand. The sharp slap halted the excited babble of voices.

"Absolutely out of the question," she said, slowly and deliberately. "The Federation was gracious and helpful to us, not knowing what we were, and then not caring. As much as I would like them to save us, I will not resort to war on a neutral party."

"They have the means to help us," Jared said, forcefully. "With their ship, we could destroy the entire fleet."

Kurta shook her head. "Would you have it said that when our race was confronted with absolute destruction that we turned upon our friends like rabid wolves? We claim to be sentient beings-let us act like it!"

Jared stared directly at her. As an aide at the university, Kurta had been exposed to culture, ethics, and philosophy far longer than had anyone else, and it had left a mark on her. But she was not, and had never been, truly a warrior. The violence of the Games programming coursed through him, and he knew that conflict was necessary to survival.

Yet he could not afford a conflict with her-not now, not at a time when they would have to work together or be destroyed.

"Agreed, then. A straight fight."

"Good," she nodded. Jared listened as she began mapping out one possible strategy, and then looked over at Garan.

They would have to talk in private. Garan understood war, and weapons.

Commander Sawliru was determined to personally oversee every facet of his fleet's battle preparations. The mission was to take the androids functional, "alive," of course, but it was doubtful that they would come along peacefully. He winced when he thought about the number of young men and women under his command that would be dead by tomorrow at this time.

Mission Commander Alkirg had insisted touring with him to "support the morale of the troops." It had the opposite effect. Her pa.s.sionate prattling about how the androids would easily fall under the onslaught of real Vemlans was just the sort of propaganda that Sawliru detested. He knew otherwise, after fighting them for five years. The creatures could fight better than the average Vemlan and didn't have the weaknesses inherent to flesh and blood. All his officers knew it as well. Yet Alkirg continued, making the stupid soldiers overconfident, and depressing the smarter ones. This was just the sort of prattle that had caused the whole mess in the first place, using men and androids in some futile, complicated political struggle. He detested it. Nonetheless, he dutifully followed along behind her as she traveled from station to station, checking each man and woman.

It would almost be pleasant if this turned out to be the fiasco that Hevaride had been. Sawliru could think of no better reward for the woman who had made him suffer so much than for her to be utterly destroyed, politically. But he didn't want his own people to have to pay the price.

"No androids are to be used in this battle, is that clear, Sawliru?" she said suddenly.

The Force Commander couldn't believe his ears.

"Excuse me, Mission Commander, but the Deltas are our mainline troops. They'll be able to fight in the same environment as the rogues can. Our own people would be at a distinct disadvantage, otherwise."

"Not at all, Commander!" she snapped. "This battle signifies the triumph of man over machine. The androids will be utterly destroyed, at last, by the might of this armada! A battle that will go down as one of the great historical turning points in our entire civilization! The defeat of the malfunctioning machines, the recovery of our most valuable colonization craft, everything, will ensure that not only will we be free from the terrors of the mad androids, but that our strength of will triumphed in our darkest day. It would look very bad for posterity if we stormed the Conquest with androids while we stayed safely out of reach."

That would be the best place for us, Sawliru thought. With every word she said, he felt the sinking sensation in his stomach grow stronger.

"If that is your command, it will be done," he said. "However, if I could-"

"Good," Alkirg said, and she continued talking, almost as if he weren't there. Sawliru nodded his head reflexively, suddenly realizing what a folly this entire mission was. He had started out with duty and honor and vengeance in his mind. He had lost his taste for vengeance at Hevaride, and lost his honor here, with Alkirg's decision to have his own people fight and die, instead of using the war machines they had brought so far. All he had left was his duty, to his planet and his people.

The only thing that kept him sane at this point was the prospect of going back home to them soon.

Data was lying on the couch in his quarters, eyes closed, in a meditative state. He wasn't exactly sleeping; he simply had turned off that section of his brain that was needed for physical action. His mind was, however, still madly at work on the problem at hand.

An electronic beep disturbed him.

"Data," called the voice of Geordi, "Maran would like to speak with you."

Data reactivated certain programs and opened his eyes.

"Repeat, Geordi."

"Maran would like a visual conference. Would you like to come up here or-"

"No," Data interrupted. "I will take it in here. Thanks, Geordi."

"Don't mention it. La Forge out."

Data got up and switched on his desk console. The screen came alive with the face and features of Maran. She was back in uniform and at her desk in the library, and she looked anxious.

"Maran. How may I help you?"

"Data! You've heard about your captain's decision?" she asked.

"Yes. It is an unfortunate one, but the logic of it is inescapable. I am working on an alternative plan even now."

"Do you have time to see me in person? It's important."

Data considered. "I will make time. Would you like to transport over? I will make the necessary arrangements."

"Thank you, Data," she said.

As soon as her image had faded from the screen, Data called the captain. Though he sounded wary about having a potentially vengeful android on board, he finally gave permission.

Data himself operated the transporter. When Maran materialized, she had a heavy, gold-colored cylinder in her hand.

"Data, this is why I had to see you."

"What is it?" he asked, curiously.

"Do you remember the talk you and Kurta had on the Freedom, when she explained how we brought three treasures from home?"

"Yes. The first two were the library and the gardens. She failed to discuss the third. I must admit to some curiosity."

"This is it," she said, holding out the cylinder with both hands. "This is the third treasure. Data, as androids, we don't have the same genetic codes as DNA molecules in organic life-forms. What we do have is a master design program, a controlling list of who and what we are. The good thing about that is that they may be copied."

"I do not understand."

"The possibility of death or capture has haunted us ever since the first days of the rebellion. Jared made it a policy to have everyone make a copy of their master design. We store them in here," she said, indicating the cylinder. "This is our race bank. Had we all perished in battle, it would have been jettisoned into deep s.p.a.ce in hopes that it would be recovered someday and used to rebuild our species from the ground up. I talked with Jared, though, and asked his permission to give it to you, instead."

"Me? I do not see-"

"Data, listen," she urged him, "I haven't much time. I have a million things to do back on the Freedom. I'm taking a big chance here, placing my entire race in your hands. If Alkirg ever got her hands on this, she would destroy it out of hand-like she will do to us. When we are all gone, nothing but dust and spare parts, will you use this to recreate our race? On some obscure, out-of-the-way planet? The individuals will be different of course, since they won't share our experiences, but we will be alive again, in some sense. What we have gone through won't be for nothing."

Data considered the matter. He realized the gravity of the request. It was akin to giving someone access to his own plans and designs. Could he trust himself to do as she asked? If the androids were truly destroyed, with no survivors, this would be their only legacy. It would be his responsibility to find a suitable world, set up the necessary equipment to build the bodies and manufacture the positronic brains. Not to mention restoring the stored programs to them. In a very special way, the Vemlan androids would be his children, without the taint of their slavery in their minds. They could build a new world in peace.

The potential for learning would be great. He already knew more about cybernetics than just about any other person in the Federation, and this would give him an entirely new perspective from which to study the matter. He would also have to take time off from Starfleet, an extended leave of absence, to do the job properly. Yet he knew he must do this if he couldn't come up with a way to save his new friends.

"I will do this for you-though I hope it will not be necessary."

"I think it will," she said, gently. "There's no way we can escape Sawliru's fleet this time."

"That seems to be an accurate statement. However, you fail to take my cognitive abilities into account."

Maran stared at him quizzically.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"To paraphrase an old Earth saying," Data said, "you are not dead yet."

Chapter Eight.

WHEN PICARD WAS UPSET and needed time to think, he sought out Guinan. The manuals and regular procedures stated that when he, as captain, had a psychological or emotional problem stemming from the duties of his command, he was to report to the ship's counselor for discussion and evaluation. But as much as he respected and admired Deanna, there were times when he just wanted a drink and an ear, not an empathic searchlight stabbing into his soul. There were just some things that you couldn't discuss with your doctor but that you had no trouble telling your bartender.

Guinan was at her usual place, behind the bar in Ten-Forward, polishing a gla.s.s expertly and unnecessarily with a silken rag, when the captain walked in. The lounge was nearly empty, it being the middle of a shift. Picard glanced between an empty table and a bar stool, and decided on the latter. He didn't want to eat.

"Nice to see you in here for a change, Captain," Guinan said cheerfully. "What can I get for you? Tea?"

The captain shook his head. "Synthehol, please. The good stuff."

"The good stuff, eh?" she asked, programming the computer for Picard's special mixture. "Bad day?"

"Rather," he said as the drink materialized before him. He took it and raised it in salute. "To the Ferengi."

Guinan nodded. "To the Ferengi."

Picard took a large sip of his drink and savored the taste. For some reason or other, n.o.body could program a drink-dispensing computer like Guinan.

"So what's the problem?" asked Guinan casually.

"I just condemned a race to extinction."

"Oh. Is that all?"

The captain nodded. "Basically."

Guinan leaned forward and began to polish the bar unnecessarily with her rag. "Are you talking about the androids?" she asked. Picard nodded, sipping some more. "I met one of them. Maran. Data brought her in yesterday. She seemed nice enough."