Star Trek: 7.
Movements of the Unseen Hand
by Charles Hackney
Captain Stone stood in his ready room, looking out the window at the floating Orion ship. "I'd like to thank you again, Ambassador," he said without turning from the porthole. "Smythe is a key player in the Orion slave rings, and Federation Security has wanted to get him for years. With some persuasion, I'm sure he'll reveal names, places. With this stroke, we may have just dealt a crippling blow to the slave trade in Orion space." He turned to face Ambassador Ekkabo of Talar. "We couldn't have done it without you."
The Ambassador stood before Stone's desk, dressed in somewhat more formal attire than he had in his meeting with Toth. "The Talarian people have suffered due to Orion raids. Anything that weakens them helps us. My own nephew was taken as a slave some years ago in a raid. It has always been a desire of mine to find him someday; or barring that, at least to gain some satisfaction in revenge. I may never see my nephew again, but at least I have some comfort in knowing that fewer Talarian families will have to go through what mine has gone through. I was glad to be of service." The ambassador placed his hands behind his back as he spoke. "It is unfortunate, however, that the Talarian people must rely on outside assistance to deal with such creatures."
Stone had expected this turn of conversation. It was the unspoken reason for this meeting. "Yes," he said, "spacefaring races should have the capacity to defend themselves."
"Exactly," replied the ambassador. "While our propulsion systems are the equal of any developed species, our lack of defensive capabilities have made us the perpetual victims of other races' unchecked aggression. Truly a shame, especially since we desire nothing more than to defend our own lives."
"I might question that last statement, Ambassador, by recalling the unpleasantness between our two peoples some years ago."
"Mere border skirmishes over unfortunate miscommunications, Captain." Ekkabo was growing uncomfortable at the mention of the hostilities of not so long ago, in which many Federation and Talarian people lost their lives, but in order to gain what he needed, he understood that this issue had to be dealt with. "The Talarian politicians in charge of that tragedy were severely dealt with, and more reasonable elements have since firmly established themselves in the politics of Talar."
This was good enough for Stone. "Are you familiar, Ambassador, with the Human phrase 'off the record'?"
"Why, yes, Captain, I have heard of that term before."
"Well, then, Lt. Commander Banner, our Chief of Engineering, has discovered a serious malfunction in the ramscoop collector of your transport. It will take quite some time to repair it. So long, in fact, that we may be all the way to Deep Space Nine by the time it is repaired. I'm sure you will have no difficulty getting home from there, but before you do, may I recommend an excellent bar on the station. The Ferengi who owns it, Quark by name, has a cousin who I think will be able to help you and your people right along in their natural technological development."
"You have the gratitude of the Talarian people, Captain."
"No, I don't, Ekkabo." Stone's face turned deadly serious. "You didn't hear it here. Not from me." Only slightly miffed at Stone's reply, the ambassador turned and proceeded to the door.
"One last thing, Ambassador," said Stone softly, "should the Talarian people somehow find themselves possessed of the ability to manufacture subspace weapons, biogenic warheads, or similar implements of illicit destruction, rather than nice, friendly weapons like disruptors or photon torpedoes, I will assume that you broke your word to me. You've seen this ship, you've seen our capabilities. I would make it my mission in life to see you dead and your planet's space fleet reduced to slag."
Ekkabo stiffened. "Sir, I am a man of honor, as are my people. We do not break our word." He left.
Stone returned to his window and recalled the past as he looked at the stars. This ready room was so much like Picard's in design, he could not help but remember a time, not so long ago, when he had appeared before Picard as his new first officer, temporarily replacing Will Riker who was on a special assignment. Then, as now, his body was crisscrossed beneath his uniform with a veritable roadmap of scars, the result of self-inflicted wounds following a horribly traumatizing incident. The incident had driven him right up to the edge, and them some; and it had shown in his performance. Hypervigilant. Detached. Driven to control each and every situation in which he found himself, regardless of the consequences. Although he had progressed far enough for Starfleet to declare him fit for duty, they were still traits he had to struggle sometimes to control. His ready room, like his quarters, was ruthlessly spartan. His personal affects fit in a single 12-by-12-by-18 inch box. A single extraneous item sat on his desk: a hand-carved chess piece, the black king. Stone sat down at his desk and regarded the piece. A moment of inexpressible sadness and regret crossed his face, and he whispered to himself, "Deanna."
The chime at his door sounded. His face instantly resumed its appearance of chiseled granite emotionlessness, and he responded: "Come in." The door slid open to reveal Stone's first officer, Commander Saavik. Vulcan in origin (though half Romulan if pressed for details. It was not something of which she was proud.), and blessed with a Vulcan's long lifespan, Saavik had only recently returned to Starfleet after a long hiatus on Vulcan, where it was said she had undertaken the study of Kolinahr, the Vulcan discipline intended to purge all emotions from the practitioner. She had failed miserably. Though it often caused her much embarrassment, she sometimes behaved in a most un-Vulcanlike manner, displaying rare bursts of intense emotionality. For several years after leaving Vulcan (perhaps forever), she had worked as a deep cover operative for Starfleet Intelligence, performing (it was rumored) several "black bag" operations in highly unsavory parts of the galaxy. A result of this was that she knew everything. Almost literally. She had never been caught snooping at doors or engaging in any kind of electronic spying on her shipmates, but somehow no matter what happened, she knew about it. When dealing with the Commander, it was good policy to assume that she already knew what you were going to say.
This was one of those times. Without preamble, Stone said "I assume you disapprove."
"On the contrary, Captain, I was merely delivering this status report. And to congratulate you on you adroit handling of this shakedown mission."
Stone began tapping buttons on his computer. "Give me just a moment here, Saavik."
"For what purpose?"
"I'm looking up what 'adroit' means."
Saavik sighed.
