Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [74]
“Early on, my father taught me that a Romulan’s allegiance to the Empire was greater than his allegiance to any other Romulan—even to a member of his own family. Together we studied all the Empire’s victories, and followed new conquests as they were made.
“As I got older, I dreamed of serving in the Romulan military, like my father—contributing to victory after victory and adding to the greater glory of the Empire. But in time I came to see that there was something wrong with the Empire’s mission, at least on the planet where I lived.
“Tavorus’s inhabitants had been conquered in one of my father’s campaigns. Now, everyone who lived there served the Empire, either by working on one of the farms or in the mines—both of which, my father explained, were needed to feed our growing civilization.
“An entire race of people had been made slaves, forced to watch the fruits of their labors sent off-planet. For years, I had believed the government histories that said the Empire brought glory and prosperity to the worlds it touched. But if this wasn’t true on Tavorus, I began to wonder if it was true anywhere.
“At about this time, the Tavorans rebelled. My father was called into service immediately. Though the rebels were defeated quickly, my father was killed in the fighting.
“My mother and I went back to Romulus to live with her family. We barely survived on my father’s small military pension. Unfortunately my father’s loyal service to the Empire was forgotten by the Romulan government.
“On Romulus I learned about the unification movement, which I joined out of curiosity more than anything else. Among these people I heard the stories of Surak, I discovered a way to live where everyone was free, and didn’t have to serve an Empire that cast aside its most loyal servants.
“I learned about a rational way of thinking and living, where people made decisions based on the principles of logic. Where it was as important to be fair as it was to be strong. And I learned about Vulcan and the Federation, where people who were different because of how they looked or thought were citizens like anyone else.”
D’tan hesitated for a moment and then concluded. “On Vulcan, I would not be sentenced to death for trying to learn something new.”
Spock heard a hush fall over the crowd. It considered the youth for a long moment. And then the spectators began to speak among themselves, the sounds they made strangely disaffected.
No doubt sensing what was happening, Tharrus immediately called for quiet. He signaled for the guards to take D’tan back to his brethren, and to bring the next prisoner forward to begin his statement.
After a few moments, the crowd became quiet again. But the Vulcan wondered if it was in deference to the governor or out of respect for the next speaker.
Each student, in turn, told his or her own story. Some, like D’tan, had seen the cruelty of the Empire to its conquered worlds firsthand. Others had grown up on the homeworlds and described a life of restrictions—which prevented them from exploring unorthodox ideas, reading certain books, or holding opinions that were not sanctioned by the state.
Not all of the speakers seemed to affect the crowd as much as D’tan had, but none were interrupted. And when they finished, each one was accorded a respectful silence.
In the end, even Spock was moved by their testaments, and found a part of himself railing against the waste their deaths would represent. And only then did he understand why Belan and the others had attempted their escape, even though it was destined to fail.
What was happening to the students of Surak was wrong. It was both that simple and that complex. The part of his mind and his Katra that predated Surak and the reformation—a part he had all but denied—now screamed out at the injustice.
Though a lifetime of training prevented any of these emotions from revealing themselves, the Vulcan felt them as strongly as he had felt anything in his life.
Then it was his turn to speak. Coming forward,