Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [5]
“Commissioner,” Picard interrupted, trying to pacify both men, “what Mr. Worf means is that Klingons are hardwired to react emotionally and violently. Because of that, they could never have survived as a culture unless they developed certain restraints.”
“Restraints? Like what?”
“Like shame,” Worf boiled over. “Klingons do not slaughter innocent people who have no weapons with which to fight back.”
“It’s a matter of honor,” Picard added. “They even celebrate it. The Day of Honor is coming up next week, isn’t it, Mr. Worf?”
Worf glared at Toledano. “Thursday. It could not have been Klingons.”
“Okay,” Toledano attempted, “but it was.”
“Wait a minute,” Riker interrupted. “I don’t understand something. The criminal organization on this planet is no secret. Are you telling me that the ringleader is a secret?”
“No,” Toledano said. “We know who it is. But we can’t find any witnesses. You saw what happened to those who dared try to speak out. According to the laws of Sindikash, two witnesses are required to speak against a capital crime. Two, not just one. Two.”
“This situation has been going on for nearly fifty years,” Riker continued, “on a planet that was colonized well over a hundred years ago. What’s the rush?”
Toledano bobbed his brows as if to indicate the validity of the question. “The rush is that they’re about to hold a referendum—a special election. We’ve only got ten days. The election will do two things—one, it will select the new governor. The current governor is lying in a sickbed, in a coma, with an assassin’s wound to his brain.”
“Assassin? What kind of wound?”
“A projectile weapon.”
“You mean like a bullet?”
“Something like that. When the colony was set up, they outlawed energy weapons for everyone except law enforcement officials. But there’s a loophole—a lot of people started carrying propellant weapons and old style pistols, mostly for protecting their herds from predators. They found out they liked having those weapons, and a lot of people there even collect antique weapons. One of those struck the governor in the side of his head. Local doctors took the projectile out, but he’s in a coma. Federation physicians were refused. We’re not sure who refused them, but we have a pretty good idea.”
“I can understand that,” Riker commented. “A planet tends to trust its own, after all.”
“We are ‘its own,’ Commander,” Toledano told him. “These people are humans, settlers from Earth. They’re directly descended from Earth people, and some of them are right from Earth. It’s not like we were offering human physicians to work on Cardassians.”
Worf shifted his legs impatiently. “What is the second thing the election will do, other than decide who the governor is?”
The commissioner met his eyes. “The second referendum is to decide whether the planet should secede from the Federation. Both candidates are promising to support withdrawal if that’s what the people want. Sindikash will be just outside Federation jurisdiction, but inside the sphere of Starfleet patrol space. That’ll throw all our jurisdictional laws into a gray area. What can we stop and what can’t we?”
Riker nodded. “It’s only happened five times in the whole of Federation history, and four of those were disasters. Surely the Sindikashians know that. Or Sindians. Or Kashites—what do they call themselves?”
“Seniards, Commander,” Toledano corrected. “They call themselves Seniards.”
“Why?” Worf asked.
The commissioner shrugged weakly. “I don’t know— why are people from France called French’ instead of ‘Francians’?”
Riker shifted his long legs selfconsciously. “Beats me,” he mumbled, and glanced at Picard as if they had an inside joke.
Toledano looked ten years older than he had ten hours ago. His Federation agency suit was gone now, the crisp, gray, blood-stained suit now replaced by a more casual shirt and pants that didn’t match. His face was creased with the memory of what he had seen