Survivors - Jean Lorrah [63]
“Aurora,” he addressed the woman, “may I present Lieutenant Tasha Yar. Tasha, my tactical advisor, Aurora.”
Aurora was a stunning woman who appeared to be only slightly older than Yar but made the Security officer feel awkward and childish in comparison with the other woman’s easy confidence. On second glance, she was not beautiful, hardly even pretty, but she had the regal attitude of born nobility.
Her hair was dark brown, with red highlights brought out by the same exposure to sun that had sprinkled freckles across her fair complexion. Her eyes were a warm brown, almost Vulcan in their depth. Otherwise, taken piece by piece she was quite ordinary: cheeks a little too round, jaw a little too square, figure not at all fat but neither slender enough to be called willowy nor buxom enough to be called voluptuous. Yet exquisitely dressed in a cherry-red jacket over a white satin blouse and black full trousers, she made Yar feel … she could imagine Data finding the word “tacky” in his memory banks … even in her dress uniform. Especially in her dress uniform, which was totally inappropriate at breakfast.
Aurora gave Yar an appraising look, saying, “I’m pleased to meet you, Tasha. Dare tells me you are highly skilled at combat. I hope you will be persuaded to help us.”
That was the last comment Yar was expecting. She frowned, looked at Dare, then Rikan. “Help you?”
Rikan said, “I know what Nalavia has told you. We have seen those terrible pictures, too, of innocent people attacked, little children murdered. All this she blames on me and those who fight against her tyranny.”
“Data and I already know those raids were faked,” said Yar. “Or at least staged or edited, just as she edited and slanted the information about Data and me, and Starfleet itself. I trust Dare has told you it’s not a war fleet?”
She glanced back at her former love, who lounged in his chair with the sneer that met any mention of Starfleet. This morning he was dressed in an outfit similar to the one last night, but today’s shirt was a silky black material with a pattern of silver running through it. On the breast pocket of a more square-cut jacket was a symbol etched in silver. It was a stylized helmet, Yar realized, such as had been worn by medieval knights on Earth. The Silver Paladin.
Rikan answered Yar’s question, “He has told me Starfleet will not do as I feared: take up Nalavia’s invitation to come here and destroy our resistance, and then turn on her as well so as to take control of our planet for the Federation.”
“Oh, no-surely you must know that is against both the rules of Starfleet and the laws of the Federation!”
The old man nodded. “So I thought, from the research we did many years ago. I was a member of the Council when Treva sought to join the Federation. But since Nalavia came to power she has contradicted what we learned. Her evidence suggests that the Federation gobbles up planets by making them protectorates, lulling them into a sense of security, then annexing them and taxing their products and natural resources. Then, when they can no longer produce enough to satisfy the Federation’s greed, stripped and gutted of their resources, they are left to die, their people to starve.”
Tasha was horrified. “Dare-“
“I’ve told him that’s not true,” he replied. “The Federation certainly have their faults, but if anything they lie in the opposite direction: there is so much of everything to go around that people grow weak with indulgence. No one has to struggle to survive anymore-and without struggle there is no strength.”
“Dare,” said Tasha, “your own strength gives the lie to that statement.”
Rikan said, “This corresponds more closely with what I saw when I visited the Federation years ago-but as I saw only four planets, I could have been fooled, you see.”
Sdan spoke up for the first time, “She’s tellin’ the truth. The Federation’s not evil; it just has its problems with people that don’t fit into convenient niches.”
“What do you mean?” Yar asked. “There are so many different worlds,