The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [83]
In the end, he chose according to the dictates of his own conscience, however flawed.
This is best for all my people.
Vedoc jerked on the conduit, pulling it out just far enough to loosen the connection without actually severing the current. Repeated power surges to the activated forward shield would eventually blow the two sections apart.
Springing to his feet, Vedoc reshelved the wrench. Then, with three long strides he covered the distance to the photon torpedo console. That was where Etrajan found him a few moments later.
“Don’t touch anything,” said the crewman with a dour scowl.
“I am yours to command,” replied Vedoc with a sweeping bow that hid the sweat beading on his face.
As he took his place by Etrajan’s side, Vedoc allowed himself to briefly reflect over what he had just done.
The Ko N’ya would remain with the Enterprise.
From what he had read of the blood-drenched lore of the stone, the Federation would have little cause to thank him for that bequest.
Keyda Chandat searched the night sky for a glimpse of the starship that circled high above his planet. Starfleet might consider the Miranda-class USS Sullivan to be little more than a scoutship, but the warp-powered saucer was far more impressive than any spacecraft known to the inhabitants of Dynasia.
“There, Warden,” said the Federation ambassador, pointing a finger to direct him.
“Yes, I see it.” But that was a lie; all Chandat could see were stars. He pulled his gaze back to the ground before one of his aides returned and caught him with his face upturned like a foolish child dreaming of the lost grandeurs of Iconia.
As they continued their stroll through the garden, he stared fixedly at the plants bordering the path they followed. Perhaps the beauty of the flowering aurelia would ward off the temptation of another glance upward. “Like all my people, I was expected to master some aspect of the ancient texts. My specialty was Flight Engineering, and I yearned to someday touch the wonders my Iconian ancestors had designed. When I finally faced the impossibility of that desire, the schematics of their starships flattened into mere lines on a page … and I decided to become a bureaucrat instead of a scientist.” His fingers brushed against the metallic disk dangling from a thick-linked gold chain around his neck. “Of course, I never expected the yoke of this office would become so heavy as it has this year.”
“If the Dynasian Faculty chooses to pursue admission, your children will walk the decks of our starships. They m ay even command them.”
Ambassador Tommas was quite adept at promoting the Federation agenda.
“A more likely scenario is that my children will die in civil war first,” said Chandat. His legs were cramped after hours of sitting in council, and though he was tired, it felt good to finally move freely. “Regardless of what decision the Faculty government reaches, there will be an opposing faction enraged by the outcome. If conservative forces prevail, we must resort to mass executions to repress the native insurgents; if the admission factions win, our central authority will disintegrate and anarchy will reign in its place. You have unleashed a storm that will tear my world to pieces, yet you will not commit military forces—” “Warden, our Prime Directive—” “Yes, I know all about your Prime Directive of noninterference,” he said bitterly. “Having shattered our political unity, you will step back and watch us writhe in our death throes.”
“That is unfair.” A dark color flooded over the ambassador’s pale cheeks; Chandat wondered what Human emotion that signified.
“Dean Shagret’s request for admission to the Federation constituted a formal invitation to open negotiations.”
“He did not have the authority