The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [93]
Wes returned the gesture woodenly. She looks older. The thought popped unbidden into the front of his mind, and he found he didn’t know what to say to his mother. How much time had passed since that day in San Francisco, when he told her he was leaving? Four years, five? Their last words had been hurtful to one another, and then as he traveled, it had become so easy simply to let her slip from his mind. Wes felt the sting of guilt; she’d aged and he couldn’t help but think it was his fault.
Anthwara cleared his throat, and with nods of his head the old man introduced the representatives of the colony. Jellico gave all of them an arch look in turn but ignored Wes when his name was mentioned. “I speak for this settlement,” concluded Anthwara, talking with his usual air of calm deliberation. “I will hear your petition.”
“Petition?” repeated Jellico. “Has there been some kind of mis-communication here? A subspace message was transmitted to you over nine solar weeks ago, from the Office of Colonial Affairs on Starbase 310. You did receive it?”
“We did,” snapped Otakay, bristling, “and we chose not to concede to the authority of your ‘office of affairs.’ “
Jellico smiled thinly. “Is that right? You’re happy to be a part of the Federation for two hundred years, but the moment it’s not going your way you decide to strike out on your own?”
“This colony has been on its own since the tribe first left their birth world behind,” ventured Lakanta. “It has always maintained its independence and self-sufficiency.”
The captain’s cold smile became a sneer. “And you can thank Starfleet for that. While you lived your lives on this backwater, it was Starfleet vessels, Federation vessels, that kept the Dorvan sector free from invasion and piracy—” He stopped himself. “Mister Anthwara, I’m not here to debate politics with you. The Enterprise is here to do a job, and I intend to see that task through to its conclusion. Teku?” Jellico gave a sideways look to the Cygnian woman—a lieutenant, Wes noticed—and in turn she offered Sinta a datapadd with a milk-pale hand.
“This is a complete transcript of the Federation-Cardassian Treaty and all communications and stipulations attending to it,” said the woman, “along with a copy of the formal orders of relocation signed by the president of the United Federation of Planets.”
Sinta took it and passed it to Wesley without even looking at the device. He glanced at the page of orders. It was all there, in dense boilerplate legalese.
“Enterprise’s cargo spaces and holodecks have been converted to serve as temporary accommodation for your people,” Jellico continued. “You’ll find details of individual allowances for personal items for each transportee. Any special medical requirements should be made clear to Doctor Crusher, here.”
Lieutenant Teku gestured toward the kittik fields. “Sir, I’d suggest that area would be best as a staging point for transport groups. We can beam up ten, perhaps sixteen people at a time and the sensors will give a clear lock—”
“We’re not going.” The words slipped out of Wesley’s mouth. He looked up from the padd and met Jellico’s hard gaze. “No one wants to leave here.”
Jellico’s jaw hardened. “You talk like you have a choice, son. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you do.”
“I’m not your damn son,” Wes retorted, and he saw his mother stiffen at the words, “and I’ll tell you again, one more time so there’s no misunderstanding between us. None of us will leave Dorvan V.”
The captain looked at Anthwara. “I thought you did the speaking for your people.”
“Wesley is one of my people,” replied the old man. “His words are my words.”
“Wes,” said Beverly, and he tensed. Just hearing her say his name pulled his emotions tight. “You…The colonists can’t stay. This planet belongs to the Cardassians now. They already have a ship on its way to establish an outpost. If they arrive and find humans still here, they’ll consider you trespassers.”
Otakay gave a sour chuckle. “Trespassers?