The Future
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| Arcadia # 4807 | |
| — The Humanist War — | |
| | |
| year | 344 CE (2407) |
| posted | October 12 2007 |
| author(s) | Sasoriza |
| previous | Admiral's Absence |
| next | Blackest Night |
notes
Continues in "The Future Is Ours"Everything you've ever believed is a lie.Believe that one simple truth, and you'll have started on the road to wisdom. Everything you thought you knew about the world at large... is wrong.There was a grand dream once... a dream of unity, of equality and cooperation among many races. A vision of peace, made real in the form of an interstellar alliance called the United Federation of Planets. The founding fathers of the Federation had that dream. A dream of bridging the gap between different races and cultures... bringing and banding them together under the umbrella of 'stellarization' – a code-word for 'one world, one galaxy... one order' – all under the flag of the Federation. A grand vision, which expanded, and prospered, stretching across the galaxy. Its destiny seemed assured.A dream. That's all it was. The truth is a nightmare. Now, over two centuries later, we're closer to seeing that nightmarish dream become a reality.A grand dream. A world of tolerance. Of diversity. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, they called it... 'they' being Vulcans. When they stood beside us, and the Andorians and the Tellarites and a dozen other races, on that fateful day in the 98th year of the Cochrane Era (what on Earth's old Gregorian calendar was 2161)... and proclaimed 'brotherhood', the same day all our planets signed the Articles of Federation... It was a lie. A cover for the real truth.The Federation formed for military reasons – to create a united military front against the Romulan threat. The Earth-Romulan War happened just a short time before that. That much was true.But no one knew the real reasons why. Why Earth went to war with the Romulans. How the Vulcans played us... got us to fight their wars for them. No one except the Vulcans, of course... and the Romulans. Turns out they were in it together, from the beginning. They weren't interested in peace and cooperation. I mean, think about it. We came together for war. Not peace. And who was their common enemy?In those days, it was the Klingons. Later, it was the Cardassians. Then, just recently... the Lavir.The Lavir. Hah. What a hoax that turned out to be. More evidence of Vulcan deceit.Would you believe me if I told you the Romulans didn't leave Vulcan because of Surak? That they weren't kicked out and sentenced to exile? Nope. In fact, it was pre-arranged. Oh yeah. You won't find that little fact in your history files. Of course you wouldn't, since the Vulcan masterminds of all this (Romulans are Vulcans, remember) rewrote the history books. Stuck it in there that they were this benevolent, enlightened people, who weren't out to do anyone harm, they were just looking out for their own... defending themselves when necessary, while they went around the stellar neighborhood for centuries, exploring and learning and discovering, all for its own sake. Yeah, right. If only their goal had been so noble. But what really drives expansion? What has driven conquerors ever since time began?The unknown fact is, when the Romulans left Vulcan, all those millennia ago, it wasn't because of a war or clash over ideologies. The Vulcans set up Romulus as a colony... a colony of the Vulcan empire. Easy, for people with centuries-long lifespans. With genetic engineering, the "Romulans" emerged over the centuries, developing a distinctive set of facial features, like that V-shaped forehead ridge. But originally, they were smooth-headed, like the current aliens call themselves Vulcan.Now, the enemy is us. They've turned us against ourselves. They're destroying the Federation from the inside. And what makes it worse... they've gotten us to help them do it. Us. Humans. Humans who've turned against their own kind.The Humanists... They were right. Aliens were the real threat all along. They've overrun the Earth... turned humans into a minority on our own planet. They're killing us. Victimizing us, raping us, murdering and oppressing us. And if anyone stands up to them... if we just so much as lift a finger in our own defense... we're called racists, and bigots, and hate-mongers. They have the nerve to call US traitors, when they're the ones guilty of treason. It's a war... a war by the government, against its own people. But don't tell them that. Don't say it. Don't breathe a word that they might be wrong, that they've betrayed us, and they're pillaging us, and allowing us to be downtrodden. Because then you might be called a racist, or a human supremacist, or worse yet, a kook. You'll get the media spotlight, where they'll ridicule you and humiliate you and crucify your reputation... then perform an L-21 procedure on you. They'll reprogram you, to make you more socially acceptable. Got to bring you in line with the establishment, after all. Just so they can rob you of your heritage afterwards, and breed you with an alien species. That's right: Your children won't be your own. They'll be the state's. And they won't be human.At current projection rates, humanity will die out in less than two centuries. Two centuries for the setup, from the founding of the Federation until now... another two for our fall.But some of us aren't taking it lying down. We've seen through the lies and the propaganda. Diversity is a sham. It doesn't work. It was just to get everyone in place, so they could enact their real plan: To reduce us to third-class citizens in our own world... to turn us against each other and wipe ourselves out, leaving them on top.It doesn't end there. It goes further than that. Much further.
— An Insider's Report: The Secret History of the Federation. Underground Press. Author anonymous.
[Earth]
The woman looked human, but she was Bajoran. That came as no surprise to Inspector Dell Torrent. Bajorans had been integrating into Federation society since the Federation began. Many underwent nose surgeries, removing their ridges in order to 'better integrate' (whatever that meant). Most who did also changed their names, completely or in part, adopting human, Earth-sounding names.
Torrent was never really sure why, or what problem they had with being Bajoran. He'd heard some were so shamed by their treatment at the hands of other races, like Cardassians, that they wanted to forsake their heritage completely, but he didn't buy it. The Cardassians, for instance: They took over Bajor, what... only sixty, seventy years ago? And withdrew since. Bajorans had been coming into the Federation, changing their names and their noses, long before that. And no one treated them like the Cardassians did, so far as he knew.
Whatever the reason, this gal was one of them Bajoran 'non-conformist' types. She had an odd occupation, by most standards: She sold flowers. Grew them, too, according to her ID file. Genemods, enhanced for beauty. Now she was laying in her own product, eyes staring lifelessly at the sky from a bed of wildly vibrant reds and yellows and sapphires and other hodgepodge assortments of color he didn't know could exist, in the Pinnacle Plaza of Denver Tract. To anyone who didn't know she was Bajoran, she'd have been mistaken for human. Torrent took a few moments looking her over. He was old-fashioned like that. Oh sure, artificials helped them with their work: Computers, machines, holographics. Comps, mox and grafix could do a lot of things – but there was one thing they could never, ever do: They could not see things as a human. Or they'd have to be human.
Torrent crouched next to her without touching her. The analysis had been made, identifying the weapon and method of expiration: Genetic metavirus, designed to mutate after doing its work. Someone attacked and killed her by targeting her DNA. Bajoran DNA.
Assistant Inspector Frank Soundright joined Torrent, overlooking the body.
"Any leads?" Torrent said.
"Not yet." Soundright scratched behind his ear. "Could be a Cardassian."
"That's stereotype."
"Maybe the flowers killed her."
Torrent didn't laugh. That was possible.
Soundright said, "Could be anyone with a grudge against Bajorans. Could be someone who knew she was Bajoran. Or just found out."
Torrent stood up again. "Could be anyone, period. But I'll tell you who I think it is." He had an instinct about these things... and lately, these days, he turned out to be right more often than he was wrong.
"Let me guess," Soundright said. "Humanists?"
Torrent sighed. "Yep."
[The planet Arcadia]
For all the Federation's advanced technology, it had one serious drawback: It could be hacked. It was supposedly foolproof, said designers. In most cases, that was true. Layers upon layers of encryption and computer-connected surveillance and security codes prevented just anyone from subverting it. Made it near impossible. But those with savvy, with skills to interpret codes or subvert the physics involved.... those capable of exploiting the flaw, even if those who knew the technology inside and out... had that ability.
Arcadia once used Federation technology – the state of the art... until the Federation tried to shut it down, using their own technology against them.
Since then, times had changed. Ridding themselves of that weakness, Arcadians gave up many of the amenities that technology offered. It triggered a startling social change. No holographics. No cybernetics. They stopped wasting time on pointless pursuits of fantasy and escape. It suited them well. Real life was more important. Entertainment, they realized, was the opiate of the masses, a diversion meant to lull and distract those masses from the important things. There were too many things wrong with the world to waste time on anything but dealing with them. Arcadia became a practical, spartan society, spurning hedonism or indulgence. They had to fight for their survival, and for the future of the human race. They didn't have time for anything else.
Walking through the section of town affectionately dubbed 'The Village', Anna Holmstadt noticed the sidewalk had cracks in it. It took her a moment to remember: Nanofactured though it was, they didn't use nanotechnology on Arcadia anymore – only in select places, under tight supervision, for fear their enemies might reprogram the nanites and wreak unimaginable havoc. Life was primitive on Arcadia compared to the Federation. A necessary sacrifice. But that was okay. Most Arcadians preferred it. It helped them to focus on those important things.
Too bad not everyone got the message.
After punching in and a quick visit to the locker room, she walked down the row of cells in detention block H, most of them empty. No forcefields contained the inmates. 'Primitive' had some advantages. Bars could not be hacked.
She was not looking forward to this. She wondered how much longer she would have to put up with it. With him.
Pushing open the steel door to a small side-room, isolated from the rest of the facility, Anna walked in. Trading brief words with the on-duty guard, she bid him goodnight and took her customary seat at the desk. He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
"Anna, doll. How are you today?"
On the other side of the small, cramped prison block, Prisoner 10523 – male, fair skin, dark hair slightly gray – stood behind bars, leering at her, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He placed his fingers around it, forefinger on one side, middle finger on the other, took a long, deep drag, removed it from his mouth, inhaled it into his lungs... then blew a stream of foul, noxious smoke into the air beyond the cell. Right at Holmstadt.
Cigarettes. He had gotten hooked on them. His cell stank. He stank. Not just any cigarettes: Cigarettes of rolled, ground mingobya, a Bartokian tobacco. They gave off one of the worst, putrid, foul-smelling, bad-tasting, gag-inducing smells ever to assail a living being's nostrils. Someone in the prison supplied him with imports, an arrangement in exchange for Starfleet information. It wasn't much information, so they didn't give him many cigarettes. But the times he smoked more than made up for the in-between. In turn, he delighted in torturing the guards, filling the small cramped space of his cell block with the odor.
In particular, Anna Holmstadt. Every time she came on duty, she knew it would not be long. He'd get up off his single bunk, fish underneath through his stash, pull one out, come to the bars to greet her, and light up. He would stand there, blowing smoke for as long as he felt the urge – a costly revenge; he had to ration a limited supply – all the while, trying to engage her in conversation. She used noseplug filters, and kept the cell ventilators on full, but it wasn't enough. Somehow, once she got a whiff of those awful things, it stayed with her. She wanted to throttle him. She tried, unsuccessfully, to get them banned. The warden wouldn't listen. The only thing she could do was pretend not to let it bother her, and refuse to give him the satisfaction. So that was what she did.
Except, everyone had a breaking point.
As if that wasn't bad enough... she didn't like the way he looked at her. Anna was attractive... blonde hair, blue eyes, athletic build. Being a guard forced her to stay in shape. Her husband said she appeared sexy in a uniform... called it a job hazard. After filling out duty reports, she opened a book to where she had it marked and started reading.
"When you going to show me pictures of your family?" he asked her.
"Never," Anna replied, not looking at him.
"You have a family, right? Or were you lying when you said that?" She ignored him. "Kids," be said. "I bet your kids are gorgeous... if they look anything like you. Tell me about your kids, Anna." She ignored him. After a long pause, he said, "I have a daughter."
"You've told me," she said, without thinking.
"Maybe someday I'll get to see her again... if I'm real good."
"Maybe she doesn't want to see you." The smell of those cigarettes was enough to scare a Klingon away.
"I know my little girl." He scratched at stubble on his face, a five o'clock shadow. "She wouldn't sit still, if she knew I was locked up in this shit-hole. She'd be here in a heartbeat. Her or my wife."
"They haven't come for you yet."
"Can I get you to send her a message for me?"
"Not with all the latinum in the universe."
He finished his cigarette. Stubbing it out on one of the bars, he flicked the butt at her. It narrowly missed Anna, bouncing off her book into her lap. She restrained a sigh. After a moment, without reaction, she picked it up and dropped it in a waste can, continuing to read. "Do that again," she warned him, "and you'll lose those cigarettes."
He licked his lips, staring at her breasts. "Know how long since I've been with a woman?"
"Not a chance."
"Why don't you like me?" he asked. "Is it because I have blue blood? I'm still human where it counts. Just like you."
Anna looked up, giving him a nasty glare. "You, Simon Ringo, are nothing like me."
He examined his hands. "Two hands. Ten fingers." He checked himself over. "And all the other important parts. Maybe you need a new set of eyes." As she resumed reading, he said, "You're right. I'm a man, you're a woman. Doesn't mean we can't have a little fun. Come on, Anna. Turn off the camera and come in here. I'll take it real slow. You'll enjoy it, I promise. I won't tell if you won't."
"I'm human," she said. "You're not."
"What difference does that make?" Ringo asked, grinning. "Ever had sex with a Bartokian?"
"You're a waste of air, Ringo. And a criminal."
"Why am I here? Huh? What crime did I commit?"
Idly, Anna looked at him. "Besides spying on us? Pretending to be one of us while you were working for the Feds?"
"There's still a thing called human rights. Would I be in this cell if I wasn't Bartokian?"
"If you were still human?"
"Something like that."
"Something like that." Anna grunted. "'Something like that' is right. Something. I'm somebody; you're something. Do you know what you are? A traitor. Do you understand? Treason. You're guilty of it, against your own kind. You lost your human rights when you stopped being human, married a non-human and fathered a hybrid. Those of us proud to call ourselves human, not ashamed of what we are... People like you make us sick. You go around making everyone think it's okay to mix with other races. You make our brothers and sisters cheapen and destroy themselves, robbing them of their heritage. People like you are the reason so many think aliens are better than us... letting them walk all over us, push us around and tell us what to do... even kill, rape and maim us, like we deserve it."
"So you're racist."
"I'm racist? Why did you make yourself inhuman? I'm a realist. I'm a Humanist, and proud of it. I'm proud to say I'm human. Can you say that? Are you proud of what you are?"
"My ancestors created the Federation," Ringo retorted... an evasive answer. It even sounded weak, coming from him. "What did yours do?"
"Gave us the tools to see through your lies. And the courage to set things right. The Federation is nothing but lies and propaganda... part of the anti-human agenda. We all know what will happen if we don't stand up and take action. There won't be any of us left in a few centuries."
"So imprisoning me makes it right?" Ringo said. "What next? A firing squad?"
Anna resumed reading.
"You know, I have friends," Ringo said. His tone changed... full of warning. "Someone is coming for me. Just wait. You might want to let me out before they get here. I'm just saying. Or you'll be sorry."
"I'm already sorry. Now shut up before I shut you up."
[Elsewhere]
The UFS Future slipped out of warp.
Universe -class ships were massive... virtually mobile cities, approximately 4.83 kilometers in length, each with a crew of thousands. True to their designation, they were designed for long-range extragalactic exploration to the farthest reaches of the known universe, traveling to galaxies beyond Galaxy Alpha via artificial wormholes.
At least, that was what it said on paper.
What the general public knew about their government and military couldn't fill a small cup. Such powerful platforms had so many other uses, that it would have been a waste to send them all out of the galaxy.
Normally the cruiser appeared black-hulled, indistinguishable from the void except for the lights of its hull and interior. Today, not even those showed. Today, it was invisible.
"On course as scheduled," Commander Gold reported, as Captain Berkowitz stepped out of the turbolift.
The lift-tube was a transparent cylinder near the center of the bridge, connecting the floor and ceiling. It had to be: A Universe -class bridge was a massive operations center, the span of three or more bridges on smaller ships combined, with extensive staffing. To be heard from one side of the bridge to the other, a person would have to yell.
"All systems nominal," Gold continued, "including the cloak."
The general public didn't know Starfleet used cloaking devices. Many suspected, but could never confirm it. The Treaty of Algeron, signed in 248 ce between the Federation and the Romulan Empire, had expressly forbidden the use of cloaking technology on Starfleet ships. That was the 'official position', and all that was ever said about it. But the public was unaware of many things... the secrets that got exchanged behind closed doors, at the highest levels of power. It was all hush-hush. They didn't know the real reason for the Treaty of Algeron, and what it entailed. The Pegasus incident in 295, involving an interphase cloak, was not the first of its kind... nor the last. Most people just didn't know about the rest.
Simone Berkowitz nodded and looked around at her bridge crew – former crewmates on the UFS Arcadia, each carefully selected by hand, by her, personally. She couldn't hand-select every single crewmember on a ship this size, but she wanted only certain people on her main bridge crew.
To her right stood her first officer: Lieutenant Commander Philip Michael Gold, a former operations manager. At the helm: Lieutenant James Pegg. Not one she chose, but he was loyal... perhaps blindly loyal. And rather naive. At other stations: Therese Redman, Dov Ben-Adda, Remy Balk.
"Their sensors haven't detected us," Gold said.
"And they won't," Berkowitz said. 'They' were not the Klingons, who knew the Future was coming... but Arcadia. The planet sat wide open. What few defenses they had would be no match, none at all, for a Klingon attack fleet... let alone a Starfleet city-cruiser like the Future. Berkowitz approached the tactical station near her chair. "Mr. Balk, have you located him?"
The tactical officer nodded. "They're holding him in a compound in the capital city."
Berkowitz sat down in the captain's chair, activating a holoscreen which showed the layout of the Arcadian prison compound. She had never liked Simon Ringo personally, when he served with her aboard the UFS Arcadia twenty-odd years ago. Twenty years from his perspective... only a few from hers. Maybe he changed in the last twenty years. Regardless, her superiors believed he possessed vital information... information the Klingons would need before they began their assault.
"Beam our team down to get him," Berkowitz ordered, "before the Klingons arrive."
It was ironic. They had all once served aboard the Arcadia. Now they were about to decimate a planet named after it.
▷ TBC ◁