The Future Is Ours

In the black of space, a hundred thousand gigawatts of tritanium-crushing phaser power flew through the starship's shields.  The forward saucer section crumpled, rippled and exploded.  The shattered remnant of America careened through the void to nowhere, bleeding plasma.  Two more ships flew into the gap, seething destructive energy, firing angrily at the offending vessel.

On the bridge of the UFS Future, Simone Berkowitz – calm by nature, never one to yell or raise her voice – gave a loud-pitched yelp.  Part of her chair unbolted from the deck, with her in it.  A malfunction loosed the restraining harness; she twirled sideways into the next seat, tumbling off the first officer, Phil Gold, who was barely holding on, en route to the floor.  On her hands and knees, she tried to bark an evasive course while returning fire.

The city huddled before The Monster.  Rain falling from low, obsidian clouds left everything dark and wet – buildings, paths and parkways, even the inhabitants moving about.

And The Monster.

New Albany was a collection of low-lying buildings but for The Monolith.  The gigantic structure towered over all, a slate-colored titan jutting into the cold, wet sky.  Some called it The Monster.  It ate people.  Swallowed them whole.  It was Monster, and Protector.  It was guardian for the entire planet, for the haven it represented.

Sometimes it spat people out.  They didn't always land on the ground.  They got shot into space, never to return, or not for a very long time.

It was middle of autumn on Arcadia.  The rains had stopped.  An invisible steel blanket gripped New Albany; the air felt hard and stiff, like the calm before a storm.  The woman on the parkway paused outside her aircar, pocketing the keys without locking it.  No one had a need to lock doors on Arcadia – only the doors to the planet, but that was a different matter, one for The Monster to worry about.  She pulled up the collar of her waterproof trenchcoat, but removed her hat, a rare reprieve from the torrent.

Paula Sorenson knew what she was feeling.  The vise-like grip over her chest, a slippery flutter in her heart, told her something was wrong, but not with her, physically.  Something was wrong... with Paul.  She and Paul had a bond, ever since birth.  The feeling wouldn't go away.  Whatever was wrong, if it didn't get righted soon... he might end up being one of those the Monster spat into the endless night – never to be seen again in this life.  She hoped and prayed that he would be all right.  Paul was her anchor to the world, her wellspring of hope.  As long as he lived to fight the good fight, hope persevered for her.

Rain and wind formed two of the most powerful forces on Arcadia.  Piled together with time, they became one of nature's mightiest juggernauts: Erosion.  Withstanding the elements was a full-time job.  An entire industry thrived around that occupation, on Arcadia.  Persistence against erosion, holding ground and holding at bay those forces out to wear them down... It gave Arcadians something in common.  A strength of spirit, and resolve.  If mighty Mother Nature could not do them in, what hope had anyone else?

Per capita rainfall was nearly twice that on Earth, without weather control.  Water continued to drip off the rooftops.  Most collected in the reservoir tanks atop every building, and was getting converted to energy before the tanks were even full (which they never were).  Green, clean fuels and geofriendly products provided most of the colony's energy – hydroelectric, wind-powered... primitively archaic compared to more advanced Federation planets, yet sufficient for Arcadian needs.  Out across the hills and plains, automated turbine farms numbered in the thousands.  Giant wind-fans created more than enough juice for the populated settlements.  Arcadia boasted a million-plus inhabitants, but that number was expected to increase.

Paula lifted her eyes to the Monster's.  She called them eyes: Hazy yellow orbs, high up in the gloom, circling the tower's highest stories... put in place when the colony's leaders adopted a warning system, fearing reprisals for their politics.  They reflected the current defense condition, and they were always yellow.  Defcon yellow.  Arcadia had known this defense condition for the last ten years.  It could almost be defcon green, except they never had a condition green since enacting the system... nor red.  Yet.

They might never know green.  Chances were, if things went red, it'd be of short duration.  Whoever attacked, setting it off, could erase the planet.  The objective was to keep it yellow, or below if possible.

Arcadia wasn't totally defenseless.  The trick was not to let others know.  That was very, very difficult, when the Federation could peer in with long-range sensors, and pick out anything from fine print on a computer screen to the number of hairs on a person's head.  Starships were more than just ships: They were mobile high-resolution telescopes.

Starships didn't have to be 'ships', and didn't need to be manned.

Simone Berkowitz was not amused.  The Future, upon attempting to beam a team to get Ringo, had found a forcefield erected – not only over the prison compound but over the entire city of New Albany.  It was primitive, not as sophisticated as Starfleet shielding, but fed with so much raw power from a reactor somewhere, dumped into it, that it blocked any attempts to beam in or out.

They weren't supposed to have a reactor like that.  Where was it?  The Arcadians hid it well: Future's sophisticated sensors had trouble localizing it.  If they could hide a power source of that magnitude, what else were they hiding?  Hence the need for Simon Ringo, for information he accumulated.  His last report ended abruptly over a month prior.  Other agents confirmed his capture.  Without that intel, the Klingon task force faced a stiff resistance.

Either Arcadia detected the Future, or the inbound Klingon fleet... or someone warned them.

Scans revealed another Starfleet ship in the sector: The UFS Freedom.  Will Prentiss' ship.  And they were not supposed to be here.

Berkowitz could not order him out.  But there was more than one way to skin a cat.  In her ready room, she contacted Command on a special frequency.  A young human with a big nose and dark skin came on the line.

"Get me Division Five."  Soon, she was talking to a superior on her side.  He did something astounding: He gave her a promotion, right there, to admiral.  Just like that, she became one of the youngest admirals ever.  Now she had the authority to pull rank on Prentiss.  It would not get the Arcadians to lower their shields, but she could get the wild card Freedom represented out of the deck.

Only, Prentiss was not playing along.  Freedom ignored the Future's warnings.  She didn't know what relationship Prentiss had to the Arcadians.  It wasn't likely he could convince them to lower their defenses, if she ordered him to, assuming he followed the order.  The Klingon fleet could not begin their assault until they had Ringo.  The alternative was to pound on Arcadia's defenses until they fell.

Public outrage over such an incident could spell trouble... if the public learned of it.  But Division V only allowed what they wanted to be known.  They had been successfully manipulating the media for years.  They owned the media.

It looked like they would have to do this the hard way.  But first, that little problem called Freedom needed to be eliminated... before it mucked up the plan further.

Berkowitz contacted her superiors again.  Half an hour later, a section of the Klingon fleet (now forced to hold position) broke off, on course for the troublesome starship.

Freedom didn't wait.  Rather than play the role of sitting duck, Prentiss ordered his ship towards Arcadia... right into the waiting arms of the Future.

Until that point, Berkowitz hadn't been prepared to fire on another Starfleet vessel.  That would be too much.  But Freedom was becoming a thorn; an ugly one at that.  With the ship coming right at her, outracing the Klingons, it fell to her to deal with the problem.  As admiral she had authority to make that decision – incapacitate Freedom, which had gone on silent running.  It wouldn't be the first such incident.  Forty years ago, the Lakota fired on the Defiant ; before that, the Enterprise stopped the Phoenix... two of the better known recorded such incidents in Starfleet annals.  Rogue captains could only be dealt with one way: By any means necessary.

"Helm, plot an intercept course," Berkowitz called out.  "Set battle condition, stealth mode," she ordered, readying the ship to attack while cloaked.  She considered issuing one more warning, but desisted.  Freedom had received enough warnings.  "Jam their comms.  Don't let them get off a distress call."

Securing the Future cost lives.

The people controlling the Future laid about, an assortment of dead bodies littering the bridge as Freedom's boarding party moved in.  It was an unsettling scene, but there wasn't time to get choked up.  Heidler, overseeing the op, wasted no time restaffing the control center – with people he could trust, who had willingly followed him into this.

The Universe-class ship's bridge was huge.  He had never seen a bridge this big.

It would have been impossible without help from Future personnel, who realized what was happening, and followed their own conscience rather than their CO's orders.  They had been ordered to assist in the slaughter of innocents.  They refused, and leaked data on Future's defenses.  Against significant odds, despite extensive damage, Freedom overpowered the larger starship.

It would also have been impossible without help from two other ships.  One, the America, just happened to detect the exchange, and came to investigate, calling in another, the Philadelphia, en route.  The Future dealt hard blows to all three.  America paid the ultimate price for its 'meddling': Destroyed, with all hands lost.  The ship named after the 'city of brotherly love' incurred some casualties, including their own CO and highest ranking officers.  That left one man in charge of all three.

Walter Heidler, Freedom's XO/acting captain, crouched next to the body of Future's (former) commanding officer, Captain née Admiral Simone Berkowitz, checking her pulse.  Dead.  Heidler grunted with a slight head-shake.  She shouldn't have been working against them... her and Division V.  It was always that way, wasn't it?  A select, disproportionate minority controlling the majority, right under their noses... keeping them distracted while they worked their influence through (il)legal channels.  When they wanted someone eliminated, what did they do?  They staged it, calling it an act of terrorists or some other BS.

Berkowitz's people tried to betray them, and a million people on the planet Arcadia, to the Klingon 'terrorists'.  Klingons had been harassing the UFP the last few years.  The public would have bought it.  When Captain Prentiss acted in Arcadia's defense, warning them of the Klingon attack, she tried to relieve him of his command and arrest him.  Prentiss stood his ground.  It escalated.  Berkowitz turned on Freedom, tried to kill Prentiss and his crew.

It almost worked.  Prentiss died.  Killed in action.  If not for Prentiss having the backbone to stand up to these traitors in the first place, Heidler and his comrades might be dead now, too.

The day wasn't done. 

"Commander."

Heidler was checking Future's logs, seeing what Berkowitz had been doing, when Prasker spoke up.  Tradition dictated that the acting captain be addressed as captain, but he didn't bother to correct the lieutenant right then.  Prentiss' death was still too raw and recent.

Prasker said, "Sensors show the Klingons have resumed course."

"They must have orders to continue, if they didn't receive the knockout codes for Arcadia's defenses by a certain time."

"Sir, another Starfleet ship is hailing.  Bearing our direction."

Heidler snapped fingers at his people to man stations; they rushed to comply.  "Identify."  He glanced at the Future's dead CO as medics loaded her onto an antigrav gurney, carting out bodies.

"Quantum class.  Identification reveals it as the UFS Progress."  Prasker frowned.  "I thought they'd been retired."

"Recalled," Heidler corrected.  Quantum-class ships were rotating back into service as standard operating vessels.  "Do they know we've taken over?"

"I don't believe so.  Apparently they think this ship needs help, against ours."

Heidler thought fast.  "What do we know about their CO?  Give me a roster."  On the captain's chairside monitor, he skimmed through the manifest, highlighting planetary origins.  Most of the Progress complement wasn't from Earth: Aliens, including their captain.  "We'll need more ships against the Klingons," Heidler mused.  "Raise the others.  Let's draw them in; make it look good."

"War game?"

"You read my mind."

Prasker nodded.  "Raising shields."

Heidler wanted to tap into the ship's intruder control systems, as he'd done with the Future.  It was best to make this as quick and bloodless as possible.  Gassing the crew unconscious with a harmless, fast-acting agent was the safest way of minimizing casualties.

Heidler's team had captured one of Berkowitz's loyalists – a Lieutenant James Pegg, whose personnel record stated he served on a Quantum-class ship... the UFS Arcadia, coincidentally... in both security and flight control.  Pegg might know a weakness in Quantum-class defenses, allowing Heidler's plan to be implemented.  With that in mind, he ordered Pegg brought to the bridge.

Pegg refused to cooperate.  He seemed to think Berkowitz and her staff, who had all died, were some of the greatest people in the world.  He 'pegged' himself as another traitor to his own kind.  They were all members of Division V, a Starfleet wing operating in direct contradiction of its bylaws.  Political factions were not supposed to exist in Starfleet.  No Starfleet faction was legally permitted to operate independently under its own directives.  Division V violated both of these rules.  Pegg was just a shill for Berkowitz and her ilk, who would have humans believe that they, humans, were to blame for alien aggression against them... that aliens were these poor, misunderstood and unjustly persecuted souls who were really just humans in different clothing.  Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.  As evidence of their duplicity, Berkowitz had not staffed her bridge crew with any of these 'poor, misjudged' aliens.  They were all humans, from select ethnic backgrounds on Earth, like her.  Their agenda was merely part of the greater control agenda for manipulating the rest of humanity.