We Must Fight

It was his custom, in times such as these, to seek the counsel of commanders past.  He often found precedents in the experiences of Starfleet captains before him, or in his own world's history of naval warfare.  Warfare?  Yes.  They were at war.  He was not sure who the enemy was, but they were not at peace.  Every day, there was a skirmish or conflict, somewhere.  The Federation, trying to keep the peace, ended up policing the quadrant, becoming the target of attacks.

The keys to the castle had been given to the enemy.  The Klingon Empire had a treaty with the Federation.  But the fact of a Klingon fleet plowing through Federation space, taking over a duty that should be Starfleet's... assigned to them by – who, exactly? – someone in the Federation, at least, and no less... assigned to do that harm... This was not peace.  How long would it be until they turned those keys over to the Romulans?  How long would it be, before they just skipped all of that, and started ordering Starfleet ships to carry out massacres?

Jean-Luc Picard disobeyed orders, and became president of the Federation.

Harlan Winters disobeyed orders, and was drummed out of Starfleet.

Both acted according to the dictates of their conscience... choosing what they believed was right.  The moral decision.  Prentiss didn't have that luxury.  That was a different time, then.  All he could do was what he thought wisest.  And the wisest thing to do, for his own immediate sake, was to... what?  Shut up and take it up the rear?

What was the wise decision in this matter?  Captains just did not make their own orders and go gallivanting to the rescue, no matter how the media portrayed it.  Prentiss felt sure there was more to the context of those decisions, by such officers as Picard, Winters, and others, who took that risk repeatedly, through Starfleet history... hidden details of which others were unaware.  It just wasn't done – maybe in entertainment programs, where they simplified and glorified everything to a cartoonish extreme, but not in real life.  In real life, a captain acting so rebelliously and irresponsibly would get trouble with a capital T.  A court-martial, with both barrels.  Starfleet, whether or not anyone liked it, was the Federation's military – and in the military, you followed orders.  There were no conditions or exceptions, no ifs ands or buts.  There was no other option.  The entire chain of command depended on that one simple premise.  If you violated that principle, the chain broke and the structure could collapse.

Some people counted on that blind obedience just a little too much.  They used it.  Manipulated it.  Who, then, was to blame?: Those who gave the orders... or those who followed them?

Here he sat... following orders.  His orders were to let the Klingons pass.  He would let the Klingons pass.

He checked his chronometer.  They were still in this sector.

But no one ordered him not to warn the Arcadians.

Could he do that?  Could he warn them?

He glanced around the ready room.  Computers monitored everything aboard Federation vessels.  'Just in case.'  Space was full of unexpected dangers, they said.  If something went wrong, they needed to know why.  Internal sensors were not used for surveillance, or to keep tabs on their people, was the popular claim.  But how true was that?

It was also said that complants – communicators implanted in the skull, for the efficiency of faster, direct communication – could not be used for mind control.  Did that mean it was impossible?

If he called his XO to discuss the situation, or ordered the bridge to open a channel to Arcadia... Was someone watching?  Listening?  What would happen to him and those involved, if they went along with it?  Was he just being paranoid?

Did Starfleet condone massacres?

There was nowhere to go.  Nowhere to hide from the responsibilities of one's actions.  He'd never felt so trapped.  Helpless.  Scared.

The name of his ship was Freedom.  The United Federation Starship Freedom.  How terribly fitting.

In a world where people were supposed to be free, protected by liberty, there was no protection, and no freedom.  Their trust, in those appointed to provide that protection, had been betrayed by those they appointed... who, without permission, traded in their freedom for the blanket of 'security'.  As a result, one man could not even speak freely for fear of the consequences.

What could he do?

There was one thing they had not yet taken away from him: The ability to choose.

Prentiss sat there for a few minutes, fuming.  The CMO called once to check on him, noting his bioreadings were spiking on sickbay's monitors.  Prentiss had to convince her he was fine, then forced himself to relax, for fear of alerting her a second time.  Before he could make a choice, he needed to find the courage.  Once he crossed that threshold, there was no turning back.

Quickly, instinctively, without giving himself time to think about it, Prentiss reached into his desk, for one of an assortment of tools he kept there for emergencies.  There was a trick once, he had learned.  He never thought he would need to use it, until now.

He flicked on an invisible beam on the tool, panning it around his right ear.  He could manually deactivate his complant, but wasn't sure that would be enough.  This would scramble the signal.  Hopefully it didn't alert sickbay.  People made more noise than they realized when they started asking questions.  Unfortunately, people had not been asking questions when they should have... Prentiss among them.  Now it might be too late.

Producing a second tool, he panned it over the left side of his head, replaced it and pulled out a palm-padd.  With a quick series of inputs, finalized with his personal command code, he sent a signal to the ship's biocomputers, instructing them to pretend that his complant was functioning normally, while ignoring it.  The disguise wouldn't last... it might not work at all... but it was a chance he had to take.

He waited a few seconds, to be sure sickbay wouldn't call again.  Satisfied the ruse had taken hold, he sent a mental message to his XO: