Son Rise Sun Set: Part 1
“Entering planetary system 892.” Lieutenant (jg) Yitzhak Shalev announced from his position at the helm of the USS Perseus as the Intrepid-class starship glided past a ringed greenish hued gas giant accompanied by three Io sized moons and a dozen smaller companions.
“Any sign of interplanetary travel?” The captain of the Perseus, Christopher Hobson, asked as he leaned forward in the center seat.
“No Sir…” The Denobulan science officer, Lieutenant Velen, responded from his position at the science station. “No indication of any sort of space flight at all—manned or unmanned. No satellites in orbit around the planet either.”
“Communications signals?” Hobson inquired.
“None directed towards space in what would appear to be any sort of SETI or radio astronomy program, Sir.” Lieutenant T’Pren reported from the tactical security station, “There’s some signal bleed from the planet, but it’s mostly radio in the AM band. Some FM…some of what looks like it might be television.”
“Assume standard orbit, then, Mr. Shalev.” As the former Border Services officer and current senior helmsman from Eretz Israel smoothly slipped the vessel in orbit around the blue white globe, Hobson pressed the intercom button on his chair arm, “Continue orbital scans and senior officers will meet in Conference Room Three in one standard hour.” Getting up from his chair, he flashed a slight smile at the Deltan woman sitting next to him, “Commander Rysyl…the bridge is yours.”
Entering the turbolift, Captain Hobson ordered, “Deck Three.” Taking advantage of the opportunity for reflection, the brown haired starship commander’s thoughts went back to two months ago, when the orders for both his promotion and assignment to his new command came in.
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“Congratulations, Captain.” Captain Elizabeth Shelby grinned as she came out from around her desk. Taking her soon to be former first officer’s hand and shaking it, the blonde-haired captain of the Sutherland praised, “You’ve more than earned that fourth pip, Chris. I’m only sorry that it took so long for Starfleet Command to figure that out.” Her smile broadening, Liz remarked, “The Perseus is a fine ship and a great first command. I assume that you’ll want Mr. Rysyl as your first officer? I think she’s ready to take the next step, and I’m sure she’ll serve you as well as you have me; but, of course, if you have someone else in mind…” Shelby smirked, knowing that her former first office was quite sure that he wanted the Deltan as his XO, “...that would be your prerogative. The decision’s yours.”
“My first command decision?” The newly minted captain joked, his lips turning up into a slight grin.
“You might say that.” Shelby quipped, her grin growing wider. “Still…it’s an important one. You’ll want someone who can balance your weaknesses with their strengths, and I think Anara does that for you—just like you did for me.” Her smile vanishing, the experienced captain further recommended, “The warp nacelles on the Intrepids are as sensitive as a man’s…well…you know what I mean.” Liz paused, “…I don’t have to tell you how delicate they are and I’m sure you’re also up to date on the new swirl-mix engine core they use—you should make sure that you’ve got a crackerjack chief engineer. And no…you can’t have Jadon—he’s all mine. So…any thoughts?”
“Actually, Captain…” Chris replied, “I do have someone in mind…”
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Tapping her toes to the early 23rd century techno-pop dance tune currently playing in the Intrepid-class ship’s engine room, Lieutenant Angela ‘Treasure’ Barrows flashed a broad grin as she surveyed her new domain. “Keep an eye on the mix ratio, Deneel!” She called out to the young Bolian ensign monitoring the matter-anti-matter flow from his console. Walking over to his station, her smile grew wider, “These babies aren’t like the old matter—anti-matter reactors ya’ll practiced on at the Academy. Those ol’ things, you can push and abuse ‘til the cows come home and they won’t complain. They just keep on truckin’. But not these babies…” The Northstar native explained in the thick Texas accent characteristic of that human colony, “You gotta be nice to ‘em. They’re like Catullan racers—fast and powerful, but very…very touchy. If you don’t treat ‘em right, they’ll frinx you over when you need ‘em most—like right in the middle of a battle, and ya’ll don’t want that, do you?”
“Yes, Sir…I mean, No, Sir…I mean…” The young ensign, fresh out of the Academy and eager to please, answered back quickly, “I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“Relax, Sugar.” The chief engineer replied her smile growing wider as she saw the worried look on the Bolian youth’s face, “Ya’ll didn’t do anything wrong! You just gotta remember to keep an eye on what you’re doing—especially when things are nice and quiet like they are now.”
Turning away from the Bolian ensign, the lieutenant’s comm badge chirped, followed immediately be the Vulcan security chief’s voice. “Treasure?”
“Yeah, T’Pren?” Lieutenant Barrows replied, responding to the nickname given to her years ago back on the Sutherland.
“The captain wants the senior staff to meet in Conference Room Three in an hour.”
“Thanks…” The chief engineer responded, “I’ll be there.” Turning to her assistant, Angela smirked, “Ya’ll heard the lady. We got an hour. Knowing the captain, he’s gonna wanna put us through our paces and I don’t intend for us to be caught with our pants down. So, let’s get to it.”
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The door to his quarters sliding shut behind him, Captain Hobson eyes flashed briefly on the made up double bed that he shared with his first officer this morning before settling on the replicated oak bookshelf that stood against one of the bedroom walls. Walking over to the shelf, Chris took out a green leather bound volume with the title, “The Collected Works of Seneca”, in gold on the spine. Turning it to a page already marked, Hobson read: "the inhabited world... in huge conflagration it will burn and scorch and burn all mortal things... stars will clash with stars and all the fiery matter of the world... will blaze up in a common conflagration. Then the souls of the Blessed, who have partaken of immortality, when it will seem best for god to create the universe anew… will be changed again into our former elements. Happy, Marcia, is your son who knows these mysteries!"
“I wonder…” Hobson muttered to himself as he carefully placed the book back in the exact same spot from which he had taken it earlier. “...if Seneca was truly right here. Maybe Marcia’s son would be better off not knowing some mysteries.”
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“Odd...” Lieutenant Velen noted, “According to Captain Kirk’s logs, the ‘Romans’ who controlled 892-IV possessed a technology equivalent to mid-20th century Earth with television widely available. It would appear that they haven’t advanced at all in over a hundred years—if anything, it seems they’ve regressed somewhat. I’m surprised—I would have thought they’d have at least later 21st century level interplanetary flight by now.”
A thoughtful frown on his face, Hobson replied, his patrician tone adding a professorial authority to his words, “It’s not really that much of a surprise, Lieutenant, if you think about it for a moment. Remember, the Preservers had seeded 892-IV approximately two thousand Earth years before Captain Kirk encountered them and they’d only advanced to a mid-twentieth century level of technology when the Enterprise arrived in the system. Ancient Roman society on Earth …” the amateur historian lectured, warming up to the topic at hand, “…especially during the Empire, was actually very conservative and highly suspicious about anything new. So…it would be logical to assume the same about these Romans.”
“That makes sense.” Lieutenant Commander Devon Miller, the Perseus’s operations officer said, speaking from his post. “Also, with slave labor being quite common—institutionalized to the point of slaves possessing benefits including old age and disability pensions, in fact—the incentive to innovate wouldn’t be that great.”
“Exactly.” Chris affirmed, nodding his head approvingly at the dark skinned Dominion War veteran. “I’ll also wager that there’ll be no evidence of nuclear power in use either. Remember…” the captain pointed out, “…that the splitting of the atom and the development of nuclear fission took place directly as result of the Second World War and that the use of nuclear power as an energy source, not to mention the development of nuclear fusion, was a product of the Cold War. A stable Empire without any serious external threats would have no need to take that route.”
“Well, Sir…” Lieutenant Velen responded, his lips turning up into the wide grin characteristic of his species, “That’s a bet you’d have won. I’ve detected no sign of the use of nuclear fission—much less fusion. No sign of solar power either—although there does appear to be use of hydroelectric power as well as extensive use of fossil fuels such as coal and oil and some natural gas.” Pausing for a moment, the Denobulan science officer commented, “Also, our scans picked up what appears to be fairly large troop concentrations near certain cities and along certain geographical features.”
“Mr. T’Pren…” Captain Hobson interjected, "Can you put those deployments up on a tactical map?”
“Aye, Sir.” The Vulcan security chief replied. Moments later, a holographic tactical display of Magna Roma appeared above the conference table. The cities appeared as glowing yellow dots of varying size and brightness. Rectangular shapes then appeared: some surrounding or near some of the dots, while others occupied other positions on the map.
“Those formations near the cities…” T’Pren noted, “…could be there to put down urban revolts. The others, however, seem to be positioned to carry out an invasion of this territory.” The Vulcan concluded, the area threatened now highlighted in red.
“Could be a prelude to civil war.” Hobson speculated, drumming his fingers on the table before him. “On Earth, they were endemic throughout periods of the Empire’s history.”
“I wonder…” Anara proposed, “…whether it might have anything to do with this Son worship that the Enterprise cultural anthropologists concluded was a local variant of Christianity.”
“Possible.” Chris conceded, sparing the lovely Deltan first officer a subtle smile, “Depending on conditions on the ground, this troop build up could be the prelude to a persecution.”
“Perhaps…” The lovely Deltan first officer seated next to the captain remarked, “…we could pick up some information from their newscasts.” Addressing the Vulcan security officer, Commander Rysyl asked, “Are you getting any transmissions like that, Mr. T’Pren?”
“Aye, Commander.” T’Pren replied. “I’m picking up something that sounds like it might be a news program.”
“Put it on the monitor.” Captain Hobson ordered as he leaned forward in his seat. Lines of static quickly resolved themselves into the image of a man wearing what appeared to be a twentieth century business suit seated behind a desk looking into the camera.
“This is Lucius Manlius and you are watching Veritas, the news program the Empire does not want you to see.”
“A pirate broadcast?” Miller speculated, stroking his chin.
“Probably.” Hobson replied thoughtfully, “Let’s watch.”
“And now for our lead story: Negotiations have broken down after the third day of talks between representatives of the Empire and leaders of the breakaway province of Nova Libertas. The image on the screen was of two men and a woman walking out of a conference room, the woman walking in the middle of the two men as they strode single file, their heads held high, through the opened door. At the conference table, one man sat on an elevated chair on the opposite side from three empty chairs, with two other men on smaller chairs seated to either side of him. We can thank a courageous citizen-journalist, along with his cameraman, both of whom succeeded in posing as members of the Imperial Broadcasting Corporation, for these pictures of Proconsul Elabrius sitting on his throne surrounded by his functionaries. Those same citizen-journalists were also responsible for the following interview with the rebel spokeswoman, Valeria Tiberia, conducted a few hours later in her secure retreat.”
“Thank you for the interview, Donna Tiberia.”
“You’re welcome!” The chestnut-haired woman responded with a smile, “And please, call me Valeria, not ‘Donna’. I’m not a stuck up Roman matron. I don’t go by any titles. My great-grandmother was a slave and I’m just a regular person like you.” Her lips turning up into a grin, the charismatic woman asked, “So…what’s your first question?”
“Thank you, Valeria. Can you tell us what caused the negotiations to break down?”
“Yes.” The attractive woman replied, her smile vanishing, “The Proconsul’s refusal to take our demands seriously
“And what demands are those?” The reporter asked.
“Besides the right to worship as we choose…” The rebel spokeswoman responded, “I’d like to read this, the preamble of our Declaration of Principles, it’ll give you the gist of what we seek: “We the people of Nova Libertas determined that our posterity shall be free of war and strife, and to reaffirm faith in the fundamental rights of all humans, in each person’s intrinsic dignity and worth, in the equal rights of all regardless of class or gender, seek the right to elect our own governors and senators, to travel freely, to engage in whatever occupation we choose, to have a free and open press, to possess the right to freely assemble…” Pausing for a moment, the chestnut haired woman concluded, “…and last…but certainly not least…we demand the abolition all forms of slavery within our territory.”
“And if the Proconsul continues to refuse your demands?”
Her smile now replaced by a look of steely determination, the chestnut haired woman answered back, “The Empire must realize that the old days and the old ways belong in the past. Thanks to those who came to us long ago and from whom some of us are descended, we know that there is another way—a better way—and we will not settle for less. If the Empire refuses to listen to us, we shall secede and declare ourselves an independent state using the Declaration as the basis for our new society.”
As the senior staff of the Perseus listened quietly, Lieutenant Barrows spoke in a low voice, “What she was just reading sounded an awful lot like the Federation Charter.”
“The preamble to be precise.” Captain Hobson concurred. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he remarked in his usual patrician tone, “Did you also catch what she said about ‘those who came to us long ago…”
“…and from whom some of us are descended…” Anara interjected, completing the captain’s recitation. It appears that between the Beagle and Captain Kirk and his people, a lot more was left behind than was thought.”
“Kirk did point out in his log that Captain Merrick told him that not all of his crew were killed—that some had adapted to life on the planet’s surface.” Lieutenant Shalev pointed out.
“It would make sense that they would have descendents.” Lieutenant Velen added, “And that…even subconsciously…that they might pass on some of their heritage to their children.”
“Regardless of its cause…” Chris announced, “It looks like we have an incident of cultural contamination here. We need to find out just how serious and far-reaching the contamination is without making it worse.”
“While we’ll be able to do quite a bit from orbit…” Anara remarked carefully, “…we’ll need to make closer observations.”
“A landing party…” Lieutenant Commander Miller argued, “…might make things even worse.”
“You make a good point, Mr. Miller…” Hobson declared, having already made his decision, “…but I think Commander Rysyl is right. We’re going to need boots on the ground here. Landing party will consist of the following: Myself…”
“Sir?” The Deltan first officer interjected, “I must protest. The risks…”
“I know, Commander…” Chris interrupted, holding his hand up, “And under most circumstances I would agree with you, but in this instance, I believe that it is necessary that I lead the party. I am probably the only person here who can be described as a classicist, and I’m also almost certainly the only member of this ship who is grammatically fluent in Latin.” Ignoring the withering glare his first officer/lover was giving him, the captain continued, “Second…” he said, smirking inwardly as he anticipated his paramour’s reaction to his next statement, “…Commander Rysyl…”
“Sir?” The dark-skinned operations officer interjected, “You and the first officer both planetside? It’s bad enough you’re going down, Captain, but taking Commander Rysyl as well…”
“I’ll need her empathic abilities. Also…as something of an art historian, she might be able to contribute certain insights that might otherwise go unseen.” Hobson explained adding, knowing that his next words would entice the ambitious second officer to drop his objections, “You’ll be in temporary command of the ship, Mr. Miller.”
“Aye, Sir.” The Dominion War veteran responded, rising at once to Hobson’s lure.
“Mr. T’Pren…” Chris inquired, addressing his tactical officer, “I’ll need you as well. You and Commander Rysyl will report to Dr. Nor for cosmetic surgery. After all…” He quipped, his lips turning up into the slightest of smiles, “We can’t have you looking like ‘barbarians.’”
“Aye, Sir.” Both women responded, clenching their teeth slightly at the prospect of having their appearance altered to appear more human.
“Finally…” Hobson declared, turning to the ship’s helmsman, “Mr. Shalev…you’ll complete the landing party. You’ll need more experience in handling these sorts of situations than you would have gotten in the Border Service if you hope to advance any further in the command track.”
“Yes, Sir.” The dark haired helmsman enthusiastically responded.
“One other thing…” Hobson instructed, clearing his throat, “Treasure? Can you duplicate what the Enterprise engineer did to the ‘Roman’ power grid if necessary?”
“Not a problem at all, Sir.” The engineer answered back with a toothy grin. “Anything that ol’ Connie can do—we can do better.”
“Excellent.” The fastidious captain exclaimed as he stood up. “If there are no more questions, then the landing party will meet in Transporter Room One in one hour. Lieutenant T’Pren? Make sure that we have clothing that would fit in with the planet’s inhabitants—as non-descript as possible if you’d please.”
As the gathering began to disperse, Anara approached the chestnut-haired captain, “Chris?” She asked in a low voice as the door slid shut behind the last of the officers, “Do you have a moment?”
“Certainly, my dear.” Hobson replied with a smile on his face as he regarded the olive skinned woman before him. “What is it?”
“It’s the composition of the landing party.” The Deltan first officer tentatively began, “I didn’t want to bring the subject up in front of the others…”
“And I appreciate that.” Chris interjected, his eyes reflecting the sincerity that he felt while his face still maintained its usual flat expression. “So, what’s the problem…” his lips turning up into a slight grin, he added, “…as if I don’t already know.”
“It’s well…” Anara stammered, “…I need to know one thing…and please, Chris…tell me the truth…”
“As if I could lie to you…” Hobson quipped, then, seeing the grave expression on his lover’s face, he amended in a much more serious tone, “You know I’ll tell you the truth—whether you want to hear it or not.”
“Fair enough.” Anara replied, her lips turning up into a slender smile as she looked up into Hobson’s face, “Why are you leading this landing party? Are you trying to protect me?” Her smile vanishing, the empath warned, “Because if you are…”
“I promise you, that’s not the reason.” Chris immediately stated. Her empathic senses readily picking up on the sincerity of her paramour’s feelings, Anara nodded her head in satisfaction as he further explained his reasoning. “Part of the reason is what I told everyone at the briefing—I am the only one on this crew who is fluent in Latin. But…” he smiled, “…as you already know from the look you gave me at the briefing, that’s not the only reason.”
“Go on…” His first officer encouraged as, walking to the replicator, she fetched glasses of water for her and her captain, “I’m listening.”
“The other reason…” Hobson explained, his face revealing an almost boyish enthusiasm that few—other than the woman standing before him—ever got the chance to see, “…is because I’m genuinely curious to see this society and to see for myself how profound the cultural contamination resulting from both the Beagle and Enterprise. And the only way I can do that is to be there on the ground to see it and experience it for myself.”
Chuckling, the lovely olive skinned Deltan woman reached up on tiptoes to gently kiss Hobson on the lips, “You really are an explorer behind that icy mask, aren’t you, Chris?”
“Ssssshhhhh…” Hobson whispered as he returned his lover’s kiss, “Keep that to yourself, Dear. We don’t want the others to know, now do we? After all, I’ve got an image to protect.”
“Don’t worry, my Captain Iceman.” Anara teased, “Your secret’s safe with me.”
