“Natasi Daala, it is my honor that on behalf of His Excellency the Emperor, that I promote you to the rank of Vice Admiral, and present to you the Order of Merit. You are hereby relieved of frontline service, and directed to report with your command to Sluis Van, where you will assume command of a new flagship, and organize your own fleet before returning to the front.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Daala saluted to the sound of polite applause. “It is an honor to serve.”
I saluted back, and then smiling held out my hand. Daala took it, smiling back while shaking my hand. “Congratulations, Natasi.” I said. “Now, let’s keep showing the men how it’s really done.”
Daala’s lips curled wider as sounds of amusement echoed through the halls of the Elysees Palace. “I’ll hold you to that, Lady Summerhall.” She said.
I nodded at that before our hands released. “If there is nothing else,” I began. “Then you are dismissed, though I believe you have a fleet to organize.”
Daala saluted again, and at a nod from myself, turned and marched out, proudly wearing a new rank plaque and her new Order of Merit medal. The short ceremony over, I walked away in a different direction, Sara trailing after me as we walked down the corridors of the Elysees Palace. Once, this place had housed the offices of United Earth and their staff, while also serving as their and their family’s residence.
No longer; now it was the headquarters of the Inspector-General of the Terran Occupation Command, from which all the various occupational authorities were overseen from. “Hmm…assuming I’m also put in charge of the New Territories after the war,” I mused in the silence of my thoughts. “…I’ll also be based from here. But I’d rather not permanently…Paris is just too…rustic. I’d prefer somewhere more…developed, somewhere more like Coruscant…damn the Federation and United Earth both. Just about every city on this planet is like a damn toy town thanks to them…then again, it’s always been given we’d have to build this planet up so…New York, maybe? Berlin? Moscow? Beijing? Delhi…or perhaps…somewhere…a city deliberately founded as the capital of a new world for a new order…hmm…ideas…”
I blinked and paused as an NCO trotted up, handed Sara a dataslate, and then withdrew with a salute. “What is it?” I asked, as the lieutenant quickly read through the report.
“It’s a status report with regard to the planetary population, ma’am.” Sara replied.
“And…?” I prompted.
“Plan Z is working as planned, ma’am.” Sara said. “While there is still fear and resentment, especially after the Battle of Earth, it’s worked to our advantage, between our troops’ discipline meaning there have been few cases of rape or looting on our part, with those few cases quickly dealt with according to the strictest discipline, and our maintaining order in the aftermath of Starfleet’s collapse.”
“Hmm…speaking of maintaining order,” I mused. “I recall the last order mentioned the various occupational authorities have also executed a number of miscreants, correct?”
“As per Imperial Occupational Directives, ma’am,” Sara said. “Rapists, looters, murderers, and the like, shall be publicly executed after a summary court martial.”
I sniffed. “And I’ve actually softened that bit.” I said. “In any case, it’s certainly helped that Starfleet decided to go scorched earth after the Battle of Mars. While it’s meant we’ve had to provide more food and medical aid – among others – than originally expected, our overwhelming material superiority means it’s an inconvenience at worst. We might have started this war, bombed the planet, and killed plenty of Starfleet drones, but Starfleet was supposed to be protecting these people. And we were supposed to be monsters out to enslave them all…instead, Starfleet left them to starve, while we clearly prepared to take responsibility for all the damages of war even before Starfleet abandoned their own people to die.”
“In short,” Sara opined. “That is, if I may be so frank…”
I gestured invitingly, and Sara gave a grateful nod. “Better the honorable conquerors than the cowardly defenders.” She said. “That, and people tend to appreciate those who feed them more than they do those who’d starve them.”
“It’s just Human…no, sentient nature.” I said with a nod. “The Federation might pretend to have…evolved past such a thing, but it’s clearly a delusion. And nothing proves that more than the mob’s response to our public executions of convicted criminals.”
“As I recall,” Sara mused. “They responded with enthusiastic cheers.”
“Yes.” I said with a nod. “They were presented with an immediate…other. Others that were clearly more…evil, or however you describe them, than they were. And we brought them to swift and final justice, essentially making us good…”
I paused and shrugged. “…good and evil are words too big in hindsight.” I admitted. “The convicts were villains, and us the heroes who brought them down.”
“As you say, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod.
“Mind you,” I said. “There will be those who hate us. Those who lost friends and family in the war, whether civilians killed in Operation Yellow or its aftermath, or…soldiers, from Starfleet. Not to mention the members of the Federation’s – and United Earth’s – leadership caste, whether open or otherwise. They will all bear watching.”
“The ISB is already on the move with regard to Section 31 and the rest of the Federation’s shadow leaders. They also have plans for the other concerns you’ve mentioned, admiral.”
“Hmm…true…but we mustn’t get careless, regardless. Especially if those involved have nothing left to lose.”
“As you say, ma’am.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Citizens of the Empire!”
Picard entered the conference room to find the rest of the senior staff looking at the display, which had Admiral Targaryen speaking from behind the podium in what Picard recognized as the public address room in the Elysees Palace on Earth. Both of the seals of United Earth had been removed, from the podium and the back wall alike, while the flags of the Federation and United Earth had been replaced with those of the Galactic Empire.
“It’s a live broadcast.” Riker said at once. “They’re broadcasting it on all channels, both in normal space and in subspace.”
“What is she broadcasting about?” Picard asked.
“We’ll find out soon enough, sir.” Riker said, and Picard set his jaw.
“…a historic revelation, perhaps even more historic than the current conflict between the Galactic Empire and the United Federation of Planets.” Targaryen was saying. “It will be difficult to hear, for it will expose everything that the Federation’s citizens have ever believed in to be a lie. However, it is a necessary thing, to face this fact, for as an old Earth saying I have recently learned says, the most unpleasant truth is a safer companion than a pleasant falsehood.”
Data tilted his head and frowned at that. “That was Theodore Roosevelt, I believe.” He said. “The 26th President of the United States, and the legal predecessor of the modern United North American States.”
“This is ridiculous.” Riker scoffed. “She expects us to believe there’s a huge lie behind the Federation, and she quotes Teddy Roosevelt to justify herself?”
Troi frowned at that. “While I can’t be completely sure given the distance,” she said. “From her body language and the…psychic echoes, present in the broadcast, I can sense that Targaryen is speaking the truth. More than that, she is genuinely…angry, and…disgusted, at…what she knows.”
“But how can that be?” Riker asked. “The Federation’s existed for over two hundred years. Surely, if there’s something fishy about it, it’d have been exposed by now. Look at Cartwright’s conspiracy back in the 23rd Century. It didn’t even last a month…”
“…there’s an old saying, Number One.” Picard grimly interrupted. “That all you need to do is repeat a lie loudly enough times, and it might as well become the truth.”
“…I’ve heard of that.” Riker admitted after a moment’s thought. “Joseph Goebbels, right?”
“That is correct, commander.” Data confirmed. “The propaganda minister of 20th Century Germany’s Third Reich, both before and during the Second World War.”
“Targaryen may be exaggerating things, or drawing the wrong conclusions,” Picard said. “But after the Battle of Orion, and Nechayev’s…insane orders, to destroy all critical infrastructure in this system after the Battle of Mars…I think it’s best we keep an open mind, the better to make sense of everything that’s getting…upended, in all this.”
Riker didn’t answer, instead turning his attention back to the screen. And just in time too, to see the perspective shift from the Elysees Palace to what looked like a vast underground structure, honeycombed with scaffolding and advanced machinery. “Data,” Picard began. “What are those…”
“Behold Tartarus, named after a mythological prison from Ancient Earth.” Targaryen answered before Picard could even finish his question. “Buried deep beneath the planet Pluto, whose own inhabitants were left ignorant of what lay beneath their feet, if not deliberately kept ignorant, the better to use them as a smokescreen for the injustice kept on this world. For in this world, Section 31 imprisoned those they considered…inconvenient, be it politically or culturally, to their vision of the future.”
Targaryen paused, and then continued, while scenes could be shown of Imperial medical personnel tending to prisoners being brought out cryogenic stasis. “Some of you would ask,” she said. “Would it not have been easier and more convenient for Section 31 to simply execute these individuals? It would have been, yes, kinder too, especially for those who have languished in prison for centuries and now awaken to a galaxy bereft of all that is welcoming and familiar. But they did not. In what is perhaps the cruelest evidence of their fanatical belief in the utopian lie of the Federation, they would not kill, because it would against any and all of their so-called ideals. Better then, to imprison these inconvenient souls for all time, and to erase their legacy from the pages of history…at least from their point of view. Just as it would have been better for all the Federation’s citizens to live ignorant of the truth of their world.”
Targaryen paused again, before continuing as the scene shifted back to the Elysees Palace. “No doubt,” she said. “Some of you wonder if perhaps these are all doctored videos. That we have merely prepared a grand exercise in propaganda for the Empire’s own interests. And I would not blame you, for such is the scale of the lie. But I will have us all face the truth, as told by those who witnessed and experienced it in person.”
Then she stepped aside, allowing a grim-faced man to take the podium. Again, Data started, drawing eyes his way. “Data,” Picard began. “Do you recognize that man?”
“Yes, but…he should be dead.” Data replied. “According to the official record, he…”
“My name is Brian Waters.” The man began. “Once, I was the Ambassador of United North American States to United Earth. Once, I was a citizen of the Federation, and believed in its ideals of cooperation, progress, and peace. But those ideals never meant we would lay down all our arms and leave our homes, our families, defenseless. And so, I opposed the effective demilitarization of not just the UNAS, or even of the Earth, but of the entire Sol System in the aftermath of the Khitomer Accords. For that, Section 31 took me away from my family, my home, and faking my death in a transporter accident, buried me away to be forgotten forever. Until now…”
“…Data?” Picard asked in a faint voice. “Counsellor…?”
“His physical appearance matches that of what’s on record.” Data began, while Troi shook her head, and pressed her hands over the lower half of her face.
“H-he’s…he’s telling the truth, captain.” Troi tearfully said. “I…I don’t want to believe it…but the sheer anger, loss, grief, and hatred he feels…they’re so deep and primal that it’s impossible to fake. And so powerful that even over the distance…”
Troi trailed off, while Riker took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Are you sure you can handle this, Deanna?” Doctor Crusher asked worriedly. “From the look of things, he’s not going to be the Empire’s only witness.”
Troi shakily nodded. “I…I have to be here.” She said. “I…I have to watch this…if what we’re seeing and hearing is the truth…then I’d rather accept it, no matter how hard and painful it might be, than bury my head under a pillow and live a lie.”
Doctor Crusher looked at Picard who sighed before looking at the screen, with Ambassador Waters continuing to testify about his experiences, and denouncing both Section 31 and the Federation. And as Doctor Crusher said, he was only the first. For the next hour, they listened to testimony after testimony, about how far the shadowy conspiracy behind the Federation’s very existence was willing to go.
After Ambassador Waters, there was Senator Franklin Medina, again from the UNAS. “…I spoke out against the dispossession of large farmers…entire families…generations of ordinary people who’d made a living on the land of their ancestors,” he raged. “Within a decade they were all gone, forced into obscure suburban lives just so the Arcadian idyll part of the conspirator’s utopian nightmare would become reality…assuming they didn’t just disappear into those so-called ‘resocialization camps’!”
The man paused, and pointed at Targaryen off the screen. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” he demanded. “Your people broke them all open! Show them…show the galaxy the truth of it all…and may God forgive me, because I knew then and did nothing.”
“…thank you, Senator Medina.” Targaryen said, walking over and helping the distraught senator away. “And yes, we have not forgotten about the resocialization camps, and not the model ones the Federation uses to deceive its citizens, or even its own well-meaning social workers and counsellors who genuinely wish to help those who need it.”
“…do I even want to know?” Riker asked, looking disturbed.
“We have to.” Picard said, his hands shaking and forcing Doctor Crusher to walk over, protocol be damned, and take a hand in her own. “We have to…if all this is true…if the Federation truly isn’t…isn’t what we thought it would is…then we owe it to ourselves…to everyone the Federation has harmed…to watch all this to the end…”
And so it continued. There was Yustina Kolodavich Guseva, a member of the Federation Council no less, and one who opposed the effective abolition of free enterprise in the Federation’s core systems, and its suppression in the outer colonies and worlds. And it wasn’t just politicians either who’d been imprisoned. Scientists, as well, such as Derek Whitehead who had uncovered evidence that transporters, regardless of the Federation’s claims, actually did destroy people and merely replicated them at the target destination.
There was an Indian geneticist, Manas Adwani, who’d actually managed to correct the flaws in the Augmentation process, allowing for the birth of psychologically-stable Augments. Intellectuals too had been targeted, from philosophers who questioned and criticized the subtly-monolithic nature of Federation society and culture, to historians who’d uncovered socio-politically-unacceptable details of the past, in particular of pre-WWIII 21st Century history. Artists and musicians had also been imprisoned, as their innovative thoughts on cultural expression were deemed dangerous by Section 31’s social engineers.
Nor was it limited to Humans. In fact, it was a Vulcan who was the oldest prisoner, along with members of his sect, all of whom had been tracked down, abducted and made to appear dead, before being imprisoned on Pluto.
All because T’Kas believed that Vulcans could learn to master both emotion and logic before living with them in balance. And he had succeeded, having lived on Earth for virtually the entirety of the 22nd Century, allowing him to gather a following of young Vulcan intellectuals and scientists whom he taught to live as he did.
“Of course, this was unacceptable to Section 31.” T’Kas sneered. “Apparently, our people’s suppression of their emotions was deemed a vital and…necessary, psychological check and balance to ensure we wouldn’t be a threat to the sociopolitical balance of the newborn Federation.”
No less than five Dahar masters were also released from the prison, all abducted and imprisoned for their opposition to the Klingon-Federation Alliance. “…this is not going to end well.” Worf growled with a shake of his head as Amash Nalkah angrily raged at the podium, even needing to be restrained by Admiral Targaryen after he finished his tirade by holding the podium so hard the wood shattered. “…brave of her.”
Then horror filled the command staff, as the most recent additions to the prison roster were revealed, three Romulan Senators including a consular candidate, all supposedly killed when a pocket of toxic gas in a nearby swamp was released and poisoned everyone in the country home of one of the senators. “I don’t know if Ambassador Spock knew or was involved.” Senator Nirus hissed. “All I know is that we led the united front in the Senate against his movement for reunification between Vulcan and Romulus. And that was enough for those hypocrites to make us disappear, regardless of the loss our families would have to endure. Because say what you want about the Tal Shiar, but at least they have the decency to not pretend to be anything other than what they are!”
Nirus looked away, chest heaving, and then wiping her eyes, staggered away from the podium. Then she paused, and looking at the screen, visibly softened her expression before speaking in Romulan. “Kunsara my son…mother will be home soon…” she said, before letting a fellow senator lead her away.
The horror story didn’t end with just prisoners from Tartarus, but also inmates from the resocialization camps. Images were also shown that looked straight like something from the 20th Century, whether the Third Reich’s concentration and death camps, or the gulags of the Soviet Union. Row upon row of small, one-man residences, differentiated only by a string of letters and numbers above the door. Hollow-eyes and world-weary inmates underwent medical examinations by Imperial doctors and medical droids. Many of them were underweight, as starvation was a common method of punishing disobedience. All of them had barcodes printed onto the back of their necks, as a means of identification.
Then there were the methods used for ‘resocialization’, most commonly being forced to watch ‘educational’ videos over extended periods of time, with electrical current being applied to keep inmates awake. Drugs were also used, of various kinds and combinations, along with pain and pleasure methods.
All too many inmates succumbed to such brutal treatment, leading to various scenes of Imperial officers and men grimly looking on as droids unearthed mass graves. Apparently, surviving inmates had been forced to dig and bury the dead in such a crude way, as a way of reinforcing the consequences of failing ‘reintegration’ back into Federation society.
By the end of it all, Troi was openly crying, Riker visibly struggling to stay calm while holding her and rubbing circles into her back. Data was looking down at the table with a torn expression on his face, while Worf was gripping the conference table so hard the wood had cracked beneath his fingers. Geordi was holding his head in his hands, and while Picard and Doctor Crusher had managed to keep their composure, their hands were white as they tightly took comfort and reassurance in each other’s physical presence.
In fact, it was almost…comforting, when Q appeared in a flash of light. And for once, he didn’t look or sound taunting.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it had to come to this.” He said. “But perhaps now you understand why we don’t believe the Federation should be allowed to freely expand across the galaxy.”
He paused, and tilted his head. “You have a question.” He said. “Ask. For once, I will answer straight to the point.”