Star Trek - TNG - 000 by Q-Zone

Author:Q-Zone [Q-Zone]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-08-07T13:52:57.818000+00:00

Chapter Eight

DURING THE FIFTH YEAR OF THE REIGN of the em- press, on an unusually chilly summer night in the largest city on Rzom, the eleventh planet in the primary solar system of the Tkon Empire, a young man stood on the wide crystal steps leading to the front entrance of the imperial governor's mansion and exhorted the crowd that had gathered in the spacious and well-lit plaza to hear him speak. A life-sized statue of the empress, carved from the purest Rzom marble and posed heroically atop an elegant pedestal at the center of the plaza, looked on in silence. "Why," he asked the onlookers rhetorically, "should we pay exorbitant taxes, wasting the re- sources of a lifetime, just to preserve an over-

crowded old world millions of miles from here, whose time has come?" About a third of the crowd, most the same age as the speaker, cheered his words enthusiastically, while others muttered among themselves or cast angry yellow stares at the youth upon the steps. A contingent of five safeties, clad in matching turquoise uniforms, flanked the crowd, watching carefully for the early signifiers of a brewing distur- bance. The faces of the safeties were fixed and expressionless, displaying no response to the young man's fervent oratory. Pacification rings waited patiently on the fingers of each safety's hand, linked to sophisticated neutralization equipment embedded in the very walls and pavement of the city. So far, there had been no cause to employ the rings, but the safeties remained alert and ready. Nervous faces, perhaps even the governor's, peered through the curtained windows of the palace, view- ing the drama from behind the safety of reinforced crystal walls. "That world is our birthplace," a woman shouted indignantly from the forefront of the crowd. From the looks of her, she was a governmental function- ary of approximately the sixth echelon, whose reddish hair was already turning silver. A disk- shaped emblem melded to the collar of her insulated winter mantle proclaimed that she had voluntarily donated more than her allotted share to the Great Endeavor.

The young man's partisans among the crowd, students mostly, greeted the woman's passionate outburst with jeers and laughter. Emboldened by their support, the speaker on the steps hooted as well. "I wasn't born there and neither were you," he shot back, winning another round of cheers from his contemporaries. Despite the chill of the evening, on a world little known for its warmth, his vermilion cloak was open to the wind and flapping above his shoulder as he spoke. His ebony locks were knotted in the latest style. "I'm proud to say that I was born here on Rzommand to Hades with decrepit Tkon!" Many of the older spectators clucked disapprov- ingly and shook their heads. "You should be ashamed of yourself," the aging functionary said. "You don't deserve the blessings of the empire!" One crystal step above and behind the youthful firebrand, unobserved by either his supporters or detractors, nor by the watchful eyes of the vigilant safeties, Gorgan watched with pleasure as the pub- lic debate grew more heated.

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