Текст книги "What Judgments Come"
Автор книги: Dayton Ward
Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
Жанр:
Научная фантастика
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
Turning to walk to the wall-mounted viewscreen on the left side of the admiral’s office, T’Prynn replied, “Yes, Admiral. We have completed our analysis of the navigational data obtained by Mister Reyes from the Omari-Ekon.” Without waiting for further instructions, she took the square blue data card she had been carrying in her right hand and inserted it into a reader slot situated next to the screen. She then pressed a sequence of keys on the control pad next to the reader, and the screen flared to life. A wash of computer data coalesced into the image of what Nogura recognized as a standard Federation star chart. Moving to the side of the screen so as to offer an unobstructed view, T’Prynn clasped her hands behind her back.
“Based on navigational and chronological data recorded by the Omari-Ekon’s main computer,” she said, “we believe that the Mirdonyae Artifacts originated in this star system. Federation stellar cartography databases currently list this system as FGC PSR 0108+143.”
Shifting in his seat, Xiong said, “It’s a pulsar, sir, estimated to be two hundred million years old. As you can tell by the database, we haven’t given it much attention in terms of exploratory research.”
“But the Vulcans have,” Nogura countered.
T’Prynn nodded. “Indeed. Our star charts refer to it as Eremar. The only information we possess was provided by automated survey probes, dispatched centuries ago. As with much of the Taurus Reach, Vulcan never sent crewed vessels to that region.”
“So, where is this Eremar system?” Nogura asked, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his tea.
“Approximately thirty-five light-years from our present position,” T’Prynn replied, tapping the control pad again. In response to her command, the star chart magnified, this time highlighting and bringing into sharp relief one section of the Taurus Reach with which Nogura was becoming increasingly familiar.
“In the center of this … what did you call it? Tkon Empire?” he asked.
“We believe this to be the center of what once was the Tkon civilization, Admiral,” Xiong replied. “At least, according to the information we’ve so far been able to obtain on that area, including information supplied to us by Cervantes Quinn and Bridget McLellan from their mission to retrieve the stolen Mirdonyae Artifact.”
Nogura said, “Yes, of course. Their encounter with the Shedai … Apostate?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Xiong replied.
Offering a nod of thanks, Nogura eyed the image on the viewscreen. “That looks to be a bit of a hop from here,” he said. “Do we know why the Omari-Ekon was in that vicinity in the first place?”
T’Prynn shook her head. “We do not believe the vessel actually traveled to the region, sir, but rather obtained the relevant navigational data as part of the business deal that gave the Orions the artifact itself. According to the intelligence data we’ve been able to gather, we believe that neither Ganz nor any member of his crew possessed knowledge of the artifact’s specific origin or properties.” Stepping closer to the viewscreen, she placed one hand on the highlighted area. “Mister Quinn reported the Apostate’s mention of an alliance with factions from the Tkon Empire, one that resulted in the creation of a great weapon capable of imprisoning individual Shedai and neutralizing any threat posed by their activities.”
“Which we believe to be the Mirdonyae Artifacts,” Xiong said. “Quinn’s descriptions match the crystals in physical characteristics and function. Given that we have two Shedai contained within a pair of the things, it seems to me we’re barking up the right tree.”
“It certainly seems that way,” Nogura said, setting aside his tea, which had cooled rather more quickly than he had anticipated. “Mister Xiong, what do we know about the Tkon, and Eremar in particular?”
Drawing himself up, Xiong replied, “Unfortunately, much of what we do know—including what was given to us with the reports supplied by Quinn and McLellan based on their encounter with the Shedai Apostate—is more story than fact. We know that their civilization existed more than six hundred thousand years ago, and tales have been told and circulated for generations. Consistent details describe the Tkon as having controlled a vast region within what we now call the Taurus Reach. Their empire crossed the border we’ve since established as separating the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, and their territorial boundaries extended into what is now Klingon space, though they did not reach across to areas now under the control of the Tholians.”
“According to these tales,” T’Prynn said, “the Tkon civilization was quite advanced—well beyond our present technological level. Among their many unsubstantiated achievements, they are believed to have mastered terraforming, as well as traveling interstellar distances without benefit of faster-than-light spacecraft.”
“The wildest stories involve the Tkon being able to literally relocate entire solar systems,” Xiong said.
Nogura said, “Sounds a lot like our friends, the Shedai, and what happened to the Jinoteur system.” His left hand resting on the desk, he began tapping its smooth surface with his forefinger. “Even taking into account gross exaggerations and embellishments of these stories, it’s probably safe to say that the Tkon likely were a dominant power in this part of the galaxy, at least for a time.”
“That’s correct, sir,” Xiong said. “Given their probable level of technological sophistication compared to surrounding civilizations, they would have seemed like gods to less-developed societies. According to the stories, some emerging cultures evidently worshipped the Tkon. That, or they simply feared Tkon power.”
“At least, until their empire fell,” Nogura said.
T’Prynn nodded. “Yes, Admiral. It is generally believed that the Tkon civilization all but died out after the star in their empire’s core system went supernova.”
“Eremar,” Xiong said.
Reaching again for the viewer’s control pad, T’Prynn pressed a key that further magnified the image, this time bringing into focus the Eremar pulsar and the lone planet orbiting it. “According to Mister Quinn’s report, the Shedai Apostate alleged that the Shedai themselves detonated the star, thereby crippling the Tkon civilization before its apparent superweapon could be employed.”
“Well, we know Shedai technology can destroy planets and make solar systems disappear,” Nogura said, scarcely daring even to imagine what it might be like to control such power. “Forcing a star to go nova seems right up their alley. If they were responsible for Eremar, then they obviously viewed the Tkon as a threat.”
“Absolutely,” Xiong replied. “Rumors have persisted for generations that some survivors of the Tkon people remain, scattered to the various worlds that once fell under their empire’s control. Given their supposed ability to transit between star systems as we’ve seen the Shedai do, it’s unlikely their entire civilization was destroyed.”
T’Prynn said, “Admiral, even if there are no living Tkon, artifacts of their technology might well remain.”
Nogura sighed. “Why did I know you were going to say that? It was bad enough when we were working to keep the advanced weaponry from one dead empire out of our enemy’s hands. Now you’re thinking there’s a second such civilization, with the power to have stood toe-to-toe with the Shedai?” He shook his head. “I should have retired and moved back to Fujiyama when I had the chance.” Returning his attention to Xiong, he said, “What do you think, Lieutenant?”
Stepping closer, Xiong replied, “I think we need to go and have a look for ourselves, Admiral.”
“I knew you were going to say that, too,” Nogura said, softening his remark with a small, wan smile. “Any race that could construct those crystals probably has a few other tricks up their sleeves.” No sooner did he speak the words than he glanced to where T’Prynn still stood by the viewscreen. Though she said nothing, her right eyebrow did rise a notch. “Quiet, you.”
“Aye, sir,” the Vulcan replied.
Eyeing Xiong, Nogura asked, “Lieutenant, are you still having trouble trying to communicate with the Shedai inside the artifact you have on board the Lovell?”
“We are making progress, sir,” the younger officer replied. “Commander al-Khaled and his people have some new ideas, and we’re working to implement them now.”
Nogura nodded, satisfied if not overly enthused by the report. “Keep at it.” Perhaps, if communication with the Shedai was successful, the imprisoned entity might even have information of some use to Xiong before he set out on the journey to Eremar.
Somehow, I don’t think we’re that lucky.
Pausing a moment to consider the plan he was about to put into motion, Nogura straightened in his chair. “Very well, then. I’m authorizing an exploratory mission to Eremar. Find out whatever you can—information, technology, whatever.” Recalling the latest status reports from the station’s dockmaster, Nogura said, “The Endeavour is on patrol and won’t be back for more than a month.” He looked to Xiong. “You’ve got the Lovell tied up with your current round of experiments, and she’s not the ship for this kind of mission, anyway. That leaves the Sagittarius, which is undergoing some overdue maintenance on several key shipboard systems, and won’t be ready for a long-haul trip like this for at least two more weeks.”
Not for the first time, Nogura regretted his decision to allow the starships Theseus, Akhiel, and Buenos Aires—the other vessels assigned to Starbase 47 on an interim basis—to be spirited away by Starfleet Command for other missions they deemed to be of equal or greater importance than Operation Vanguard. The other vessel on temporary assignment to him, the Defiant, under the command of Captain Thomas Blair, also had been dispatched to a distant corner of the Taurus Reach, pursuing its own investigation of recent tensions between the Klingons and the Tholians. Though Nogura had full faith in Captain Nassir and the crew of the Sagittarius, the Archer-class scout just was not the type of vessel he preferred to send on the undertaking he was about to order. He considered waiting for one of the larger, more powerful ships to return before putting Xiong’s plan into motion, but if he and T’Prynn were right, then time was of the essence.
“Two weeks, Lieutenant,” Nogura said, tapping the top of his desk for emphasis. “You’ve got that long to prepare your mission profile and bring the Sagittarius crew up to speed.”
Xiong nodded. “Understood, sir.” Though he said nothing else, Nogura sensed the younger man’s unease.
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. It’s my intention to send the Endeavour or somebody in your direction as soon as I’m able.” To T’Prynn, Nogura said, “Lieutenant, dispatch a message to Captain Khatami, and have her start hightailing it back this way. If we can reroute them to Eremar to assist the Sagittarius, that would make my year.”
“Aye, sir,” the Vulcan replied.
An authoritative tone from the communications panel on Nogura’s desk interrupted the proceedings, and he reached for his desktop computer interface and tapped the key to activate it. Expecting a visual communication from his assistant or perhaps even Commander Cooper up in the station’s operations center, the admiral instead was surprised to see the heading for an eyes-only encrypted communiquй indicating the need for his immediate attention.
“Thank you both,” he said, calling an abrupt end to the meeting. “That’ll be all. Dismissed.”
He said nothing else, watching until the door slid closed behind the pair of junior officers, leaving him alone. Reaching for another control on his desk, he activated the door’s lock, thereby preventing his assistant or anyone else from entering and interrupting what he was about to do. He then entered his authorization code on the computer terminal, unlocking the encrypted communication. He was surprised to see from the message’s header that it had been sent by Captain Blair from the Defiant, which at this moment was supposed to be making its way back from the distant Traelus star system.
It was a distress call.
31
“Lies! Every word that comes out of your loathsome face is a lie!”
The Klingon, whom Jetanien recognized as a farmer named Kanjar, was one of the colony’s more outspoken residents. He stood at the rear of Paradise City’s Public Hall, dressed in a soiled set of coveralls, the cuffs of which were tucked into a pair of oversized, scuffed, and muddy boots. His hair, long and also covered with a film of dust, was pulled back from his face and secured at the back of his neck, though a few strands had freed themselves to hang before his eyes. His outburst had captured the attention of the several dozen colonists occupying seats in the hall, bringing to an abrupt end the candid yet calm discussion being guided by Jetanien with the help of Lugok and D’tran.
Rising from his seat at the center of the raised dais positioned at the front of the room, Jetanien gestured toward the Klingon. “Kanjar, please, join us. We’d be happy to address your concerns. Perhaps they are even shared by others in the audience.” Even as he extended the offer, the ambassador knew he was on shaky ground. After spending the better part of the past two hours discussing the recent escalating displays of civil unrest within Paradise City and in several of the outlying camps, he had been pleased to see that many of the citizens who had chosen to attend the proceedings appeared mollified by the discourse as well as some of the proffered remedies. An outburst such as Kanjar’s, if the renewed mumblings he heard from the crowd were any indication, carried with it the potential to tip the mood of the meeting back to one of uncertainty and discord.
“They are not merely my concerns,” Kanjar snapped, his voice echoing off the chamber’s high, smooth rock walls, “nor are they even just the concerns of the people in this room. No, they apply to every Klingon and every colonist on this worthless planet!” Even if Jetanien had not already known that Kanjar—according to the constabulary—was among those suspected of being involved in a handful of acts of unrest in recent weeks, he could see that the Klingon’s tone and stance were those of someone accustomed to influencing others. The ambassador had no doubt that, given sufficient motivation, Kanjar might well be capable of inciting even greater, more aggressive acts of resistance.
Jetanien turned to his right and regarded Lugok, who for the first time seemed at least somewhat interested in contributing more to the proceedings beyond the occasional scowl, grunt, and indifferent glare directed at the audience. “Perhaps you might weigh in on this, Ambassador?”
For his part, the Klingon diplomat shifted his position in his chair before emitting a disapproving groan. While Lugok had privately communicated to Jetanien his opinion that public forums such as this were futile and even stupid gestures with no conciliatory value, he had promised Jetanien not to share that opinion with the citizenry. Holding true to his word, the ambassador said nothing to that particular effect as he rose from his chair.
“Qagh Sopbe’!” he snapped, pointing to the Klingon farmer. “You’ve spent too much time in the sun, Kanjar. Sit down and learn something.”
Though he said nothing, Jetanien still could not help the audible sigh that escaped his mouth. This will not end well. As the thought taunted him, he glanced to the rear of the meeting hall, where Constable Schiappacasse and two members of her security staff stood along the back wall, maintaining a discreet vigil over the proceedings. Schiappacasse offered him a subtle nod, reassuring him that she would, if necessary, step in and alleviate any problems before they got out of hand.
From where he sat to Jetanien’s left, Senator D’tran said in a low voice, “Perhaps calling him a coward isn’t the best choice for attempting to calm his temperament.”
For his part, Kanjar waved away Lugok’s suggestion. Instead, he stepped forward until he stood just in front of the raised dais before turning to regard the audience. “But, I will make certain that everyone in this colony learns something that will change their minds about the promise of Paradise City.”
Jetanien stepped to the edge of the dais. “I ask you again, Kanjar,” he said, keeping his voice low and level, “take a seat so that we can discuss these issues in an open and honest manner.”
Turning to face Jetanien, Kanjar leveled an accusatory finger at the ambassador’s broad chest. “Open and honest manner? Will you openly and honestly admit that your police force is at this moment holding as prisoners those who would make their voices heard regarding the truth of this colony?”
“Anyone currently in the custody of the constabulary has been suspected of violating codes of conduct,” Jetanien replied. “Your right to protest has not been suppressed, but security has been ordered to step in when such protests become disorderly and a possible danger to other citizens.”
Kanjar grunted in obvious dissatisfaction. “And the majority of your arrests have been Klingons!”
Renewed stirring from the crowd reached Jetanien’s ears, and when he looked up to scan the faces of the audience he saw expressions of irritation and impatience. Accompanying those, however, were reactions of interest and even concern over what Kanjar was saying. The implications of the Klingon’s words were obvious, and any public claims or allegations of inequitable treatment along racial lines, given the charged climate currently permeating the city, might add to an already tense situation.
“I do not have detention records to consult,” Jetanien said, “but even if that is the case, I’m sure there must be some rational explanation.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they possessed a hollow ring. He had received enough reports from Constable Schiappacasse to know that many—though certainly not all—of the problems in recent weeks had involved several of the Klingon colonists. The main problem, as he saw it, was not that non-Klingons were more virtuous than Klingons—far from it. There were plenty of accounts of bar fights, vandalism, and petty squabbles from other settlers to know that the problem was not so simple as blaming any one group. Instead, the evidence seemed to indicate that the Klingon colonists, on general principle if for no other reason, were predisposed to using aggressive means to resolve disputes.
As if you needed a report to tell you that. The thought was a disturbing one, though Jetanien could not dismiss it.
“Hah!”
The new voice of dissent came from the far left side of the room, and when Jetanien looked in that direction he saw a bulky Tellarite sitting among another group of colonists, his expression, like theirs, indicating equal parts of amusement and disdain. The brown jumpsuit he wore looked to be soiled with dirt and perhaps grease, leading Jetanien to wonder if the Tellarite was one of the mechanics tasked with servicing and repairing the multitudes of farming and other equipment upon which the Nimbus III colony relied.
“Of course there’s a rational explanation,” the Tellarite called out. “It’s because the Klingons are the ones who start all the fights!” The comment was enough to elicit laughter from his companions, as well as several other members of the audience.
“All right,” Jetanien said, raising both his voice and his arms in an attempt to reassert control of the meeting. “Let’s all do our best to keep this dialogue productive for everyone, shall we?”
Ignoring the Chelon’s plea, Kanjar turned to point toward his heckler. “Whereas fat, lazy Tellarites do nothing but start arguments they can’t finish.”
Springing to his feet with more speed and grace than Jetanien would have thought possible given his girth, the Tellarite grunted as he aimed his own pudgy digit at the Klingon. “By Kera and Phinda, I’ll finish this one!” Several of his comrades also rose from their seats, each of them glowering at Kanjar as though daring him to attack all of them. In response, Kanjar squared his shoulders and clenched his fists, and Jetanien knew that there were perhaps a handful of seconds at best before the aggrieved Klingon took matters into his own hands. As other members of the audience began standing up—some moving for a nearby exit while others stood their ground—another, unexpected voice made itself heard.
It was with no small amount of relief that Jetanien watched Constable Schiappacasse move from her place at the rear of the room and make her way through the crowd to where the Tellarite stood with his companions.
“Sir, if you’ll come with me for just a moment?” she asked, her voice low and polite, but firm.
Eyeing her with suspicion, the Tellarite said, “What? Me? Why am I being singled out?”
Schiappacasse shook her head. “You’re not, sir. I’m just trying to keep the peace here, is all. We’re going to step to the back of the room for a minute while the ambassador gets the meeting back on schedule.”
“Go, Tellarite!” Kanjar said, laughing. “Hide behind the Earther woman, though I suspect that will be a challenge, given your ponderous bulk.” The comment evoked more laughter from the audience, though Jetanien was buoyed at the realization that it came only from a precious few observers.
“Friends!” said D’tran. The aged Romulan had risen to his feet and made his way to stand next to Jetanien, holding up one withered hand. “Let us not allow these proceedings to deteriorate. We are all tired, and we all have legitimate concerns, but no one can truly be heard unless we all agree to listen.”
“Perhaps we should adjourn the meeting for this evening,” Jetanien said, feeling his own anxiety increasing with each passing moment. Even as he made the suggestion, he wondered if that might be the best course. What would happen when the emotionally charged audience spilled into the city street? Without even the semblance of order offered by the public meeting hall, would this disagreement escalate into yet another fight? Would Schiappacasse and her people be able to contain such a situation?
If Kanjar heard D’tran’s request, he seemed not to care. “No one here has anything to say that I wish to hear.” He nodded to Jetanien while addressing Lugok. “The Earthers and their pets like to stand around and talk, but I expected more from a Klingon, even one who resigns himself to futile pursuits such as this. Are you truly willing to look on while Klingons are subverted and oppressed, and do the bidding of Federation lapdogs such as this?” Gesturing to D’tran, he added, “Are we so weak that we must take orders from Romulans so feeble they can barely stand upright, let alone comport themselves in battle?”
“Enough!” Lugok snapped, lunging from his chair and launching himself from the dais before Jetanien or D’tran could say anything. He vaulted the distance separating him from Kanjar in a single leap, landing before the surprised farmer and seizing the other Klingon by the arm. Without preamble, he turned Kanjar toward the door and began advancing toward it. Schiappacasse looked to Jetanien for direction, but the Chelon shook his head.
“You heard Ambassador Jetanien, this meeting is over.” Looking back over his shoulder, the Klingon called out in a louder voice, “That means everyone. Go home.” Jetanien and everyone else in the room could only watch as Lugok disappeared through the doorway, all the while hoisting Kanjar high enough that his boots barely touched the ground.
“Leave it to Lugok to dispense with protocol,” D’tran said as the crowd began to disperse.
Jetanien nodded. “It would seem that we’re reaching a tipping point among the colonists. I can appreciate their frustrations, but if we lose the drive to work together, I fear all hope for this colony may be lost.”
“We may have asked for too much too soon, my friend,” D’tran replied. “A noble effort, yes, but perhaps one we are not yet ready to achieve.”
Both diplomats turned at the sound of approaching footsteps as Constable Schiappacasse moved to stand before the dais. Her features were darkened by worry, and Jetanien could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I think you should consider implementing the first stage of our contingency plan.”
“Curfews?” Jetanien asked.
Schiappacasse nodded. “Just for the next night or two. I’d like to increase our security patrols, as well. By no means do I want this to be permanent—just until we can calm things down a bit. Based on some of the things we’ve been seeing the past few nights, along with what went on in here, it feels like people are looking for an excuse to fight. I’d like not to give them that.”
Turning to D’tran, Jetanien asked, “What are your thoughts on this?”
The aged Romulan sighed. “I don’t relish the notion of added restrictions and enforcements which might make us appear to be panicked ourselves. If anything, such action might serve only to solidify any resentment against us as the authorities of the colony. Any response we take needs to be measured, restrained, and explained to the public as thoroughly and honestly as possible.”
“We also can’t afford to seem indecisive,” Schiappacasse countered. “There’s still a significant number of the population who support the colony and what you’re trying to achieve here. They need to know we’re taking steps to protect them, as well.”
D’tran nodded. “Agreed.” To Jetanien, he said, “Very well, my friend.”
“Constable,” Jetanien said, “alert your security forces. I’ll prepare a statement for the colony, and we’ll broadcast it as soon as—”
A heavy thump resounded off the walls of the meeting hall, rattling windows as well as the arrangement of chairs occupying the chamber’s main floor. The overhead lighting blinked several times before returning to its normal, steady state, and Jetanien flinched, recalling the incident at the spaceport from several evenings ago.
“Oh no,” D’tran said, and when Jetanien looked to him he saw that his elderly friend’s lined face had gone white with shock.
“That was just outside!” Schiappacasse yelled, already turning and running for the door.
D’tran said, “No, it wasn’t, but it was close.” From somewhere beyond the building, sirens could now be heard blaring in the streets. Jetanien recognized the alarm as the one designated for citywide emergencies calling for the security force to begin employing crowd control procedures.
“Come,” Jetanien said, his voice fearful as he took his friend by the arm. “We need to see what’s happened.” After he assisted D’tran from the dais, both diplomats crossed the room toward the exit when the heavy door was flung open to reveal Lugok.
“Not this way,” the Klingon said, pointing past Jetanien toward the room’s opposite end. “Out the back, now!” He did not wait for a response as he pushed Jetanien and D’tran up the chamber’s main aisle.
“What happened?” Jetanien asked.
“A bomb,” the Klingon replied. “Just up the street. Two storefronts were destroyed just as the crowd left here. There are numerous casualties.” When D’tran paused in response to this report, Lugok reasserted his grip on the Romulan’s arm. “Keep moving!”
Jetanien was incredulous. “A bomb? Tonight? Of all nights?”
“It would seem that coincidence is unlikely,” D’tran said. “The meeting was a public event, after all, and scheduled several days ago. Plenty of time to orchestrate an act of insurrection.”
“You’re saying this was planned?” Jetanien asked, his beak clicking at an increasing rate in keeping with his elevated anxiety.
Lugok hissed, “Don’t be a fool, Jetanien. Someone wanted either to scare or to hurt anyone who might be viewed as being in support of making the colony work. I wouldn’t be surprised if that petaQ Kanjar intentionally disrupted the meeting in order to force an early end and get people into the streets amid confusion before the explosive was triggered.”
As they reached one of the building’s rear exits, Jetanien paused, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. It’s one thing to start a brawl, or cause a work stoppage, or protest overzealous law enforcement, but this? Causing deliberate injury and perhaps death?”
“Anyone with such grievances possibly feels their complaints haven’t been heard,” Lugok said, opening the door and casting a furtive look into the street beyond. “You’re listening now, though, are you not?”
Running footsteps outside the door made Jetanien step back, and Lugok pushed forward, his fist raised and poised to strike. Then the door opened to reveal Constable Schiappacasse and one of her security officers, both with phasers drawn. Both officers looked worried, their concern only heightened by the constant wail of the alarm sirens permeating the outside air.
“Gentlemen,” Schiappacasse said, gesturing for them to follow her. “Come with me, please. We’re taking you to the Federation Consulate, as it’s the most secure location that we can get to quickly.”
The three diplomats followed on Schiappacasse’s heels as the constable guided them from the building and into the narrow alley separating it from the neighboring structure. Her companion guarded their rear as they moved, while the sounds of chaos filled the air. Sirens blared their warbling tones, which rang sharply off the storefronts, and people shouted either from the streets or the open windows of nearby buildings. Schiappacasse seemed to move with practiced ease through the side streets, avoiding exposure on the main thoroughfares. Light from what Jetanien took to be fire flickered against nearby walls, and acrid smoke from an unknown source assailed his nostrils. Shadowy figures sprinted along intersecting streets, though no one seemed to be taking any notice of anyone other than themselves.
As Schiappacasse led them around a corner at one intersection, Jetanien was startled to see a ground transport belonging to the colony’s security forces bearing down on them. Rather than stopping, the transport screamed past them on its way deeper into the city, and Jetanien offered silent thoughts for the safety of the officers inside the vehicle. After all, there was no way to know the severity of the situation into which they were traveling. Though security teams were the only persons allowed to carry weapons within the colony, that would not deter any would-be insurgents, particularly if they had greater numbers, which seemed likely.
