Drastic Measures

by Dayton Ward

It was a habit from his ground forces days that Lorca had never shaken, and being in here, in this place, under load and carrying a weapon while hunting an enemy, had brought long-dormant skills and experience to the fore.

If the worst happened, her own life would be just one more casualty of this entire tragic affair, but that at least was preferable to doing nothing and consigning two fellow Starfleet officers to almost certain death. Was there really another choice?

The pistol flew from her grip, bouncing off a nearby cargo container before clattering to the deck. Not bothering to retrieve the phaser, Georgiou pounced, closing the distance separating her from the man and driving the heel of her right hand up under his chin. He grunted in surprise and pain as her other hand closed around the phaser rifle’s barrel and she pulled. Then she lashed out with a second strike, the edge of her hand catching him across the bridge of his nose.

Despite the situation’s heightening tension, Jenn’s read of Georgiou’s thoughts was that the commander was doing a superb job of keeping her emotions at bay. There was fear there, yes, but for the moment her focus was on the matter at hand, concentrating on the ship and the safety of the people aboard.

Jenn realized the commander likely was more aware of their present predicament than anyone, and was carrying the burden of trying to see them all to safety. Despite the mounting fear she emitted, Georgiou was fighting her own emotions and channeling that energy toward the task before her.

What she learned aboard the Defiant would offer insight into another aspect of Starfleet’s overall mission of exploration and the expansion of knowledge. The experience would serve her well as she continued her pursuit of one day commanding a ship of her own.

But I know it will be a while before I get past it.” He placed his hand on the catwalk’s guard rail. “I may never be completely past it. Balayna was . . . something very special.” The smile returned, and Georgiou could tell it was not forced for her benefit. “She was everything I wasn’t. Spontaneous, serene, maybe even a little too wild on occasion. Balayna was a free spirit, and a caring soul unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She was a descendant of the original settlers, but she wasn’t caught up in all of the isolationist talk and the movement to declare the planet free of Federation oversight. When relocation happened, she was one of the strongest supporters once the influx of refugees started. There were all kinds of committees and task groups designed to help with the transition into the community, and from what her friends told me, I think she volunteered for all of them.” He paused, his features softening as though he was recalling a pleasant memory.

“Staying here doesn’t seem right anymore, but I’m not sure Starfleet is the right place for me anymore either.”

How Lorca accepted or rejected this unavoidable change within would define the type of person he was to be from this time forward.

Reaching up, she tapped her chest to indicate her Starfleet uniform. “We’re bound to uphold and defend those ideals, but the harder job is living up to them.” His expression falling, Lorca said, “I don’t know if I’m capable of that anymore.” He sighed. “For that matter, I don’t know if I ever was.”

The ache in his knuckles making him look at his hands, Lorca saw fresh blood soaking through the thin sparring gloves. He flexed his fingers. They would hurt for a while, but there was nothing broken. “I’m better now.” He really was a far cry from being “better,” let alone “okay” or “fine.” But these two junior officers, looking for a workout free from distractions, did not deserve to be the brunt of his emotional outbursts.

“And I got the sense you were holding something back.” Releasing a sigh, he sat on the bench, leaning against the adjacent bulkhead as he took another sip of his water. “You read people pretty well, Commander.” “It’s a gift.”

“From this point on, any mention of Tarsus IV in any history book or database will start and end with what happened here. There’s nothing left to rebuild, except a legacy of poor leadership, lack of simple damned humanity, and avoidable tragedy, and that’s the way it’ll be, forever.” When Georgiou said nothing in response, he added, “It’s not just about Kodos, but also the environment that allowed him to do what he did. He didn’t act alone, or in a vacuum.”

“Where the hell did we go wrong? Two centuries ago on Earth, we damned near bombed ourselves out of existence, and those people lucky enough to survive that still found ways to keep fighting over what was left. We got lucky that the Vulcans showed up and opted to give a shit about us. They handed us a second chance on a silver platter, and for a while there we looked and acted like we might deserve it.”

“Don’t give up on those ideals just yet, Gabriel. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that after a test like this, we seem to do well at remembering what makes us who we are, and we rededicate ourselves to those things we hold dear in a quest to do better. History also has its share of those stories, and it may well prove you wrong here too.”

He admired Philippa Georgiou, who despite everything she had witnessed on Tarsus IV still found room to hope not just for the present, but also for the future.

Wiping off his hand, he reached into his pocket. He remembered how Balayna at first thought it strange when he gave her fortune cookies. It was an affectation he acquired years earlier, and it became something of a game between them. Later, she insisted the fortune was the best part of their dates. She kept them, in that wooden bowl in her apartment, and every so often pulled one at random to read aloud. Sometimes, she would joke that she was searching for inspiration, or that she was selecting an attitude by which she would face the coming day. It was yet another of her delightful eccentricities. The paper resting in the palm of his hand, Lorca studied the words it contained. Hate is never conquered by hate. Hate is conquered by love. It seemed Georgiou and Balayna shared the same outlook. One day, Lorca hoped he might feel the same way.

Even younger men and women who were children on the night of the massacre carry disquieting memories of that time, able to process their individual experiences only years afterward and with the support of family members, friends, or professional counselors. For anyone who opts to leave Tarsus IV, this almost always invites curiosity once it’s learned that person lived through the tragedy, or is the offspring of a survivor. Given the state of modern society and the many luxuries we take for granted, unless an individual was caught up in the incident or has a personal connection to a victim or a survivor, there are no points of comparison.

On the other hand, there seemed to be a wisdom lurking behind Shannon’s blue eyes that belied her youth. Hers was a childhood marked by tragedy, and that she emerged from the calamity of Tarsus IV able to process the sights she had witnessed and the memories she still carried was a testament to her character and inner strength. Even as an adult encountering only the aftermath of what Shannon and her fellow colonists endured, Georgiou remained haunted by those memories.

Later, when I was in high school and living with my aunt on Benecia, few people where I lived even knew about what happened. It’s like it was already being forgotten.” She lifted her head, returning her attention to Georgiou. “That’s when I decided I needed to learn and understand as much as I could, and write about it, not just for me or the other survivors, and not even for the people we lost. It’s a story that needs to be told, and it needs to be heard, by as many people as possible so that nothing like it ever happens again. Maybe someone, somewhere, will someday do a better job than I have, but I think this is a good start.”

Georgiou sighed. “I’m not surprised he turned you down. It affected him more than he was willing to admit.” It had been years since she last saw Gabriel Lorca, and she had no idea as to his present whereabouts. “I don’t know if he was ever able to come to terms with what happened.”

“After this long, I don’t know that I’m suited for anything else.” Turning from the viewscreen, she regarded her bridge crew. “Starfleet is my home, and my crew is my family.”

“My science officer is the first Kelpien in Starfleet, and there’s a Vulcan and a Lirin on the Enterprise. The Intrepid is crewed entirely by Vulcans, and other worlds are starting to send their own candidates. What better example of Federation values can we offer to a newly encountered alien species than a crew with representatives from every Federation planet? I look forward to that day.”

“The rescue mission to Tarsus IV was a lesson for me too. It reinforced how I feel about everything we’re supposed to stand for. Starfleet values. Federation values. It’s when they’re tested by extreme circumstances that we see just how important they truly are, and how we need to work that much harder to uphold them. Otherwise, they’re worthless.”

“Vran,” she said, gazing at the Andorian doll. When she smiled, Georgiou noted her eyes beginning to moisten. “You kept it all this time?” “Of course I did. It was a gift.” Rising from her chair, Georgiou stepped around her desk. “For me, it’s also a reminder that we can’t let the tragedy of Tarsus IV consume us. Instead, we have to keep in mind the harsh lessons it taught us, and make sure something like it never happens again. We owe it to the people Kodos took from us. We owe it to the Four Thousand.”