Augustin le Favre was feeling just a little confused.
It had barely been a month since this ‘Galactic Empire’ had launched an unprovoked war of aggression against the Federation, and over two weeks since they’d bombarded San Francisco into a smoking crater. Oh, and blown a chunk out of the Moon while they were at it too. And now, it had about four days since United Earth had surrendered, with Imperial troops quickly landing to set up an occupation.
He remembered that day, watching columns of white-armored soldiers along with more lightly-armored ones marching down the Champs-Elysees. They’d brought walkers with them too, ranging from smaller ones with legs like chickens, to colossal machines with a passing resemblance to them. Imperial ships had even joined in on the parade, the largest of which, a Star Destroyer – not literal, but it didn’t need to be – had even cruised overhead low over the city.
The parade had marched through the Arc de Triomphe, while white banners with the black, cogwheel-like symbol of the Galactic Empire had been flown from the Eiffel Tower. Other banners were hung from the walls of the Elysees Palace, and other public buildings besides.
At the time, Augustin had been…
…yes, he’d been afraid. These people had torn the heart out of the Federation, and had forced the President (of United Earth) to surrender unconditionally. Even now, they continued to fight a war of conquest across the Federation, while the Federation’s own allies the Klingons hammered away ineffectively across what was once the Klingon Neutral Zone.
But…Augustin was also awed. There was just something…something in the way the Imperial soldiers marched in perfect unison that he couldn’t help but admire. Something…powerful, inspiring even, similar to but different from Starfleet’s own celebrations, which in hindsight, seemed low-key and downright casual in comparison.
Surprise and confusion followed awe. The occupational authorities had imposed a curfew, which caused fear to return, but they also distributed food, something in short supply since the war began. Replicators needed feedstock to operate, after all, physics demanding something in return for, well, something else, but Starfleet had priority, and causing an unexpected food shortage, one that only grew worse after San Francisco was destroyed.
With the occupation in place, people grimly and fearfully expected food to run out in short order, Starfleet having taken almost all foodstock before the Battle of Mars, and then destroyed the production facilities for such as part of a scorched earth response to the Imperial victory. This had caused considerable anger and a sense of betrayal, as Earth didn’t even have close the food production needed to feed all its people.
Which made the Empire’s response all the more surprising, as they quickly set up food distribution centers. Nothing fancy, but people weren’t going hungry anymore, and the food given was wholesome and nutritious if simple. Likewise, the Empire made certain to keep the public utilities running, like electricity, clean water, and the plumbing.
They did, however, take the transporters offline, and instead provided unarmed hovercraft for public transport purposes.
That was another source of confusion, the Imperials looking at transporters with a mix of fear and disgust, followed by confusion and disbelief that anyone would willingly use them. Nor was it the only thing that confused the Empire, in fact, they were completely shocked at Earth’s near-complete lack of food production (outside of transporters) and even pharmaceuticals among other necessities.
In hindsight, Augustin could understand. Replicators had made things like…like mass production, or large-scale farming, those Imperials he’d spoken to while working as a waiter had mentioned, obsolete. In fact, Augustin could even remember it being taught in school as a point of pride and proof of social progression if not civilized achievement.
A shame it didn’t take into account the effects of war. Or, even if war hadn’t erupted, accidents or anomalies or whatnot that might disrupt replicator use.
Earth barely even had large-scale emergency stockpiles, apparently, and what existed belonged to Starfleet.
Naturally, they’d already been stripped empty by the time the planet surrendered.
If not for the Empire distributing food (and other necessities), things would have gone bad very quickly. They probably didn’t just want to rule over starving people, or provoke a revolt, but Augustin didn’t care. A loaf of bread, a serving of vegetable soup of some kind, and cooked meat three times a day was worth a bow before the Imperials’ extragalactic Emperor, and damn the Federation and Starfleet for leaving them to the Empire’s surprising mercies.
And today, Augustin was confused again.
Apparently, some miscreants had been up and about breaking curfew the previous night. That in itself was trouble enough, as the Empire locked up anyone breaking curfew for no good reason (they made exceptions for doctors or patients rushing to hospitals, for example) for a couple of days, but this time, the miscreants weren’t just sneaking about at night.
No, this time, they’d broken into an apartment, robbed the place, killed the man of the house, and raped his wife while kids watched.
The Imperial Occupation Authority, or its Parisian branch, worked quickly. Evidence and testimony were collected, and bounties offered for information, in the form of extra food rations. This allowed the miscreants to be caught quickly, followed by a trial and sentencing on the charges of breaking and entering, armed robbery, murder, and sexual assault.
And now that sentence was being carried out, as Imperial Stormtroopers secured the convicts to posts in the middle of a public square. Imperial Army soldiers in riot gear held back the anxious crowds, while journalists and other media people filmed and broadcast live.
“We will now carry out the death sentences on the five people convicted of rape and murder.” A Stormtrooper lieutenant bellowed out, drawing attention in his black uniform. “Squad, aim!”
White-armored Stormtroopers stepped out of parade rest and into firing stances, blaster carbines aimed at the convicts. A hush fell over the crowds, even as the lieutenant dropped his arm sharply. “FIRE!” he roared.
Blasters erupted with sharp sounds of displaced air, orange bolts rippling through the convicts’ bodies. They gave cries and groans of pain, and then slumped dead in their restraints.
A collective gasp echoed across the crowds, Augustin letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. And they he, and everyone else around him, was letting out loud cheers.
He didn’t quite understand it, in fact, the rational part of his mind was telling him that what he’d seen was…inhumane. Wrong…barbaric, even…yes, the crimes they committed were horrible, and they should spend the rest of their lives in confinement for it, but…
…but even knowing all that, he couldn’t help but feel…yes, he felt satisfied, a savage joy burning through his veins at the sight of the Imperials publicly executing those criminals.
Augustin was nobody. He spent his days working as a waiter at various cafes across the city.
In short, he was just an ordinary person, all things considered. And he was feeling just a little bit confused.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“…kilo of tubers, and one kilo of meat.” A speaker droid cheerfully sounded as it flew over several queues of peoples lined up for food rations at an Imperial Food Distribution Center in Saint Louis, in the United North American States (UNAS). “Please queue in an orderly fashion. Any unruly actions will result in rations being withheld. Please cooperate with the occupational security forces in keeping the peace in the current crisis.”
Neil Milner of Saint Louis patiently stood in line, moving up periodically as the people up front received their rations. He winced as he felt phantom pain creeping up his arm, and lifting it up, did a simple exercise a medical droid had taught him after it had replaced his arm.
“Oh wow,” the man next to him spoke up in surprise. “Cybernetics…wait. You’re not Starfleet, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” Neil replied. “I used to do general maintenance work over at Saint Louis. Meant I got hit with just a little bit too much fallout. Docs and…droids, did what they could, but some of the mutations got out of control. They had to chop my arm off.”
“Oh, sorry, man, that’s…that’s rough…”
Neil smiled and shrugged. “Nah, it’s alright.” He said before flexing his new mechanical fingers. “At least I got myself a new robot arm for it. I mean, tech like this isn’t supposed to be new, but up until now, unless you were Starfleet, you’d never get a chance at it.”
The man laughed. “True!” he said, before holding out a hand. “Justin Green.”
“Neil Milner.” Neil introduced himself in turn, and shaking Justin’s hand. “You here just for yourself, or have you a family to feed?”
“Wife and two kids.” Justin replied. “You?”
“No, it’s just me.” Neil said with a sigh. “Mind you, while the new arm’s flashy as hell, the Empire’s still the reason I have it in the first place.”
“Right.” Justin agreed grimly before giving a resigned sigh. “But…there’s no point in staying angry at them, right? Starfleet put up a fight, and got their asses handed to them. Might as well just move on…or at least try…”
“Yeah, at least the Empire’s taking responsibility for the mess they started.” Neil said with a scowl. “Meanwhile, Starfleet’s just making it worse. Can’t believe those bastards not only emptied all the replicator feedstocks, but blew the refineries before they cut and run. What the hell did they expect us to eat?”
“They were emptying the stocks even before the planet surrendered.” Justin said. “I know a lot of folks who tried to join because they thought it was the only way to eat.”
“And? Did they?”
“Of course not.” Justin said with a snort. “You know what Starfleet’s like. Unless you’ve got a big brain, you’re not getting in.”
“…fair enough, I guess.” Neil admitted. “About Starfleet, mind. Speaking of which, you and your family alright? I mean…fallout, and all that.”
“Yeah, we’re fine.” Justin said with a nod. “I mean, everyone in the city’s gotten a dose of nuclear dust, but the Empire was quick to help with that. Wonder medicine of theirs, bacta or something.”
“Oh yeah,” Neil mused. “They use it for everything from what I could see. Something about mixing it up with anti-radiation or anti-microbial stuff…I guess it makes them more effective, or something.”
“Sure looks that way.”
“Mind you, I’m glad I didn’t have to take full immersion the way some patients had to. I mean, I know it helps, but I talked to one of those guys, and he said he’s still tasting, well, bacta all this time.”
“Here’s to hoping it goes away eventually.”
“Yup.”
“…what does bacta taste like, anyway?”
“I hear it’s…kind of sweet, but a little too sweet, or something.”
“Oh…yeah, that can be annoying. That said, if the choice was between radiation poisoning and tasting that stuff for weeks on end, I’d pick the latter in a heartbeat.”
“Well, no argument there.”
The conversation stilled then, as the line finally moved up and let Neil have his turn. “ID and ration card, please.” The woman in nondescript fatigues said.
Neil offered the required credentials, the woman at the table scanning it and typing in a few things at a portable terminal. Meanwhile, a droid pulled up with Neil’s rations, one kilo of potatoes (or the Imperial variants thereof), one kilo of meat (canned, of all things), and another kilo of various vegetables (freeze-dried).
“…family will receive five kilos of tubers,” the speaker droid sounded as it flew by again. “Five kilos of meat, four liters of milk…”
It wasn’t fresh stuff, and it wasn’t replicator-reconstituted, but it was food, and Neil was fine with that. The Empire might have caused this mess, but at least they were taking responsibility for it.
Life would go on. Things would change. But all that really mattered to most people was that they could have some measure of normality from one day to the next.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Enterprise had survived the Battle of Mars.
Not unscratched, of course. The ship had nearly been blown in two along the connection between the saucer and engine sections, while the primary EPS relays had been burned out. Until repairs could be done, the ship wouldn’t be going into battle any time soon, nor would it be going to warp.
And it wasn’t getting those repairs either.
Not with Utopia Planitia and various other major ship construction, repair, and refit facilities in the Sol System destroyed by crack teams from Starfleet Security. All as part of a contingency drawn up and issued by the late Fleet Admiral Nechayev, to make sure even if the Empire won in Sol, they wouldn’t have much to get from it.
It hadn’t worked as planned, the security forces of the various Martian settlements and Earth nations had prevented the worst, but right now, Sol was completely dependent on the Empire for food and various other necessities. In a bitter twist, the Empire’s material supremacy was working out for the better, as they had plenty of surplus to supply its own troops while doing likewise for Sol until production could resume.
But back to the Enterprise.
Riker burst out of the turbolift, and into a scene of chaos. On one side, there were Imperial Stormtroopers, their blaster carbines lowered, for now. There were also two ISB officers, distinctive in their white uniform tops over black trousers, along with Worf.
Pressing themselves against the walls were other crew members of the Enterprise. And opposite Worf and the Imperials, there was a nondescript officer that Riker couldn’t remember the name of, and holding Ensign Perim hostage with a phaser to her throat.
“What the hell’s going here?” Riker demanded.
“Stay back, commander!” the man shouted, before jabbing the phaser against Perim’s throat, and causing her to cry out in terror. “Stay back, or the woman gets it!”
“Alright, alright!” Riker said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Let’s talk this out, no need for anyone to get hurt!”
“No,” the man said while frantically shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no…I’m going to talk, you’re going to listen and do exactly as I say, or the Trill bitch gets it!”
Riker didn’t say anything, just making sure to meet the man’s eyes. “See, this is what’s going to happen.” The man babbled out, looking jerkily back and forth between Riker, Worf, and the Imperials. “The bitch and I are going to the shuttle bay, we’re going to get on a shuttle, and then we’re going to get out of here. No one’s going to follow us, and you’ll all forget this ever happened.”
“That’s not going to happen.” One ISB agent immediately said.
“Don’t make this any harder on yourself.” The second agent added.
“SHUT UP!” the man shouted. “You think you’ve accomplished something here, you Coruscanti savages? You’ve changed nothing! You’re nothing! You don’t know anything!”
“We know enough, Section 31.” The first agent growled. “Enough to root the rest of you out once and for all.”
The man gave a sickly smile. “We’ll see about that.” He said, before abruptly pointing his phaser at Riker. He fired, but Worf managed to push Riker out of the way just in time, and causing the phaser to clip his arm. He fell with a grunt of pain, then Perim was screaming as a Stormtrooper shot her in the arm, causing her to twist away in pain.
This exposed enough of the Section 31 infiltrator to the other Stormtroopers, who riddled him with stun rounds. The man fell to the ground, convulsing as he went into shock from multiple stun rounds, the Stormtroopers quickly moving to restrain him.
“Get a medic over here!” one of the ISB agents shouted.
“Was that really necessary?” Riker demanded.
“Would you prefer your officer be dead?” the ISB agent retorted before looking apologetically at Perim. “Sorry about that.”
“…i-it’s alright, sir.” Perim stammered out, even as Doctor Crusher arrived with several nurses.
“What is Section 31?” Worf growled, and the remaining ISB agent looked at him in surprise. Then he blinked, and narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t know anything at all, do you?” he asked. “No, don’t answer. That was a rhetorical question. But you’ll find out soon enough. For now, let’s just say that a lot of what you know, and what you’ve always believed in, were all just smoke and mirrors.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Commander, I must protest!” the chairman of the Pluto Planetary Council blustered as he was escorted by a pair of Stormtroopers into a turbolift with the waiting Imperial liaison. “We are a peaceful scientific commune! You’ve seen for yourself that we’ve no weapons beyond the bare minimum to keep asteroids and other cosmic threats away from our outposts and habitats! We’ve offered you nothing but our full cooperation! And yet, dozens of our people have been taken away on spurious charges and never been heard from again.”
“Spurious…?” Commander Brice Cohl echoed.
“You claim they’re part of some interstellar conspiracy with illicit goals and methods,” the chairman continued. “But I have yet to see any proof of this.”
“And that is exactly why we’re here, chairman.” Brice said. “In fact, you and your people are the biggest victims here.”
“What?”
Brice smiled sadly. “You never knew it,” he said. “But you were being used. You, your father, his father before him…entire generations of colonists and researchers, all used as a cover for what lies under Pluto’s surface. More than that, you were never truly in control of your world. The people behind all this…they only let you live here out of convenience. And had your convenience ever run out…well…”
“…w-w-w-w-what do you mean?” the chairman stammered out in confusion.
“All will be made clear soon.” Brice said, turning away and falling silent.
Silence reigned for several moments, and then the chairman blinked as he realized something while staring at the turbolift controls. “T-this…this is impossible!” he spluttered out. “There shouldn’t be anything this deep! What is this? Some sort of mine? A top secret weapons research facility for Starfleet?”
Brice chuckled and shook his head. “If only it were so.” He said, and then drew himself up as the doors opened. He led the way into the darkened corridor beyond, the chairman following behind him with the Stormtroopers bringing up the rear.
As they proceeded down the corridor, the chairman shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his arms for warmth. Belatedly, he realized his breath was coming out in steamy puffs…
…and then emerging from the corridor onto a landing, found his mouth falling open. Before him there was a vast cavern, stretching out further than the eye could see, half-lit with stark lights, encrusted with ice, entire vaults filled with what looked like cryogenic stasis pods.
“…what is this place?” he whispered in shock and disbelief, staring out across the cavern, watching droids and Imperial personnel going to and fro, while Stormtroopers kept watch.
“Welcome to Tartarus.” Brice said. “An undocumented and officially-nonexistent prison for the Federation and United Earth both. Those of your people we took away? They were among its wardens, tasked with making sure the people living on the planet never knew what lay beneath their feet.”
Brice paused, and turned back to the chairman. “Tell me again, chairman.” He began. “Is Pluto truly a peaceful scientific commune?”
“…I…I don’t know what to say…”
