Neither man said anything for several moments, the only sound in the room being the low, ubiquitous warble of Vanguard’s massive power generators, far below them in the belly of the station’s secondary hull. When Spires spoke again, he did so while tapping the end of his stylus along the tabletop.
“So,” he said, releasing a small sigh, “you basically just want to be a pain in the ass.”
The commander’s deadpan delivery caught Reyes off guard, but then he laughed, the first time he could remember doing so in weeks. It was a wonderful feeling.
“I’ve always been a pain in the ass, Commander,” he replied, wiping the corner of his right eye. “Now I just want more people to know about it.”
Nodding with what Reyes took to be a new sense of determination, Spires said, “I think we can do something with that, sir. I’m still not saying we have any chance of winning, mind you.” He shrugged. “But at least it’ll be entertaining.”
Okay,Reyes decided, now I’m starting to like you. A little.
Spires glanced down at his data slate. “I’ve got about an hour or so before I’m supposed to meet Captain Desai and discuss—among other things—my clearance for reading classified data. Until then, might I suggest that we refocus our efforts here, Commodore?”
As he turned his attention back to the task at hand, Reyes could not help thinking about Rana Desai. He thought of her often, of course, but he tried only to recall their private times together, rather than the unpleasant reality of what they both now faced.
I wonder how she’s dealing with all of this?
12
“Commodore Reyes, through conscious thought and deed, willfully allowed a member of the press to become aware of classified information. In doing so, and by further allowing that journalist to publish a story containing this information, he violated Starfleet regulations. Worse, his actions carry with them the possibility of placing innumerable innocent lives at risk, to say nothing of the unrest and even panic he may well have inflicted upon countless citizens throughout the Federation and beyond.”
Her words echoing within the chamber that served as the courtroom facility assigned to Starbase 47’s contingent from Starfleet’s Judge Advocate General Corps, Captain Rana Desai paced a circular path around the witness stand at the center of the room. It consisted of a lone empty chair sitting on a compact square dais, with a high backrest and a biometric computer interface. The chair was positioned so that it faced the judge’s bench, a raised, curved desk designed to seat four board members, standard procedure for Starfleet court-martial proceedings.
Pausing in her rehearsed remarks, Desai stared at the bench and tried to imagine the faces of the officers who would make up the board. With each of them ranked commodore or higher and with line experience as starship captains, as well as commanding officers of their own starbases or Starfleet ground installations, Desai knew that she would not be able to rely on cold, hard facts to make her case. These would be men and women who had lived the same life as Diego Reyes and had experienced many of the same challenges and dangers that filled the commodore’s personnel file. They would be fair and just, but not to the point of favoritism or vindictiveness. Whatever fate they might decide for Reyes, it would be in keeping with both the letter and the spirit of Starfleet regulations. Her job would be to present her case in such a fashion that the board members would feel no recourse but to decide in her favor.
Piece of cake, right?
“Captain Desai?”
Hearing her own name snapped her out of her reverie, and she turned to see the room’s only other occupant, Lieutenant Holly Moyer. One of the junior officers assigned to her JAG office, the auburn-haired young lawyer was seated in a chair positioned against the room’s left wall. She regarded Desai with an expression of concern.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?”
Desai blinked away the last vestiges of distraction that had claimed her for a moment. “Yes. Sorry, Lieutenant. I was…thinking about something else for a minute there.” Clearing her throat, she resumed her circuit around the witness stand. “Now, then, where were we?”
“Inflicting panic upon the citizens of the Federation and beyond,” Moyer replied, looking down at the data slate resting in her lap and her copy of Desai’s opening statement. “Before we move on to the next part, I think we should revisit this piece. If you’ll permit me, ma’am, it seems too general and maybe even a bit melodramatic.”
Desai offered an appreciative nod after a moment. “You’re right. We need to be more explicit here. A nondescript threat sounds like fear mongering or just plain pandering. Make a note to append highlights from some of the information we’re starting to get from various colonies. How some of them are reconsidering their decisions to proceed without Federation or Starfleet aid, the couple that have already pulled up stakes and evacuated, that sort of thing. Nothing too sensational—that they’re taking these actions is enough without having to embellish things.”
Moyer nodded as she made the notations. “What about that incident with the Klingon ship and the colony on Lerais II? Should we bring that up?”
“Not during opening statements,” Desai countered. “It has nothing to do with our case. If it comes up at trial, we’ll deal with it then. Otherwise, let’s keep it focused.” There was enough to consider and address as she continued the effort to shape her trial strategy. Clouding the central issue with unrelated details and irrelevant tangents would only bog her down rather than give her the momentum she would need to see this through.
Moyer said without looking up from her notes, “The section where you describe the specific charges is good, but I wonder if you might change the order? Move the disobedience and conspiracy, and build up to his release of the classified data.”
“Ramp up for a big finish?” Desai asked, unable to mask the wry grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. Shrugging, she added, “It’s not a bad idea, actually, especially since I expect those two charges to be either dismissed or at least lessened.” The conspiracy charge would be hard to press, given that her investigation had failed to reveal a single other soul aboard the station who might have known about Reyes’s decision to give journalist Tim Pennington such free rein. The disobedience charge would come down to a discussion about whether Reyes believed the orders he had flouted were legal, ethical, or moral. This, of course, would solicit questions about the identities of other, superior officers who may well have issued unlawful directives with respect to Operation Vanguard. Desai suspected that the board members would want to avoid wading into that particular quagmire, not because they were interested in supporting any kind of cover-up but rather because it would detract from the purpose for which they had been assembled. Desai knew it was possible that further legal proceedings would be launched against other officers, but only after the final disposition of Commodore Diego Reyes was determined.
Therefore, she decided, the charge of releasing classified information to the public, and making it stick, was where this case would be won or lost.
“Okay,” Desai said, “we’ll rework that section, too, but I want to be careful during that part. No overwrought theatrics and just enough fire and brimstone to hammer home the point without overdoing it.”
From behind her, another voice called out, “But it’s the fire and brimstone that makes these things interesting.”
There was no mistaking the speaker, and Desai turned in that direction to see Ezekiel Fisher watching her from the rear of the courtroom. Occupying one of the chairs against the back wall, Vanguard’s chief medical officer slouched in his seat, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was—as he always seemed to be—stroking his thin, gray-peppered beard. Glancing at Moyer, Desai was certain that the lieutenant’s expression of surprise mirrored her own. Neither woman had heard him enter the room. How long had he been sitting there?