It had been a perfect storm of disasters, Osrin Corodrev thought wearily. The tectonic convulsions had been bad enough - but they had liberated uncounted kilotons of rare heavy metals into the atmosphere, and those had interacted with the planet's other major disaster, a major solar storm coinciding with a weakened planetary magnetic field as Vel Tarsus's magnetosphere began a pole shift. Now, energized particles were throwing out auroral displays, re-energizing the charged power-metal dust, creating a light show all across the planet - which was, at the same time, disrupting communications, blocking vital natural light from crops, and distributing low-grade toxins throughout the ecosphere.
All they needed, on top of this, was a global thermonuclear war. And the remnants of Vel Tarsus's three antagonistic superpowers were still ready to provide that.
"I think we're getting pinged." Koneph Phoral sounded as tired as Osrin felt.
"Let me see." Osrin went over to the ops console, put his hand on his chan-partner's shoulder, peered at the display.
He winced. The electromagnetic wavebands were riven with interference, but that certainly looked like a maser targeting pulse. Any combat starship could outrun or dodge a Tarsian weapon without breaking a sweat... but the disaster relief vessel was anything but a combat starship; it was a modified Tuffli space freighter with surplus mission pods from a Nebula-class science vessel attached amidships. It was big, slow, and an obvious target.
"Something else coming through," Koneph said. "Audio channel." He pulled a face. "I'd guess this is another stand-and-deliver."
Osrin sighed. He went back to the command station, called up the main control interface.
"Coming through now," said Koneph. He hit a switch.
A new voice sounded on the bridge, harsh and rattling with static. "Alien vessel. You are directed to stand down and prepare to transfer your cargo at our landing docks. Comply or you will be fired upon."
"Ground station, this is Osrin Corodrev aboard IDRA 2." He was desperately tired, but he refused to let it show in his voice. "We are in transit as part of the relief effort, as agreed with your provisional coalition. Our destination is the refugee facility at station ES-1. We are not in a position to divert to another location, and we're not landing-capable in any case. We are continuing on our assigned course -"
"That's a damned Esteddi station!" the voice interrupted. "We're not part of any damned coalition, and we will blow you out of the sky before we let you deliver supplies to our enemies!"
Osrin pulled a face. His hands moved rapidly across the command console. "We are proceeding on our assigned course. If you have urgent needs, make yourselves known to the provisional coalition, or to the disaster relief agencies, or direct to Starfleet if you like. We'll provide -"
"You'll provide your ship and your cargo, right now!" the voice yelled back. "We've got a kinetic launch site here and we'll use it if we have to!"
"I know," said Osrin. "I've got your base locked up on scan right now."
"Scan away," the voice sneered. "Scan all you like - scan my missiles from your unarmed freighter, and then do the sensible thing."
"My name is Osrin Corodrev. Of Andoria. Know anything about Andorians?"
"All I need to."
"I doubt that. We've got the Andorian cultural exemption on this ship. Normally, disaster relief vessels aren't armed - but Andorian ships traditionally always carry weapons, so, well, we're allowed to." Osrin smiled a grim, humourless smile. "A lot of Andorian captains make do with some token laser array or something. We, however, don't go in for tokens. We have a Mark XIV omnidirectional antiproton array locked on to you right now, and a bio-neural launch tube to back it up. If you even look like you're aiming those missiles in my direction, all it will take is one touch on a button, and your facility will be a hole half a mile deep."
There was a brief, static-hissing pause. "You wouldn't do that," the voice said. "You wouldn't dare... there are people here, you're supposed to be humanitarians, you -"
"There's about a hundred people at your base. There's close on thirty thousand refugees on that station, who'll die if they don't get medical aid, food, air supplies. I can do the math. I will sacrifice a hundred lives to save thirty thousand, and I won't even lose sleep over it. Your call."
Another long, static-filled pause. Osrin's finger was poised over the fire control.
"All right," said the voice. "All right. I'm deactivating my targeting lock. You can see that, can't you?"
Osrin glanced at Koneph, who nodded. "Good decision. If you need help, your best bet is to fall in with the provisional coalition. Doesn't matter what your differences used to be, right now they are just trying to survive. Join them, maybe you can too."
"We'll think about it." The channel shut off with a decisive pop. Osrin sighed. He closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair.
"Remember what we used to say, back when we were working for my dear old dad? About it being a good day, if we didn't have to kill anyone?"
"I remember." Koneph's voice was suddenly grim. "Got a bogey on scan. Sorry, partner, I don't think today's going to be a good day."
"What is it -?" Osrin checked his own console, and cursed. "You're right. Damn Svanakh fanatics - try to raise them, see if they'll listen to reason -"
Small chance of that, he knew. Of the three major nations who had made up the bulk of Tarsian civilization, the Esteddi and the Kalakrim loathed each other, but could be persuaded, ultimately, to cooperate. The third nation, the Svanakh, though, were xenophobic, hostile to everyone and everything. And the small dot on his screen, now, was almost certainly a Svanakh fusion-powered scout craft. There were few of those left, and the number was decreasing steadily, for the worst possible reason.
"I'm getting a hail," said Koneph. "It'll be the usual -" He switched in the audio.
"- defilers of the sacred soil of Svanakh, we offer you only cleansing fire and death." It was shocking, Osrin thought, how young the voice sounded. "To the memory of our glorious leader, and to the immortal cause, I dedicate my destruction and yours. Death to the defilers!"
"Svanakh vessel," said Osrin, "this is IDRA 2, we are a freighter on a relief mission. We have no quarrel with you, but we are equipped to defend ourselves, and we will respond with appropriate force if attacked. We -"
"No compromise! You come from the stars to take our broken world, but we will defy you! Death to the defilers!" The channel shut off.
"He's doing it," said Koneph in a dismal voice. "Intercept vector, ramming speed. We can't evade unless we go to warp, and that -"
Warping out, in the chaos of Vel Tarsus's exosphere, would set up a cascade reaction of energies that might spread a rain of fire across a continent. The freighter's impulse drive was more powerful than the Svanakh ship's, but the freighter itself was much larger and less manoeuvrable. Bleakly, Osrin realized that they had no choice.
"Targeting lock acquired." His fingers drummed on the tactical interface. "Programming bio-neural. Launching."
The AI torpedo shot out from its launch tube, rolled, and arced away from the IDRA ship. In its own way, Osrin thought, the torpedo was the same as the Svanakh pilot - a fanatic, an engine of destruction, dedicated to seeking its own death at the instant of its enemy's. Except the torpedo was only a mechanism, but the Svanakh was a person....
The scout craft launched counter-missiles. The bio-neural torpedo spotted them, picked them off with its point-defense system with insolent ease. The Svanakh ship tried, at the last moment, to evade -
Fire blossomed in the sky as two fanatics consummated their mutual hatred.
"Infinite preserve us from many more of those," muttered Osrin.
"We'll be at the station inside an hour," said Koneph. "And there's military backup on call - IKS Skaldak is running interference in this sector."
"General Rrueo's ship?"
Koneph nodded. "That is one pussycat I do not want to tangle with."
"Pity those KDF battlewagons aren't better configured for our line of work," muttered Osrin. Then he groaned. "Another sensor contact."
"Let's see." Koneph bent his head over the ops board. "Could be OK, I'm getting a Federation ID transponder... oh, hell's teeth." He touched a control. "On screen."
The main viewscreen lit up, displaying a dark-haired, pale-skinned human male in a formal civilian suit. "IDRA 2, this is Blue Angel Seven. Just to let you know, we've been monitoring your Prime Directive violations, so you might find it helpful to submit your logs for verification purposes to our office at the conclusion of your current run. Thanks in advance for your cooperation."
"Oh, damn it," said Osrin. "We are representing a non-governmental organization, we are here at the formal request of the planetary authorities -"
"I think you'll find that not everyone recognizes the provisional coalition -"
"The planetary authorities recognized by the Federation Council," Osrin continued, his voice rising, "we have acted only in self-defence, we are not in violation of Federation law in general or the Prime Directive in particular, so back off."
"We're only concerned that everyone should get to put their side of the story," said the human. "Including you."
"Concern." Koneph spoke, his voice dripping scorn. "If the Actionist Party is so concerned about the situation here, why isn't it doing something to help?"
"We are helping. Action Blue is monitoring the situation - as is Action Red for the KDF, and Action Green for the Republic."
"Tell me how nitpicking Prime Directive rules is helping?" snapped Koneph.
"You don't get the picture," said the human. "This isn't about us tracking where you break the Prime Directive. This is about seeing where the Prime Directive gets in your way."
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