Someone standing at the middle of that catwalk would be at the focal point of all that machinery. And, presumably, the full power of the anomaly, too.
I tug at my bonds, but it is useless. The bonds are - peculiar. There are holo-emitters in the mission pod, and Vansittaert has activated his holographic flunkeys. So, Abercrombie is holding my wrists in an unbreakable grip, and Boucher is holding Quon, and Calvert is holding T'Shal. The holograms might look like ordinary human business people, without the level of physical training that Quon and I have... but their photonic limbs are locked in position, and they will hold with all the power the holo-emitters can put out.
Shemosh and T'Shal's assistant Tarul are here, too, shackled to the wall by more conventional chains. Tarul looks blank and confused, and as for Shemosh... the waves of sheer despair emanating from him are almost tangible.
They don't seem to be bothering Vansittaert or Premaratne, though. They are moving around the walkway, checking instruments, methodically, imperturbably.
Now Vansittaert comes near to me, and smiles that uncomfortable smile. "Not long now," he says. "The pod is in position, and the anomaly's power is nearly at its peak."
"And when it reaches the peak?" I tug at Abercrombie's immobile hands, uselessly.
"All I need do is cross the focus of the emitters," says Vansittaert, "and - well. I suppose I owe you thanks, for pointing out what is really going to happen. The psi receptors are tuned to the anomaly's frequencies, and they will transmit my wishes to the anomaly, and the anomaly's... perspective... into my mind. All I need to do is choose what I want."
My gaze turns towards Shemosh. I wonder what he was planning to choose.
"It won't work," I insist. "You can't decide how to shape the world. You don't have the insight, the wisdom. Nobody does. We're talking about the whole of history here."
"I've been making decisions at the very highest level for decades," says Vansittaert. "I don't think I'm an arrogant man, Admiral, but I know very well that the choices I make affect other people's lives, many other people's lives. I flatter myself that I have, in general, chosen wisely. And I will choose wisely now."
"You think." There is no give in the holographic fingers. "But you would need to be sure, Vansittaert, and you can't be. And you know what? Even if you did have the wisdom, you still wouldn't have the right."
"I can bring happiness and fulfilment to every person in the galaxy," Vansittaert says. "How can I have the right to refrain from that?"
"Your idea of happiness, your idea of fulfilment. What about the people who disagree with you?"
"I'm not inhuman, Admiral. I will try to save as many of them as I can."
I hiss in exasperation. "You're looking at the whole galaxy as if it's full of lay figures. Like these holograms." I jerk my head towards Abercrombie's frozen face. "At base, you think of all of us like these artificial yes-men of yours."
"That's unfair of you, Admiral. My photonic assistants have their uses, but I have always known they were never fully human. Obviously, actual sentient beings are quite different from these, as you put it, lay figures. They have their uses, as sounding boards, interlocutors - means for me to develop my ideas."
I shake my head. "Slaves."
"Obedient machinery. Unless you think of all machines as slaves? I don't think you can be that foolish, Admiral."
For the first time since they brought us here, Quon speaks up. "Slaves, yes," she says. "Did you know, in ancient Rome, they gave a victorious general a triumph, a huge celebration to tell him how good he was? Only they detailed one slave to stay with him, all the time, telling him, every so often, 'Remember you are mortal'." She snarls at him. "You could use one of those guys, Vansittaert."
"It sounds a waste of resources. I know I'm mortal, Captain. Though that may change, perhaps -"
A shudder seems to run through the pod for an instant. Vansittaert quirks an eyebrow, picks up a PADD and consults it. "Hmm. Main power failure." Hope must have shown in my face, for he turns to me and shakes his head. "The pod's auxiliary power is quite enough, I do assure you."
"Attention." A voice blasts suddenly over the intercom, a familiar voice, a surprisingly welcome voice. "This is Captain Surella of the USS Amphicyon. This ship is now in Starfleet hands. Occupants of the mission pod, stand down, release your captives, and refrain from any further interference with the anomaly. This will be your only warning."
Vansittaert frowns. "I suppose I could turn off the boarding tube to the engineering hull... but it might make things inconvenient, getting back afterwards."
"If I may?" The obsequious and gravelly tones of Premaratne. The big cyborg lumbers towards Vansittaert. "You employ me, sir, to minimize and remove inconvenience."
"How very true." Vansittaert considers. "Very well, Mr. Premaratne. If I know Klingons, Captain Surella will want to be inconvenient in person. Meet her in the boarding tube. Dissuade her."
Premaratne nods, once, and walks away.
"It needn't be for long," says Vansittaert, speaking to himself more than to me. "It won't be long at all. Just a few minutes, now. Just a few minutes...."
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