Star Trek: Cayuga
03 - ‘Fathers and Sons’
By Jack Elmlinger
“Benjamin Lafayette Sisko described the Jem’hadar as ‘the most brutal and efficient soldiers that I’ve ever encountered. They don’t care about conventions of war or protecting civilians. They will not limit themselves to military targets. They will wage the kind of war that Earth hasn’t seen since the founding of the Federation’.”
The instructor paused for a moment to measure his students’ uncomfortable shifting in their seats. “Though I haven’t met Captain Sisko, I can vouch that he does not exaggerate. Imagine a creature that does not eat, does not sleep, and does not become distracted. It is born with strength and reflexes to rival any Klingon’s strength and reflexes. It spends any of its free time training for its next mission, which, make no mistake, will undoubtedly involve killing you.”
He pointed at a woman sitting in the front row before he limped around the podium to point at another cadet. “Or perhaps you. Of course, if it’s possible, it will find a way to kill all of you.”
The cadets’ faces were hard because each of them had heard this speech before but none of them knew how to seriously take it. Undoubtedly, none of them would take it seriously enough until the day that they first entered combat.
“The Dominion is like no opponent that the Federation has ever faced before,” the instructor continued with his lecture. “With the Romulans, we found ourselves fighting a battle of wits and guile. With the Klingons, there was a lust for blood and honorable combat. The Dominion had no such scruples since they will fight using every tactic available to them.
“As Captain Sisko so accurately noted, they do not follow the conventions of war, nor do they care for civilian lives. They have no qualms about using orbital bombardments or biogenic weapons. They are the antithesis of Starfleet, which will take great pains to protect noncombatants. Quite simply, they are the perfect enemy.”
In the third row, a young Caitian raised his paw. “Professor?”
“Yes, Cadet. Stand up and speak.”
The cadet rose up from his seat, looking lanky and uncomfortable in his gray and red cadet’s uniform. “Sir, the Dominion War ended almost a year ago and we won. Why… Why are we studying the Dominion now just as thoroughly as before if not more so?”
The instructor leaned back on the podium, hoping the motion appeared casual. It wouldn’t do him any kindness for his students to see him in pain. “You are correct, Cadet M’Shav. The Dominion War is over but that is not to say that our involvement with the Dominion is over. Bear in mind that the Jem’hadar armada battled the combined might of three empires to a standstill was not the Dominion’s main fleet or even a secondary one.
“The ships used in the Dominion War were produced almost exclusively in the Alpha Quadrant, and what’s more, the Starfleet Corps of Engineers is still attempting to reverse-engineer captured Dominion technology in order to provide the Federation a defense against it with limited success.
“The Dominion was not weakened by the conflict like we were and the wormhole is still open. The Dominion will forever be a part of Federation foreign policy because there is not a single captain in Starfleet who trusts that they will abide by the rules of the peace treaty. That, Cadet, is why this is a required course for all cadets at Starfleet Academy.”
The instructor glanced up at the clock on the back wall and waved his hands at his students. “And I’ve kept you all too long today. Class dismissed, and remember to read your sections on the religious programming of the Jem’hadar. Good day.”
As the students drained out of the back of the room, the instructor closed his eyes. He decided that while it was quiet, he would limp back to his cane.
“Is your leg still hurting you, Dad?”
The voice surprised him into opening his eyes prematurely and he stumbled. Before the other man could catch him, Rallan Moru regained his balance and stood straighter. “Zim,” he said,” I didn’t know that you were coming back to Earth.”
Doctor Zimthar Moru looked out of place in his black and blue officer’s uniform among all of the gray-clad cadets. He picked up the cane hidden behind the podium and offered it to his father. “Everybody in Starfleet has been cycling through leave since the end of the war. I just didn’t get my turn until now.”
Grudgingly, the older Moru accepted the cane. “I don’t know what clock you’re running on, son, but it’s lunchtime here. Join me?”
“I’d be delighted,” Moru said and they walked into the stream of cadets that filled the hallway.
“How is your latest ship? A Wambundu class, right?” Professor Moru nodded to his students along the way and directed his son to a cafe that opened to the outside. The once-beautiful view of San Francisco Bay was still marred by the destruction that remained from the Breen attack, a year ago.
“The Cayuga, yes. She’s a small ship -- “
“A very small ship.”
“ -- but her crew is first class. The ship herself saw a lot of action during the war.” A waiter came to offer them menus but the professor ordered the special for them both and shooed her away. Moru continued the conversation,” Our First Officer was a member of the Marines, in the 383rd.”
“That Poole woman?”
“No, Jeanne Pozach was promoted to Captain, a few months ago. A new woman replaced her as First Officer, Davi zh’Tali.” The Bolian had never said zh’Tali’s first name before and the normalcy of it stuck in his mouth.
“She must be a very interesting woman, Zim. And to have fought in the Marines… the stories that she could tell.” He leaned in closer. “You’d do well to listen to them.”
Moru shrugged uncomfortably and stared at the passing cadets. “She is interesting.” He blinked fiercely and shook his head. “Anyways, we’re doing good work on the Cayuga, running relief supplies out to the Cardassian worlds.”
Their food came and Professor Moru paused to say a short prayer to Vaq over their meal. They ate in silence until he said,” Zimthar, you haven’t been home since before the war. Things have changed here.”
“What do you mean?”
His father speared a slice of tomato and eyed his son. “For one thing, the mission that your ship’s on now isn’t very popular here on Earth. There are a lot of people in the Federation who say that the Cardassians deserve what they got and that we need to hear our own wounds before we tend to our enemies.”
“Dad, I’ve been on these worlds. You know what the Jem’hadar does when they’re told to start killing -- “
The older Moru cut him off with a sharp motion of his fork. “There’s also a motion before the Federation Council to begin an intensive program to rearm Starfleet.”
Moru sat back in his chair. “Well, that only makes sense. Starfleet lost almost six thousand ships in the war. That’s more than half the fleet. We need to get ships back into space -- “
“I’m not talking about rebuilding the Starfleet. I’m talking about rearming it.” Moru’s father picked through his food suspiciously. “Yes, there is an effort to build more science ships, research vessels, and exploration ships but the main thrust of the rearming is centered around creating a fleet of warships.”
“That can’t be right,” the doctor sputtered at his father. “Starfleet doesn’t make warships. At least, not past a few Defiant class ships. Our ships can fight, sure, but we’re explorers first, not soldiers -- “
“Which is why you very nearly lost the war,” the Bolian’s father told him. “They’ve already begun production on a new run of Defiant and Sovereign class starships. And it’s only a matter of time before they start mass-producing those Prometheus class ships as well.”
“No,” the younger Moru said,” the military has always been a secondary position for Starfleet. I mean, the war is over! Over!”
“You forget yourself, Zim.” The Morus locked eyes before Zimthar, flushed, backed down. His father straightened his silverware and spoke softly. “Many people are still scared of the Dominion. A good portion of them are Admirals and we came so close to destruction.”
“I remember,” the doctor said, dryly.
“Most of them say that we wouldn’t have taken the losses that we had if Starfleet had been better prepared to fight. If it wasn’t for the upgrades that were made in anticipation of the Borg invasion, there would have been no way that we could have survived the war, even with the help of the Klingons, the Romulans, and everyone else.”
Zim shook his head and stood up.
“Where are you going?,” his father asked, indignantly.
“Somewhere else, Dad. Because I’m a doctor. I don’t like what I’m hearing you say. I...I-I… need to go think about it.” He walked off, muttering,” Thanks for lunch,” under his breath but the special sat like a stone in his stomach.
The End...
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